Ingenious pain Andrew Miller (smart ebook reader .TXT) 📖

is very straight, cool, murderous. He says: 'You'll go too far with this.'

'There are no children here for you to terrify, Mr Gummer.'

1 mean it,' says Gummer. 'You and your airs! You forget, mister, that I know exactly where you come from.'

'You are more drunk than I thought. I suggest you get into the bed. What is it you are mumbling now?'

'I was saying - you pup - that there will come a day. By God, Grace was right about you.'

'When you bark like this, sir,' says James, 'you put me in mind of an old dog that has long since lost its teeth and sits all day in its own stink waiting for someone to do it the kindness of clubbing its brains out. Old men should not threaten. Did you see Munro?'

'I found his house.' There is no more fight in Gummer's voice. He is staring at the flames.

'And you delivered the note?'

Yes.'

'Then we shall call on our old shipmate tomorrow morning.'

The fire is out. Gummer snores in the bed. James sits at the table, pulls open a purse, pours the coins into his hand, sorts the gold and silver into neat piles. A little under twenty-five pounds. A man might easily live two or three months together on such a sum, were he content to live quietly, to eat in chop-houses, stay away from the cards and have a fire only in the evenings. James has no such intentions. That life is behind him in London - his student lodgings in Duke Street at three and six a week (landlady: Mrs Milk, a widow and clergyman's daughter); tramping to St George's hospital in the hope of seeing John Hunter operate, or over the new bridge at Westminster to St Thomas' to trail behind Dr Fothergill on his rounds. Sitting in Batson's coffee house in winter for the sake of a good fire

and always having to watch every shilling he spent. Enough of that.

He slides the money back into the purse, drops the purse into his pocket, strips off his coat and waistcoat and shoes and lies down on the bed. Gummer snorts, gasps something unintelligible. James blows out the candle. The rain has started again.

'Oh, dear boy! Dearest James! Well met indeed! You cannot know how often I have thought of you since our sea days. Our salad days! Come now, come and meet Mrs Munro. She has been all agog to meet the famous James Dyer.'

'Hardly famous yet, sir.'

'Time will see to that, James. We both know it. And this fellow I think I know. The name escapes me now.'

'Mr Marley Gummer, sir. Yours to command.'

'Gummer, eh? It comes back to me now, somewhat. Well, I am sure you are welcome also. Mind the pooch there, Mr Gummer. One of Mrs Munro's. Say hello to my old comrades. Chowder.'

The dog darts at Gummer's leg, humps his stocking.

'Affectionate Httle devil . . . Here they are, my dear. Pipe them aboard. Ha ha. Damn.' Munro trips over the end of the settle, staggers, clutches at a sideboard and pulls it over, sending glasses and bottles of Bristol blue-glass cascading to the floor. Everything smashes. The four of them look down at the debris, then James looks up at Mrs Munro. There is a red flush on her cheeks. She is young, mid-twenties, a face that verges upon handsome. Her eyes say: See what I am wed to? See what I must suffer? She looks over at her husband.

Why, Robert, I declare you are more of an ox every day. He has been in a lather to see you Mr Dyer. I swear I have never seen him so pleased to see anyone.'

'No more than I am to see your husband, madam. He was a most considerate teacher when we were at sea. I am greatly pleased at the prospect of working with him once more.'

She darts a look at her husband. 'You are taking on a partner, Robert?'

Munro looks back at his wife, then at James. 'A partner?'

'Why, Robert, that is what I have often said you should do.'

James bows, says: 'I am sure that you count half the town among your patients, sir.'

'Half the town! Ha! No, my boy, we go on very quietly but we live. Don't we live, Agnes?'

We have meat on the table, indeed, though I sometimes think you are too easily satisfied.'

Wives, sir! One has to be a duke to afford to marry these days. You cannot satisfy them with less than a thousand per annum. It is a cold morning. Let us have a pint or so of mulled wine, some biscuits, and then I must be off to Mr Leavis. Took a tumble last night coming home from a ball at Simpson's rooms. Fractured femur.'

'You must take Mr Dyer with you, my dear. To keep you in good heart. Is there not a great deal of pulling in these cases? I am sure he may assist you in that.'

'He may, he may. Where are you lodged, James? You must send Gummer round for your trunk. No, no, I shall hear no dissent. Mrs Munro will be grateful for the company of a being more her own age. Now then, where is that blasted wine?'

Agnes Munro hints at it; James sees it with his own eyes: the slow foundering of the practice which, upon Munro's arrival in Bath, full of the energy of a man newly married and determined to reform his character, had seemed so promising, and had indeed.

during that first season, succeeded beyond all expectation. And when he is sober he is still competent, even the occasional gleam of something more, but those who call for him now do so more out of loyalty, out of a liking for the man, than from any great faith in his abilities. He is courteous, old-world, sitting at the bedside of some tediously dying single lady, stilling the fluttering of her hands, knowing all the while that she cannot pay