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
‘I have endured quite enough of the pompous prigs of my profession,’ Archie said. ‘And though I will surely not live to see it, my sense of mischief is tickled by the thought of their outrage on the day that a woman intrudes upon their so fiercely guarded domain. If any woman could, it would be Sarah.’
Raven was unsure exactly what was meant by this. Was Sarah planning some kind of battle with the medical profession in Edinburgh? If so, was her defence of Simpson imagined as a shot across the bows? He thought the notion fanciful but that didn’t stop him worrying about his potential role in it.
‘Don’t you have any other relatives?’ Raven asked. ‘Surely they would contest such a bequest?’
‘I have nobody else to leave the money to. No blood relatives. Or at least, none that I’ll live to see.’
Archie’s expression was curious. It seemed wistful and yet there was something proud, satisfied in it. Raven was about to disregard this last statement, thinking it a throwaway remark, when he realised what Archie meant.
If he did die, he would be leaving Sarah with more than his money. His legacy was going to be greater than that. Archie was under the impression that his wife was with child.
TWENTY-NINE
arah was replenishing the dressings drawer when Dr Simpson entered the consulting room carrying a sheaf of papers. He had just returned from his trip to Lanarkshire and had barely crossed the threshold before throwing himself into more work.
‘Ah, Sarah. I am currently in the process of writing up some notes for the Monthly Journal on the analogy between puerperal fever and surgical fever, and I thought that Archie might like to take a look at them?’
‘Thank you, Dr Simpson. I think that he would like that very much. Although I may have to read them to him. He is so easily fatigued these days.’
‘Then you must tell me what you think.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes. Why not? You have read half of the contents of my library; you have tackled Gregory and Christison. Surely something I have written would not be beyond your comprehension.’
Sarah took the papers he held out to her.
‘Thank you,’ she said again, and wondered if he meant it. Did he really consider her opinion to be worthy of note? She had indeed read many of the books in Dr Simpson’s library and, she thought, understood them, but often doubted she would ever be able to put the knowledge she was acquiring to any use. In such times she consoled herself with the adage that self-improvement was its own reward.