Perhaps to a friend’s house, or maybe somewhere else. Maybe he had plans. Possibly with another doctor, or maybe there was a female acquaintance that Grace hadn’t learned about yet.
She hated how desperate she had become to know if there was another woman in his life.
“The weather is not in our favor today,” he said suddenly, his face angled to peer out of the carriage window. “I fear rain can make our work more difficult.”
“How so?”
“The lodgings can become damp, particularly those housed on the first floors of these buildings. It’s harder for patients to keep dressings dry and uninfected.” He sighed. “Hopefully it will not last.”
“Winter is not far off. This will be snow in a few weeks.”
“Which can be worse. The winter is forever wet in this part of the city. There is no escaping it.”
Grace nodded, taking in the gravity of his words as they rode the rest of the way in silence. It seemed today was not the day for them to discuss any sort of situation that might be budding between them, and for that, Grace was somewhat grateful. At the very least, the work they had in front of them would keep her plenty busy so that her thoughts wouldn’t wander.
Upon reaching Gallowgate, Grace smelled the familiar pungent smell of rotting vegetables and human waste. James pulled the small vial of lime oil out of the breast pocket of his jacket, dabbed some on his forefinger, and wiped it beneath his nostrils. He handed it to Grace, who did the same and as the carriage came to a stop, she handed it back to him before climbing out.
They were quick to enter the same factory lodging building as they had a month ago. This time, however, they went to the top floor of the building and started their visit with the last patient they had seen a month ago.
“Why?” Grace asked as they made their way down the hallway to the last room.
“It’s a way for me to keep my practice even.” He knocked on the door. “After seeing eighty-two patients, I tend to become tired and so if I switch it, I’m giving my best to this family, the Walshes, at least every other month.”
“Oh.” Grace nodded as a young girl opened the door and she followed him into the room.
For the next nine hours, Grace and James worked their way through the building, visiting room after room to either spend a few moments just checking on patients or upward of twenty minutes where they would clean wounds, monitor fevers, or distribute medicines to the ill.
James had been correct about the weather. The rain had somehow made most of the interior walls damp, and the smell of mildew and mold seemed to permeate off them, effectively making the lime oil above their top lips useless.
Although Grace knew that this was how factory workers lived in cities across the United Kingdom, she couldn’t help wanting to do something about it. The very building they lived in seemed to be choking them. These people deserved to live with dignity and not in squalor.
After finishing with the Harrison family, Grace and James exited their room, just as several raised voices echoed down the hallway. There were two sets of men, each carrying a third man through the door. It appeared that both men were injured. The first was wearing a bloody bandage wrapped around his one eye, moaning in pain, while the man in the middle seemed to be choking as his head slouched back as the others tried to hoist him up. An older woman came out of one of the apartments, just as James hurried forward.
“Get Mrs. Muller!” one of the men yelled. “And Cassie MacIntosh!”
“What’s happened?” James asked.
“Ah, Dr. Hall, thank God,” the same man said. “There was an accident at the factory.”
“A gauge broke on one of the power looms. Snapped right off and the entire operation went haywire. Heddles and shuttles flew everywhere.” He motioned to the bandaged man he was carrying. “Got poor Lonnie in the eye.”
James gave him a tight nod before facing the other man.
“What about him?”
“Daft thing. He tried to help Lonnie, but the reed snapped up and the way he was angled, he caught the blasted thing in the throat. He can’t breathe correctly.”
Grace came to stand next to James as they moved the men into one of the apartments. It was Mrs. Muller’s room. They brought the man with the eye injury to a straw cot while seating the man struggling to breathe on a wooden chair.
“Right. I’ll take the eye, you see what you can do about him,” James said to Grace. “He likely just has a swollen pharynx.”
Grace split from him instantly to tend to her patient, but knew almost instantly that something wasn’t right. The man’s body started to tense and the soft gurgling that she had heard in the hallway had stopped.
“He isn’t breathing,” she said, coming to her knees. “Bring him here, lie him down on the floor.”
The men were quick to follow her instruction, kicking away the chair as they laid him flat on his back as she leaned over him, her ear to his mouth. The gentle, scoffing of air being laboriously pushed in and out could just barely be heard. He was choking.
Just then, a young lady entered the room. Terror on her face, she saw the man lying on the floor and came around, trying to push Grace away.
