The House of Whispers by Laura Purcell

Author:Laura Purcell [Purcell, Laura]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2020-06-09T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

As a bachelor and a medical student, Ernest Pinecroft had spent the night in some unsavoury situations, to say the least. But as the sun touched the horizon and began to bleed across the sea in streaks of crimson and gold, it occurred to him that he had never slept in a place as strange as this before.

The lanterns were burning low. All the twinkles and shimmers that had crossed the cavern walls during daylight had fizzled out. Now long shadows scurried over rocks and human faces alike, seeking dips and hollows. Such gaps were not wanting in these unfortunate men. The deep eye-sockets, the sucked-in cheeks – each were perfect wells for the darkness to spill into. His current patient, a man named Tim with no hair, seemed transformed into a gargoyle.

‘Today has been a great exertion,’ he told the man, as he settled him on his straw pallet. ‘And your previous conditions were uncommonly draining. Tomorrow, we shall help you regain your strength. Light, nourishing victuals and equally light exercise.’

Tim moved his head on the pillow, which was probably all the acquiescence he was going to get. Considering the fellow had not been able to swallow his broth supper, it was a wonder he possessed the energy to keep his eyes open.

If that blasted surgeon from Bodmin, Mr Jeffries, were here, Ernest would string him up. What did he mean by sending him such woeful specimens? Beggars could not be choosers, but he had hoped a fellow practitioner of medicine would comprehend his need for patients not yet completely ravaged by the disease. And while Ernest would not expect prisoners to be treated softly, he was appalled that the men’s health had been neglected to such an extent in the gaol. They were not, after all, murderers.

Thankfully, he had taken Louise’s advice and made the caves a little more comfortable for them. If the phthisis was caused by overindulgence, at least Bodmin gaol proved that spartan conditions were definitely not its cure.

He left the door to the wooden hut open so that he would hear any sound of Tim’s distress during the night. He did not anticipate much sleep, but he was used to that. Often, in the early hours of the morning, he would lie awake and hear Louise crossing her own room, fetching a book or going to her escritoire. Neither of them had regained the trick of undisturbed slumber after those long nights of caring for their family.

On the other side of the cave, Louise bent over the youngest man – Henry, was it? Maybe Harry. The lantern light reflected in her spectacles and turned her eyes into discs of gold. He felt a flush of pride seeing how tall she was, how robust against the slender man. Not quite the beauty Kitty had been, perhaps, but with a charm of her own. Fully grown. His heart seemed to stumble in his chest as he reflected that Louise’s mother was about the same age when she gave birth to her.

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