Page 33 of The Shifting Tide (William Monk 14)

“Where do you get water?” she asked. “I see no taps.”

“From the well down the street,” Hester replied.

“Good heavens, woman! You want a cart horse to labor here!” Mrs. Burroughs exclaimed.

“I want a lot of things,” Hester said ruefully. “I’ll accept what I can get, and be most grateful for it. Bessie usually fetches the water. You don’t need to concern yourself with it.”

“Bessie? Is she the big woman I saw on the landing?”

“Yes. She would do most of the laundry usually, but we have a lot of sick and injured here right now, and she has learned a little nursing, so I need her to help with that.”

“Skilled, is it?” Mrs. Burroughs asked disbelievingly.

“Yes, some of it is,” Hester replied, again finding it difficult to remain civil. “Some of it isn’t, like cleaning up blood or vomit, emptying slops-that sort of thing.”

Mrs. Burroughs jerked up her chin. “I’ll do the laundry,” she stated.

Hester smiled back at her. “Thank you,” she accepted sweetly.

If Mercy Louvain saw any humor in Mrs. Burrough’s reaction there was no reflection of it in her grave face. Hester showed Mrs. Burroughs where everything was, and the exact proportions to be mixed and put into the coppers. She demonstrated how to use the wooden dolly to move the linen, how long to leave it, and at what temperature. She would have to return in order to help her move it all to be rinsed and then mangled and folded, and the airing rack winched down, the linen put on it, and winched back up again and lashed tight. It was obvious Mrs. Burroughs had never so much as washed a handkerchief. She had a great deal to learn if she was to be of use.

Mercy Louvain was of a totally different character, but it did not take long to see that she also was completely inexperienced in any domestic work. She had seldom visited a kitchen, but when Hester showed her the saucepans, oatmeal, salt, flour, and vegetables, she seemed to grasp the essentials at least willingly, even if she needed to ask a great many questions. Hester finally left to go back upstairs, wondering if it would not be easier to do it all herself than accept such unskilled help.

However, in the middle of the afternoon she was grateful to be able to leave Bessie to teach Mrs. Burroughs how to clean up the laundry, and Flo to give Mercy Louvain a lesson in peeling potatoes, and go upstairs to rest.

Darkness was coming earlier each evening as autumn moved towards winter, and by six o’clock it was both dark and cold. They bolted the doors at eight, and Hester thought with a shiver of those outside walking the streets, hoping for the trade which kept them alive.

She went upstairs to see how Ruth Clark was.

She had been well enough to take a little thin broth, and had expressed her disgust with the quality of it. Hester wondered again how much of her temper was really directed at the man who had apparently loved her, or at least desired her, and then when she was ill had put her out on the street to depend upon strangers and the pity of those who wished to do good. Were Hester in the same position, she might have resented it just as deeply, and with as bitter a tongue. Had Ruth loved the man? Or was he no more than a means to live well? If she had cared for him, had even hoped there was something real in their relationship which would last, then no wonder she was raw with pain.

Hester retired to her room, then she heard Flo shrieking again, and she strode back into Ruth’s room to find Flo standing over Ruth’s bed swearing at her. Ruth had malice bright in her eyes, and her fist was clenched on long black hairs.

Hester lost her own temper. “Stop it!” she shouted, exhaustion draining her voice until it was sharp and high-pitched. “Stop it this moment! This is a hospital, not a bawdy house!”

“Of course it’s a bawdy house!” Ruth snapped back. “It’s a house full of whores-and thieves!”

“I’m no thief!” Flo said furiously, her body shaking with emotion. “I never stole nothin’ in me life! An’ yer in’t got no right ter say I did!”

There was a slight noise in the doorway, and Hester swiveled around to see Mercy Louvain standing behind her.

Flo started forward to attack Ruth just as Mercy Louvain stepped past Hester to stand between the two women-only it was Ruth she was facing. Flo nearly fell over her, instead veering sideways and bumping into Hester, w

ho gripped hold of her arms.

“Hold your tongue!” Mercy said in a hard, quiet voice. “You’re sick and in need. These women have taken you in to look after you. They owe you nothing. They have no need to sit up all night caring for you, and you’d best remember that. You can be put back out on the street to be alone, and there’s no reason except kindness why they shouldn’t do exactly that. So unless you want to exchange this bed for the street corner, you’d better mind your tongue.”

Ruth stared at her in disbelief. It seemed she could hardly comprehend what had happened.

“Do you hear me?” Mercy said sharply.

“Yes. . of course I hear you,” Ruth replied. “I haven’t-”

“Good,” Mercy cut her off. “Then behave as if you do.” She turned away, apparently amazed, and now self-conscious, at her own words. She looked at Hester in some embarrassment. “I’m sorry. Perhaps. .”

Hester smiled at her. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “That was most effective. Flo, you had better go and see to the rest of the women-and keep out of here.”

Flo glared at her. She took it as a reproach, a granting of Ruth’s wishes. “I in’t no thief!” she said hotly. “I in’t!”

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