The Devil's Fever

6

The Ragged School was an unusual building. An old disused warehouse down by the canal, draughty but functional in its new use as an centre to educate the poor. It stood tall and ready to work, yet inside no grain was being hauled and no spices being stacked, it was instead filled with the shrill scratch of chalk on board and cane on table.

Weston was greeted at the door by Miss Pomfrey, an upright woman in her thirties who gave very little expression away, the only indication of the tension below the surface being the regularity with which she blinked.

"As you can see Mr. Weston, we provide an excellent basis in a number of subjects for the children, as well as providing moral guidance."

Weston had been bored by the tour. He did not come to see street children stand ram-rod straight and pontificate on the brilliance of the school in clearly well-rehearsed speeches. But Pomfrey thought he was another wealthy benefactor coming around for the 'poor tour' so he did his bit and nodded along. He was not looking forward to her reaction when she realised he was not here to donate.

"And, do you have any behavioural issues here? Anything unusual you come across, working with street children?" Internally Weston chided himself at the clumsiness of his questioning, and Miss Pomfrey visibly prickled at the idea.

"We believe a good Christian education is the curer of all ills Mr. Weston."

"Oh absolutely, absolutely, I just mean, these children, these poor wretches have seen such things, such violence, such depravity out there. There must be a period of... introduction to society's rules you must undertake."

"Wretches?"

Too far into character James, retreat a bit. "Madam Pomfrey, you do excellent work, I would just love to know the sheer scale of the challenge you face and overcome here." Weston was playing to her ego, and it worked in a fashion.

"Oh yes, well, it can be difficult, of course, the children can be a challenge but with the Lord's guidance and people's kind donations we get by."

Weston wrinkled his nose at his own failure, he could see Pomfrey would give him nothing he needed. He followed her around the school and its enclaves for just under another hour, trying to look for opportunities to move the conversation onto gruesome injury and stories of a young man attacking others with teeth and nail, but, alas, to no avail.

He rounded to corner to the infirmary, with Pomfrey droning on about standards of cleanliness and washing of sheets, when he was introduced to a slight looking woman in a perfectly starched uniform.

"And this is our nurse, Miss Hinckley."

She stretched out her hand and gave an odd and completely out of place half curtesy. Weston was clearly confused at her response to him, but he did rather like being treated like royalty.

"Sir."

Pomfrey carried on talking about the various ailments of the children and the tremendous standard of care the school provided by Weston wasn't listening. He was looking at a bandage on the nurses' forearm and the small purplish indentations that it was not quite covering.

When Hinckley noticed where his gaze had drifted she put her hands behind her back and her and Weston made eye contact briefly, before she looked away entirely.

Weston's interest was piqued and his mood amongst the finalities of Pomfrey's tour was much perkier, he was now considering that it hadn't been a wasted trip after all. Nurse Hinckley had a tale to tell and he would get it from her somehow. All he had to do was find the right time and place and get to the end of this interminable tour.

He left the school with a heartfelt thank you to Miss Pomfrey and walked off back down the canal, cheerfully imagining her turning the air blue at his lack of investment and vast consumption of her time.