Open Writing

Doctor Edward Robinsoin - 1

To say that Seth Gledhill was angry would be a foolish understatement. His fury had been rising for some time because of conditions and wages in the textile industry. He had been successful in keeping it concealed. However, today his anger was uncontrollable after an elderly weaver approached him as he was leaving the factory.

“Your lass, Mary, has been taken home sick, nigh unto death. She knocked her food can onto the floor accidentally while the Maister was in the weaving shed. When he saw what she’d done, he raced over and without a word he kicked her where he should not have done. She went down like a log and lay still and quiet like on the floor. When Staithes saw the blood come from her and make a puddle on the floor, he set two women to carry her off home. Your Sarah was sent for and told to go home and see to her.”

Sarah reached the house at the same time as the women that carried Mary home. She could see that her daughter was bleeding freely.

“Oh, my poor Mary,” cried Sarah, distraught almost to insanity. “What have they done to you?” Sobbing wildly through her heartbreak she told the women carry her girl into the house and upstairs where they laid her on the bed.

“Oh, Mary! My Mary! What have they done to you?” she called to her repeatedly.

Mary gave no sign that she heard her mother’s voice. She lay as she was placed, pale and lifeless. The women looked on with horror at the scene. They expressed almost inaudible well meant hopes to Sarah before they set off to go back to work leaving her to tend her dying child alone. She hardly knew what to do, but tried to stem the stream of blood that poured out Mary’s life by pressing the bedclothes against her. Try as she might, nothing stopped the bleeding. All she could do was weep and watch her as her Mary’s mortality drained away.
When Seth reached the house, Mary was all but gone.

“Has the doctor been?” asked Seth. “What did he say?”

“I haven’t had time. I’m here by myself. I’ve all on trying to stop her bleeding.

“I’ll go and fetch Dr Robinson,” said Seth, racing down the stairs and out the front door.

Edward Robinson MD’s house was a good way from Gledhill’s. It was set in an acre of well tended garden with a serpentine drive. Gledhill hammered on the door until it was opened by Robinson’s manservant.

“What do you want, eh? You should have gone to the back door. That’s where tradesmen call!” the man demanded brusquely, offended by the working man’s unkempt presence at the front door.

“My lass has been hurt and looks like to die. The doctor must come at once!”

“Oh, must he?” said the man imperiously. “And what will you use for money, eh?”

‘Why, that I don’t know,” said Gledhill. “But I do know that if he doesn’t come she will be dead within the hour.”

“What’s all this fuss about? Who’s bothering us?” demanded a gruff voice behind the manservant. The huge door opened wider to show Dr Robinson’s ample form. Seeing Gledhill he demanded gruffly, “What do you want, eh?”

“My Mary’s been kicked hard and she’s bleeding to death, and she’s only just breathing. She looks as white as a ghost and she’s almost gone. You must come quickly, Doctor! You must!”

“Oh, must I? And who says I must, eh?”

“I don’t want to fight with you, Dr Robinson, but unless you help her she’ll die.”

“What will you pay me with, eh?” Robinson was in no mood to be accommodating. “Lots of you poor folk die everyday. I can’t save them all, and I hardly ever get paid for my trouble. How will you pay me, eh? If you put a guinea in my hand this minute then I’ll come and tend your child. If not, then I’m back to my fire and supper.”

“We have no money,” Gledhill admitted sadly,” but if you’ll come we will pay you as and when we have any.” His eyes pleaded to the healer to aid him in his distress, but the disciple of Hippocrates would not exercise the spirit of the Oath. Rather than abide by the nobility of the ancient physician’s statement, he substituted one that aligned him with others that reckoned the spirit of the new age as, “Nothing for nothing.”

“Then you will not come?” asked the grieving father.

“I will not, and I’ll thank you not to trouble me again with your foolishness.” Robinson and his manservant withdrew back into the house. The door slammed hard after them to emphasise Robinson’s refusal.

Gledhill was incensed but despite his fury at the medical man’s refusal to help his daughter he knew he must keep a clear head. He would address Robinson’s rebuff at a more appropriate time. Right now, he had to do what he could. If he could get no help with Mary, perhaps he could find someone willing to help his Sarah deal with the tragedy of losing her daughter.