He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the saliva from the man’s mouth. As he did so, Lord Thornleigh’s eyes flicked up to his face. They were dead and empty, but still of such a startling ice blue Crowther almost leaped back. They reminded him of his own. Then Lord Thornleigh began to yowl softly. It was not unlike the cry of a baby in its formlessness, but it was older and more animal. Crowther thought of a wolf he had shot in Germany in his youth. It had not been a clean death and the despairing broken growl had affected him to the extent that he had never hunted again. He thought of it now looking into the white face in front of him. He glanced up and met Harriet’s eye. She looked a little sickened.
Crowther took the thin flesh of the lord’s right hand between his fingers and pinched hard. The hand jerked, and the sick man yowled again.
“Forgive me, my lord. I wished to understand the capacity for sensation in your limbs.” He watched the skin he had pinched drop back into place with the slowness of age, the blood retreat and return under its thin and failing protection. “Now if I may, I shall release your arms and look at you more closely.”
He bent over to undo the strap at the elbow and took the bird-like weight of the man’s arm between his hands. He glanced up again into the lord’s face. The dead blank look of a few moments before had dissipated. The eyes looked conscious and, to Crowther’s astonishment, afraid. The lord’s yowling increased in pitch and volume.
“Indeed, my lord, I promise you I shall not hurt you again, and any discomfort will be slight.”
He did not know if he had been heard or understood. Lord Thornleigh was still looking at him, confused and unhappy. Crowther felt a coldness growing from the base of his stomach.
The maid was on her feet again.
“Aww! He’s upset. Perhaps he wants his necklace.”
Harriet and Crowther looked at her in surprise. She was opening a box on the mantelpiece by her chair, and turned toward them with a locket hanging from a thin silvery chain in her hand.
“Here it is now, don’t fret.”
Crowther felt the convulsion in the thin arm. Lord Thornleigh’s head jerked violently from side to side; the yowl increased in pitch and volume as the maid approached, holding the chain open ready to drop it over his head.
“For God’s sake!” Crowther slapped it out of her hands so it flew across the room and skittered to a halt under the window. “Can’t you see he does not want it?”
As it hit the floor Lord Thornleigh trembled and the yowl dropped to a mewl. The maid stood back, outraged, with her hands on her hips.
“Well! I’ve never seen the like! Understand him, do you? Well, you can care for him then. My lady said we were to put it round his neck from time to time as a treat. He’s excited, that’s all. She said it was a gift from all his sweethearts. She brought it in on Sunday before church. Thought it was a sweet gesture after his nurse up and hanged herself.”
Harriet had crossed the room and picked up the necklace. It was a cheap little thing-she had seen peddlers sell such trinkets for a shilling and thought the price exorbitant. She opened it, revealing a curl of blond hair, nothing else. She snapped it shut again.
“His sweethearts have not been especially generous.”
The maid stood tall. “I expect it has associations, ma’am.”
“Not pleasant ones, judging by my lord’s reactions.”
“Nonsense. He was just excited.”
“Did he get excited like that when Nurse Bray was in charge?” Harriet looked at her hard.
The maid’s eyes narrowed. “Nurse Bray wasn’t a very exciting woman, if you ask me.”
Crowther was gently pushing up the sleeve of Lord Thornleigh’s shift.
“We didn’t ask you anything about Nurse Bray. You may-” He stopped suddenly. Harriet froze and looked at him. He spun round. “What is this?”
He moved so that Harriet and the maid could see the quivering forearm he held. Harriet’s hand flew to her mouth. On the almost fleshless underside of Thornleigh’s right arm were a series of deep cuts. Parallel, fresh, struggling to heal, they shone against the blue of his skin.
“How should I know?” the maid blustered. “He scratches himself sometimes. His hands fly about when they aren’t tied down.”
“Nonsense. This is deliberate. These were made with a knife, and not by Lord Thornleigh’s own hand.”
“Nothing to do with me, I just watch here and do my sewing.”
“Get out.”
She needed no further excuse, and slammed the door behind her. Harriet came into Thornleigh’s vision; he flinched, then as suddenly relaxed. She curtsied to him then looked at the wounds.
“There are seven.”
“Seven wounds. Yes.” Crowther bent over the man before him. “My lord, can you understand me? Will you blink once if you can?” The ice-blue eyes skittered back and forth over the room. “Please, my lord. Just try and listen to me. Blink once if you can understand me.” Again the gaze flittered around, glancing across Crowther’s face. Harriet could hear steps outside.
“Crowther …”
“Please, sir. Just try.” For a moment the eyes locked onto Crowther’s own. The lids dropped and rose again. The door burst open. Lady Thornleigh stood on the threshold. It was as if a phoenix had torn off the front of a dovecote.
“Mrs. Westerman. What do you mean by this?”
Harriet moved smoothly forward. “Lady Thornleigh! I do so hope you are feeling better. .”
Lady Thornleigh held out her hand in front of her as if driving Harriet off.
“Do not play the lady with me! You come here to torture my husband, do you?” She turned toward Crowther. “Size him up for specimens, perhaps?” Lord Thornleigh began again his low moan of distress. Lady Thornleigh did not look at him as she said, “Don’t worry, my love. I shall bury you in a lead-lined coffin as soon as your time comes.”
“Is it you that has been torturing him, Lady Thornleigh?”
Crowther asked conversationally. Rage made the woman even more beautiful than he had seen her before.
“Get out! Get out at once! I cannot wait to see what the county will make of you now, when the story of this little adventure is known. I hope your husband is no longer interested in a parliamentary career.” Harriet merely folded her wrists in front of her and smiled. “Get out, I said! Now!” Lady Thomleigh crossed to the chair and shoved Crowther away, placing her husband’s arm on the chair again, and busying herself with the buckle that held his arm in place. “If you have not left by the time I have fastened this strap,” she continued with a growl, “I shall have my footmen throw you out bodily on to the highway.”
Harriet and Crowther made their bows and turned to go, leaving Lady Thornleigh to the straps, her husband’s voice rising and falling with all the lonely desperation of the last soul in hell.
3
Harriet and Crowther climbed into the woods where Brook had died. They reached the bench and Harriet sat, covering her face. Crowther lowered himself at her side and waited. The crows bleated above them, the breeze turned a few of the leaves over in its palms. Harriet’s shoulders stopped shaking, and after a few minutes she pulled out her handkerchief and blew her nose loudly.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Not at all, Mrs. Westerman. Are you recovered?”
“No.” She looked intently in front of her, as if trying to fix her own house and home in her mind, to drive out the other. “What horrors, Crowther. My head is spinning with them. How can a man be in that condition and live?”
Crowther rolled his cane in his hands. Its foot buried itself among the debris of the ground at their feet with a cracking spin.
“He has been well cared for-at least until recently. Alexander sent a good nurse. I doubt many doctors could have kept him alive so long.”