he waiting room was crowded, as usual, the patients jostling for a position on the chairs closest to the fire. It was early yet, and Sarah suspected that the throng would soon be spilling out into the hallway and onto the stairs. Despite the chaotic nature of the domestic arrangements, Sarah still loved 52 Queen Street and was determined that her change of circumstances would not alter what she saw as her role here. She felt embedded in the place, bound to it.

It was so much more than a house or a family home. It was a place of learning. It provided an opportunity to acquire knowledge of medicine but also how best to apply that knowledge and look after those who were suffering. Here were rich and poor together, although only the former were expected to pay. Irrespective of financial means, or lack thereof, the treatment was the same: need alone was deemed just qualification. The variety of conditions which presented here also meant that the clinics were the best classrooms and every day was a chance to learn more. She sometimes liked to believe that the opportunities afforded her by working here were better than those of many a medical student at the university.

She was no longer a housemaid, but there were days when she still felt like a servant. Dr Simpson had a habit, when the weather was cold, and as he had done that morning, of shouting for tea and a dish of oatmeal for the patients in the waiting room. Many had travelled long distances to be there and were cold and hungry when they arrived. This would have been harder to bear were it not for the fact that Mrs Simpson was usually serving the patients alongside her.

There were other days when she felt more like a nurse or assistant, and days when she felt almost as if she was a member of the family. She often helped with the children and had become particularly fond of Jamie. He was prone to eczema; the itchy eruptions were a constant torment to him and she was often tasked with bathing him and rubbing his inflamed skin with olive oil. Despite this he was a sweet child; calm where his older brothers were boisterous.

Sarah heard a clapping of hands.

‘Come away now. Let’s have another.’

She led an older lady down the corridor to Dr Simpson’s consulting room. He was standing at the door waiting as they approached, unsuccessfully trying to stifle a yawn. ‘I had a hard drive last night in a carriage without springs,’ he said by way of explanation. ‘I changed it but was no better off and today I feel well pounded.’