his trousers and pulled them down to his knees, revealing more bruising and a long gash along the thigh that still seeped blood. The wounds would all need cleaning and binding.
“Well, doctor?” Bates asked.
“You were right to come to me,” Varanus said. “By morning your wounds would have become infected. What have you men been doing, eh?”
The men looked at one another. Varanus’s tone was sharp and accusatory, like a mother scolding her children.
“Shut yer mouth!” one of the men snapped at her.
“’Ey, you shut yours!” Bates’s other companion retorted.
The two men leaned away from Varanus and whispered to one another, though she had no difficulty hearing:
“Why we takin’ ’im to a woman doctor?” the one demanded. “Ain’t natural.”
“’Cos she’s ’ere an’ she’s good,” the other told him. “She ’elped my missus through ’er trouble a while back an’ she ’elped my little Johnny when ’e broke ’is ’ead, so she’s gonna ’elp us, and if you don’t like it, you can clear out.”
Varanus cleared her throat and said, “Gentlemen, though I am flattered at being argued over, Monsieur Bates will need to be attended to, as will the both of you. Now kindly place Monsieur Bates on that table there.” She turned to Ekaterine and said, “Hot water, spirits, and sutures, Catherine.”
Bates’s companions helped him to the table and laid him down. Varanus and Ekaterine carried their supplies to the table and set them down nearby. Varanus began cleaning the various wounds, dictating to Ekaterine the details of the injuries and the steps she would take to take care of them. Ekaterine dutifully recorded everything with a neat hand.
“I will ask again,” Varanus said, as she worked, “what have you men been up to?” When Bates hesitated, she said, “You were stabbed with a broken bottle and cut with a knife, Monsieur Bates. You and your friends have also been hit. With clubs, non? As well as fists?” She took Bates’s hand and sniffed it. “And you have fired a pistol.”
“Look,” Bates said, “it ain’t—”
“It ain’t none ’a your concern!” snapped the hostile man, grabbing Varanus by the shoulder.
Varanus went still for a moment, resisting the urge to break his arm.
“Unhand me, monsieur,” she said coldly, glaring at him.
The man met her eyes confidently. Then his expression fell and he backed away.
“Shut it, Jerry!” Bates shouted at the man. He groaned in pain and waved his hand at Varanus. “Can I ’ave some brandy, doctor? I’m dyin’ ’ere.”
“You are not dying,” Varanus said. “Though I wonder if the same is to be said about the man whom you shot.”
“We was in a fight,” Bates said.
“With a gang?” Varanus asked. “With another gang?”
“No, nothin’ like that,” Bates quickly replied. “We ain’t a gang, an’ neither was the others.”
Varanus began sewing shut the gash on Bates’s leg.
“Who then?” she asked.
“Just some toughs,” Bates said. “Been causing trouble for a mate of mine over by Saint John’s Row. We went to sort ’em out.”
“Trouble?” she asked. “How?”
“They wanted money,” Bates said. “To protect ’is tavern, they said. Ain’t gonna stand for that, are we?”
He sounded sincere.
“Did you win?” Varanus asked.
Bates grinned against the pain and said, “’Course, doctor.”
“Good,” Varanus said with a smile. “I have a strong dislike for bullies.”
* * * *
After attending to Bates and his friends, Varanus sent them on their way with a strong admonition to stay out of further trouble. She doubted very much that they would, but she hoped that they would at least confine their violent activities to sorting out interlopers and ruffians. Once a gang—for in truth, that is what Bates and his companions were fast becoming—it would not be long before they began taking the place of the criminals they had sent packing, or before they were killed in the act of clearing them off. Life had a way of staying short and bloody in the East End, however one carried out one’s affairs.
Things were generally quiet for the remainder of the evening, save for a brief visit from a local woman and her sick child. The child’s cough, while severe, was accompanied by clear lungs and strong breathing. Varanus suspected that the local atmosphere had as much to do with the cough as any sort of illness.
In the stillness of the late night, Varanus occupied herself with the composition of a monograph, as she often did in quiet moments. While she worked, Korbinian sat with her and read aloud from Plutarch. Ekaterine, who could not hear him, reclined on the sofa and read a copy of Gray’s Anatomy that Varanus had bought for her. It pleased Varanus that Ekaterine wished to familiarize herself with the details of their work. Indeed, her eagerness to learn was astounding in itself. Varanus had scarcely seen such a thirst for knowledge before she had joined the Shashavani.
Around midnight the bell rang. Ekaterine stood, but before she could answer, it rang again and someone began pounding on the door. Varanus jumped to her feet in alarm.
Whatever can be the matter? she wondered.
Ekaterine pulled the door open to reveal a young woman—scarcely eighteen, if she was even that old—dressed in worn and dirty clothes. Both she and her dress were covered in blood, which trickled from her nose and mouth and pooled beneath the skin in great bruises across her face.
Varanus recognized the girl as one of her regular patients, a local prostitute named Sally Conner.
“Help—” Sally managed before tumbling forward in a swoon.
Though startled, Ekaterine reached for Sally without hesitation and caught her before the poor girl hit the floor.
“What have we here?” Korbinian inquired, appearing at Varanus’s shoulder. “An unfortunate in need of assistance?”
Varanus ignored him and hurried to Ekaterine’s side. Together they carried Sally to the sofa. Varanus shut the door while Ekaterine revived Sally with some smelling salts. Presently Sally came round, waking with a start. Varanus quickly laid a hand on her chest to calm her, but Sally winced and gasped in pain, and Varanus withdrew her hand.
“Hush,” she said. “You’re safe.”
Sally looked around frantically for a moment before her eyes focused again, and she seemed to recognize Varanus.
“Doctor!” she cried, grabbing Varanus by the arm. “Doctor, you must ’elp me! I don’t know where else to turn!”
