CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

1

The roast chicken was a small celebration Henry allowed himself. It used up the last of his funds.

The table's legs wobbled so that the motion of cutting the bird sent the wine bottle and glass shaking wildly. A mongoose in a cage behind him scrabbled at the wire, smelling the fowl. Henry's first bite was ready, the fork poised, when a jabbing pain stabbed through his abdomen.

Living as a fugitive had made him resourceful. When the cramp eased he calmly put down his cutlery, wiped sweat from his upper lip, and went to the door, tensing for another cramp, a protective hand over his stomach. He stuck his head out into the bright sun of the zoo courtyard. A pile of elephant droppings filled one corner. A street boy had wandered in and sat on the ground, looking stupefied by the cages and beasts. He held a straight stick and drew aimless patterns in the dust, humming a tune.

"Hey, you there!" Henry shouted.

The boy kept drawing circles. He swatted a fly from his ear.

"Boy! Get over here!"

Another cramp seized him. He grabbed a the door frame and bent double, breathing in loud gasps until it stopped.

The boy stood, curious, maybe sensing a chance for a handout. He didn't move as Henry began retching.

As soon as he could speak, Henry said, between gasps, "Listen. I'll give you money. Go find —"  He was forced to stop for another bout of vomiting. When he finished he felt wetness seeping down his trouser legs and his strength seemed to have gushed out with it. He leaned weakly against the outer wall of the cottage.

The boy's mouth gaped but he didn't look as if he would run. "Go find Greeley. Dr. Phineas Greeley.  Eight Curzon Street, off Porter Square." Henry stopped again. His consciousness was drifting. "It's Bince. Bring him," was all he could manage before passing out.

The boy stood for a minute. He touched the toe of his boot, experimentally, to the puddle of vomit. Then he ran off. In half an hour Henry stirred and managed to drag himself back indoors. He tried to make it onto the bed but that was beyond him. He fell against a large monkey cage, knocking the door open, and lay between it and the table leg, the fork he had dropped digging into his back. The monkey, a green-furred macaque, sniffed with hesitation at the open door, but didn't go anywhere at first.

Another gush of liquid escaped his guts. The cramps stopped but the vomiting grew worse. Even though he'd hardly eaten or drunk all morning the amount of fluid spewing from his mouth was copious and thin, like dirty water. He had trouble holding his eyes open.

A light touch brushed his mouth. It was the monkey. Its rough claws made a sandy sound as it tentatively pawed him. Suddenly it leapt over him and ran for the door.

There was a knock. Henry managed to groan as loudly as he could and the door opened a few inches.

Greeley stuck his head in and then pulled back quickly at the sight of the monkey, crouching like a gargoyle a foot away. The creature bolted through the gap and a short yelp came from Greeley.

Henry gathered his strength. "It's all right. Come in." It was only a whisper, but Greeley put his head in again and saw Henry, then stepped over the threshold. A green parrot flapped on its perch, sending feathers everywhere.

"Bince? Are you ill? I have what I agreed to bring you, but if now isn't the best time —" Greeley stepped closer.

"Never mind about that. Show me her things."

"We must get you to hospital." Greeley's hands hung at his sides. "I'm sure your mother —"

"Damn the bitch. Show me." A spasm gripped his throat and the vomiting began again. Greeley watched, keeping his distance. When Henry had finished, Greeley began carefully unpacking a. satchel he carried, pulling from it an assortment of lace and silk camisoles, knickers, and petticoats. A vague, sweaty perfume began to mingle with the cholera smells. Then, with a delicate clinking, he drew out a sticky cup and saucer.

"See, just as I said. I can get more whenever you want. She used the teacup just this morning. And the laundress says the underwear is from yesterday. Now where are the letters?" Henry reached out with a shaking arm and picked up a sheer batiste camisole. "She never answered one of my letters. Not one."

Greeley turned his hands palm up, ready with a general response. "Women. I wouldn't expect much from them," He thought of Olympia as he had last seen her, lolling hugely on her sofa. Forget her complicated stepdaughter — the widow was the one to count on.

"You don't even know!" Henry shouted at Greeley. "What I offered her. I would have forgotten her past, forgiven her everything. We could have been perfect together." He paused for breath. "Listen. Forget the hospital. I know it's useless. That's not—"

"Don't talk nonsense. We could have you there in an hour."

"The letters are there. Take them." He waited, expectant, relishing the command a dying man can hold.

Greeley frowned, searched the table, and spotted the packet next to the chicken. Some of the grease had splashed from the bird and spotted the top one. The letters were frayed at the edges, tied with string.

Greeley pulled on a glove to pick them up. They were mottled and warped, as if they'd been wet and carefully dried. Some of the ink was smeared. He tested their weight, like a measure for an elixir, and looked sharply at Henry.

"And you swear these are all of them?"

Henry opened his mouth and tried to speak, gave up. He nodded.

The door creaked and Greeley jumped, jerking around. It was the macaque, pushing its way back in, eager for food. Suddenly bold, it sprang onto the table and began pulling at the chicken.

Greeley took out a handkerchief, wrapped the packet, and put it in an inner pocket of his coat.

"Let me get you out of here, Bince. We'll fix you up."

"Do what you like." 

2 

Greeley got back three hours later with two reluctant orderlies from Guy's Hospital. The macaque had crawled back in its cage. It crouched there in a corner where it gnawed the last of the chicken. Henry was dead, lying where Greeley had left him, the bundle of Lillian's underwear clutched to his chest like a child's toy bear.