Authors: Jennifer Donnelly
"Lie down!" she shouted. "You'll rip the sutures!" He was much larger than she was and was thrashing wildly.
"Frankie! Tommy!" she yelled. The two men came to her aid, and
together they were able to subdue Sid. Three orderlies appeared. They
grabbed one of the wet sheets Sid had thrown off, ran it over his chest
and under the bed, and tied it fast. They did the same with his legs. As
soon as he'd been bound, India called for a syringe and sedative. She
didn't want to use it, but she had no choice. He was out of control. His
fresh white dressing was rapidly turning red. As she readied the
dosage, she could hear Donaldson still talking.
"Officers, arrest these men," he said.
"Arrest us?!" Frankie spluttered. "What for? We haven't done nothing!"
"You stayed open past closing time."
"We what?"
"The Barkentine was open until four in the morning today. I had
plainclothes officers in there. That's a violation of licensing laws."
"You must be joking!"
"Cuffs, please."
"It's a fucking fine for that, Donaldson, not jail! You know that!" Frankie shouted.
"That's for the magistrate to decide."
There was a second of silence, then India heard Tommy's anxious
voice. "Don't, Frankie!" he said. "That's just what he wants. He wants
you to hit him. He wants us all sent down. It's all right. Bowesie will
come. He'll have us out in no time. Keep your head, lad."
Donaldson walked over to Sid's bedside. India had just pulled the
needle out of his arm. "He'll have to come with us, I'm afraid, Dr.
Jones," he said. "He's under arrest."
"That's quite impossible," India said, pressing gauze to Sid's vein.
"If you move him, you'll kill him. Do that, and I will see you arrested,
sir."
Donaldson angrily drew a pair of handcuffs from his belt and secured
one of Sid's wrists to the bedframe. "Reed," he barked at one of the
officers. "Stay here and guard Malone." India raised her head. Her eyes,
glacially cold, held Donaldson's. "You will take those off my patient.
Now," she said.
"I'm afraid I can't do that. He might run."
"Does he look like he's in any condition to run?" she snapped.
"It's your choice, Doctor. He can stay here cuffed or he can sit in a jail cell uncuffed."
India, fuming, turned to the officer. "See that you stay out of my way," she said.
As soon as the sedative began to take effect, India had Sid moved to a
private room. She refused to let the constable into the room and made
him sit in the hallway. His presence upset Sid. He was still muttering
and thrashing his head and saying, "They're after me, they're after me."
India, desperate to quiet him, told him over and over again that he
was all right, that no one was after him. She unwound the sheets that
had held him, took off his dressing, and shook her head, furious. "Are
you trying to kill yourself?" she asked. "Look what you've done!" She
cut out the loose sutures and redid her work. Sid tried to get up once,
straining so hard against the handcuffs that she could see the cords
standing out in his neck. "Stop it, will you? For God's sake, lie
still!"
He turned his head toward her, and in that instant she saw such a
look of despair in his eyes that she caught her breath. Despite her
hatred of what he was, and what he did, she felt compassion for him.
"Is this what your life is?" she asked. "This violence? This constant wariness?"
"What's that to you?" he said, before collapsing against his pillow.
When India finished suturing, she took Sid's temperature again. Still
no change. As she was going to get more quinine, Dr. Gifford poked his
head in the door. Ella Moskowitz was right behind him, jotting down
notes as he dictated them.
"Dr. Gifford, Sister Moskowitz," India said by way of a greeting.
"I'm leaving for the night, Dr. Jones," Gifford said. "Thought I'd
check in first." He gave Sid a cursory glance. "Heard about this one.
Looks like he's on his way out."
Anger boiled up inside India. Sid was in and out of consciousness. He
might have heard that. "He's strong. He's fighting it. I can bring him
through," she said, a bit louder than she needed to, hoping that if Sid
had heard Gifford he would hear her, too.
"Mmm. Well. Wouldn't waste my time on the likes of him if I were you.
Most annoying if he does die, though. That will be two in one night and
a damned lot of paperwork tomorrow."
"Two?" India echoed.
"Yes," Gifford said. "We lost Elizabeth Adams. An hour ago."
India remembered her. Elizabeth was the woman Gifford had told was
pregnant and whom she had wanted to examine for a uterine mass.
"What did she die of?" India asked.
"Uterine cancer."
"Ah."
"It was completely inoperable, of course."
India nodded, knowing that though most cancers became inoperable,
they didn't start out that way. Knowing, too, that Mrs. Adams might
possi-bly be alive tonight, at home putting her children to bed, if an
attempt had been made to arrest the tumor months ago.
"You'll learn that you can't always go by the book, Dr. Jones. In
time, as you gain more experience, you'll get a better feel for these
things. Some-times it's more merciful to give patients hope instead of
truth. Sister Moskowitz, I'll want those notes on my desk first thing in
the morning."
"Yes, Dr. Gifford," Ella said.
India waited until she heard his footsteps fade, then angrily turned
to Ella. "I remember Mrs. Adams. I remember her telling me about the
pain she was feeling and the terrible exhaustion. Where, exactly, is the
hope in that?"
"Now, India--"
"This is impossible. He makes a mockery out of the Hippocratic Oath. I
swear to God, Ella ...the ngs that he says, his archaic views ...I
don't feel like a doctor in his employ. I...I feel like a prostitute."
She whispered the last word.
"Wish you were. You'd make us a lot more money. What's in the fund, anyway?"
India sighed. "Fifty-eight pounds, five shillings."
"Quit and we won't even have that. You'll need it to pay your rent."
"You're quite right. I'm sorry. I just get so angry. �Sometimes, it's
more merciful to give patients hope instead of truth,' " she said,
mimicking Dr. Gifford's pompous delivery. "What about both, Ella? Why
can't we give them both?"
"We can. We will. Just not quite yet."
India nodded unhappily. "Do you know that when I was first
interviewing with him, people told me he was a godly man. Can you
imagine?"
Ella's dark eyes shone with mischief. "He is a godly man, India. Only problem is, he thinks he's God."
India laughed despite herself. Ella could do that--get her to laugh
no matter how angry she was. It calmed her, enabling her to get her mind
off whatever was bothering her and back onto her work.
"Who's this, then?" Ella asked, nodding at her patient.
"Sid Malone."
"You're joking!"
India said she wasn't and explained what had happened to him.
Ella immediately went to his bedside, took Sid's hand in hers, and
squeezed it. "Gott in Himmel," she said. "What's the world coming to
when grown men lark about in bed all day?"
"Ella? Is that you?" Sid rasped.
"Shh. Don't talk."
"No chance with you, luv."
"You rest up now. You're in good hands. The best. Just say your
prayers that me mum don't catch wind of this. She'll be over here right
quick pouring so much chicken soup down you, you'll grow feathers. Sleep
now, all right?"
Sid nodded and Ella walked to the door. "He's as hot as a steampipe. I hope he pulls through. He's a good bloke."
"Sid Malone? A good bloke?" India said.
"Better than many."
"Ella, how on earth do you know Sid Malone?"
"He eats at the caff. Him and his lads. Once, a bunch of yobs came
in, looking to start trouble. Four good-sized lads. They pushed Yanki,
made him drop the tray he was carrying. Then they cursed at me dad and
mum, called my sister Posy over and told her she was a dirty Yid. Said
that to a lit-tle tiny girl, India." Ella shook her head and India could
see the fury in her eyes. "Sid was there that day. Eating dinner. Him
and Frankie. He told me mum to take Posy upstairs and then him and
Frankie took those lads out on the pavement and beat them silly."
"Just the two of them?"
Ella smiled. "Ever see Sid in a fight? Never had any trouble from
that crew again. Nor anyone else. You're looking at me like I'm the
biggest fibber in Whitechapel. It's true, I swear it."
"I believe you. I'm just surprised."
Ella shrugged. "He's not a bad man. He's a good man who happens to do
some bad things. Listen, you all right? You need any help?"
"I'm fine," India said. It was after seven p.m. and she knew that
Ella had started at six that morning. She could see the weariness in her
face.
"All right, then. See you tomorrow."
"Good night, Ella."
India returned to Sid's bedside to take his vital signs once more.
There was no improvement. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked
at him, debating between a cold bath, another course of quinine, or
both. As she watched him, he began to toss and mutter again.
"Fee," he said. "Where are you, Fiona?"
Out of his mind, India thought. Completely delirious. "Come on, Mr.
Malone," she said, readying the quinine. "You're going to have to do
better than this. After all, we can't give poor Dr. Gifford any more
paper-work."
Short Susie Donovan, the Taj Mahal's colorful madam, put her hands on
her broad hips and frowned. "What's wrong with Addie, then?"
Frankie Betts shrugged.
"For Christ's sake, Frankie, she's brand new! Young. Clean. Tits
pointing up at you like two horns on a bull. And here you sit cryin' in
your beer. Take her upstairs, will you? You're getting up my nose with
all your moaning."
"I can't. Me heart's not in it."
"It's not your heart what's needed, lad. Look at Bowesie there,"
Susie said, pointing to a fat man who was halfway up the stairs with a
girl on each arm. "He didn't waste no time, did he? You should be
celebrating, not moping. You got out, didn't you?"
"Aye, we did," Frankie said.
In fact they'd barely spent any time in jail at all. Harry Bowes, the
Firm's legal counsel, had rushed down to Whitechapel police station
only an hour or so after Frankie and Tommy had been arrested. He bustled
down to the cells and asked them what had happened. Frankie told him.
Bowes listened, frowning. He paced a bit, then pointed at Frankie's blackened eye, and said, "How'd you get that?"
"Donaldson hit me," Frankie said.
Bowesie smiled.
"Where?"
"In the hospital."
"Anyone see it?"
"Tommy did."
Bowesie rolled his eyes. "Anyone a magistrate might believe?"
Frankie thought hard. "The doctor saw. She was right there."
"Beautiful!" Bowesie crowed. "I'll be right back. You wait there," he chuckled, patting the bars. "Don't go anywhere."
"Very fucking funny," Frankie grumbled.
Half an hour later Harry Bowes was back with a disgruntled constable
in tow. "You're out," he said, as the officer unlocked the cell. "You'll
have to pay a fine for the pub violation, is all. No arraignment.
Donaldson's sending one of his men to take the cuffs off Sid
straightaway."
"You're the cream, Bowesie! How'd you do it?" Frankie asked.
"Told him I'd have him up on assault charges if he kept you in here
one minute longer. Told him I knew he'd walloped you, that there were
wit-nesses, and that we'd call Dr. Jones to testify."
They passed Donaldson in the station's entryway on their way out.
Frankie was ready to open his mouth, but Bowesie grabbed his sleeve.
"None of that," he said, leading him straight out through the doors.
"C'mon, Bowesie, he deserves to be told what an arsehole he is," Frankie complained.
"Frankie, lad," Bowes said, "you and the boys will want to watch your step for a bit."
"How do you mean?"
"Rumor has it that the Honorable Mr. Lytton is out to collar Sid. He
wants him for the Stronghold, but he can't get him, so he'll use
anything at all to put him away. Be careful. No wrong moves. We were
lucky this time. Might not be next time."
Susie snapped her fingers in front of Frankie's face now. "Go on," she said. "Get yourself upstairs."
But Frankie still wasn't in the mood. He was relieved to be out of
the nick, but there was something worrying him far more than his arrest
had.
"For Christ's sake, Susie, how do you expect me to go and have it off with me guv dying in the hospital?" he asked.
Susie sighed. "Will you stop? Sid's not dying."
"You didn't see him! He was bad off. You can't imagine how bad. I
never should have listened to him. Nor Tommy neither. Should have taken
him to a doctor days ago."
"He's going to be all right. Sid's made from tough stuff. You don't
survive life on the streets of London, a spell with Denny Quinn's crew,
hard time in the nick, fights with the peelers, and Bowler Sheehan and
Billy Madden and God knows how many other villains, just to call it a
day in a hospital bed."
Frankie looked down at his pint. "He's all I've got, Susie. Something ever happened to him, I don't know what I'd do."
Susie nodded sympathetically. She knew Frankie's story. Everyone
around Sid did. Sid had saved Frankie's life. He'd been orphaned at ten
and put in a workhouse. He'd run away from the place after a month. He'd
been on the street for two years, barely surviving, when he'd met Sid.
He was a pickpocket. A good one. But one day he picked the wrong
pocket-- Sid's. He didn't know it was Malone, or he never would have
done it. He'd made it halfway down the street and thought he was in the
clear when Sid nabbed him. Lifted him clear off the ground and
practically threw him into the Bark. Frankie prayed then like he never
had before. Not for his life, he knew that was a lost cause, but that
Malone would make the end come quick.