An Instance of the Fingerpost (13 page)

‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘What can we do for you, child?’

I looked around, and saw Sarah Blundy standing behind me, pale and tired. Behind her, the woman Tillyard was coming into the room, scolding her for her impertinence. She took hold of her arm, but Sarah threw it off angrily.

It was clear she had come to see me, and so I looked at her coldly, as she deserved, and waited to hear what it was. I knew already: Lower, I was sure, had talked to her, and stated the price of her mother’s life. Either she made amends for her behaviour, or her mother died. It was, I think, a small fee.

She dipped her eyes in an attempt to be modest – such eyes she had, I thought, very much against my will – and said in a low, quiet voice, ‘Mr Cola, I would like to offer you my apologies.’

Still I said nothing, but continued to look frostily at her.

‘My mother is dying, I think. Please . . .’

It was Dr Grove who saved the old woman’s life, then. If it hadn’t been for the memory of his behaviour in exactly the same setting a few days back, I would have turned away and made Tillyard throw her out as she deserved. But I wasn’t going to give way easily.

‘Do you think for a moment I should lift a finger to help her? After the impudence you have showered on me?’

She shook her head humbly, her long dark hair cascading around her shoulders. ‘No,’ she said almost inaudibly.

‘So why come?’ I said doggedly.

‘Because she needs you, and I know you are too good a man to abandon her because of my fault.’

Praise indeed, I thought sarcastically as I made her wait in anguish and suffering a few more moments. Then, as I saw Boyle coolly appraising me, I sighed heavily and stood up. ‘Very well, then,’ I said. ‘She is a good woman and I will come for her sake. Having a daughter like you must be suffering enough for her.’

I left the table, scowling at Lower’s look of smug self-satisfaction. We walked across the town barely exchanging a word. Try as I might, I could not but feel pleased, and not because of having won a cheap victory. No; my pleasure was due solely to the fact that I could now conduct my experiment, and perhaps even save a life.

I had not been in the cottage more than a few moments before any further thoughts about the daughter dissipated entirely. The old woman was pale and restless, tossing and turning in her bed in delirium. She was also fearfully weak, and had a fever. At least the wound had not turned gangrenous, which had been my worst fear. But it was not mending either: skin, flesh and bone were not knitting, even though, by this time, there should have been very distinct signs that natural healing was taking effect. The splints still held the bone in place, but this was useless if her frail and weakened body would not look after itself. I could not make it do so, if it refused to act in its own interest.

I sat back and stroked my chin, my brow furrowed as I tried to come up with some other, more conventional treatment, some drug or some salve, which might help the old woman. But my mind was a blank. I want it understood that I tried to think of all possibilities which would obviate the need for my experiment: I did not rush into the attempt recklessly. Lower was right in saying the project should first be essayed on an animal. But there was no time, and no alternative that either I, or Lower when I asked him, could suggest.

And the girl knew, as well as I did myself, how limited were my
resources. She squatted down on her haunches in front of the fire, cupped her chin in her hands and gazed calmly and intently at me, for the first time a look of grave sympathy on her at my evident dismay.

‘Her chances of recovery were not good, even before you came,’ she said softly. ‘Because of your kindness and skill she has lasted longer than I thought possible. I am grateful to you for that, and my mother has long been prepared for her death. Do not reproach yourself, sir. You cannot defeat God’s will.’

I looked at her carefully as she spoke, wondering whether there was some sarcasm or condescension in her voice, so used was I to rudeness from her. But there was none: she was speaking only with gentleness. Strange, I thought; her mother is dying, and she is comforting the physician.

‘But how do we know what God’s will is? You may be sure of it, but I was not brought up so. Maybe I am supposed to think of something that will aid her.’

‘If so, then you will do so,’ she answered simply.

I agonised with myself, hardly daring to say, even to a girl like this who could not possibly begin to understand what I was proposing.

‘Tell me,’ she said, almost as though she could see my indecision and hesitation.

‘For a long time I have been pondering a form of treatment,’ I began. ‘I do not know if it would work. It might very well kill her more quickly than an executioner’s blade. If I tried it I could be your mother’s saviour, or her killer.’

‘Not her Saviour,’ the girl said seriously. ‘She has no need of another. But you could not be her killer either. No one who tries to help could be anything but her benefactor, whatever the outcome. It is the wish to help which is important, surely.’

‘The older you become, the more difficult it is to heal a wound,’ I said, wishing I had made this point to Grove the previous evening, and surprised at the wisdom of her remark. ‘Something a child would shrug off in a matter of days may be enough to kill an old person. The flesh becomes tired, it loses its resilience, and it eventually dies, freeing the spirit which abides within.’

The girl, still squatting, looked impassively at me as I spoke,
neither shifting restlessly, or showing signs of incomprehension. So I continued.

‘Or it may be that the blood grows old by constantly coursing through the veins, until it loses its natural strength, and becomes less effective in conveying the nutrients for the heart to ferment the vital spirits.’

The child nodded at this, as though I had said nothing that surprised her; whereas in fact, I had advanced some of the latest discoveries and, for good measure added an outlandish interpretation that would already have had my elders shaking their heads in dismay.

‘Do you understand me, child?’

‘Of course,’ she said. Why shouldn’t I?’

‘It surprises you that I say the blood circulates through the body, no doubt?’

‘That could only surprise a physician,’ she said. ‘Any farmer knows it.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘If you bleed a pig, you cut the main vein in its neck. The pig bleeds to death and produces soft white meat. How else could all the blood come out of one slit unless it was all connected? And it moves of its own accord, almost as though it is being pumped, so must go round and round. That is all obvious, isn’t it?’

I blinked, and stared at her. It had taken practitioners of the medical art the better part of two thousand years to make this astounding discovery, and there was this girl saying she knew it all along. A few days ago, I would have been furious at her impudence. Now I merely wondered what else she – and the country folk she mentioned – might know if only people troubled to ask them.

‘Ah. Yes. Very well observed,’ I said, thrown off my path as I struggled to remember what I’d been talking about. I looked at her seriously and took a deep breath. ‘Anyway, what I propose is to give your mother fresh, new blood, to give her the restorative power of a woman very much younger than she. It has never been done before, never even thought of, as far as I know. It is dangerous, and would be scandalous if it were publicly known. And I do strongly consider that it is the only chance your mother has of continuing in this life.’

The poor girl looked stunned at what I had said, and I could see a look of strained apprehension on her face.

‘Well?’

‘You are the physician, sir. It is in your hands.’

I took a deep breath, realising that I had half-hoped the girl would start to abuse me again, accusing me of flouting the Law of God or some such and thus relieve me of the burden I had so cavalierly taken on. But I was not to escape my fate so simply. I had staked my good character, my expertise, on what I had said, and there was no going back.

‘I will have to leave you and your mother alone for a while and go and consult Lower, whose assistance I will require. I will be back as soon as possible.’

I quit the hovel, leaving Sarah Blundy kneeling by her mother’s bed, stroking the old lady’s hair and singing a song in a low, soft voice. A comforting and gentle sound, I thought as I left; my own mother had sung to me thus when I was ill, and stroked my hair in the same way. It had reassured me in my illness, and I offered up a prayer that it did the same for the old woman.

I FOUND LOWER
hard at work dissecting a brain; such work – later given to the world as his
Tractatus de Corde
– occupied him greatly during his days, and he had prepared many fine sketches of its anatomy. He was not pleased when I burst in to demand his assistance and again I saw him in bad humour.

‘Can’t it wait, Cola?’ he asked.

‘I don’t think it can. Not for long, at least. And in return, I can offer you one of the most enjoyable of experiments.’

‘I do not experiment for enjoyment,’ he said curtly.

I studied his face, bent over the table as it was, with one of his dark locks of hair hanging over his eye. There was a set about the mouth and cheeks that made me concerned that one of the moods of passing blackness was upon him.

‘It is also a charity, and I beg you not to turn me away, for I need help and you are the only person steady and wise enough to give it. Do not be angry, for I promise to repay your kindness tenfold later. I have examined Widow Blundy and there is little time.’

The obsequiousness of my manner disarmed him, for he grimaced and, with a show of reluctance, put down his knife and turned towards me.

‘She is as bad as the girl’s face indicated?’

‘She is. She will die very soon, unless something is done. We must try the experiment. She must be given blood. I have examined the almanac; the sun is in Capricorn, which is good for matters of the blood. Tomorrow will be too late. I know you are doubtful of such details, but I am disinclined to take risks.’

He growled at me angrily as my manner made it clear that I would brook no refusal and not leave him in peace.

‘I am not convinced this is a sound idea.’

‘But she will die otherwise.’

‘It is probable she will die in any case.’

‘So what is there to lose?’

‘In your case, nothing. In my case, the risk is more substantial; my career and my family depend on my making my way in London.’

‘I don’t see the problem.’

He wiped his thin knife on his apron and washed his hands. ‘Listen, Cola,’ he said, turning to face me when he had finished, ‘you have been here long enough to know of the opposition we face. Think of the way that idiot Grove assailed you at New College last night on exactly this question of experimental treatment. He has a point, you know, loath as I am to admit it. And there are many worse in a position to do me harm if I give them the slightest chance. If I take part in this operation, the patient dies and it becomes known, then my reputation as a physician will be damaged before it has even begun.’

‘You have doubts about the experiment I am proposing?’ I asked, trying another approach.

‘I have the very gravest doubts about it, and you should have as well. It is a pretty theory, but the chances of the patient surviving the application of it seem small indeed. I must admit,’ he said reluctantly, making me sure I would win, ‘it would be fascinating to try.’

‘So if there was no fear of it becoming generally known . . .?’

‘Then I would be delighted to assist.’

‘We can swear the daughter to silence.’

‘True. But you must also swear that you too will say nothing. Even when you are back in Venice, if you published a letter saying what you had done, you would land me in the most serious difficulty unless it was all done properly.’

I clapped him on the back. ‘Have no concerns,’ I said, ‘for I am not a publishing man. I give my word that I will not say anything unless you gave me express permission.’

Lower scratched his nose as he thought this over then, grim-faced at the risk he was taking, he nodded his agreement. ‘Well, then,’ he said. ‘Let us be about it.’

That is how it happened. Even now I like to think that he had no occult motive in insisting on this arrangement. He was prompted by the simplest self-interest and I think it was only later that, swayed by the siren words of his friends in the Royal Society, he came to prefer fame to honour, and advancement to friendship. Then he exploited my honesty and trust most basely, using my silence for his own ends.

At the time, however, I was overjoyed and grateful to him for taking such a risk on my behalf.

To be frank, I would have preferred to have conducted my experiment in better surroundings, and with more witnesses present to note what we were doing. But such an option did not exist: Mrs Blundy could not have been moved and, quite apart from Lower’s fears, finding other qualified persons to participate would have taken too much time. So Lower and I alone walked, seriously and silently, back to the little hovel, where we once more found the sick woman and her daughter.