Reaction
Margaret listens quietly to the whole story, not interrupting once, although she does giggle softly when Shirley flexes his muscles. When he is done, she remains silent for so long that Shirley turns to look at her under the broad-brimmed hat and parasol the sun forces her to use. Her face, usually so controlled, is a study in mixed emotions. Shirley cocks his head to one side, enquiringly. Finally she says, very softly, “How lonely. How terribly, terribly lonely. To lose everyone you loved, and then leave everything you knew, to make the life you wanted… and it wasn’t even your dream, was it? It was your brother’s.” She looks up finally. She has recovered her usual tone when she says “Thank you. I knew you were very strong, but not, I think, how strong. I am quite glad you did not throw yourself in the river. It would have been a sad loss, and I would never have had the privilege of knowing you.” Her smile is a little shaky, but it is genuine.
Taken aback at the depth of her reaction, Shirley’s first impulse is to demur. “Nonsense, my dear doctor,” he answers in a tolerably chipper voice. “You are making me out some sort of Victor Hugo hero, and I won’t have it. I am not the dreamy sort, you see; I live day by day, always have. I have my work—which I do well at, if I do say so myself—my books, my living, and Lady Hester to chivvy me out into the world every now and again.”
“Yes, of course you do. Please forgive me; I overreact sometimes. But you do make me appreciate my family, none the less.”
“And now I have this terribly wonderful journey, which owing to events I haven’t appreciated half as much as I ought to do. Look at this, Margaret, all of it!” He waves his hand at the Egyptian shore, barely visible on the horizon. “Steaming past the cradle of human civilization, under the same sun that lit the builders of the Pyramids and the Sphinx! Could I have asked for anything more magnificent?” She looks where he is gesturing. His enthusiasm is contagious.
“Except, perhaps,” Shirley adds, more quietly, “a good friend to share it with.” He reaches toward her to take her chin in his long brown hand. “Chin up, my dear,” he says, suiting action to words. “We need neither of us feel lonely just now. And I think our chaperone is sketching us, so turn her a good profile. There, that should do.”
And by now she is smiling in earnest. “Bless you, Shirley,” she says. “I do need to be brought back to earth now and then, and how you manage to do it without being patronizing is marvelous! This is a marvelous adventure, isn’t it?”
Shirley reclines comfortably against a coil of rope and stretches out his long legs, the picture of contentment. “The adventurous bits I could do just as well without, to tell the truth,” he says in a drowsy drawl. “But the long stretches in between the adventurous bits—I am finding them quite pleasant. Tell me about your clinic, will you please? I left you that note with Barstow hoping to find out how I might help with it.”
Margaret is more than happy to oblige, and settles herself nearby in the whatever shade is available with needlework in her lap. She sunburned when this trip started, but by now is beginning to show slight signs of darkening skin. Still, she prefers the shade when she can find it. “I’m not sure you can dignify my practice with the title of clinic,” she tells him a trifle ruefully. “I live in a working-class neighborhood, in a house that was ideally planned for an office in the front and living quarters above-stairs. I see my patients in the early morning or late evening, as they work during the day, and no matter what their illnesses, they cannot take time off on pain of losing their jobs, followed shortly thereafter by the loss of their homes. They are so proud; they never, ever allow me to assist them entirely ‘on charity,’ but still, what they can afford would never keep me if I didn’t have the support of my family.”
She looks over at him, at a bit of a loss. “I’ve been thinking about how a barrister could assist since I read your letter, but really, I don’t know enough about the law. All too often I feel their circumstances are grossly unjust, but I have no idea if they are also illegal.” She turns to her sewing, humming softly; this time an Irish tune called “O’Carolan’s Farewell.” It is obvious that she is utterly comfortable in Shirley’s company.
“Mmm. You must be careful hauling the law in. The likeliest response to investigation into an illegal working environment is the shuttering of the doors, which does the workers no good at all. ”
“Or an illegal housing environment as well, I suspect. No, I quite see your point.”
“I can do that sort of thing, but it must be done most gingerly. No—I was thinking about what could be done to set you up as a private charity hospital. Perhaps you would allow me to examine your books once we return to London.”
“But setting up a private charity hospital… I had thought of setting up a Women’s and Children’s clinic, but even my family’s resources aren’t quite up to that. As for my books,” she makes a soft sound suspiciously like a snort “you are welcome to examine them, such as they are. I have not kept them meticulously. Frankly, I didn’t want someone like my brother to use them to prove to me just how poor a buisness manager I am.” She ties off her thread and starts a new one. “I’m not, really. I’ve just chosen to go where I am most needed. I suppose I’m taking shameless advantage of my family’s willingness and ability to continue to support me.”
“One does what one must. Lady Hester has been very kind to me, but…” He leaves the sentence unfinished. Margaret gives him a slight, understanding smile and nod. “I rather think you could be free of that, if you care to be. Charitable societies are springing up like weeds in a London park; the trouble is finding them something useful to do. Additionally,” he adds with a swift smile, “you have a certain advantage I do not: the suffragists and New Women among us will leap to your aid much quicker than they would, for example, to mine.”
This is sounding interesting; Margaret lets her sewing rest in her lap, and gives Shirley her full attention.
He sits up straight, and his speech quickens. “So perhaps I ought to cling to your—hm, not coattails precisely, and I dislike the connotation of petticoats. Nonetheless. Your clients are doubtless as scanted of legal guidance as they are of medical. I should think it a convenience for them were both services made available at a single location. Such a combined facility would make for easier book-keeping, which I should be quite content to undertake. And the novelty of combining services should prove a powerful spur to government sponsorship and similar fund-raising.”
Shirley hauls himself up short, realizing his tongue has got away with him. “Well, it is only a thought. The details are the difficulty. But I should very much like to work with you.”
By now Margaret is chuckling outright, but her expression makes it clear that she is not laughing at Shirley, nor considers him presumptuous. “Oh, my! Do you know, I have been thinking of ways to induce you to work with me, and hesitating to presume that you would consider removing to London, or would want to extend our association. And now you come up with the very same idea, and much more developed than I had yet managed! This is too wonderful. You never cease to amaze me.” She bows slightly, and adds with mock-pomposity. “Mr. Addam, I believe you may consider me as a potential business associate.”
Powered by FireStats