He left the door open behind him and walked smartly down Bath Street toward the Farringdon Road.

“Bastard!” Nell said in disgust, then looked down at her arm. “Yer improvin’,” she said grudgingly.

“Thank you,” Hester acknowledged with a smile.

Nell suddenly grinned back. “Yer all right, you are! If that fat sod gives yer any trouble, like, let us know. Willie might knock me around a bit, wot’s out o’ place, but ’e’d be good fer beatin’ that slimy pig, an’ all.”

“Thank you,” Hester said seriously. “I’ll keep it in mind. Would you like more tea?”

“Yeah! An’ a drop o’ life in it, too.” Nell held out the cup.

“Rather less life this time,” Hester directed as Margaret, hiding a smile, obeyed.

Hester moved her attention to Lizzie, who was looking increasingly anxious as her turn approached. Setting her broken bone was going to be very painful. Anesthetic had been available for more serious operations for several years. It made all sorts of deep incisions possible, such as those needed to remove stones from the bladder, or a diseased appendix. But for injuries like this, and for people unable or unwilling to go to a hospital, there was still no help but a stiff dose of alcohol and such herbs as dulled the awareness of pain.

Hester talked all the time, about anything and nothing-the weather, local peddlers and what they were selling-in order to distract Lizzie’s attention as much as possible. She worked quickly. She was accustomed to the terrible wounds of the battlefield, where there was no anesthetic and not always brandy, except to clean a blade. Speed was the only mercy available. This time there was no broken skin, nothing to see but the crooked angle and the pain in Lizzie’s face. Hester touched the wrist lightly, and heard the gasp, then the retching as the raw ends of bone grated. With one swift, decisive movement, she brought the ends together and held them while Margaret, gritting her teeth, bound the wrist as firmly as she could without stopping the blood to the hand.