The Twisted Root

of finality. He would no longer argue with her, he would simply lie. Certainly, he would consider it—indefinitely.
    She knew she was beaten, at least in this skirmish. As many times as she came to him he would smile, agree with her, and say he was exploring avenues of possibility. And she would never prove him wrong. She had an overwhelming insight into the obstruction faced by Florence Nightingale and why she had taken to her bed with exhaustion, fever, difficulties of the digestion, and such a fire of the mind as to consume the strength of her body.
    Hester smiled back at Fermin Thorpe. "I am sure you will succeed," she lied as well. "A man who is skilled enough to run a hospital the size of this one so very well will be able to exert the right influence and put forward all the moral and social arguments to persuade others of the rightness of such a cause. If you could not, then you would hardly be the man for Hampstead ... would you?" She would not have dared say such a thing were she dependent upon his goodwill for earning a roof over her head—but she was not! She was a married woman with a husband to provide for her. She was here as a lady volunteer—like Callandra—not a paid worker. It was a wonderful feeling, almost euphoric. She was free to battle him unhampered ... as she most certainly would.
    The flush in his cheeks deepened. "I am glad you appreciate my position, Mrs. Monk," he said with a tight jaw. "I have not always been so certain that you were fully mindful that I do indeed run this hospital."
    "I am sorry for that," she answered. "One has but to look around one to see the standard of efficiency."
    He blinked, aware of the double meaning implied. His tone was infinitely condescending. "I am sure you are a good-hearted woman, but I fear your lack of understanding of finance hampers your judgment as to what is possible. For instance, the cost of medicines is far greater than you probably appreciate, and we are unfortunate in suffering a considerable degree of pilfering from morally unworthy staff." He opened his eyes very wide. "If you were to direct your attentions towards the honesty and sobriety of the nurses here, we would lose far less, and consequently then have more to give to the sick who rely upon us. Turn your energies towards that, Mrs. Monk, and you will do the greatest service. Honesty! That will save the sick from their diseases and the morally destitute from the wages of sin, both spiritual and temporal." He smiled. He was well satisfied with that.
    Hester made a tactical retreat before he could further pursue the question of missing medicines.
    She had already made up her mind to call upon old Mr. Robb to see if there was anything she could do to help him. She could not forget Monk’s description of his distress, and that was at least one thing she could accomplish regardless of Fermin Thorpe’s power.
    It was a fine summer afternoon, and not a long walk to the street where Monk had said Robb lived. She did not know the number, but only one enquiry was necessary to discover the answer.
    The houses were all clean and shabby, some with whited steps, others merely well swept. She debated whether to knock or not. From what Monk had said, the old man could not rise to answer, and yet to walk in unannounced was a terrible intrusion into the privacy of a man too ill to defend even his own small space.
    She settled for standing in the doorway and calling out his name. She waited a few moments in silence, then called again.
    "Who is it?" The voice was a deep, soft rumble.
    "My name is Hester ... Monk." She had so very nearly said "Latterly." She was not used to her new name yet. "My husband called on you the other day." She must not make him feel pitied, a suitable case for charity. It would be so easy to do with a careless phrase. "He spoke of you so well, I wished to call upon you myself."
    "Your husband? I don’t remember ..." He started to cough, and it became worse so quickly that she abandoned polite-ness, pushed the door open and went in.
    The room was small and cluttered with furniture, but it was clean and as tidy as possible when it was occupied all the time and the necessities of life had to be kept available.
    She went straight over to the sink and found a cup, filled it with water from the ewer standing on the bench, and took it over to him, holding it to his lips. There was little else she could do for him. His body shuddered as he gasped for breath, and she could hear