Fell the Angels

by John Kerr

  ‘So much so,’ said Gully, as he sat beside her, ‘that I’d forego a walk in the country on a beautiful day.’ He smiled at Cecilia and patted her knee. She snuggled against him, and, placing an arm around her shoulder, he leaned down to kiss her.

  ‘Mmm,’ she said after a moment. ‘We shouldn’t.’

  ‘We’re all alone,’ said Gully. ‘They won’t return for at least three-quarters of an hour.’ Drawing her even closer, he kissed her again, running his hand over the outline of her breasts.

  ‘I say the man’s a damned fool,’ said Throckmorton, walking between his wife and sister.

  ‘Don’t swear,’ said Violet. ‘He’s regarded as a genius by the most eminent men of the day.’

  ‘Damn,’ said Throckmorton again, glancing up at a transient dark cloud. ‘Looks like rain.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Violet. ‘I’ll run back for an umbrella.’ Arriving at the front door, it occurred to her that the esteemed doctor, judging from his remark, might be taking a nap, so she entered the house covertly, walking on tiptoe as she moved from the door toward the umbrella stand in the hall. Approaching the arched entrance to the parlour, she heard a peculiar grunting sound. She glanced at the mirror on the far side of the room and, for a split second, an image of snow-white buttocks, thrusting pelvis, and entangled limbs was indelibly imprinted on the poor woman’s mind. Clasping her hands to her eyes, she shrieked loudly and fainted dead away.

  Hearing a woman’s cry, Throckmorton raced back to the house and bolted into the hallway, where Violet lay crumpled on the carpet. Turning toward the parlour, he observed Gully furiously fumbling with his fly, his shirttail untucked, and Cecilia standing beside him with a wild expression and her dress partly unbuttoned. ‘What!’ exclaimed Throckmorton. ‘What in heaven’s name!’

  Violet groaned, rose to an elbow, and then shrieked again. ‘Now, now,’ said Throckmorton, helping her to her feet. ‘Let’s get you upstairs,’ he said, taking her by the arm. By the time he returned, Gully had recovered his dignity and Cecilia occupied a chair at the end of the room, gazing out the window.

  ‘You, sir,’ said Throckmorton in a low, threatening voice, ‘shall answer for this.’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ said Gully calmly.

  Pointing a bony finger at Gully, Throckmorton said, ‘You know very well what I’m talking about. My poor sister, who is utterly beside herself, observed the two of you …’ – he lowered his voice to a whisper – ‘in flagrante delicto.’

  ‘That’s absurd,’ said Gully. ‘The woman is obviously delusional. Not entirely uncommon among women of her age and, ah, proclivities.’

  ‘Get out!’ growled Throckmorton.

  ‘Cecilia,’ said Gully sharply.

  ‘I’m sending for my driver,’ said Throckmorton. ‘And you shall be hearing from my barrister.’

  Gully turned his back, walked slowly to Cecilia, took her by the arm and escorted her to the front door.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘I’M RUINED,’ SAID Cecilia, propped up on pillows. ‘Utterly ruined.’

  ‘Remarkable,’ said Mrs Clark, who was seated in a chair at her employer’s bedside, ‘that an old man, even one so old as Dr Gully, can impregnate a woman. But a scientific fact.’

  Cecilia nodded bleakly. ‘One would have thought that wretched, rumour-mongering Throckmorton was misfortune enough,’ she said, ‘but now this.’ Suppressing a sob, she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

  ‘Poor Cissie,’ said Mrs Clark. ‘You’re quite sure?’

  ‘I think so, but as it’s never happened before … In any case, the doctor’s coming later this morning to examine me.’

  ‘You should rest,’ said Mrs Clark, rising from her chair.

  When Gully appeared – a kindly looking older gentleman holding a black medical bag – the casual observer would have assumed it was merely the doctor calling on a patient rather than a lover calling on his mistress. And so it seemed to Cecilia when he was shown into her bedroom by the efficient Mrs Clark; the affair had ended, had ended very badly, and her relationship to Gully from that moment on would be purely a professional one.

  ‘Good morning, dear,’ said Gully, placing his bag on the bedside table.

  ‘Hallo,’ said Cecilia softly.

  ‘Have you been feeling ill?’ She nodded. Removing his stethoscope from his bag, Gully slipped it on, leaned down, and gently placed its silver disk on Cecilia’s abdomen through the thin fabric of her nightgown. Closing his eyes in concentration, he listened through the instrument, removed its earpieces, and then gently probed her abdomen with his fingertips. Standing upright, he looked her in the eye and said, ‘How long has it been since you missed your period?’

  ‘Three weeks,’ she replied. ‘Or a bit more.’

  Nodding solemnly, Gully said, ‘It’s as we feared. And all my fault. How could I possibly have been so reckless….’

  ‘No,’ said Cecilia in a stronger voice. ‘It was my fault. I’d had too much wine at dinner and thought, perhaps this once I could do without …’ Her shoulders shaking, she burst into tears.

  Gully sat beside her and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘There, there,’ he said. ‘You know how much I love you.’ She nodded. ‘And that I intend to marry you.’

  ‘If it becomes known,’ said Cecilia, wiping her eyes, ‘that I’m expecting, after everything else I’ve endured …’

  ‘As far as these vicious rumours are concerned,’ said Gully irritably, ‘I believe I’ve succeeded in silencing Throckmorton. After he threatened an action for damages, I instructed my lawyers to prepare a counter-suit for slander and serve notice that I intend to go through with it.’

  ‘Oh, well,’ said Cecilia. ‘The damage has been done. There’s nothing left of my reputation.’

  Nor mine, reflected Gully dismally.

  ‘Why, some of the tradesmen in the village refuse to do business with me, and my own parents won’t answer my letters.’

  ‘What will you do,’ asked Gully, ‘in light of this new development?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Cecilia, fighting back another wave of tears. ‘Leave the country, I suppose. Emigrate to Australia.’

  Gully nodded and said, ‘And I may be forced to remove my practice to the Continent. To Bavaria.’

  ‘That would be terrible. After all you’ve accomplished at the hydro.’

  ‘But if you bear the child … And I not in a position to marry you.’

  ‘Is there any alternative?’

  Gully rose from the bedside and began to pace, his hands clasped behind his back. ‘Speaking as your physician,’ he said at length, ‘considering that it’s only been five weeks since, ah, conception …’ Cecilia stared at him expectantly. He halted and looked her in the eye. ‘You might choose,’ he said, ‘not to have the baby.’

  Cecilia closed her eyes, lightly running her hand over her belly. After a moment she opened them and said, ‘Do you know someone, a surgeon, to whom I…?’

  ‘I would have to perform the procedure,’ said Gully. ‘I believe that I’m competent. Otherwise, we would be risking …’

  ‘Yes,’ said Cecilia, closing her eyes again. ‘Yes, of course.’

  Gully sat beside her again and gently stroked her hair. Looking up at him, she said, ‘How soon can this be arranged?’

  ‘I must return to Malvern this afternoon,’ said Gully. ‘I’m scheduled to consultations with patients in the morning. I shall return on the following day, and we can …’ He thoughtfully bit his lower lip. ‘We can see to it then.’

  Doctor Gully chose to walk from his cottage on Bedford Hill Road, carrying his medical bag in one hand and an umbrella in the other. The June morning was unseasonably warm and sultry, the sky a billow of dark clouds and the still air charged with electricity. Hurrying along the cobblestones, Gully considered that a year had passed since he first met Cecilia, an emotionally fragile young woman suffering at the hands of an alcoholic husband. He’d
merely wanted to help her, to enable her to escape an abusive marriage in which she believed she was hopelessly trapped. And yet … he’d permitted himself to fall in love with her – no, he had seduced her. As images of the picnic at Willow Crescent, the hotel room at Madame Manteuffel’s, and Cecilia’s bedroom at her house in Malvern filled his mind, he was startled by a loud clap of thunder and snapped open his umbrella just as the skies opened. In the pouring rain, Gully hurried the final hundred yards to the imposing Gothic edifice of The Priory.

  When the maid answered his knock, he stepped quickly into the hall, put the umbrella in the stand and hung up his hat and frock-coat. ‘Would you be so kind,’ he said, ‘as to tell Mrs Clark I’d like a word with her?’

  Mrs Clark found Gully in the drawing-room, standing before the fireplace admiring the Gainsborough over the mantel and listening to the downpour outside the windows. Wearing her usual black dress, she walked up to him and said, ‘Good morning, Doctor.’

  ‘Good morning, madam,’ he replied. ‘I trust Miss Henderson is upstairs….’

  ‘She’s resting in her room.’

  ‘Very well.’ Glancing around the large room to ensure they were alone, he said, ‘I presume you are aware of her condition?’

  Mrs Clark looked at him pointedly and said, ‘That she’s pregnant?’

  Gully arched his silver eyebrows, shocked at her choice of words, as the condition was almost always referred to euphemistically. ‘I understand from Cecilia,’ he said after a moment, adopting his well-practised conversational tone, ‘that you spent a portion of your adult life in Jamaica?’

  ‘That is correct. When my husband was living and my children were young.’

  ‘I spent my first twenty-one years in Jamaica,’ said Gully. ‘My father was a coffee planter.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I would imagine, therefore,’ said Gully, ‘that you know something of the ways of the world.’ Mrs Clark nodded. ‘More so than the typical Englishwoman.’

  ‘Doctor Gully,’ said Mrs Clark, ‘if you would get to the point….’

  ‘The point, madam, is that Miss Henderson desires not to have the baby. After today, no one, absolutely no one, will ever know that she was expecting.’

  ‘I see.’ Mrs Clark glanced uneasily at the doctor’s bag.

  ‘However, I shall need your assistance.’

  ‘Very well. I consider it my duty to attend to Miss Henderson in every way she desires.’

  ‘The procedure,’ said Gully, ‘carries certain risks, which we must do our best to minimize. In particular, the risks of bleeding and postoperative infection.’ She nodded. ‘The other members of the household staff,’ he continued, ‘are to know nothing about this. They are merely to be told that Miss Henderson is unwell and confined to bed for several days.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Before I proceed, she must have freshly laundered sheets, and a supply of clean towels, cotton wool, and denatured alcohol.’

  ‘I’ll see to it myself.’

  ‘Mrs Clark,’ said Gully. ‘Do you have the fortitude to assist me in the procedure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Gully, seated in the drawing-room with a surgical text open in his lap, glanced up as Mrs Clark appeared, clutching a stack of towels. Putting the book aside, he stood up and straightened the front of his waistcoat. ‘Everything’s in order?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I would suggest that you take her a glass of Madeira. To calm her nerves. I’ll be up shortly.’

  When Gully appeared, Cecilia was lying in the four-poster under the counterpane, her auburn hair fanned out on the pillow and her face pale and drawn. Mrs Clark stood by the window, the heavy curtains of which were drawn. Gully, who had rolled his shirtsleeves up to the elbow, approached Cecilia and placed his leather bag on the bedside table next to an empty wineglass. ‘Are you comfortable, my dear?’ he asked. She merely nodded. Adjusting the gas-lit lamp to its brightest, he opened his bag and removed a dropper, a small metal frame, and a glass vial containing a clear liquid. ‘I’m going to put you to sleep,’ Gully explained, ‘using chloroform.’ He held up the vial for her inspection. ‘Entirely safe, I assure you, and you won’t feel a thing.’ He carefully folded a square of cloth in the frame and used the dropper to wet it liberally with the anaesthetic. ‘Simply breathe normally,’ he said as he placed the mask over her nose and mouth, ‘and close your eyes. You’ll be fast asleep in no time.’ Gully consulted his pocket watch and, after the lapse of thirty seconds, he removed the mask. ‘Now,’ he said, turning to Mrs Clark, who was watching impassively, ‘we may proceed.’

  Half an hour later, Gully stood over the washbasin in the adjoining bathroom vigorously scrubbing his hands and forearms with soap and hot water. Gazing at his reflection in the mirror over the basin, he muttered, ‘A terrible business. But it had to be done.’ He dried his hands and returned to the bedroom, where Mrs Clark was standing by the bed, her face a blank mask. Walking up to her, Gully briefly studied Cecilia. ‘She’ll be waking up shortly,’ he said. ‘Look after her while I dispose of these, ah, linens.’ They both looked down on the bloodied sheets and towels heaped on the floor. In response to Mrs Clark’s questioning look, he added, ‘Don’t worry. I’ve brought along this.’ He reached into his medical bag for a folded canvas sack with a drawstring. ‘I’ll be back in half an hour,’ he said after stuffing the bloodied linens in the sack. ‘She’ll be very weak when she awakens,’ he added as he gazed down on Cecilia, who was beginning to stir. ‘As she’s lost a pint or so of blood.’

  When Gully returned, having disposed of the evidence – criminal evidence, as he well knew – in a waste receptacle at his own house, Cecilia was conscious but suffering from nausea, enervation, and the twin sensations of grief and guilt. She said nothing and averted her eyes when Gully approached her bedside and lightly placed his hand on her forehead. ‘Cool and clammy,’ he intoned, ‘as one would expect in a mild case of shock.’ He turned to Mrs Clark and said, ‘You must be vigilant for the first signs of infection. Her skin hot and dry to the touch, a certain pinkness to her complexion.’

  ‘Yes, Doctor.’

  Gully reached for Cecilia’s hand, lying limp on the coverlet, and gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘I know,’ he said, ‘that this has been terribly difficult. What matters now is that you rest and recover your strength.’ She nodded weakly. Turning back to Mrs Clark, he said, ‘She may have a cup of clear broth and dry toast for supper, if she’s able to keep it down.’

  ‘Yes, Doctor.’

  ‘I shall return in the morning. Send for me at once if there should be a problem of any kind.’

  By midnight, Cecilia was running a fever, sleeping fitfully at intervals and trembling under an extra blanket as Mrs Clark hovered over her, wringing out cold washcloths and holding them to Cecilia’s brow and periodically checking for signs of more bleeding. ‘There, now,’ she said in a soothing tone, brushing back a strand of damp hair from Cecilia’s face, ‘try to sleep.’ When at last she quieted, Mrs Clark dimmed the light and curled up in an armchair at the foot of the bed, dozing lightly as she remained alert for sounds of distress. After an hour or so of peace, she was awakened by a loud groan and sprang up. ‘Ohh,’ said Cecilia, running a hand over her face. ‘I’m going to be sick.’ Mrs Clark hurried to the bathroom for a towel and then supported Cecilia as she violently retched. Her face wan and lips colourless, she slumped back on her pillows with another groan. After checking Cecilia’s faint pulse and determining that the fever, for now, had abated, Mrs Clark drew the chair close, dimmed the light, and endured the remainder of the long night with her eyes open, waiting for the first hint of dawn at the windows.

  By morning Cecilia had at last fallen into a deep sleep. Mrs Clark noiselessly slipped out and went to her room to bathe and change her clothes. She summoned the maids, cook, and butler to the kitchen and informed them, ‘Miss Henderson is unwell. I am personally looking after her. If Dr Gully should arrive, no
tify me at once.’

  ‘Yes, mum,’ they answered in unison.

  ‘And Florence – would you be so kind as to bring me a boiled egg with toast and tea. I’ll be in m’lady’s bedroom.’

  As the grandfather clock in the hall chimed nine times, Mrs Clark looked up from her chair in Cecilia’s room at the sound of a soft tap on the door. Opening it a crack, she peered out at Mary Ann, the upstairs maid, who whispered, ‘Doctor Gully is here. Shall I show him up?’

  ‘No. Show him to the drawing-room. I’ll be there directly.’

  She found Gully, wearing his usual black frockcoat and charcoal trousers, standing by the piano at the far end of the room. ‘How is my patient?’ he asked, as she walked up to him.

  Mrs Clark glared at him briefly and then said, ‘Not well. She developed a fever during the night and appeared to be in some discomfort. And then she became sick at her stomach.’

  ‘Vomiting?’

  ‘Yes. But her fever seems to have gone and she’s sleeping soundly.’

  ‘Has she had anything to eat?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Naturally, I intend to examine her,’ said Gully, ‘But I’d prefer not to wake her. I’ll wait here until you send for me.’

  ‘As you wish.’ She turned away and walked quickly from the room.

  At midmorning Mrs Clark reappeared in the drawing-room where she found Gully seated in an armchair reading the newspaper. ‘You may see Miss Henderson now,’ she said as he rose to greet her. ‘But I caution you to be careful, as she’s very weak and emotionally distraught.’

  ‘I see,’ said Gully with a frown, unaccustomed to being lectured in this way, especially by a woman even without training as a nurse.