But he is a doctor; it may be all right.
The matron announces the first patient's name. "Mrs. Thorpe."
Without greeting Mrs. Thorpe, the doctor makes a quick check of her tongue and pulse. Then he turns to the matron.
She reports that Mrs. Thorpe is eating and sleeping well, is in good health, and behaves in a quiet and orderly manner.
How does she know all this?
I suppose she gets her information from Weeks. She doesn't tell him that Mrs. Thorpe makes baby clothes all the time for the baby she isn't going to have. I heard Weeks telling Eliza about her. But maybe the doctor knows already. He doesn't ask any questions. Mrs. Thorpe doesn't say anything. She clasps her hands in front of her and keeps her eyes on the floor. Only the matron speaks.
"Continue with the treatment?"
Like an echo, Dr. Bull agrees. "Continue with the treatment."
He moves on. He hasn't asked to look at a file and his bag has stayed shut.
The pattern is the same at the next bed. I can feel myself tensing with annoyance. These poor people deserve better than this.
The routine is disturbed when Miss Coles grips the doctor's hand and won't let go. "Oh, Doctor, I'm so sad today. You can't think how miserable I am. It's my own fault I know, I've been so wicked. I deserve to be punished. Don't you think so?"
The doctor doesn't answer. His face reddens.
The matron says, sharply, "Let go of the doctor's hand now." And when the hand is reluctantly released, she says to Dr. Bull, "Dover's powder?"
The doctor coughs and says, "Ah yes, Dover's powder, three times a day." He nods at the matron and they move on.
It's an opiate, a sedative. They must want to quieten her down.
Being nearest the door, I'm last. I brace myself as they approach. At that moment Miss Coles darts across the room and falling on her knees, she seizes the doctor's hand again and cries out piteously, "Oh, Doctor, help me."
My heart goes out to her, but I keep my eyes on Dr. Bull. This is my chance.
Matron nods at Weeks who pulls Miss Coles away. "You mustn't bother the doctor." She jerks Miss Coles to her feet and back to her side of the room.
The doctor tugs at his sleeves clearly embarrassed by this episode. The matron announces, "This is our new resident—ah, Miss Childs?" She looks at Weeks for confirmation and Weeks nods.
Immediately I say, "Doctor, I am not Miss Childs, I am Louisa Cosgrove. And I shouldn't be here."
Dr. Bull reacts as if a specimen under his microscope had spoken. He looks at the matron for assistance.
She frowns at me and says, "Miss Childs arrived yesterday. You will need to examine her. Eliza, take Miss Childs to the examination room."
"But, Doctor, please listen to me, I—"
The matron interjects. "Dr. Bull will speak to you in a minute. Now go along with Eliza." She nods towards the door.
Out in the hallway, I screw up my face and clench my fists with frustration.
"Why won't anyone listen!"
After a moment, something touches my arm. "You'd better come, Miss."
Eliza's freckled face is wary but her warm hand lingers as if she wants to reassure me. Her fingers and the back of her hand are red and raw-looking, like Mary's when she has been scrubbing floors.
I take a deep breath and compose myself. "Sorry. It's just that I have to see Mr. Sneed. It's very important."
Eliza nods sympathetically. She points along the hallway to a door next to the entrance. "If you wait there, the doctor will come when he's finished in the other dormitories."
"Thank you."
She gives me a quick, surprised look. She's obviously not used to patients speaking to her with normal politeness.
I nod at her hands. "They look sore."
Eliza flushes, putting her hands behind her back.
"Have you tried Fowler's Solution? That might clear it up."
She looks even more surprised, but her face breaks into a smile. "Thanks. I'll try it."
I hear a sound. Someone nearby is crying quietly. I remember the keening I heard yesterday when I arrived. "Who is that?"
"Miss Hill. That's her room. She's always upset, poor thing."
"She has her own room?"
"Yes. Her family must have some money 'cos those rooms cost more. Mrs. Smythe's in one—you know, her that reckons she's related to the queen."
I nod, but I'm not thinking of Mrs. Smythe. Who is paying for me—or rather, Lucy Childs? And if I am here in her place, where is she?
Eliza clears her throat. "I have to get back, Miss, to watch the others."
***
Alone in the hallway I try the handle of the gallery door. It stays shut.
I want to beat it with my fists but I stop myself. You must be calm. They must see that you're not mad. Concentrate. This is your chance to escape.
Dr. Bull approaches, followed by Weeks, who is now carrying one file. It must be mine, or rather, Lucy Childs's. I wonder what it says.