The Body at the Tower - By Y. S. Lee Page 0,81

you ought to be resting up.”

“I’m not inclined to bargain with you, Barker.”

“That fever’s got on your brain. Don’t play the fool, lad.”

“Thank you, Barker. Now let’s be off.”

The streets were quiet and the roads dry, but the drive to Tufnell Park was a rackety torture. Each bump of the cobblestones, the steady sway of the carriage, the sharp clop of the horseshoes – to James all appeared grotesquely magnified. He was still desperately cold, despite his heavy woollen overcoat. It seemed absurd that people might walk through the streets in light jackets. Despite the very real sensations of fever, however, this was manageable. He could finish his job, even when ill. It was just a matter of being rational.

At Harkness’s house, the door was opened by a distracted footman who twice asked him for his card after he’d already presented it, then left him to wait in the hall for a long time. He could hear hurried footsteps and the sound of doors opening and closing upstairs. Eventually, Mrs Harkness came down the stairs. She wore a rich satin gown and, on top of it, a rather pilled and misshapen bedjacket.

“Mr – ah, Mr Easton. I do apologize for this confusion. My husband … he can’t see you just now.”

James waited for a few seconds. “Is he unwell?” he asked politely.

“Oh Lord, I don’t know.” She tottered as though about to fall, but ignored the steadying arm he offered her. “I simply don’t know!”

She didn’t smell of drink, but he couldn’t think what else might cause this sort of behaviour. “Have you sent for a physician?”

Her dilated eyes looked to something past him. In fact, she’d not met his gaze at all in the course of this brief, strange meeting. “No, no – no doctor.”

It wasn’t clear whether she simply hadn’t summoned one, or Harkness didn’t want one. James found it difficult to control his impatience. “May I see him? Perhaps I could assist you somehow.”

Finally, she looked at him. Her eyes were terrified, and shining with incipient tears. “If you could see him, that would be helpful indeed.” But she didn’t move.

James took a half-step forward. “Is he upstairs?”

She shook her head. “No. Not upstairs.”

Perhaps she was the one who needed a physician. “Kindly lead me to your husband, ma’am.”

A strange, horrid sound emerged from her throat – half-shriek, half-sob. “Would that I could!” She tottered again and this time began to topple in a slow, stiff way, making no attempt to right herself or to break the fall with her hands. With a swift movement that made his joints ache, James dived forward, arms outstretched. Mrs Harkness was a tall, ample woman, Harkness’s equivalent in build, and he hadn’t the strength today to right her. The best he could do was arrest her fall. In this awkward posture – bent double, sweating with effort, arms clasped about the madwoman – he remained until the distracted footman finally returned.

“Quickly!” snapped James. “Help me lift her to a sofa.”

The footman blinked once, twice, and then creaked slowly into motion. Between them, they lugged Mrs Harkness’s limp, heavy form upstairs to the drawing room. James found the bell pull and tugged it energetically. “Smelling salts, brandy, and send for a doctor, quick,” he snapped at the bewildered-looking maid who answered. “And you” – he rounded on the footman who was in the act of slinking away – “where’s Mr Harkness?”

The footman sidled backwards, blinking rapidly. “I’m sure I don’t know, sir.”

“What d’you mean, you don’t know? Is he at home or not?”

“N-no, sir.”

“Not at home to callers, or actually not in the house?”

“N-not in the h-house, sir.”

James stared at the ninny. “Then tell me where he’s gone.”

“I – I don’t know, sir. He didn’t say.”

“What time did he go out?”

The man’s eyes rolled in his face, unwilling to meet James’s gaze and unable to focus anywhere else. “R-round about one o’clock, sir. Just after.”

“Stand still while I’m talking to you! Did he take the carriage?”

“N-no, sir.”

“A horse?”

“I – I don’t believe so, sir.”

“What did he say?”

“I – I don’t rightly know, sir.” The man blinked rapidly as he spoke. He looked like a frightened rabbit.

James sighed. Clearly, his direct approach had addled the man’s wits. “All right,” he said, trying for patience. It didn’t come easily. “Tell me what happened.”

The footman licked his lips once, twice. Swallowed. Then said, “He ain’t been himself, sir. Not since last night. And today he got a letter – round about noon, it’d be.