The Shadowcutter (2 page)

Major Vernon had found a fresh shirt for him, and they sat him upright to remove the old one. As the old shirt was taken off, Felix noticed that his back was covered with a horrific lattice-work of scars, many clearly old, but there was also a nasty crop of fresh and extremely livid weals, which needed urgent cleaning and attention. It looked for all the world as if he had been regularly flogged. He glanced at Major Vernon wondering what he thought, frustrated that there could be no discussion nor any questioning of their patient at that moment. Martinez was too weak for it.

Fortunately Bryce, who had been sent to retrieve Felix’s medical bag, arrived shortly afterwards.

“There’s a woman who lives next door to me who has a good reputation as a nurse,” Bryce said. “Shall I fetch her for you, Mr Carswell?”

“Yes, good idea,” said Felix taking his bag, and searching in it for a suitable dressing for the weals.

As he did so, he noticed Major Vernon opening the drawer of the table on which the crucifix had been set up, and frowning at what he saw.

“What?”

“All in good time,” Vernon murmured, sliding the drawer closed again.

Felix dressed the wounds, and was glad to observe Martinez’s breathing became a little more regular, although it could not be described as comfortable, although he was still perspiring heavily. He took a few soundings with his stethoscope and what he heard only confirmed his earlier intuitions.

Martinez took a little brandy and water, into which Felix mixed a grain of opium. It was best to sedate him and let his body rest before the next inevitable, bloody coughing fit.

When he had slipped into unconsciousness Felix opened the drawer and saw a fearsome looking whip made of a dozen knotted cords.

“Self-inflicted, I suspect,” Vernon said.

“You may be right, given the pattern of scarring,” Felix said. “But why? What would possess you to do that when...”

“Might this have something to do with it?” Major Vernon said, lifting a long white tunic-like woollen garment out of the trunk. “I think this is a monk’s habit of some sort.”

“Good grief.” Felix said, coming over and looking into the trunk for himself.

“A wandering friar, perhaps,” said Major Vernon, hanging the tunic on one of the hooks on the wall, “who fences like an officer.”

“And in the last stages of consumption,” said Felix.

“Is it that bad?”

Felix nodded. “There’s no doubt. When I sounded his chest –”

“He’s a long way from home to be in such a condition. What about his Mother Church? Why aren’t they taking care of him? And why is he here, of all places?” He went over and looked down at the now sleeping man. “Poor soul. Well, we shall have to do what we can for him. I’m sorry, it’s not much of a holiday for you.”

Felix did not like to say that he did not really regard his visit in the light of a holiday. He had come out of duty as much as anything; although he was pleased to see Major Vernon, the pleasure was coloured with a certain amount of discomfort.

It had been his idea that they go there in the first place and he now regretted the suggestion. He should have sent them further away, to the seaside, out with of visiting distance. He had only thrown out the idea in the mildest terms, that it might be beneficial at some point or other, now that Mrs Vernon was so much recovered that a course of waters at some spa town might do her good. He had not expected to be taken seriously, for he could scarcely imagine that Major Vernon would ever willingly take leave from the Constabulary.

But the notion had fallen on surprisingly fertile ground. Major Vernon had seized on it and, being a man who liked to put things into action with great zeal, it had soon become a settled project. He was due some leave, he had said, and it would do him as much good as Mrs Vernon to have a holiday. What did Carswell think of the waters at Stanegate? It was close enough to Northminster, a mere hour and a quarter by the new railway, to make it possible for him to get away without undue worry. If there was a problem he could get back easily. Furthermore it would give him a chance to put Superintendent Rollins in charge – he could be made Acting Assistant Chief Constable.

“I want to see what he makes of the job – this will be an ideal chance for him.”

“Be careful or you will lose him to another force if you let him learn all your arts,” Felix had said.

“That is entirely possible,” Major Vernon had said with a shrug. “A man as talented as Rollins, who has made so much of himself from so little deserves all the opportunities we can give him to get on. But he is very loyal, and his family are all here. It is a risk I will take.”

So a house had been taken, and all was organised. Felix had had to admit to considerable relief when Major and Mrs Vernon had left for the wholesome dissipations of Stanegate and its spas. Out of sight, he hoped to God, would be out of mind. But the Major had extracted a promise from him that he must visit, and he could not in all conscience avoid that. Mrs Vernon was still his patient, after all. Poor mysterious Martinez, as he wheezed in his uneasy slumber on his wretched bed, could not know how helpful he was being. He was sparing Felix the tortures of breakfast with Mrs Vernon.

“Should you not go, sir?” Felix said. “I have all in hand here. Mrs Vernon will be wondering where you are.”

The Major consulted his watch.

“Yes, I am late. She will be anxious, and we are supposed to be driving up to the Bower Well – it’s a pretty spot, although I think the water there is the worst tasting of them all. But there is a sort of loggia with a wonderful view over the country. Laura wanted you to see it – I think she thought you might wish to go sketching with her again. It is certainly a wonderful day for it.”

“I might manage to get up there later,” Felix said, his conscience queasy now. Mrs Vernon would feel it keenly to have such a plan spoiled, and it would not do to upset her fragile equilibrium. If he were careful, and as Major Vernon would be with them, any potential awkwardness might be contained. Avoidance never much solved anything, he reflected. “If Mr Bryce’s neighbour is as good a nurse as he says, then –”

“I will make a few enquiries on my way back,” said Major Vernon. “There is a Roman Catholic chapel tucked away somewhere here. If I can find one of their clerics, they may be able to to help him.”

Chapter Two

“You’ll come with us?” Giles asked Sukey Connolly, meeting her in the passageway.

“Are you sure, sir?”

“It’s a glorious day – you’ve been indoors too much. You look pale.”

“I do?” she said. “I don’t think so.”

“Come and drink the foul waters with us,” he said. “Then you will have something to write to you sister about.”

He glanced into the drawing room. Laura was standing in front of the glass, making minute adjustments to her hat – a broad straw leghorn, with long lilac ribbons. It was good to see her taking such trouble with her appearance. “And you are always of use to my wife,” he added as he went into the room. “Is that the new hat?” he ventured. “Very handsome.”

“A wide-awake,” said Laura. “Like Mr Carswell’s.”

“So it is,” he said.

“Mr Carswell’s is not so pretty, ma’am,” said Sukey, from the doorway. “Which shawl would you like?”

“Where is Mr Carswell?” asked Laura.

“We stumbled across a mystery,” said Giles. “A rather tragic one. A poor Spanish gentleman with consumption. Mr Carswell is with him now.”

“So he is not coming to the Bower Well?”

“He will try to if he can,” said Giles. “Sukey, do you know where the Roman Catholic chapel is? There is one here, I think?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t been to Mass here,” she said. “I suppose I should have.”

“You came to church with us.”

“That doesn’t count, sir,” she said. “Well, you know what I mean.” She went up to Laura with the shawls she was carrying. “Which of these, Mrs Vernon? The blue is best with that dress, I would say, but it is very warm; perhaps just your lace?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her why she had not gone, for he was curious about this deviation from her usual habits. However he did not. He felt he might sound like a domineering master, anxious to make sure she did as she should, and he had no wish for her to think of him like that. He owed her too much, for one thing.

The drive to the Bower Well passed without incident. Laura was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. It was another of those many changes in her. It still astonished him that they had come so far. Over the last few months she had emerged from her profound withdrawal, like some shy animal coming out from its lair.

Day by day her confidence had grown, in large part due to Carswell’s diligence with her. At first it had been a matter of getting her to eat properly and play simple games. Carswell had arrived one day with a box of coloured building blocks and had begun to build a tower of red bricks. She had sat watching him for some time, and then at last she had begun to sort the blocks and built a blue tower next to his red one.

Carswell would not claim much credit for it. He had said he had read dozens of papers suggesting that puerperal insanity in many cases resolved itself, like a morning mist rising from the sea, but Giles could not quite believe that. He had seen the careful tutoring that had gone on – first from Carswell, and then from Sukey who had learnt quickly what he was about.

He had been there when Carswell explained it to her, and his words had stuck with him: “The patterns of our minds – our thoughts – run on accustomed courses, and it is all too easy to fall onto bad roads, which clog our boots with mud and where there are villains lurking at the corners to ambush us. Mrs Vernon had a shocking experience with the birth of her son – the pain and stress threw her mind from its sensible courses into the wilderness, and worse, when the boy died, it only increased her disorientation. We must teach her how not to get lost again.”

They walked up and down the terrace a few times, and then went to collect their mandatory half-pints of sulphurous water from the well. It was as disgusting as ever, even on a warm day when a drink might have been welcome, and Giles threw most of his away – discreetly he thought, but Sukey noticed and smiled at it. Laura dutifully drank hers down, the first time she had managed to do so.

“Mr Carswell will be pleased with me when I tell him,” she said. “In fact, I would like another cup,” she said holding out her tin cup.

“Of course,” said Giles, and went to fetch another for her.

This time he had to wait a few minutes to fill the cup, as a large family party had arrived at the well head: all very elegantly turned out but somewhat alien to the place, and chattering loudly in a foreign tongue.

“What language is that?” Giles murmured as he returned to Laura and Sukey. “Spanish?”

“I think so,” Sukey said. “I wonder if they are anything to do with your consumptive Spanish gentleman.”

“I was thinking that myself. Should I go and speak to them?”

He did not have the chance, for Laura had begun to walk away.

“I don’t like all these people,” Laura said.

“Let’s go and find a quiet spot in the shade,” said Giles, offering her his arm. “That tree is waiting for us, I should say. And the prospect from there will make a very nice sketch.”

She did not take his arm, but she did not disagree with the suggestion, which pleased him. Together they walked to the shade of the tree, with Sukey a few steps behind them.

“We will be able to see Mr Carswell coming from here,” she said.

“He may not come,” Giles said.

“Of course he will,” said Laura.

“Where shall I put this up?” he said, holding up her sketching stool.

She scanned the view again and chose her spot, and Giles set up the stool. He settled on the ground beside it, waiting for her to sit down, taking a book from his pocket.

“Another chapter of Nicholas Nickleby?” he said, watching as she hesitated. “While you draw?”

“We ought to wait for Mr Carswell,” she said. “So he doesn’t miss any.” Giles had begun reading it last night after dinner.

“He has already read it, I think,” said Giles. He patted the stool, but still she stood there, gazing out, as if she expected him any moment to appear in the distance.

Giles felt uneasy. He wanted her happily occupied with her pencil. He did not like this state of hers – it was like the uncomfortable period of heavy air pressure that presages a great storm.

He wished he had said nothing about Carswell joining them. It had been thoughtless on his part. He had thought it would please her, rather than set her on edge with this excitement. It had been the same all the previous day when he was expected from Northminster and he had not liked it then. She was too hungry for his presence.

“Perhaps you should get on with your sketch, Mrs Vernon,” Sukey said. “So that you will have something to show Mr Carswell when he gets here.” Laura turned and looked at her, with that long cool stare that Giles never knew what to do with. But Sukey, unabashed, said, “And another chapter will soon pass the time.”

Another long moment passed and she sat down. Giles held out her bag of sketching equipment but her eyes were still fixed on the landscape before her. He put down the bag and decided that he would start to read, and hope she would find the story distracting enough to stop her thinking about Carswell.

But as he did, he felt Mr Dickens’ latest would have to be a very good novel to do that. Laura had made Carswell the hero of her own narrative. That was now plain to see. Ever since they had come to Stanegate she had been pining for him, like a forlorn spaniel. It was entirely understandable that it would happen – he had heard of such cases when a doctor became a kind of a saint to a grateful patient. Carswell had transformed her existence. How could she not make an idol of him?

Giles was sure Carswell himself was as aware of the problem as he was, but he had not yet had a chance to discuss it with him. It would have to be broached sooner or later.

In the meantime, there was Nicholas Nickleby.

He had barely read a few pages when they were interrupted. His man Holt was striding up the hill towards them. He had obviously come in some haste, for he had broken into a sweat. He was holding a letter which he held out to Giles.