a glimmer of white whisked past his right eye. In a blinding whirl, he felt something crash against his temple. The last thing he felt was the slime-covered cobbles of the alley as his cheek cracked against them.
“Pick him clean,” the woman ordered. “I saw the winning bidder come up to him. I’m certain he passed him some money. Once you’ve found it, make it so he won’t be identifying me.”
2
The stench of the wards was always a little overpowering at the beginning of the shift. But tonight it was particularly putrid. The scent of excrement, vomitus, death and disease was literally breath stealing.
Two full pails of water and a pair of mops were placed at her feet—the water too clean to have been put to any use.
“Have you washed the beds and walls yet?” Jane asked the two petulant nurses standing before her.
“Whot fer? They only piss on them again.”
Jane glared at the one, a brunette with a comely face and sinfully curved body. She’d come from the workhouse after being arrested for prostitution. It was clear that the idea of nursing the ill and dying was less appealing than that of selling her body for coin. But for Jane Rankin, a woman of suspect birth, an opportunity to have any sort of respectable job was her idea of heaven.
“When you arrived here, I explained your duties thoroughly. At the beginning of the night you’re to clean the beds and walls before you begin your rounds.”
“And what’s it yer doing, Miss Hoity-Toity, when we’re breaking our backs cleaning?”
Jane straightened her spine. Illegitimate or not, she still had a measure of her aristocratic father’s arrogance. “I am head sister of the ward. Your superior,” Jane stated, prickled by the woman’s insolence. “I take this profession very seriously. If you have no respect for it, then you may leave.”
The new nurse seemed to settle her ire, although anger still flashed occasionally in her eyes. “I like the pay. I ’ate the work. Besides, it’s nothin’ but worn-out whores and old washerwomen doing this work. It’s not like yer an archangel saving lives. More dies in ’ere than lives.” She snorted with amusement. “And alls the men want a tup with their sponge bath. Don’t see ’ow this is any more respectable than whoring.”
“Stop that talk,” Jane commanded. “If we’re to make a go of this, then we must adhere to a strict code of morality and respect. If we want others to see nurses as something other than worn-out women, then we must first believe in the profession ourselves.”
The pair of them snorted. “And whot would the likes of ye know about bein’ on the outs, earnin’ yer coin by spreadin’ yer thighs?”
Jane softened a bit. “I know enough. My mother was a working girl.”
“Yeah? Well it’s not the same as when it’s you gettin’ pawed for a pence.”
“I am well aware of that. And here is your chance to make your life better. You’ll see, in a few years nurses will be respected. As much as a governess, or a…a tutor. Now, go on and see to your duties.”
“Whatever ye say, Sister, ” Abigail jeered. “But nothin’ will come of it. You’ll see. It’s just another form of slavery for women.”
Jane watched the two new employees of London College Hospital saunter back to the wards, which tonight, were overflowing. They might take the profession of nursing lightly. They might scoff and laugh at it, but Jane could not. How could a girl, born in the gutter and raised by a mother who prostituted herself be anything but grateful for a chance at employment such as this? No, nursing, while in its infancy, had a long way to go, but already, in the short year she had worked here, it had provided so much for her.
She was no longer an illegitimate bastard castoff. She had purpose. Knowledge. And the power to know that when her other employer, Lady Blackwood, left this earth, she would not be left destitute and alone unable to support herself.
It was knowledge like
“Pick him clean,” the woman ordered. “I saw the winning bidder come up to him. I’m certain he passed him some money. Once you’ve found it, make it so he won’t be identifying me.”
2
The stench of the wards was always a little overpowering at the beginning of the shift. But tonight it was particularly putrid. The scent of excrement, vomitus, death and disease was literally breath stealing.
Two full pails of water and a pair of mops were placed at her feet—the water too clean to have been put to any use.
“Have you washed the beds and walls yet?” Jane asked the two petulant nurses standing before her.
“Whot fer? They only piss on them again.”
Jane glared at the one, a brunette with a comely face and sinfully curved body. She’d come from the workhouse after being arrested for prostitution. It was clear that the idea of nursing the ill and dying was less appealing than that of selling her body for coin. But for Jane Rankin, a woman of suspect birth, an opportunity to have any sort of respectable job was her idea of heaven.
“When you arrived here, I explained your duties thoroughly. At the beginning of the night you’re to clean the beds and walls before you begin your rounds.”
“And what’s it yer doing, Miss Hoity-Toity, when we’re breaking our backs cleaning?”
Jane straightened her spine. Illegitimate or not, she still had a measure of her aristocratic father’s arrogance. “I am head sister of the ward. Your superior,” Jane stated, prickled by the woman’s insolence. “I take this profession very seriously. If you have no respect for it, then you may leave.”
The new nurse seemed to settle her ire, although anger still flashed occasionally in her eyes. “I like the pay. I ’ate the work. Besides, it’s nothin’ but worn-out whores and old washerwomen doing this work. It’s not like yer an archangel saving lives. More dies in ’ere than lives.” She snorted with amusement. “And alls the men want a tup with their sponge bath. Don’t see ’ow this is any more respectable than whoring.”
“Stop that talk,” Jane commanded. “If we’re to make a go of this, then we must adhere to a strict code of morality and respect. If we want others to see nurses as something other than worn-out women, then we must first believe in the profession ourselves.”
The pair of them snorted. “And whot would the likes of ye know about bein’ on the outs, earnin’ yer coin by spreadin’ yer thighs?”
Jane softened a bit. “I know enough. My mother was a working girl.”
“Yeah? Well it’s not the same as when it’s you gettin’ pawed for a pence.”
“I am well aware of that. And here is your chance to make your life better. You’ll see, in a few years nurses will be respected. As much as a governess, or a…a tutor. Now, go on and see to your duties.”
“Whatever ye say, Sister, ” Abigail jeered. “But nothin’ will come of it. You’ll see. It’s just another form of slavery for women.”
Jane watched the two new employees of London College Hospital saunter back to the wards, which tonight, were overflowing. They might take the profession of nursing lightly. They might scoff and laugh at it, but Jane could not. How could a girl, born in the gutter and raised by a mother who prostituted herself be anything but grateful for a chance at employment such as this? No, nursing, while in its infancy, had a long way to go, but already, in the short year she had worked here, it had provided so much for her.
She was no longer an illegitimate bastard castoff. She had purpose. Knowledge. And the power to know that when her other employer, Lady Blackwood, left this earth, she would not be left destitute and alone unable to support herself.
It was knowledge like
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