“According to the hospital documents the only thing he was suffering from, until now, was melancholy. And yet twelve months after his admission, we have a note from Whitehall – the Home Secretary, no less – recommending they keep him locked up, which seems a bit bloody harsh. Now, it’s my guess that if you get a recommendation from Whitehall, it’s not really a recommendation, it’s an order.”
“Forgive me, Hawkwood, but I fail to see –”
“I’m saying Locke didn’t consider Hyde to be dangerous, certainly not murderous. None of them at the hospital did. But if, as we suspect, the colonel had been planning the killing and the escape for some time, then maybe he was murderous from the beginning and the fact was kept hidden, which would mean the only people who knew what he was really like were the ones who arranged his detention and who denied his release.”
“You’re suggesting he was admitted under a false diagnosis? But why? For what possible reason?”
“Maybe that’s what we should try to find out. I’d like to know what the connection is between Colonel Hyde and Eden Carslow, for a start. That certainly intrigues me.”
“You intend to question Carslow?” Read asked. There was a distinct note of caution in the magistrate’s voice.
“I promise I’ll be civil,” Hawkwood said, before he could stop himself.
“You will need to be. Carslow has powerful friends. He has influence.”
“That sounds familiar. Isn’t that what we said about Lord bloody Mandrake?”
“No, that was what we thought about William Lee. As far as we were aware, Lord Mandrake was just another of his highly placed friends.”
“Who turned out to be a traitorous bastard,” Hawkwood said.
Lee was an American adventurer who, with the support of Lord Mandrake, had been the leading agent in a French plot to assassinate the Prince Regent. Lee had died in the attempt; Mandrake had taken a boat from Liverpool and fled to safety across the Atlantic.
“Indeed. Carslow, on the other hand, is probably this country’s finest surgeon. His contribution to medicine has been outstanding. You said earlier you might have to step on a few toes. Where Eden Carslow is concerned, you would be wise to tread carefully. I mean it, Hawkwood. While I place great store on your investigative instincts, there are others of a more – how shall I put it? – refined disposition who may interpret your direct approach as a recalcitrant attitude towards authority. I urge you to be circumspect.”
“Yes, sir. Understood. In that case, may I offer you the same advice in your dealings with the Home Secretary?”
Read blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Well, it struck me that, while I question Carslow about his connection with Colonel Hyde, you could use your authority to find out why Home Secretary Ryder felt the need to add his name to the list of people who would have preferred the colonel to remain in Bethlem.”
“You have the nerve of the devil, Hawkwood.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. May I take that as confirmation that you will speak to the Home Secretary? After all, you do meet regularly with him on matters of security. It would be a pity not to take advantage of that. Or am I being recalcitrant, sir?”
“You’re bordering on insolent, which rather proves my point,” Read said.
“But you’ll speak to him?”
Read sighed. “One does not speak
“I’ll bear that in mind,” Hawkwood said.
“See that you do. Now, was there anything else? Public chastisement of the Prime Minister, perhaps?”
“Possibly,” Hawkwood said, striding towards the door. “The day’s not over yet.”
13
The lecture room was full to bursting; standing room only. The five horseshoe-shaped tiers rising from the floor of the theatre reminded Hawkwood of a steep-sided cockfighting pit. Even the atmosphere wasn’t dissimilar; the closely packed spectators, the vibrant hum of conversation, the heightened sense of anticipation as the crowd waited for the spectacle to begin.
Hawkwood had presented himself at Guy’s only to be met with a lofty refusal when he stated his wish to see the hospital’s Chief Surgeon. Mr Carslow was about to perform surgery. Police business would have to wait. Knowing he had no option but to bide his time, curiosity had led Hawkwood to take his place with the rest of the gallery.
It was warm in the room due to the mass of people. Removing his coat, he draped it over the wooden rail in front of him. From his seat in the top tier, he looked down across a sea of eager young men who didn’t appear to have seen more than fifteen or sixteen summers. But then some of the boys he’d commanded and fought alongside in the Peninsula hadn’t been that much older.
He glanced up. The theatre was illuminated by a large skylight, supplemented by chandeliers suspended above the centre of the room by a system of pulleys. Directly below the skylight, occupying centre stage, was the operating table. It was a robust piece of furniture with a hinged headboard at one end and an extension leaf at the other. On the sawdust-strewn floor beneath the extension leaf was a large oblong tray containing more sawdust. In the corner of the theatre was a large cupboard. The back wall held a rectangular blackboard. Below it stood two smaller tables and a small oak cabinet.
Several chairs had been set up on the floor, facing the foot of the operating table. The seating was for distinguished visitors, some of whom had already taken their places. The lowest tier of the horseshoe was reserved for members of the hospital’s medical staff. The upper tiers accommodated the students.
A movement on the floor caught Hawkwood’s eye and prompted a buzz of chatter, but it was short lived when the crowd realized it was only the dressers bringing in linen and towels and a pitcher of hot water. Nevertheless, the air of expectation remained as it was now apparent that the operation and lecture were only minutes away. The two dressers appeared unconcerned at the reaction their appearance had caused and went about their business calmly and unhurriedly, placing the linen on the centre table, and the towels and pitcher on the oak cabinet next to an enamel basin. Another small square table was positioned near the main operating table. On top of it sat a deep-sided wooden box and a small tin bowl. One of the dressers began to transfer a selection of surgical instruments from box to tabletop. When they had finished laying out all the equipment, they moved to the side of the room and stood in silence, hands behind their backs, waiting.
Suddenly the level of conversation dropped. Hawkwood felt the students on either side of him tense. Three men entered through a door in the corner of the theatre, their footsteps resonating on the wooden floor. Two of the men were dressed in dark tailcoats, and the younger one was holding the arm of a third man, who was wearing a white calf-length nightgown and slippers. The young man ushered the nightshirted individual to the table and invited him to sit, leaving his companion to take the floor.
So this was the great man, Hawkwood thought.
Carslow had presence, there was no denying it. Tall, well built, with a bearing that was almost military and a high forehead crowned by swept-back hair, his elegant stature and steady, unflinching gaze reminded Hawkwood of Arthur Wellesley.
A hush fell over the lecture room.
“Lithotomy, gentlemen. Cutting the stone. From the Greek:
The speaker turned and indicated the man in the nightgown. “The patient is a forty-three-year-old male and a merchant by trade. His symptoms – abdominal pain and acute discomfort while urinating – indicate the presence of a stone in the bladder. This afternoon I will be operating to remove the offending object.”
The spectators turned their heads towards the patient seated on the table. His brow was bright with sweat. Dark stains were visible under his armpits. There was a noticeable tremor in his right leg. The man looked terrified.
