Читать книгу The Way of All Flesh - Ambrose Parry - Страница 13

SEVEN

r Simpson’s coachman had brought the brougham around after only a few minutes, the dog taking its preferred seat with proprietorial speed before Raven could climb aboard. Raven settled himself back against the red leather upholstery and closed his eyes. He hoped Dr Simpson would return to the book he had been reading all afternoon, but he was to be disappointed.

‘Where do you hail from, Mr Raven?’ the doctor said as the coach set off.

Raven tried to sit up more erectly in his seat.

‘I was born in Edinburgh, sir.’

‘And what does your father do?’

‘He is no longer with us,’ he replied. ‘But he was a lawyer.’

Rehearsing this lie brought him back to last night in that alley not a hundred yards from here. It would have to serve once again, however. The truth was for another time, once Raven had enjoyed the chance to cultivate a reputation based upon his deeds rather than his provenance.

‘In Edinburgh?’

‘Originally. But lately in St Andrews.’

This at least had a modicum of truth to it. His mother lived there now, reliant upon the generosity of her brother. He truly was a lawyer, and a miserable, pious and self-righteous one at that.

‘I once contemplated studying the law,’ Simpson mused wistfully.

‘Really? For how long?’ Raven asked, wondering how the man could possibly have accommodated more than one field of study given his relative youth and famously prodigious career.

‘Oh, at least the length of a day. An early encounter with the operating theatre had me racing off to Parliament House to seek employment as a clerk.’

Raven responded with a smile, no doubt a lopsided one given the burden on his cheek. He too had little love of the operating theatre. Much as he had admiration for the swift and steady hand of the surgeon, he had no wish to spend his time excising tumours and hacking off limbs. The barbarity of it appalled him, for no surgeon was as steady and swift as to spare the patient unimaginable torment.

‘What brought you back?’ Raven asked with genuine curiosity.

‘The desire to alleviate pain and suffering, and the belief that one day we will find a means of achieving it.’

‘And are you of the belief that ether has done that?’

‘It is a step in the right direction but I believe we can do more. Now we understand that the inhaling of certain chemical compounds can produce a reversible insensibility, I am sure that if we experiment we will find something better than ether. It was one of the reasons I decided to take on an apprentice again this year. I need as many hands as possible to assist me in my search.’

This was not Raven’s primary interest in working with the professor but he quickly warmed to the idea. If he was involved in the discovery of a new anaesthetic agent, his success in the profession would be assured. A share in the patent, aye, that would be the keys to a fortune.

‘And do you believe you can succeed?’ Raven asked, the prospect of such riches prompting a cautious scepticism.

The professor leaned forward in his seat. ‘I believe that with a passionate desire and an unwearied will, we can achieve impossibilities.’

The door to 52 Queen Street opened the moment the doctor’s carriage pulled up outside the house. A young woman in a starched cap stood in the doorway adjusting her apron as Raven stepped down onto the pavement. She recoiled momentarily at the sight of him and a sadness fell upon Raven as he realised that this was something he would have to get used to.

The dog ran into the house first, followed by the professor, who shrugged off his coat and handed it to a male servant who had materialised behind the young woman as though from thin air. He was tall, clean-shaven and immaculately dressed, which only served to emphasise Raven’s state of dishevelment. The man stared down at this unkempt new arrival with unguarded disapproval.

‘Jarvis, I’ll take tea in my study,’ Simpson said.

‘Very good, sir,’ he replied, before nodding at Raven, who was still loitering on the threshold. ‘And what would you like me to do with that?’

The doctor laughed. ‘This is Mr Raven, my new apprentice. He won’t be joining us for dinner as I believe he’s in need of his bed.’

Simpson met Raven’s eye with a knowing look. Raven endured a moment of concern regarding just what the doctor knew, but mainly what he felt was relief.

‘Show him up please, Sarah.’

The doctor proceeded along the corridor towards the back of the house. ‘Jarvis will arrange to have your belongings collected,’ he said over his shoulder.

‘That is assuming you have any belongings worth collecting,’ the butler said, closing the door.

Raven followed the housemaid up the stairs to a bedroom on the third floor, the ascent sapping the last of his energy so much that he feared she might have to grab his lapels and drag him up the final flight. She breezed fussily ahead of him into the room and placed a towel onto a chair before he could sit on it, any concerns about offending him apparently trumped by the state of his clothes.

‘We’ll need to draw you a bath,’ she said, evidently deeming his current condition an affront to the crisp white sheets adorning the bed. Raven hadn’t seen linen so clean in a long time. He could think of little he wanted more right then than to crawl underneath it, but was too weak to argue. He sat holding his head in his hands, only vaguely aware of the bustle around him.

When he raised his head once more, he saw that a hip bath had been placed before the fire and filled with warm water. The butler helped him off with his clothes and offered an arm to steady himself as Raven climbed over the side. There appeared to be petals and twigs floating in the water, which caused him to pause with one foot in.

‘Camomile, rosemary and lavender,’ Jarvis offered by way of explanation. ‘Sarah says it will help with the bruising. And the smell.’

Raven sat down in the warm, fragrant water and felt his aching muscles begin to relax. He could not remember having a bath quite like this. At Ma Cherry’s, an old tin tub would be grudgingly filled with tepid water, just enough to cover the buttocks and feet. He could still hear the old sow’s sighing and tutting as she hauled in the cans, as though bathing was some strange and alien practice he was inexplicably insisting upon. From the smell of her, it was certainly strange and alien to Mrs Cherry.

A sponge and a bar of soap had been left just within reach, but Raven felt disinclined to move. He allowed his good eye to close and time to drift. He heard the tread of footsteps in and out of the room a couple of times but he chose to ignore them. He then felt the sponge move across the tops of his shoulders. He knew there was further insult implicit in Jarvis letting him know he did not trust Raven to clean himself properly, but he was too exhausted to object. He kept his eyes closed, however, as he had no desire to see the distasteful look on the butler’s face while he performed this task.

‘You’ll have to lean forward so I can rinse your hair.’

It was a female voice that spoke. Raven lurched upright and opened his good eye. The housemaid Sarah was standing in front of him, holding a large ewer in both hands.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he asked, thrusting his hands down to cover himself.

She smirked. ‘Helping you get cleaned up,’ she said. ‘No need to be bashful. I’m as much nurse as housemaid in this place, so whatever you’ve got, I’ve seen it before.’

Raven hadn’t the will to do anything but submit, though he kept one hand in place.

Sarah was very gentle, perhaps because of his obvious injuries – he seemed to have bruising from sternum to pubic bone. She smelled of tea and lavender and freshly laundered linen. Clean smells, healthy smells. New Town smells.

His hair was duly rinsed, after which Sarah offered to help him get out of the tub.

‘I’m not an invalid,’ he objected, a little more harshly than the girl deserved.

She gathered up his clothes. ‘I’ve left a nightshirt on the bed for you,’ she said, leaving him to perform the last of his ablutions alone.

When he did attempt to stand, he was almost toppled by a sudden onset of vertigo. He sat down again and waited for the spinning to stop. Given the impression he had made on the household staff thus far, he did not wish to be found prostrate on the floor with his arse in the air.

Rising more cautiously, he managed to get himself dried and into bed before Sarah entered again, this time carrying a tray.

‘Beef tea, bread and butter.’

She put the tray down and took a small tin from her pocket.

‘I’m going to put some salve on your wound. It’s looking a bit red.’

Without waiting for his consent, she began applying some strange-smelling ointment to his cheek. With her eyes intent upon the work of her hands, he allowed himself to gaze upon her face: the freckles on her nose, the curl of her lashes.

For a moment he pictured Evie before him, dressed like that, a housemaid in the New Town. He could not sustain the image though, and it was rapidly replaced by his memory of her contorted body.

Another deid hoor.

As Sarah put the liniment tin back in her pocket and bent to pick up his wet towel, Raven hoped she appreciated how fortunate she was.