Hysteria. Unabridged. Chapter One. Mark.(indi) Chapter One. Mark.
Mark Wearington had taken an oath. An oath which bonded him to the service of his fellow human beings as their doctor many years ago. He was good at his job and helped co run a well-functioning practice in London’s shopping district with his friend and colleague Francis J. Morris. Mark had women that morning as he did every morning and opened the curtains to overlook the streets bellow, already bustling within the settled fog and sludge of the dirt and horse manure. He took a deep breath, poured some water from the jug on his dresser and began to wash his face. As he prepared to begin his day, he hummed to himself. He dressed himself in the three-piece suit he’d set out for himself the night before, placing his pocket watch in his waist coat pocket and straightening his tie. He pushed his spectacles up his nose and picked up his bag. He quietly closed his bedroom door and proceeded down stairs and through the dark hall. He saw that his office door was shut as he’d left it the previous day, but his colleagues was ajar. He peaked through it to see his senior deeply immersed in a manuscript. His window open and London’s breeze lifting the light lace curtains giving them an ethereal quality. His boss often pulled late nights reading and emerging himself in the most current literature. Mark cleared his throat to announce his presence and Francis looked up with a start. His bleary eyes focusing on mark he put down the paper.
“Is it morning? Francis J. Morris swung his legs down from atop his desk and cast the paper aside with a start as he posed the question.
“Yes sir, its seven am, ish. I wondered where you’d disappeared to this time.” Mark entered and began to help his boss tidy. Books were piled on his desk, some open and some closed, some cast aside haphazardly. A stone-cold cup of tea sat beside his pipe. Morris darted about, he was disheveled, his hair showing signs of fingers having run through it multiple times. His eyes were blood shot and the room was thick with smoke from his still smoking pipe sitting on his desk despite the window being wide open. He’d been up all night in his office, clearly deeply engrossed in something in which mark was mildly curious.
“What finds you neglecting your sleep this time sir?” Asked Mark as he handed Morris a pile of books from the floor.
“ Oh The Lancet have through the mail yesterday, after my last appointment I began reading it and chanced upon this article.” He stumbled to his desk and handed him the paper. Titled Hysteria and the current female fissionable corset. Examining the moral and health dilemma. Mark glanced at it and looked up at his boss whose eyes were shining. He was clearly very excited by this article.
May I borrow it for the day? Since you seem to be so enthralled by this piece, I should like to give it my full attention after my patients are seen to. Mind, you should smarten up, remember you told me a week ago you were interviewing that new doctor today.” Mark tucked the paper under his arm and clapped his boss on the shoulder. His eyes lit up, his face stretched in horror and he clapped Marks shoulders and rushed out the door and up the stairs two at a time. Mark smiled to himself and continued to smarten up Dr Morris’ office to the sounds of him hurriedly darting about his room. He was amused by his senior’s enthusiasm and willingness to embrace newfangled practices. Mark didn’t share his adventurousness. He sometimes worried for his credibility during his periodic all-nigjters. In his nightmares he saw his boss and teacher hauled before the British Medical Association, having overstepped the bounds of conventional medicine.
When he was satisfied with the room, he left it for his office and on his way saw the sitting room was already filling up. He opened his door and proceeded to place The Lancet on the edge of his desk. He lit the lamps around the examination table, cleared up his writing space and went out into the sitting room just as Doctor Morris was coming back down the stairs. He darted back into his office and closed the door.
“Miss Marry Shrives!” said Mark to the sitting room at large. A woman stood up and moved through the line of chairs, she was carrying her small daughter, no older than five years old, swaddled in several heavy blankets. Mark bowed his head and stood aside as they entered his office. He followed and settled himself behind his desk, motioning them to make themselves comfortable.
Marys daughter appeared to be the one seeking attention, she was very pallid as she lay bundled, peaceful looking, eyes flickering as she slept.
“It’s mi daughter doctor, she’s burnin’ up, been sick a few times something ghastly, started last night. Thought we ought to ave her seen to.” Mary spoke in her thick cockney accent. Mark rounded his desk and brought the back of his fingers to her daughters’ forehead.
“Name?” Asked Mark.
“Sherly.” Said Mary. Sherly was indeed febrile and her skin clammy.
“Bring her to the bed and take off her clothes.” Marks mind had entered action mode. The only thing to be one at that very moment was to lower this little girls’ temperature. Mary looked mildly surprised.
“Well?” Mark prompted her, and she obliged. Mark filled an enabled basin with tepid water from the sink by his desk and bright it over, snatching a cloth from his side table as he came. Little Sherly became distressed as her mother stripped away the blankets. She squirmed but her mother stroked her hair and spoke soothing words to her while he applied the cool cloth to her head, neck and chest.
Much of his morning continued without much of interest to Mark. Many of his patients and those of his senior which he was covering were complaining of ailments which could be explained by the current air quality of London. Children with fevers, congestion, adults with poor breathing and the aged with ailed joints. It was around mid-morning when the clinic sitting room was semi-cleared. Patient flow eased up and Mark went out to the sitting room and perused the noticeboard, noticing that Doctor Morris was still up-stairs, he spun round and scanned the people still left in the sitting room. It was then that he heard it, as did the entire sitting room.
A man was yelling outside the door.
“Danna!” Said a mans booming voice, loud enough to crack the silence within the sitting room, the occupants of which all started. A few people stood and went to the window. Marks gut instinct was to investigate. He made his way down the hall and out the door. The site that met his eyes was confusing. A crowd has developed at the clinic’s doorstep. The people were encircling something on the ground. A cacophony of voices spoke words of concern, intrigue and scorn. Mark closed the door behind him and fought his way to the center of the crowd. The site that would meet his eyes would test his confidence as a physician.

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