by Sarah Rayne
‘Father—’
‘Uncle Julius—’
Crispian and Jamie spoke together, then stopped.
Gil said, very gently, ‘There’s no point in talking to him, either.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know exactly what’s happened,’ said Gil, ‘but it’s my guess that the disease has finally touched a vital spot in his brain – perhaps given him a seizure.’ He sat back on his heels, and incredibly Crispian saw the glint of tears in his eyes. ‘The poor sod,’ he said softly. ‘Whatever happened, it’s rendered him blind and deaf.’
Eventually they managed to reach Julius by means of tracing letters on the palm of his hand to form words that made up simple sentences.
It was Gil who suggested this. ‘I should have thought of it for myself,’ said Crispian, half angrily.
‘No you shouldn’t,’ said Gil. ‘I’m the one with medical training.’ He glanced angrily at Brank. ‘I saw it done once at Guy’s. It was a different disease, but the patient became blind and deaf in much the same way. But I think it works only if there’s some spark of understanding left, and if Sir Julius has had a stroke . . . Still, we can try.’
Slowly and with infinite patience, Gil traced a series of words on the palm of Julius Cadence’s hand. Short, simple words, reassurance, questions. Friends here . . . Any pain? Can help . . .
It seemed to Crispian that it was hours before his father showed any understanding of what Gil was doing, but then gradually, as if the darkness he had described was dissolving, he turned his head in Gil’s direction. When Gil again traced out the word ‘pain’, then sketched a question mark, he nodded.
‘Head hurts,’ he said.
Crispian, watching closely, thought Gil spelled out, Can help.
‘I’ll fetch something for the pain,’ said Brank, clearly relieved to have an excuse to leave the cabin.
Gil relaxed. ‘I think there might be a faint glimmer of sight remaining,’ he said to Crispian and Jamie, who were both watching. ‘But it’s impossible to know for sure unless we test him with strong light straight onto his face. And at the moment he’s so confused and frightened, that would be inhuman. Crispian, I’m so sorry.’ He put out a hand to Crispian, and Crispian, scarcely realizing what he was doing, took it.
‘Could it improve?’ he said.
‘I don’t know.’ Gil released his hand quite naturally and gently and, as the doctor came back, said, ‘What’s the qualified opinion, Brank? Will this improve?’
‘Honestly, I’ve no idea. I’ve never encountered this before.’
‘You’re a ship’s doctor,’ said Gil, with an edge to his voice. ‘Swashbuckling across the seven seas with lust-filled sailors. I’d have expected you to come across syphilis quite often.’
‘Yes, I have, but I’ve never seen it in this advanced stage,’ said Brank. He was looking at Julius. ‘If we had more medical equipment on board to perform tests we might find out a bit more. As things are, there’s not much we can do.’
‘What’s that you’ve brought him?’
‘A double dose of the bromide with an opiate in it.’
After a few unsuccessful attempts, Crispian managed to close his father’s fingers round the glass and guide it to his mouth. He was relieved that his father seemed to understand he was meant to drink.
‘What do we do?’ said Crispian, as they went out of the cabin, leaving Julius lying on the narrow bunk sliding into a drugged sleep.
‘First, we head for the whisky,’ said Gil, leading the way back to the passengers’ lounge and reaching for the bottle and three glasses. ‘I don’t know about you two, I intend to get drunk.’ He poured the whisky and sat down. ‘Actually, I think all we can do is not look too far ahead.’
‘You think he might come out of this?’
‘It’s not out of the question. But someone will have to be with him almost constantly. Throughout the day, at any rate.’
‘We can arrange that,’ said Crispian.
‘We’ll work out a rota,’ said Jamie. ‘What about the nights?’
‘If he has a good measure of bromide around ten o’clock each evening he should sleep the sleep of the innocent for hours,’ said Gil. ‘If that drunken old fool Brank won’t administer it, I’ll break into his surgery and mix it myself.’
‘I’ll help you, if you have to do that,’ said Jamie, and Crispian shot him a grateful look.
‘At least that would mean we could all have an ordinary night’s sleep,’ said Gil. ‘But I think one of us had better move into the cabin next door, so there’s always someone at hand.’
‘I’ll do that,’ said Crispian at once. ‘I’ll get my things moved at once. It will only be for the next two weeks, anyway, then we’ll be at Athens. There’ll be a good hospital there and a British Embassy.’
For the next two nights the arrangement worked well. Crispian was intensely grateful to Jamie and Gil, who shared in the often pitiful, but frequently tedious, task of looking after Julius during the day. His mental state immediately following the seizure had been fairly good – he seemed to understand what Gil called the skin-writing, and answered questions put that way quite sensibly. But after two days he seemed to become suddenly more helpless and dependent; it was necessary to wash and dress him, feed him, and, at suitable intervals, take him to the small water closet, which was shared by them all. There were long periods when he simply lay on his bunk, staring up at nothing, and it was impossible to know what he was thinking.
‘Or even,’ said Gil, ‘if he’s thinking at all.’ He looked at Crispian. ‘He’s withdrawing into some dark world of his own,’ he said. ‘I don’t think we can bring him back now, Crispian. I think this is the start of the end.’
It was Jamie who cut up small squares of different fabrics and put them in Julius’s hands so he could feel the different textures.
‘It was just an idea I had for him,’ he said to Crispian, a note of apology in his eyes. ‘Have you noticed that since the seizure he seems to like the feel of the silk scarf he always wears to cover the . . . that he always likes to wear? So I thought since the sense of touch is probably the only sense still remaining to him . . .’
‘I hadn’t noticed,’ said Crispian. ‘And I should have done. Thank you, Jamie.’
Jamie’s brown eyes were sympathetic. ‘Crispian, we’ll cope. Until we reach Athens, we’ll cope somehow.’
‘I must have been mad to bring him out here in the first place,’ said Crispian, with an impatient gesture. ‘But I honestly thought it was the right thing to do. I thought we needed to be safe from prying eyes, inquisitive newspapermen who’d want to tell the world that the head of Cadences Bank was—’ He shook his head angrily. ‘But I didn’t expect this development.’
‘None of us did,’ said Jamie. ‘And of course it was the right thing to do. We all agreed on it. Old Martlet agreed – your mother agreed. And you couldn’t risk Cadences. If the newspapers had once found out . . . I understand why you did it and if your father was his normal self, he’d understand it, as well.’
Crispian began to believe they would reach Athens without further incident and hand his father over to the care of doctors. But several nights after Jamie’s idea about the pieces of cloth, Crispian woke with a start and knew at once that someone was in the cabin with him. He half sat up, not unduly alarmed, assuming it was one of the crew or Dr Brank to say there was a problem with his father. But wouldn’t they have knocked or called out? The cabin was practically pitch-dark because the faint glimmer of moonlight on the sea stopped Crispian from sleeping, so he always drew the cover across the porthole. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he saw a figure standing motionless and silent by the door, the head turned towards the bed.
Crispian’s first thought was of Gil and the night when Gil had opened champagne and suggested Crispian stay in his cabin to drink it with him. He heard again his own stammered excuse about perhaps doing so another night, and he saw Gil’s slant-eyed smile.
&nb
sp; Was this to be that night? Was Gil in here with him, and if so, how did Crispian feel about it? But he knew, almost at once, it was not Gil; he had no sense of Gil’s presence – none of the instinctive recognition that takes place on some indefinable level of perception within the human mind. It was then he saw a faint glimmer of colour from the intruder’s neck as if the sheen of some fabric was showing up in the dark cabin, and recognized it at once.
It was the scarlet and blue silk of his father’s scarf – the scarf he always wore to cover the sores on his neck and chest. The scarf that, even in his present, increasingly confused state, he groped for, winding it determinedly round his neck as if it were a charm that would hold the dark disease at bay.
Crispian got cautiously out of bed, moving slowly because Gil and Dr Brank had both thought Julius could sense people’s movements and he did not want to alarm him. Somehow Julius must have found his way out of his cabin and felt his way the few steps along to Crispian’s. Sleepwalking, perhaps? The result of too many of Gil’s bromide mixes? Or something simpler – trying to feel his way to the lavatory without calling for help?
Reaching for his dressing gown, Crispian glanced at the faint rim of light round the porthole, but decided not to waste time fumbling with the awkward catch. He would simply take Julius’s hand and trace out the ‘C’ he used to identify himself and which Julius had come to understand. Then he would lead him out to the passageway and back to bed.
He slid his feet into the slippers by his bed and stood up. Almost at once the figure seemed to stiffen.
He has sensed that I’ve moved, thought Crispian. We were right about that.
But as he went forward, the figure seemed to stiffen. As if it were watching him. As if it had sight.
Sight.
Crispian froze, the sudden fear that this might not be Julius after all engulfing him. Very softly, he said, ‘Gil?’ praying Gil’s light mocking voice would answer. But it would not, of course, Crispian already knew that. ‘Jamie?’ he said. ‘Jamie, is that you? Is something wrong?’
Nothing. But the resonance of his voice seemed to thrum like a shivering cobweb on the air or as a plucked violin string thrums long after the sound has died away. Crispian knew the dark figure was aware he had spoken. But he was remembering his father’s frightening strength the morning they put the strait-jacket on him, and fear prickled the back of his neck. He moved towards the door, hoping he could reach it and get to the passageway outside to call for help. But as he did so, the figure moved, darting across the room. One arm was hooked tightly round Crispian’s neck, half-choking him, and the other came round his body, pinioning his arms. Crispian fought to get free, but Julius’s arms were like iron staves and he could scarcely move. His lungs struggled for air and his senses swum, but he managed to kick out with a backwards jab and felt his foot encounter flesh and bone. But Julius hung on, and a hot, mad excitement seemed to emanate from him.
He’s enjoying it, thought Crispian in horror. He’s enjoying the power over me.
A red mist danced crazily before his eyes. The arm around his body suddenly moved upwards and his attacker’s two hands closed around his neck. Crispian clawed at them, but they were like steel traps and he could not prise them free. There was an agonizing pressure on his windpipe and blinding, hurting lights cartwheeled across his vision. He half fell but his assailant’s body kept him standing upright.
The red mist whirled and Crispian had the feeling of being sucked down a black tunnel. With his last shreds of strength he threw out an arm, hoping to reach something – anything – he could use as a weapon. His hand caught the oil lamp on the little ledge; he felt its cold brass outline, then he heard it crash to the floor, knocking books and shaving things with it.
At once the pressure on his windpipe lessened, and this time Crispian managed to wrench himself free. He fell back, gasping and coughing, his throat and lungs on fire, unable to stand, but air rushing blessedly back into his body. For several moments all he could hear and feel was the drumming of his own blood in his ears, but then it cleared a little and he became aware of a clumsy fumbling movement by the door, then of the faint light from the passageway trickling in. He’s trying to get out, thought Crispian, and on the crest of this thought managed to half sit up and turn his head. The figure was framed briefly in the doorway, the glint of the silk scarf glancingly visible, then the figure seemed to shake its head like an animal coming up out of water and went blundering down the corridor.
Crispian stood up, but his legs felt as if the bones had been pulled out and he was still gasping for air. He fell forward, half on the bed, half on the floor, but this time he managed to reach the overturned oil lamp, and to bang it hard against the floor. In a cracked, still-coughing voice, he shouted for help.
Gil was the first to arrive, with one of the crew hard on his heels. Dr Brank, blinking, appeared next, and then Jamie, whose cabin was at the far end.
‘Julius,’ said Crispian, still in the cracked, gasping voice. ‘Tried to attack me . . . Don’t know where he went.’
‘We’ll find him,’ said Gil in the same moment as Jamie said, ‘Are you hurt?’
‘Please find him,’ said Crispian. Then to Jamie, ‘No, I’m not hurt at all.’
They found Julius in his cabin.
‘He’s asleep,’ said Gil. He bent down to roll back an eyelid. ‘And his pupils are contracted.’
‘Not so much as I’d expect, though,’ said Brank, leaning over to make his own examination. He frowned, then gestured to them to come out of the cabin.
‘I don’t think he’s very heavily drugged at all,’ he said. ‘I think it’s possible he could have woken and found his way to your cabin, Mr Cadence.’
‘Would he have known what he was doing, though? Where he was going,’ said Jamie.
‘He might,’ said Brank. ‘In fact, I think Sir Julius may be retaining a lot more understanding and sense than we realized.’
‘Balls.’
‘What?’ Brank, who had been reaching in a pocket for his flask, looked at Gil and blinked.
‘I said balls,’ said Gil. ‘He’s retained no more sense than you do when you’re drunk, and probably a sight less.’
‘Dammit, Martlet, I should think I know more about a patient’s condition than a pipsqueak medical student.’
‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you?’ said Gil, unperturbed. ‘But when they did let me loose on patients at Guy’s at least I didn’t attend them in a drink-sodden state.’
‘Now, see here—’
‘Stop it, both of you,’ said Crispian impatiently. His voice was still hoarse but he was able to speak sharply. ‘Brank, are you suggesting my father still has understanding?’
‘He might have.’
‘But we gave him the bromide at ten o’clock,’ said Gil. ‘If you hadn’t been sozzled last night you’d remember I told you about it. Plain tried-and-tested bromide each night to help him sleep. But,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘I’ll admit he may have developed a tolerance to it.’
‘Rot. He’s fooling the lot of us. I think he tipped the opiate away without you knowing. That’s not the appearance of a man who’s in a drugged sleep,’ said Brank, jerking an angry thumb at the cabin door. ‘I think he’s trying to fool you.’
‘Why?’ demanded Crispian.
‘Because,’ said Brank, meeting Crispian’s eyes squarely, ‘he wants you out of the way.’
‘What on earth for?’ said Jamie.
‘How should I know? Some unfathomable reason of his own.’
‘But that would be the behaviour of a madman—’ Crispian stopped.
‘I said I thought he had retained some sense,’ said Brank tersely. ‘I didn’t say he had necessarily retained any sanity. I’m sorry to say it, but I think he’s in the grip of madness and he’s got all the cunning of the genuinely insane.’
Gil said furiously, ‘He’s in the tertiary stages of syphilis, the poor wretch, and his brain is disintegrating. He had no idea what
he was doing tonight. He groped his way out of his cabin for some muddled reason and, when he encountered someone, he panicked and tried to defend himself.’ He paused, thrusting his fingers angrily through his hair. ‘Haven’t you the imagination to understand how it must have been for him? He can’t see, he can’t hear, and all he knew was that something reared up out of that silent smothering darkness he’s suffering. Of course he lashed out. But then, when Crispian somehow fought him off, he managed to get out and found his own cabin again.’
‘Fortuitous if he’s really blind,’ said Brank, drily.
‘Jesus Christ, man, it’s only next door! But I’ll allow he might have a thread or two of vision left.’
‘None of this is helping,’ said Crispian. ‘I’ll see the captain in the morning and ask what we’d better do. It’s less than two weeks before we reach Athens, and if my father really has sunk into a mad confusion he’ll need watching every minute.’
‘Yes, he will,’ said Dr Brank. ‘And I’d like to say here and now that I refuse to take any further responsibility for him. If there’s a conventional medical emergency I shall, of course, treat him. But I have no experience or training whatsoever in the treatment of the insane.’
‘Surely simple common sense and kindness—’ began Jamie.
‘It’s not enough,’ said Brank. ‘To my mind Sir Julius is mad in an entirely different way from what any of you believes. I think he’s deeply dangerous and I think he should be restrained. But it’s no longer my concern.’ He pushed past the younger men, opened the door, and returned to his own quarters.
Entries From an Undated Journal
I’ve said several times in these pages that I was never mad and, truly, I never was. The thing I called the darkness brought its own strange distortions, but it was never madness in the accepted sense.
But when I look back now, I think I may have been a little mad on the night I crept into Crispian’s cabin and tried to strangle him. That was the first time I wondered if the darkness might have overtaken me without my being aware of it.