Painting The Darkness (14 page)

On three occasions, he has left his hotel late at night, returning in the early hours of the morning. On each such occasion, he has proved impossible to follow. He appears well practised in the arts of evasion and elusion, so much so that I suspect he is aware he is followed and is presumably content for his movements to be known, save on these nocturnal expeditions, which generally lead
towards
the lowest and most squalid districts of the city, though whether the route is chosen to render pursuit the more difficult or for other reasons I cannot say.

The subject, though well dressed, has attracted little attention at his hotel, where he is noted as sober and correct, a reliable but not extravagant tipper, in all respects the model guest. He pays his bill every third day and is clearly not short of money.

T. Roffey

10th October 1882

Roffey was the best of his unsavoury kind, yet even Roffey had made no headway. Richard spoke aloud for a second time. ‘Who
are
you?’ he said quietly. ‘Who
are
you?’ He could not quite believe, nor yet disbelieve, the answer beckoning to him across the years.

VI

When I reached Orchard Street the following morning, I was in no mood to pay much attention to my surroundings, so spared scarcely a glance for the few passers-by in the region of Trenchard & Leavis. Accordingly, I was taken aback when one of them stepped into my path and held up his umbrella to make himself known: it was Dr Fiveash
.

‘
Good Lord,’ I said, pulling up sharply. ‘You quite startled me, Doctor
.’

‘
Forgive me, Trenchard. I thought it vital that I should speak to you before I returned to Bath.’ He looked as if he meant it. Indeed, his red-rimmed eyes and disordered appearance suggested that he had passed a still more disturbed night than I had myself. His vitality was of a drained and desperate character
.

I invited him up to my office, but he expressed a preference for the open air, so I led him back towards Marble Arch. Oxford Street was quiet and sparsely populated beneath a sky squeezed
dry
by the previous day’s rain but still grey and sullen of aspect. Fiveash looked about him as we went with an air of tired confusion, as if returning to a former home to find it changed beyond recognition
.

‘
There was a time,’ he said, as we neared the Arch, ‘when I thought London the very Mecca of my ambitions. I dreamed of being a famous surgeon at one of the teaching hospitals. Now I visit this city only when compelled
.’

‘
And leave it with relief?
’

‘
Exactly so
.’

We entered the park by Cumberland Gate and began a slow progress down one of the damp leaf-strewn paths. After thirty yards or so, Fiveash began to speak again
.

‘
I came to you because neither of us wishes to be involved in this damnable business and because I do not trust the Davenalls. As victims of their manoeuvring, we must stick together. And I have thought much on what you said yesterday
.’

‘
I only—
’

‘
You only asked how anybody could know what I told James Davenall eleven years ago. Well, I have asked myself nothing else since and I called on you this morning because I can now say that there is a way
.’

‘
What way?
’

‘
You spoke of my records. It is true that if anybody were to read the notes I made when James Davenall consulted me they would know the nature of his illness and from that might construe the motive behind his suicide
.’

‘
But you said they were kept under lock and key
.’

‘
So they are. Nobody but my secretary and I have access to them, and Miss Arrow has been with me for eighteen years: her loyalty is beyond question. It was only last night, when I was turning over in my mind the absurd possibility that she might have betrayed me, that I thought of it
.

‘
In January of this year, Miss Arrow broke her leg in a cycling accident. Her bicycle brakes failed whilst descending Bathwick Hill, and she ran out of control. She was fortunate, indeed, not to be more seriously injured. My own plight – that of being deprived of her services for several months – was, typically,
uppermost
in her mind, and she recommended that I take on in her stead a witness to her accident who had subsequently visited her in hospital: a highly personable young lady named Miss Whitaker, who, as it happened, was waiting to take up a teaching appointment after Easter and was, in consequence, glad to step into the breach. Miss Whitaker proved both charming and efficient, swiftly mastering Miss Arrow’s procedures and learning my ways without difficulty. She even volunteered to reorganize my antiquated system of medical records and worked her way dutifully through the somewhat haphazard files we keep on each patient
.’

‘
You mean—
’

‘
I mean that, had Miss Whitaker been seeking information on James Davenall’s medical history, she could not have been better placed to find it. I had no reason to suspect any such thing, of course. The acquisition of her services I regarded as fortunate in the extreme. But, in the middle of February, Miss Whitaker vanished. She simply failed to arrive one morning, and when I called at her lodgings I was told she had left unexpectedly, leaving no forwarding address. It was unaccountable
.’

‘
What did you do?
’

‘
I dismissed the matter from my mind. After all, I had lost nothing by it. Or so I thought
.’

‘
Until now?
’

‘
Precisely. What if Miss Arrow’s accident were no accident at all? Brakes may be tampered with easily enough, and Miss Whitaker witnessed the incident, remember. Is that all she did? I wonder. It gave her the opportunity to wheedle her way into my employment, where her zeal and enthusiasm made delving into my records seem merely another example of her diligence. Then, once she had obtained what she wanted, she simply disappeared
.’

We had come to the band-stand, deserted and bedraggled in the dull morning air, and, after one circuit, began to retrace our steps. ‘How would you describe Miss Whitaker, Doctor?
’

‘
How? She was young, pretty, vivacious. She brought a breath of spring to my wintry old surgery. Had I been thirty years younger, I might have set my cap at her. She had … winning
ways
. If I am right, she made a thorough fool of me, but I doubt I was the first she did that to, nor yet the last. For such an easy conversationalist, she said very little about herself. She gave her age as twenty-two, though she could easily have been older – or younger. She was evidently well educated. She said that her family lived abroad, though I cannot recall her saying where. There was the hint of an accent in her voice – something faintly French, I often thought. And that is really all. It isn’t much, is it?
’

Fiveash was wrong. To me it was everything: it was something to cling to. ‘Surely it is enough for our purposes. You can hardly believe it’s a coincidence that Norton should come forward so soon afterwards. How can you explain Miss Whitaker’s behaviour unless she was acting as his spy?
’

‘
I cannot. But to go to such lengths … Miss Arrow might have been killed. It seems incredible—
’

‘
If it enabled Norton to pass himself off as James Davenall, they might have thought it worth while. And think of the devilish cunning of it. They discover that James had syphilis, so make a virtue of necessity by claiming that your diagnosis was faulty. Presumably, Norton really was examined by a specialist. They obtain a copy of Sir Gervase’s death certificate, which confirms what they know and gives them cause to hope that the family will knuckle under rather than have his immorality paraded in court
.’

‘
But what of the rest? How was Norton able to bamboozle Prince Napoleon?
’

‘
I don’t pretend to have all the answers yet, Doctor. For the first time, though, I feel there’s something to work on. For the first time, I feel absolutely certain: he isn’t James Davenall
.’

‘
Then, who? I return to my suspicion that he must already have been familiar with the affairs of the Davenalls before setting out on such a conspiracy. I can only believe that Miss Whitaker was his spy if I also believe that they knew there was something to spy on. It cannot have been mere supposition
.’

But I was not to be deflected by Fiveash’s reservations. He had brought me a gift more precious than any proof: confidence. I could see my enemy now. His name was Norton, his crime
imposture
, his weakness a woman called Whitaker. ‘We’ll nail him in the end, Doctor. You have my word on it
.’

‘
I hope so, Trenchard. I truly hope so
.’

‘
What will you do now?
’

‘
Return to Bath. I will inform Baverstock of my suspicions, as I am bound to do. No doubt he will inform Richard Davenall. They must make what they can of it. Since my professional competence has been challenged, I rather think I may take legal advice on my own account. I fear, however, that it will all come to nothing unless a connection between Norton and Miss Whitaker can be established. She must be found – as soon as possible
.’

‘
I think the Davenalls can be relied upon to devote all their resources to that end
.’

‘
Yes. But it may not be enough, even then. I may still be deluding myself
.’

I looked at him quizzically. ‘I don’t understand.’ Indeed I did not. None of the comfort I had taken from his words seemed to have eased his own mind
.

‘
I dined with Emery last night,’ he replied after a pause. ‘The specialist I sent James to eleven years ago. He saw him twice, on the second occasion only two days before his disappearance. Emery dug out his notes for me, and there it was, in his own hand: confirmation of my diagnosis
.’

‘
Isn’t that what you wanted?
’

‘
Yes, but not all that I wanted. I wanted Emery to reassure me, I suppose, to say we could not have been mistaken, to say for that reason alone that Norton could not be James Davenall.’ We went on for a few paces in silence, then he resumed. ‘Instead he reminded me that syphilis is the most deceptive of diseases. It may hide behind other ailments. It may proclaim itself falsely. It is impossible to be certain. Sir Gervase’s illness pre-disposed us to explain his son’s illness in the same way. But we may have been mistaken. Miss Whitaker may have vanished for all manner of reasons. Norton may be telling the truth. If he is, think of the misery to which I needlessly condemned him. For I think of it, Trenchard. I think of it often
.’

VII

‘We’re delighted to see you, Mr Baverstock, aren’t we, Lupin? Delighted and no mistake. We’ve had rare society these past few weeks, when normally we’re left so very much to ourselves. ’Tis either feast or famine: that’s my experience. And Lupin’s, too.

‘The tea should have mashed by now, so here’s your cup. Who did you say you wanted to know about? Miss Strang? Fancy you plucking that name from all the others I might have mentioned. Vivien Strang. Ah me. You wouldn’t have called her pretty, Mr Baverstock. No, not pretty exactly.
Magnificent
was the word. A proud cold face and a bearing to match. Would you care for some shortbread? I know you’ve a sweet tooth.

‘I’ve told you about Miss Strang before. September 1846. Yes, that would be right. An exact date? You lawyers expect an awful lot, I must say. It was a fine late summer, that I do remember. A happy summer, too. Sir Gervase and Lady Davenall were engaged, so we saw a good deal at Cleave Court of Miss Webster, as she was then, and Miss Strang. Sir Lemuel was delighted. All Gervase’s past scrapes were forgotten and forgiven, it seemed. Maybe that spell in Ireland did him some good, after all.

‘Then that appalling Frenchman turned up. Plon-Plon, they called him. Prince Napoleon, that’s right. You’ve met him? Well, I don’t suppose the years have mellowed him. A more disagreeable, overbearing, foul-mouthed … I can’t abide profanity, Mr Baverstock, you know that, and, come to think, I can’t abide the French – those I’ve met anyway.

‘The Prince took up with Gervase. Or perhaps it was the other way round. They were of an age and, if I had to swear to it, they were of a character, too. They led each other into bad habits. It caused some disagreements with Miss Webster, I won’t deny. She was only seventeen then, but as wilful and strong-minded as I see you’ve found her to this day. She didn’t take to the Prince, which was only
sensible
of her, so she must have been relieved when he took himself off so suddenly.

‘It was towards the end of September, I think. The weather was still warm, I remember, so much warmer than these weak-as-water summers the good Lord sends us now. And that Plon-Plon was staying the weekend. Sir Lemuel gave a ball on the Saturday night. Miss Webster came, and Miss Strang, too, of course. And the Prince’s cousin, as I think he was, who later became the French emperor. He was living in Bath then. It was a grand event and no mistake. Cleave Court was a far different place then, I can tell you. Sir Lemuel had lanterns hung in the trees in the park, with oranges and lemons fixed to the branches. Oh, they were such a picture.

‘That’s the last time I ever saw Vivien Strang, standing in a corner and looking down her nose at all the revelry, oh so disapproving, like only a sober Scot can be. Three days later, we heard that Colonel Webster had turned her out. Dismissed, without notice. Make of that what you will. Pilfering, it was suggested.

‘Crowcroft had a different story, mind. He claimed he found her in the maze – the maze, mark you – on the Monday morning after the ball. He was no gossip, was Crowcroft. He’d not have made it up. He went up to the maze at dawn, seemingly, and there she was, coming out, coming out where she had no business going in, at dawn. Crowcroft said her hair was all awry, and her dress was torn. Well, it seems odd, doesn’t it?