Imogen Robertson - Instruments of Darkness

“Mrs. Westerman. It’s Crowther. May I speak with you? Your sister is concerned.”

There was a sigh and rustle in the room. A footstep came to the door from within and hesitated. He heard her voice:

“Are you alone?”

“I am.”

The door opened and Crowther saw Harriet, her eyes bruised with tears and her face very white.

“Come in, Crowther. Something has happened.”

He let her relate the conversation with Wicksteed and without interruption, then sat along moment before he rang the bell. The speed with which the summons was answered suggested Mrs. Heathcote had been hovering outside for some time. He met her at the door.

“Mrs. Heathcote, I believe Mrs. Westerman could do with her coffee and toast in her rooms.” He made to move away, then paused and turned back. “And would you tell Miss Trench that her sister is quite well.”

Mrs. Heathcote looked gratefully at him. “Of course. Thank you, sir.”

There was such genuine warmth in her tone Crowther smiled. He then returned to the armchair by the fire opposite Harriet and crossed his legs.

“I don’t know what to say to you, Mrs. Westerman, and that is a shocking confession for our age. Any man of civilization should know exactly what to say in any circumstances.”

This drew a reluctant laugh.

“I have never thought of you as particularly civilized, Crowther.” He smiled. Then saw the spasm of pain cross her face again. “Oh, God! Do you think I might have to leave Caveley?”

He was saved from answering by the arrival of Mrs. Heathcote with Harriet’s breakfast. She had brought him a cup as well, and poured the coffee with ostentatious care. As soon as she pulled the door closed behind her though, he replied.

“Perhaps.”

“But what would I do? He told me I must leave my family here. I have been made an exile.”

“It is not a happy role-that I know. Though it can be bearable.” He spoke gently and she nodded slowly in reply. Crowther cleared his throat, and his voice became more robust. “His arms were unmarked, you say?”

“Completely. Perhaps it was Hugh.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“No.”

He studied his fingernails then picked up his cup, and sat back in his chair.

“Well, Mrs. Westerman. Do not abandon hope as yet. We must try to find out something about the poison, and we do have one advantage over Wicksteed.”

She looked up at him quickly.

“We have the children.”

Miss Chase knocked softly at the door and let herself into the room where Graves was resting. He was attended by John Hunter, who looked up fiercely when she entered, then, recognizing her, relaxed his face into a smile.

“How is the patient, Mr. Hunter?”

The older man finished counting out Graves’s pulse before he replied, and laid the patient’s hand, with great gentleness, on the bedcover.

“He is young. If there is no infection in the wound, and I see no sign of it, he will do well enough.” Graves settled himself back on the pillows. He looked a little white, but otherwise much as Miss Chase had expected.

“You don’t mean to bleed me then, sir?”

Hunter gave a bark of laughter. “God, no! Other fella bled you enough, I think. Barbaric practice, I believe. I only bleed ladies of fashion, who fancy themselves a little nervous and want an excuse to faint and look pale. It’s no part of medicine. Never seen it do anything but make a weak body weaker.”

Miss Chase smiled at him. “You’re a revolutionary, sir.”

He nodded. “I am proud to call myself a scientist, Miss Chase-like Gabriel Crowther. We learn with the eyes and ears and minds God gave us. Half the men who call themselves physicians in London learned all they know by reciting the Latin of the ancients and grinding pretty powders. Never take notes. Never really observe the body at work, and so just get in the way.” He seemed to shake himself. “There, you have got me on one of my hobby horses, Miss Chase, and I could ride it till dinner if I am not careful.” He looked down at the injured man again. “I shall leave you to the society of this young lady, sir. But you must rest. And do not let the little boy jump all over you and disturb my dressing on your wound. I shall know if you have done so.”

He bowed and left the room, and Miss Chase took a seat by the bed. Graves lifted himself on his shoulder and turned to her. She could see the shape of his collarbone under his shirt, the pool of it at his neck. She smiled briefly and looked down at her hands, suddenly awkward.

“Mr. Hunter is very kind to us.”

Graves laughed. “I suspect we could not have had a better introduction than hauling in a couple of fresh corpses. Particularly ones he did not have to pay the resurrection men for.”

She smiled. “I tried to explain a little more. He shushed me and told me he had no interest in stories, and had work to do.”

“I pity the colleagues for whom he has so little respect. I doubt he has any compunction about showing it.”

There was a moment of silence; it swam between them. Miss Chase did not look at him, but felt herself so aware of his presence it was almost painful.

“Miss Chase. .”

She did not remember his voice as being so low. She had always liked him, of course, but thought him a rather awkward young man. She had noticed that he admired her, and was pleased with the attention, but it had not occurred to her for a moment that she would ever develop stronger feelings for him. Then everything seemed to change, and he with it. She interrupted him.

“I have sent to my parents. I hope to hear from them soon.” Then she grinned and glanced up at him. “And I think you may have a little difficulty with one of your wards. I suspect Miss Susan Thornleigh has fallen violently in love with Daniel Clode.”

Graves laughed hard, then grimaced as the newly forming skin around his wound protested.

“I think she could do a great deal worse. He’s a good man, and handsome too, damn his eyes. She has my wholehearted permission to like him.”

Miss Chase blushed a little and smiled back at him.

“You’re a terrible guardian. She is to be rich. Titled. Connected. You should have a duke in mind for her at least, not the local solicitor.”

He rolled onto his back and contemplated the canopy of bed hangings above him.

“The rich all need lawyers. It could save the family a fortune in fees. Though the children have a grandfather still living, do they not?”

“That is what Mr. Clode said. And an uncle, though I got the feeling he did not like either of them.”

Graves felt suddenly tired. His wound itched and his eyes felt heavy and hot. He let them close briefly and it seemed to him that the presence of the woman in the room formed a glow behind his lids. Golden and right in the darkness.

“He has gone to help clear out the vipers from Thornleigh Hall, remember. We must trust him and our new friends, this Gabriel Crowther and Mrs. Westerman, to make the place fit for the children.”

The little molelike face peered up at them with snuffling animation.

“Mr. Crowther, Mrs. Westerman! What a joy! A pleasure! Is there something else in my father’s papers you wish to examine?” Sir Stephen opened his arms and gathered them into his hallway. Harriet smiled at him and offered her hand.

“Quite right, sir. And we are sorry to trouble you again.”

“Lord, no trouble at all, Mrs. Westerman. I have not been so sociable for years. It is all quite heady.”

He trotted them straight to his father’s former office and followed them in. Crowther looked briefly around him, then turned back to his host.

“I also have some professional advice to glean from you, sir.”