Charles Sheffield - The Amazing Dr. Darwin

Darwin examined the door as they passed through. It was panelled and not particularly thick. It would not muffle sounds from its other side. He bent low and looked at the latch with special care, checking that it had no lock.

Beyond lay a large chamber, its octagonal shape matching the outside figure of the stone tower. A tight spiral staircase of iron filigree led down to the tower’s outside entrance. Darwin did not attempt a descent—with his bulk it would have been a tight fit—but asked, “Is the outer lock still in position?”

“In position, and according to Colonel Pole, untouched. He inserted a dab of candle grease into the padlock. It remains undisturbed.”

The two men began their ascent of the wider stair that followed the outer wall of the tower. One level brought them to Helen Solborne’s sitting room and study, with its own fireplace and south-facing window. Darwin tried to open it, and grunted.

“As you see.” Solborne came to his side, and pushed hard on the casement. “A couple of inches of travel, no more. Not an entrance or an exit.”

“For a human.” Darwin was lingering over the many books. Solborne gave him an uneasy glance, and dragged him away. Ten minutes had passed since the arrival of the coach.

The next floor was a plain bedroom, above it a sewing room. Packets of furniture covering materials sat on every available surface.

“One more.” Solborne had noticed that Darwin was breathing heavily. “And the only one with a window that can open wide. Up we go.”

Full-length mirrors stood on all walls of the last story, throwing multiple reflections of both men. “As you see, Helen’s dressing room. The morning light is excellent, because the window faces southeast.”

He went across and threw it open. The thick-curtained window looked out over the sea. The fog was thickening, and a curl of mist drifted in. Darwin joined him and leaned out over a sheer drop. After a few moments he leaned one shoulder out and turned to peer upward. A gutter ran around the top of the tower, about eight feet above his head. He craned to look to the right, but the roof of the house itself was hidden around the curve of the tower.

“Fifteen minutes,” Solborne said nervously. “Do you see anything?”

“Enough.”

“Then we’d best be getting down again.” He led the way, only to have Darwin pause near the door and bend down to examine a pair of heavy brass oil lamps.

“For dressing here after dark.” Solborne waited impatiently. “On the occasions when Helen can be persuaded to attend a social evening gathering—which is rare indeed.”

He breathed more easily once they were out of the tower and in the long dining room. “Is there anything else you would wish to see in the house itself, before Helen returns?”

“The roof of this part of Newlands.” And, when Solborne stared. “It would, I think, be impossible for mortal human to ascend that sheer stone face. But it might be easy indeed to descend it.”

“Ah!” Solborne’s face lit with sudden understanding. “From the tower top, with the assistance of a rope. There is roof access through the attic.”

He was already running for the stairs, and by the time that Darwin had negotiated three flights and reached the attic level, Solborne had opened a dusty roof skylight. He stood outside, in approaching darkness.

One glance was sufficient for both men. Solborne turned to his visitor and shook his head. The tower top stood a full fifteen feet above them. There was no sign of a ladder, or anything else that might assist in scaling the tower.

“What now?”

“We think again.” Darwin, if anything, seemed pleased, as though some less interesting alternative had been disposed of. He led the way back down. When they emerged into the dining room a middle-aged woman with a thin, tight-lipped face was waiting for them. She examined Darwin, grimy and covered with cobwebs, with plenty of curiosity, but spoke at once to Solborne.

“It’s happened again, sir. We had eight gallons or more, now we have less than two. Someone is pilfering—and it isn’t me nor Joan nor Liza.”

“I am sure it isn’t. I trust all of you completely.” Solborne frowned, and muttered as though to himself, “As if I did not have enough on my mind!” And then, to the indignant woman, “There’s only one thing for it, Dolly. Have Walter carry the barrels inside, and set them in the scullery. That way no one can wander along the road and steal our oil.”

He turned to Darwin. “Mineral oil is in short supply this year, and winter prices are high. But never before have I found it necessary to guard our house reserves.”

In the few minutes that they had been up on the roof, the big lamps around the walls of the dining room had been lit and trimmed. On a low table a few feet from Darwin, loaded dishes had magically appeared. There were plates of boiled prawns, vinegared mussels and whelks, and hot sausage rolls, as well as a cold rhubarb tart, jugs of fresh milk, and a flagon of apple wine. Before Darwin could take a step in that direction, a cloaked figure entered through the door at the far end.

Solborne shot Darwin a look that said “Not a minute to spare!” and stood waiting. Helen Solborne sauntered toward them, eyeing Darwin with as much curiosity and interest as he regarded her.

He decided in the first moment of inspection that both Thomas Solborne and Jacob Pole were right. She was tiny, five feet at most, with skin so fine and pale that the lamplight seemed to shine right through her skull. Although her figure was swathed in a long cloak, it was clear from her face that she was thinner than fashion demanded. She blinked constantly as though the oil lamps were too bright, and dark shadows limned her blue eyes.

But those eyes were fiercely intelligent, and the jaw firm. She looked Darwin right in the eye, and the little curtsey she offered seemed like a private joke between the two of them.

“It is a great pleasure to meet you, Dr. Darwin. If even as many as one fourth of Colonel Pole’s stories about you are true, I await dinner tonight more eagerly than I can say.”

Darwin folded his hands across his belly and bowed in return. “I am no more than a provincial physician, with most of my life taken up by the common round of routine medical treatment. Extravagant advance billing of an entertainment, Miss Solborne, is perhaps the surest way of ensuring high disappointment.”

“And extravagant modesty is perhaps the surest sign of high self-esteem.” She smiled, to reveal white teeth with a slight overbite. “My anticipation is undiminished. If you will excuse me, I must change now or be late for dinner.”

As she drifted away through the door to the south tower, Solborne could not wait a moment longer.

“Well? What can you tell me?”

“I can tell you that I fully understand why the would-be suitors flock around Helen. Your sister is a most attractive woman.”

“I mean about her health .”

“My remark was not irrelevant to that issue. Sickness, true and serious sickness, is inconsistent with normal animal attraction. At some level, by smell or the natural language of the body, we respond to another’s state of health. However, you desire a more formal diagnosis. I am willing to provide one, although I have had no more than an opportunity for superficial observation of your sister.”

“And?”

“She appears in good health. Her gait, her posture, her willingness to indulge in badinage—yes, even her cheekiness toward me—all deny major disease.”

“But you never saw her before. I assure you, she is different than she was three months ago.”

“I believe you. And on that subject I am not bereft of ideas. However, I need proof. Did you invite Professor Riker this evening, as I requested?”