‘None of them was black,’ I remark. He says he knows that. He knows it will be difficult – it always has been – and he is used to the struggle to be accepted, the need to prove himself over and over again. But times have changed, he says. People have changed. Does he not have a medical degree? Is he not as deserving of the letters that come after his name as any one of them? Why might he not find fame, reputation and riches as they have? He is good enough, clever enough, ambitious enough . . . It consumes him – as I believe it consumes all of them – and every day he talks of it.
One day I see a tattoo on his arm. I ask him about it, but he covers it up and turns away. Perhaps it is the way he shrinks from me, the look of fear in his eye, but in my heart I know that something is wrong, and that he knows it too. But I am busy and distracted, I have cares of my own and I forget what I have seen.
My life, like his, is one of hard work. I become a nurse on board the Blood, I help my brother in the dispensary, and I act as visiting superintendent at Siren House. Dr Birdwhistle agrees that I should not live in, as he has a housekeeper for the day-today training and supervision of the girls. Instead, I am to offer guidance, to help make the place a home, to assist in their training as domestic servants and to encourage them to remain chaste. The girls respond to their new form of bondage in different ways. Some of them are silent and surly; some of them cry; some are defiant, they laugh and joke – it was an easy job, after all, fucking men for money, far easier than lugging coal upstairs or blacking grates all day.
I am sent out to the streets with Dr Birdwhistle’s pamphlet. I see girls everywhere at the waterfront. I see Mary. She is small and dark haired, her face sad and distracted. She allows herself to be pulled this way and that, like a rag doll tossed on a boiling sea. She never objects. It is as though she thinks she deserves to be used and flung aside. I ask whether she would like to come to Siren House. She says she does not deserve it. She will not come. Not yet. I give her some of my laudanum mixture. When she tastes it, she weeps. I put my arms about her, feel her head on my shoulder, her heart beating in time with her sobs, and I wonder what I can do to save her.
Chapter Fifteen
The moon hung low in the sky. It glowed like a new penny, coppery and tarnished by the smoke that stained the skies above the city. It was rare for the night to be so clear, rarer still for it to be so silent, but with nightfall the constant clatter and movement of the docks and the waterfront had fallen still. Here and there on the river I could see the light of a vessel, a barge or lighter, drifting down towards the East India Docks, or a wherry ploughing its way towards us from the south bank, the plash . . . plash . . . plash . . . of its oars a soothing watery rhythm. Fore and aft the moonlight had painted the masts and rigging of our neighbouring vessels a ghostly silvery-grey.
Dr Cole and Dr Antrobus linked arms as they sauntered along the waterfront. Their voices and their footsteps were loud, ringing on the flagstones and the walls of the buildings.
‘I don’t want to do this,’ said Will as I dragged him along. ‘I have spent the entire afternoon up at Deadman’s Basin, and I’m tired – especially after yesterday.’
‘We have to,’ I said.
‘I just want to go to bed.’
I wondered whether he had seen the boiling hot den he was supposed to sleep in that night, for he had agreed to use Aberlady’s old room. The snakes writhing in their tanks, the rats awaiting their fate, the anatomical specimens glimmering in the dark, globular and pale in their glass bottles. It was just the sort of location he would hate.
‘So do I,’ I admitted.
Will glanced at me crossly. I knew he was about to ask why on earth we were doing it then, why on earth we were striding out on a debauch with two men we hardly knew and didn’t like when we might sit in the apothecary with our feet up discussing the day’s events over a pot of ale and some bread and cheese. But I must have looked worried, exhausted, determined – goodness knows I felt all three – and instead he said nothing of the kind, but simply put his arm around my shoulders.
‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘We can sleep tomorrow. And I’m not leaving you alone with those two. Not for anything.’
‘You went off with Dr Rennie,’ I said. ‘This morning. You were gone for ages. You left me then.’
‘Were you jealous?’ He laughed. ‘I saw Dr Rennie’s rooms.’ He shook his head, a faint smile on his lips at the thought. ‘They are at the very bottom of the ship. Quite extraordinary!’
Up ahead there was noise and chatter. The open door of a public house exhaled a warm breath of cheap beer and coarse spirits, tobacco and dirty bodies. Its light was a sickly yellow-brown, though it seemed inviting against the chill of the night, and our stride lengthened as we approached. We had passed other similar places, but the Brass Bell on Spyglass Lane was louder, and more garish than all the rest.
The room was low ceilinged, with little more headroom than we were afforded on board the Blood. It was a former coaching inn, though there were few coaches that passed down those roads these days and the Bell had decayed into a damp and wretched place, its upstairs rooms given over to whores and thieves whenever business was slow.
‘Dr Antrobus is buying, gentlemen,’ said Dr Cole as he pushed his way through the press of bodies. They were evidently well-known for the woman who was serving beer from two great barrels had filled a jug and sent it over before we even sat down. I didn’t mind the beer – it was watery stuff, and we were sure to be bloated before we were drunk. I was relieved that Cole had not asked for spirits, for the rum sold on the waterfront was the very worst kind, rough and sticky and as brown as molasses, the gin strong enough to preserve anatomical specimens.
We sat in one of the booths, an upturned barrel for our table, rough benches as our chairs, our pots of beer before us. ‘Whatever you do, don’t order any food,’ said Dr Antrobus. ‘The stuff’ll kill you.’
‘Or give you worms,’ said Dr Cole. ‘Or the shits. We’ll go up to Cable Street later. There are supper rooms there that aren’t so bad.’
‘Put it on the slate, Mrs Flannigan,’ cried Dr Antrobus to the beldam who ran the place as she came over with another jug.
‘Not likely, sir,’ she said. ‘You owe me more than enough already. It’s time your tab was paid, gentlemen, or I’ll send someone over to get it, and he won’t be ’alf as pretty as me.’
‘How much?’ said Dr Cole.
‘Ten shillings.’
‘Ten shillings!’ cried Dr Antrobus. ‘I think you mean five, madam!’
‘Make it seven, sir, and we’ll say no more about it.’
‘Oh, pay the woman, Antrobus. She’ll not stop till you do!’ Dr Cole turned to Will and me. ‘You see, gentlemen? This is how we’re forced to live. Rooting about for pocket change to pay for watery beer. She’s salted it too, I shouldn’t wonder. We should be drinking wine, fine wine. Or brandy! We’re little better than tradesmen, all of us.’
‘Now, Cole, it’s not as bad as all that,’ said Dr Antrobus.
‘Yes it is. In fact, it’s worse. And when one tries to find a little free relief in the shape of one of those so-called nurses they get up from Siren House, well, even that’s denied a fellow.’
‘What type of relief?’ asked Will.
‘Nothing much,’ said Dr Cole. He smiled, his full lips red and moist with beer. ‘Nothing they don’t want. It ain’t my fault if they think they’re going to be a doctor’s wife. I never tell them that.’
‘Not in so many words,’ said Dr Antrobus.
‘Not in any words at all,’ he said. ‘They make that assumption themselves.’ He sighed. ‘It doesn’t do to have affairs with women who might have expectations, no matter who they might be. And especially not those who work on the Blood. So what if I gave Mary Mercer a squeeze? She didn’t mind.’
‘I think she probably did,’ said Dr Antrobus. ‘Since she ran away straight after.’
‘The way Proudlove’s sister looks at me you’d think I was t
he Devil himself. Do I deserve that? No I don’t.’
‘Don’t tell me you gave her a squeeze too!’ I guffawed horribly. I saw Will shudder.
‘Certainly not!’ replied Dr Cole. ‘I do have some self-respect.’
‘Besides, Proudlove would kill you,’ said Dr Antrobus.
‘Well, then he would be hanged and we should all be rid of the fellow.’ Dr Cole scowled. ‘I don’t want to talk about him. Or her.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. He pushed them about with his finger, and sighed. ‘This can’t go on much longer, Antrobus. It’s all very well having students, and such, but apart from the Blood, and the dispensary, you and I have very little else. A few provident patients, I admit, but most of those are charity cases. We need some of Sackville’s juicy old women, rich ones – surely they’re sick of him by now. Why can’t he pass them along? We only need a few, one or two that just need to be bled and purged to set them right again. They’re all constipated, you know. A dose of salts is the only thing they need. A dose of salts and a brisk walk in the open air. I could prescribe that easily enough. And so could an idiot like you, Antrobus. And you, Quartermain, and you’re not even a medical man! One hardly needs to have spent all one’s inheritance training to be a doctor just to dish out iron tonic and purgatives.’
‘That’s part of the problem,’ I said. ‘Just about anyone can set themselves up in practice, whether they’re qualified or not.’
‘We need a register,’ said Dr Antrobus. ‘A register containing the names and qualifications of all those who call themselves doctor.’
‘And until then,’ Dr Cole sighed, ‘the quacks’ll keep making more money than we do!’
‘How did you find your way onto the Blood?’ said Will.
‘Me? The same as Antrobus. We trained here in London; Paris for a short while. We both thought of going to India – plenty more opportunities out there – and so we walked the wards on the Blood with Rennie and Sackville.’
‘And you stayed on board?’ Will persisted.
‘I suppose either of us might have worked for the Company,’ said Dr Cole. ‘I thought about it. But India’s not for me.’
‘Nor me,’ said Dr Antrobus. ‘There’s little fame and fortune to be had as a Company doctor, and I’ve no wish to be buried in some upcountry station soused in gin and surrounded by natives, prescribing bile pills to fat memsahibs all day. Not on Company pay, at any rate.’ He shrugged. ‘At least here we have a chance.’
‘A chance of what?’ said Will.
‘Of making a name for ourselves, of course! One needs a patron, and we have Dr Sackville. He expects to be knighted, you know.’
Dr Cole slammed his fist on the table. ‘Enough of that, gentlemen,’ he cried. ‘It’s bad enough that we have to spend our lives on the Blood, we don’t have to talk about her too. Tonight is for sport. Cards, perhaps? Or girls? The supper rooms on Cable Street can give us cutlets, cards, music, and women.’
In the event we never went to the supper rooms on Cable Street, though we might have been better off if we had. Instead we stayed at the Brass Bell for another hour. Dr Antrobus ordered more beer. I paid. Mrs Flannigan brought us a bottle of spirits – rum – at Dr Cole’s request. Will paid, for they were both extraordinarily slow to put their hands into their pockets. I saw them exchange a glance, and grin. After that we left. Cole and Antrobus were both drunk, or at least gave the appearance of being so, for they had consumed half of Mrs Flannigan’s rum in no time. They lurched out into the street, Dr Antrobus still clutching the bottle.
‘Pretend you’re enjoying it,’ I hissed to Will. ‘No matter how much you hate it.’ I had made sure to swig some of the vile liquor myself, gasping as it burned my throat and coursed into my empty stomach. Will seized the bottle from Dr Antrobus’s hands and applied it to his lips.
‘Come along, gentlemen,’ he cried, holding it in the air, a dribble of rum on his chin. ‘There must be more to the night than Old Mother Flannigan’s.’ He took each of them by the arm and began to roar out a sea shanty.
‘When I was a young lad I sailed with the rest,
On a Liverpool packet bound out to the west,
We anchored one day on the harbour of Cork,
Then put out to sea for the port of New York.
And it’s roll, bullies roll, Ho!
Them Liverpool judies have got us in tow.’
Dr Cole and Dr Antrobus joined in with what appeared to be the chorus, and the streets echoed with their shouts. I wondered where Will had learned it, for he was not from Liverpool. No doubt it was well known about the port cities of the west.
‘For thirty-two days we was hungry and sore,
The winds were agin us, the seas they did roar,
Then off Battery Point we was anchored at last,
With our jib boom stove in but our canvas all fast.
And it’s roll, bullies, roll, Ho!
Them Liverpool judies have got us in tow.’
He had a fine voice. I had never heard him sing before – I had never seen him drunk before – and I sensed that he was enjoying himself, despite his reservations at the start of the evening. With his arm still slung about the shoulders of both of them, all at once it was as though Dr Cole and Dr Antrobus were the best friends he had ever had.
‘After thirty-two days at the door of the bar,
The best of intentions they never get far.
So I tossed off my liquor and what do you think?
That lousy old bastard had doctored my drink.
And it’s roll, bullies, roll, Ho!
Them Liverpool judies have got us in tow.’
His voice rose up. I had never heard him swear, or use coarse language. He held the bottle high, his voice mingling with the others as they joined in the chorus. He slid me a glance, his eyes glassy, his lips wet. He was not pretending to enjoy himself at all. He really was enjoying it. I laughed, and slung my arm around Dr Cole’s shoulders.
‘Next I remember I woke in the morn,
On a three skysail yarder bound south round Cape Horn.
With an old set of oilskins and two pairs of socks,
And a bloomin’ great head and a case o’ the pox.
And it’s roll, bullies, roll, Ho!
Them Liverpool judies have got us in tow.’
He shrugged us off and flung his arms wide, standing in the middle of the street, bawling out the words. Half a dozen sailors who were loitering about the street joined in, and when it came to the chorus there was a great bellowing from all sides. I added my voice to the cacophony. I wondered whether we should get drunk more often.
‘Come all you young sailors take warning by me,
Keep your eye on the drink when the liquor is free,
Don’t pay no attention to runners or whores,
Or your head’ll be thick and your dick’ll be sore.
And it’s roll, bullies, roll, Ho!
Them Liverpool judies have got us in tow.’
Will seized the bottle and drained the dregs – not that there was anything left in it – tossing it aside so that it smashed in the gutter. He was coughing now, the singing and the rum on top of the smoke he had inhaled the previous day was not a clever combination. Perhaps I should take him home, I thought. Perhaps the evening I had so casually embarked upon was a terrible mistake after all.
Dr Cole led us into a dark doorway, from which the smells of hot fat, gravy, and fried fish wafted. We sat at a table in a cavernous supper room while a half-naked girl danced on a stage to a thumping piano accompaniment. The crowd roared and screamed. Moisture dripped from the ceiling. Dr Antrobus ordered oysters and fried whitebait; Dr Cole ordered beef and potatoes and some bottles of ale for all of us. The food was horrible, but we were hungry, and eating seemed like a good idea. At least it might absorb some of the alcohol we had consumed. When the barman came for his money Dr Cole and Dr Antrobus were talking to some women at the back of the room, and so I put my hand into my pocket o
nce more.
‘How drunk are you?’ I hissed at Will while the others were otherwise occupied.
‘Drunk enough,’ he replied. He giggled. ‘But not as much as I seem. Merry, I think is how you would describe me. Can’t you tell?’ He hiccoughed, and put a hand to his belly. ‘Some of those oysters tasted very odd.’
Heading back out into the night, we staggered past a basement whose dim steps led down into what I knew was an opium den of the most low and horrible kind.
‘Let’s take a pipe,’ said Dr Antrobus, noticing my interest in the place. ‘Aberlady said it made him see the world in a different light. A more fruitful light.’
‘Is this where he came? The Golden Swan?’ I said.
‘One of the places,’ said Dr Antrobus. ‘He said it helped him to think clearly.’
‘Shall we?’ Dr Cole, who seemed to be very drunk indeed, lurched to the top of the steps.
‘I think not,’ I said, dragging him back. ‘Not tonight.’ I resolved to go there alone, when my head was clear.
‘Girls then?’
‘Yes.’ I grinned, as I was supposed to. ‘That’s more like it.’
‘What about him?’ Dr Cole looked down at Will, who was sprawled on his back on the filthy ground.
‘He’s too drunk to care,’ said Antrobus. He bent down and seized Will’s hand. ‘Up you come, my lad! Let’s get you ready for the ladies.’ And the three of them were off again, striding down the street, back towards the Blood.
It was clear that Dr Cole and Dr Antrobus had been to Mrs Spendwell’s on Cat’s Hole on many occasions.
The Blood: What secrets lie aboard? (Jem Flockhart Book 3) Page 19
