Watson's Woes

Disclaimer - If I owned them, I'd be dead!

See bottom of last chapter for authors notes explaining the 'thinking' behind this fic…

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The next step on Poole's road to rehabilitation came from my poorer practice. It was not often that those that dwelled in the poorer areas of London sent for a doctor, and you could always guarantee that the patient would be in very dire straits indeed, when the call was finally made. The poor often couldn't afford the luxury of a doctor, and were more used to 'shifting for themselves'. As I believed that your status should not interfere with your right to medical attention I allowed my patients to repay any medical bills in whatever manner they could afford. Sometimes this meant that the payment of my 'bill' came in several small instalments, and sometimes payment was made through service - a member of the family would re-sole my shoes, alter a suit, or sweep my chimney's. I was careful to ensure that I didn't make the payment a burden to the family and did my best to ensure that their pride was left intact. I flatter myself that my reputation among the poor was for fairness and dignity, something that some of those working for charity failed to achieve. I did not lecture or condescend, and I tried not to refer to the difference in status between my patients and myself. I certainly didn't use them as fodder for dinner table stories with my peers and acquaintances, as some of my colleagues were known to.

We were returning from our afternoon rounds and looking forward to a hearty dinner when I heard my name being whispered from behind Mary's favourite rose bush. As this was not a common occurrence, I grabbed Poole's arm in surprise, cutting off his monologue on the treatment of gout in elderly male patients.

"Who is there?" I asked sharply. The last time I had been taken by surprise in this garden I had been hospitalised, something I wanted to avoid at all costs.

"It's Billy Jones, Doc," the hoarse voice carried clearly now, "Can yer let me in?"

"Of course Billy," I nodded to Poole to open the door and young Billy scuttled inside. His father worked as a builder, and Billy was one of twelve children. The family was not in quite the same financial straits as some of my patients, but neither were they rich. I shut the front door behind us and Billy straightened up, smiling nervously at my colleague.

"I can wait while yer see to this chap, Doc," he suggested and I smiled at him. He had good manners when he wanted to, did Billy, not that his language was up to elegant speech. He had picked up far too much slang to sustain that.

"This is Dr Poole, Billy. He's my new offsider for the next few months, and will be coming with me if you're calling me out. You can trust him," I nodded at my colleague to keep his hat and coat on and Billy sighed.

"Me dad has caught this man down near our mews. He's got a woman with him, and whoever they are, they don't go together. She's quality and he's rough, and on top of that, I think she's sick. We can't call a peeler 'cos we've got… well nem'mind that… we jest can't, but dad thought you could come and look her over… maybe get her back to where she belongs?" Billy looked so hopeful that I nodded straight away and gestured for him to go out the back through the kitchen. We warned Mrs Cooper that we may be some time, and I snagged a loaf of bread on the way out. Like so many others, Billy's family always needed food, and I could slip this to the boy in payment for his message service.

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Billy was named for his father, William, and it was that good man that let us into the family's humble home. There was only a single candle burning, and from what I could deduce in its feeble light the family was not in evidence at all.

"I've sent the tiddlers and the missus to her sisters, doc," William confirmed my guess with his first low words, "I didn't want them in the way of getting hurt."

"Of course not," I kept my voice just as quiet, "Where is she?"

"Through here," William muttered and led the way through, Billy taking up station at the front door as look out, "I managed to knock him out and tie the bloke up, but fer some reason she won't leave him. I offered to get her a cab or summat, but she wouldn't go without her escort. She's scared as all hell and she's shakin' with fever; there's some marks on her clothes that look bad too."

The back room was where the family slept, a bevy of mattresses and a brass bed that the parents and babies slept in. The woman was huddled at the end of it, staring at the supine form of her erstwhile escort. I spared a glance for the thin form before bending to examine her more fully in the dim light.

"Duchess Farwright," I gasped in surprise, and whirled to bend over the man on the floor. It was only a moment's work to discover his true identity and I untied Holmes at once.

The Duchess had been missing for the last three days, kidnapped on her way home from a friend's house, her carriage waylaid and driver and footman severely beaten to subdue them. Holmes had been called in at once, a fact widely reported in the papers, and from time to time, I had wondered how his case was progressing. That I should become involved in my former friends work once again was an irony that I had no time to contemplate.

"William, this is the Duchess Farwright, and Mr Sherlock Holmes," I murmured, "I assume he has rescued her from captivity and was then waylaid by you. We must get them out of here as quietly as possible."

Even as I spoke, I was examining her quickly. She was filthy and shaking with fever. Her skin was waxen and the marks on her clothes showed that she had been tied by the wrists and waist to a wooden chair with arms - probably a dining chair of some kind. Her hemline showed that she had walked or been pulled through water at some point, though there were deep puddles about at the moment due to the winter rains. She had lost weight over the last three days - I doubted she had been fed anything at all during her captivity. My thoughts were interrupted by my young apprentice.

"We don't have a cab waiting," Poole murmured, "I could go and find one."

"The hell," William replied, "Beg pardon, yer ladyship, no harm meant. A cab now would draw too much attention. They've already seen Billy go fetch you and my missus leave with the kids. Anyone watching will know something's going on and most people around here can be bought for a brass farthing."

"Then we will have to find another way. Either Poole and Billy go for the police as quickly as they can, or we find a way out of here that is as discreet as possible. Our best chance would be the police, but I understand there may be a problem with that?" I hinted around the subject delicately so as to avoid upsetting our host and risking Poole making yet another of his unfortunate comments. William was not above holding onto goods that had been acquired dishonestly from time to time, charging a 'storage fee' to the person who had liberated the goods. This fee was a vital supplement to the family income and jeopardising it would mean very real hardship to the family.

"Er, that is no longer an issue, Doc, I managed to get a babysitter," William replied, avoiding our eyes. I bit back a smile and nodded at Poole.

"Take the boy with you, he'll know where the nearest beat constable is," all the children in the area did, it was a vital skill for those that played the role of lookout, but more to the point young Billy would know where the nearest honest constable was. Even the police were not immune to bribery and corruption.

Poole looked as though he'd like to object, but William had him by the arm and out the door in moments. I took the opportunity to wrap the Duchess in the topmost blanket from the bed and then bent over Holmes.

"Sorry, Doc, I didn't mean to harm yer friend," William muttered from the doorway, "I'll have to stand watch now, are ye alright to stay with them?"

"Quite alright, William," I smiled and straightened from my examination. Holmes was already showing signs of rousing and I thought it best to be out of arms reach when he woke, at least until he was fully aware of his surroundings. There was nothing I could do for the Duchess at this time - she needed to be cleaned up and put to bed, something beyond my current abilities - and Holmes was rapidly coming back to himself.

William slipped out to the front room and I took my place on the bed, chafing the Duchess's hands lightly and talking soothingly to her. Her shivers did not abate, but she did manage to find my face with her eyes. She was in shock, but there was nothing to be done about it at the moment. Holmes sat up abruptly, sweeping the room with a keen gaze even as a hand came up to steady his head.

"Take it gently, Mr Holmes," I advised from my seat on the bed, "The Duchess is not harmed. William misunderstood your intentions towards her. Were you being closely pursued?"

"I… believe not," the uncertain reply was not comforting, though it could be as much because he was uncertain where their pursuers had been when William hit him, as the blow on the head. I nodded anyway and checked the Duchess was well wrapped.

"We're safe enough for the moment," I told him, "And there is help on the way."

"Who?" Holmes rose unsteadily to his feet, coming into the circle of candlelight more fully to glance over the shivering woman beside me before subjecting me to a keen glare.

"One of my colleagues and the eldest of the house are out for the peelers," I informed him, "The gentleman of the house is keeping watch for us."

"Poole? You brought him along? After the last disaster?" Holmes seemed astonished, though I accepted his knowledge of the inner workings of my practice as normal. Holmes would be in contact with Lestrade, and the Inspector was not one for secrets. There were days when I felt that the Yard knew more about my daily habits than I did, "Why have you not repudiated him?"

"He is inexperienced, but can be taught," I frowned, "Do not presume to tell me my job."

Really, the man was insufferable. He had made it clear that he placed no value upon my presence in his work and then dared to instruct me on how to proceed in my own profession. My professional relationships were not to be dictated by another, and Holmes' meddling would not be borne. Fortunately, he ceased his comments on that front, and I made an effort to regain my composure.

"Doc, here comes Billy and the peelers," a low voice called, and moments later I heard a carriage pull up outside the house. I peeled the blanket from the Duchess's shoulders and shrugged out of my greatcoat, putting it on her instead and supporting her from the room. We had her and Holmes ensconced in the carriage quickly, received by young Poole, and I joined them in the carriage as the driver whipped the horses up.

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