The Play's the Thing (The Chronicles of Christoval Alvarez Book 7) Page 16

  Very early the following morning I received a summons from Master Buckford, the owner of the small manor out near Windsor. The note he sent with a servant was couched in more polite terms than the brusque orders I had received from the Dolesbys, so I was the more ready to comply with it. Moreover, it gave me an opportunity to exercise Hector, who had been confined and drooping in his stall at the Walsingham house for many days now. For myself, I welcomed the chance to escape from the foetid air of London, out into the countryside.

  Hector was as pleased as I was to leave London behind, and Rikki trotted beside us as we left the scattered fringes of Westminster behind and headed up river towards Windsor. I gave Hector his head once we were clear of the houses, so that we arrived at the Buckfords’ manor in a much shorter time than when I had made the careful journey with Dr Nuñez. On reaching the manor, I handed over Hector and Rikki to a groom and knocked at the door, which was opened so quickly by the master of the house that I thought he must have been on the watch for me.

  ‘I thank you for coming so promptly, Dr Alvarez,’ he said. ‘It is our young boy, Andrew. He has been very pale and quiet these last two days, and now he will neither eat nor drink.’

  While he spoke he was leading me to a little parlour at the back of the house, where we found his lady holding a child of about five on her lap. His eyes were closed and he lay as limp as a bundle of cloth. I could see that the mother had been weeping. I did not care for the look of the boy, but I assumed a cheerful tone, as one must do with anxious parents, else they will tend to make a sick child worse.

  ‘Can you lay Andrew down here, mistress?’ I said, indicating a low table. I would have preferred to have physicked him in his bed chamber, but I was concerned that any loss of time might prove fatal.

  I began to remove the child’s shirt and breeches. I would judge he was not long out of skirts, but his loose breeches were drawn in tightly with a belt. It must be causing him pain. ‘When did he last eat, and what did he eat?’

  ‘It is two days since he ate a meal,’ Mistress Buckford said. She was standing too close, clasping her hands tightly together and blocking the light. ‘He ate what we all ate. Beef. Chicken. A galantine of ham. A sugar confection afterwards.’

  ‘A little too rich for such a young child in this exceptionally hot weather,’ I said, striving to keep my voice level, but feeling some anger. The rich can kill their children with affluence as easily as the poor may be forced to see their children starve.

  ‘Has he had any vomiting? Loosening of the bowels?’

  The lady looked shocked, as if she did not expect such words to be spoken in her hearing. She covered her mouth and did not answer, but the father did.

  ‘Aye, he has vomited several times. As for his bowels . . .’ He strode across the room and threw open the door. ‘Send Eva here at once,’ he shouted.

  It seemed that while his wife had gone a little too far in assuming the manners of the gentry, the father was but a step away from his life as a London tradesman.

  A woman ran in, a plump, motherly woman, who had also been crying.

  ‘Best ask Eva, doctor,’ Master Buckford said. ‘She is the children’s nurse.’

  By now I had all of the child’s clothes off and I could see that his belly was hollowed in, like a victim of starvation. Clearly he had retained no nourishment for some time. Children can waste away so quickly.

  Questioned, the nurse agreed that the boy had vomited repeatedly and his bowels had been loose for the last two days.

  ‘Any blood?’ I asked. She was a sensible woman, though she was clearly distressed.

  ‘Nay, master, God be praised. It is not the bloody flux, I’m thinking.’

  ‘It is not, but he is weakening fast. Have you any barley water in the kitchen?’

  ‘Aye, there will be some, that I’m sure.’

  ‘Fresh?’

  ‘If not, I’ll make some, ’twon’t take but a few minutes.’

  She hurried off. I turned to Mistress Buckford. ‘Andrew will be best wearing nothing but a loose night shift with a light blanket for a cover, nothing constricting. Can you fetch those?’

  She nodded and followed the nurse out of the room.

  ‘How serious is it, doctor?’ Master Buckford said, as soon as the door had closed behind her.

  ‘It would be serious it if were left untreated,’ I said. ‘You son has eaten tainted meat and his body had rejected it. And that has weakened him considerably, all the vomiting and the diarrhoea. Sometimes these continue long after the offending matter has been expelled, and we need to help the body regain its balance, before the wasting is too great a trial for his bodily strength. He has lost too much fluid, so that his body is drying out.’

  I saw that Andrew, who had seemed almost comatose before, was now listening to us, his eyes open, but full of misery.

  ‘We will soon have you better,’ I said, smiling at him. ‘I am going to give you a very pleasant drink and soon you will be well again.’

  ‘I’m thirsty,’ he whispered, ‘but I don’t want to puke any more. I thought I was turning inside out.’ He gave me a shaky grin.

  ‘You’re a brave fellow,’ I said.

  His mother returned and dressed him in the loose garments which would not constrict his stomach. She was followed by the nurse with a jug of barley water and a pretty blue glazed cup.

  ‘I’ve brought your favourite cup, Master Andrew,’ she said.

  I saw that his mother looked puzzled. It seemed she was unaware that he had a favourite cup.

  ‘Now, Andrew,’ I said, ‘you are going to help me make up the medicine.’ I poured some of the barley water into the cup and took a phial of oil of peppermint from my satchel.

  ‘Smell this.’

  He sniffed the neck of the phial cautiously. Already the distraction was bringing a little life back into his weakened form.

  ‘I know that smell,’ he said. ‘My aunt makes comfits that smell like that.’

  ‘I expect she does. I told you this would be good. There. I’ve added just enough. It is oil of peppermint. Will you stir it for me?’ I handed him one of the spoons I always carried.

  As he stirred, I returned the phial to my satchel and took out another.

  ‘This is meadowsweet. I am sure you know meadowsweet.’

  ‘Little white flowers?’

  ‘That’s it. These have been dried and powdered. I’ll add a pinch, and you must stir again.

  He was taking a great interest now, stirring vigorously and watching the fragments of meadowsweet whirl in the cup.

  ‘One last ingredient,’ I said. ‘Do you like raspberries?’

  ‘Aye, I do!’ His face glowed. ‘Shall we add raspberries?’

  ‘Not the fruits, I am afraid, but the leaves are very good for you as well. This is an infusion of the leaves, and we’ll add a spoonful of that.’

  ‘What’s an infusion?’

  ‘You soak the leaves in boiling water to draw out the goodness, then strain it, because we don’t want bits of leaf floating about, do we?’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘And because you have been such a good assistant, we’ll add some syrup of raspberries, to make it even tastier. There. We shall make an apothecary of you yet!’

  The syrup of raspberries had no great medicinal value, but it turned the concoction a most pleasing rose pink and would make the flavour very acceptable to a child.

  ‘Now!’ I said, like a conjuror about to perform some clever trick, ‘let us see whether you can drink that down to the last drop.’

  He seized the cup and drank it thirstily. His mouth must have been parched and acid, poor lamb, from all the vomiting.

  ‘That was good,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I mixed it well, didn’t I?’

  ‘I could not have done it better myself. I am going to make up a whole jugful for you. and you may have a cup four times a day. Apart from that, you may drink as much plain barley water as you want. No solid food for the next three
days.’

  I looked at the parents and the nurse, not sure which of them I should be addressing.

  ‘No solid food,’ I repeated. ‘Possets of oatmeal, cream and honey from tomorrow. In two days’ time, he make take a very small amount of fine bread, but if it causes distress to his stomach, leave it for another two days. Make sure he drinks as much as possible. He should soon recover now, but if you are worried, send for me again.’

  The nurse was nodding, and I reckoned she could be relied upon to see that the patient was given the diet I prescribed.

  I stood up.

  ‘And no more great meals of heavy meats, they are too strong for a young child, especially in hot weather.’ I did not think the meat could have been seriously tainted, or the rest of the family would also have been ill, but even slightly tainted meat can affect a child.

  I thanked Andrew again for his assistance, and asked Eva to take me to the stillroom, where I made up enough of the potion to serve for three or four days. As I was leaving, Master Buckford hurried out to the stableyard to see me on my way.

  He shook me by the hand, then pressed a heavy purse into it, and I saw that, although he had remained calm before, there were tears now in his eyes.

  ‘I thought we had lost him,’ he said. ‘At first it seemed only one of those childish upsets. As you saw on your last visit, we have a large family, we have had our share of children’s ailments. But last night he turned so much worse. He seemed to waste away.’

  ‘Children can go down very quickly,’ I said. ‘You were right to send for me. He should fare well now, but do not wait to send again, if you need me.’

  The groom had brought Hector and gave me a leg up. It was only then that I became aware of a change in the light. There was an unnatural greenish yellow cast to the sky.

  ‘Thunderstorm approaching, I fear,’ Master Buckford said. ‘You may have a wet ride of it, back to London.’

  At that, as if to underline his words, there was a sudden flash of lightning, setting Hector to dancing about in alarm.

  ‘I’d best be off,’ I said, touching my cap, and turning Hector’s head to the gate. It promised to be an unpleasant journey.

  At first the storm only threatened in the distance, with occasional flashes of lightning, followed by the far-off growl of thunder. They say that if you count steadily between the flash of the lightning and the sound of the thunder, that will tell you how far away the storm is, in miles. I know not whether it is true, or nothing but some old wives’ tale, but I found myself counting after each flash, as best I could, for Hector was nervous and skittish and difficult to handle. By that reckoning, the storm was at first around ten miles away, and I was heading away from it. Either it kept pace with me or my counting was not accurate, for I was unable to put any more distance between us, although I urged Hector to a steady canter.

  He was more than willing. Indeed, I needed to keep a tight rein on him, or he would have broken into a gallop, which he could never have maintained for the twenty-five miles or so we needed to go. I had never before known him afraid of anything, but it was clear that the lightning frightened him. Every time it lit up that ominous sky, he shied and tried to bolt, so that my arms began to ache, holding him in check. Rikki ran valiantly beside us, but I could see that he too was frightened. He jumped nervously to the side, every time the lightning flashed or the thunder cracked. I could hardly avoid flinching myself, and I expect the animals could sense my own nervousness.

  The rain still had not reached us when I reckoned we had covered about half the distance, but the clouds had come racing after us, rolling over the sky and blotting out the sun, so that it already felt like evening. The air turned cold. A wind whistled through the trees on either side of the road, setting their limbs tossing like the arms of drowning men. Then the rain began. At first it fell in single huge drops, heavy as sixpences, then, after a gasp in the wind, the full storm was upon us, rain cascading down like a waterfall, beating the dry ground so that the scent of wet earth rose around us, like the scent of an unglazed pottery jar when you fill it with cold water. Soon I could barely see ahead and had to slow Hector down, for fear of missing the sight of a fallen branch or a pit in the roadway.

  In minutes I was soaked right through, so that my sodden clothes squelched against the leather of the saddle, while the reins were slippery in my hands and difficult to hold. I looked around for Rikki. One moment he was there, a miserable bundle of wet fur, and limping. The next, I could not see him.

  ‘Rikki!’ I called, ‘Rikki!’

  But the lashing of the wind in the trees and the hammering of the rain on the ground, hardened from weeks of drought, sent the words back into my mouth. I spotted a fallen tree at the side of the road which would provide me with height enough to remount Hector, and reined him to a stop.

  ‘Rikki!’ I shouted again as I slid down. ‘Come here, Rikki!’

  I thought I had lost him. I looped Hector’s reins over a branch and began to feel my way back along the road, although I was nearly blinded, for I was now facing into the wind and the rain was flung into my face as though by a malicious hand. There was hail mixed with the rain, which stung like thrown pebbles.

  At last I found him, hobbling anxiously toward me on three legs, his right fore paw held off the ground. I knelt on the muddy ground and put my arms around him.

  ‘What have you done to yourself, you poor old fellow?’

  He licked my chin apologetically, but I was too blinded by the storm to see what was amiss. Instead I carried him back to where I had left Hector and lifted him up to lie across the horse’s withers. His wet fur had soaked the breast of my doublet even more, so that I shivered with cold. The fallen tree was barely high enough for me to use as a mounting block, Hector being such a tall horse, but I managed to scramble awkwardly into the saddle. I had ridden like this with Rikki before, but on that occasion horse and dog were not both slippery with wet. I used a strap from one of my saddle bags to fasten Rikki to my own belt. It was far from secure, but it was the best I could do. As I set off again, I knew that I would need to keep Hector at a slower pace, or I should never be able to hold on to Rikki.

  If the journey was wretched before, it now took on a sense of nightmare. Because the downpour was as dense as a fog, I could barely make out the road and twice I found myself following a side turn. Forced to retrace my steps, I began to fear I had missed the London road altogether. Not another soul did I see for what seemed like hours. It had been around mid day when I left the Buckfords’ manor, but the dark and the blinding storm meant that it could be any time from mid afternoon to evening. I could barely see, except when an intense burst of lightning lit up a scene of chaos for a moment – a road already turning into a stream and strewn with the debris of broken branches. Once, moments after the lightning had struck so close that Hector reared in panic, I heard the unmistakable crack and groan and rushed tearing of a falling tree. As it hit the road behind me, I could feel the earth and air shaking.

  At last I reached the outlying cottages on the skirts of Westminster. There were candles lit in windows, but I had still no clear idea what time it might be. Having pursued me all the way from Windsor, the storm now pulled away ahead of me, driving eastwards down river toward the estuary and the open sea. It continued to rain, but half-heartedly now, so that I had no difficulty picking my way through Westminster and along the Strand, toward the City. At the doors of some of the great houses, servants with sacks over their shoulders against the rain were sweeping water away from the entrances of their masters’ homes. The Strand itself was a river, the water lapping almost to Hector’s hocks, and every time we met a side road leading down from the higher ground to the left, it felt like crossing a rushing stream or a waterfall.

  It was no better after we had passed under Newgate into the City. All the streets here were awash, shutters ripped off and scattered, roof thatch and tiles strewn under foot. It seemed to be growing even colder, and by the time I turned into Seethin
g Lane, Rikki and I were both shivering uncontrollably. Hector had been kept warm by staying on the move, but I knew that as soon as he stopped he would begin to be chilled.

  When at last I reached the stableyard I hooked one arm around Rikki and slid to the ground, but my legs would not hold me and I collapsed on to the cobbles in a lake at least three inches deep, but I was already so wet I could not get any wetter.

  ‘Dr Alvarez!’ It was Harry, and another stable lad called Arthur, running out from the tack room where the lads had snug quarters of their own. ‘Where have you been in this b’yer lady storm?’

  I stayed where I was, not feeling much inclined to climb to my feet. Rikki appeared to be of the same mind.

  ‘Riding back from Windsor,’ I said. ‘Can you see to Hector?’ The poor horse stood with drooping head, the white areas of his coat almost as dark with the rain as the black ones. Water dripped from his mane and tail.

  ‘Aye, I’ll take him,’ Arthur said. ‘Happen he’ll be glad of something warm to eat. This has gone from summer to winter in an hour.’

  ‘Warm bran mash, aye,’ I said. ‘He’ll be glad of it.’

  ‘You cannot sit there all day,’ Harry said reasonably, reaching out a hand to heave me to my feet. ‘What’s amiss with Rikki?’

  ‘Hurt his paw somehow. Wait, Arthur, while I get my satchel from the saddle bag.’

  As Arthur led the horse away, Harry and I made for the tack room. I was carrying Rikki, although my arms were aching from the long ride holding Hector in check.

  ‘You’d best get them wet clothes off,’ Harry said. ‘We’ll have something here you can borrow, if you don’t mind a whiff of horse.’

  He must have been surprised when I refused, but I assured him that I would soon dry out, and took a stand as close as was safe to the brazier where the lads cooked for themselves. They were regularly fed from the kitchen, but they preserved their independence by preparing fried collops and spiced wine whenever they felt the pangs of hunger. Working with horses can make you ravenous. While I began to steam gently, I examined Rikki’s paw. There was a deep cut across the pads which had bled, although a scab was now beginning to form.