The Death Chamber (13 page)

He had had two helpings of the onion broth tonight, defiantly slurping it up under the disapproving eye of Muttonchops who was on supper duty and who was always stricter than usual when they
were about to turn a bloke off. But Ketch took his time because he did not see why he should not have as much supper as he wanted; it was not going to make any difference to Nicholas sodding
O’Kane who ate what, and it was not going to help anybody if Ketch went hungry.

The broth sent him a bit hastily along to the necessary house, and on his way back he saw the tart Belinda padding along the corridors, a cup and saucer in her hand. And a button or two undone
on her gown? Ketch stepped back from the flickering light of a nearby gas jet, and stood in the deep shadows, trying to see without being noticed. Yes, the slut had definitely unfastened her gown
at the neck, Ketch could see a glimpse of white underneath the dark blue cloth. He could only think of one reason for the trollop to have done that; she was going to meet somebody, and it did not
take a genius to guess who that somebody was. Ketch had seen the governor look at Belinda enough times, and he had seen Belinda look at the governor as well, and he felt a thump of pleasure when he
thought of how gratified the doctor would be with this little nugget of information. But the doctor would want proof positive, that was always the arrangement, and so Ketch glanced up and down the
passages to make sure no one else was around. Then he went after her.

He had been right! There she was, the saucy madam, going into the governor’s office, as bold as you liked. Would she take her clothes off for him right away? Ketch remembered there was a
bed in there for when the governor stayed in Calvary, and he had a sudden picture of Belinda getting undressed and getting into that bed. If he stayed here to listen, would he be missed? He would
surely hear the sounds of the others coming out of the dining room. He tiptoed nearer to the door, hoping to hear what was happening.

And he did! He heard the low murmur of voices, and then Belinda laughed. Sir Lewis’s deep voice said something in response, but Ketch could not make out the words. Greatly daring, he
pressed closer to the door. If someone came along now and caught him he would be for the high jump, but he would risk it. As he listened, he could hear, beyond the closed door, the rhythmic
creaking of a bed and cries and moans. A slow smile spread across Ketch’s doughy features. No doubt about what those two were doing, and very thoroughly as well! Who would have thought the
disdainful Sir Lewis could have tupped a tart as vigorously as that? It went to show you should not judge by appearances.

Ketch listened for a minute or two longer, still grinning to himself, because from the sound of it they were going at it like a pair of stoats, in fact they would be lucky if they did not bust
the bed. He laughed silently at this possibility. But keep it up for a while yet, Sir Lewis – in fact keep everything up – because if I’m to get along to the doctor and bring him
back to listen to you, I’ll need at least ten minutes.

Lewis half raised himself in the bed and looked down at Belinda. Her hair was spilling across the pillow.

‘I didn’t hurt you, did I?’ he said.

She reached up to trace the contours of his face with one finger. ‘You didn’t hurt me,’ she said. ‘It was sweet and loving and honest, wasn’t it? But had I better
go now?’

Lewis glanced at the time. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’d like you to stay. I’d like us to be together like this again. But tonight there are too many things I should be
doing.’

‘I understand.’ She slid off the bed, and reached for her discarded clothes. She moved more gracefully than anyone Lewis had ever encountered. He was just thinking he would get
dressed himself and make sure she got back to her spell of duty without anyone suspecting where she had been, when the outer door opened and footsteps crossed the room to the inner door. Before
either of them could move, it opened and Denzil McNulty stood in the doorway.

The curious thing was that in that first crowded moment, the emotion that came to the surface was surprise at McNulty’s expression. He’s smiling, thought Lewis. That’s
extraordinary. I’d have expected him to be horrified or embarrassed, but he looks pleased.

Belinda had donned her clothes swiftly, and Lewis managed to find sufficient self-possession to say, ‘Go along to your spell of duty, Belinda. We’ll talk later.’ He saw with
gratitude that she did as he asked, and only when the door had closed did he turn his attention back to McNulty.

‘Doctor, if you have something to say to me, wait in the office.’ What will I do if he refuses? thought Lewis. Hell, this is appalling. I shouldn’t have let any of it happen.
But McNulty ought to have knocked before coming in, and he certainly oughtn’t to have come into this room at all. Is the bastard up to something?

But McNulty left the room as requested. Lewis closed the door and got back into his own clothes as fast as possible. He paused to straighten his tie in the little mirror over the washstand and
smooth down his hair, because he was damned if he was going to face that unpleasant little weasel looking dishevelled.

Opening the door into the main office took considerable resolve. McNulty was perched on the edge of the desk. He sometimes affected a monocle and he was wearing it tonight; it caught the
flickering gaslight, making it appear that he had a single distorted eye. Lewis said, coldly, ‘Be seated if you wish, Doctor,’ and took his own place behind the desk.

McNulty said, ‘I do feel I should apologize for breaking in on such an intimate little scene, Sir Lewis.’ His face was bland but it was impossible to miss the smirk in his voice.

Lewis said, ‘Say whatever you have to say and then go.’

‘An interesting situation,’ said McNulty. ‘I suppose it comes down to a matter of honour among gentlemen, and of discretion. The trouble is that discretion can sometimes be
rather costly, can’t it?’ He let the monocle drop, and swung it on the end of the cord.

So it was blackmail. Lewis said, ‘I’ve never found it so. Are you threatening me?’

‘Dear me, no. Nothing so crude. Merely an idea I have. And curiously it’s something I think your wife would find very interesting.’

Lewis had known it was inevitable that Clara’s name would be brought up at some stage, and he waited to see what use McNulty would make of it.

‘Lady Caradoc has become so interested in spiritual matters,’ said McNulty. ‘I’ve been very pleased to introduce her to one or two like-minded friends, and I do think
it’s been a comfort to her. That’s why I feel – quite strongly – that she would give her support to the experiment I am about to suggest.’

‘Experiment?’ said Lewis.

The eye-glass stopped swinging on its cord, and McNulty leaned forward. Horrid eyes he has, thought Lewis, fish eyes.

‘Yes,’ said McNulty. ‘And I should certainly like to talk to Lady Caradoc about it, unless, of course, you felt it might be too – distressing a subject.’

‘Suppose you talk to me about it first,’ said Lewis guardedly.

‘Very well. I daresay you won’t have seen an article in this quarter’s edition of the
Psychic Journal
, Sir Lewis? No, of course you wouldn’t read such a thing, I
don’t suppose. But there’s no need for you to make that involuntary gesture of distaste; it’s a most scholarly publication. Many of its subscribers are very learned men –
doctors, scientists, statesmen, writers.’

‘The gullible and the credible,’ Lewis could not help saying.

‘That is your opinion, but they are men of enquiring natures, Sir Lewis. Men who allow their minds to remain open to all possibilities. I am proud to count myself as one of their number.
The article I’m speaking of makes a remarkable claim.’ He paused, clearly choosing his next words carefully. ‘A group of medical men,’ said McNulty, ‘have recently
become convinced that at the moment of death there is a change in the body’s weight. They have not been able to measure this change with any precision, but they believe the human body
undergoes a definite lessening of weight.’

‘There must surely be any number of explanations for that.’

‘Oh yes, and the writer of the article admits that. But,’ said McNulty, ‘he also suggests the answer may not be physical.’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t follow your meaning.’

‘No conclusive experiment has yet been conducted,’ said McNulty. ‘But the writer strongly believes that this change in weight at the moment of death is due to the soul leaving
the body.’

Lewis stared at him and could think of nothing to say.

‘I’m deeply interested in this claim,’ said McNulty. ‘Indeed, I’m deeply interested in everything to do with the whole subject. You might say it has been at the
core of my life for many years. I see you looking incredulous, Sir Lewis, but the ability to communicate with the spirits of the dead is a very old one. It’s found in all cultures: the
Ancient Egyptians; the Greeks and the Oracle at Delphi, Saul in the Old Testament asking the Witch of Endor to call up the spirit of Samuel . . .’ His eyes gleamed with the fervour of the
fanatic. ‘As soon as I read the article I knew I must do all I could to further the research and take part in the search for the truth.’ He leaned forward. ‘Think of it, Sir
Lewis, think of giving the world proof incontestable that the soul really exists. Of proving there is life after death.’

Lewis said slowly, ‘It’s a curious ambition. I can’t imagine how you’d get proof.’

‘Can’t you? Oh, I can. Rigidly controlled conditions, of course. A very precise weighing of the subject in the minutes before death, and then again immediately after death has
occurred. That is really all that’s needed. But,’ he said, jabbing the air with a bony finger, ‘but, Sir Lewis, there are two major obstacles, and this is what has hampered the
trials. The first is finding someone physically fit to be weighed just before death. That’s very difficult, because most people approaching death are scarcely conscious let alone able to
stand on a weighing machine.’

‘I would have thought it was even harder to weigh someone after death,’ said Lewis. ‘But what’s the second obstacle?’

‘Finding a subject who would die at a predictable time.’ McNulty was still watching Lewis.

‘Impossible,’ said Lewis, after a moment.

‘Is it?’ said McNulty very softly. ‘Oh, is it indeed impossible, Sir Lewis?’ He paused, and then said, ‘There is an ideal candidate for this experiment.’ And
then, as Lewis stared at him in sudden comprehension, he said, ‘A man awaiting execution.’

CHAPTER NINE

The silence that closed down on Lewis’s office seemed to enclose the two men in a strange world into which nothing could penetrate.

Finally, Lewis said, ‘It’s an alluring area of enquiry, of course. The soul’s existence – Yes, I can see you’d find it interesting. I can see many people would. But
there must surely be other subjects you could use in hospitals, the workhouses, even.’ He thought, McNulty’s a fanatic. He’s seeing himself as the man who proves the existence of
life beyond death. Why the devil am I even having this conversation with him? But he knew why. This was McNulty’s price for keeping quiet about Belinda.

‘I have considered hospitals and workhouses, of course,’ said McNulty. ‘And although I could probably find a suitable subject, the authorities would not permit the
weighing.’

I’m not surprised, thought Lewis, but he said, ‘And you think I will permit it? On Nicholas O’Kane?’

‘Well, d’you know, I do think it,’ said McNulty. ‘Particularly since your wife takes such an interest in these matters.’

Lewis said very flatly, ‘Unless I agree to this, you’ll tell my wife what you saw earlier in that room? Is that it? Yes, I thought it was. There’s an ugly word for that kind of
threat, McNulty. There’s an ugly punishment for it, as well.’

‘You mistake me. I intended no threat, merely the setting up of a scientific experiment.’

‘Even if I agreed to it, you would need O’Kane’s permission,’ said Lewis.

‘Would I? Wouldn’t he just think being weighed was part of the execution procedure?’

‘Deceive a man facing his death? That’s an unpleasant idea, McNulty. In any case, I refuse to give permission.’

‘Do you, Sir Lewis? I believe that if you think about it, you’ll see it in a different light.’ McNulty stood up. ‘I’m going along to see the prisoner,’ he
said. ‘To make certain the bromide’s taken effect. You see, I do have some sensitivity about these things. Suppose I return in half an hour? I’m sure that when you’ve
thought about this a little more you’ll see it’ll be much better if you agree.’

It was a pity Lewis had not agreed to come to London to meet Bartlam and dearest Vita. Clara Caradoc, enduring the rigours of the railway (even the first-class compartment was
not as clean as she would have liked and a guard had been downright insolent at Kendal), supposed she should have known that his absurd prisoners at Calvary would take precedence.

Father said Lewis was a very dedicated man and Clara must understand he was trying to help the unfortunates who were under his care; there but for the grace of God go I, said father. But mamma
said this was nonsense, a gentleman did not consort with thieves and murderers to the neglect of his family, and while a title was very gratifying in its way (yes, she
knew
how satisfying
it was for Clara to use it in shops and restaurants), by itself it was not something that could escort you to dinner parties or help you entertain luncheon guests.