Читать книгу The Way of All Flesh - Ambrose Parry - Страница 17

ELEVEN

he waiting rooms always filled up quickest on a Monday morning, there being no clinic on the Sabbath. Sarah took a moment to catch her breath and rapidly assessed the assembly: old and young, male and female; a chest infection here, a fever there; swellings, rashes, sweats, shivers. There was a general, low hubbub of muted conversation, punctuated at irregular intervals by spluttering coughs and ill-contained sneezes.

One young woman sat with a small child on her knee, his cheeks lividly flushed and two rivulets of greenish mucus escaping from his nostrils to form a small lake on his top lip. He appeared far from content with his circumstances and Sarah knew the threat of voluble crying was never far away. However, his mother proved herself resourceful in having come equipped with a means of soothing her fractious charge. Every now and then her hand would disappear into a pocket and then emerge with a small piece of confectionary, which would be popped between his lips to buy a few more minutes of silence.

Sarah watched this from her position at the door and groaned inwardly at the thought of the threads of stickiness his little fingers were likely to leave behind. There was also a trail of muddy footprints leading from the door to the fireplace. As much as she enjoyed helping out at the doctor’s clinic, the daily congregation of patients fairly added to her workload.

She noticed that the fire was beginning to die down, so she crossed the room, knelt down at the grate and shovelled in some more coal. As she poked at the fire, Will Raven emerged from his consulting room. He took a moment to spot her, crouched by the hearth, but she knew he would not proceed until he had her attention. She stood up and indicated a man cradling his right hand, which was wrapped in a particularly grotty cloth. Sarah had no inkling what was beneath it, but the smell had made it a priority, and not merely because the source might prove serious.

Sarah watched Raven lead the man away, still holding his forearm as though bearing a dead weight. She remained unsure quite what to make of the professor’s new student apprentice. He lacked the confidence and self-assurance she was used to in the gentlemen who called to the house, and even allowing for his comparative youth, Raven’s manner was in marked contrast to that of his predecessor, Thomas Keith. Dr Keith’s younger brother had seemed altogether more comfortable in his position, although she ought to consider that when Thomas first arrived, Sarah was new too, and not merely to the household, but to her job.

She had the impression Raven was out of practice in dealing with domestic staff, most likely resultant of his time spent in lodgings whilst attending the university. This perhaps also accounted for the fact that he seemed rather thin and not nearly as well-nourished as she would have expected. Sarah had heard tell of how driven young men could become obsessive in the pursuit of their studies, and consequently neglectful of their worldly needs. This struck her as ironic in one studying medicine, training to look after bodily health, but for Raven to have secured such a coveted position with the professor, she supposed he might have been just so single-minded.

If there was one thing she had to give him credit for, it was that he was always kind and solicitous towards the patients, listening attentively and never talking down to them. Once again, it might seem ironic that such a trait should be remarkable in a supposedly caring profession, but Sarah had come to recognise a particular haughtiness common among medical men. Perhaps Raven hadn’t yet acquired it, or perhaps it was this aspect of his manner that had won him Dr Simpson’s approval.

Sarah occasionally amused herself by dwelling on the notion of herself as a student: what her days would have been like and which subjects she might have liked to study. She had an interest in botany and horticulture, as well as in the traditional healing arts, inherited from her family background. Any time spent in the professor’s study caused her to marvel at all of the myriad disciplines and fields of knowledge one might explore, and the idea of spending whole years doing precisely that seemed heavenly. However, this was a distraction that came at a price, for although it was pleasant to indulge such fantasies, they also forced her to confront the harsh truth. She had not the means to attend university nor any prospect of ever acquiring them. Being female was also an obstacle that she could not easily overcome.

Mrs Lyndsay told her she would only enjoy contentment once she came to accept her station, but Sarah could not imagine anything quelling this restless want, and nor could she imagine ever feeling a genuine desire to do so. To numb her curiosity would be to cut off a part of herself.

Sarah did not consider it a coincidence that since that conversation, she had been permitted to assist at the morning clinic on fewer occasions. Mrs Lyndsay would assign her extra chores, or find fault with the tasks she had already carried out, and as a result declare she could not be spared. Nor did she consider it a coincidence that the clinics she missed appeared to be even more noisy and disorderly than usual.

From behind her, Sarah heard an explosive bout of coughing, ending in a loud and voluminous expectoration which prompted her to hope this individual was in possession of a handkerchief, as those without had been known to spit upon the floor. As she resumed poking at the fire she noticed how red and sore her hands looked, the skin beginning to split across the knuckles. This was a result of the recent cold weather and she hoped that she still had enough of her oatmeal ointment left to treat them, as she had not the time to make another batch.

Climbing once more to her feet, she heard a panic-stricken voice call out: ‘Jamie! What on earth is the matter with you?’

Sarah turned to see the young woman with the catarrhal child grip her son by the arms, shaking him as though he was refusing to heed her instructions. Drawing closer, Sarah could see that the child was frantically struggling against her grasp, his eyes wide with fright. The boy’s growing terror was mirrored in the face of his mother, who began loudly appealing to the room for assistance.

‘I don’t know what’s wrong with him,’ she squealed, shrill in her desperation. ‘For the love of God, please, someone help him!’

The boy seemed unable to draw breath, his lips turning blue. Sarah could tell that the fight was beginning to drain from him, his movements becoming languid. She looked at his helpless, flailing arm and recalled the sticky fingers that had so recently concerned her. Suddenly, she knew what was wrong.

Sarah grabbed the child from the woman and bent him over her forearm. With her other hand she slapped his back sharply between the shoulder blades: once, twice. On the third attempt, something hit the carpet at her feet, whereupon the boy drew in an enormous breath and then began to cry.

The child’s mother took him back onto her knee to comfort him as Sarah stood motionless, staring at the small, orange, sticky lump that was now firmly imbedded in the pile of the carpet.

The commotion had alerted the rest of the house. Dr Keith and Will Raven were quickly in the room, Dr Simpson arriving at the door moments later.

‘Whatever is the cause of this?’ Raven demanded.

Sarah pointed at the floor.

‘Barley sugar,’ she answered.

Whatever fortitude had guided Sarah’s vital intervention quickly deserted her once the danger had passed, and she found herself suddenly tremulous and unsteady on her feet in the aftermath. At the professor’s bidding, she was escorted to his study, where she was furnished with a strong cup of tea. Mrs Lyndsay had great faith in its restorative powers, but as Sarah sat on the couch and slowly sipped, she reflected that perhaps simply enjoying the peace and time to drink it was the brew’s most efficacious property. The pounding in her chest gradually subsided and her breathing, which had been for a while rapid and shallow, returned to its usual rate and depth.

There was a gentle rap at the door and Dr Simpson entered.

‘How are you feeling now, Sarah?’ he asked.

‘Much better, thank you, sir.’

‘I must congratulate you. You showed great presence of mind in dealing with that situation. You saved that wee fellow’s life, and no mistake. I am immensely proud of you. But I am also most curious as to just how you knew what to do.’

Sarah cleared her throat. ‘Buchan’s Domestic Medicine, sir. We didn’t have a great many books at home, only that one and the Bible. As a result, I must have read it through a number of times.’

‘Indeed?’ asked Dr Simpson, smiling. Something about her answer appeared to have amused him. She felt that she ought to explain further.

‘My grandmother was the village howdie. A midwife and a healer. That is probably why I developed an interest in such matters. I know a little about herbal remedies. What she taught me.’

Dr Simpson smiled again. ‘Hence your efforts in cultivating a little herb garden at the back of the house. I hope you’re not planning to go into competition with me as a healer.’

‘No, sir,’ she answered bashfully.

‘My grandfather too was a healer of some repute,’ Dr Simpson told her. ‘Mainly of livestock but he set a few bones in his time. He was, however, prone to indulging in country superstitions. He once buried a cow alive in an attempt to halt the progression of cattle plague, the image of which stayed with my father and haunted him to his dying day.

‘Fortunately, there is no place in modern medicine for such nonsense. Health and disease is not a straightforward business. It would seem that the more we know, the more there is to know. Always be suspicious of those who claim to have simple answers to complex problems. Beware the foul waters of quackery.’

Sarah had heard similar speeches before and was well aware of the less-than-scrupulous travelling salesmen with their cure-all mixtures. While it was certainly true that country folk could still be a little credulous, being far removed as they were from great seats of learning, Sarah understood that when there was a dearth of knowledge and education, people – no matter their origins – were inclined to believe just about anything communicated to them with sufficient confidence and authority. However, Sarah also knew from personal experience that when all hope was lost, when all else had failed, people were willing to try almost anything to save those that they loved.

‘Surely botanicals cannot be considered quackery?’