The Amazing Dr. Darwin

by Charles Sheffield

  He was absent for maybe five minutes, and returned with two servants from the inn. Between them they were carrying the bags and medical chest, and Milly Meredith followed close behind.

  “He’s gone,” she said, “if you want to come down.”

  Darwin shook his head. “I was not deceiving Brandon Dunwell when I said I was in need of rest. Also, I must have time to think. Before that, however, I would like to ask you a few more questions. Please bear with me. Some you may feel are tedious and pointless, and some will be extremely personal.”

  “Personal?” Milly blushed, but her gaze did not waver. “Ask me anything. And I will tell you everything I can.”

  “Then I will not stand on ceremony. Do you like Brandon Dunwell?”

  Milly looked miserably at Jacob Pole, who shook his head. “The truth, Milly. No weasel words. You can trust Erasmus as you would me.”

  She drew in a shuddering breath. “I know. Dr. Darwin—Erasmus—I dislike him. And yet I dislike myself for disliking him. He has been so good to Kathleen, and he is so clearly fond of her. Perhaps too fond, to the point of obsession.”

  “And she?”

  “That is much more difficult. She says nothing. But sometimes I wonder if she is marrying him for my sake.”

  “I gather that he is extremely wealthy. While your own situation is—what?”

  “You shame me. I am of good family, but Kathleen and I are poor. As you may have deduced, Brandon will bear the bulk of the wedding costs, even though by tradition that falls to the family of the bride. You see, by every rational standard this is a most excellent marriage for Kathleen.”

  “Do not despise yourself for that. There is no virtue in poverty. But now I must proceed to an even more delicate matter.”

  “I cannot imagine one. But I will answer whatever I can.”

  Darwin turned to Pole. “I wish to warn you, too, Jacob, before you respond with outrage to my question. But this is vital information. Milly, is it possible that Kathleen and Brandon Dunwell have in certain matters anticipated their marriage vows?”

  Jacob Pole grunted, while Milly Meredith turned fiery red. “I understand.” She looked down at the wooden boards. “Even a mother cannot be completely sure. But unless Kathleen is lying to me, and unless my own instincts are also totally wrong—she and Brandon have not.”

  “And anyone else? Is Kathleen virgo intacta?”

  “That is my belief.”

  “Thank you.” Darwin nodded in satisfaction. “Kathleen is lucky to have you for her mother. Let me move on to what I trust will be less delicate ground. Since you have known him, has Brandon Dunwell ever been away for an extended period?”

  “About a year ago, he was absent from Dunwell Hall for several weeks.”

  “Do you know where he went?”

  “I understood that it was to London.”

  “The great center of everything—including disease. That makes excellent sense, though it proves little. By that time, of course, his brother Richard had been arrested.”

  “Arrested for the murder of Walter Fowler, convicted, and dead, over a year before.”

  “And you knew Richard, also?”

  “Very well.” Milly sat down abruptly on one of the beds.

  “And did you like him?”

  She stared hard at Darwin. “I have never before said this to anyone, and I beg you not to repeat it—particularly to Kathleen. But until I learned that Richard was a murderer, I far preferred him to Brandon. Even though he was deemed odd by the staff at Dunwell Hall.”

  “Define, if you can, that oddity.”

  “They say that in spite of his family’s wealth, he had no interest in managing the estate. He was trained as a physician, but chose not to practice. He spent many hours alone, engaged in strange pastimes. He had eccentric friends and visitors, many of them from the Continent, who with Richard dabbled in what the servants at Dunwell Hall judged to be black arts.”

  “I gather you do not agree with their assessment?”

  “No. It is his brother, Brandon, who believes in portents, demons, and magical effects. Richard was a skeptic. But at the same time he was rash and impractical, and except for his odd friends he seemed to prefer animals to people.”

  “And yet he wooed and won your daughter.”

  Milly smiled sadly. “Say, rather, that she wooed him. I remember, they met at the Bodmin Goose Fair, and that night Kathleen would talk of nothing else. She said she had looked into Richard’s eyes, and seen his soul. His arrest and then his death, only three months later, broke her heart.”

  “A true tragedy. For everyone.” Darwin spoke softly, and placed his hand on Milly Meredith’s arm. “One more question, if you will permit it, and then I will cease. I can see that this memory distresses you.”

  “I will not deny it. But you came here to help me, and I must do my part. Ask on.”

  “Richard Dunwell killed a man, Walter Fowler. It seems out of character with what you have said of him.”

  “Certain events would drive him to anger, almost to madness. The man had apparently been beating a lame dog. It was later discovered dying, and its master, Walter Fowler, dead.”

  “But surely, if Dunwell had explained the sequence of events…”

  “He attempted concealment. Fowler’s body had been dragged away and hidden in the gorse bushes. Richard’s monogrammed knife, marked with blood, was buried close by.” Milly swallowed. “A servant found Richard’s clothes, also stained with blood, in his rooms at the hall. Erasmus, if you please—”

  “I understand. You have been more than helpful, and we will talk of this no more.” Darwin sank onto the bed, his fat face thoughtful and his eyes suddenly far away. “You have given me enough to think about. More than enough. With your leave, I will turn this over in my mind. And then we will see what tomorrow may bring. I would appreciate one other thing before you retire: a general map of Dunwell Hall.”

  “The interior?”

  “That, if you are able to provide it. But most important, I need the location of the kennels.”

  * * *

  The next morning was brisk, with a damp and gusting west wind. When dawn broke, Darwin was already fully dressed and standing at the window. Behind him Jacob Pole was sitting up in bed, coughing and spitting.

  “Damn it, Erasmus, to wake a man in the middle of the night, when his blood’s as thin as water and his guts are—”

  “There is hot tea on the dresser. I permitted you to sleep as long as possible.”

  “Aye. And woke me when I was in the middle of the best dream I’ve had in a twelvemonth, me in my uniform and Middletown aflame—”

  “I need your help, Jacob. Urgently. I have a pony and trap ready, and in five minutes I must be on my way.”

  Pole was out of bed at once, nightshirt flapping around his thin legs. “Where the devil are my clothes? Are you after the phantom? Do you want me to come with you?”

  “Not on my first trip, which will be a short one. But when I return, half an hour from now, I would greatly value your presence.”

  “I’ll be ready. So will your breakfast.”

  * * *

  It was closer to an hour when the pony came clip-clopping back to the Anchor Inn. Jacob Pole, standing outside with his overcoat on and his head muffled by a scarf, stared at what was sitting next to Darwin.

  “Christ. Is that what’s-its-name?”

  “Harvey.”

  “You stole Dunwell’s dog!”

  “Borrowed him. Come aboard, Jacob.”

  “Hold on a second. The food hamper. It’s keeping warm.” Pole hurried inside, reappeared in a few seconds, and climbed into the trap next to the dog, which sniffed at the laden wicker basket and wagged its tail. “Get your nose out of that! Erasmus, you’re going to have competition.”

  “He’s entitled to a share. If I am right, he has as much a task to perform as we do.”

  “Well, he may know what you’re up to, but I don’t. Come on, man. I’m damned
if I’ll be more in the dark than a dog.”

  “If you would but be quiet for a few moments, Jacob, all will be made clear.” Darwin shook the reins, and the trap started forward. “Listen…”

  The ride from Dunwell Cove to St. Austell took less than forty-five minutes. By the end of that time the hamper was nearly empty, the basset hound was gnawing on a meaty ham bone, and Jacob Pole was shaking his head dubiously.

  “I don’t know. You’ve added two and two and made twenty.”

  “No. I have subtracted two and two, and made zero. There is no other possible explanation that fits all we know and have heard.”

  “And if you’re wrong?”

  “We will think again. At the very least, this experiment can do no harm.”

  They were approaching the coach house. It stood even quieter than the previous afternoon.

  “There’s nobody here.”

  “Patience, Jacob. There will be, very shortly, if Jack Trelawney is to make good on his word and be at Dunwell Cove by eight. You stay in the trap, and call him this way when he appears.” Darwin climbed down holding the dog by its leather collar. He stood so that they were shielded from the road by the trap itself. The only sound was the panting of the basset hound.

  “Coming now,” said Pole in a gruff whisper, after another five minutes had passed. And then, at full voice, “Mr. Trelawney! Will you be making the run to Dunwell Cove this morning?”

  “Aye, sir. If you can wait ten minutes. You’ll be going?”

  Darwin stood motionless, as the sound of booted feet came steadily closer. Finally he released his hold on the dog, and stepped around the trap.

  The basset hound was already moving. It raced across to Trelawney and gambolled around him, tail wagging back and forth like a flail. Trelawney, after the first futile effort to push the dog away, allowed it to jump up and push its nose at his face.

  “You see, Mr. Trelawney,” Darwin said quietly, “a man can stain his complexion to a darker hue. He can disguise his eyes with false eyebrows and a patch. He can redden and thicken his lips with cochineal, or other coloring matter. He can even change his stance and his voice. But it is as hard for a man to change his smell, as it is to persuade a dog to adopt a new name.”

  Trelawney stood perfectly still. The single brown eye beneath its bushy brow stared at Darwin for a moment, then looked away along the road.

  “Flee, if you will.” Darwin gestured to Pole. “Neither my companion nor I is in any condition to catch you. But do you wish to spend your whole life running?”

  “I may not run. Not so long as Kathleen Meredith plans to marry Brandon Dunwell.” The dark face twisted in anguish. “It is no matter of jealousy, sir, or of simple envy. It is a matter of—I cannot say what.”

  “Of your loyalty to Brandon? But you do not need to say it, sir, for I can give you your second opinion statim. I saw it the moment that he made his entrance to the Anchor Inn.”

  “You know!”

  “The stamping on the ground, as though his feet are padded and cannot feel it beneath them. The loss of balance in the darkness, which forces him to shun unlit rooms and go out only during daylight. The need to grip an object whenever possible, so as to remain steady. These are the clear symptoms of tabes dorsalis. Brandon Dunwell is paying a high price for his wild early years. He is suffering from syphilis, in its advanced state of locomotor ataxia.”

  “And Kathleen…”

  “Is healthy. He must not marry her, or any woman. And I will make sure of that.”

  The other man sighed, and the muscles of his face relaxed. “Then that is all I care about. For the rest, I am in your hands. How much do you know?”

  “I know little, but I suspect a great deal and wish to propose even more. For instance, I guessed last night that this must have been your basset hound. Who but a student of medicine, as you were, would name his dog Harvey, after the immortal William Harvey, discoverer of the circulation of the blood? Your brother might take your dog, but he could not change its name. And who but a student of medicine might have ready access to a corpse, when one was needed to inhibit further pursuit? Even before that, I wondered at an incongruity. You were known, I was told, as Stinking Jack. But I deliberately moved close to you yesterday, and detected no odor.”

  “When I had reason to go to Dunwell Hall, I did my best to offer Harvey a false scent. I succeeded, but apparently at some slight cost in reputation.” Trelawney pushed the eye patch up onto his forehead. His brown eyes were clear and resigned. “Very well. I admit it. I am Richard Dunwell. Although you are apparently a perceptive physician, you are not a magistrate. Do you intend to arrest me? If not, what do you propose?”

  “I have definite plans. How permanent is the stain of your skin?”

  “It can be removed with turpentine. The glued eyebrows may be more difficult.”

  “But scissors would reduce them. The three of us must join in serious discussion— inside the coach house. I do not wish to be observed.”

  * * *

  Before marrying a woman, look at her mother.

  But the maxim worked poorly with Kathleen and Milly Meredith. Standing together outside the Anchor Inn in the pale light of a cold, overcast noon, the two women formed a study in contrasts: Milly fair, short, and dimpled, with the peaches-and-cream complexion of a milkmaid; her daughter tall and stately as a galleon in light airs, high cheekboned, gypsy-dark, and with flashing black eyes.

  And yet, Darwin thought, admiring them from his hiding place, perhaps the old rule was not so wrong after all. Both women would be very easy to fall in love with. Certainly there was no mistaking the adoration on Brandon Dunwell’s face, as he helped Kathleen to board the coach and climbed in after her. The two sat side by side, and Kathleen waved to her mother before Milly went back into the inn. Kathleen closed the window. The cabriolet, with Jacob Pole driving, rolled off at a moderate pace along the road to St. Austell.

  One minute later Darwin was inside the inn stable and climbing up on horseback. He did not look too comfortable there. As the cabriolet vanished from view, a second man holding a horse by the reins ran toward him from the rear of the stable.

  His thin-featured face had the unnatural pallor of a man who has just shaved off a dense beard. Brown eyes beneath cropped black eyebrows seemed worried and perplexed.

  The transformed Richard Dunwell swung quickly up into the saddle. “We must hurry!”

  Darwin did not release the reins of the other horse. “On the contrary, we must not.”

  “But Colonel Pole—”

  “Knows exactly what he has to do, and is thoroughly reliable. We will follow, but cautiously. If we were to be observed by Kathleen, or by your brother, our plans would become worthless.”

  He started his horse along the deserted road that led toward St. Austell.

  “Kathleen still knows nothing?” Richard Dunwell came forward to ride two abreast.

  “Nothing. I wish that it had been possible to take her and Milly into my confidence, but I fear their inability to dissemble. Patience, my friend. Play your part correctly, and soon all need for dissimulation will vanish.”

  “God grant.” Richard Dunwell rode on, his face grim. As they rounded every turn, or breasted a hill, his eyes were constantly scanning the road ahead. At last he gave a little cry and urged his horse to a gallop. The cabriolet was visible a quarter of a mile in front of them, with Jacob Pole dismounted from the driver’s seat and standing in the road beside the coach.

  Darwin followed at a more leisurely pace. When he came to the cabriolet a door was already open. Richard Dunwell, with infinite tenderness, was lifting from within the coach the unconscious body of Kathleen Meredith. He sank to his knees, holding her and staring hungrily at her silent face.

  “Not now, man.” Darwin swung himself off the horse’s back. “You have other duties to perform. Fulfill them well, and you will have a whole lifetime to gaze upon that countenance. But hurry!”

  Richard Dunwell nodded
and laid Kathleen gently on the ground, with Darwin supporting her head. “You will explain?”

  “Everything, as soon as she wakens.” Darwin passed across to Richard a gallon jar. “Seawater, with a little wormwood and asafoetida mixed in. Disgusting, but necessary. Now—go! Jacob is waiting, and you have little time to prepare.”

  The other man nodded, but he received scarcely a glance as he headed for the waiting coach. When it rumbled away Darwin’s attention was all on Kathleen. Soon he detected a change in her breathing.

  Just in time! The creak of coach wheels was still audible when her eyelids trembled. He held the sal volatile vial of ammoniac water under her nose, and leaned close as her eyes fluttered open to show their whites.

  “Do not be afraid, Kathleen.” He spoke slowly and clearly. “I am a good friend of your mother and of your uncle, Jacob Pole. You are in no danger.”

  Her lustrous dark eyes rolled down, to focus on the fat, amiable face close to hers.

  “Who are you?” The words were hardly a whisper.

  “I am Erasmus Darwin. I am a physician.”

  “Brandon—”

  “Is not here.”

  “But just a second ago he was holding my hand—in the coach—” She lifted her head and her gaze roamed over the coast road and deserted cliff. “And now—”

  “I know.” Darwin lifted her to her feet and watched to make sure that she stood steady. “That is very good. I have much to tell you, and I believe that you will find it all welcome news. But first, as soon as you are clearheaded, one other unpleasant act must be completed. When you are ready, you and I will ride a little way together. The horses are waiting.”

  * * *

  Even at noon the air was chilly, made more so by a cutting wind from the sea. Brandon Dunwell had closed the windows tight, but still he felt chilled. He held Kathleen’s hand, yawned, and shivered a little. Someone was walking on his grave. Even the hand gripped in his suddenly felt damp and clammy.

  He turned to look at her, and flinched back in horror. Kathleen had vanished. Instead he was holding the hand of a man, a pale-faced figure whose damp hair flopped lank on his forehead and whose dark, wet clothes clung to his body like cerements.