The Lazarus Curse Read Online Free PDF Page B

they were still fresh, so Bartlett made brief outline drawings, coloring specific areas so they could be finished later.” Sir Joseph’s long fingers held an imaginary paintbrush which he flourished in the air.
    Thomas recalled the botanical drawings of Sydney Parkinson from the Endeavour. He had fallen prey to the bloody flux on the return voyage, but his superbly detailed sketches were as brilliant in their execution as Leonardo’s anatomical images. He managed a nervous smile across the desk.
    “Then, sir, I accept your gracious commission,” Thomas replied.
    Sir Joseph leaned forward, slapping the palms of both his hands on the desk. “I know you will not disappoint, Silkstone.”
    Thomas gave an elegant nod. “And when does the Elizabeth arrive?”
    “She was spotted five days ago off The Lizard, so by the latest accounts she should be here on tomorrow’s afternoon tide.”
    The young doctor had not expected such an early arrival. There was so much to do to prepare to take delivery of the hundreds of specimens. But as if Sir Joseph had read his mind he interjected, “I have arranged for the storage of the items at kew, so that you can work on them in batches in your own premises.”
    Thomas felt immense relief. “I am most grateful, sir,” he replied as Sir Joseph rose.
    “I know you are the man for the job, Silkstone,” he said, extending his hand. “I have great faith in you. Play your cards right and you will go far.”
    Thomas smiled, broadly this time, as he shook the great man’s hand. “I will not disappoint, Sir Joseph.”
     

Chapter 5
     
    M istress Cordelia Carfax shivered and gathered her silk shawl about her shoulders. The fire was lit but the heat that emanated did little to warm the air of her fashionable London drawing room. She could not decide which she loathed more: the languid Jamaican humidity or the insidious English cold. A small short-haired dog lay sprawled in front of the hearth, toasting its back. As soon as she reached for the bell, the animal sprang up and leapt onto her knee in a single bound, looking into her face with large brown eyes. She smiled. It was not something she did often. Whereas most women of her age bore the marks of expression at the corner of their lids, her temples were perfectly smooth. It was the space between her eyes that was furrowed with two parallel frown lines so deep that they were clearly planted by hatred and contempt. These lines creased a skin that was almost unnaturally pale. It was certainly very white for a woman who had spent the last thirty years of her life on a sugar plantation ten miles inland from Kingston. It was not that she painted her face with lead, as was the fashion, but that she steadfastly refused to allow the sun to touch her face, a slave shading her with a parasol every time she ventured outdoors.
    Any shows of affection Mistress Carfax did display were usually reserved for her pedigree pug. In the absence of children, the dog was a substitute. She patted the creature’s head lovingly.
    “Hello, Fino, my dear, sweet Fino.”
    Phibbah, who came rushing to answer the bell, received no such welcome. Her sullen-faced mistress pointed to the fire as it blazed brightly.
    “More coal. More logs. Anything!” she ordered. “I shall freeze to death before this winter’s out!”
    Phibbah bobbed a curtsy and, looking slightly bemused, hurried over to the grate. Picking up the poker, she prodded the embers. They flared for a moment, then settled back into their steady blaze.
    “More coal!” cried Mistress Carfax, only this time louder. The dog, sensing its mistress’s anger, jumped off her lap and sat at her feet.
    The slave reached for the fire tongs and, opening them wide, grasped a large lump of coal from the scuttle. Quickly she dropped it onto the flames, followed by another black nugget and another. All the time she was being watched by her mistress, who was drumming her fingers impatiently on the arm of her chair. The