Whispering Read Online Free

he always won, that they had had many times since they left France. She had longed to go home to New England and safety, had found herself reluctantly in Oporto instead. And now, of course, it was all her fault that the patients who had flocked to her at first were beginning to fall away.
    â€˜Closed shutters and dramatic lighting.’ He had said this to her many times before. ‘And the group holding hands, so the electrical magnetism runs through them. That’s what you need. I’ll look after the lights and the music. All you have to do is manage the sufferers, as you so well know how to do.’
    â€˜But that’s not the way I can cure them.’ She had said this to him many times before. ‘It’s feeling them, and listening to them, by ourselves, together. That’s how I can help them. You know it really, Ralph. Why do you pretend not to?’
    â€˜Because I like to eat, I suppose. Look at that pile of bills! I hope you have some idea of how we are to pay them, because it is more than I have.’
    She was silent for a long minute, gazing across to the south bank of the Douro and its busy fringe of shipping. Then she looked up at him: ‘You do not think there might be something you could do? With the town so busy as it is, and the troops and supplies coming in for Wellington, and business beginning to look up just a little at last?’
    â€˜And what, pray, do you think I should do? Hire myself out as a copy clerk, perhaps, to one of those stiff-necked British merchants? You know what would happen then! We’d be done for socially, you and I, and you could whistle for any more customers. God knows we are on sufferance enough as it is. A little better than the sawbones, and not quite so good as the Chaplain. God, how I hate the British.’ And then, gripping her wrist with a hand that hurt. ‘And if you are fool enough to tell anyone I said that you’ll be lucky to live to regret it.’
    â€˜You’re hurting me,’ she said. ‘Who would I tell? I’ve no friends, only customers, as you choose to call them. Yes, Tilly, what is it?’
    â€˜A note for you mum. No answer needed, the man said.’ Tilly was a handsome black girl who spoke the lilting English of the southern American states. In hiring her in preference to a Portuguese servant Ralph Emerson had imitated the British merchants he disliked so much. Like them, he had not troubled himself to try and learn the difficult language of the country and preferred to be waited on by servants who could understand his shouted commands. ‘Well, what is it?’ he asked impatiently.
    â€˜It may be work.’ Rachel handed him the letter, preferring to do so than to have him demand to see it. ‘It’s from Senhor Gomez –’
    â€˜Rich as Croesus. Lives beyond the Franciscans –’ He was reading the letter. ‘Of course! He’s the one married an English vineyard, and the girl died. Some whispering about it, by what I’ve heard. The baby was a girl. They don’t reckon much to girls, here in Portugal.’
    â€˜Who does? This must be a relative of his wife. Coming out from England for his health.’
    â€˜The falling sickness. You are going to cure him, my girl. And I am going to make the financial arrangements with rich Senhor Gomez.’
    â€˜I did cure someone of it once, do you remember? Dr Mesmer had given up, gave me a free hand, said I could hardly make matters worse for the poor girl.’
    â€˜Pity it was a girl,’ he said. ‘Let’s just hope you can bring it off with this Jeremy Craddock.’
    â€˜I must do it my own way.’ She had been steeling herself to say this. ‘If I am to have any chance of success I have to work on Mr Craddock as I did on poor Lucy.’
    â€˜And how did you work on poor Lucy?’ His tone was faintly mocking.
    â€˜I saw her alone. Many times. We talked. I – it’s hard