Beloved Poison Read Online Free Page A

assisting Dr Magorian this afternoon,’ interrupted Dr Graves.
    ‘Quite so, Richard,’ said Dr Bain, patting Dr Graves on the shoulder. ‘I hope you might also—’
    ‘I think not.’ Dr Graves’s voice was sharp. He gave a thin smile. ‘What is it this time? Using maggots to clean a wound? Scrubbing the operating table with carbolic like a cabin boy? And you need not
pat
me, sir, as though I were a dog to be pacified.’
    Dr Bain looked surprised. ‘I’m sorry, I—’
    ‘Yes, yes, you
say
you are sorry. One day perhaps you will be.’ Dr Graves shook his head, and turned to Will Quartermain. ‘This is Dr Bain,’ he said. ‘Dr Bain, this is Mr Quartermain – he represents our nemesis.’
    ‘The railway company, yes, I know. Welcome amongst us, Mr Quartermain.’ Dr Bain shook Will by the hand. ‘Come to pull us down, I hope? Can’t happen too soon.’
    Dr Magorian, suddenly finding himself eclipsed, spoke up irritably. ‘Well, Dr Bain,’ he said. ‘What is it this time? I’m hoping for a quick excision. Under fifty-five seconds, if possible. I don’t want to be hindered.’
    ‘A new idea, sir,’ said Dr Bain. ‘Simple measures, but ones that should make all the difference. No hindrance at all.’
    ‘In the operating theatre? During the procedure?’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘Well.’ Dr Magorian looked thoughtful. He waited for the students to fall silent before he answered. ‘Come along and we will see what you have.’
    ‘Dr Magorian, I must insist—’ Dr Graves’s pale cheeks darkened with indignation.
    ‘Must you, Graves?’ Dr Magorian sighed. ‘Give the fellow a chance, eh?’
    ‘Thank you, sir.’ Dr Bain inclined his head. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must prepare.’
    He bounded off to where the laundry girl waited with a bundle of clean washing. Her arms were bare, her cheeks ruddy from the warmth of the ironing room. The neck of her dress was open, and her flesh was pink and white beneath it. I could not hear what he said as he bent his head to hers, but she nodded, and leaned back against the wall, smiling lazily as she offered him her pile of folded linens. I could see Dr Bain’s hands amongst the laundry. Partly concealed by his bundle, Dr Bain tweaked the girl’s nipple through her bodice. I saw her gasp and blush, and then he had taken the linen, and was carrying it off towards the operating theatre.
    The exchange had been quick, and furtive. But not quick and furtive enough, for it was clear that Mrs Catchpole, desperate and vigilant in the shadows, had seen it too. She staggered back, her hand to her breast as if reeling from a pistol shot. I saw her face crumple in anguish, stunned by his betrayal. Had she really thought she was the only one? She stumbled out of the doorway, calling his name. ‘Dr Bain!’ But her voice caught in her throat and he did not turn around. At the same moment her husband, Dr Catchpole, emerged from the library. He wore a long dark cape, like a European aristocrat, as though he were going to the opera, rather than the operating theatre. Above its tall collar his face was tragic. Mrs Catchpole took one look at him, and fled back into the shadows.
    ‘Two o’clock,’ muttered Will, as Dr Magorian and his followers walked on. ‘Two o’clock.’
    ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Still, it gives us a bit of time for me to show you the place.’ I looked about. Where should I start? The brewery? The laundry room? The cook house? Such dull places. The post-operative ward, with its stink of pus and gangrene? Or the general ward, perhaps? The general ward offered less of an olfactory assault than some of the other wards, though it was still suffocating with the reek of dirty bedding, recently emptied chamber pots and exhaled breath. As an apprentice on the wards I had quickly learned to breathe through my mouth, as one could hardly mince between the beds with a clove-stuck orange held to one’s nose, though I generally disliked doing this as there was always