Free The Lass Wore Black by Karen Ranney Page A

preyed not only on those who strayed too close to their borders, but among themselves. The poor were often victims of the poor.
    He tried to remain as unobtrusive as possible when walking into certain areas to treat his patients. He had more than one set of clothes earmarked to wear in Old Town. Nothing fine that would immediately label him a mark.
    Handing his gold watch to Brody for safekeeping, he took what medicines he would distribute from his case and shoved them into the inside pockets of his coat, along with what diagnostic tools he’d need. He never carried his bag into Old Town. Doing so was an invitation to be robbed.
    The majority of Edinburgh society believed that the inhabitants of the slums of Old Town were poor because they wished to be. It was said that they were shiftless, addicted to drink, or simply lazy. He knew, however, from witnessing the conditions and knowing the people, that circumstances, more than inclination, kept people here.
    The family he was visiting this morning was one of those cases. Edeen MacDonald had been abandoned by her husband a year ago. Without family or prospects, she’d been forced into prostitution to support her children, at least until Mrs. MacTavish interceded. Dina had obtained a piecework job for her, where she could make lace during the day and be able to attend her daughter Christel when the girl’s medical condition warranted it.
    Still, she lived in abysmal conditions that would probably result in the death of one of her children and grant a dreary future to the other.
    He bid Brody farewell, gauging the time he’d need to visit Edeen. If he didn’t return in a timely manner, Brody would go in search of him.
    He began walking, keeping his focus on his destination and not the poor souls lying slumped against the brick walls. Gaunt faces and soulless eyes were the uniform of Old Town. The smell of cooked cabbage overlaid by the stench of urine made his eyes water, but he kept on, down into the deepest part of St. Agnes’ Close.
    Here, death waited, lurking over a slumped body nearly devoid of life. A woman cringed in the corner clutching a threadbare shawl, her face grimy and slack.
    For centuries, there had been nowhere to build but up. Consequently, Old Town was constructed of tall buildings sloping together at the top.
    A man’s worth and wealth were determined by where he lived. The poorest always lived on the ground floor, where broken sewers made life miserable. Those with some funds had their homes on the top floor, where traces of sunlight entered the windows. For a while they could forget where they lived.
    The gaslights were still lit, and in some places they were never extinguished because sunlight never reached these narrow streets. Black was the predominant color, with varying shades of gray the only accent. The cobblestones glistened wetly, the smells ripening, causing his stomach to clench. Even being a physician didn’t prepare him for some experiences. He carefully avoided the worst of the puddles as he followed the street downward.
    So many people were living on top of each other that he could witness all of man’s depravity, and only some of his virtues, within one block.
    If he lived here, would he spend all his money on whiskey or gin? Possibly. He’d like to think that he’d survive, and leave Old Town as quickly as he could, but these people had probably once felt the same optimism.
    The passage grew increasingly constricted, the cobblestones slick.
    When the bridge between Old Town and New Town was built, huge vaults had been constructed below the span. Originally planned as warehouse space for the shops located on the road above, the vaults had been transformed into living space by the desperate and the homeless.
    Edeen had claimed one of the vaults as her home. Here, the stench of effluence wasn’t as strong, but the cold, damp stone created an unhealthy place to live all the same.
    Three vaults down a fire was lit. While it did little