The Winter Rose (55 page)

"Of course we do," Ella said.

"So make a clinic already. Right here."

Ella looked around uncertainly. "In the restaurant, Mama?"

"Bist du meshuganah? In the backyard! There's room. We'll move the
washpot to the far end. We have the old shed. You can make an office
from that."

India found her voice again. "In the backyard? But Mrs. Moskowitz, it's... it's a yard," she said, aghast.

"So?"

"There's no examination table. No hot water. No instruments. No auto-clave. Those are hardly ideal conditions for a surgery."

Mrs. Moskowitz flapped a hand at her. "You want ideal? Or you want
your clinic? In St. Petersburg we would see healers in the marketplace.
Have our teeth pulled in the butcher's stall next to the pigs' heads.
The more we screamed, the less the butcher charged us. It helped his
business. People watched his patients and bought his sausages."

"But where will we find patients? How will they know about us?" Ella asked.

"Oy vey, how you two make problems." She turned in her chair and barked, "Herschel! Herschel Fein!"

A burly young man on his way to the kitchen with a basket of onions on his shoulder turned around. "Yes, Mrs. Moskowitz?"

"Your Eva, when is her baby due?"

"Next month."

"Does she have a doctor yet?"

Herschel Fein laughed. "A doctor? On a coster's wages? We'll be lucky to get a vet."

"What if I tell you she can have both a doctor and a nurse--the best
in London!--in exchange for one week's worth of fruit and vegetables for
the restaurant."

Herschel Fein looked at Mrs. Moskowitz. He frowned. He sucked his
teeth. Then he said, "Minus the raisins. They're pricey just now and you
go through five pounds at least. One week's worth, minus the raisins."

Mrs. Moskowitz sighed. "You're a hard man, Herschel Fein, a very hard
man. But yes, yes, we will leave out the raisins. A deal, then?"

"A deal."

"Tell Eva to come here tomorrow and they will see her."

"But the baby's not due for another month."

"The price includes an examination before the delivery. To make notes and observations."

Herschel Fein nodded, impressed. "I'll tell her," he said, and continued on his way to the kitchen.

"There, girls!" Mrs. Moskowitz said, smiling triumphantly. "Your
first pa-tient. Your clinic is now officially open. Better get the shed
cleaned out. Mr. Moskowitz will help you, won't you, Mr. Moskowitz?"

Before Mr. Moskowitz could say whether he would or he wouldn't,

India said, "But Mrs. Moskowitz, it just won't work. I still have to
find a proper, salaried position. I have to cover my expenses. Pay my
rent."

"You will stay with us."

"Thank you. Truly. But it would be impossible."

Mrs. Moskowitz reached across the table. She covered India's hand
with her own. "With all respect, my dear India," she said, "I look to
God to tell me what is possible. Not to you."

"But I don't want to be a burden to you."

"Zeeskyte, you don't know from burdens. I know from burdens.
Cos-sacks, they are a burden. Watching your father, your husband, beaten
in the streets--that is a burden. A slip of a girl who eats nothing and
takes up no room is not a burden." Then, as if remembering herself, she
added, "But of course this is all up to Mr. Moskowitz. If Mr. Moskowitz
says you stay, then you stay." She banged her palm on the table. "Mr.
Moskowitz?"

Mendel Moskowitz blinked thoughtfully at his wife. He tugged at his
beard. He sipped from his teacup, put it down again, and said, "She
stays."

A cheer went up from the younger children.

"It's settled, then," Mrs. Moskowitz said.

And it had been. India had sold everything but her bed, her clothing,
and her books, all of which Yanki and Aaron had moved to Brick Lane
with a donkey cart. The bed had been shoved into the attic, where Ella
and her sisters slept, and was now shared by Posy. There was barely room
to swing a cat up there. It was stuffy in the summer heat, and Posy
kept her up half the night giggling and telling stories. Yet India
thought it was the finest accommodation she had ever had. Every night
she crawled into bed exhausted and happy. Every morning she woke eager
and excited to meet the day and its challenges.

And there were many. She and Ella worked from dawn to sunset, with an
hour off for dinner, typically seeing upward of seventy patients a day.

And even when they had finished with their appointments, as they had
now, they still had to scrub down the examination room, sweep the dirt
floor of the waiting room, and boil their instruments in Mrs.
Moskowitz's kitchen.

India was just carrying a bucket and mop to the shed when the door to
the kitchen opened again. She expected to see Mrs. Moskowitz, hands on
hips, bellowing about something, but it was Sid Malone. She hadn't seen
him for several weeks, since the day he'd brought the sick little girl,
Jessie, to her flat. He was handsome in dungarees, shirtsleeves, and a
waistcoat. His eyes found hers and he smiled his cheeky smile. India
felt torn in two at the mere sight of him. She wanted to run to him and
hide from him at

the same time. A maddening mix of emotion gripped her, and it was all she could do to simply smile back and wave.

"Malone!" Ella cried cheerily. "What's troubling you, lad? Catarrh? Rheumatism? Lumbago? Have a seat, we'll check you out."

"No, thank you. I remember how it went the last time you two got hold
of me." He walked over to them and looked all around--at the patched
awning, the old shed, and the chickens roosting under it. "I just
finished me supper. Your mother told me you were out back. What are you
doing?"

"Isn't it obvious?" India asked. "Ella and I have opened our clinic. We're seeing patients."

She nudged a chicken out of the way with her foot. "In fact, you're standing in the waiting room."

Sid looked surprised. "Why aren't you at Gifford's? What happened?"
he asked India, as Ella bustled off to sweep the waiting area.

India told him. About Dr. Gifford. And the Moskowitzes. And Freddie.

He whistled. "Lytton did all that? Bloke's a damn sight trickier than
he looks. You tell him if the MP thing don't work out he can always
work for me."

"I doubt I'll have the opportunity."

"Not on speaking terms?"

"Not exactly."

He grinned. "Inconsolable, is he? Can't live without you?"

"It's not me he can't live without, it's the money," she replied.
"Had we married, my parents would have given us a town house and twenty
thou-sand a year."

Sid blinked. "Twenty thousand?! Blimey, luv, I'd be inconsolable, too. Is that what you're worth?"

"Not anymore, I'm afraid. It was a limited-time offer."

"Guess the honorable gentleman isn't so honorable after all, is he? I guess some of us aren't what we seem."

India gave him a penetrating look. "I'd say none of us is."

Sid looked away. He toed the ground. "Aye. Well," he said.

"Aye. Well," she echoed.

"So you're a free woman now? Available?"

India blushed. She looked at the ground, feeling awkward and embar-rassed.

"I guess that would be a bad idea," Sid said.

India looked up at him, wondering if he meant it, almost hoping he
didn't, but he was smiling. He was teasing her. He didn't mean a word of
it. She quickly recovered herself and smiled, too. "The worst," she
said, teasing him back.

But it wasn't what she wanted to say. Not at all. She wanted to tell
him that she didn't care if it was a bad idea, she loved him. She wanted
to put her arms around his neck, to pull his face to hers and kiss him,
but she didn't. She loved him, fiercely, but it would never work
between them. Even if she was no longer engaged to Freddie. They were
too different. She knew that; she'd always known it.

The day Sid had brought Jessie to see her, they had established a
fragile d�nte--one governed by an unspoken rule: talk about anything
and everything but what mattered most--their feelings for each other. It
al-lowed them to be cordial. To be friends. Their conversation was
good-natured and careful now, and India hated it. She preferred their
old habit of yelling at each other on the streets of Whitechapel.

"Well, I guess I'm off, then," Sid said.

"To where?"

"To nick the crown jewels. Feel like a challenge tonight, me."

"Sid, that's not funny. You have to stop. You have to leave the life. You know what Freddie means to do."

"And speaking of jewelry..." Sid cut in.

"But we weren't speaking of jewelry. Not anymore."

"Where's your watch? You're not wearing it. What did you do? Barter with it again?"

"In a manner of speaking," she said. "But that's not--"

His eyes darkened. "Bloody hell, India! Why'd you do that?" he asked angrily, the forced civility gone.

"Because I--"

"You should have come to me if you needed something. Why are you always so bloody stubborn?"

India tried again to reply, but he wouldn't let her, he kept railing at her.

"May I speak?" she asked hufflly.

"No. Because I know what you're going to say. I can't accept that, Sid. It's blood money, Sid. Well, fuck that."

She whistled at the profanity, but he continued, unheeding.

"You need that watch. How are you going to take a ...a bleeding pulse
and all that? What did you buy with the money? Whatever it was, I'd
have gotten it for you."

"You couldn't have."

Sid snorted. "Of course I could. What was it?"

India grinned, enjoying the sparks, the flash of real feeling, and said, "My bloody freedom!"

Joe Bristow, tired, haggard, and sick with worry, ran up the steps to
the door of Guy's Hospital. He'd arrived home from a trip to Leeds an
hour ago

to find a police constable sitting in his foyer, his butler white as a
sheet, and his cook crying. Apparently Fiona had gone missing for
nearly twenty-four hours and had only just been located. According to
the constable, she'd been found by police officers in Limehouse and had
been taken to Guy's, where she was currently in the care of a Dr.
Taylor.

He barged through the door into the foyer, then breathlessly asked
the nurse at the front desk where he could find Dr. Taylor. The woman
pointed him toward a short, barrel-chested man berating a young nurse
whose shoes were merely shining, not gleaming.

"Dr. Taylor?" Joe asked. "I'm Joe Bristow."

In an instant the nurse was forgotten and the doctor was leading Joe down a hallway to his office.

"What's happened? Is my wife all right? Is the baby all right?"

"The baby's fine. And your wife will be, too."

"Will be? She's not now? What happened to her?"

"I'm glad you came, Mr. Bristow," the doctor said evasively. "Mrs.
Bris-tow told me that she wanted to make her own way home, but I
wouldn't allow it. I wanted her released into a family member's custody.
I thought it better for her to be accompanied home."

"Where was she?"

"In Limehouse. At a place called the Barkentine."

"Bloody hell."

"You know it?"

"I know of it."

"She was attacked there, Mr. Bristow. She was very nearly raped."

The doctor took Joe into his office, then told him everything that
had happened. How the police had brought Fiona in, how worried she'd
been for her baby, how he'd examined her and treated her wounds. When
he'd answered all of Joe's questions, he asked one of his own. "Mr.
Bristow, do you know what she was doing in Limehouse?"

Joe did know, but he didn't reply.

"I only ask, sir, because I don't understand what a woman of her
position--and in her condition--would be doing in such an area alone at
night." The doctor paused, then said, "Mr. Bristow, has your wife been
behaving at all erratically? Wandering in her thoughts, perhaps?"

"Why are you asking me these questions?"

"Because I'm worried that she may be delusional."

"What? Why?"

"There's one thing I didn't tell you, and that's that Mrs. Bristow
says she saw a man killed at the Barkentine. Right in front of her eyes.
Sergeant Hicks, one of the officers who found her, sent half a dozen
con-stables to check the pub, but there was no dead body. No report of a
dead body. No witnesses. Nothing. They did find blood on the cellar
floor, but the publican claims it came from some chickens he killed to
make a stew."

Joe nodded. He said nothing. It did indeed sound crazy--if you didn't
know who frequented the Bark. Dr. Taylor knew it was a bad place, but
Joe was quite certain he had no idea how bad.

"Sergeant Hicks came back here and told Mrs. Bristow what his men had
found, but she wouldn't accept his explanation. She still insists a
mur-der was committed. You can see why I'm concerned. She's had a
dreadful shock and she must now have rest and quiet both for her sake
and for the baby's. Keep all newspapers away from her. She's to have no
upsets. No excitement or agitation. I have tried to impress this upon
her. I hope that you will do the same."

"I will, Dr. Taylor."

"Very good. If this fails to effect a change in her behavior, please
do inform me. I can recommend a very good doctor at the Bethlehem
Hospital who works wonders with female hysteria."

Bedlam. Joe shuddered at the very thought. He quickly thanked the doctor, then asked to see his wife.

Dr. Taylor led him upstairs to a room on a private ward. "I'm sure
you would like a bit of time to yourselves. Please send for me if you
need me."

Joe entered the room. Fiona was sitting on her bed dressed in torn
and dirtied clothing. Her hands were in her lap, her head was down.
There were newspapers on the bed next to her.

"The doctor said you weren't supposed to have those," he said. "Where did you get them?"

"From the other patients," she said quietly.