Authors: Jennifer Donnelly
More plates came out--tasty samplings of vinegary mushrooms,
gherkins, salted cucumbers, pickled cabbage, and paper-thin slices of
tongue with horseradish.
"Feeling flush tonight, are we?" India asked her cousin.
"Very."
"Because of your Daimler investment?"
"No, something even better. California."
India groaned. "Not that land scheme you've been nattering about."
"The very same. And it's not a scheme, it's a sound investment and quite possibly the opportunity of a lifetime."
"Heard that before."
"Oh, come on. Aren't you even the least bit curious?"
"I am," Ella said.
India smiled. She could see he was positively bursting at the seams to talk about it. "All right, then," she said. "Tell us."
"It all started when I was in San Francisco. I was having dinner with
a solicitor there and he gave me the most marvelous tip. He told me all
about this incredible place north of the city. On the coast. Point
Reyes, it's called." He sat forward in his chair, eyes sparkling with
excitement. "It's quite simply paradise found. You've never seen
anything like it. You take the train north to Point Reyes station and
then a trap to the coast. You drive past hills so green, and cattle
ranches, and sheer cliffs, and the bluest bays you've ever seen. And
then you arrive at Drakes Bay, and you stand there, at the very edge of
America itself, only sea and sky before you, and you feel like you're at
the end of the world." He corrected himself. "No, I'm wrong ...you feel
like you're at the beginning of the world. As if it's the very first
day and you're the very first person and there's no ugliness or evil in
the world. Not yet. There's nothing but beauty all around you."
India sat back in her chair. "My word! I've never heard you talk like
this. You seem quite transported," she said. "Have you bought the land
yet?"
"Well ...um... no. Not exactly."
"Why not? What are you waiting for?"
"I need to raise a bit of cash. Rather skint at the moment. Put
every-thing I had into U.S. Steel and Daimler and then this came along."
"Don't even think about it, Wish."
"Did I say anything?" he asked innocently.
"Ask Maud. Or Bing."
"I did. They said no."
"What are you going to do there?" Ella asked.
"I'm going to create the most beautiful resort hotel the world has
ever seen," he said. "I'm going to call it the Bluff. It'll rival
anything anywhere-- Newport, Bath, even the Riviera. First I'm going to
buy the land, then I'm going to incorporate, and when the company is
properly set up I'm going to sell shares to raise the capital I need to
build. I've already chosen my builder. Three years from now--four at the
most--the Bluff will be open and I'll be a millionaire."
"It sounds so exciting!" Ella said, carried away by his enthusiasm.
"Are you certain you're not Jewish? Maybe a great-grandfather from
the old country? An uncle?" It was Mrs. Moskowitz. She'd just delivered a
plate of brisket to a neighboring table.
Ella groaned. "Aloysius Selwyn Jones, meet my mother, Sarah Moskowitz. She has ears like a rabbit."
"Such a good head for business you have. You're going to make some
girl a wonderful husband," she said, looking pointedly at Ella.
"Genug shoyn, Mama!" Ella scolded.
Mrs. Moskowitz turned on her heel and returned to the kitchen.
"Tell us more about California, Wish," Ella said.
"I can't. It defies description. If you really want to know what it's
like, you have to see it. Both of you. I'm going back in a few weeks.
Come with me."
"We can't, you silly man. We have work, remember? And I'm too poor. I
couldn't come up with the boat fare, never mind the funds needed to
cavort across America."
Wish frowned. "Are you still living off that one fund?"
India nodded. She covered her cousin's hand with her own and turned
to Ella. "Wish is the one who got me through medical school," she said.
"He helped me when no one else would. I'm a doctor only because of him."
"Rubbish," Wish said, flustered for once. "You did it all yourself."
India explained to Ella that she and her parents were estranged and
that she'd had to pay for her education herself. To do so she'd sold
jewelry left to her by her grandmother and a Gainsborough given to her
by an aunt. They'd brought her just over five thousand pounds, some of
which she'd used to travel to London, rent a flat, and pay her first
year's tuition before Wish found out what she was doing and stopped her.
"Never touch the principal!" he'd barked. And then he'd taken her
remaining funds and put them in a conservative investment account at
Barings. It didn't make a huge return--she'd had to be frugal--but it
generated enough money to cover her expenses.
"How's that account doing anyway?" Wish asked now. "What's it bringing?"
"Five percent."
"Good God! You're living on two hundred and fifty quid a year?" he said. Far too loudly.
"Shh!" India hissed, embarrassed. The people around them were living on far less.
"Sorry," he whispered. "But are you?"
"Barely. Though things should get a little easier now that I don't have to pay tuition."
"What about your wages?" he asked.
"I don't touch them. I'm putting them aside, you see. For a clinic. Ella and I want to open a clinic in Whitechapel."
Wish looked from India to Ella, then burst into laughter. "You're
going to open a clinic on your wages? And when did you plan on doing
this? When you're ninety? It'll take that long to raise the money.
You've got to get investors behind you to raise that kind of capital,
ladies. You'll need to incorporate. Charge fees for treatment and
services and pay your shareholders dividends. Medicine's a business. You
have to treat it like one."
"That is exactly the opposite of what we want to do," India said,
glowering. "We want to provide free services to the poor. We want no
mother to watch her child suffer because she doesn't have the shilling
needed to see a doctor."
"Mmm," Wish said, biting into a gherkin. "You'll need some angels, then."
"You don't have to mock."
"I'm not. I meant patrons. Donors."
"Machers," Mrs. Moskowitz said, setting down toothsome golden chicken and potatoes fried with onions.
"Precisely," Wish said. "Won't you sit down, Mrs. Moskowitz? Have a drink with us."
"Thank you, my dear, but I must get back to cooking."
"And earwigging," Ella added.
"How do we get them? The donors?" India asked.
"Go begging," Mrs. Moskowitz said, veering off again.
"She's right," Wish said. "Put a proposal together outlining where
the clinic will be, how big it will be, what services it will offer,
what kind of staff it will have--and then start knocking on all the
doors of your wealthy friends. Royal friends are helpful, too, should
you happen to have any. Promise them recognition and if they give you
something, give them some-thing in return."
"But we have nothing!"
"You will. Give them a bronze plaque in the foyer. Name a ward after them. Use your imagination."
"Benches in the garden," India said.
"Nameplates on the beds," Ella said.
"You can solicit other sorts of donations, too," Wish said. "You
could ask a biscuit factory to donate broken rusks. Or a tea merchant to
give you the damaged tins he can't sell. You could ask a linen mill for
faulty sheets."
"How do you know all this?" Ella asked.
"I used to work for a bank. Some of our clients were orphanages. Or
museums. Schools, hospitals, and so on. They came to us for guidance and
advice on these matters. We helped them."
"Could you help us?" India asked. "We could pay you ...eve
ntually."
Wish raised an eyebrow. "You can't afford me," he said.
India's face fell.
"So I'll do it for free. I'll become your ...um...your ...director of development." He smiled, pleased. "How does that sound?"
"Wonderful!" Ella said.
"Wish, we couldn't ask that of you," India said.
"You didn't. I offered."
"But why? It will be so much work, and you're so busy as it is."
Wish's gaze softened. He laughed. "Oh, dear serious little Indy. You don't even know, do you?"
India shook her head.
"Because you are good, old mole," he said. "And I would like to be."
Then he grinned devilishly and said, "But I'm not. It's impossible when
there are so many pretty women in the world and so much good wine. So
you will have to do it for me. You and Ella both. I'll ride to heaven on
your coattails."
"That ride might be bumpier than you think," Mrs. Moskowitz said, thumping down another plate of bread.
Wish ate a slice, then said, "The competition for funds is fierce, I
can tell you that. It won't be easy. In fact, it'll be quite hard."
India sat back in her chair, feeling overwhelmed. "Can we do this, Ella? Where will we find the time?" she wondered aloud.
"If you want to make your dreams come true, don't sleep," Mrs. Moskowitz chided, bustling by.
"How on earth did she hear me? She was halfway across the room!"
"I've spent my entire life wondering the very same thing," Ella said.
India turned back to her cousin. "How long would this take?"
"It's hard to tell. Five years... six... it all depends on how much money you can shake out of people and how fast."
India's face fell. "Five years," she echoed, imagining all the lives
poverty and disease would claim in that time. She racked her brains,
trying to think of another way, then said, "What about California? You
said you were looking for partners."
"If you're serious, India, I'll make you a bundle."
India considered this. "Could you really?"
"It's almost guaranteed."
"More than five percent?"
"Much more."
"What do I have to do?" she asked.
"Become my business partner. Give me the money in your Barings
ac-count to help me purchase the land. When I take the company public,
and the cash floods in, I'll buy you out. At triple your initial
investment."
"Triple? That's..."
"Fifteen thousand pounds."
India blinked at him, astonished. Then she frowned. "But I have to give you all of my money?"
"All of it. You'll have to live on your wages."
"But Wish, that money's all I have."
"She who dares, wins. Do you want five percent? Or do you want that clinic?"
India thought about the jam jar on her desk and about the paltry
amount she was able to put into it each week. She thought about Sid
Malone's repellent offer of blood money, and of how long it would take
to solicit donations. She thought about Dr. Gifford and his callous,
merce-nary treatment of the poor. And then she said, "All right. I'll do
it. I'll get it for you tomorrow."
"Good girl," Wish said. "I'll have my solicitor draw up a contract
naming you as my partner. And in the meantime we crack on with other
avenues. We need to raise donations and add them to the Point Reyes
money. I'll start a separate account for those. At Barings. I'll need a
name. So we can have people make bank drafts directly to the clinic.
What's it called?"
India looked at Ella and Ella looked at India.
"The Whitechapel Clinic?" Ella ventured.
"For Women and Children," India added.
"But it's free, isn't it? You have to say free," Wish said.
"The Whitechapel Free Clinic ...," India began.
"For Women and Children," Ella finished.
"Done!" Wish said. "Now, who can we pester for money? Let's make a list."
"How about Nathan Rothschild?" Mrs. Moskowitz said.
"Nathan? Do you mean Lord Rothschild? Do you know him, Mrs.
Moskowitz?" Wish asked, astonished. Lord Rothschild, head of a banking
dynasty, was one of the wealthiest men in England.
Mrs. Moskowitz shrugged. "I know where he lives. Which is just as good."
Ella rolled her eyes. "And I know where the queen lives," she said.
A waiter arrived with a fresh bottle of wine. Wish refilled their glasses and poured a fourth one. He gave it to Mrs. Moskowitz.
"To the chef," he said.
"To meddling mothers," Ella said, lifting her glass.
"To the clinic," India said, lifting her own.
"L'Chaim," Mrs. Moskowitz said, smiling. "To life."
Freddie Lytton was backstage at the Gaiety Theatre, sitting on a
chair in Gemma Dean's dressing room. A dress rehearsal for the Gaiety's
upcoming
musical revue had just finished, and Gemma was wiping off her makeup with cold cream and a flannel.
"Please, Gem. For old times' sake," he said.
"Bugger that, Freddie. Nostalgia doesn't pay my rent."
"But I really need your help. I need someone to break up the Labour rally on Saturday."
Freddie was desperate. His career had suffered badly from the Home
Rule defeat, and he was doing everything in his power to shore up his
standing with his constituents.
"It's a big event," he continued. "The lefties are all
speaking--Tillet, Burns. Keir Hardie, too. Mrs. Pankhurst is going to be
there calling for votes for women. And that bloody Joe Bristow. This is
his big debut. His first real public appearance. He wants to run
against me in the autumn. The election's not even been called yet, and
already he's attacking me. The bloody papers are eating it up. They're
printing every word he says. I want him disgraced. I want his name
blackened."
"And how do you propose I do that?" Gemma asked, working at a stub-born patch of blue shadow above one eye.
"It's easy. All you have to do is get some actress friends together,
go to the rally, and pretend to be drunken whores. Heckle the
speakers--especially Bristow--create a disturbance, and then slip away.
The police will move in and shut the rally down--I'll make sure they
do--and then the papers will tell the public exactly what sort of person
attends Labour rallies. Bristow and his bloody party will be
discredited. Come on, Gem. Be a brick, will you? I'll give you twenty
quid."