Richard Gordon - A QUESTION OF GUILT

The poor fellow has a urethral stricture, the late result of the clap, Eliot diagnosed. He wondered if his wife knew. The exertion of Belle's performance sent her down to the kitchen for a bottle of brandy. She poured Eliot a glass, drank one herself and had started another when Crippen returned with Paul Martinetti, and bending over Eliot asked almost inaudibly if he would care to see a certain room, too. They mounted the front stairs, Belle setting out cards on a collapsible baize-covered table.

On the landing, carpet regressed to red linoleum. Two upstairs doors were shut, through another Eliot glimpsed a capacious bath-tub surmounted by a shiny brass geyser. He saw a narrow stair ascended to servants' rooms above. Curiously drawing aside a net curtain in the lavatory, Eliot could see across thirty yards of back garden and the gaslit rear windows of houses in Brecknock Road. Crippen waited solicitously outside.

Descending the stairs, Crippen volunteered, 'I expect you'd like to talk about that preparation, Tuberculozyne, Dr Beckett?'

'Very much. Have you the formula?'

Crippen apologized in his soft voice, 'It's the property of Munyon's Homeopathic Remedies, with whom I have severed my connection. I was obliged to resign because Professor Munyon considered that my wife's theatrical career diminished the dignity of his firm,' he confided, Eliot suspected untruthfully. 'But perhaps you've heard of Amorette, Dr Beckett? I invented it while manager of the Sovereign Remedy Company. A nerve tonic.'

Eliot shook his head. The name suggested that the nerves it stimulated were erotic ones.

'Would you be interested in entering partnership with me?' Eliot's head jerked in surprise. 'I'm greatly experienced in the marketing of medicine,' Crippen asserted. 'I can write an effective letter to a patient-whether satisfied or dissatisfied. I have quite a reputation for preparing advertising copy. And when the Drouet business failed, I acquired their mailing-list,' he added stealthily. 'I have Ј200 in the Yale Tooth Specialists-Dr Ryland contributes his experience, knowledge and skill, we split the profits fifty-fifty-which unfortunately leaves me short of capital for Amorette.'

'No,' Eliot told him.

'The remedies I have advertised through my professional life have given much benefit Dr Beckett,' he persisted. 'I have testimonials-perfectly genuine testimonials-to prove it.' He raised his bulgy eyes, staring plaintively through gold-rimmed glasses. 'I guess I practice as honestly as any who prescribe remedies they know in their hearts to be useless.'

Eliot struggled to be fair. Apart from digitalis for the heart, mercury for syphilis, codeine for a headache, no doctor gave any drug with sure effect. He wondered if Crippen flirted with the fantasy of being a serious physician, as Belle was wedded to hers of being a real actress.

'Perhaps Miss Grange' Crippen suggested, 'who from appearance strikes me as a lady of substance-'

'Your assessment is perfectly correct. Miss Grange has a fortune. She has also a sharp Yankee eye for a swindler.'

'It was impolite of me, bringing Miss Grange's name into our talk of business,' Crippen apologized mildly. 'I can't tell you how honoured I am, receiving a fellow doctor under my roof. To enjoy professional conversation, you know. Belle has many friends, she entertains a lot, she must keep up appearances, of course.' They had reached the hall. 'I hope you will not refuse my hospitality in the future?'

Eliot declined whist. Crippen was dispatched through the drizzle for a cab. Belle kissed Nancy several times. Eliot called his address to the driver, the pair of padded leather knee-doors slammed, the hansom clopped towards Camden Road.

They laughed, hugging each other with the delight of well-mannered children released from the ludicrous antics of adults.

'The opera! She'd grace the stage like a German street band in the orchestra pit,' Eliot decided.

'Can you imagine them making love? Lap-dog and hippopotamus!'

Eliot recalled that it was no distance to his lodgings. 'You're coming in, dearest?'

Nancy shook her head firmly. 'I must go back to the Savoy. There's Baby's telegram. It hadn't arrived when I left.'

'The temperature will have settled by now, I'm sure.'

Nancy hesitated before admitting, 'And I'm worried about the sponge. It may not always work.'

'How the world has grown suddenly enlightened of its responsibilities to Dr Marie Stopes as to God,' said Eliot lightly. 'Science and passion make strange bedfellows, don't they? Oh, I'll visit a rubber shop. I'll spend two shillings on a dozen of their goods, constructed with the resilience of tyres on a motor-bus. You should anyway wear a Dutch cap, which is safer and more comfortable.'

She touched his cheek. 'Dear, I still tremble to talk of such things.'

'Many married couples never mention the entire business all their lives. Odd-the only bodily function they share. Creating children is the most serious thing any human being does for fun.'

'I'm your fun?' She nestled against him. 'How you delight in making fun of anything serious.'

'Who could bear contemplating marriage with the slightest seriousness? A commonplace one hangs together for its first year through passion, for the next five through respectability, and after that from habit.'

'You're lecturing me again!'

'You're coming back to London?' he asked earnestly. She kissed him. 'Sure, I am. As soon as Baby's settled.'

'I'd sail to see you in New York.'

'You wouldn't like me there. You wouldn't like anything about me.'

The horse slowed down. 'Whatever happens, we shall meet again,' she assured him solemnly.

'I shall cherish the idea, as sensible people of life after death. There's really no point in thinking otherwise, _is _there?'

They stopped. The small, square trapdoor overhead sprung open, with the customary rough and grubby cabman's hand from a frayed and greasy cuff, jerking one way and another for which passenger should pay the fare.

'The lady is going on,' Eliot directed upwards. 'The Savoy Hotel.'

A scatter of chimes from the church clock marked midnight. Eliot had three hours of his usual working day. He lit his gas, stoked the fire, boiled a kettle for a cup of tea. Changing coat for cardigan, he uncapped his fountain-pen and resumed _The Health of Nations._

He had been writing an hour when the front doorbell jangled violently. He took no notice. Men arrived unexpectedly at any hour of darkness-either commanding, desperate or frightened. The German housekeeper was trained for these emergencies. He heard footsteps on the stair, a knock came to his door, the maid white-faced in her shift admitted Nancy.

Her face was blotched and contorted. She threw a buff flimsy on his writing-block. Eliot read,

MISS NANCY GRANGE SAVOY HOTEL LONDON DEEPLY REGRET MISS JANE GRANGE PASSED AWAY AT SIX O'CLOCK THIS EVENING HER DEATH WAS SUDDEN AND PEACEFUL ANGLICAN PRIEST AMONG OUR PATIENTS WAS AT HER BEDSIDE STOP CAUSE OF MISS GRANGES DEATH TUBERCULAR MENINGITIS PLEASE ADVISE YOUR WISHES PROFOUND CONDOLENCES PASQUIER.

'There!' Nancy shouted at him. 'She's dead. I never saw her again. You made me come to London. You told me that temperature was nothing. When I should have been at her side, I was letting you make love to me like a woman off the streets.'

Nancy fell on the sofa, covering her face, starting to cry loudly. 'Baby darling, Baby! How I loved you, I loved you…'

Eliot put his arm round her shoulders, but she shook it off violently. She went on accusing him, 'You took advantage of me in that horrible Swiss place, advantage of my loneliness, my vulnerability, my exile. I hate you. Who are you, compared with Baby? A nobody, a nothing. My God! How I wish I'd kept you at your distance. Baby died alone among strangers, foreigners. I can't believe it, I can't believe I was such a craven fool to leave her.'