The Chemickal Marriage

took in the two men with an equal dismay.

‘I am sent for a young lady. She is wanted by Her Grace the Duchess of Cogstead. A Miss Celestial Temple. If any of you know what has become of her –’

‘I am Celestial Temple.’

‘Dear God. Indeed?’

‘The Duchess will know me. She will know my companions.’

The officer considered this unlikely promise, then opted for discretion and stepped aside, offering Miss Temple his arm.

‘Her Grace waits outside with the rest of the regiment. Come.’ He wrinkled his nose and looked at the wreckage that now embodied Harschmort House. ‘This circumstance cannot be pleasant for you.’

Epilogue

Captain-Surgeon Abelard Svenson tapped the ash of a black cigarette into a brass dish bolted to the arm of his chair, which itself had been secured firmly to the cabin floor. His uniform was crisp and his new boots shone like black glass. He was clean-shaven, blond hair parted neatly, and nearly every bruise or laceration on its way to mending.

As he spoke his voice did not shift tone, so that Miss Temple, who had retreated to her inner room, might not infer that the two men talked about her – although of course she did assume it and of course they were, however indirectly.

‘You are well?’ The Doctor exhaled at the inadequacy of his words. ‘I mean to say, you seem hale. But, yes, of course, all of this. Departure – and, I apologize, what word to use … alliance?’

Cardinal Chang glanced at the damp ring of coffee in his white bone-china cup. He reached for the flute-nosed pot and poured, offered to Svenson, who demurred, returned the pot to the tray. He did not drink.

‘I have no earthly idea.’ Chang rubbed his eyes, pushing up the spectacles. He matched Svenson’s sigh, his lips unable to prevent the twitch of a smile. ‘I know that, from all appearances, the arrangement is absurd.’

Svenson, less than helpfully, did not reply. Chang took the tiny cup in both hands.

‘Such constructions cannot exist in the world. In this world. She is impossible. I am impossible. We could not meet. Exist. There is no place for it.’

‘And so you hope to find one?’

Chang shook his head. ‘Every land is the same. Every village has its order. I will be a criminal and Celeste a whore.’

‘You are too severe. Money changes minds.’

‘Not mine.’

‘Then marry.’

Chang sniffed. ‘She will not.’

‘She?’

‘She.’

The Doctor glanced towards the other room, where the tinkering of jars and tins spoke to Miss Temple’s persisting occupation. ‘So you will be tied together, but only by will. Can that last?’

‘I have no earthly idea,’ said Chang. ‘I will not be kept.’

‘She could not keep you. Nor does she need to – the Vandaariff estate, however entailed – despite everything, there is a quite valid claim, at least for a substantial settlement, and since there is no active rival claimant –’

‘Let it rot,’ Chang said coldly. ‘Let it burn and sink like the house.’

Svenson reached the end of his cigarette and ground it out. He found his cup, half filled and cold. Chang leant forward to pour, self-conscious of the china, the chairs, carpet, brass, his own new boots, creased red trousers, silk waistcoat, white shirt and, hanging behind them on a peg, a newly made long coat of red leather. Small expenses all, yet the whole of his former life had been reclaimed with a scatter of gold coin. Chang set down the pot and now it was he who looked into the other room.

‘I understand,’ said Svenson. ‘About the fortune. I even agree.’

‘Thank you.’

‘So you will keep one another. On a ship without destination.’

‘She cannot be alone. Your trick took away the corruption that would kill her, but not the other memories, those that derange her … needs.’

‘She’s told you?’

At Chang’s pointed silence the Doctor reddened and fumbled his slim fingers for another cigarette.

‘She will need protection. Wherever in the world she goes. She will need a man like me.’ Chang raised his gaze to the ceiling. ‘But she will drive me mad.’

‘Only as you will need her,’ observed Svenson. ‘And you were mad already.’

Miss Temple, certain she had given them more than enough time, sailed back into the parlour with the tissue-wrapped box and settled beaming in the seat near to Chang. Her dress was aubergine wool and her boots again dark green. Despite the nicks and scrapes that still marked her skin, Celeste Temple – Svenson could not but notice, indeed could scarce but look away – glowed with an almost obscenely evident sensuality.

‘So,’ he said, smiling. ‘Tenerife?’

‘I believe so,’ replied Miss Temple, ‘but there are so many choices. East or West, the Indies or Recife, Zanzibar or Sarawak. And rather several places in between, as you know. Is there only coffee?’

Chang took up the fatter pot that she knew very well held tea and poured. She watched with pleasure as he then slopped cream into the cup and stirred and passed it to her. She sipped and wrinkled her nose. ‘Lovely. Too long steeped, but that’s what I get for being busy. Doctor Svenson, please, this has just arrived, for you.’

She held out the little box. Svenson set his cigarette in the dish. He tipped the box to see each side.

‘I worried it would not come in time – but, as I let the man know I saw no reason why it should not, it did!’ She laughed. ‘Open it!’

Svenson pulled at the paper. Miss Temple glanced conspiratorially at Chang, but he watched the Doctor’s face.

‘O Celeste.’ Svenson lifted a silver cigarette case. ‘Thank you so much. My other was lost, you know.’

‘Of course I know,’ she said. ‘And there is an inscription. “Zum Kapitanchirurgen Abelard Svenson, vom C. T.” ’

Svenson smiled, somewhat sadly, she saw, to read it. ‘That is almost what it was. But now from you. Thank you, my dear.’

‘I did not know the German myself, of course, except from memory.’

‘It will mean the world to me. Let me fill it now.’

She smiled to see him take the tin of cigarettes from his pocket and carefully fill the silver case. She turned to Chang. ‘Cardinal Chang has a new walking stick. Very handsome.’

‘I’m sure it is,’ replied Doctor Svenson, somewhat drily.

Miss Temple smirked at this, for she was no longer so shy, or shy at all. She began to think about when she and Chang could next be together, if there would be time after the Doctor departed – if she would in fact ever see Doctor Svenson again – and what piece of furniture to employ in exactly what manner.

‘Did they find her?’ she asked. ‘The Duchess’s men?’

‘I do not know,’ said Svenson. ‘I have not heard.’

‘You would think, with an entire regiment surrounding the house – and going through the house. One injured woman, screaming like a witch?’

‘It was the fire,’ said Chang. ‘The fire drove them out and stopped the search.’

‘She set that fire,’ said Miss Temple.

‘I’m sure she did,’ said Chang. ‘And I would guess she fled to the lower depths, to the river, where no one