Corridors of the Night (14 page)

He came to a door off what had once been used as a sitting room, but now was devoid of most of its furniture. The aspect was sunny and would have been pleasant in other circumstances. He opened the door without knocking and held it briefly until Hester came through.

The room was spacious, and the central place was taken up by a large bed with iron head and foot pieces. Bryson Radnor lay propped up on pillows, sheets and blankets drawn up to cover all of him but the top of his chest and shoulders, although the room was warm.

His skin was damp and pale, and there were marked shadows around his eyes, blue, like bruises.

Adrienne Radnor stood beside him, a glass of water in her hands and a small towel over her arm, and she wore a white apron half-covering her plain brown dress. She was tense and did not hide her distress. She ignored Hester. There was neither surprise to see her nor recognition in her face. She looked straight at Rand.

‘Come!’ Rand jerked his arm to have Hester follow him to Radnor’s bed.

‘Can you hear me, Mr Radnor?’ she asked clearly, standing beside the sick man and looking intently at his face. ‘I am going to take your pulse, and then your temperature.’

He half-opened his eyes. ‘Are you asking my damn permission, woman? Do what you need to.’ His voice was weak and even anger could not return its timbre.

‘No, I’m not asking your permission,’ she answered, taking his wrist in her hand and feeling for the beat of blood in the veins close to the skin. They were blue, a little ropey and very easy to see – even more so across the back of his hand.

His flesh was cold and clammy to the touch. His pulse was weak, but regular. She felt it for another minute, but it did not change. She put her hand to his brow.

‘Do something!’ Adrienne’s voice was sharp with panic.

‘Not until I know what to do,’ Hester replied more calmly than she felt.

‘Not you!’ Adrienne snapped. ‘Mr Rand! Help him . . . please.’

It was only then that Hester remembered with a surge of fear that Hamilton Rand was a brilliant chemist, possibly even a genius, but he was not a doctor of medicine. He understood chemicals rather than living people, while she knew plenty of medicine. This gave her an immense power, and he did not know that she would not use it to bargain for her freedom. She was not a doctor, but it was certainly not the first time she had been alone with a patient with no one else to turn to, and no time for indecision.

‘When did you last give him anything more than water?’ she asked.

Adrienne was silent.

Hester turned round to look at her. ‘Don’t just stand there! When did you last give him anything better than water? If you want me to do something, then tell me the truth.’

‘I gave him a little beef tea, about an hour ago,’ Adrienne told her.

‘And before that? Do you even know how long we’ve been here? Or how long since he left the hospital?’

‘About three hours, I think.’ Adrienne’s voice was strained as if her throat were tight with fear. ‘And an hour here. Was it too soon for him to have some nourishment? He was asking for it.’

‘Possibly not soon enough,’ Hester replied. She had no idea if she was right, but both Adrienne and Radnor himself needed to believe in her. Hope was sometimes the only medicine that kept people alive between one moment of crisis and then relief the next. ‘What have you been eating?’

‘I haven’t . . . just . . . a little bread. But he can’t take that . . . can he?’

‘Probably not. But you must eat too. You are no use to him if you start fainting. Do we have a cook here?’

‘No, just the gardener. Please, Mrs Monk . . .’

Hester felt a twist of sorrow for the other woman. She understood her fear, her grief, even her sense of guilt that she was healthy herself and could do nothing but watch as her father’s life slipped out of his grasp. It had driven her to collude in what amounted to a kidnap. Did she even think about what price that could cost her in the future?

‘Then you must be the cook,’ Hester said far more gently. ‘Just work carefully. Everything must be cooked lightly, with very little salt, no pepper, no mustard or any other sharp seasoning. Keep the goodness in it. Vegetable soup, a little light chicken, or beef broth. Do the best you can, and do it quickly. If there’s anything you can bring up straight away, then get it now. Even tea with a little sugar would be good.’

Adrienne hesitated only a moment, reluctant to leave her father, then she accepted the inevitability of it and was gone.

Hester turned to Rand. ‘It’s only temporary,’ she said very quietly. ‘You shouldn’t have left the hospital. The blood transfusion was working!’

‘I know it was,’ Rand agreed. ‘And it will again.’

‘Can you store the blood? How? Blood clots if you leave it, even for a short time.’ She knew that from the countless men she had seen bleed. The clothes soaked in the blood of the dead went stiff quite soon.

Rand’s eyes were shining. ‘Lemon juice,’ he answered in a whisper so quiet she read his lips rather than heard it. ‘And potash . . . it is just as simple as that. The trick is to get exactly the right proportions, and have the nerve to carry it through.’

She stared at him, beginning for the first time to feel the force of his will, the power of the intelligence behind those strange eyes that changed colour in the light.

‘You brought blood with you?’ Then she was suddenly sick with the thought of what he had done to the children in order to get that amount of blood. She dare not show the horror she felt, or the grief. How could she hide it? She wanted to take one of the bottles on the small rigid table and hit him with it until his intense, smiling face was broken.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he said smoothly, as if no ugly thought had crossed his mind. There was no outrage in him at all. ‘I have no idea how much we shall need, or for how long. I have bought the children themselves. You keep missing the point. Really, you mystify me. Sometimes you seem so capable, so imaginative, fired with the love of knowledge. Then at others I marvel that you can be so stupid!’

He shook his head and went on talking, meticulously, as if he had been lecturing a student. ‘The purpose is to find the cure for bad blood – white blood – and the insufficiency of blood because of major injury and shock to the system. Radnor is merely the first of many. We will save him, and from that we shall gain great knowledge, and so support from others who will fund further research.’ He looked in her face to see her grasp of the magnitude of what he was saying. It was not vanity or praise he wished for. She knew that. He wanted companionship in his quest.

She was ashamed of herself because for an instant she could see what the implications could be. She forgot the taking of the blood and its terrible cost; like Rand, she saw the marvellous results. Within her own immediate knowledge were hundreds of men who could have been saved. Beyond them were countless women who had bled to death in difficult childbirth. The people to be saved stretched into the future without end.

Then she remembered again the cost to Charlie, Maggie and Mike. Not to mention their parents!

‘The children are here?’ she said. It was one question she could ask without raising his anger or suspicion.

His eyes widened, so that for an instant she saw the hazel gold in them.

‘Of course. That is the other part of your duty. You will look after them, see that they are healthy. The better they are, the more settled, the better chance we have of saving Radnor.’

She stared at him. He was both human and monstrous.

A very slight smile curled the corners of his characterless mouth. ‘In case you had at any time thought of running away from here, Mrs Monk, remember that you do not know where you are. And if I fail then Bryson Radnor will die, and he is your patient. But possibly of far more emotional importance to you, the three children may well die without you.’ The smile vanished from his lips. ‘And if Radnor dies then I will have no more use for those children whom I cannot care for myself, and who might well cause trouble for me. I hope you do not require me to make myself any plainer?’

Hester understood, and she believed him. He was a chemist – it was Magnus who was a doctor – but for Hamilton, medical discovery overrode everything else. He would sacrifice the children and not even see harm in it. If he had ever had doubts, any comprehension of pity or regret, he had overcome them.

‘No, Mr Rand, you don’t.’

‘Then please continue with your care for our patient by seeing that the children are fed and in as good health as is possible.’ He looked her up and down. ‘I imagine you can cook. I do not wish to leave it to Miss Radnor. I think she has little understanding of the art, and still less desire. She will care for her father and keep his room clean and attend to the laundry.’

‘Where are the children?’ Hester asked, using a softer tone with difficulty. For their sakes she could not afford to antagonise him. Until she could find a weapon against him, she must keep his trust.

‘I shall take you,’ he responded. ‘They are in the old coach house. It is perfectly adequate for them, clean and warm. They are locked in, of course. It would not do for them to be wandering around. They could get hurt, or even lost.’ He was leading her through the large, stone-floored kitchen area. Adrienne glanced at them as they passed, turned to pour boiling water into a large teapot then bent to her chopping board again and the vegetables she was dicing.

Outside in the sunlit yard Rand pulled a key from his pocket.

‘This is for the outer door,’ he remarked. ‘I shall give it to you. I think you have sufficient intelligence to deduce for yourself what will happen to the children if you do not care for them to the utmost of your ability.’

‘Mr Rand!’ Hester spoke so huskily that he stopped and turned to look at her, his eyebrows raised. ‘I understand you,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘You do not need to keep reminding me.’

‘Good.’ He nodded. ‘Like it or not, we shall work well together.’ He handed her the key, turned on his heel and walked briskly back across the yard and into the kitchen.

Hester opened the door to the coach house and closed it behind her before she looked at the single, large room. There was little furniture in it: just one cupboard with a few drawers beneath, and three small beds. There was a large knotted rag mat on the wooden floor, and a single door leading to another room, presumably toilet facilities, possibly even a bath. Rand understood the dangers of contamination from uncleanliness.

Maggie was sitting up in one of the beds. She was pale and her whole attitude listless, until she recognised Hester and her face lit with joy. She slid off the bed and ran across the floor, throwing herself at Hester and clinging on to her with surprising strength.

‘Yer come fer us! I told ’em yer’d come!’ She buried her head in Hester’s waist, holding on to her as if she were drowning.

Hester put her own arms around Maggie and hugged her back as she looked at Charlie, who was sitting up on one of the other beds with Mike beside him. They were both pale also, but she had seen them worse in the hospital in Greenwich. She felt her pulse steady as she realised Rand had understood that he must keep them well, at least as long as he needed them. After Radnor was recovered, or believed that he was, it would be different. But until then she had time to think, and to plan. They must get away, because this was only a breathing space; it would not last.

‘We must be careful,’ she said to Maggie, letting her go and looking across at the boys.

‘I thought yer’d come,’ Charlie said with an uncertain smile, his wide eyes meeting hers, looking for a promise she longed to be able to make.

‘Me, too,’ Mike added, smiling as well.

Her heart lurched as she looked at him. He was little more than a baby still, his milk teeth even and white, his hair curling and in need of a cut.

She sat on the bed and regarded them very gravely.

‘We are going to be so good that nobody has any reason to be angry with any of us, or think we are planning something they wouldn’t like. Agreed?’

They all nodded.

‘We will look after each other, and one day quite soon we will be able to go home. Either we will find a way out ourselves, or someone will come and help us.’ It was a wild thing to say. She had no idea where they were, or how anyone would find them here, if anybody were even looking. Rand could have told Monk anything. He knew she cared about the children. He might have been told she was nursing them, so would relax in the assumption that she would simply return home when they were well.

Fear took hold of her for a moment and overwhelmed her. This was not good enough. She could feel the pressure of Maggie’s fingers still tight on hers. Maggie would know she was afraid.

‘Right!’ she said briskly. ‘To begin. Are you hungry?’

‘Yeah,’ they all said in unison.

‘Good. Then I will go and see what I can find in the kitchen. You must stay here. I shall lock the door so no one else can get in and disturb you.’

‘D’yer ’ave ter go?’ Maggie asked.

‘I can’t cook dinner in here,’ Hester said reasonably.

‘But yer will come back?’ Charlie looked at her doubtfully.

‘Yer will?’ Mike echoed.

‘Of course I will,’ she promised. ‘We’re in this together.’

Hester went out into the kitchen garden to see what was growing, even if it had run a little wild. It had been originally laid out in plots with narrow paths between them, to make for easy gathering of herbs, but they were now overgrown.

She walked along the paths between all the beds, looking for something more substantial, possibly potatoes or carrots. Perhaps it was a little late for beans. Those fit to eat would have been harvested already.

It was not as well kept as she had expected, having seen the gardener from the window. Did he have other tasks so that caring for the vegetable patch was not a priority?

She found the potato bed, but they had already been lifted and there were a few weeds taken root. There were no carrots. She thought it likely the soil was too heavy. The only cabbages left had gone to seed.