that, do the other thing, kiss my arse – but mostly Mr Oldershaw just sits there. Or he starts yelling and crying fit to burst himself.’
‘Mind your tongue. Is that all?’
‘Still having these violent fits, sir, if that’s what you’re asking. Not very often, but he’s a big lad, Mr Frank, and you don’t want to get in his way when the fit is upon him.’
‘When do you next visit?’
‘Tuesday, sir, unless I hear contrariwise beforehand. Usual thing – shave him and dress his hair, brush his clothes, see to his linen. One thing, though – I hear Mr Holdsworth’s been to Barnwell too.’
‘Her ladyship’s man?’
‘Yes.’ Mulgrave frowned. ‘Dark horse, that one.’
‘I should like to hear more about him. Come and see me after you have visited Barnwell again – or before if you have information, especially about Holdsworth.’
‘As your honour pleases.’
Whichcote turned away and stared out of the grimy window. ‘You may go.’
Mulgrave coughed. ‘Begging your pardon, sir, but there’s the little matter of my bill.’
‘Not now.’
‘It’s mounting up, sir.’
‘I gave you something the other day,’ Whichcote snapped.
‘A couple of guineas on account in late March, sir.’ Mulgrave took out a pocketbook and opened it. ‘March twenty-ninth, sir, to be precise. That was when the account was thirteen pounds, eight shillings and fourpence. Bit more than that now, I’m afraid, not far off twenty pounds.’
‘Damn it, you shall have it. But not now, man.’
Mulgrave held his ground. ‘Begging your pardon, sir, but these last few months, I can’t help noticing you’re not as flush as you were. You’ve sent the footmen away, haven’t you? There’s only that boy to wait on you, and the women.’
‘My domestic arrangements are nothing to do with you, and I don’t choose to discuss them. Leave me.’
‘And then there’s also your note of hand, sir. When there was the trouble with the livery stable.’
Whichcote held back his temper. ‘Your bill isn’t due yet. Anyway, the money is as safe as the Bank of England. This is merely a question of a temporary shortage of ready money in the house.’
‘Oh yes, sir, I don’t doubt it. Why, I dare say you could make a completely fresh start if you mortgaged this place, or even sold it, for it must -’
‘Damn your eyes, Mulgrave.’
‘Listen, sir, I don’t want to be disobliging, and you and me, sir, we’ve known each other for a long time. But a man must live. I’ve got my dependants, same as you.’ Mulgrave raised his eyebrows very high. ‘I could apply to her ladyship, I suppose.’
‘What ladyship?’ Whichcote said in a voice hardly louder than a whisper, knowing the answer before he asked the question.
‘Why, Lady Anne, of course, sir. Seeing as I’ve done so much for Mr Oldershaw since he was admitted at Jerusalem, and now especially at Dr Jermyn’s. I ain’t sent in my bill yet. Anyhow, her ladyship might find it a comfort just to talk to me about how he does.’ He patted his waistcoat. ‘I feel for her, sir. I’m a parent myself.’
‘There’s no need to trouble her,’ Whichcote said. ‘As for the bill, if you wish, I shall look into the matter directly and see if we cannot manage something further on account.’
‘In full, if you please, sir. With the note of hand, it comes to a little under eighty pounds.’ Mulgrave opened his pocketbook once again. ‘I have the exact figure here, sir.’
‘Something on account, I said,’ Whichcote repeated.
It was as though the ground itself were giving way beneath him. One winter’s day, when he was an undergraduate, he had been shooting in the Fens and the earth beneath him had done just that: what had seemed solid became liquid mud, drawing him down and down and down. If a party of Fenmen had not been within earshot, he would have drowned. They had pulled out his shivering body in its sodden, stained clothes. They had stood around him and laughed.
‘Yes, sir,’ Mulgrave said. ‘In full. You could raise something on the house, I’m sure. Do it easy.’
‘Get out,’ Whichcote said. ‘Just go. Now.’
Mulgrave moved unhurriedly to the door. Before opening it, he stopped and glanced around the room. ‘I’m sure old Jeevons would oblige in a trice, sir. You know him? Corner of Slaughterhouse Lane. Very reasonable, all things considered. There’s always a way, your honour, always a way.’
They walked side by side up the broad, shallow stairs. A clock ticked in the cool darkness at the back of the hall. The air smelled of beeswax, lemon juice and vinegar. The house radiated normality so powerfully and so perfectly that it made normality itself seem sinister.
On the landing, Jermyn paused. ‘You may not get much sense out of the poor fellow,’ he murmured. ‘As his physician, I cannot sufficiently stress the importance of his treatment continuing. His treatment here, that is – it is imperative not to uproot him.’
A private asylum was a commercial enterprise. Holdsworth doubted that Jermyn’s motives in setting up the establishment were solely or even primarily scientific, let alone philanthropic. He wondered what Lady Anne was paying the man for her son’s board, lodging and treatment, and for all the sundries that no doubt accumulated when a young gentleman of Mr Oldershaw’s standing was residing here. Five guineas a week? Six? If Jermyn had half a dozen patients like this, he must be making a handsome competence. If he had a dozen, say, his income would outstrip that of most landed gentlemen.
On the first floor, the doors leading off the landing were closed. Jermyn entered the nearest on the right without knocking. Holdsworth followed him into a large bedchamber. There were two windows, which overlooked the pleasure grounds at the back of the house. The air smelled sweet.
A broad, muscular man rose to his feet from a chair by the door. Jermyn raised his eyebrows, a silent question. The man nodded. They both looked at a youth sitting at a card table in the corner farthest from the door. He was concentrating on something in front of him. He did not look up.
Jermyn advanced towards his patient. ‘Well, Frank? And how do you do today?’
The young man did not answer. Holdsworth could not yet see his face. He was dressed plainly but well in black. Like many young men he wore his own hair.
Jermyn beckoned Holdsworth to come forward and turned back to his patient. ‘Ah, good, Frank, very good indeed. I like to see you engaged in a useful activity.’
As he moved across the room, Holdsworth noticed a sturdy wooden armchair standing against the wall near the fireplace. There were broad leather straps attached to the arms, the legs and the back. The straps had the supple, flexible appearance that leather acquires with use.
On a woman, Frank Oldershaw’s face would have been called beautiful. He was looking downwards, frowning slightly, like an angel brooding over the imperfections of humanity. On the table before him were several dozen small wooden cubes. Each face of each cube had a little picture on it. Six of them were lined up on the table, with the visible faces matching those of their neighbours so a broader picture was beginning to emerge. The cubes looked unexpectedly familiar, and suddenly Holdsworth recognized them for what they were. They formed an instructive puzzle for use in nurseries. The pieces could be assembled to make six different pictures. The markings on the little engravings ensured that each piece must match its neighbour. One was a genealogical table showing the kings and queens of England back to King Arthur. Another illustrated episodes from the Old Testament, with particular emphasis placed on the prophets, arrayed in their proper order. Frank Oldershaw was working on a table of useful knowledge, rationally displayed. Holdsworth had stocked the puzzle in the Leadenhall shop for a few months but it had not sold well.
‘Frank, you must interrupt your labours for a moment. There is a visitor to see you.’
Very slowly, Frank placed the cube in his hand on the table and looked up, first at Jermyn, then at Holdsworth.
‘Pray rise, sir,’ Jermyn said. ‘It is what we do in polite society when we are introduced to somebody.’
Slowly, Frank rose to his feet. He was a large youth, nearly as tall as Holdsworth himself though less broad; his movements still had an adolescent gawkiness, as if he had not quite learned to live with the unaccustomed length
