“She fancies you, you know,” Roland said to Ezra, moving to claim his favorite high-backed chair from its place by the wall. “She wouldn’t needle you like that if she didn’t.”
Ezra’s color rose, pink dots forming high on his cheeks. “She doesn’t,” he said. “She only fancies men who are beautiful or muscled. I am neither.”
“You could become muscled,” Mae said reasonably. “It’s just a matter of usage.”
He turned to stare at her for a moment, blinking slowly. “Is that true?”
She grinned. “We’ll talk about it later. I wanted to show Roland something, and I’m glad you’re here too, as it involves you. Will you take a break and join us?”
He nodded, dropping the pink chalk and walking over as Mae spread her sheets of paper out on one of the desks, admiring them like she was revealing a mural made of several individual pieces.
Roland scooted the chair closer, peering down at them. The first was a list.
Melvin Rockwell - Malaria/Ague
Titus Jones - Shoulder cyst/unspecified growth
Joe Parsons - Foot amputee, two years old, fully healed. Ready for prosthetic improvement
Elizabeth Windgate - Persistent Asthma
Iris Warwick (age 10) - Suspected Allergy to Sunlight
Harold Barring - Gout
Misc. Referral Concepts - Ganglions, Roseola, Recurring ear infections (esp. children), Ulcers, Complex Persistent Coughs, Cancers, growths, and parasites of all sorts
“Roland Reed,”he added, glancing up at her. “Double chicken pox.”
She tittered, tossing him a look. “Winston Ulrich. Immunity to chicken pox.”
“What are these?” Ezra asked, twisting the list around to face him. “Things you can’t cure?”
“Yes and no,” Mae said. “They are things that are chronic. Persistent. Things that can be studied over time or repeatedly. And these are patients I have spoken to who have consented to being studied in such a way, though Mr. Parsons did request compensation if it happened during working hours.”
“Smart man,” said Roland, scratching at his arm where Mr. Parsons had left his mark, once upon a time. “Sharp, even.”
Mae gave a tiny cough, tossing him a glance so heated that he somehow stumbled while being completely seated in his chair.
“My thinking is that as the clinic has grown, it has become more of a burden to manage triage in the front chamber,” she said. “We are best suited for emergencies or standing appointments, but because of where we are at the crux of Clerkenwell and St. Giles and Soho, we often are swarmed with people who are not necessarily seeking care with urgency nor are they facing predictable, ongoing treatment. So, I have devised a way that may thin our herd, so to speak, while also placating the powers that be. Outbound referrals.”
Roland blinked, glancing up at her. “Outbound permanently?”
She shook her head. “No. If they mistreat any of our references, we will take them back. That is my stance. My hope is that developing a bit of humanity around the practice of teaching cases might eventually spread to all of them, though of course, I am only a woman, not a wizard.”
“You are going to offer this?” Ezra said, a little frown on his face. “To Guy’s?”
She nodded. “And St. Bart’s. You do not agree?”
“I do not think you should offer something for nothing,” Ezra said carefully. “Especially after being mistreated for so long. I think you ought to position it as a trade, not an offer.”
Roland straightened, considering this. “The lad has a good point,” he said, rubbing at his chin. “A very good point. Mae, you are in the position to ask for things.”
“Like what?” she said, frowning. “More supplies? Perhaps regular deliveries?”
Ezra and Roland both shook their heads.
“Supplies are covered by Mrs. Beck’s charity endeavors,” Ezra said. “We do not need funding, we need the things that cannot necessarily be outright bought.”
