Margaret was not going to be silenced. “I work for a clinic in Portpool Lane, specifically for poor women in the area, and we are continually seeking funds. Even the smallest donation would be sufficient for food or a little coal. Medicines can cost more, but vinegar and lye are cheaper.”
Walter seized on the one thing he had not understood and felt he could take issue with. “Surely vinegar is unnecessary, Miss Ballinger? Can you not feed them simpler food? If they are ill, what of gruel, or something of that nature?”
“We do not eat vinegar,” Margaret replied, forcing herself to speak softly. “It is to keep things clean. We do use a lot of gruel, and porridge when people are a little stronger, or for those who are injured rather than ill.”
Walter was plainly disconcerted. “Injured?”
“Yes. Women are quite often involved in accidents, or they are victims of attack. We do for them what we can.”
His expression filled with distaste. “Really? How . . . very unpleasant. I imagine it must be difficult for you. I prefer to make my donations to those who are spreading the light of Christianity to those poor souls who have not already had the opportunity—and spurned it! One must not waste precious resources.” He inclined his head as if he were about to leave.
Margaret stiffened.
Rathbone put his hand on her arm, tightening his fingers a little, warning her not to respond.
“I know,” she said under her breath. Then as soon as Walter had retreated to another group where he would not be disturbed by unpleasant thoughts, she added, “I would love to tell him what I believe, but it would ruin all future chances of help. Don’t worry, I shall bite my tongue.” But there was no smile on her face, and she did not turn to look at him.
Her next attempt fared little better. They were engaged in polite but trivial conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Taverner, Lady Hordern, and the Honorable John Wills.
“Such a wonderful man,” Lady Hordern said enthusiastically, referring to one of the doctors in Africa. “Prepared to give his life to saving people he does not even know, body and soul. Truly Christian.”
“Most doctors save people they do not know,” Rathbone pointed out.
Lady Hordern looked a little bewildered.
“All that is necessary is to know that many people are ill and in trouble,” Margaret said with a smile.
“Quite!” Wills agreed, as if she had made his point for him.
Rathbone hid a smile. “I think what Miss Ballinger means is that we should also give generously to other causes as well.”
Lady Hordern blinked. “Whose cause?”
“I was thinking of those who work in such places as the clinic run by my friend, Mrs. Monk, who treats our own Londoners,” Margaret responded.
“But we have hospitals,” Mr. Taverner pointed out. “And we are Christian already. It is very different, you know.”
Margaret bit her lip. “There is something of a difference between having heard of Christ and being a Christian.”
“Yes, I suppose so.” He was patently unconvinced.
She scented an opportunity. “Surely one soul is as valuable as another? And to save those in our own community will have excellent effects all around us.”
“Save?” his wife asked suspiciously. “From what, Miss Ballinger?”
Rathbone felt Margaret’s arm tense and heard her indrawn breath. Was she going to make a tactical error?
“From behavior unworthy of a Christian,” Margaret replied sweetly.
Rathbone let out his breath in a sigh of relief.
Lady Hordern’s pale eyebrows rose very high. “Are you referring to that place which caters to women of the street?” she asked incredulously. “I can hardly imagine that you are asking for money to support . . . prostitutes?”
Mr. Taverner turned a dull shade of red, but whether his emotion was fury or embarrassment it was impossible to say.
“I believe that for the most part they support themselves, Lady Hordern,” Rathbone interposed, hearing Hester’s voice in his head exactly as if she had prompted him. “Which is the heart of the trouble, I imagine. The clinic you are referring to is to help street women who are injured or ill, and therefore cannot obtain their usual employment.”
“Which is devoutly to be wished!” Mrs. Taverner snapped.
“Is it?” Rathbone asked innocently. “I do not admire it as a trade, nor the fact that so many men patronize it, or it could not exist, but neither do I think that attempting to do away with it would be a practical solution. And as long as there are such people, it becomes us to treat their illnesses as effectively as we may.”
“I find your opinions extraordinary, Sir Oliver,” Mrs. Taverner responded icily. “Most particularly that you should choose to express them in front of Miss Ballinger, who after all is unmarried, and I assume you regard her as a lady?”
To his amazement Rathbone was not furious, he was suddenly and intensely proud. “Miss Ballinger works in the clinic,” he said clearly. “She is perhaps more aware of the nature of these women’s lives than any of us.”
Mrs. Taverner looked profoundly shocked and insulted.
