Viola: Poison was the Cure

"Merricat, innit?"

The young woman nods. "Yeah - Mag gave me some stuff last month for a rash. Where is she, anyways?"

"'Er sister's 'ad a nasty accident at the factory, so she's gone to look after 'er kids until she's better. I'm lookin' after things 'ere until she's back. What's the problem?"

Merricat fidgets and looks around the cluttered little apartment, avoiding Viola's gaze.

"Well... it's Derek. 'E owed some fellas money and they got tired of waiting, so they come round and give him a beating. 'E's in a bad way, so..."

"Right, right. Just let me get my kit together."

* * * * * * * *

Saying that Derek was "in a bad way" was understating the case. One kneecap was shattered, his left hand looked as though someone had crushed it in a vise, and going by the bruises on his chest and abdomen, he probably had several broken ribs and was likely bleeding inside. Still, she'd seen worse, and Mag had trained her well.

"Right... I'll need hot water - boiling if ye can manage that. Apart from that, if you lot could all just stay out of the way, I'll set them bones and then see what I can do about the insides. 'E's not coughing blood, so it's likely better than it looks."

Nobody moves for a long moment, then one of the younger girls scurries from the room. Viola glances up and notices that a lot of the girls in the room aren't in much better shape than Derek. Merricat turns away quickly, but not before Viola catches a glimpse of the other side of her face and sees the ripples of scar tissue under the heavy white makeup.

"So what's that from then?"

Merricat mutters something under her breath.

"Beg pardon?"

"Spilled some tea."

"On yer head?"

She doesn't answer. Viola shrugs. The girl comes back with a steaming bucket of relatively clean water. There are ugly bruises in the shape of a massive handprint around one stick-thin arm.

Viola pauses, looking at the girl's arm, then slowly letting her gaze slide down to the basin, over the surface of the water, to Derek's broad chest hitching laboured breaths.

"All right, you lot. Clear out. I'll manage here."

* * * * * * * * *

"Yer Miz Viola, right? Uster live in Scurt's Hutch?"

She turns around slowly. The boy in the doorway is small for his age, and with the angle of the grimy light and the cap pulled down over his eyes, she can't read his expression.

"Maybe. 'Oo wants ter know?"

"I heard you done for Big Derek. Did yer?"

She considers her options. Maybe the kid just wants a bit of dosh to keep quiet. She's gotten better at her secondary calling, more careful, but there are some lines she won't cross. She could always leave again.

"Look, laddie. I don't care what you 'eard. I done my best, but 'e was just hurt too bad. End 'o story. Now, anything else I can 'elp yer with?"

The kid shuffles his feet, looking like he'd rather be somewhere else. Then he pulls himself straight and looks her in the eyes for the first time.

"It's just... well, if ye had done for him..."

She waits. There's a dark smudge under the boy's left eye that might be dirt or something else. He looks down again, rummaging in one threadbare pocket. His voice shakes when he speaks again, and he holds out a few tarnished coins in a trembling hand.

"There's this feller my mam's been seeing, and 'e beats on 'er something fierce..."