‘This isn’t about us right now. We need to figure out tomorrow. For Olympe’s sake.’
Ada bit her tongue, swallowing everything she wanted to say.
‘Fine. Go to this stupid dinner. The great Camille Laroche knows best.’
She watched Camille stalk back upstairs, the gap between them wide and deep and raw.
8
The Charnel House
Guil woke shortly before Camille was due to leave for dinner.
They clustered around the slab. He still looked exhausted, but a lot less close to death. James had him roll onto his side and pressed his fingers gently around his wounds.
‘It’s not feeling too hot, and I can’t see any signs of infection. I don’t think they were as deep as I’d first thought. How do you feel?’
‘I have had worse injuries,’ said Guil.
Camille snorted. ‘Yes, we know. How do these particular stab wounds feel?’
‘Painful, but my mind feels clear.’
‘Good.’ James was sorting through the medical supplies he’d run out to buy with the last of the money from Ada’s father. ‘You’ll have some impressive scars, but I think you’ll make a full recovery. As long as you stay in bed and eat a steak. If we can find a steak.’
‘I am well enough to sit,’ insisted Guil.
‘Then you’re more than well enough to lie down,’ said James, going back to the bandages.
Guil gave the ceiling a long-suffering look.
‘I’m afraid I’ve got nothing of any real use for the pain. Other than the rest of Al’s brandy.’
‘Hang on,’ said Ada, easing herself out of the knot of people around Guil. ‘Al might have something. It’s not a steak but I think it will help.’
She dashed down to the crypt and rummaged until she found a battered leather trunk. It was full of Al’s discarded waistcoats and pamphlets and empty twists that had contained snuff. At the bottom was a palm-sized leather pouch, soft with age and held shut with a button. Inside was a stoppered bottle. She hesitated, but then felt sure Al would understand.
She went back upstairs.
‘Laudanum.’
James frowned. ‘Is Al unwell?’
‘No.’
‘Ah. I see.’ He took the bottle and held it up to the dying light to judge how full it was. ‘Thank you, this will do well.’
‘What’s laudanum?’ asked Olympe.
‘A medicine for pain,’ explained Camille. ‘But some people take it when they’re not ill.’
Ada thought about Al’s pinched, exhausted expression, the scant possessions he’d been able to take with him when he’d been thrown out by his parents. ‘Perhaps there are different sorts of pain.’
There was just time to finalise their plan for the Festival of the Supreme Being before Camille left.
Ada watched her go. Camille was walking into the lion’s den, but she wasn’t wrong. Turning down the invitation would make them look as if they had something to hide.
For a brief moment, Ada had thought Camille might cross the room and kiss her goodbye. Instead, she’d checked on Guil and Olympe and James one more time, then let herself out with not much more than a curt nod.
