The Way of All Flesh

by Ambrose Parry

  To wit, his attention was immediately drawn to a shabbily dressed man convulsed by bouts of coughing, a rattletrap undertaking which he was directing into a singularly gruesome handkerchief. This bark might ordinarily have shaken the room, but at that moment it was all but drowned out by the sounds of three nearby children, two of whom were bawling while a third shrieked in on-going delight merely at the volume she had discovered her voice might achieve.

  Mindful of the possibility of consumption, and keen to put at least a door between his ears and these intolerable howls, Raven bid the man follow.

  Sarah stepped between them, signalling to the man to remain seated.

  ‘Mr Raven, this woman here ought to be your next patient,’ she told him, while to Raven’s growing chagrin, the coughing man retreated in obedience.

  ‘What is your name?’ he asked, almost breathless in his incredulity.

  ‘It is Sarah,’ she replied, her words barely discernible over the sound of the screaming children.

  ‘Yes, I know that part. Your surname.’

  ‘Fisher.’

  ‘And you are a housemaid, Miss Fisher, are you not?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Then by what rationale do you see fit to gainsay my instruction as to which patient should be seen next?’

  ‘It is my duty to assess those waiting and to recommend the order of urgency by which they ought to be admitted.’

  She had to raise her voice to be heard, which Raven was aware did not make for a fitting spectacle in front of the patients. Nonetheless, some lessons were best learned in public.

  ‘You may recommend an order, but if I call for a particular patient, then you ought to remember that my knowledge of such matters considerably trumps your own.’

  Summoned by the altercation, Dr Keith appeared in the waiting area and stepped closer to enquire after the dispute.

  ‘I wish to attend to this man suffering from what may prove to be a serious ailment of the chest,’ Raven explained, almost shouting over the clamour of tiny but disproportionately loud voices that was filling the hallway. ‘However, the housemaid evidently believes she has a sharper diagnostic eye than mine and is insisting I prioritise that woman there, who appears to be suffering from nothing more troubling than having too many children in her care.’

  Dr Keith turned to look at Sarah, then back at Raven.

  ‘Do you mean the woman accompanied by her three bairns over whom we are fighting to make ourselves heard?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘And whose subsequent absence would make the waiting areas considerably quieter and more agreeable?’

  Raven felt a sudden heat in his cheeks as the manifold elements of his humiliation compounded. He looked like a fool, an arrogant fool at that, and had been made so foolish by a household servant in front of Dr Keith. It could only have been worse had it been the professor himself.

  Nine

  Sarah tramped along Princes Street several paces behind Mina, giving her an uninterrupted view of the dirt that was becoming attached to Mina’s skirt. She was effectively sweeping the pavement with her numerous petticoats. Sarah added the cleaning of these to the perpetually lengthening list of chores that she would be expected to complete by the end of the day. She thought of Sisyphus and his giant boulder, condemned for all eternity to engage in an ultimately pointless task.

  Mina had dressed with particular care that morning, most likely for the benefit of the doctor’s new apprentice, but was perhaps now regretting her efforts given that the man in question bore a closer resemblance to a street urchin than a practitioner of the healing arts. Mina was no doubt disappointed, seeing another opportunity to escape her suffocating spinsterhood evaporate into the ether.

  Mina had questioned Sarah about Raven that morning before breakfast, and she had been tempted to give her a detailed physical appraisal, afforded by having helped him bathe. Having studied Dr Simpson’s anatomy textbooks, Sarah could have traced out various muscle groups on Raven’s lean frame: pectoralis major, latissimus dorsi, gluteus maximus. He was a fine specimen of a man in the anatomical sense. His personality was another matter.

  The short time she had known him had been enough to identify Raven as typical of his kind: self-regarding and prone to pomposity, believing his education elevated him above those who had been more limited in their opportunities. She thought of his arrogant dismissal of her advice at the clinic. He would soon learn that she made a better friend than an adversary, but she was prepared to be either – it all depended on him.

  His behaviour may have been typical, but his appearance had definitely fallen short of expectations. When he arrived on the doorstep it looked as though he had been mauled by a rabid dog. Mrs Lyndsay and Jarvis could offer no explanations as to why the professor would employ such a man, let alone allow him to live with them. Sarah imagined that, whether she knew the reason or not, Mina would likely have an opinion on the matter, and so ventured a question.

  ‘Is it usual for the professor to take on an apprentice like Mr Raven?’

  Mina stopped walking. ‘To take on an apprentice, yes. Like Mr Raven, no.’

  ‘Why do you think he has done so?’ she asked as Mina resumed her progress. ‘Mr Raven seems rather . . .’ Sarah paused for a moment searching for an appropriate word. ‘Disreputable.’

  ‘Rather a strong sentiment to be voiced by a housemaid, Sarah. But on this occasion, I find that I am in agreement. It may be that my brother-in-law has taken it upon himself to save this young man, rescue him from his circumstances. It is perhaps an expression of grief.’

  ‘Grief? How so?’

  ‘One of the greatest physicians in Edinburgh has lost two of his children, powerless in the face of infectious fevers. If he could not save them, with all his knowledge and accomplishments, perhaps there is some solace to be found in the salvation of someone else.’

  Sarah paused for a moment to rearrange some of the packages she was carrying. Mina’s explanation certainly seemed plausible enough, though it was not one she had considered herself. Had the doctor seen something in Raven worthy of salvation? If that was the case, she would perhaps be forced to search for the attributes that commended him to the professor but had so far been hidden from her.

  Sarah shifted some of her load from one arm to the other. None of the parcels was particularly heavy but together they were cumbersome. She was weighed down with life’s necessities wrapped in brown paper: reams of fabric, lace and embroidery thread. Sarah vastly preferred shopping trips in the company of Mrs Simpson. They occurred infrequently and were limited to a few establishments as Mrs Simpson was an efficient shopper with little time for dallying over ribbons and frills.

  They had already been to the dressmaker, the milliner, and of course Gianetti and Son on George Street, perfumers to the Queen. Mina rarely purchased anything there but was a frequent visitor, trying scents and exchanging gossip with Mr Gianetti. Today’s conversation had centred upon a murder and scandal reported in that day’s newspaper. ‘A gentleman in Glasgow has been found guilty of killing his wife,’ Mina said. ‘And what drove him, it turns out, was that he had entered into a relationship with one of the servants. Further, it is speculated the gentleman had previously murdered a housemaid because she bore his child. It seems the girl died in a fire, her room locked from the outside.’

  Sarah did not think the word ‘gentle’ ought to be appended to such a creature, but from her tone, it appeared Mina regarded his consorting with the help to be the real affront to decent values.

  Mina spent her usual half an hour trying various scents before deciding against such an expensive purchase because her allowance would not stretch to such luxuries. She would have to make do, she complained to Sarah as they left the shop, with her usual brand of eau de cologne and handkerchief water from Duncan and Flockhart’s, where Dr Simpson had an account.

  ‘I long for the day when I have control of my own household,’ Mina said. ‘In my present state I am but a burde
n to my relatives.’

  As they resumed their progress along Princes Street, Mina beckoned Sarah walk alongside for a spell, which meant there was something she wished to discuss.

  ‘Have you finished reading Jane Eyre?’ she asked.

  ‘No, ma’am,’ Sarah replied, bracing herself for Mina’s disappointment. There was so little time, particularly during daylight, and she was still annoyed by Raven’s response to finding her reading between cases.

  ‘But you have made some progress?’

  ‘Yes. About half.’

  This seemed satisfactory enough, and her mistress proceeded to probe her for her impressions. Sarah liked this about Mina. She was extraordinarily well-read and had a keen mind for analysis of books and poetry, yet she was always hungry for Sarah’s perspective. Sarah suspected this was because she lacked a suitable companion with whom to discuss such things. Mina socialised a great deal, but understandably considered many of the women she visited to be intellectually inferior, concerned only with talk of husbands and children – in each case both real and prospective.

  ‘I find the heroine courageous and impressively strong in her will,’ Sarah said.

  From her expression she could tell Mina did not share this opinion.

  ‘I found her rather frustrating,’ Mina observed. ‘But upon reflection I realise that this frustration was born of recognising that I share certain of her traits. And what might seem strong-willed decisions to a younger woman appear more like follies with the wisdom of experience.’

  ‘What do you consider follies, ma’am?’

  ‘I feared she was being too exacting in what she sought in a husband, with the consequential danger that she may end up with no one. It ends well enough for her, as it only can in the realm of novels, but the real world is usually less forgiving.’

  Sarah knew that Mina had been romantically disappointed on more than one occasion; promises made and then broken. She knew also that there had been suitors Mina considered beneath her expectations, something Sarah admired in her.

  ‘I have not finished the story, but is it not better for a woman to remain alone than to be married to someone unsuitable? Someone who does not meet whatever standards she sets?’

  ‘That is a question I ask myself ever more frequently as the years pile one upon the other. I would not consider an unsuitable man, but I would admit that what I consider suitable has changed. I have long since discarded the foolish notions of my youth. I think there is much to commend a companionate marriage: a man I respect, whose work I admire and whose household I would be proud to run. I confess that in this I am envious towards my sister. She has all of this with a man she truly loves, and who truly loves her.’

  Sarah was always flattered to be the recipient of such candour, but the feeling only ever lasted until she remembered that Mina felt free to be so open with her because she didn’t count. She would never be so candid with anyone of status.

  Following a detour into Kennington and Jenner’s to examine their silks, they arrived outside the druggist’s. It was a premises with which Sarah was very familiar and more than a little fond. She was frequently sent there on errands, Dr Simpson’s practice always having a need for items such as dressings, plasters, ointments and unguents.

  Mr Flockhart was a surgeon as well as a druggist, and both he and his partner Mr Duncan had many friends among the medical practitioners of the city. They were intelligent and innovative gentlemen: excellent practical chemists who could turn their hand to the production of any medicinal product, and according to Dr Simpson, the results were always of the highest standard. Sarah was in no position to judge such matters, but she had found Mr Duncan to be a kindly man, always willing to share his expertise regarding the healing properties of certain medicinal plants which he grew in his herb garden, just outside the city.

  As she pushed open the door the little bell above it tinkled and she smiled to herself. This was one of her favourite places in Edinburgh.

  The shop was dominated by a marble-topped counter, behind which shelves containing rows of glass bottles stretched all the way to the ceiling. The bottles held powders, liquids and oils with exotic-sounding names. Some she was familiar with – ipecac, glycerine, camphor – while others were labelled with abbreviated Latin terms she could not decipher.

  When they entered, the druggist’s assistant was carefully weighing out a powder on a set of brass scales. He looked up and winked at Sarah, his expression at once lecherous and self-satisfied. Sarah hated having to deal with this one. His lasciviousness was matched only by his stupidity. She wasn’t sure what effect he believed his wink to have: whether she was supposed to be intimidated by his worldliness or weak-kneed in delight.

  ‘Good afternoon, Master Ingram,’ she said, flashing him a smile that was as broad and confident as it was insincere.

  Master Ingram rapidly lost his concentration and the powder he was measuring spilled across the counter. He stopped what he was doing and rushed through to the dispensing room at the back of the shop, presumably to find someone more competent to help him. Mr Flockhart duly emerged.

  ‘Ladies,’ he said, opening his arms as if he was planning to embrace them. ‘How may I be of assistance?’

  Mr Flockhart was a tall man, as effervescent as the stomach powders he sold. He was a great enthusiast for social gatherings and functions, and as such he always had stories to tell and gossip to impart. Mina made straight for him.

  Meanwhile, Mr Duncan emerged from the back, presumably to tidy up the mess left by his assistant.

  ‘Are you in need of anything today, Sarah?’ he asked as she approached the counter.

  ‘Not today, thank you.’

  Mr Duncan took in her weary face and suggested she place her parcels upon a chair in the corner of the shop. He glanced over at Mina, who was enthusiastically engaged in conversation with Mr Flockhart.

  ‘You could be here for some time.’

  Once she had divested herself of her packages, Mr Duncan told her: ‘I have something for you to try. I have been experimenting with a new confection made with icing sugar and flavoured with lemon and rosewater.’

  He held out a piece of wax paper bearing two round comfits, one pink and one yellow, each with a little heart-shaped pattern imprinted on one side. Sarah tasted each in turn. They fizzed on her tongue and flooded her mouth with sweetness. She closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them, Mr Duncan was smiling at her.

  ‘They’re wonderful!’ she said. ‘What are they called?’

  ‘Haven’t decided yet,’ he said, wrapping a few more for her to take home.

  Sarah took the proffered paper parcel and quickly put it in her pocket, reasoning that if Mina saw it, she might object. She had rules of etiquette which defied any rational explanation and which she applied with equal measures of vigour and caprice. The only consistent element appeared to be that they interfered with whatever Sarah happened to be doing or saying at any given time.

  The junior assistant had still to reappear and Sarah wondered if he was being punished somewhere – perhaps being forced to make a large batch of a particularly pungent and malodorous ointment. She hoped so. She watched as Mr Duncan cleaned up the mess on the counter. He transferred a quantity of the powder from the scales to a mortar and began to grind it.

  ‘What do you look for when taking on a new assistant?’ she asked, thinking about the daft lad who had already gained a position there.

  Mr Duncan paused before answering and looked towards the back of the shop as though trying to remind himself.

  ‘We require someone who can read and write well,’ he said, continuing to pound away with his pestle. ‘They must have a good grasp of mathematics in order to accurately calculate totals on bills of sale. They must be industrious and well presented.’

  He paused again and smiled.

  ‘An ability to decipher hieroglyphics is also useful. Some of our customers write their requirements on slips of paper and their command of the written w
ord is not always their greatest strength.’

  He pushed a soot-soiled scrap of paper towards Sarah. On it was written in childish script: ‘Dull water for eye cups’.

  Sarah could make nothing of it. She looked at Mr Duncan and shrugged.

  ‘Dill water for hiccups,’ he said, laughing. ‘Why do you ask about the job of assistant? Do you know someone who might be interested in a position here? A brother or a cousin perhaps?’

  Sarah thought for a minute about her own abilities. She had a neat hand, a good head for numbers (she always checked Mrs Lyndsay’s account books before they were presented to Mrs Simpson and they were seldom in error) and was already familiar with a host of herbal remedies. She looked over at Mina, who was testing out a hand cream and was oblivious to Sarah’s conversation. She thought about the drudgery of much of the work at Queen Street and Mrs Lyndsay’s determination to limit her involvement with the more interesting parts of her job.

  ‘I was thinking about myself,’ she said.

  ‘You?’

  Sarah straightened her back and lifted her chin.

  ‘Yes, me. Why not?’

  Mr Duncan gave her an apologetic look.

  ‘Sarah,’ he said, ‘our assistants must inspire confidence in our customers. For that, only a man will do.’

  Ten

  In a few short days, Raven had become accustomed to journeying to the Old Town in Dr Simpson’s carriage, a luxury which spared him from (or perhaps merely deferred) the anxiety besetting him now. His duties as Simpson’s apprentice also involved assisting with the professor’s lectures at the university, and on this occasion he was having to make his way there in advance, in order to prepare a practical demonstration while the doctor attended a case out in Balerno.