Chapter Seventeen
Lady Alice paused outside the door, taking in the faint creak of boards above her head and the old musty smells that clung stubbornly to the walls.
The house still bore the scars of neglect, with cracks running down the plaster, and a faint draft sneaking in through ill-fitted windows, but it was hers.
Or, at least, her father’s, even if he didn’t know about it.
Here the poor and forgotten of London could seek medical help.
The need was great, and Alice knew it would not be long before they were overrun. She pulled her gloves tighter, reminding herself she shouldn’t be anxious because this was the path she had chosen.
Opening the door, she stepped into the first treatment room, and the only one so far properly arranged to take patients.
Whitewash had brightened the walls. Buckets and basins stood in a clean line beneath the window, and the little iron stove threw out heat.
On the tray sat a neat array of instruments that she now knew the names of, as Doctor Hammond had explained them and their purposes.
Alice refused to look too closely at the bone saw.
“We have had our first patients, my lady.”
“So I understand, Doctor Hammond. The waiting room is currently filling up.”
Tall and most often grave, the doctor’s dark coat was immaculate despite the dust that settled over everything in the East End, and he was busy washing his hands.
His spectacles glinted in the dim light, and his voice carried the tones of a man raised in better surroundings than these.
Yet, like her, he was compelled to do better for those who had no one.
“Excellent,” Alice said, forcing her shoulders down from her ears. “If we are missing any supplies, please let me know at once. I want nothing to delay your work.”
He nodded. “I am attempting to secure the services of another physician, one I think will suit the nature of this place. I shall inform you when he has agreed.”
Alice studied him a moment. Dr. Hammond was the picture of composure.
Yet his eyes betrayed something deeper, a steady determination that no polish of manners could hide.
Alice knew he treated both Mayfair’s wealthy and the East End’s destitute.
Most men of his profession would never dream of dirtying their hands in such a place as the one Alice had set up, but he had said it was his calling to do so.
“Excellent,” she repeated again as he dried his hands. “Send word when you know the time for a meeting, and I shall endeavor to find you more staff also.” She then excused herself, leaving the man to get on with what needed to be done.
The house had once belonged to a merchant who’d lost everything to debt.
Large and old, it had been left to rot until she’d secured the lease.
The first time she walked through with Ezra and Maggie, dust lay like a thick carpet on the floors, and damp darkened the walls.
It was still far from finished, but the clinic was at least ready to take patients now.
The second floor, scrubbed and whitewashed, held the waiting room and two treatment rooms. One day soon, the third floor would be a ward with beds for patients too ill to return to slums and alleys.
But for that, she would need more staff.
Always more, Alice thought. More bandages, more laudanum, more coal, more food.
If she could convince others like Eloise and Thaddeus to help her cause, then perhaps this would not be the only clinic for those in need.
She descended the staircase, trailing her fingers along a once grand banister, now worn smooth with age. From below drifted coughs, the shuffle of boots, the murmur of voices, and a baby’s thin, fretful cry from the waiting room. Alice entered.
The space was already crowded. Patients seated along the far wall, each looking as though life had taken more than it returned.
A woman with a hacking cough bent over a child whose flushed face spoke of fever.
An old man leaned heavily on a stick, eyes glazed with pain and the kind of weariness that lived in the bones.
A boy, no more than ten, cradled a swollen hand against his chest, the knuckles puffy.
Alice’s heart squeezed. So many, and this was only the first morning. “The doctor will see you soon,” she told the old man. “We’ve a chair by the stove if you’re cold,” she then told the little boy and the woman, guiding her a step closer to the heat.
She crouched before the boy with the swollen hand. “How did this happen?”
“Barrow wheel,” he muttered. “I’m fine.”
“You are very brave,” Alice said. “But I think you shall be braver still if you let Dr. Hammond bind it, and I will ensure you have a slice of bread after, as a reward.”
At the promise, his gaze flicked to her face, suspicious. She stood, remembering her own breakfast of toast and preserves. Alice had eaten until her belly was full. Had this boy ever done that? It was then she heard the voices, low whispers from behind her.
“Madam said one of them gave a fake name,” a woman said.
“They’ve made her and Gideon uneasy. Even two weeks on, they’re still nervous.
Especially since one of them stole his ledger.
We must make certain no one knows they spoke to us, Molly.
But this could be our chance to put a bit aside. For when we need it.”
Alice’s head turned fractionally, her ears straining.
Two women sat near the door, close together in dresses patched with bright ribbons meant to distract from their worn hems. The taller wore a smudge of rouge on her cheeks.
The other, round-faced with yellow ribbons, twisted her shawl between nervous fingers until the wool squeaked.
“I asked Mary about the man who attacked her,” the first woman continued. “She didn’t name Kenneth Jackson, but it’s him, I swear. Matches the description the gent gave us when he came to our rooms two weeks ago and offered to give us money for information.”
Alice’s pulse kicked. Kenneth Jackson.
“He was a right handsome one,” the second said. “All three of them were, but that one had the look of trouble in his eyes if you ask me.”
“All hell broke loose downstairs when they walked in, so Neil told me,” the first said. “They tried to hide it, but they were definitely noblemen to my mind. Madam and Gideon are fuming, and want answers, so we need to be careful.”
Noblemen. Alice’s breath caught. Could it be Lords Stafford, Hamilton, and Corbyn they spoke of? Were these women from the Crimson Serpent that Huckle had talked about? The thought struck like cold water. Betrayal stung.
The agreement she and Lord Stafford had, had been clear.
They would tell each other everything concerning Jackson.
No secrets. No private investigations. The danger was too great otherwise.
Yet surely here was proof he had gone behind her back, if she could confirm it.
Two weeks ago, the woman had said, they’d entered that brothel, and Lord Stafford had neither approached Alice nor sent word, if indeed it was him.
She crossed to the women, with a polite smile even though her heart thundered. She needed more proof. “Good morning, ladies.”
Both startled, their eyes widening before they scrambled to their feet, dropping untidy curtsies. Their perfume was so strong it stung her nose.
“Are you here to see the doctor?” Alice asked.
“We are, my lady,” the taller one said. “Molly’s got an awful earache.”
Alice’s gaze softened despite herself. “Then he shall see you soon. In the meantime…” She let the pause hang, then lowered her voice. “I overheard you mention Kenneth Jackson. And a gentleman who wished you to send word if you came by any information.”
They froze, and fear flickered across their faces. Their eyes darted to one another, then back to her.
“Do not be afraid,” Alice said, gentling her tone. “One of the noblemen you spoke of, I’m quite sure, is my friend. We are investigating the man, Jackson, together.”
Molly licked her lips. “Your friend?”
“You can trust me. Can you tell me what he asked of you?”
The round-faced girl twisted her shawl again. “He wanted to know if any of our girls ever saw a man named Kenneth Jackson. Said to send word if we did. That’s all. Honest, my lady. He paid us a sovereign and said to be careful.”
“Did he describe Jackson to you?” Alice pressed.
“Aye,” Molly said with a little shiver. “Mary swore that was the man who hurt her. Wouldn’t give a name, but… it was him. He hurt another, too. A new girl, but we were told to keep our mouths shut, or we’d be sent packing.”
Alice knew what Kenneth Jackson was capable of. The ledger… a record of clients? Debts? Blackmail? If Stafford had stolen it, the danger to anyone named within those pages would be a fuse already lit.
“And do you ladies work in the Crimson Serpent?”
They both nodded.
She drew a coin from her reticule and pressed it into Molly’s hand. “Thank you for telling me. And I promise my friend will not mind.”
“Is he your beau?” Molly asked, clutching the money. “He’s a handsome one, if he is.”
“No,” Alice said too quickly. “We are only friends.”
Someone let out a hacking cough, and a child whimpered. Dr. Hammond then appeared in the doorway, spectacles askew, and beckoned the two women she’d been speaking with forward. “Next, if you please.”
Alice stepped back to let them pass, and then turned away, the stiff smile on her face falling the moment they were out of sight. Walking out into the hallway, she sank onto a bench.
Her fingers curled into fists. Stafford had lied to her. Not in words, perhaps, but in silence. Their pact had been to share everything, and he’d broken it. If he could not trust her with his actions, how could she trust him at all?
A shadow fell across her. Ezra stood there looking down at her, frowning. “Is all well, my lady?”
“As well as it can be,” she said. “We shall need more liniment, more vinegar, more everything. And a better lock on the rear door.”
“I’ll see to it.” He hesitated. “You look pale. Sit a moment longer.”
“I cannot,” she said, standing despite the tremor in her knees. “If I stop, I shall not start again.”
They found Maggie in the kitchens, sleeves rolled up, head bent over a list while the cook they’d employed scowled at a sack of potatoes as if it had personally insulted him.
Alice had made the decision that meals would be served to those who were hungry here.
She had hired Tom Bibbs to cook for them, because he’d been recommended to her.
The man was crotchety on his good days, but the meal he’d cooked for her tasted better than anything her own cook prepared—not that she’d be mentioning that to anyone—so she’d hired him.
Between them they then discussed deliveries, the price of coal, the astonishing greed of the coal merchant, and whether they could stretch the bread by mixing in boiled oats. The practicalities steadied Alice. She was good at this. Organizing was her strength.
After saying goodbye to Doctor Hammond an hour later, she collected her maid and cloak, then stepped outside. A fine mist of rain had settled over London. Climbing into the carriage, Alice fell on the seat, suddenly weary.
“Well, the clinic is coming along, my lady,” Maggie said once they were rolling, her tone brisk. “Better every day.”
“Indeed. I am pleased with the progress,” Alice murmured, watching narrow lanes change into wider streets as they moved west. She had trusted Lord Stafford because, like her brother, he had suffered.
She had believed that together they would track down Jackson.
It seemed she was wrong. He had been hiding things from her.
The visit to the Crimson Serpent, the questions, the ledger.
It had to be him who had taken it, and he’d told her nothing now two weeks on.
Heat prickled behind her eyes, but Alice blinked the tears away. She’d wanted to trust him because she had needed that. Needed to believe she was not alone.
You can trust no one but yourself, Alice.
No one but those who have already tied their fate to yours.
Ezra, Maggie, Dr. Hammond. Lord Stafford was like every other nobleman in the end, no matter how good his mouth felt pressed to hers, which she should absolutely not be remembering when she was furious with him.
Like the other men in her life, he believed she was beneath him, and of no consequence.
Alice had been wrong in thinking he was different.
She pressed her back into the carriage seat and folded her hands in her lap so tightly her knuckles ached. If Stafford thought to keep her in ignorance, he was mistaken. She had survived worse than his betrayal. She would learn what she needed to alone, and then use it to find Kenneth Jackson.
Outside, the rain ran in rivulets now across the glass. Her reflection looked back at her, pale and resolute, a woman Lord Stafford would underestimate at his peril.