Chapter 7
In the week since the night of the dissected pig, the menagerie of deceased animal parts that had found its way onto the doorstep of the Clerkenwell Clinic had varied not only in genus, but in creative presentation.
Mae was grateful that by the time she had arrived most mornings, the actual gore had been mostly cleaned away.
That had been true since the very first incident, which apparently had been spotted by Mr. Reed's gang of young watchmen as it happened and immediately dispatched to the Tod & Vixen for response by Mr. Beck and Mr. Reed.
By the time she'd arrived the next morning, it had only been to answer some questions to a very bored-looking Bow Street Runner who was almost certainly not going to keep the notes he took or ever look at them again, and a few stubborn bloodstains on the threshold.
Sally, for her part, was annoyed that the deposit had been disposed of before they could consider its viability for reuse. "That could've been good eating," she said, more than once. "What a waste!"
It had, unfortunately, had the exact intended consequence of reducing their flow of people to both the clinic's health services and to the educational ones offered abovestairs.
Mae could not blame people for not wanting to risk inciting the ire of anyone unhinged enough to dismember random animals and leave their bits strewn about on the street, but she resented letting the vandals have this small victory, even so.
Mr. Reed, for his part, had started arriving and leaving later, rather than matching the hours of her shifts.
He spent a great deal of time with the builders who were installing the staircases, the ever-increasing young boys who were joining the cause of protecting the clinic, and a new contingent of adult men who were, as of this week anniversary of the pig incident, going to inhabit the interior of the clinic overnight.
That last group of helpers had been hired by Vix Aster, who was currently sitting next to Mae's grandfather with a ledger of names, walking him through the rotation of patrolmen.
Bizarrely, her ledger and quill were perched on a small makeshift desk alongside one other item: a silver thimble, which perched primly on the corner of the desk as though it was overseeing operations.
When Mae approached her directly, pointed at it, and asked why it was there, Vix rolled her eyes and said only, "It is there because I have to pay for the patrols," which explained very little. In fact, it only raised more questions.
"Do not worry," Vix added. "Someone else will have it before the week is out, I'm certain.
I'm considering Rosalind. Did you know her brother owns a private investigation agency?
And further, did you know my brother's business partner is married to a barrister?
I feel we are not optimizing our contacts here, Casper. "
"We're not?" Dr. Casper replied, blinking, making Vix turn to him and drop a kiss on the bald part of his head, which was surrounded by fluffy white hair.
"My dear man," she said. "I'd never call you simply Casper. When I'm being impertinent, know that it is directed at Mae."
Once she'd swished off, Mae’s grandfather blinked up at her, red as a beet as he rubbed his hand over the spot she'd kissed, and whispered, "Don't tell your grandmother."
As the evening began to wind down, Mr. Reed returned to walk the two patrolmen for the evening through their duties for the night.
Mae did her best not to eavesdrop as she attended to her last handful of patients, but ultimately, this was her domain, was it not? Surely she was entitled to hear how these overnight security measures were going to be undertaken.
He sounded so certain, directing and instructing and gesturing at them, that golden-pink mane of hair swinging over his shoulders.
He hadn't looked at her today, had he? Not where she'd seen, anyway.
He still hadn't really spoken to her, either. Not really.
That, at least, was typical. She had never been sure what it was, specifically, about her that offended him so. Her vocation? Her appearance? Her gender?
It was not that she would change any of these things about herself to please him, even if she had the power to, but perhaps there would be some comfort in knowing why he treated her like this.
She sighed.
Her patient sighed too, gazing at him. "What den of angels did you steal him from?" the woman asked, batting her lashes.
It was annoying enough to make Mae stop wondering the same.
She finished wrapping the burn on the patient's arm and sent her on her way, frowning and rubbing her fingers over her eyes.
"Hello?" came a very posh voice. "I'm looking for a Miss Casper?"
She shook her head, dropping her hands away, and turned around to look at the door, uncertain anyone who sounded that fancy should be on her doorstep today, much less looking for her by name.
She paused, her eyes widening a little in surprise at the tall, dark-skinned gentleman standing in the entryway, looking around the clinic with a look of abject delight, his hand stroking over a silky black beard.
He was finely dressed in shiny black boots and a crisp white cravat and had a glossy leather medical bag in his hand.
"Dr. Govindacharya?" she asked, trying not to let disbelief tinge her voice.
She had been expecting a funny little man, she realized. Someone ostensibly foreign, perhaps in odd, patterned robes, maybe a turban? Certainly she had thought he would be speaking in a strange accent. She wasn't anticipating ... well, this.
This man might have brown skin, but he sounded like he'd gotten his first knee scrape during a scrap at Eton.
"Miss Casper?" he returned, breaking into a wide, white-toothed grin.
Dear God, she thought, blinking as he strode forward, hand outstretched to be shaken. That burn victim would've never left if she'd stuck around for this second man from the aforementioned den of angels.
"What an absolute pleasure it is to finally meet you in person!" the doctor exclaimed, taking Mae's much smaller hand in both of his and giving it a warm squeeze and a shake. "Look at this place! What an achievement!"
Mae blinked. "Oh. Well, yes, we're very proud of it," she managed. "I'm afraid you've arrived just as the day is ending, however."
"Oh, yes, I know, I know," he said, still grinning as he dropped her hand and did a full circle to take the room in yet again. "I just couldn't stay away until tomorrow. I had to see it for myself."
“Dr. Govindacharya,” she said cautiously, taking a step toward him. “I’m afraid there have been some developments that I need to bring you abreast of …”
“Who’s this, then?” came Mr. Reed’s voice, sudden and sharp at her elbow.
She turned to see him standing there, arms crossed and eyebrows raised as he beheld the new doctor.
“Just Ravi is fine,” the doctor said to her, turning back, still grinning with those sparkling white teeth. “Brilliant pronunciation, though.
“Oh, hello! You must be Dr. Bethel.”
Reed flashed him a humorless smile, his freckles stretching over his mouth. “I am not.”
“No?” said Ravi, holding his hand out anyhow. “Well, either way, it’s a pleasure. Ravi Govindacharya. I’ll be the new physician here.”
For a moment, Mae was concerned that Mr. Reed was not going to shake the other man’s hand. His eyes flicked down to it, blinking twice, and his smile dropped. But in the end he did step forward, reach out, and clasp it with a firm grip.
“Reed,” he said with one of those nods that was masculine shorthand for tentative acceptance. “I am part of the developments Miss Casper is alluding to.”
“If you’ll just allow me to close up,” she said, grimacing in what she hoped looked something like a polite smile. “We may converse further. Mr. Reed, could you clear the upstairs? Please?”
He glanced at her, a smirk ghosting over his mouth at that last, plaintive word. He turned without answering and took the stairs two at a time to do exactly that.
“He seems chatty,” Ravi observed. “Mind if I look around?”
“Be my guest. Just do not leave, please, until I’ve had a moment to speak with you,” Mae said, already stepping toward the infirmary to chase off the last of the evening’s visitors and lingering patients.
“I’ll just tidy as I go, shall I?” he asked no one in particular, already bending to grab a few discarded rags as he moved toward the procedure room, whistling to himself.
Mae returned from the infirmary to find the kits already at their sweeping, the hamper full, and Ravi at the washbasin with the metal utensils as Roland came down the stairs, looking just as surprised as she felt.
They had never closed this quickly. Not even when they’d been a tent.
“Ahem,” Mae said, glancing at Roland as he sent his two adult patrolmen outside to light the torches and do a round of the block. “We may speak now, I suppose.”
“Oh, all right,” said Ravi, glancing up as he dried the last of the instruments. “These children are very competent. They showed me where all the cleaning supplies are.”
“My kits,” Roland said, touching Winston’s head as he passed him.
Mae frowned, glancing at Winston and noting, silently, that he still hadn’t sprouted a single chicken pock.
“Kits,” Ravi repeated, “little foxlings, are they? Charming! Say, should I be concerned that you’ve got night watchmen at this clinic?”
“No,” said Roland.
“Yes,” said Mae with a sigh. “That is what I wanted to talk to you about. I’m afraid we’ve been the target of a bit of harassment of late.
I should have written to warn you, but it only really kicked off in earnest a couple of weeks ago, and I suppose in my naive optimism, I had hoped it was nothing but a … well, a series of very similar flukes.”
“Oh? What sorts of flukes?” Ravi asked, setting down his cleaning and walking around the basin to lean against the table, bracing his hands backward against the edge. “Nothing violent, I hope?”
“Only to the pigs,” Winston provided helpfully.
“Winston,” Mae said wearily.
“Is that a euphemism, or …?”
“No, he is being literal,” Mae said, shooing him back to his sweeping.
“Medical students have been dumping animal parts from dissection lessons on our doorstep for the last few nights. It is a sight more disgusting than the graffiti they left before, but it is cheaper to clean up, at the very least.”
“And why are they doing that?” Ravi asked, raising his brows. “When I was a medical student, all I did at night was sleep.”
She glanced back at Roland, inclining her head in a silent plea that he might come closer. “They are medical students?” she said to him. “You’re quite certain?”
He nodded but did not move from where he was propped against the side wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “From St. Bart’s,” he said, his gaze sliding from Mae to Ravi.
“The clinic’s success has prevented the usual influx of teaching cases from the spring symposium, which, I have gathered, is preventing them from finishing their studies and being …
I don’t know. Knighted or whatever it is for doctors. They are upset about it.”
Mae blinked. It was the most she’d ever heard him say at once, and he wasn’t even looking at her while he was doing it.
“Yes,” she agreed, the word coming out slower than she necessarily intended as she turned her focus back on the other man. “The teaching cases issue is a point of contention, but all the attention has unfortunately unfolded in some other unpleasant ways as well.
“We’ve had many surprise inspections and audits from the establishment to attempt to resolve the matter in a more official capacity, and more recently, quite a lot of press questioning our involvement with Quaker charities and Jewish physicians.
That, combined with my own unorthodox background as the de facto head of this operation, has led to a lot of sideways accusations of misconduct.
We fear it is only a matter of time before those become more overt or, worse, official. ”
“Oh,” said Ravi, who was quiet for a moment as he considered what was said.
Mae frowned at him and glanced once more over her shoulder at Mr. Reed, who looked, if possible, smug?
He pushed himself off the wall and now, at long last, strode forward to stand next to her.
She considered shoving him.
“Well,” said Ravi, looking from Mae to Reed and back again. “Is that the whole of it? They’re prodding around, trying to find something you’re doing wrong and ultimately failing?”
She opened her mouth to argue with this simplification but then paused. “Well, yes,” she said. “For now, anyway.”
“And the pig entrails,” Roland added flatly. “And broken windows and so on. We’ve limewashed the walls in case they try to set them on fire next.”
“Ah, well, that’s sensible,” said Ravi, nodding. “What time do I start tomorrow?”