FORTY

arah carried a tray into the drawing room bearing a pot of tea, three cups and a tray of fancies. She did not think that anyone could still be hungry after the bounteous meal she had watched them consume, but she was aware of Agnes Petrie’s eyes tracing the progress of the little cakes from door to table. Mina often claimed to have ‘a second compartment for sweet things’ to excuse how she fell upon such treats after a generous dinner, though Sarah had noticed that her habits had been more abstemious in recent times: specifically since Dr Beattie started showing an interest in her.

The ladies had retired upstairs to the drawing room while the gentlemen remained around the dining table to commence the professor’s preferred after-dinner pursuit: that of testing new candidates to improve upon ether as a drowsy syrup. Drs Simpson, Keith and Duncan were joined by a layperson, Captain James Petrie, but as he described himself as ‘a man of intrepid spirit’, he had had no qualms about throwing his weight behind the medical men’s pioneering quest.

Captain Petrie was Mrs Simpson and Mina’s brother-in-law, the widower of their late sister. He was a voluble personality, a man who looked like he did not quite belong amidst domestic gentility. He had been friendly and polite to the staff, however. Indeed, while Sarah waited at the table, he had asked her to pass on his compliments to Mrs Lyndsey for a remarkable meal, though it became retrospectively clear that this was merely a pretext for him to hold forth on the subject of ‘the only meal I might be permitted to consider more remarkable’.

He proceeded to talk at length of his exploits defending Britain’s interests in the American War, telling of how in 1814, following victory in the Battle of Bladensburg, his company had marched on Washington. ‘We took the city with such swiftness and audacity that James Madison’s dinner was still warm upon the table when we stormed his house and set it ablaze. I fetched a leather-bound book of poetry from the library shelves and briefly sat down to finish the abandoned meal before the flames took over, for it is a sin to waste good food.’

Sarah was most impressed with this tale, thinking Captain Petrie sounded gallant and colourful; certainly a good deal less dusty than most of the grey-faced medical men who had dined there. It was only as they ascended the staircase that she overheard Mrs Simpson say to Mina: ‘I wonder how many times we have sat through him telling that story.’

‘Almost as many as the number of soldiers who claim to have eaten of that meal,’ Mina replied. ‘Truly, it must have been quite a plateful.’

This exchange had, of course, taken place out of earshot of Agnes Petrie, the captain’s daughter and Mrs Simpson’s niece. Agnes was a plump and rather giddy creature who did not strike Sarah as blessed with the highest level of intelligence, though at least this did not mean another fine female mind condemned to atrophy through disuse. Neither had she inherited her father’s easy grace in dealing with the staff, and came across as a rather spoiled and self-regarding young woman.

Sarah was pouring the tea when the entire house was shaken by the crash of the front door being thrown open against the wall. It was followed by a sound like rumbling thunder, the shuddering thump of someone rushing down the hall with such haste and force of weight that she could feel it vibrate through the boards beneath her feet.

‘What on earth is that?’ asked Mrs Simpson.

Sarah hastened to investigate, the ladies rising to their feet at her back. She looked over the banister and observed Jarvis standing against the wall with an affronted expression upon his face.

‘What occurs?’

‘Mr Raven just came charging through here like he had the devil at his heels,’ he said.

Sarah hastened downstairs into the dining room. She found Raven crouched over Dr Simpson, who lay face-down upon the floor, the bodies of Dr Keith and Captain Petrie motionless alongside. Raven rolled Dr Simpson over and placed his ear to his chest.

‘He breathes,’ he announced, panting heavily, a near-tearful anxiety in his voice. He was soaking wet, his hair plastered to his face, which was red with exertion.

‘You’ve been running.’

‘I rushed here from Gregory’s lab,’ Raven said, still struggling to catch his breath. ‘The formula Duncan ordered is poisonous. It rendered two rabbits unconscious before killing them shortly after. I fear it may yet do the same here.’

Sarah noticed a bottle sitting on the table where Dr Duncan sat slumped, his arms sprawled before him as though reaching for it. She recognised the handwriting on the label.

‘But this bottle isn’t from Professor Gregory. It came from Duncan and Flockhart. “Perchloride of formyle”,’ she read.

She handed it to him, Raven’s hand outstretched impatiently. He read the label, a look of confusion upon his face, and as he did so, Dr Simpson’s eyes opened.

Sarah thought back to earlier in the day, when she had come here to prepare the dining room and lay the table for dinner. She had found easily a dozen bottles untidily ranged on top of the sideboard, still others seemingly abandoned on the floor. As she endeavoured to tidy the former away, she had knocked one onto its side, causing it to roll to the back where it dropped into the gap between the wall and the cabinet.

She didn’t have the strength to move the sideboard on her own, and besides, at that moment, Dr Duncan had come in and begun chastising her for interfering. She therefore decided it best not to mention how she had just mislaid one of his bottles.

Dr Simpson tried to sit up then lay back again, blinking several times and looking at his surroundings as though they did not make sense. Sarah fetched a cushion to help support his head as Mrs Simpson and Mina appeared in the doorway.

‘Oh, dear heavens, what has happened?’ Mina asked.

Mrs Simpson rolled her eyes. Clearly it was not the first time she had witnessed such a sight.

The professor focused upon his wife and propped himself up with his elbow. He looked at the concerned faces crowded above him and smiled.

‘This is far stronger and better than ether,’ he said.

Dr Keith was next to stir, but there was no gentle waking for him. Instead he began to thrash about, kicking at the table as though trying to overturn the few items that had thus far managed to remain upright upon it. This was accompanied by loud snoring on the part of Dr Duncan.

After several minutes of this, Dr Duncan began to rouse and George Keith, having ceased his semi-conscious violence, raised himself to his knees. He gripped the table, only his eyes visible above the edge, and stared in an unfocused way, with a hauntingly vacant expression on his face, as though his human spirit had abandoned him. For some reason he directed this ghastly gaze at Mina, who looked reciprocally transfixed, horrified by what she was seeing. Thus, just as everyone else was regaining either consciousness or composure, Mina threatened to faint. An upturned chair was righted for her, and Sarah was dispatched to find her fan and fetch her a glass of water.

Dr Simpson climbed to his feet, assisted by his wife.

‘Waldie was right,’ he declared, delight in his voice. ‘This is by far the most promising of all our experiments.’ He looked about himself eagerly. ‘Where has it gone? Is there any left?’

The sopping Raven held out the bottle to him, but Mrs Simpson gestured him away.

‘I think perhaps we have all had enough excitement for one evening.’

The professor would not be denied. ‘But this is just the beginning. We may well have found what we have been searching for. Who else would like to try?’

Mina was first to find her voice. But not in the affirmative. ‘I for one will not be making such an exhibition of myself. The look on Dr Keith’s face just now will haunt me for the rest of my days’

‘Oh, come away now, Mina. It may be your chance to form part of history.’

Dr Simpson grabbed the bottle from Raven, removed the stopper and waved it in Mina’s direction. Looking suddenly alarmed, Mina got out of her chair and backed away from him. The professor then began to chase her round the table as she shrieked her objection.

The pursuit was short-lived as Dr Simpson subsided into laughter and had to give up. Raven rescued the bottle before its contents were inadvertently poured onto the carpet.

‘I’ll try it,’ said a voice, which turned out to belong to Agnes Petrie. She had been standing in the doorway and now pushed forward into the room. ‘Oh, do let me have some.’

Dr Simpson looked to her father, who nodded assent. Sarah suspected he had said no to few requests where his daughter was appellant.

Agnes squeezed herself into a dining-room chair and began to inhale the saucer of liquid that had been poured for her. Within a matter of moments, her eyes fluttered and she declared herself to be lighter than air, which seemed all the more remarkable given her size. She then began shouting ‘I’m an angel, I’m an angel,’ before sliding to the floor in a manner far removed from the seraphic. She remained there, peacefully unconscious, for a full five minutes.

Dr Simpson decided he would try it upon himself again, ignoring the concerned looks of his wife. Dr Duncan joined him and Dr Keith took out his pocket watch to time the duration of the drug’s effect.

‘Perchloride of formyle,’ Keith stated, taking a note. ‘Somewhat more of a mouthful than “ether”. Can we give it a shortened name?’

As Dr Simpson raised the glass to his nose, he paused momentarily. ‘I believe Waldie said it was also known as “chloroform”.’