“ Mais non! I never did! I stayed in the port for but a day then began my journey inland toward Santiago. I eventually settled in a town named Melipilla, at the foot of the Cerro Patagua Range, which is where I suspected my grandfather had done his prospecting. I lived with the family of a man named Tomas Castro, and in his company made forays into the mountains, sometimes living in tents for many days before returning to his home.
“What happened next, monsieur, is difficult for me to explain, for my memories, they are confused. Castro and I had ventured farther into the mountains than ever before, and were both suffering from the altitude and thin air. My friend seemed to be the most affected. He began to experience wild hallucinations and became delirious. He insisted that we had displeased the secret inhabitants of the mountains by our presence, and that the only way to placate them was by sacrifice. I began to fear for my life, for he seemed to me to be losing his mind.”
“Secret inhabitants?” Burton asked. “Did he have a name for them?”
“ Oui. He called them the Cherufe. He said they were the ghosts of an ancient race that had once inhabited the Earth.”
“What happened?”
“As the days passed, I was stricken by terror, not only of him, but also of the things I began to see hiding amid the rocks and undergrowth.”
“What things?”
“I am embarrassed to say. You must understand, monsieur, that they were not real. I was suffering from visions caused by an insufficiency of oxygen.”
“It's important, Sir Roger. What did you see?”
“I saw fairies, tiny people with the wings of moths, butterflies, and dragonflies. I saw them in broad daylight, and at night they came to me in my dreams. I know now that I was going insane. Certainly, Castro was, for one night, he tried to murder me. He struck me on the head and laid me on a rock. It would serve as an altar, he said. He then took a knife and went to thrust it into my heart. I rolled from the rock and we fought. He was savage, a wild beast, his eyes were filled with madness. I pushed him. He fell and cracked his skull. The blow killed him.
“The little people had gathered to watch our conflict. They terrified me, and I think, monsieur, that the fear broke my mind. I remember little else until, one day, I became aware that I was in an asylum. They called me Tomas Castro. It seems I had taken my victim's name. I protested that I was an English gentleman but they would not believe me. I was trapped in a nightmare and my sanity was a frail thing. I am sure it failed me again and again. The time I spent in that hell-it-it-”
Tichborne bent and was wracked by a great sob that shook him from head to toe. Burton held tight to the man's shoulder.
“Sir Roger, your suffering is coming to an end, I give you my word. You must hold yourself together for just a little while longer.”
“I-I apologise, Monsieur Burton. I am weak. If you had-if-”
“I understand. Pray finish your account.”
“That woman-” he nodded toward Florence Nightingale, where she stood, blank-eyed “-came to the asylum one day, sedated me, and took me away. I was brought to this place. How long I have been here, I do not know. I have seen no one but her, a Russian bitch, and a lunatic named Kenealy.”
“And these latter two, what did they want of you?”
“The diamond! Always the diamond! I said to them again and again: ‘There is no diamond, it is a myth! The story is as absurd as the legendary Tichborne curse!’ So then they wanted to know all about that, and I told them of Roger de Tichborne and Lady Mabella and the Tichborne dole, and then-and then-”
“Yes?”
“Then they took me into a room, strapped me to a table, and sedated me. In my last moments of consciousness, I saw her, the connasse -” he jabbed a finger at Nightingale “-lean over me with a scalpel in her hand. When I awoke, she had taken my arm and my face. Mon dieu! Mon dieu! ”
“I am sorry,” Burton said. “They have kept you prisoner here since then?”
“Yes, but that is not all. They visit me frequently and ask always about my life and my habits. They want to know everything! Every detail! On and on! Questions! Questions! Questions!”
“It is because they have a man masquerading as you,” Burton revealed.
“They have-what? Why?”
“Their scheme is elaborate and I'm still unsure of the ultimate motive. I shall find out, though, you can be sure of that. I will stop them, Sir Roger, and soon. When I do, you will be liberated from this frightful place. Until then, you must remain here and keep this visit of mine a secret. Can I trust you to do that?”
“Yes. Me, you can trust-but her?”
“I am going to bring Nurse Nightingale out of her trance now. I will reveal the truth to her. I believe she will work with us to secure your freedom. She's a strange woman; her dedication to medical research has driven her into ethically dubious territory in recent years, but no one can forget what she did during and after the Crimea. I believe that, at heart, she desires only the greater good.”
“I will trust your judgement, Monsieur Burton. But you cannot take me with you now?”
“If I do so, your enemies will know that I'm moving against them. They may flee before we ever learn their intentions. It's better that they remain in the dark.”
“So you wish me to stay? Truly, I don't know that I can! If I allow myself to believe that liberation is close at hand, every extra moment in this hell will seem an eternity. But no, no, I understand your reasoning. Stay, I must- and stay, I shall! What matters a few more days or weeks after all this time?”
“Good man. I must hurry now. I've already been away for too long.”
He stood and paced over to Florence Nightingale.
“You have listened to this discussion?”
“Yes,” she replied dully.
“I am going to take you through some breathing exercises. They will bring you to full awareness. You will remember everything.”
“Ah, Mr. Cribbins, at last. You've taken a deuce of a- ugh! -time!”
“My apologies, Doctor Monroe, I became fascinated by one of your unfortunates. Patient 1036 on corridor nine.”
“1036? 1036? Which one is that?”
“The gentleman who ate his mother.”
“Oh, yes. A fascinating study. We tested an interesting therapy on that one. We- ugh! -introduced him to another of our patients. A mother who ate her son.”
“And what happened?”
“They had dinner together.”
“Are you serious?”
“There were doctors in attendance, of course.”
Damien Burke stepped forward. “A most intriguing scenario, Doctor Monroe, but I feel we've already taken up far too much of your valuable time. We should be going, isn't that right, Mr. Skylark?”
“Absolutely correct, Mr. Faithfull. Do you agree, Mr. Cribbins?”
“Indeed! Indeed! My apologies, Doctor Monroe, and thank you very much indeed for allowing us to tour your fine establishment. I think it fair to say that it has made an indelible impression on all three of us.”
Monroe smiled and shook Burton's hand, then Burke's, then Hare's.
They proceeded down to the lobby and out onto the front steps. Monroe bade them a final farewell and indicated a horse-drawn carriage waiting on the driveway. “This will take you across the grounds to the main- Ugh! ”
“Gate,” Burton finished.
Monroe blinked at him, pursed his lips, turned, and disappeared back into the hospital.
The king's agent looked at the sky and frowned. The atmosphere was thick and steamy, and through it, ugly smudges of smoke could be seen drifting raggedly overhead. Flakes of ash were falling.
“It's been a while since we had a London particular,” he muttered.
They climbed into the carriage and, a couple of minutes later, arrived at the big main gate, in which a smaller door was set.
They thanked the driver and tipped their hats to the guard who opened the door for them.
