Will Thomas - The Limehouse Text

“No!” I cried, arresting her in mid-gesture. “No more visitors. We are declining all visitors today save Mr. Barker’s doctors.”

“How do you know it is not the doctor?” the maid asked in her accented English.

“Applegate has a nice brougham with a white mare. The other doctor is a Chinaman. If there is no white mare at the curb and no Chinaman, that door stays closed. Do you understand?”

“ Oui, monsieur,” she said with a short curtsey.

I walked toward the kitchen for a cup of coffee, realized the Dummolards were still arguing in there, then considered going out somewhere for some peace and quiet. There was nowhere to go. Instead, I climbed the stair and sat down at Barker’s bedside, flipping open the copy of Pilgrim’s Progress.

“Hello, lad,” said the still form on the bed.

“Sir!”

“Was that a fight I heard downstairs just now?”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “I’m so glad you are awake. Ho showed up and got into it with Etienne. Then Madame Dummolard came and lit into both of them. I thought I was going to have to send for the police.”

Barker grunted from the bed. “You were never warned about them,” he said, his voice weak.

“Not until after the fact.”

“How long have I been asleep?”

“More than two days.”

“Blast,” he murmured.

“Your kidneys almost failed, sir. Do you remember?”

“Vaguely. Let me think a moment.”

I allowed him the silence. It was good to have him awake again, cogitating. I helped him take a sip of water and then sat down with the book in my hand.

“Death touch,” he finally said. “Was Applegate here?”

“He was, sir.”

“Applegate could not save me from a death touch. He wouldn’t know how.”

“No, sir, but I brought Dr. Quong here, as well.”

I think I actually surprised him. He spent another moment in silence working it out. “Good, lad,” he finally said. “Very astute.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said.

“That’s the first sensible thing you have done this entire case.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“I suppose I should be dead now had it not been for your quick thinking. Confound it,” he said, showing a little of his normal spirit. “So many hours gone out from under us, and me as weak as a kitten. Tell me what has happened while I was…resting.”

I related everything chronologically from the time I’d found him unconscious in the corridor until he woke up: calling Applegate, fetching Old Quong, Jenkins’s arrival, Poole putting a guard on the house, Bok Fu Ying, Zangwill’s news, our visit to the inn, Forbes helping us-everything.

“It appears you’ve had a time of it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I should have realized what had happened. I was caught out.”

“You cannot anticipate everything, sir.”

“You can if you’re wise enough,” he said. “Old Quong. Bring him here. I need him. Harness Juno and take the cab. Inform him that I need a good marrow cleansing.”

“Yes, sir,” I said and went downstairs. There is nothing like being the bearer of good news. Mac shouted a hurrah from his bed, Madame and Monsieur Dummolard stopped arguing long enough to hug each other as well as me over the news, and Harm seemed to understand intuitively and flew up the stairs to his master. Stepping out into the morning air, I made my way to the stables, thinking to myself what a good day it had suddenly become.

Juno seemed to sense it as well. She nickered as soon as she recognized me and the boy was muttering under his breath by the time he had her in the traces, so impatient was she to begin. She broke out through the front door as though it were the gate at Ascot. I was hard-pressed to keep the old girl reined in the entire way there, but I must say she looked beautiful in the sunlight with her bay coloring and glossy sheen. She kept her head high and her steps brisk all the way there.

I tied her to a pole outside Dr. Quong’s herb shop. Inside, the old man was talking to an elderly female customer but stopped when he saw me.

“Awake?” he asked.

“Awake.”

“Ah! I come, then,” he said, concluding his business with the woman.

“He said something about marrow cleansing,” I told him when we were alone.

“Ah, yes. Very good, very good,” he said, and began to throw preparations into his bag. “You bring your horse again?”

“I brought a carriage, actually.”

“Good. Horse is no good on old man’s bones.”

If it was an unusual sight to see a Chinaman on the back of a horse and rider charging through London, it was equally novel to see one in a hansom cab. In a few moments, we were on our way to London Bridge and points south.

Eventually I pulled the cab into the alley behind Barker’s house. I led the doctor up the stairs, stopping in my room to shake off my coat. I found Barker’s stair blocked when I arrived, however. Ho had returned and now straddled the bottom step of his staircase, arms crossed and feet splayed.

“Let me pass,” I said.

Ho shook his head. “He cannot be disturbed.”

I was going to say something but stopped short. There were strange sounds coming from upstairs in Barker’s voice. I wanted to go up to see what was happening. Instead, I asked Ho directly if he could tell me what was going on.

Ho looked up at me as if deciding whether or not explaining was worth the effort. After all, I was a barbarian and would understand imperfectly. On the other hand, like a gadfly, I refused to go away. I would stare at him until I got an answer, some sort of answer, anyway.

Ho’s face screwed up as he tried to concentrate. He is an ugly brute, if one can say that of an associate. His general expression and demeanor are as if he is deciding how best to gut and serve you. It was possible he might give up the explanation before it began.

“There are certain tones and sounds that affect the organs of the body,” he finally replied. “When one repeats these sounds, it is like giving yourself an internal massage. His kidneys have been damaged and Dr. Quong can only do so much externally.”

“Is it like the internal exercises he gives me?”

“Much more advanced.”

“What if-”

“What if you do not ask so many questions.”

I gave it up, realizing he wouldn’t let me upstairs. “I’ll leave you to your guard duty, then.”

Dinner that night was coq au vin. Though it did not diminish my opinion of madame as a cook, I am not in favor of wine in food. Perhaps I was nettled. Barker did not come down, of course. The maid brought a tray up, but Ho merely looked at the food as if it were poisoned and sent it back. It was a good thing Etienne had gone back to his restaurant.

Ho finally summoned me to the room around seven. Barker was sitting up, or rather he was kneeling on the bed and sitting upon his crossed ankles. He was shirtless and his head was down as if he were asleep. I crawled into a chair and tried to be as unobtrusive as possible. The marrow cleansing, whatever it was, had ended, but the Guv looked all in. His skin was slick with sweat. Was he sleeping? Meditating? Dr. Quong had his bag at his feet and was watching Barker intently, as was Ho.

Several minutes later, Barker raised his head and looked over at me. “Bring the carriage,” he said weakly.

“Sir, aren’t you too ill to travel?”

“Do not argue or question,” he said brusquely. “What must be done will be done. Bring it ’round to the front door.”

“Yes, sir.”

I went downstairs, but before I went to get my coat, I knocked on Mac’s door. I needed reinforcements.

“He’s going out,” I told him, after he had hopped to the door.

“Out? He cannot possibly go out. He just woke up!”