Read Corridors of the Night Online
Authors: Anne Perry
They would have to make do with whatever was in the kitchen or the scullery.
Nevertheless, she made out a good clump of chives. There was mint all over the place, but mint was like that. Its roots ran under the surface to spring up in a dozen different places. There seemed to be both spearmint and apple mint. There was also some rather ragged parsley, a large bush of rosemary, and flowering sage, which gave off a very pleasant aroma when she disturbed it. There was also highly pungent lemon thyme, as well as the usual more ordinary sort. She would certainly make use of such a good crop. The herbs were both appetising and medicinal.
She picked some of the parsley, cropping the dead pieces as she went.
The kitchen door was unlocked. It was only as she was turning the handle to open it that she noticed the shadow of the gardener as he came around the corner, the large-barrelled gun still swinging easily on its rope over his shoulder. He stopped abruptly and watched her go in, before crossing the yard behind her and disappearing. Seeing him gave her a cold, miserable reminder that she was a prisoner.
Inside the kitchen was warm and pleasantly aromatic. She could smell soup in the big pan on the stove, and hear it bubbling. There were many strings of onions hanging from the rafter beams, and what looked like shallots. She hoped Adrienne had put some in the soup. She should have asked her to.
Adrienne was standing in front of the stove, a wooden spoon in her hand. Her hair was falling out of its pins and curling in the steam. Her face was creased with anxiety. Clearly cooking for seven people was a challenge she did not enjoy. At home she would merely give orders to the servants. She might never have even been into the kitchen herself.
As Hester passed she gave her a glance, but did not speak. Their relationship was changed utterly from when they had been in the hospital, as equals with a purpose in common. Now Hester was a prisoner and Adrienne was part of the force that held her so – even if in effect she was as much a prisoner of circumstance herself.
Hester understood Adrienne far more than the younger woman would have believed. The fear of a parent’s death was far behind her, but the guilt of not having been there still lingered.
She held up the parsley. ‘I found this in the garden,’ she said as she offered it. ‘Almost all soups look more appetising with a little chopped and sprinkled on top. And it is very good for the digestion.’
Adrienne accepted it, but did not meet Hester’s eyes. ‘Thank you.’
Hester remained and helped finish off the vegetables that Adrienne had found in the storeroom, then took a generous portion to the children.
She returned in time to chop the parsley and sprinkle it over the soup, and then together they took it upstairs to Radnor’s room. Hester held the door open and Adrienne walked in, carrying it in a soup bowl, on a neatly set tray.
Radnor was sitting propped up in bed. He looked tired and ill, and he made no effort to hide it until he saw Hester behind Adrienne. Then he pushed his hair back off his brow. It was still thick, although there was little colour left in it.
‘Papa, we have brought you some soup,’ Adrienne told him gently. ‘I’ve made it the best I can and it should do you some good.’
Radnor regarded her with a strange mixture of emotion in his face. There was pride quite openly, but a flash of anger as well, and a fierce regret that was almost as visible as the ravages of his illness.
Seeing it, Hester felt very much an intruder who was not meant to witness such an intimate relationship. She thought of excusing herself, but it was part of her duty to make certain Radnor ate as much as he could, and to help if it should cause him any distress. Her discomfort was irrelevant.
She merely asked Radnor if she could help him to sit more comfortably in order to eat, then realised with anger at herself that that would make her sound like a servant. She was a nurse, not his parlour-maid. And she was here under duress! Briefly, as she helped him lean forward while she restacked the pillows behind him, she wondered what he knew of the circumstances of her being here. Did he realise she had been rendered unconscious by ether, and brought here against her will? That she was now actually a prisoner, with the children as surety for her good behaviour?
Would he care if he did?
She met his cold, clear eyes for an instant as she laid him back again, and it was she who looked away. There was something far too perceptive in him, too probing into her thoughts.
Adrienne insisted in feeding him herself. He was too unsteady to hold the spoon without spilling the soup, which angered him. Hester could see it in the lines of his face and hear it in his grunts as he swallowed. If Adrienne noticed, she affected not to.
He was also getting breathless. The effort it cost him was apparent to all of them and it humiliated him.
‘Perhaps we should stop for a few moments,’ Hester suggested. ‘It won’t get cold.’
Adrienne hesitated.
‘Do as you’re told!’ Radnor snapped at her, and then choked as he caught his breath.
‘Papa, I’m sorry!’ she said quickly. She looked at Hester desperately. ‘Do something! He’s choking!’
Hester had a strong suspicion that it was largely affected. She had seen him manipulate his daughter’s feelings before; this time she was even more suspicious.
‘Help him!’ Adrienne commanded.
Radnor looked at her, and coughed again.
This time Hester was quite certain. ‘Perhaps we had better not give him any more,’ she said coolly. ‘He is not as well as I thought. It’s a pity. But it won’t be wasted.’
Radnor glared at her with chilling malevolence. ‘If you want soup, woman, make your own. This is mine. My daughter made it for me.’
Hester smiled sweetly at him. ‘Indeed she did. I am glad you are well enough to appreciate that.’ She turned to Adrienne. ‘I think after all he is perfectly well enough to finish it.’ She turned and walked out of the room, before Radnor should see the disgust in her face.
Radnor seemed stronger when he had eaten. Even an hour or two after the soup he rallied, and insisted Adrienne should remain with him during the night. She would only call Hester, or Rand, if he seemed to be in distress.
Hester watched Adrienne try to settle him. She must have done it countless times before in the long months of his illness and deterioration, but she still seemed nervous. He was helpless to do the most ordinary things for himself, and, like many people she had seen before, he resented it. He felt robbed of dignity, which was easily understandable. But it was in no way Adrienne’s fault.
Hester watched with embarrassment for them both as Adrienne tried to assist him to the bathroom so he could relieve himself. She held his arm to help him keep balance on his enfeebled legs, without appearing actually to support his weight. He was bent over, and his nightshirt was thus made too long at the front. He was in danger of tripping on it and falling.
‘For God’s sake, stand up straight, girl! I’m ill, not an idiot!’ he snarled.
It was totally unfair. She was obviously doing her best, but she did not complain, nor even try to defend herself.
He swayed, and Adrienne panicked. She swung around to Hester, her eyes wide.
‘Pull yourself together!’ Radnor said to her furiously. ‘Don’t let me fall, damn you! Can’t you do anything right?’
‘I’m sorry, Papa. Lean on me more. I won’t leave you!’
Hester could see Adrienne was frightened and losing control. She moved forward quickly and took hold of Radnor by the other side, steadying him firmly. She felt his muscles tighten as he pulled away from her. Was it deliberate?
‘Mr Radnor!’ she said curtly. ‘Lean on me, and let Adrienne open the bathroom door for us.’
He half turned to glare at her. He had more strength left than she had expected. ‘Think you’re coming in here to watch me relieve myself, woman?’
‘Someone needs to hold your nightshirt up for you,’ she retorted. ‘If you try it you’ll fall over. You might even spend the night on the floor, or worse than that, break a hip. Or both.’
Adrienne stifled a sob and shot a glance at Hester filled with both loathing and despair. ‘I’ll help you,’ she whispered to her father, then to Hester: ‘Please go. You leave him no dignity at all! How can you be so . . . cruel?’
Hester lost her patience, not with frailty or the fear of indignity, but with the mixture of love, hate and dependence that each of them seemed to have for the other.
‘There is no indignity in being human,’ she said, anger at the stupidity of it making her voice sharp. ‘We are all born naked and screaming. We all function essentially the same way. We all need each other from time to time, dressed in robes and bleeding inside, or naked and weeping. Nobody takes your dignity away. Either you keep it, or you give it up yourself by behaving like a fool.’ She turned to Radnor. ‘You are no different from any other man. For goodness’ sake stop making such a performance out of relieving yourself. Nobody cares!’
Adrienne gasped.
Radnor seemed to consider for a moment whether he would retaliate or not, and decided against it.
Five minutes later he was back in bed, ready for the night. Adrienne, exhausted, was sitting by his side with a book in her hands, quietly reading to him while he appeared to be falling asleep.
Hester awoke in the morning with a moment of fear. As she remembered where she was, a sense of loss overcame her. She lay still, thinking of Monk, and of Scuff. Did they know yet what had happened to her? What had Magnus Rand said to them?
Then she heard sounds below her, footsteps. What she felt was unimportant. What mattered were the three children and the promises she had made them.
She swung her legs out of bed and stood up. She was stiff, and still tired, but there was nothing wrong with her. She had a battle to fight every hour, every minute. If Radnor could be saved, well and good, but she must keep the children alive until she could find a way for all of them to escape.
She washed and dressed in the same clothes as before. She had nothing else to wear. Then she went down to the kitchen. It was dark outside still, with just a paling in the east to say that dawn was coming. Then she realised what the sound was that she had heard. The gardener was cleaning out the kitchen grate and rebuilding the fire. He snapped the front of it shut and stood up slowly, facing her, half a foot taller than she, and powerful, even without his gun.
‘You’d best not even think of it,’ he said quietly as she glanced at the back door. ‘I could bring you down in a moment, and then what would those little ones do, eh? Miss Radnor in’t going to look after ’em. She’s too busy with ’er father.’ He gave a twisted half-smile. ‘Cooker’ll be hot in five minutes. There’s oatmeal in the wooden bin over there, and plenty o’ good milk. An’ there’s eggs.’
Hester looked at his bony face and his big knuckled hands. He’d probably killed chickens and rabbits with them, with a quick twist, and thought nothing of it. He would do whatever Rand told him to. There was no imagination in his eyes, and no pity.
‘A good idea,’ she agreed. ‘Thank you for getting the fire going.’
He grunted and turned away. He had been prepared for anger, or pleading. Agreement caught him off balance.
She made plenty of porridge, sufficient for all of them, including Rand himself. Then she left it simmering while she went to get the children up, washed and dressed, and then brought them back to the kitchen.
She served them porridge with plenty of milk. They were all sitting at the wooden table eating when Rand came in.
‘And what do you think you are doing in here?’ he demanded when he saw them. ‘You eat in your own place! Mrs Monk, I will not have this . . .’
She stared straight back at him. ‘If you do not allow them fresh air and as much food as they need, what you will have is sick children whose blood is no use to you,’ she answered him tartly. ‘I presume you have not gone this far in order to fail over such an obvious detail?’
For an instant there was surprise in his face, and something that could even have been appreciation. Then it vanished. ‘See that they are finished and in their room in one hour. I shall require you to assist in taking their blood. Radnor is still failing.’
She stared at him, at his clever eyes whose colour she could never be sure of, then back at his precise mouth, which seemed to have no curves in it, no passion.
She found herself agreeing obediently. She could not afford his anger.
The porridge had lost its flavour, but she finished it anyway, and took the children back to their room, locking the door behind her as she left. Her mind was racing all the time, seeking ways of escape, and finding nothing.
Rand came back when he had said he would. He was exact in everything. He never made an unnecessary gesture, never mind an ill-thought act.
‘We will begin, Mrs Monk,’ he told her. ‘Watch me and do exactly as I tell you. You are an intelligent woman and a very good nurse. Please do not waste both our time by pretending not to understand.’ He met her eyes for a moment, as if making certain he had her attention. ‘We are going to draw blood from the older two children, about three-quarters of a pint from each,’ he continued. ‘I shall mix the lemon juice and the potash with it in exact proportions, and you will observe. Please do not be stupid enough to affect displays of emotion. If you do, I shall be obliged to hurt you. If harm comes to the children it will be the result of your stupidity.’
He looked at her steadily and there was a degree of respect in his face. ‘I know something about you, Mrs Monk. I did not choose you at random among the nurses. You have seen surgical operations; indeed, you have performed some yourself when there was no one else. You do not lack either skill or nerve. Do not fritter away these people’s lives with moral histrionics. Do you understand me?’
She understood him perfectly. He saw it in her face and turned away without waiting for a verbal answer.
First she watched him make a mixture of lemon juice squeezed and refined until it was absolutely clear, then mixed with potash, to exact measurements. He put it in a small glass jar and sealed it.