The Smell of Evil

by Birkin, Charles

  Hearing a sound of distress from the sofa Mrs. Tarriman hurried back into the room, the carving knife with which she had been slicing the beef still held in her hand. She knelt down by Millie. “Miss Ackland,” she said with concern. “Miss Ackland, dear . . . what is it?” She felt for her pulse. “Miss Ackland, dear,” she said once more. Then with her face starched with worry, she went across to the telephone to call Doctor Cripps.

  THE SERUM OF DOCTOR WHITE

  “At what time did you say that his train was due?” asked Humphrey.

  “A quarter to six,” said Alathea.

  Her husband took out his watch and got to his feet. “Then perhaps I should start.” He kissed Alathea on her forehead as she clung to him tightly. “There’s no alternative, old girl,” he said. “It’s not only for Rachel’s sake but also for that of other children.”

  “You truly believe that it is the right course to take? Hasn’t the poor child suffered enough?” She pushed him away from her gently. “Are you honestly sure that you haven’t asked him down here out of hatred?”

  “My dear Alathea!” he said. “There is no one else except White.” He hesitated. “What he has done to Rachel he may be able to ameliorate, even if no more than that.”

  Alathea did not argue, but came with him to the door and stood at the top of the flight of shallow steps, where she looked after Humphrey’s large black car until it had turned out of sight around the corner of the drive.

  As she was going back into the house she caught sight of Nanny coming up the path from the water garden, on the far side of which the folly had been built. The word was misleading, for it was not an ornamental baroque tower that served no useful purpose, but a miniature three-roomed Regency building that gave on to a wide exquisitely proportioned verandah which was semi-circular and colonnaded. Humphrey had installed plumbing and electricity and had made of the summer house a comfortable self-contained dwelling, and to there it was that Rachel and Nanny had been transferred.

  Nanny had been with Rachel “from the month”—nearly seven years. She was a plump good-natured Irishwoman from the County Mayo, and she had attached herself to the Deckers with a love that verged on the fanatical, and since the child’s illness, except for her church-going, she had refused to leave her side for longer than an hour or so, brushing away any suggestions of a holiday or of days off with a determination which brooked no discussion, nor would she permit the other servants either to visit Rachel or to go near the folly to disturb her refuge.

  From the start she had set herself against Doctor White’s treatment, declaring that a visit to Lourdes would prove much more beneficial for the little girl, and she had been forever pressing pamphlets and copious newspaper cuttings from the Irish press upon her employers, eye-witness accounts that told of the miraculous cures which had been effected by the power of prayer and the grace of Our Lady in that Holy Grotto. She still maintained that it was not too late for a pilgrimage to be undertaken.

  Alathea reluctantly retraced her steps to meet her. She had informed her already of the doctor’s imminent arrival and told her that he would be staying with them at Welford for the night, and Nanny had pursed up her lips at the news. “And hasn’t that man been after doing harm enough?” she had demanded indignantly. “Isn’t it time, wouldn’t you think, that he’d be leaving the darlin’ crature alone?”

  The yellowish gray stone of the pleasant Georgian house was touched by the last rays of the sinking sun, gilding the windows and glowing lingeringly on the portico, around which in spring there hung the heavy cream and lilac swags of a venerable wistaria. Welford crouched mellowed and secure in its surrounding parkland, up to the walls of which had crept the remorseless and probing tentacles of the new housing estate.

  “How is she this evening, Nanny?” Alathea asked. “She wouldn’t speak to me when I was with her after luncheon. She sat there all hunched up and refused even to look at me.”

  “Sure and that don’t signify a thing,” said Nanny robustly. “It’s nothing personal. If it’s conversation you’re wanting, Madam, it’s not from Rachel that you’ll be after getting it. She talks less and less, but then don’t the rest of us talk a sight too much? The effort seems to pain her. I keep on asking her if she’s losing her tongue.” She gave an impatient sniff and then said in a quieter voice: “I light candles whenever I go to Mass, but the response is slow in coming. But it will tho’, it will! And it’s all the doing of that Doctor White. If I had my way it would be nailing him to Christ’s cross I’d be, and that’s God’s truth.”

  “If it hadn’t been for Doctor White,” said Alathea, trying to speak kindly, “Rachel would have been dead. He’s only human after all. No one claims to be infallible.”

  “You’re right there,” agreed Nanny forcibly. “If he’d kept his hands off her the poor soul would likely have been resting in the bosom of the Blessed Virgin by now with all the Saints for company.” She stared over Alathea’s shoulder, not giving an inch. “She was a good child, whatever she may be like at present. She was a real little doat.” Alathea’s gaze blurred with tears as she looked at Nanny, dedicated and partisan, with her blue eyes challenging and brilliant with defiance. “She’s the same darlin’ doat as she always was,” Nanny repeated, “even if she may be changed a trifle . . . outwardly.”

  “Of course she is,” said Alathea. She dreaded making her twice daily visits to the folly. They were becoming increasingly unbearable. She had to steel herself to undertake them, force her legs to carry her forward; and when Humphrey accompanied her it was more than she could do, to have to see his drawn and rigid face. “Of course she is,” Alathea said again. Her thoughts fled back to nearly a year before, when Rachel’s illness had begun. It had been sudden and dreadful, totally unexpected, and extremely frightening.

  They had spent the following weeks, after the initial shock, in and out of Harley Street consulting rooms and hospitals, arranging for X-rays and blood tests to be taken, seeking conflicting expert advice and finding none that was encouraging. It had been diagnosed finally that Rachel was suffering from astrocytoma, that awesome and fatal tumor of the brain which was resistant to both treatment and surgery.

  It was when they had known that time was rapidly running out that Alathea had heard about Doctor Max White. It had been Cathleen Bower who had been her informant. Mrs. Bower prided herself on being au courant with the new advances made by medical science, and it had to be admitted that in most cases she usually knew who would be the best man, or woman, to consult.

  She had taken pains to make it clear that Doctor White was not known to her personally, nor had any of her friends actually been to him, but she had heard that he had made a considerable name for himself on the Continent, and he had received a lot of favorable publicity in various American publications. And Americans were so much more go ahead than we were, were they not? Nobody could deny that! She had fixed Alathea with her somewhat prominent gray eyes, and had made her point against a background noise of jangling Vogue jewellery with which she was always burdened, the cacophony being engendered by reason of her vehement gestures.

  The origins of Doctor White were dim. Obviously he had changed his name after he had become naturalized. Cathleen believed that he had been born in Hungary and had made his way to England immediately after the war. It was rumored that he had been an inmate of a concentration camp, but no one seemed to know the exact details. She herself had glimpsed him but once, and that had been some years previously at a party given by Derrick Nott. He had been middle-aged and rather self-consciously dynamic. Observing him she had thought him a striking personality, who, in her opinion, relied for much of his effect on his undeniable sex appeal.

  Randell, her husband, had been introduced to him by Derrick and had taken an instant dislike to him, but that was due, she was sure, to their being anti-chemical to one another and had had nothing to do with his pr
ofessional activities. Under further questioning Mrs. Bower had been forced to admit that upon inquiry none of her medico friends had been at all enthusiastic about him, not that their knowledge of the subject appeared to her to have been very profound. She always said that doctors were as jealous of each other as were actors or musicians, conservative to a ridiculous degree, and closed their ranks in a grim protective unity whenever a talented foreigner started to enjoy a measure of approval.

  Doctor Max White was apparently something of a mystery man. He had set up a research laboratory, staffed mainly by mid-Europeans, in a remote part of Yorkshire. Although he seemed to have no lack of financial backing the source from whence it came was unknown, and his qualifications were equally obscure. In addition to the laboratory he ran also a small clinic in the house where he lived, which was called High Hall, and where he took a maximum of three or four patients.

  There had been a boy, or so Cathleen had read, who had been brought over from the States to see Doctor White and he had been cured. His name had been Lodge or Dodge or Hodge. Anyway, he was from one of the leading families. It was worth a try anyway, wasn’t it? Cathleen had not added “since all else had failed”, but her meaning had been clear. Humphrey, after a great deal of pressure from Alathea, had at last allowed himself to be persuaded into giving his consent and taking a chance.

  Max White’s clinic had been situated on the moors some ten miles from Pickering, and it had been in that bleak town that Alathea had made her headquarters during the dreary interminable months when Rachel had been under his care, Humphrey coming up for short periods to join her whenever his business commitments would permit.

  The treatment had been prolonged and complicated and painful. Alathea had gathered that extracts from the tumor had been prepared and injected into animals, which in turn produced other tumors in their sex glands, and it was from these that a serum had been obtained for injecting back into the patient which, the doctor had had every reason to hope, would prove beneficial. From the beginning he had stated that he could not guarantee complete success, but on several past occasions he had achieved startlingly satisfactory results, although it was as yet too early to announce an efficaciousness of one hundred per cent.

  At the end of eleven weeks, towards the end of January, the child’s health seemed to have improved to a remarkable extent and immediate danger had receded, and Doctor White had suggested that she could return home, since he had administered the total number of injections that safety allowed and that they must now await results. “We can only hope, dear Mrs. Decker,” he had said. “We can only hope, wait and see. Fortunately Rachel has encouraging stamina and powers of great physical resistance.”

  So they had brought her back in an ambulance, driving carefully through the snow shrouded countryside until they had reached Welford, where at first she had been tended by a nurse from the clinic and later on, in March, when the nurse had made her departure, Nanny had taken over for, apart from a weekly administration of a capsule containing a milky liquid, of which they had been sent an adequate supply, quiet and rest and watchful dieting were all that could be done for the little girl.

  Shortly after their return Doctor White had left on a world tour which was to be part holiday and part research and during which he was to give several lectures. He would be away, he had said, for more than eight months. Miss Vanna, his secretary, would have a list of forwarding addresses, but he was afraid that he himself would be constantly on the move, and there was nothing more in the near future that he could do for Rachel. He would communicate as soon as he came back from his travels. By the same post Miss Vanna had sent Humphrey a bill for a thousand guineas.

  Alathea was recalled from her reverie by Nanny’s voice. “It’s a shame right enough,” she was saying, “tampering with nature and interfering with God’s will.” Her blue eyes rested on her employer’s face and they were compassionate. “’Tho it’s sure I am that you and Mr. Decker acted for the best . . . according to your lights,” she qualified grudgingly. “Although I’ll not deny that it’s enough to crack your heart in two.”

  “I hope that we have done so, Nanny,” Alathea said. She wondered how long Nanny had been talking and what she had been saying. “Doctor White should be here at a quarter to seven,” she went on. “I’ll bring him straight down to you.”

  “Then it will be bathing my darlin’ and giving her her supper that I’ll be doing,” Nanny announced. “She’s never off her food, that’s one good thing. She’s not pernickety, I must admit. She’s got an appetite as hearty as a priest’s, and she’s full of energy even if she’s not talkative, scampering around and putting her nose into everything. She’s that inquisitive!” Nanny brightened up. “It’s been good-bye to Doctor White’s diet sheet for a long while now, I can tell you. The poor pet always seems to be half starving. I was just on my way in to see if Mrs. Glazebroke would be obliging me with a slice or so of cold beef. Scrambled eggs and fruit won’t satisfy Rachel, mark my words. Not these days, they won’t! Half the time I suspect Mrs. Glazebroke thinks I’m after wanting all the extra food for myself. Imagine!” She bridled at the imputation. “That woman can be a regular ijiut when she’s a mind to!”

  Alathea frowned. “But Nanny,” she protested, “that’s very naughty of you. When Doctor White lays down . . . a routine; it is up to us all to see that it is properly carried out.”

  “Easier said than done.” Nanny shook her head in disapproval. “Rachel loses weight shockingly if she doesn’t get enough. And her temper! When she’s hungry she gets quite vicious, and it’s no fairy tale that I’m after telling you.” She paused. “The little angel!” she added inconsequently.

  “Well, you must stop it,” declared Alathea severely. “I’ll ask the doctor this evening if it will be all right to increase and vary her diet.”

  Nanny did not answer. She nodded, suddenly aloof, and went on her way, straight-backed, down the overgrown path that cut through the shrubbery to the back door. Alathea sighed. Darling Nanny! She would not face up to reality. She clung obstinately to candles and prayers and miracles and a blind pinning of her faith on to the impossible.

  It was twenty minutes to seven when Humphrey got back from the station. Alathea heard his finger on the horn as he negotiated the gates into the drive, and she hurried out to meet him. The car drew up and he jumped out, his country clothes arrogantly shabby, and walked round to open the boot from which he lifted a suitcase and a canvas K.L.M. carrier bag.

  As he was doing so Doctor White emerged from the other door. He came over to her, smiling and with his arm outstretched in greeting. “Mrs. Decker! This is indeed a pleasure!” He gripped her hand too hard and held it for too long. “I trust you will not mind,” he continued, “but I have brought Alexis with me. He is in the car.” Alathea glanced past him and saw an enormous brindled lurcher sitting in sedate dignity on the back seat. “I do apologize,” said Max White, “but really I had no alternative. I acquired him yesterday afternoon. He is for Conrad, the young son of my assistant. You may remember him? The boy adores what he calls ‘the English sporting life’! I am taking Alexis back with me tomorrow to Pickering.”

  “Are you?” said Alathea. She refrained from remarking that waiting an extra day before collecting the dog would have made but a minor difference.

  As if he had read her thoughts Doctor White said: “I am not returning via Sussex, from where he comes. I am taking a train from Oxford to York.” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “A tiresome journey . . . mais c’est la vie!”

  “It is perfectly all right,” said Alathea. “We have no dogs of our own.”

  Max White bowed and smiled again and turned away to open the car door. She had not noticed before that he was so stocky and had such large hands. The big lurcher bounded out and stood for a minute with muzzle pointed upward sniffing the air with interest before he trotted staidly to the rear bumper whe
re he smelt around inquiringly before lifting a leg against the shining chromium.

  “Alexis!” said Doctor White reprovingly. “A hundred apologies, Mrs. Decker. It is the journey. He is not an experienced traveller. What one has to do in the name of friendship!”

  Previously Alathea had seen the doctor only in his clinical white uniform or in the Lovat tweeds which he wore in Yorkshire. He looked very urban in his beautifully cut striped navy suit with a hard collar and a pale gray tie that was anchored by a pearl pin. He must have come from a conference in London that afternoon. His hair was curly and blue-black and it was clear that he needed to shave twice a day. “It doesn’t matter at all,” she said. “You must take him for a proper walk before dinner.” Humphrey joined them carrying the doctor’s luggage, and Alathea said: “I’ll show you your room, and then we will go and see Rachel.” She preceded them through the hall and up the curving staircase.

  Tentatively Doctor White made a courteous, if abortive effort to take his cases from Humphrey. “And how is she now?” he asked her. “Your husband was not very forthcoming on the subject during our drive.” The two men had in fact come from Oxford in nearly complete silence.

  “You’ll be able to judge that for yourself,” said Alathea. Even to her own ears her voice sounded like that of a bad actress floundering in a pre-war comedy.

  Max White glanced at her sharply. “I heard from Miss Vanna that progress had not altogether been maintained,” he said. “Also I received letters from you in Rangoon and Suva and Bogota. Alas, by the time they had reached me they were out of date, so there was no point in answering them. When one is engaged in doing such long . . . hops, do you say? . . . as I have been doing since last we met, even air mail is unreliable. I came here as quickly as I could. I reached England only on Tuesday.” He favored Alathea with a piercing look from under his thick eyebrows. “You perhaps found it necessary to call in other advice?”