Beloved Poison Read Free Page A

think?’
    I laughed. ‘Exactly my thoughts.’
    ‘“A joyful heart is good medicine,”’ cried the voice, ‘“but a crushed spirit dries up the bones”. Yes, ladies, yes?’
    There was a rustling of skirts, the sound of soft shoes in the passageway, and a trio of lady almoners swept into the yard – Mrs Magorian, her daughter Eliza, and Mrs Catchpole. The lady almoners were unstoppable. Their activities were endorsed by the hospital governors, who had quickly come to appreciate the healing qualities of the Scriptures. The evidence was clear: malingering had come to an end since the almoners had begun their Bible readings about the wards. Mrs Magorian thanked the Lord. I thanked the lady almoners, and their unbearable piercing voices.
    ‘Oh! Proverbs!’ cried Mrs Catchpole, clapping her gloved hands together. That morning she was wearing a long black coat, open at the front to reveal a gown of emerald silk – far too fine for skirting spittoons and chamber pots on a ward visit. She was hoping to impress someone, that much was certain. Her husband? It seemed unlikely. Her gaze swept the yard. ‘Dear Dr Bain said he would be on the wards this afternoon. Monday afternoon, he said.’
    ‘I do not see him.’ Mrs Magorian, the tiny bird-like wife of the great surgeon, was their ringleader. She licked a forefinger and leafed through the large, dark-skinned Bible she always carried when she was about the wards. ‘Perhaps he is inside.’
    ‘But he said he would come. I expected to see him today.’ Mrs Catchpole looked about as she spoke, as though at any moment Dr Bain might burst out from behind a door, like a partridge flushed from a thicket.
    ‘Eliza!’ cried Mrs Magorian. ‘Carry those flowers with their heads up, my dear. Up and proud. That’s it!’
    Eliza glided toward Will and me, a tattered bunch of pus-coloured chrysanthemums carried stiffly in her arms. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Jem,’ she murmured.
    ‘Miss Magorian, what a pleasure to see you.’ I meant it too, despite my more general view of the lady almoners. ‘This is Mr Will Quartermain,’ I said. ‘The surveyor. Mr Quartermain, this is Miss Magorian, Dr Magorian’s daughter.’
    Will gave a bow, and swept off his tall hat. ‘Will Quartermain, junior architect for Shaw and Prentice.’ I could see that he was unable to take his eyes off her. And no wonder! She was so beautiful today. Her mouth as red as berries, her hair curled into shining ringlets. Her skin was white, almost translucent, her eyes dark and huge. I had known her all my life and I knew she was as spirited as a boy and tough, tougher than any of them.
    ‘I see you have become a lady almoner, Miss Magorian,’ I said.
    ‘Yes.’ She sighed. ‘It was my mother’s idea. Mrs Catchpole and I are her new recruits. We are to start off with the less gruesome wards.’
    ‘The Magdalenes?’ The Magdalene ward was Mrs Magorian’s favourite.
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘Mrs Catchpole is not really dressed for the occasion,’ I murmured.
    ‘On the contrary,’ said Eliza. She plucked a petal off one of the chrysanthemums the way a schoolboy might tweak the wings off a fly, and released it into the air. ‘She’s dressed
exactly
for the occasion. She’s in love, you see. But not with her husband, though one can hardly blame her for that. He’s an old brute.’
    ‘Dr Catchpole is very distinguished.’ I glanced at Will, alarmed by Eliza’s reckless heresy. Would he disapprove? For a lady to express an opinion about a man’s character – but if he was surprised by her unguarded comments he did not show it.
    ‘He’s a beast,’ Eliza continued undaunted. ‘He told my father I would become barren if he allowed me to read anything more stimulating than
Blackwood’s Magazine
.’
    ‘
Blackwood’s
?’ I said. ‘How very modern! I would have drawn the line at
Household Words
.’
    ‘She despises him.’ We watched as Mrs Catchpole sneaked a mirror out of her pocket while Mrs