William Monk 14 - The Shifting Tide

thinking of those who work in such places as the clinic run by my friend, Mrs. Monk, who treats our own Londoners,” Margaret responded.
    “But we have hospitals,” Mr. Taverner pointed out. “And we are Christian already. It is very different, you know.”
    Margaret bit her lip. “There is something of a difference between having heard of Christ and being a Christian.”
    “Yes, I suppose so.” He was patently unconvinced.
    She scented an opportunity. “Surely one soul is as valuable as another? And to save those in our own community will have excellent effects all around us.”
    “Save?” his wife asked suspiciously. “From what, Miss Ballinger?”
    Rathbone felt Margaret’s arm tense and heard her indrawn breath. Was she going to make a tactical error?
    “From behavior unworthy of a Christian,” Margaret replied sweetly.
    Rathbone let out his breath in a sigh of relief.
    Lady Hordern’s pale eyebrows rose very high. “Are you referring to that place which caters to women of the street?” she asked incredulously. “I can hardly imagine that you are asking for money to support . . . prostitutes?”
    Mr. Taverner turned a dull shade of red, but whether his emotion was fury or embarrassment it was impossible to say.
    “I believe that for the most part they support themselves, Lady Hordern,” Rathbone interposed, hearing Hester’s voice in his head exactly as if she had prompted him. “Which is the heart of the trouble, I imagine. The clinic you are referring to is to help street women who are injured or ill, and therefore cannot obtain their usual employment.”
    “Which is devoutly to be wished!” Mrs. Taverner snapped.
    “Is it?” Rathbone asked innocently. “I do not admire it as a trade, nor the fact that so many men patronize it, or it could not exist, but neither do I think that attempting to do away with it would be a practical solution. And as long as there are such people, it becomes us to treat their illnesses as effectively as we may.”
    “I find your opinions extraordinary, Sir Oliver,” Mrs. Taverner responded icily. “Most particularly that you should choose to express them in front of Miss Ballinger, who after all is unmarried, and I assume you regard her as a lady?”
    To his amazement Rathbone was not furious, he was suddenly and intensely proud. “Miss Ballinger works in the clinic,” he said clearly. “She is perhaps more aware of the nature of these women’s lives than any of us.”
    Mrs. Taverner looked profoundly shocked and insulted.
    “The difference . . .” Rathbone concluded, startled at the passion in his voice. “The difference is that she chooses to do something to help, and we have yet to avail ourselves of that opportunity.” He felt Margaret’s hand close tightly on his arm and was ridiculously elated.
    “I choose to give such gifts as I do to a worthier cause,” Lady Hordern said stiffly.
    “Are the Africans worthier?” Rathbone enquired.
    “They are more innocent!” she snapped back. “I presume you would not argue that?”
    “Since I am unacquainted with them, I cannot,” he responded.
    Wills tore his handkerchief out of his pocket and buried his face in it, his shoulders shaking. He was obviously laughing uncontrollably.
    Lady Hordern looked very steadily at Margaret. “I can only assume, Miss Ballinger, that your poor mother is unaware of your present interests, both personal”—she glanced at Rathbone and back again to Margaret—“and occupational. I think in the service of your future, it would be the act of a friend to inform her. I should not like to see you suffer more than is already unavoidable. I shall call upon her tomorrow morning.” And with that she swept off, the stiff taffeta of her skirts rattling.
    Mr. Taverner was still scarlet in the face. Mrs. Taverner wished them good evening and turned away, leaving her husband to follow.
    “You are worse than Hester!” Margaret said between her teeth, but now it was not laughter she was stifling; it was fear. If her mother forbade her, it would be very difficult to continue seeing Rathbone, and perhaps impossible to work in the clinic. She had no independent means, not even a home apart from that of her parents.
    He looked at her and saw the sudden change in her. “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I have indulged my anger at your expense and made it impossible for you, haven’t I.” It was an acknowledgment of fact, not a question.
    “It was impossible before