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“There’s a what?”
I didn’t believe my ears. I was more surprised than anything else, but I’ve a reputation – a well earned one, if I do say so myself – and the squealer cringed. He was one of the many eyes and ears I had in my territory, all of them necessary, but some were more tolerable than others. This one was a cringing, whining sort. I’d have liked him much better if he’d had an inch of spine, but the spineless had their uses, and could be just as dangerous as any other sort.
“A doctor,” the man mumbled. “Least as ‘e says ‘e is, an’ but ‘alf the buildin’s gone sure of it.”
No respectable doctor would dare come near the warren the squealer lived in. I knew that right enough, having grown up in just such a place. He must be an impostor, but what profit would there be in that, in such a place? It made no sense.
I needed to see what was toward for myself.
I thanked the squealer with the usual coin and made my way to the building where this so-called doctor was. I knew more than one way to get inside without any knowing about it, and how to move without being noticed. I wanted to watch, to see, before I decided what needed to be done.
He weren’t much to look at, but he carried a proper doctor’s bag, and it weren’t hard to see that he knew how to use its contents well enough. He limped a fair bit, almost as if he needed a doctor himself – or had needed one at some point. But you didn’t notice the limp after the first few minutes of watching him at work. You just noticed his calmness, as he went from person to person, and the way he listened and looked, as if the person he was treating was the most important person in the world just then. And you couldn’t help but notice that every single person he doctored, whether it was with bandages or poultices, powders or whatnot, or even just words – everyone looked better for it afterwards.
He weren’t working for free, but he weren’t settin’ no rates nor even asking for a fare neither. Folks was just offering what they could, and he accepted it, no questions, with a grateful smile, even if it was as simple as cleaning his hat. Like he understood the pride that wouldn’t let folks accept his work as charity, even appreciated it.
He was a proper doctor, right enough, despite being where no proper doctor ever came. I couldn’t think what would have brought him here, to this place. He didn’t have the look of one of those religious nutters that occasionally tried to nose about and ‘save souls’ by doing good works and such rot. Nor did he look a madman. I couldn’t understand it. But I certainly could see Red Tom creeping about, his eyes on the doctor’s bag, and his hand on the pocket where he liked to keep his cosh.
I nipped that in the bud quick enough. All it took was stepping forward slightly, into the dim light of the hall outside the room where the doctor was treating his latest patient – little Nell’s boy, who limped worse than the man looking at his swollen ankle. The doctor never saw me, but Tom did, well enough, and Nell too. I nodded calm-like at her before taking Tom by the ear and pulling him out of sight.
“Sorry, guv,” he said when I let him go. “I weren’t tryin’ to poach your mark. Jes’ saw an easy grab, and weren’t thinkin’.”
“He’s not my mark,” I said, surprising myself a bit with how harshly I said it, and how much I meant it. “He’s no-one’s mark, not today. He’s not to be touched, not by no one, not while he’s here. You mind me?”
“I hear you right enough.” The words were right, but the tone was all wrong. Tom didn’t understand. Tom needed understanding before he could be trusted to do as he was told. A few well-placed cuffs to his ears reminded him of what he truly needed to know: I’d spoken, and what I said was what would be.
“He’s a Christmas gift,” I explained to him when he stopped swearing. “An’ I won’t have you spoilin’ Christmas.”
“That ain’t ‘til tomorrow,” Tom grumbled, but I could see all the fight and contrary had gone out of him.
“Mebbe for the rest o’ London, but it’s Christmas here today.” I dug into my pocket and tossed Tom a sixpence. “Why don’t you go and have this doctor look at that bad toe o’ yours before it decides to rot. And after you’re done, pass the word: anyone can go see him as long as he’s here, but no one’s to touch him or offer up any mischief, or they’ll answer to me.”
Tom fingered the sixpence. Normally he’d be off like a shot, to go spend it on some rotgut or other. But not this day, this mad, strange day. “Mebbe I will see this doctor, at that.”
He did, and came away without the sixpence – and with the strangest smile on his face.
More people came, and more. It didn’t take long before some of my more trusted men turned up, to see what was on. From there it was easy enough to delegate; one man to keep an eye on the doctor and keep him safe, others to spread the word. I took it on myself to start asking questions, gentle-like, of some of those who’d already seen the man. From them I learned his name, Doctor Watson. I also learned what it felt like, to be thanked for something I’d nothing to do with. Rumor always flies, and somehow – probably thanks to Tom – I was being credited for bringing the doctor, rather than just letting him do his work. It was a tricky point, for I hadn’t anything to do with it, and I didn’t know who had, so I did my best to not take that credit, while emphasizing the spirit of the holiday.
In some ways, that seemed to make folks even more thankful. And that was just as odd as all the rest.
Time passed. More and more folks came and went, and the doctor went with them, on to the next person who needed him. I or one of my men always stayed somewhere nearby, but otherwise didn’t interfere.
And I had enough time to wonder what my life might have been like, had a doctor been willing to come when my Da was first hurt in that accident, back when he was a cabman, and we were livin’ in much more respectable lodgings. I remember goin’ for one, and my brothers and sisters too, but not a one of us were able to convince a doctor to come back with us. Ma’s nursing pulled Da through the night, but if he’d had a doctor, maybe more could have been done. Maybe he’d have been able to get well, instead of just gettin’ worse and worse over the years, unable to work.
And maybe he’d have withered and died anyway. Doctors weren’t miracle workers, not even this Doctor Watson, however miraculous he seemed to us. It was certain sure he had little sense of self-preservation, as the hours crept on and he just kept working. He hadn’t been all that robust looking when I first laid eyes on him, but as the night progressed, he started to look positively transparent. Someone needed to call a halt to things, because it was clear he either wouldn’t or couldn’t, not while there were still folks to help. Mayhap he didn’t realize he’d never run out of those here.
I sent Bob for a cab, and hunted up the doctor personally. He was busy helping one of the little weaver girls with her hand, and hardly seemed to notice me until I plucked at his sleeve. He looked up at me then, as much because he’d finished with the wee girl’s hand as for any other reason. The man looked so tired a stiff breeze might blow him over. But for all that he was as courteous as if I was the Queen of England. “Yes sir? Is there something I can help you with?”
“It’s more that I’m here to help you,” I told him. I couldn’t help grinning at his look of befuddlement. “I doubt you know, but it’s gone past midnight, Doctor, and I hear that you’ve been here ‘elping folks since afore noon. I’m here to see that you get home safe.” Well, and that he’d stayed safe all day, but he didn’t need to know that part.
He thanked me all the same, and told me how kind I was to boot. The man had to be at least a little mad. He leaned on my arm heavily going down the stairs, and I had to give him a good boost to get him into the cab. He thanked me again, and talked with me all through the cab-ride as if we were just two gentlemen out for a drive, without an ounce of difference between our stations in life.
It minded me a bit of the Christmas carols that I’d heard on the streets throughout the last weeks, paupers and beggars alike turning choristers in hopes of an extra penny or three. Songs of joy and good cheer, and God’s blessings to all. I would never go a-wassailing, or even really know what that was, but I’d been sent something special this night all the same.
I helped him out of the cab right at his door, and made sure he had his hat and bag too. I saw light coming towards his front door, and had no doubt some housekeeper or wife would be at hand to see him safe the rest of the way. I jumped back up into the cab, and found I had one last thing I needed to say as the driver started the horses. “Happy Christmas, Doctor Watson, and God bless you.”
He waved, and smiled, and I did the same until we turned the corner and were out of sight. Only then did I settle back into the cab seat. The night was cold, but I felt strangely warm. Yes, God bless Doctor Watson, and send him a happy New Year, too.