Denis had hired it this morning, Brewster told me, as things were too cramped in Brewster’s rooms. Denis had decided to remain in Brighton until he was satisfied I would not be accused of Isherwood’s murder and so had let an entire house. I knew Denis didn’t care much about who really had killed Isherwood, as long as I wasn’t arrested for it.
That was a large difference between Denis and myself, I reflected as Brewster knocked on the door of a white-painted house with large windows. I was never satisfied until I discovered the truth, even if the truth proved to be ugly or inconvenient. Denis was happy to let the truth go hang unless it interfered with his life or his business.
The house was pleasant inside, its white-paneled rooms made cozy with plenty of sunlight. Simple elegance. Denis received me on the first floor, in a chamber at the back of the house which he’d converted to a study.
One of Denis’s men ushered me in, Brewster following with a heavy tread. Denis did not always like Brewster accompanying me into his presence, but I knew Brewster had come to make sure I didn’t do anything foolish.
Denis was not alone. Along with his usual bodyguards stood another man, silent and unobtrusive. I halted in surprise.
He was thin-boned with a shaved head, his intelligent eyes containing no expression whatsoever. The man was a criminal, a killer, who’d been transported to the other side of the world and had illegally made his way back. He was also the brilliant surgeon who’d earlier this year saved Donata’s life and that of my daughter Anne.
“I have called him to consult with us,” Denis said from where he sat at his desk, his blue eyes almost, but not quite, as cold as the surgeon’s. “To see if he can tell us what sort of concoction you were fed, and what it could make you do.”
Chapter 18
The surgeon had positioned himself near the fireplace, which lay between two windows. I realized that anyone who looked in from below would not be able to see him.
He studied me now without changing expression. Even Denis’s guards appeared more interested in the problem than he did.
“Describe what happened,” he commanded.
No greeting, no waiting until I’d been offered a seat or refreshment. Denis said nothing at all, expecting my response.
“I’ll do my best.” I launched into my tale. “Even the memory of coming to myself in the Pavilion is fuzzy,” I concluded. “I managed to get out of the building and make my way home. When I woke, I remembered nothing at all—I’ve been trying to discover exactly what I did that night and who truly killed Colonel Isherwood, but there are still large gaps.”
The surgeon watched me stolidly. “No, whatexactlydo you remember? What was your last memory before the absence of them? Were you disoriented when you came to, or clear of mind? When you slept, did you have odd dreams—could you sleep at all? Did you seem to experience things that could not possibly have happened?” He ceased the rapid-fire questions and pinned me with a hard stare. “I will need all details.”
I told myself that a physician must be much like a general—a commander could only know how to meet the enemy if he knew precisely where they were, how many soldiers they had at the ready, and what weaponry they possessed. The more details, the more prepared he could be.
“I remember talking with the other guests at supper,” I said. “Mostly about common concerns, such as the weather, farming, and events in the newspapers. Desjardins regaled us with a tale of a chamber pot Bonaparte supposedly left behind in Madrid, and how it was auctioned off for a very high price once he was deposed.” I paused, recalling how Desjardins had laughed very hard, and Isherwood had upbraided him for telling such an anecdote in front of the ladies.
The surgeon took it all in, again without changing expression. “Go on.”
“I recall enjoying a glass of port afterward. A fine vintage from the Douro Valley in Portugal, near Régua. I had gone into an antechamber and Isherwood joined me there. Isherwood took me aside and sneered something about his former wife. Bad taste to bring that up, I thought, and told him so. He even threatened to speak tomywife, but apparently he did not.”
Denis cleared his throat. “I’d have a care whom you reportedthatdetail to.”
“In case they believe I murdered a blackmailer?” I grimaced. “There is nothing to say I did not.”
Denis only gave me his bland stare. “Continue.”
“After that, I walked with Grenville in the park. I haven’t the faintest notion what we said to each other. I smoked a cheroot. He said good night, and …” I spread my hands. “The rest is a blank until I found Isherwood dead in the Pavilion.”
The surgeon listened to all this dispassionately. “Have you had any flashes of memory? Even vague feelings you don’t understand?”
I hesitated. “When I saw Lord and Lady Armitage at the lecture on Tuesday night, something tickled in my brain. But I have no idea what.”
“That is all?”
“Earlier today, when Captain Wilks took me to the tavern he said I’d been in, I remembered a picture on the wall, one of an actress. But that likely only means I truly had entered that tavern.”
“You slept after you went home,” the surgeon stated.
“Indeed, I went to bed. I tossed and turned a bit before sleeping—had dreams first of Isherwood, then of faces coming at me, changing and merging. I woke late in the afternoon with no idea I’d slept away much of the day.” I let out a breath. “That is all I can truly tell you.”
“No, there is much more.” The surgeon rested one elbow on the mantelpiece. “When you woke in your bed, was your mouth dry? Did you have a headache? Any other aches in your body? Were you flaccid or rigid? Did you twitch or were you completely relaxed? Were your feet and hands cold or warm?”
His hard look said he expected me to answer the litany, no matter how embarrassing.
