“A high-ranking churchman. Someone important, as high as a bishop by preference.” The plan all fell into place now, and Peter was as delighted with it as a child with a new toy, and just as eager to share it with his chosen playmate. “Firstly, we need to establish you in Doctor Clayton-Smythe’s eyes as not only completely above reproach, but as someone to whom Clayton-Smythe is indebted. Now what does a hospital need above all else?”
“Money,” she replied instantly. “Always money. And I think I can see where you are taking this; high-ranking churchmen are in charge of a great deal of charitable money and have access to people who can supply a great deal more if pressed. I already know that Clayton-Smythe wants money for a larger charity ward; it will make him look so very admirable and high-minded. Having a bigger hospital makes him look more important. He might even get that knighthood he’s been hoping for.”
“For that matter, being able to refer to a bishop familiarly will appeal to his vanity as well,” Peter pointed out. “So Almsley will find us one of his tame churchmen who is currently feeling the need to feed the sheep. You’ll have tea with the dear old gent, talk about your experiences in India with your father, charm him, then point out that the need right here in London is just as great, if not greater, than in India. You will be the one to take the gentleman around the hospital, then turn him over to Clayton-Smythe like a good little girl. I will arrange for Parkening to be there at the same time.”
She shook her head a little, but only in puzzlement. “I don’t know how you’ll manage that.”
“Well, I won’t, Almsley will,” Peter amended. “Don’t worry, he’ll do it. Your job will then be to stay with Clayton-Smythe and the padre until you run into him. Then you go to work on Parkening with your hints.”
Puzzlement became understanding, then matured to what was definitely a variety of unholy glee. “Yes,” she said simply. “I think I can do that.”
The bishop was a much wiser and kinder man than Maya had expected; she had the feeling from the twinkling in his eyes that Peter Almsley had told him something of the truth about the situation, and also that he wouldn’t have betrayed her for the world. And what was completely unexpected and delightful, he and her father had been at both the same public school and at Oxford. Not in the same college; that would have been too much to expect—but the bishop knew her father at a distance at least, and was able to tell her one or two anecdotes about Roger Witherspoon’s misspent youth among Oxford’s hearty gamesmen. By the time they went off to the hospital, he felt like an old family friend.
Clayton-Smythe had tried to be rid of her twice, but the bishop had managed to somehow dismiss the effort without Clayton-Smythe noticing—and now the Head was convinced that having her along on the tour was his idea.
“Doctor Witherspoon is an immense asset to the Poor Children’s ward,” he was saying, with a kind of too-hearty condescension that made her grit her teeth. “The woman’s touch, don’t you know. Little b—babies aren’t afraid of a strange woman the way they are of a strange man, of course. And the young woman that’s her protégée is a positive genius with ‘em; she’ll be a fine children’s doctor in time.”
“That would be my friend Miss Amelia Drew,” Maya said helpfully. “She’s studying at the London School of Medicine for Women. Her teachers all expect her to earn her medical degree within the coming year.” She looked earnestly up at the bishop and the Head, clasping her hands together as if in entreaty as she noticed Simon Parkening approaching from behind his uncle. Yes, I think now is the time. “It would be so good for sick children if someone like Amelia was in charge of them; she could devote herself entirely to them and their ailments! If only this hospital had a new Poor Children’s ward by then, there could be a place for her in it.”
The bishop recognized his cue and came in on it like the seasoned professional he was. “Well, there are some Royal grants at my disposal—or perhaps I should say, my direction,” he said. “Their Majesties—Queen Alexandra in particular—are very keen on improving the lot of our poor children, and if you not only have the services of a fine physician like my young friend here, but the prospects of obtaining a second lady doctor like her, I cannot think of a better place in which to bestow the Queen’s grant.”
The Bishop beamed, Clayton-Smythe beamed, and Simon Parkening looked as if he’d been struck. At just that moment, his uncle noticed he was there.
“Ah, Simon!” Clayton-Smythe boomed expansively, prepared at this moment to be pleased with anyone who came within his purview, and feeling generous enough to share the reflected glory of his exalted new acquaintance. “Bishop Mannering, this is my sister’s son, Simon Parkening. Not a doctor, I’m afraid, but we can’t all be physicians, or there wouldn’t be enough patients to go around!” He laughed at his own witticism, and Maya and the bishop joined in politely.
Simon did not. He was looking rather pale, in fact.
A little difficult to accuse someone of immorality who happens to be the “young friend” of a bishop isn’t it, you filthy swine? she thought triumphantly. But she wasn’t done with him yet, as he was about to discover.
“Oh, Mr. Parkening is in and out of the hospital quite as much as if he was a doctor,” Maya said, with a light laugh and a penetrating glance at Parkening. “Some of the staff can’t quite understand what he finds so fascinating, but I think there are one or two of us who’ve penetrated his secret!”
Parkening actually blanched; he went so white even his uncle noticed. “I say, nephew,” the Head began.
But Maya was already offering a solicitous hand to help Parkening to a nearby chair. “Goodness, Mr. Parkening,” she said, in tones of false sympathy. “Didn’t your physician tell you that after a heat stroke like the one you suffered yesterday, you should never exert yourself? You really should not have come here today—the wards may not be as dreadful now that the heat has broken, but you should still be taking cooling drinks on a breezy veranda, not tottering about here! I’m sure your business here could bear your absence for a day or two!”
“Heat stroke?” Clayton-Smythe exclaimed in surprise. “Simon? You suffered a heat stroke here?”
Maya prevented Parkening from explaining by answering before he could. “Oh, my, yes, Doctor! I found him on the floor of the linen closet in the Women’s Charity Ward and had him taken straight up to the Men’s Private Ward where he could be properly cooled down with ice and alcohol rubs.” She dropped her gaze modestly—so that Clayton-Smythe would not see the malicious glitter in them. Let the uncle make what he would of his nephew being found in one of the women’s wards—and in a storage closet, no less!
Parkening looked positively green.
“What quick thinking, Doctor Witherspoon!” the bishop said cheerfully. “I must say, I should not worry a jot to find myself in competent hands like yours!”
“I am only one of many who are just as quick-thinking and competent, Bishop,” Maya replied, raising her eyes again. “Doctor Clayton-Smythe attracts only the best, and I venture to say that those he allows to serve in his hospital are the cream of those. I am just glad he considered that I was good enough to practice in his hospital.”
Clayton-Smythe positively swelled; any more compliments, and Maya was afraid he might burst. There was no doubt now that Maya was not only in his good books, but had risen so far in his eyes that Parkening would not dare molest her now, nor accuse her without absolute and irrevocable proof of misdeeds. And to a certain extent, Maya was not offering empty compliments. This hospital was one of the best; she would not have tried so hard to practice here if it hadn’t been.