Chapters (90)
- PROLOGUE
- 1849
- ONE
- TWO
- EDINBURGH
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EPILOGUE
- HISTORICAL NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- Extract from A Corruption of Blood
- 1850
- ONE
There was no reply to her repeated knocking. He must be out on visits, she thought, and wondered if it was worth waiting to see if he returned. Perhaps she should have delayed her visit until Raven could accompany her – he had been detained by a patient – but she had felt in need of air and was gravely concerned about the unsuspecting soul that might currently be under Mary Dempster’s care. She felt a spit of rain and decided she would return later rather than risk standing outside in a downpour. The walk home would be exhausting if her skirts and petticoats became too wet.
She had turned to walk away when she saw Dr Fowler approach, striding hurriedly along Barony Street.
‘Dr Fowler, I wonder if I might speak with you, if you have a moment?’
‘Mrs Banks, isn’t it? You were here with Dr Raven, Simpson’s assistant.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Do come in.’
He opened the door and led her inside. She was struck once again by the peculiar nature of his home. The rooms she glimpsed as she passed them were a strange mix of the spartan and the cluttered. Piles of books, ill-sorted collections of objects. It was a self-curated museum of a strange and solitary man’s life. She wondered where he kept his leeches, the new ones he had presumably recruited to his service. She had to suppress a smile as her mind conjured up an image of their much-mourned predecessors beneath a row of tiny headstones in the garden.
He showed her into the small parlour at the back of the house where they had spoken before.
‘You work for Dr Simpson too, if I recall?’
‘Yes. I do.’
‘You are a nurse?’
Sarah answered in the affirmative. It seemed easier that way.
‘You were here asking about a nurse, weren’t you? Mary Dempster.’
‘Yes,’ Sarah said.
He seemed alert, sharper than she remembered. Not quite as doddering as the first impression she had garnered of the man.
‘Did you find her?’
‘We have been trying to do so but have yet to track her down. The address we found in the Post Office directory was that of her sister. Mary lives there too, but she has not been at home.’
‘She is working, I presume.’
‘Yes, but her sister couldn’t tell us where. I was wondering if you could tell me who she has worked for recently, who you have recommended her to? Perhaps she is back working with one of them now.’
‘That is certainly possible. When it comes to care of the sick, reputation is everything. People want someone they know and trust.’