The Scent of Death Read Online Free PDF Page A

and sit with us, my dear,’ the Judge said, stretching out his hand to her. ‘We shall send for fresh tea.’
    ‘Would you excuse me this once, sir?’ Mrs Arabella took the Judge’s hand in both of hers. ‘My head is still splitting – it is this terrible heat, I think.’ She stroked her father-in-law’s hand as though it were a small animal in need of reassurance. ‘I came down for a moment to welcome Mr Savill. I would not want him to think us unmannerly.’
    ‘Never that, madam,’ I said. ‘You are politeness itself. But I am sorry you are indisposed.’
    ‘You must take something,’ the Judge said. ‘Have Miriam mix you up a James’s Powder. I’m sure it will answer.’
    ‘Yes, sir, you may be sure I shall.’
    Mrs Arabella kissed her parents-in-law. She curtsied to me and left the room.
    ‘The dear child should not overdo it,’ the Judge observed, sinking back into his chair.
    The flurry of movement gave me the opportunity to withdraw. I had been up at dawn, I explained, and my first day ashore had been a tiring one.
    ‘Be so good as to ring the bell, sir,’ the Judge said. ‘Josiah will bring a candle and take you up to your chamber.’
    The manservant conducted me up the stairs. My room was at the back of the house on the second floor. Square and low-ceilinged, it was dominated by a high bed with an enormous feather mattress. My bags and boxes had been brought up during the day.
    I dismissed the man for the night. It struck me that it was only now, for the first time in over five weeks, that I was alone. Noak had always been there on the
Earl of Sandwich
, usually within arm’s reach. Even in the ship’s heads, someone else had generally been beside me or at least within sight and sound. Nor had I been alone today. Indeed, my overwhelming impression was that this was a city where it would be almost impossible to be solitary, for the streets and buildings were packed with people – townsfolk, refugees, British and Loyalist soldiers, and the crowds of followers that accumulate around an army.
    I undressed, allowing my clothes to lie where they fell. For a moment I stood naked at the foot of the bed, hoping for a draught to cool my skin. But the air was warm and motionless.
    I was too tired to read. Leaving the bed-curtains tied back, I climbed into bed. I laid myself on top of the bedclothes. The mattress enveloped me. I pinched out the candle.
    The darkness was soft and caressing. I found myself thinking of Mrs Arabella. Because the drawing room had been so dimly lit, and because she had not come close to any of the candles, I had not seen her face clearly – it had been no more than a pale smudge floating above her body.
    My impression of her derived from information provided by other senses. First, there had been the scent of otto of roses: but the smell of it had combined with the private odours of Mrs Arabella herself to form something richer and denser. Second, I remembered her voice, which had not been like any other I knew. This was partly because she spoke with an American accent, though it was not the broad twang used by so many people I had heard today. Also, of course, she was a woman, with the soft, insinuating tone that certain women possessed.
    There had been no women aboard the
Earl of Sandwich
. To my surprise I felt my naked body responding even to this largely formless memory of Mrs Arabella with a rush of blood that both disconcerted and embarrassed me.
    Hastily I directed my attention to my wife, Augusta. I imagined her walking in the park or reading or talking about the clothes and homes of other ladies, as she seemed interminably to do; and by degrees I grew calmer.
    In the silence and the darkness, I thought about my daughter. Lizzie had wept when I left her. She was five now, and living with my sister in Shepperton, for her mother had remained in London. I prayed for my daughter’s happiness and for her preservation from all harm, as I did every night.
    As I lay