Dara

PART THREE. THE EGYPTIAN PRINCESS

I knew from the very moment Elmer opened the door to our room that something dreadful had happened. He just stood there with a worried expression on his face.

Going up to him, I took him by the hand. 'Tell me, Elmer. I'll understand.'

He gazed at me for a little while as if trying to imprint on his memory the features of my face, and then exhaled a long sigh. 'The milk sickness got my father and he died last Friday. I'll have to leave Chicago and take his place on the farm. They are all depending on me.'

Looking down and speaking in a voice so low that I could hardly hear him, he continued, 'I'm only here for the night; tomorrow morning I'll have to go back to the farm.'

There was a long pause. 'For good, you understand, Dara. I've got to go. They are all depending on me to look after them. I've got to go back.'

He looked so upset and worried I wanted to reach out and put my arms around him and comfort him, but I couldn't move. I couldn't grasp the meaning of the words. They were all jumbled up and swimming around in my mind.

When I got the words sorted out and I understood that this was to be our last night together and after that I wouldn't ever see him again, the blood drained from my head until I nearly fainted. His heartbeat was pounding in my ear as he held me close. It was the sound of his heart that brought home to me how Elmer was suffering too. Up till that moment I had only been thinking of myself and the futility of trying to live without him.

Looking up into his face, I smiled. 'Why waste precious hours weeping before we part forever,' I asked brightly. 'We still have some time left for us to be happy together-and to love.'

I busied my mind organizing a meal and asked Elmer to get some wine, saying, 'Let's not think about it. And tomorrow, just go-just go quietly, and please, Elmer darling, please don't say goodbye. Just go quickly.'

After we'd had supper we talked and talked. Mainly about the past; about Vladimir in Russia, about Elmer's fight with the 'Bruiser' and all sorts of things we had experienced together. And all the time we were talking I knew there was a question I wanted to ask him. It bothered me, but I couldn't think what it was. And then it came to me quite suddenly and I interrupted him in midsentence. 'Elmer,' I asked, 'what is the milk sickness? I have never heard of it.'

Elmer looked at me somewhat surprised and smiled. 'No, I don't suppose you have. They don't get it in England, but we get a lot of people around here dying of milk sickness. As far as I know, it doesn't occur anywhere else. It is thought that about one in ten people in the Northern States die of this sickness; sometimes whole families are wiped out. Abraham Lincoln's mother died of it.'

'But what is it, Elmer?' I asked, 'and how do they get it?'

'It comes from cow's milk,' he answered, 'and the cows get it when they graze near woodlands and eat white snakeroot. My mother calls it “the trembles” because that's what you do when the poison gets into your system-you tremble all the time. This is followed by convulsions and a quick death.'

He was overcome for a moment or two, then pulled himself together. 'My father must have drunk the milk of a cow he had bought only three days before his death. When he was thirsty he often helped himself to a mouthful of milk from a cow, especially when he was working in a field some distance from the house. Many times I have seen him crouch down near a cow's udder, pull at one of the tits and squirt the milk into his open mouth.'

I said, 'You don't need to talk about it any more, Elmer, if it upsets you.'

'No, I had best tell you. It is good that I can talk about it. Well, it was easy for me to find the infected cow by chasing it across a field. Sure enough the beast started to tremble after its exertions and the vinegary breath coming from it confirmed my suspicions that this was the cow whose milk had poisoned my father.'

We were late getting to bed, but I found it was impossible to sleep. When Elmer rose shortly before dawn, I made a pretence of being sound asleep. I held my emotions in control until I could no longer hear the sound of his footsteps as he descended the stairs; only then did I give way to the anguish that had tortured me throughout the night.

An agonized, hoarse cry, coming up from the very centre of my being, filled the room and echoed back to me like the sound of an animal in extreme pain. I was alone in the depths of my own hell, writhing on the rack and crying out for help. My distress was such that it affected my breathing and I had to sit up and gasp painfully for air. I tried to get out of bed, but fell back on the pillow exhausted. Feeble sobs shook my shoulders and the tears began to flow as I drifted into, and out of, uneasy slumbers.

Three days elapsed before I struggled out of bed. Three days of alternatively sobbing and mindlessly floating through time. Dizzy and confused, I clung to chairs and table as I searched for I do not know what. In passing, I looked in the mirror. An old hag with a lined, shrunken face gazed back at me from the mirror with pale, dead eyes. I knew not who she was, nor did I care, for nothing stirred in my mind. A loud knock on the door brought me to my senses. Startled, I moved quickly to the door and locked it.

It was Vladimir asking if I was alright. 'I've heard that Elmer has gone back to his farm,' he yelled from the other side of the door. Getting no answer he knocked again and shouted, 'Are you alright, Dara? Let me in.'

I tried to shout back at him, but I couldn't manage it as my throat was dry and sore. When he knocked again I said hoarsely, 'I'm ill. Get me some food and leave it outside the door.'

He must have heard me despite my weak voice for he answered, 'If you are ill you had better let me in.'

Taking the key from the door, I put my lips to the keyhole. 'No. I don't trust you. You are a womanizer. No man but Elmer can come into this room. Go away, I don't want you. I want food.'

Getting back into bed, I lay there listening to him appealing for me to let him in. Sometime later I awoke to more knocking on the door. It was Vladimir again.

'Dara. Can you hear me?' he asked. 'I've brought you meat pies, fruit and ale.'

I got to the door and said, 'Thank you. Now go away. I will be alright if you leave me alone.'

'Are you sure?' he asked doubtfully.

'Yes,' I answered wearily as I leaned against the door.

After I had heard him leave the house I collected the food and drink. Feeling better, having eaten, I washed and brushed my hair and put some warm clothes on, for I was beginning to shiver although I didn't feel cold. I had just put some water on to boil to make some coffee when there was another knock at the door. Tense with pent up emotions, ready to explode at the slightest noise, I shouted hysterically, 'For God's sake, Vladimir, stop pestering me.'

'It is not Vladimir,' a voice answered back. 'This is Dr Shepherd. May I have a word with you? If you don't want me to come in, we can talk through the keyhole.'

The situation had become ridiculous. I started to giggle at the very idea of us having a serious conversation through a keyhole. The giggling got worse and I abandoned myself to great whoops of mirth. Blind with tears, I fell and rolled around the floor helpless with maniacal shrieks of laughter.

The hysterics eventually blew themselves out and I got to my feet amidst frantic knocking on the door. 'Stop that knocking,' I shouted. 'I'll be with you in a minute.' I recovered my composure and drank half a glass of water before approaching the door again.

'Dr Shepherd, have you got Vladimir with you out there?' I asked, if you tell a lie I'll never believe another word you say in future.'

There was some whispering going on outside, then, 'Yes, but Vladimir says he will go away if that's what you want.'

I didn't answer. Then the doctor said, 'Vladimir has gone. There is only me here now.'

Unlocking the door, I opened it and said calmly, 'Please come in, Doctor. Would you like some coffee? I'm just about to have some myself.'

If he was taken aback by the sudden change in my demeanour he didn't show it, apart from giving me a searching look as he walked to the table where he pulled up a stool and sat down. Leaning forward, with his elbows on the table, he said, “Thank you. Yes, I would very much like to have some coffee.'

When we sat facing each other with our mugs of coffee, he said, in the same quiet voice he had used when he thanked me for the coffee, 'Dara, look at me.' Holding my gaze he continued, 'You are suffering from a great emotional shock, my dear. I sympathize with you for I know how you must be feeling, having lost your lover. If you want to tell me about it I'll listen. Not with my intellect, but with my heart. If you don't want to talk about it then we will speak of other matters.'

'What other matters?' I asked.

'Of your future, my dear young lady. Life goes on, whether you like it or not. You cannot lock yourself in your room and mope for the rest of your life. Time alone can heal a broken heart. During the days, and maybe the months to come, you will need to occupy your mind with some work that will capture your interest and attention.'

'Work? What work is there for me?' I said in despair. 'The only work I have ever done is milk cows and make beds. I cannot see much interest in either of those occupations.'

'Nor can I,' he said with a smile. 'That is not what I had in mind.'

He paused for a moment, giving me a long and steady look. 'Would you be interested in helping me with the health institution that I'm about to open on Lakeside? I need an assistant, someone I can trust.'

I was about to question him about the work at the institution when he raised a hand saying, 'No, don't give me your answer now. Meet me at the institution tomorrow at noon. The men have not finished the building yet, but I can show you much that will, I am sure, be of interest to you and tell you what I have in mind regarding yourself.'

Promptly at noon the next day I stood outside the building that was to become a health institution. Painters, carpenters and plasterers were busy in various parts. Planks of wood, pots of paint and all sorts of building materials were strewn all over the place. I hesitated to enter in case something fell on my head.

A man carrying a small wood plank glanced quizzically as he passed, then retraced his steps.

'Looking for somebody?' he asked.

'Yes, Dr Shepherd.'

'Follow me,' he commanded sharply.

I trailed behind him and the plank as he traced a path through piles of bricks and stacks of wood. When we got to a small, wood hut at the rear of the building he knocked on the door, shouting, 'A visitor for you, Dr Shepherd.' Not waiting for an answer he turned around sharply, just missing my head with the end of his plank, and strode away on some purpose.

It was a small hut and, when I got inside, there was only one place to sit; that was on a narrow bed which occupied the length of one of the walls. Opposite me sat the doctor at his desk which was littered with notes, ledger books, bills, estimates and other paraphernalia.

'Well! What do you think of my health institution?'

'I don't know, I've only seen the outside of the building.'

'Come on!' he said, and ushered me out of the door and into the main building.

'Here,' pointing to a corner at the rear, 'will be my lodging room and office; next to it a consulting room and alongside it another consulting room, for I expect to be very busy. There will be no time for me to wait for patients to undress and dress. My time will be most precious. The patients must be ready and waiting for me.'

Turning, he indicated the wall opposite. 'On this side, in the corner, will be the Mixing Room where the herbs and mixtures and medicines will be stored and blended. Next to it will be the Electropathic Machine — it will be used mainly to cure complaints peculiar to the female. Of course, we will have screens to ensure privacy for the ladies. They will be seen only in the afternoons and then only by appointment. You will be in charge of that department of the business.'

'What will I be doing?' I ventured to ask.

'There will be plenty of time for explanations later. Now come along,' he said as he walked towards the front entrance. When we got to the end he looked around and waved a hand imperiously. All this space will be a reception and waiting area and will be the responsibility of my Clerk and Barker.'

I wanted to question him further, but he took me by the arm and escorted me outside to the front of the building.

Waving an arm upwards he exclaimed with a certain amount of pride, And up there, extending right across the front, will be a large dashboard emblazoned withHealth Institutionsupported in small lettering by the wordsDr Shepherd-Medical Consultant. And here on the left will be a raised platform upon which you will perform your Egyptian dance.'

'My what!' I exclaimed in astonishment.

“There is no need for concern, my dear. What I am going to ask you to do in helping me with this business is well within your capabilities. Indeed, you will enjoy your work here and find it most interesting.'

When we got back to his office hut I told him to dismiss from his mind any ideas he had about me and an Egyptian dance.

All I got from him was, 'Yes, yes, my dear.'

He rose from his desk and began to search for something inside a large trunk, exclaiming after removing various volumes, Ah, here it is, the book of Shakespeare.' Turning the pages rapidly he came to what he was looking for, muttering to himself, 'Romeo and Juliet.'

He brought the open book over to me and pointed to a certain passage saying, 'Read that out loud and speak the lines with feeling.'

While I was looking at the passage, he asked, 'Do you know the love story of Romeo and Juliet?'

I told him I had read the play, but had never seen it in a theatre.

'Very well. Just imagine you are Juliet. A Juliet who has become disillusioned with her nurse and answers her with indignation.'

Ancient damnation!' I exclaimed dramatically.

'No, no,' he interrupted. 'Say it again and this time with a great deal more exasperation in your voice.'

He was right, of course, and this time I tried to feel as Juliet must have felt on that occasion. My emotions took over and found expression in the words:

'“Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend!

Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn,

Or to dispraise my Lord with that same tongue

Which she has praised him with above compare

So many thousand times? Go, counsellor!

Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain.”

When I had finished the reading I looked at him, not knowing what to expect.

He smiled. 'Just what I thought; you have a sense of the dramatic. Unlike me, you are a born performer. Because of shyness, most of us hold back-afraid of making fools of ourselves.'

Taking the book of Shakespeare from me and replacing it in the trunk he commented, 'In early childhood we are all natural performers, accepting the laughter and the amusement we create as appreciation. As we grow older we fear the laughter of those observing our antics. It is sad, but the truth is that we have learned the meaning of ridicule.'

He took hold of my hands and brought me to my feet. 'It is time to eat. We will adjourn to “The Dog's Head” where I will explain how you will work with me to make my health institution a success.'

During our time at the tavern and in the days that followed I got more details of how the health institution was to function and what part I was to play as the doctor's assistant.

With the aid of burnt cork and greasepaint I was to appear on the platform as a dusky maiden, dressed up in garments of many colours. An Egyptian princess, so everyone would be informed, who had brought with her remedies that had been passed down through the centuries from the temple priests of ancient Egypt.

The Barker, whom I was yet to meet, would commence the proceedings by beating loudly on a drum and only cease when he considered that we had a large enough crowd of people assembled to see my dance. The doctor informed me that he was leaving the movement of the dance to my imagination and he would be satisfied with whatever I did, providing it was bewitching and in good taste. There was some talk of providing me with some music to accompany the dance. After my performance the Barker would take over, going into a long discourse about the wondrous cures that Dr Lionel Shepherd had for the many complaints and ills that inflicted mankind. After all that preamble it was hoped that patients would line up outside the doctor's consulting rooms.

Two weeks before the health institution was due to open I made the acquaintance of the doctor's other assistant. Bob Deny, who was to be the Clerk and Barker to our establishment. About the same height as myself, he wore a black-tailed coat with a velvet collar. His cloth boots with shiny leather toes didn't seem to be in keeping with the coat and the glossy, black hair, brushed close to his skull and neatly parted down the middle. A quick-witted, smooth-talking, restless young man, always on the move, darting about here and there. I was attracted by his bright and breezy manner, but resented his easy familiarity on such short acquaintance.

Under Dr Shepherd's supervision we spent the two weeks mixing herbs and bottling medicines. We worked long hours and, although my hands got sore and my arms ached, I had an enthusiasm and interest in all the preparations. Among the many things I learned were that field horsetail can be useful as a treatment for ulcers and skin eruptions; a syrup made from onions cures coughs and colds; balm is good for a poor digestion and aids sleeplessness; and salt and onions pounded together cure chilblains. I was particularly interested in a mixture of camomile, elder and fennel for the complexion. According to the doctor there was a remedy with herb mixtures for almost every ailment known to man. As a diversion from my labours, I trained two snow-white doves to fly to my hands for grains of corn when I cried out 'Oy! Oy! Oy!' This was to be the grand finale to my performance out front.

It was during this period that I renewed my friendship with Vladimir Aksakov. Apologizing for the shabby way I had treated him when I was grieving over Elmer's departure, I nevertheless made it clear to him that any amorous advances would not be welcomed. After a short talk on the subject I think he began to understand that my heart still belonged to Elmer and that the very thought of being bedded by another man made me feel sick. I expressed the hope that we could continue our cordiality as I valued his friendship and concern for my welfare. It was good to be in his company again and, as always, his mountainous laughter blew away any unhappy thoughts. He had an avid interest in what was going on at the health institution and was often there in the evenings, helping out in all sorts of ways with the preparations for opening day. When I expressed doubts about masquerading as a dusky princess, Vladimir backed the doctor's persuasive argument, saying, it is a sin against nature to be solitary and idle.'

When a thousand handbills had been distributed throughout the town to announce that an Egyptian princess, with magical ancient cures for all ailments, would open the health institution the following Saturday evening, it was impossible for me to withdraw from my commitment.

We were all on tenterhooks on the day. Bob Deny the Barker, a restless personality at any time, was anxiously checking details to make sure everything was in order for the moment when our first patients would enter the institution. I was constantly running to a mirror to comb my hair and pat it into position. My head was crowned with a thin gilt band of metal from which arose a fleur-de-lis of white feathers held at the front by a large, jewelled clasp that twinkled like a star. I wore a high-necked, white silk gown decorated with two, inch-wide rings of sparkling sequins encircling each of my breasts. The gown was slit at the sides from hem to mid-thigh to allow free movement for the dance. The mixture of burnt cork and greasepaint applied freely to my hands, legs and face made me almost unrecognizable, even to my best friends. The gown was a perfect fit; gazing into the mirror, I really did feel like a princess. The doctor had very firm ideas about the design of the gown and had employed the best seamstress in town to make it.

Bob Derry came up to reassure me that I was a 'most beautiful princess' and a 'credit to all concerned'. But it was only an excuse to fondle my bum as he looked over my shoulder into the mirror.

Pushing him off me, I told him in no uncertain terms to keep his hands to himself. I was shaking with nervous agitation and biting my lower lip anxiously as I waited for the moment when I would have to ascend to the platform outside. Bob chided me on my nervousness, telling me that I had nothing to worry about. In an effort to distract me from my fears, he asked, 'Have you heard this limerick?' and then proceeded to recite for my ears only:

'There was a young girl all afire

Who succumbed to her lover's desire.

She said, “I know it's a sin

But now that it's in,

Could you shove it a few inches higher.”'

It broke the tension and I started to giggle and couldn't stop. If that was his intention he certainly succeeded for, when the doors opened a moment later, I flew up the steps to the platform as if I hadn't a care in the world and faced the small group of people assembled at the front of the building. I had expected to be the butt of coarse and salacious comments from some of the men but I found that one look of disgust and disapproval wiped the lechery from their faces.

Bob remained at ground level, beating ferociously on a big drum. The noise was deafening, and certainly brought people from far and wide to swell the small crowd who stood gaping at me in my princess attire. They jostled, pushed and scuffled to get a better view of this dusky maiden from the far away land of Egypt. Bob, now satisfied that the audience for our performance was of the right proportions, ceased beating the drum and took from his pocket a little flute and began to play a lively tune that set my feet a-dancing.

The music of the flute had a compelling rhythm and I had no difficulty in keeping step with it. Swaying my hips seductively caused the men in front of me, with lolling tongues and goggling eyes, to gape avidly each time they caught a glimpse of my legs. It was an alluring dance that at times bordered on the indecent as I languorously flaunted my feminine charms.

I had prepared myself for ribald comments from my audience, but there were none. They were hushed into silence from the moment I began to dance. Among the gawping onlookers were men who worked at Chicago's main industrial plants such as James S. Kirk amp; Company, the soap manufacturers who supplied the health institution with its own medicinal soap. Also, there were industrial workers from the McCormick Harvesting Machine Company, the Booth Packing Company, which was the largest supplier of cans in the world, and a few doleful drunks from Henry H. Shudelt's distillery. There were seamen from the ships docked nearby and several country men from the backwoods who were in Chicago to sample the delights and attractions of the town.

With a tender smile on my lips I turned and swirled as if in a trance, occasionally glancing invitingly out of the corner of my eyes at some section of the onlookers. My eyes promised heaven knows what so that every man might think that I was dancing for him alone. For the first time in my life I was on show, performing to an appreciative audience and I was enjoying every moment of it. To finish the dance I spun around like a top. I was spinning so madly that my gown swirled out to reveal my legs almost to the fullness of my thighs. Coming to a sudden halt, I sank to the boards only to arise just as quickly to my full height with arms outstretched, shouting, 'Oy! Oy! Oy!' Right on cue, the white doves fluttered through the doorway to alight gracefully on my hands for the grains of corn I held for them. As I stood there with hands holding the doves high above my head, there were loud calls and enthusiastic handclapping for this grand finale to my performance. But I wasted no time in getting down the steps and into the institution for it was Bob's turn now to entertain and cajole the crowd.

The doctor was proud of my performance and told me so as soon as I entered the building. We stood together, hiding behind the door, full of curiosity and eager to see how Bob, in his role as the Barker, would make out in his efforts to turn idle spectators into patients.

I missed the first few words of his speech but caught up with his praises of the doctor. 'We are indeed fortunate that Dr Lionel Shepherd, a physician who is respected and honoured by all the medical profession, should choose to establish his health institution in Chicago when people of quality and wealth in New York, Boston, Washington and many other cities are crying out for the benefits of his great knowledge and wisdom on all medical matters.

'Dr Shepherd has travelled far and wide in his search for remedies for the ailments that plague mankind and has visited many countries to consult with other famous doctors. In Egypt he met Princess Fatima who has just performed before your very eyes one of the sacred temple dances that, until today, had been witnessed only by the priests at their secret religious ceremonies. He persuaded her to accompany him back to America for she holds in her memory efficacious magical cures written on ancient scrolls stored in the temple vaults.

'Dr Shepherd is a graduate of Columbia College where he took the Literate and Scientific Course.'

'Can he cure madness?' a man shouted out loud from the crowd.

'Why? Are you mad, sir?' asked Bob.

'No, but I have a young son of five years who is undoubtedly mad.'

'In what form does he show his madness?' asked Bob who obviously enjoyed swapping badinage and welcomed the interruption as further entertainment for his audience.

In all earnestness the man in the crowd answered, 'He throws stones at neighbours and at poultry. He rides on the backs of hogs and suffers much bodily harm when he falls off.'

'Is that all?' asked Bob.

'No, there is something else. He is forever pissing in the milk pails.'

The crowd roared with laughter. I couldn't help admiring the way our Barker, nothing daunted, recaptured the interest of the people listening to him.

'Sir, you can do no better than bring your son for a free consultation with Dr Shepherd-but don't bring the milk pails. We only drink pure milk in this establishment.'

Then, pitching his voice so that everyone could hear him, 'That is something you will get from no other doctor in Chicago. Free consultations. Everyone is welcome; there is no charge for consultations, only for the remedies.'

Hardly stopping for breath and never at a loss for words, he went on, 'If you are having spasms of the bowel, and who doesn't from time to time, we have an antispasmodic pill made of extract of camomile, yarrow, oil of nutmegs, castor and saffron that will cure you of that painful complaint.'

He paused for a moment. 'There is a gentleman over there taking notes. A lot of good that will do for him, for only Dr Shepherd knows how much of each ingredient is needed to make up the pill. Don't delay — this is the day for your free consultation with the good Dr Shepherd. We have remedies for baldness, gentlemen-by the way, it is gentlemen only this evening. The afternoons are reserved for the ladies who will have the benefit of our wondrous Electropathic Machine. Now line up for our free consultations.'

While the men were lining up he continued, 'Under Dr Shepherd's treatment, thousands have changed from weakly, sickly, suffering creatures to strong, healthy and happy men and women. Our “Princess” soap cures all kinds of sores, cuts, boils, erysipelas, sties, sore lips and many other skin complaints, at a special low price of one dollar until stocks run out. Now, come on, line up for your free, yes free, consultations.'

The doctor was kept busy moving through a connecting door from one consulting room to the other for the next three hours. After he had questioned and examined each patient he would hand them a note on which was written their name, the ailment that the doctor had diagnosed and the remedy recommended. When the patient was dressed he would take this note to Bob Derry who, now in his official role as Clerk and Medical Assistant, stood behind a long table loaded with boxes of pills, tins of salve, powders and bottles of medicine.

To keep the interest of those waiting to be served and the men in line for the consulting rooms, the walls of the institution were covered in colourful pictures depicting in most gruesome details diseases and afflictions that the body was subjected to. The most horrific were the venereal pictures. These were entitledThe Dreadful Retribution of a Social Vice. Another picture showed a young man with spotted face, hollowed cheeks, eyes red and filled with tears to the point of blindness. The picture was entitledThe Retribution of the Solitary Vice and the Evil Hand.

While Bob filled with dollars the cloth bag hanging from his waist, and handed out the remedies recommended on the patients' notes, I stood by in my regalia as the Egyptian princess ready to fetch from the mixing room something not already on the table.

I was ready to sink to the floor with weariness as the last patient departed from the building. The doctor stumbled from one of the consulting rooms haggard with exhaustion.

Bob, busy counting the dollars he had extracted from his bag, seemed to be unaffected by the hectic hours we had all been through. Making a notation on a pad of paper, he looked at the doctor then at me. 'I am not the doctor at this establishment,' he announced, 'but may I take the liberty of prescribing a large glass of brandy for each of us?'

Doctor Shepherd took the hint. Walking, with drooping shoulders, to his private office he returned with glasses and a bottle of brandy. As we sat sipping the brandy Bob Derry continued his counting. When he had finished there was a broad smile on his face. 'This should put new life into you,' he announced loudly. 'We've taken one-hundred-and-seventy-three dollars on our first day.'

I don't know if it was the brandy or the taking of one-hundred-and-seventy-three dollars, but there was now a lot more colour in the doctor's face and the haggard look had been replaced by a smiling, cheerful expression. 'The omens are good. It looks as if we are going to be a success,' he said. Taking his handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped the sweat from his brow. 'I say “we” deliberately, because I couldn't have done it without your most valuable assistance.' He stood up and looked at his watch. 'There's still time to celebrate with food and drink at “The Dog's Head”. Clean that greasepaint from your face, Dara, and change your dress for something more respectable. And you, Bob, clear away that table while I put the dollars in a safe place.'

During the weeks that followed we fell into an easy routine of work. Whilst the pace was never as hectic as on our opening day, the health institution continued to draw enough patients to make it extremely profitable. Early in our acquaintance the doctor had told me that he had not only sunk every dollar he had into setting up the institution, but had also borrowed heavily to meet the cost of the building. He had risked everything on this venture and was immensely relieved that he would be free of the debt within a few months of opening the health institution.

Only two women turned up for treatment on the first afternoon we opened the institution for the ladies of Chicago. Another distribution of handbills especially printed to catch the attention of the ladies brought many more female patients seeking consultation with the doctor.

The big attraction was the Electropathic Machine. The patients viewed it with awe on first entering the building. Always punctiliously courteous with ladies, the doctor would take them gently by the arm to the machine, explaining that electricity was a vital force that brought energy and life to the body. Taking up a simple ebony rod that he had placed by the machine, he would rub it with his silk handkerchief and demonstrate the magnetic power of electricity by picking up pieces of paper or material on the smooth end of the ebony rod.

The doctor was revered by nearly all his women patients. There was a pleasant, old-fashioned manner and confidence in his speech that won them over as he explained that the magnetic qualities of electricity not only drew out the harmful poisons from the blood, but also invigorated the entire bodily system.

As they gazed up at him with simple trust in their eyes, he would announce in solemn tones, 'We have, with this machine, an important invention that will do much to relieve the miseries that only the female is subjected to. The Electropathic Machine, through these small coppered pads, puts life and force into everything it touches. When the pads are Placed on the afflicted parts it instantly brings relief to such complaints as rheumatism, backache, kidney, liver and bladder troubles. The machine will also cure female functional irregularities, hysteria and loss of appetite.'

I never did understand fully how the electropathic treatment worked. According to the doctor, a high electrostatic shock was transmitted from a friction machine, through wire, to the coppered pads placed on the patient's body. After the doctor had located the seat of the trouble, it was my responsibility to take the patient behind a screen where she bared that part of her flesh that would receive the electric shock. When she had laid herself down on the couch I would place the coppered pads on that part of the body that was causing the trouble and the doctor would then cause the machine to transmit the electricity.

The ladies were most impressed, declaring how much better they felt after the electric shocks. I could do no other than believe them as they came back frequently for more of the same treatment. Word soon spread among the womenfolk of the town of how efficacious this magical machine was at curing ailments peculiar to women that soon we were taking as much money in the afternoons as we were with the men in the evenings.

In the mornings the three of us were kept busy mixing herbs and preparing the powders, salves and medicines. When I was alone with Bob Derry he was usually talkative, self-opinionated and bossy. With the doctor he was always very deferential. Any knowledge Bob Derry had about medical matters was shallow and superficial and he knew it. He was a young man anxious to go ahead no matter how, and never missed an opportunity to ingratiate himself with the doctor in the hope of learning more about the health business. I thought that was all there was to it until I observed him skimming a percentage of the takings. With the sales money he was always perfectly accurate and remarkably quick at giving change and, as he twisted and turned, you needed sharp eyes to see how some of the dollars found their way into his own pockets instead of the bag hanging at his waist. Keeping a very careful watch on him, I calculated that he was stealing about twenty dollars a night.

Much to my surprise the doctor just nodded his head and walked away when I told him what I had seen. Following him into the office, I asked, Aren't you going to do something about Bob skimming the takings?'

Seated at his desk, he said wearily in a voice so low that I could hardly hear him, 'No, I am not going to do anything about it.'

Seeing the puzzled, anxious look on my face he said by way of an explanation, 'Bob Derry is excellent as a barker and a clerk. I don't think there is anyone around here who could do it better.'

'But he's stealing!' I interjected.

'He thinks he's stealing and you think he is deceiving me. It's not so and I will tell you why. The institution is taking a lot more money than I ever expected it to and that is mainly due to Bob's persuasive talk at the front and the extra sales he makes after the patients leave my consulting rooms. You must admit that is true.'

I nodded my head in agreement.

'If he had been an honest man he would have asked for commission on the sales or for more money, or both, and in view of the undoubted success of the business and my need to retain his services, I would have given him, within reason, whatever he asked for. But he is not an honest man and prefers to steal what I would have given him freely. It has gone too far for me to do anything about it. If I was to accuse him of stealing now I would have no option but to terminate his employment and then try to find someone as equally good as he is as a barker and clerk.'

I had another complaint about Bob Deny but, in view of the doctor's attitude about the stolen money, I decided to remain silent and deal with the matter myself. Bob was the type of man who, whenever he found himself alone with a young woman, couldn't keep his hands to himself. I was never at ease in his company, not knowing from one moment to another when he would attempt to take liberties with me. Impertinent as a monkey and as lecherous as a goat, he constantly took advantage of me, fondling the cheeks of my bottom when my hands were immersed in a bowl of claggy medical mixture. Oh yes, he knew when to make his approach, creeping up on me when I was least expecting him to attack. Twice he got a hand down my blouse and grabbed one of my breasts. It was most painful trying to loosen the grip of his fingers on my tender flesh.

I began to view him with an excess of loathing and, to make matters worse, when I reprimanded him he would just stand looking at me with a sneer on his face. It was as if he was devoid of any feelings of sensitivity and got some sort of perverse pleasure in seeing me in a state of nervous agitation and distress.

One day, exasperated beyond endurance, I screamed, 'For God's sake leave me alone.'

Nothing deterred him. With a lascivious smile on his face he came up to me and began to stroke my back. 'Now, now, Dara, don't take on so, and don't bring God into this. You don't fool me. You and I are two of a kind. Like me, you live under Sod's Law not God's Law.'

I pushed him away and bent down to pick up a mixing bowl on the floor. He was on me in a trice, holding up the back of my skirt he tugged at the hairs around my slot with his fingers. My forbearance snapped. Turning round swiftly, I grabbed him by the ears and, in a boiling rage, pulled him towards me and brought my knee up sharply against the balls between his legs. With an agonized expression he crouched with protective hands covering his privates. I was so angry I kicked his backside so hard that he fell on his face. As he lay on the floor gasping for breath, I bent down and said in a quiet voice, 'You'll get the same again if ever you try to take liberties with me.'

From that day on he remained distant and reserved, but he never gave me any more trouble.

Thinking back over the years to the times of Bob Deny makes me reflect on experiences with other men who also had his attitude to the female sex. Thank goodness all men are not like that. Nevertheless, far too many, with an innate arrogance, think we females exist just for their pleasure. They cannot understand why we don't swoon with submissive desire when they grab at our breasts and roughly finger our private parts. The sight of our soft delicate flesh so often brings to the surface their animal instinct for dominance and cruelty.

My talks with married women have revealed how few of them have been warmed by loving caresses. Night after night they are raped by their husbands. How else can it be described when a man without one word of love roughly pulls up a wife's nightgown and, with grunts and groans, empties his lust into her, only to roll onto his back to snore and snuffle through the rest of the night. This bondaged enslavement to a man is the price women must pay to satisfy their instinctive desire for a home and babies.

Maidens yearn for the day when some man will sweep them off their feet and into a marriage which will be a romantic love story of a kind so different in every way from the lives of the unfortunate drudges who are already married. In their nubile fancies they live only for true love, for to them it is the only reality that gives meaning to life. Every romantic thought that comes into their heads is a silent prayer for love, prepared to sacrifice everything for the one they favour. If only men were less aggressive and domineering and received their wives' gentle affections with tenderness and appreciation, then conjugal bliss would be within the reach of everyone.

With the approach of the fall the daylight hours lessened before the long shadows of night and so it was with the number of patients seeking our services in the evenings. These extra hours of leisure were absorbed by readings from one or other of the many plays written by William Shakespeare.

Luckily there was no falling off in the number of ladies requiring treatment from the Electropathic Machine in the afternoons. Without their money the health institution could not have continued as a viable business. Bob Derry's income from his skimmings must have lessened too. Rather than see him standing bored and idle, the doctor often sent Bob off earlier than usual. I was always delighted to see the front doors locked after Bob's departure for this meant another evening devoted to the works of Shakespeare.

With a warm fire glowing in the office hearth and each of us with a steaming cup of coffee, we would settle down to readings from the lays. The doctor delivered, with magnificent eloquence, the words of the male characters, and I answered for the females. He would stop me occasionally to correct my pronunciation or to suggest that I deliver certain passages with more feeling and therefore give more meaning to the words. I learnt a great deal under his tuition and guidance and there was a marked improvement in my elocution. At his suggestion I committed to memory long passages that I would recite again and again until I was word perfect and able to deliver the lines with dramatic effect.

Shakespeare created some interesting women who had an almost obsessive hold on my imagination. I was particularly intrigued by characters like Juliet, Desdemona, Olivia inTwelfth Night, Rosalind and Viola and the two girls, Hermia and Helena, inA Midsummer Night's Dreamwho 'grew together like a double cherry'. My favourite of all these female characters will always be Juliet because she is the very essence of love. A love that burned so fiercely was bound to end in tragedy.

Whilst most of the evenings were spent in this fashion not all of our precious hours together were given over to Shakespeare. Sometimes we whiled away the evenings in desultory conversation. It was on one such evening that I asked him why he had never married.

He remained silent for some minutes and, realizing that my question had uncovered a sore spot in his memories, I was about to change the subject when he raised his bowed head and gave me a searching look. It was as if he was trying to find pity and compassion in my face.

'My dear Dara, I want to answer your question, but I hesitate to do so because you may find the answer distasteful. I hesitate because I don't want to reveal a side to my nature that would diminish the respect and friendship that I believe you have for me.'

I stifled my curiosity about any secrets he had buried in the past to assure him that my loyalty and friendship were not to be doubted and went on to say, 'Whatever troubles you, Doctor, will only bring forth sympathy from me and, I hope, understanding.'

'Your loyalty has never been in doubt, Dara. When alone together like this, please address me as Lionel. Your friendship warrants, at the least, that privilege. As it happens I am not a doctor. Although my father had a medical degree, I have no registrable qualification to claim the title of doctor.'

My astonishment at this confession must have shown itself on my face. 'You may well look surprised, Dara, for, as you know, I am deeply versed in all medical matters. Without going into details, I learnt a great deal from my father and, after his death, I gathered more from other doctors with whom I was privileged to work as an assistant. it was always my intention to become a physician by profession and, with that in mind, my father found a place for me at Columbia College where I took the Literate and Scientific Course. Because of my father's death I had to forsake my studies after only one year to return home to provide an income for my mother and me. And this I did by working as an assistant for other doctors in the neighbourhood.

'I was heart-broken when my mother died two years later, for I loved her most dearly. That was when I started my wanderings, setting up a number of establishments similar to this health institution. They never lasted more than a year or two before some member of the medical profession in the locality discovered that I had no qualifications and hounded me out of town.'

He paused for a moment to blow his nose and I used this opportunity to exclaim, 'So all this moving about from one place to another made it impossible for you to take on the responsibilities of marriage.'

'No! No!' he answered impatiently. 'That is not the explanation. I had many opportunities to wed good ladies who made it clear that my advances would be welcomed.'

'I can believe that, Lionel, for you are a handsome man and must have been even more attractive when you were younger. Why didn't you marry any of them?'

“The answer to that will come later,' he said. 'First allow me to tell you about my youth. I felt the first radiant glow of love at sixteen when I became infatuated with the daughter of a farmer who was a new arrival in our neighbourhood. Just to catch a glimpse of her as she walked past our house would transfix me with breathless admiration and yearning. In my eyes she was an angel of purity and beauty that could only be worshipped from afar. I was too shy to approach her to make her acquaintance and I spent many anxious hours at our front window in the hope of seeing her walking into town. She had a springy step that bounced her virginal breasts which quickened my senses and sent the blood rushing to my head.

'I was in desperate straits, unable to concentrate on my studies and off my food. She was constantly in my thoughts throughout the day and tormenting my dreams at night. Writing poems was one way that I could express my feelings for this angelic girl who stirred my imagination to raptures of heavenly love.

'One drowsy, hot summer afternoon I was sitting in woodland seeking inspiration for another poem that would describe the noble qualities of the one I loved when I was disturbed by the sound of someone kicking the fallen leaves that lay under the trees. Peering through the thorn and brushwood that hid me from view, I trembled like an aspen leaf in a gentle breeze, when I saw it was she, the goddess of my dreams. Carrying a towel under her arm, she gave a searching look at her surroundings before she proceeded to undress. She was facing the river and had her back to me as she slowly removed each article of clothing. In the shimmering light of the river and the woodland her pearly pink skin took on a delicate translucent beauty that caught my breath and held me in silent awe. Her form was perfect and without a blemish. Walking warily to the river she brought into view a proud, shapely breast that matched the fleshy symmetry of her buttocks.

'I had to sit back and try to control my senses as she splashed in the water like a wood nymph at play. The next time I looked she was on the river bank drying her shoulders with the towel. Anger and horror gripped my mind as I gazed in disgust at a large triangle of damp, dark matted hair that clung to the apex of her thighs and crawled upwards to her belly like some grotesque crab. It was as if the good God above us, jealous of her perfect beauty, had taken up a handful of foul, slimy, mud and splattered it between her legs. Nauseous vomit began to gather in my throat and mouth and I bent down and hammered the earth with a raging fist. Before very long I was retching in disgust at this vision of black obscenity normally hidden from the eyes of man. It was this vision of the female body that was to lie at the back of my mind like a festering sore for the rest of my life.'

Lionel had lapsed into a gloomy silence and, curious to know more about his boyhood, I urged him to continue.

He sighed as if saddened by the memories of the past. 'Some weeks after this emotional upheaval to my finer susceptibilities, I had to accompany my father when he was called to the bedside of a woman who had been in labour for five days. At the time he had taken to his bed with a feverish head cold. On learning that the strength of the woman in labour was ebbing fast and that her relatives feared she was near to death, he struggled out of bed and nearly fell as he was so unsteady on his feet. My mother protested most fervently that he was in no state of health to travel the four miles to this woman's home. But, on seeing the determination in his face, she gave way on condition that I drove the horse and buggy. Despite the coverings of two or three warm blankets, he shivered and coughed throughout the journey. Helping him as far as the bedroom door, I then retired to the kitchen to partake of a bowl of hot soup.

'Only two or three spoonfuls of soup had passed my lips when my father cried out for my assistance. He was crouched down between the woman's ample thighs, holding on to the wooden forceps that he had inserted into her vagina. “Hold on to the forceps, my boy,” he said, “I am just about all in and will have to rest awhile.” There were large beads of perspiration dripping from his forehead as he stumbled to the nearest chair. Taking over the responsibility for the forceps I closed my eyes but had to open them again when my father called out in a hoarse voice, “For God's sake keep a firm hold on that baby or it will slip back again.” With a firm but gentle grip I pulled on the forceps until the baby's head came into view. “That's better,” my father muttered, and then, raising his voice, “Bear down, woman. And, you, Lionel, go on pulling. We're nearly there. Go on, woman, bear down. It won't be long now.” As more of the baby's head began to appear the vagina was distended to an extent that, up to that time, I wouldn't have thought possible. Catching a glimpse of a mass of bushy black hairs above the vagina stirred my stomach and filled my head with nausea. The next thing I knew was a sudden movement of the wooden forceps and there lay the baby between its mother's thighs, covered in streaks of blood. Dropping the forceps beside the new born infant, I got outside, rushing through the rooms with my hand over my mouth, to spew the contents of my stomach outside the front door.'

My heart went out to him, but I could think of no words that would express adequately the pity I felt for the young Lionel of those days. To be subjected to what he thought was a desecration of the pure young girl he loved, and then this messy birth, must have been a terrible shock to his fastidious, sensitive nature. Such events in our youth can scar us for life.

It was as if he had read my thoughts for he said haltingly, 'I am not seeking your pity, Dara, but only trying to explain how this emotional disturbance early in life affected my future relations with decent women and forced me into the company of whores.

Although I was mentally disturbed about certain aspects of women, physically I was in good shape. Indeed, there was a virility in my body so strong that I was often put to shame on awakening in the morning to find the evidence on my nightshirt of the nocturnal emissions that came with my dreams.

At twenty, a young widow took me to her bed and, although I made repeated attempts to enter her, the sight of the black hairs spread around her private parts wilted my manhood. With scorn her angry words bit deeply into my pride and self esteem. The mystique and allure of the female body, nevertheless, continued to have enormous attraction for me but, try as I might to have union with those ladies that favoured me, it always ended in miserable failure.

'There is a powerful force that drives us men to expel our seed and, because of frustration and the complexity of my disturbed thoughts, I turned to prostitutes to relieve my passions. Their ribald laughter and coarse remarks when I requested nervously only a hand manipulation of my male member made me cringe with shame. Nevertheless, many of these debauched creatures will do almost anything for money and, after seeing the earnest expression of my countenance, would lead me to some dark, fetid alley where, with skilful hands, they would assuage the burning flesh of my loins. I suffer such unspeakable anguish each time I have to resort to whores to relieve my lustful desires and, each time, leave them with a feeling of degradation and loathing for my affliction.'

He sat in brooding melancholy unable to say any more and afraid to look at me for what he might see in the expression on my face. He had no need to worry on that score, for I only felt a great sympathy for him.

There was no resentment in my mind at Lionel's revulsion of certain parts of the female body. I remembered a similar feeling in myself when hair first began to appear above my giny, but it didn't bother me unduly. Stroking the hairs gave me the same pleasant sensation as I got when I ran my hand over the back of a pussy cat. Indeed, when intimately chattering with other girls, they often used the word 'pussy' when referring to their private parts. Many's the time when I couldn't get off to sleep at night I would play with my 'pussy' and get a sensual gratification from a gentle finger caressing between the lips of my giny.

I have a great need to be attached in fond affection to someone and I had become very fond of Lionel during the last few months. Although I didn't fully understand his predicament, I didn't doubt the strength of his desires and the conflicts they created in his mind. Acting on impulse, but with great pity in my heart, I took him by the hand and led him to the small yard at the back of the institution. He followed me like a small boy who was about to be reprimanded for committing some misdemeanour.

Knowing there would be embarrassment for both of us for what I was going to do, I wasted no time in getting my left arm around the back of his waist and undoing the cod buttons of his trousers. It was but a piece of limp flesh when I first got my hand on it. Gentle caresses soon put some life into it and when it got stiff and large I closed my fingers firmly around the hard cock and tugged at it until his seed spurted out. His body slackened and he let out a long sigh of relief. I felt I couldn't leave him there with it hanging out, so I tucked it back into his trousers and buttoned up his cod buttons.

Putting my arms around his neck I gave him three or four kisses on the chin saying between times, “There, there, Lionel-I want you to be happy — it is but a small service for me to do for you-think nothing of it-and don't ever resort to prostitutes-not while I'm here.' Getting as far as the office door I called back to him, And when you get into the light of the office, look me straight in the eye and give me a bright smile-that's all the thanks I want.'

This shared secret intimacy brought us closer together in the weeks that followed. The number of patients, however, continued to fall off as the cold of the winter began to strike more keenly into our bones. Lionel had a worrying cough which got worse when bitterly freezing winds lashed flurries of snow into the institution each time the front door was opened. He had to retire to his bed near Christmas time with a fever and a hacking cough. One morning I found a pail by his bedside with blobs of blood in it. He seemed, to my eyes, to have lost a lot of flesh. The skin of his face was shiny and the cheeks shrunken. Alarmed, I asked him what ailed him.

'It's consumption of the lungs,' he answered in a weak voice. 'It runs in the family. A grandmother and an aunt died of it.'

'Is there a cure?' I asked.

'There is not a lot of hope when you start to cough up blood but the milk from a woman has been known to cure consumption.'

Taken aback by this reply I could only respond with, Are you serious, Lionel?'

'Your eyes are sticking out in astonishment, Dara,' he chided. 'Do you think I would speak lightly about a disease that could be the death of me? When you are as sick and weary as I feel this morning you will turn to any means that may bring about a cure. Besides, the “suck a woman” remedy for consumption has been known throughout the medical profession for over a hundred years.'

Pointing to his medical books neatly arranged on a shelf he asked me to look for a book entitledPrimitive Physic or an Easy and Natural Method of Curing most Diseases. I soon found the book he wanted and brought it to his bed.

'The author of this book,' he said, 'is John Wesley, the founder of Methodism and a man of high intelligence and integrity.' Turning the pages he exclaimed, Ah! Here it is; but wait one moment, I see he recommends the application of salt and onions pounded together as a cure for chilblains. Now that is a mixture I have given to many of my patients with excellent results. You can see that John Wesley, apart from being a very religious man, was also very knowledgeable about medical matters.'

'But what does he say about consumption?' I asked anxiously.

'Yes, alright, I am about to tell you. These are his very words: “In the first stages of consumption, suck a healthy woman daily”. He then goes on to say that this cured his father.'

'If that's the case, Lionel,' I firmly announced, 'we must get you a wet nurse as soon as we can. Today if possible. But how do we find such a person?'

'Ask Vladimir. He knows nearly all the women around here, and while you're out buy some beef and vegetables. I think a bowl of meat broth would help to build up my strength.'

After buying the beef I made haste to Vladimir's stall and, pushing my way through the women crowding around his stall, sought guidance about finding a wet nurse. He gave me the names of two women and their whereabouts. One of them, a Mrs. Ada Bunt, lived nearby but she was out when I called so I left a message that her attendance was required at the health institution. I returned to Lionel's bedside in case he had taken a turn for the worse in my absence.

Ada Bunt arrived at the institution late in the afternoon, smelling strongly of drink. A blunt, blowzy, heavily-built woman with a coarse laugh. I took a dislike to her on first sight but greeted her politely for Lionel's sake. If he was going to be cured by a woman's milk, what did it matter where it came from. She laughed uproariously when I told her that the doctor required her milk.

She remonstrated in a loud voice, 'What! A man at my tits; that's something I hadn't expected. I'm not sure I want that,' she said dubiously, and then a greedy look came into her eyes as she viewed the interior of the institution.

'You will have to pay double. Two dollars a visit and as much milk as he can swallow. What do you say?'

I nodded agreement and took her to the doctor. She didn't reply to Lionel's polite greeting but settled herself down on a chair near his bed, unbuttoned her blouse and exposed two huge breasts, each as big as my head. The nipples were also very large and hung down like two dark brown pox-marked thumbs. She got Lionel into a sitting position with his knees between her fat thighs and then, putting a hand behind his head, pressed his face into one of her breasts. I couldn't tell how Lionel was taking this treatment, but I found the whole business shocking and revolting.

She was obviously enjoying humiliating the doctor and giving him rough treatment. When the time came for him to change over to the other breast she was deliberately awkward slurping the wet nipple across his face and then winked at me, assuming I would also share the joke. That settled it for me. I vowed she wouldn't enter the building again. Someone would have to be found to supply Lionel with the milk he needed to cure his consumption.

When he had finished with the other breast I settled him back into his bed and, escorting the woman to the door, handed her two dollars and told her that we wouldn't require her services any more. She started to protest but didn't get very far with that as I pushed her through the door and locked it.

Shortly after her departure I set out to call on Mrs. Minnie Summers, the other woman that Vladimir had informed me had recently lost her baby. When I met her, after a number of enquiries as to where she lived, I made it clear to her, right from the very beginning, that it was a man with consumption who needed her milk.

She was a young woman of about twenty years with rosy cheeks and a fresh complexion, completely unprepared and at a loss for words to answer my request for her to wet nurse a grown man.

'I don't know what to say,' she said. 'I'm all confused. You had better talk to my husband.'

He was at the table finishing his evening meal when I entered. Sitting down opposite him I immediately launched into an emotional appeal for his permission to allow his wife to save a good doctor from dying from consumption. I went on at some length and made such a passionate plea to their Christian charity that they were both on the point of tears by the time I had finished talking.

The long and the short of it was that I left them on the understanding that they would think about it and, if they decided to help the sick doctor, Minnie would be at the health institution the following morning at nine o'clock. Before I left Minnie at the door I informed her that if she was willing to help to cure the doctor of his consumption she would be paid two dollars a visit which would amount to fourteen dollars a week for her services. An attractive sum of money for people in their circumstances.

On the morrow Minnie knocked on our front door prompt at nine o'clock. I had arrived early to help Lionel dress and shave. He was looking better but there were pink patches on the cheeks of his face which gave a false appearance of good health.

Minnie, blushing with confusion, was plainly embarrassed at the prospect of exposing her breasts to Lionel. To save her modesty I draped a table cloth over her front and tied it at the neck. When she had her blouse undone I instructed Lionel to tuck his head under the cloth and take the milk he so desperately needed to make him well again. To begin with he seemed to be having some difficulty in getting the milk to flow and Minnie, with a tender expression on her face, gently placed a hand on the back of his head and squeezed her breast with the other hand. There were no more problems after that and the three of us soon became good friends in the days that followed her first visit.

As far as Lionel's health was concerned, it was never the same two weeks running. There were times when he seemed to be almost his normal self, seemingly in good health and attending to the patients with great care and understanding. And then without any warning there would be a relapse when he was too weak to get out of bed. I was sure the milk he was getting from Minnie was very sustaining and it provided the nourishment he needed but I had serious doubts as to it bringing about a permanent cure of his consumption. Time alone would tell I thought, but feared the worst.

Lionel could be very kind and generous with his services when the mood took him that way. One morning in early February he received an urgent call to attend a man lying on the dockside with a broken leg. I was reluctant to let Lionel go as it was a cold, wet, windy day and he had a persistent cough which usually was the forerunner to a relapse that brought him to his bed. There was no stopping him. Collecting bandages and tinctures I hurried after him as he left the institution in haste.

Some men were assembling a makeshift stretcher when we arrived at the scene of the accident. Lionel made a quick examination and instructed me to cut the cloth of the trouser leg from ankle to knee and then to purchase twenty eggs from a nearby stall. Taking a bottle of whisky from his pocket, he allowed the injured man to drink a generous portion of it before preparing to set the broken bone. After setting the bone, Lionel bandaged the leg with three large strips of linen, coating each strip with the whites of the eggs which he had mixed previously with flour. After a little while the egg-soaked linen became as hard as wood. On learning that the patient had a wife with seven children and that he was as poor as a church mouse, he told the man that there would be no charge for his services. Before the man had time to thank him Lionel was on his way back to the institution. We had walked but a short distance when the heavens opened and a heavy rain storm descended upon us. We were soaked to the skin before we got back to the institution.

Lionel, chilled to the bone and shivering, quickly undressed and got between the bed sheets. I poured out a large glass of brandy and got him to sip it while I prepared some hot soup.

The next day he looked dreadful, as if he was at death's door. From that time on he was very rarely out of bed and coughing up blood almost every day.

One evening early in March he struggled to a sitting position in his bed and said, 'I haven't got long to live, Dara. Will you stay with me until the end?'

'Don't talk like that, Lionel,' I answered. 'Soon we will be getting warmer weather and then you'll feel much better, so let's hear no more talk of death.'

Gazing across, as if he was seeing the very spectre of death awaiting him, he said in a voice little above a whisper, 'Nearly all my life I've been conscious of some dark indefinable menace forever dogging my footsteps, lurking and threatening, awaiting the time to spring upon me. In a way I'm relieved that I now know its name is consumption and my life is drawing to a finish. It is no good you saying otherwise; I know. I'm asking you again. Will you stay with me until the end? I may yet have a few more months to live.'

He turned his face to mine. 'Will you?'

'Yes,' I replied, 'I promise that, come what may, I will remain with you to the very end, but let's not talk about such a doleful subject any more.'

'I'm sorry, Dara, but we have to talk about it. There are some important decisions to be made. When I die I want to be in Newport by the sea with a boyhood friend who married a cousin of mine. If you can get me as far as New York I can be put on a boat which will take me to Newport. Will you do that for me, Dara?'

'Of course I will,' I answered. 'I'll go all the way with you if you want me to.'

He sank down on the pillows and closed his eyes and after a little while, seeing he was asleep, I made my way back to my one room apartment.

The next day he called Bob Derry and me into his office and, without any further ado, began to make preparations for his departure for Newport. Addressing us both, he said, 'I'm leaving Chicago and going to Newport. The building will have to be sold and as I have no strength to attend to this matter myself I want you, Bob, to negotiate that sale on my behalf. Here is a note which states that you are to act as my agent for the sale of the property. Get the best price you can, but make it a quick sale as I want to be on my way as soon as possible.'

At this surprising turn of events, Bob Derry stood there non-plussed.

'On your way, Bob,' snapped Lionel irritably. 'There is no time to waste.'

After Bob had departed, he addressed me. 'Visit all the medical men and pharmacists in town, Dara. Tell them that I'm closing the health institution and selling off all my effects including the Electropathic Machine. I'll leave it to you to get the best price you can.'

During the week that followed we had 'would-be' buyers viewing the property with Bob Deny in tow, and representatives of the medical profession bargaining about prices for the effects. By the end of the week the building was but an empty shell apart from Lionel's bed. I was sitting on the end of the bed discussing with Lionel the details of our journey to New York when a bluff, hearty man in his middle years walked into the institution.

'What are you doing here?' he questioned us in a loud voice. 'This is my property.'

I was pleased to hear that the building had been sold and made known to him who we were and asked him the whereabouts of Bob Deny.

'Mr. Deny,' he exclaimed, 'sold me the building two days ago for cash. He would have it no other way. He told me that he was leaving that day for Cincinnati to meet you, Doctor Shepherd, to hand over the money.'

'But Doctor Shepherd is not in Cincinnati,' I protested. 'He is here as you can see for yourself.'

'Whatever arrangement you made with Deny is none of my concern,' he barked. 'I now own this property and here is the bill of sale to prove it.'

I handed on the bill of sale to Lionel for his perusal. After studying it for a moment or two, he got up and, with a look of hopeless resignation, turned saying, 'That crook, Bob Deny, has absconded with the money. There is nothing we can do about it. This gentleman is undoubtedly the new owner of the building.'

When the full effect of what had happened sank in I punched the air and flung myself about shouting, 'I always knew that swine was as crooked as a dog's hind leg but you, Lionel, like a fool, trusted him. God help us; what are we to do now?'

I looked at the new owner of the institution.

'I'm sorry for you folks,' he said, 'but you'll have to leave now. And when I say now, I mean today.'

Taking Lionel by the arm I got him outside then went back to drag out his bed. Stopping a man who was passing I offered him two dollars if he would carry the bed to my room near 'The Dog's Head'. After a little bargaining we settled the arrangement for three dollars.

When I got Lionel installed in my room we considered his finances and found that there was enough money to get him to Newport with a little left over. I was in much about the same position but still had some jewellery to sell if I needed more. Most of my money had gone for rent and food for Elmer. After Elmer and I had been parted I earned enough at the health institution to keep myself without dipping into my savings.

Within two days we were on our way to New York. The journey was tiring and a strain on Lionel. He became steadily worse before we reached Albany where we rested for a week with Lionel in bed the whole time we were there.

He was so thin and haggard you could clearly see the shape of his skull beneath the skin. His graveyard cough shook his weakened frame and left him breathless and sweating profusely. He was just skin and bones by the time we got off the boat that had brought us down the Hudson River to New York. A cab took us to a hotel just off Broadway where I engaged two rooms as I was unable to get any sleep with Lionel coughing all night.

After settling him in bed I purchased from nearby shops sufficient food and drink to keep us going for a few days. When I returned I ran to his bedside to see how he had fared in my absence. He lay like someone dead but he was still breathing so I prepared a meal, looking in on him from time to time to see if he was alright. I was ravenously hungry and wolfed down my food and then prepared a plate of cooked chicken that would be ready for Lionel when he should awaken from his sleep.

Going to my bed I lay down for a little rest but sleep must have overtaken me for it was getting dark when I next opened my eyes. Making my way into Lionel's room I found him sitting up in bed and talking to someone, but there was no one else in the room. Nodding and smiling and looking intently first in one direction and then in another, he seemed to be in conversation with several invisible people standing around his bed. Bringing a chair alongside his bed I sat down and held his hand trying to claim his attention.

'Lionel,' I cried, looking around nervously and fearful as he spoke seemingly to someone behind me. Pulling at his hand I tried once more to gain his attention. He suddenly exclaimed, 'Mother! How good it is to see you again.' His voice quivered emotionally in his excitement. The air in the room seemed to become eerily cold-and frightening. I withdrew my hand from his and backed towards the door looking fearfully around the room as Lionel's voice greeted more relatives and friends from the past.

There was a creepy sensation across my skull as if hundreds of small spiders were crawling through the roots of my hair. It was as though the bedroom was filled with phantoms of the dead who had come to welcome Lionel to their ethereal life. The room was in complete darkness by now but I could sense the presence of spirits from another world moving about in animated conversation with Lionel.

Sinking to the floor, I huddled up with my hands about my head. In my childhood when the wind brought pieces of brickwork rattling down the chimney my mother used to utter the words of an old folk prayer to ward off the evil spirits and I found myself begging the intervention of the Deity in the same manner as I shivered in fear. 'From ghoulies and ghosties and long-legged beasties and things that go bump in the night, the Good Lord, deliver us.' The last words of the prayer had just left my lips when something seemed to brush past me. In a choking agony of terror I struggled blindly with the door handle and with blessed relief managed to open it and escape down the stairs into the lamp light of the street.

I didn't know where I was or in which direction I was going. Emotionally stunned and stumbling like someone who has had too much to drink in one of the numerous beer houses on Broadway, I sought only the well-lit areas where there were many people to keep me company. As I walked the streets seeing myself, as you might say, under the all-seeing eye of eternity, I felt desolate and very lonely. In this pitiable condition I could see no future for me in America or for that matter in England.

Pausing for breath before a billboard with the words 'Pfaff's Beer-Cellar' I felt a great desire for a warm, cosy atmosphere and quickly descended the steps to find myself amidst a crowd of people of both sexes, some sitting at tables, others standing talking noisily in groups filling up the space before the bar. There was an under-swell of conversation that confused the ears. Overwrought and ready to tumble to the floor with tiredness, I have only a blurred recollection of pushing past people to an empty chair placed at a small table occupied by a young gentleman. Sitting slumped in the chair, with that awful hopeless exhaustion that comes when you are drained of all emotion, I slowly became aware that the young man sharing the table with me was attempting to claim my attention.

'If you don't mind me saying so, you look like a young lady who is about to swoon. May I suggest a glass of brandy? The recuperative powers of brandy would be just the thing if you are feeling ill.'

His speech had the accent of the well-bred Englishman who had lived at a high social level. As he bent over me with an expression of concern on his face I couldn't help noticing a birthmark on his neck that looked like a spotted red ladybird.

Sipping the brandy, I viewed him with curiosity. Elegantly dressed in a dark blue frock coat, a pleated white shirt topped with a fine white muslin cravat and a pale blue velvet waistcoat, he looked every inch a gentleman of fashion and good taste. Beneath the fair curly hair his sensitive features still showed anxiety for my health.

'Feeling better?' he asked. 'Allow me to introduce myself: James Richard Kennet at your service,' he said with a slight bow.

'Miss Dara Tully,' I replied with a faint smile. 'Like yourself, I am also from England. How do you do?'