He brought the spoon to the girl’s mouth. “She’s too dehydrated and won’t rouse to drink. Our best hope is to administer the acetozone every ten to fifteen minutes.”

With surprising tenderness, he tipped the contents between her lips. He watched the pale, unresponsive face for a long moment before holding out the spoon and brown bottle to Mercy.

She took the items hesitantly. “Sir?”

“You may administer the next dose when I tell you it is time. Meanwhile, I shall prepare an enema for her.”

Mercy nodded.

He crossed the room and searched in the chest again. Then he laid out a syringe and catheter and began mixing a solution from a number of bottles. From the fine cut of his garments to the way he held himself, she could see he was a gentleman. But strangely his face and arms were as sun-bronzed as a dockhand’s.

Perhaps he’d recently returned from India or Africa or one of the other tropical colonies. She’d heard such places were blissfully warm all the year long. Those were the kinds of places that occupied her dreams during the winter, when they had only enough coal to keep from freezing to death but never enough to be warm.

“You’re new to the dispensary, sir?” she asked, letting her curiosity get the better of her as usual.

“No.” His stir stick clanked against the glass container as he swirled the cloudy liquid. “I’m only helping Dr. Bates for a few days now and then while I’m in town.”

“Oh, Dr. Bates. Now, he’s a right fine gent.” Not only didn’t he charge her for his treatments, but he was always kind and offering her helpful advice.

She swished the contents of the brown bottle. How much would this new doctor charge her today? Would the offer of her shoes be enough? They were the last thing she owned of any value. She’d long since pawned the rest of her possessions. Would she, like some of the women she knew, have to start trading favors for what she needed?

The very idea repulsed her. But as she ran a finger along Clara’s delicate nose and traced the outline of her face to her chin, she could begin to understand what drove some women to such desperate measures.

Mercy glanced at the doctor and caught him staring at her. She half expected he’d read her thoughts, that she’d see lewd calculation in his eyes the same that she’d seen in Tom Kilkenny’s eyes when he’d told her she could be a serving wench in his pub. She knew as well as everybody else that Tom’s wenches did more than hand out mugs of beer.

She’d told Tom she’d rather go to the workhouse.