“I do. But then I ask myself, to what end? If that man were my patient in Lichfield, and wealthy, I would certainly discuss his ailment and suggest a change of style in his life. But the unfortunate who left has no such opportunities. He is poor—you saw his shoes?—with no money for medications. Better to allow him to live as happy as he may. With or without my bad news, he will be gone by year’s end.”
Faulkner stood up. “As I must be gone now. I have a meeting across the river in Southwark. Until tonight, gentlemen, at seven?”
“And the renewed pleasure of your company.” Darwin nodded, but he did not rise as their companion buttoned his heavy coat and strode out into the gloom and chill of a February fog. He poured more beef tea, for himself and Jacob Pole.
“Are you suggesting,” Pole said gloomily, “that if I were sick, you would not tell me about it?”
“You mean, if I could not help you? Then I would say nothing.” Darwin was absentmindedly eating his way through the whole tray of cheese and pork savories. “What happiness would it bring you, to know you were victim of some incurable disease?”
“Hmph. Well—”
Pole’s reply was interrupted. The young man who had been hovering by the tavern wall stepped forward to the table.
Darwin did not seem in the least surprised. He merely nodded, and said with a full mouth, “I wondered which of the three of us was the focus of your interest. I am merely surprised that it is I, since I am more of a stranger to this city.”
“I know that, sir.” The other man nodded politely to Darwin and Pole but he was clearly uneasy, shifting from foot to foot. He was bareheaded, blond, and clean shaven, with a blooming fresh-skinned face that scarce needed a razor. “But it is nonetheless you with whom I wish to speak.” He glanced again at Jacob Pole, this time unhappily.
Darwin gazed up at the earnest face. The youth was well dressed and healthy, but there was a certain stolidity of manner and dullness to his eye. “You may speak before Colonel Pole as you would before me. His discretion is absolute. It is, I assume, a medical problem that you suffer?”
“Oh, no sir.” The young man was startled. “Or at least, sir, it is, but not my own. It is the problem of a—a friend of mine.”
“Very well.” Darwin pursed his full lips and gestured to the seat vacated by Joseph Faulkner. “Help yourself to beef tea, and tell me about your friend. Tell all, root and branch. Detail is at the heart of diagnosis.”
“Yes, sir.” The man sat down. He cleared his throat. “My name is Jamie Murchison. I am from Scotland. I came here to study medicine with Doctor Warren.”
“A wise choice. The best doctor in London. You selected him as your teacher?”
“No, sir. My father chose him for me.”
“I see. But if Warren cannot help with your problem, I am convinced that I will do no better.”
“Sir, Doctor Warren’s own health has not been good. Furthermore, he says that you are his superior, especially in matters of diagnosis. But in any case, I did not consult him for other, more personal reasons. You see, the lady with the problem—”
“Lady!”
“Yes, sir.” Murchison paused uncertainly. “Is that bad?”
“No. But I owe you an apology. Nine out of ten who so begin, saying that they have a friend with a medical condition, are actually describing their own problem. I assumed it to be true in your case. Pray continue.”
“Yes, sir. The lady is Florence Trustrum. She is nineteen years old and a second cousin to Dr. Warren. I met her through him. She hails from the Isle of Man, and is now in service at the house of your friend, Mr. Faulkner. That is the other reason why I preferred to entrust this matter to you. Mr. Faulkner does not know me well. Florence and I met each other socially, four months ago. We have become good friends. Two weeks ago, she came to me and confided a strange physical symptom.”
“To wit?”
“In certain circumstances, she feels a crawling sensation on the skin of her face and arms.”
“And that is all?”
“No, sir. At the same time she feels her hair stand on end, as though she has seen a ghost.”
“Hair standing on end. For which a suitable medical term would be? Since you are a medical student, we may as well exploit that fact for the enlightenment of Colonel Pole.”
Murchison frowned and shook his head. “I don’t recall.”
“It is known as horripilation. Remember that.”
“Yes, sir. But it is not horra—horri-pil-ation, as I have read of it. Florence does not see gooseflesh, nor feel any sense of cold or terror when it happens. She says it may occur equally when she is cheerful, or relaxed, or thinking of something else entirely. And so I wondered, sir. In your great experience have you ever encountered any disease with such symptoms?”
“Never,” said Darwin promptly. He rubbed at his jaw, which was in bad need of a razor. “Have you been present when it happens? Or has anyone else?”
“Not I. She said that Mr. Faulkner was with her on one occasion, and Richard Crosse, who lodges with Mr. Faulkner, on another; but neither man saw or felt anything.”
“And the times and places?”
“The times, all different ones. The place, in her own room on the ground floor of Mr. Faulkner’s home in Saint Mary-le-Bow. I have been there myself. I felt nothing, nor did I see anything unusual.”
“But you did not think to consult your teacher, Dr. Warren.”
“I thought of it, yes. But you see, if Dr. Warren were to think that Florence were ill, he will also feel it is his responsibility to inform her parents. And they will insist that she return home at once for treatment—they do not understand what a fine doctor she has here. And if she goes to the Isle of Man, while I must stay…”
“I understand perfectly. But as to my possible role?”
“Sir, I am only a student. There are many ailments outside my experience. And Florence told me that you will be visiting Mr. Faulkner’s house tonight. You will see her. I thought, perhaps you will find a symptom in her invisible to me. If you would just take a look at her…”
“I will certainly look.” Darwin smiled ruefully. “Before my friend Colonel Pole makes the point for me, I must admit to my own weakness. Even without your adjuration, I could not help but look. Diagnosis is so ingrained in me, it is a way of life.”
“Thank you, sir.” Murchison relaxed visibly. “You see, she does not seem ill. Is there anything else that you can think of to explain her condition?”
“Nothing.” Darwin shook his head decisively. “I know no disease that provides such symptoms. But that is certainly not conclusive. In our knowledge of the human body, the best of us are no better than fumbling children. You may take comfort from this: feeling well is the best evidence I know of good health. If Florence continues to show no other symptoms than those that you describe, she should not worry. But I confess, I would certainly like to see—”
He was interrupted. An unshaven man carrying a lantern and dressed despite the cold only in dirty trousers and a thin blue shirt had come running into the inn. “Dr. Darwin!” he shouted to the room at large. “Is there a Dr. Darwin here?”
“There is.” Darwin began to stand up, groping under the table for his heavy walking stick. “Damn it, Jacob, can you get that for me? I’m not built for bending.” Then, to the man with the lantern. “I am Dr. Darwin. What do you want?”
“Emergency, sir.” The man was gasping for breath. “At the Exhibition by the Custom House. They sends me to look for you, and ask you to go there.”
Darwin looked quickly to Jamie Murchison, who shook his head. “No doing of mine, sir.”
“Then come with me. Perhaps you will have opportunity to add to your store of medical knowledge.” Darwin addressed the panting messenger. “I assume that someone at the Exhibition is ill?”
“No sir.” The ill-clad man was heading rapidly for the door, but he turned to show a somber face. “Someone is dead.”
Darwin and M
urchison followed. Jacob Pole suddenly found himself alone at the table.
“Well, damn me,” he said. And then, to the whole room, “You see the way of it? They sit here, they talk and talk and eat and eat, enough for a dozen normal folk. I sit and listen.” He fished into his pocket and threw coins onto an empty platter. “Then they run and run—and guess who’s left alone at the end to pay the bill? Never trust a philosopher, my friends—he’ll pick your pocket fast as any magsman, and then explain how you’re lucky still to have your trousers.”
* * *
“Gout,” said Darwin, as they followed the lantern-bearing messenger through the fog-shrouded London streets.
The long, wan twilight of early February was near its end, and lamps were already burning in every house. It had snowed the day before, but the streets had been well cleared so that only grey mounds of slush remained. Now the yellow lamplight, bleeding out from tall, narrow windows, fell on the dull snow heaps and did more to emphasize their rounded shadows than to illuminate the pavement and road beyond.
Darwin banged his walking stick hard on the wet cobblestones. “Damnable gout, and damnable weather. Physician, heal thyself—but I have been unable to do so. I diagnose my condition, and I treat it well enough with cupping and with willow bark infusions, but I cannot cure it. Temperance helps, but this creeping cold brings it to life again. How much farther?”
“A few hundred yards.” Jamie Murchison resisted the urge to help Darwin. The other man was considerably overweight, and a little lame, but he was stumping along cheerfully and energetically. “We must walk along Eastcheap and Great Tower Street, sir, then south to the river. Half a mile at the most. Have you not visited the Exhibition yourself, Dr. Darwin? It has been the talk of London for these ten days.”
“I have not. Colonel Pole is your man for that—he plans a visit tomorrow. For my part, when someone tells of priceless jewels, and Persian demons, and Zoroastrian mysteries, I assume that it is merely an attempt to make a mumchance of the whole city.”
“But this is different, sir. The ruby is protected by a curse—and now it seems that the curse has shown its power.”
“We shall see. In a town full of calculating pigs, and dancing bears, and fire-eaters, and sword-swallowers, and purveyors of everything from Cathay aphrodisiacs to Indian opiates to French purges, anything may be claimed. For in my experience, London draws the charlatans of England, as a boil draws to it the body’s poisonous humors. Have you visited this Exhibition yourself, Mr. Murchison?”
“Yes, sir. Twice.” Murchison looked away to hide his embarrassment. “I went with Florence.”
“Then tell me what you saw. I am setting a bad example by my skepticism. In life, as in the examination of a new patient, one should keep the mind forever open for novelty of impression. Tell me all.”
“You will see it for yourself in another minute—we are almost there. But it is simple enough. Two weeks ago, the hall where the Exhibition resides was rented by a Persian, Daryush Sharani, for the purpose of displaying a magnificent ruby of vast age and religious significance. It is known as the Heart of Ahura Mazda, and it is huge—the size of a big man’s fist. But the thing that makes the Exhibition unique, and attracts so much public attention, is that although Sharani stays always with the gem, he disdains other guards. He insists that the Heart carries with it its own protection, in the form of a curse within the stone. The curse of Ahura Mazda invokes a demon, who binds and makes helpless anyone who touches the jewel. If that demon is not quickly banished by Daryush Sharani, the would-be thief will die.”
“Easy enough to say. Did anyone test the Persian’s claims?”
“They did, when the Exhibition began. With a hundred or more people watching, four men tried to take the jewel while Sharani stood by smiling. As soon as each one touched the stone, he was bound rigid until Sharani reached over the Heart of Ahura Mazda and whispered the invocation that controls the demon. Then the men were released. They looked dizzy, and in discomfort; but they moved freely enough.”
Murchison heard Darwin’s skeptical grunt. “I felt as perhaps you are feeling, sir,” he went on, “that it is easy enough to pay a poor man to stand still for a few minutes, and have him say that he was frozen by the curse. But one of the four was a nobleman, the Earl of Marbury, who is far beyond bribery and above corruption. He swore that as he tried to lift the Heart of Ahura Mazda he was seized by the demon, and unable to move a muscle until Sharani invoked the words of release. He also says that the demon’s grip is pure torment, unlike any pain that he had ever felt before.”
They had reached the hall, a rectangular building of grey limestone fifty yards from the river. The double entrance doors were iron-bound oak, open now but carrying two heavy padlocks. On the left-hand door was pinned an announcement that the Heart of Ahura Mazda would be on display from January 30th to April 25th. The right-hand door showed the admission price, of twopence per person per visit.
Within, half a dozen oil lamps lit an oblong sanded floor, in the center of which stood a large metal plate. Upon the plate was a silver pedestal, and on top of that an empty cushion of black velvet within a hemisphere of glass.
The messenger and Murchison hurried on at once toward the far wall, where a motionless human form lay surrounded by a small group of men. But Darwin stood just two steps inside the door, wrinkling his nose in perplexity and sniffing the air. It was ten more seconds before he walked forward, moving to study the pedestal and its empty cover. Finally he banged his walking stick hard on the stone floor, to produce a hollow boom that echoed around the hall. He walked forward to join the others.
The body lay supine, blue eyes open and arms thrown wide. Darwin knelt down beside it, and grunted in astonishment. The man was the black-haired stranger from the Boar’s Head Tavern.
“And who are you, sir?” asked one of the men standing by the body. He was well dressed in a heavy woollen coat, leather boots, and gaiters, and he wore clerical garb. “The magistrate has already been called.”
“I am Erasmus Darwin, a physician.” Darwin did not look up. “But I fear I can do nothing for this poor fellow. Does anyone here know him?”
“I do, sir.” It was a watchman, carrying a staff and a shielded lantern. “He’s been regular in these parts these two year, an’ often ’anging around when jewlery an’ plate goes a-missin’. But nuffin’s been proved, not near enuff for a dance at Tyburn.”
“You sent for me when you found him?”
“No, sir. Not I.”
“Then which of you did send for me?”
There was a silence. Darwin turned to the messenger, who shook his greasy head firmly. “None of these gentlemen, sir. I was given a florin in Lower Thames Street, by a man I never seed before. He said there was somebody a-dying in the Exhibition Hall, and I was to go to the Boar’s Head an’ bring Dr. Erasmus Darwin.”
“I saw this man alive, in that same tavern, less than an hour ago.” Darwin bent to grasp the man’s wrist, and to touch him on temple, mouth, and at the hollow of his neck. He loosened the fustian jacket, and made a rapid examination of chest and abdomen. Then he stood up. “He has been dead less than thirty minutes. Who found him?”
“Me it was.” The grubby watchman lifted his staff. “On me first round. I sees a window open at the back, so I come to the front an’ let meself in.” He held up a heavy bunch of keys. “With these. An’ there he was. Dead as mutton. An’ the jewel—gone.”
“He is just where you found him?”
“Yessir. I think he staggers back here, see, tryin’ to reach the winder, but ’e dies ’fore he gets to it.”
Darwin shook his head and pointed to the sanded floor. In the lantern light, a pair of wavy lines ran from the metal plate and pedestal to the wet, battered shoes of the dead man. “He was dragged this way. You are sure that no one here pulled him?”
“Positive, sir.” The clergyman spoke again. “I was passing by, and I came in straight on the watchman’s heels. When we ent
ered the man was exactly as you see him.”
“Just as the demon left him,” said a ragged man softly. The little group of people stirred and looked nervously around the shadowed hall.
“Now then, we’ll have no blasphemies here,” said the clergyman mildly. “When a man dies, there is no need to call for demons. I’m sure the doctor can tell us the natural cause of death.”
The men around the body turned to Darwin expectantly. He hunched his shoulders, and shook his head in irritation. “The obvious diagnosis is a massive heart failure, but it is not a reply I can offer in good conscience. I saw this man earlier today, and observed him closely. He was not at the point of death. And I am sure that this was not present.”
Darwin stooped, and lifted the limp right arm of the dead man. As he turned it, an ugly heart-shaped cicatrix about an inch and a half across was revealed on the palm of the hand. The middle was white, the edge a lurid blood-red.
“The Mark of the Beast!” Everyone except Darwin and Murchison took a pace back.
“Nonsense.” The clergyman’s voice sounded less confident than his words. “It is a simple wound—a burn. Is that not so, sir?”
“It is not.” Darwin gestured at Murchison, who had sunk to his knees to study the mark more closely. “No medical student would admit such a conclusion were I to draw it. But as to what it is…” He fell silent, then looked up. “I would like a chance to examine the body more fully. I have seen nothing like this in twenty years as a physician.”
He straightened, and walked across to the pedestal. He lifted it, in spite of Jamie Murchison’s cry, “Be careful!”
“Careful of what?” Darwin peered at the empty setting of black velvet, then at the silvered sides of the pedestal. “If there is no demon who guards the Heart of Ahura Mazda, then surely I am in no danger. And if there is a demon who accompanies the ruby, since the ruby is not here, again I am safe.”
“So you truly believe that we have a—a—” The clergyman had followed Darwin, but he could not bring himself to say ‘demon.’ “A great mystery,” he concluded.
The Amazing Dr. Darwin Page 8