brother’s lightning shifts of conversation, and made the adjustment easily. ‘Well, it was rather a shock.’
He laughed – if tremulously – at Hal’s glower, and Dottie squirmed round in her father’s arms, reaching out her own plump little arms appealingly to her uncle.
‘Flirt,’ he told her, taking her from Hal. ‘No, really, it was remarkable. You know how it feels when you break a bone? That sort of jolt before you feel the pain, that goes right through you, and you go blind for a moment and feel like someone’s driven a nail through your belly? It was like that, only much stronger, and it went on for longer. Stopped my breath,’ he admitted. ‘Quite literally. And my heart, too, I think. Dr Hunter – you know, the anatomist? – was there, and pounded on my chest to get it started again.’
Hal was listening with close attention, and asked several questions, which Grey answered automatically, his mind occupied with this latest surprising communiqué.
Charlie Carruthers. They’d been young officers together, though from different regiments. Fought beside one another in Scotland, gone round London together for a bit on their next leave. They’d had – well, you couldn’t call it an affair. Three or four brief encounters – sweating, breathless quarters of an hour in dark corners that could be conveniently forgotten in daylight, or shrugged off as the result of drunkennness, not spoken of by either party.
That had been in the Bad Time, as he thought of it; those years after Hector’s death, when he’d sought oblivion wherever he could find it – and found it often – before slowly recovering himself.
Likely he wouldn’t have recalled Carruthers at all, save for the one thing.
Carruthers had been born with an interesting deformity – he had a double hand. While Carruthers’s right hand was normal in appearance and worked quite as usual, there was another, dwarf hand that sprang from his wrist and nestled neatly against its larger partner. Dr Hunter would probably pay hundreds for that hand, Grey thought, with a mild lurch of the stomach.
The dwarf hand had only two short fingers and a stubby thumb, but Carruthers could open and close it, though not without also opening and closing the larger one. The shock when Carruthers had closed both of them simultaneously on Grey’s prick had been nearly as extraordinary as had the electric eel’s.
‘Nicholls hasn’t been buried yet, has he?’ he asked abruptly, the thought of the eel party and Dr Hunter causing him to interrupt some remark of Hal’s.
Hal looked surprised.
‘Surely not. Why?’ He narrowed his eyes at Grey. ‘You don’t mean to attend the funeral, surely?’
‘No, no,’ Grey said hastily. ‘I was only thinking of Dr Hunter. He, um, has a certain reputation . . . and Nicholls did go off with him. After the duel.’
‘A reputation as what, for God’s sake?’ Hal demanded impatiently.
‘As a body-snatcher,’ Grey blurted.
There was a sudden silence, awareness dawning in Hal’s face. He’d gone pale.
‘You don’t think— no! How could he?’
‘A . . . um . . . hundredweight or so of stones being substituted just prior to the coffin’s being nailed shut is the usual method – or so I’ve heard,’ Grey said, as well as he could with Dottie’s fist being poked up his nose.
Hal swallowed. Grey could see the hairs rise on his wrist.
‘I’ll ask Harry,’ Hal said, after a short silence. ‘The funeral can’t have been arranged yet, and if . . .’
Both brothers shuddered reflexively, imagining all too exactly the scene as an agitated family member insisted upon raising the coffin lid, to find . . .
‘Maybe better not,’ Grey said, swallowing. Dottie had left off trying to remove his nose, and was patting her tiny hand over his lips as he talked. The feel of it on his skin . . .
He peeled her gently off and gave her back to Hal.
‘I don’t know what use Charles Carruthers thinks I might be to
He laughed – if tremulously – at Hal’s glower, and Dottie squirmed round in her father’s arms, reaching out her own plump little arms appealingly to her uncle.
‘Flirt,’ he told her, taking her from Hal. ‘No, really, it was remarkable. You know how it feels when you break a bone? That sort of jolt before you feel the pain, that goes right through you, and you go blind for a moment and feel like someone’s driven a nail through your belly? It was like that, only much stronger, and it went on for longer. Stopped my breath,’ he admitted. ‘Quite literally. And my heart, too, I think. Dr Hunter – you know, the anatomist? – was there, and pounded on my chest to get it started again.’
Hal was listening with close attention, and asked several questions, which Grey answered automatically, his mind occupied with this latest surprising communiqué.
Charlie Carruthers. They’d been young officers together, though from different regiments. Fought beside one another in Scotland, gone round London together for a bit on their next leave. They’d had – well, you couldn’t call it an affair. Three or four brief encounters – sweating, breathless quarters of an hour in dark corners that could be conveniently forgotten in daylight, or shrugged off as the result of drunkennness, not spoken of by either party.
That had been in the Bad Time, as he thought of it; those years after Hector’s death, when he’d sought oblivion wherever he could find it – and found it often – before slowly recovering himself.
Likely he wouldn’t have recalled Carruthers at all, save for the one thing.
Carruthers had been born with an interesting deformity – he had a double hand. While Carruthers’s right hand was normal in appearance and worked quite as usual, there was another, dwarf hand that sprang from his wrist and nestled neatly against its larger partner. Dr Hunter would probably pay hundreds for that hand, Grey thought, with a mild lurch of the stomach.
The dwarf hand had only two short fingers and a stubby thumb, but Carruthers could open and close it, though not without also opening and closing the larger one. The shock when Carruthers had closed both of them simultaneously on Grey’s prick had been nearly as extraordinary as had the electric eel’s.
‘Nicholls hasn’t been buried yet, has he?’ he asked abruptly, the thought of the eel party and Dr Hunter causing him to interrupt some remark of Hal’s.
Hal looked surprised.
‘Surely not. Why?’ He narrowed his eyes at Grey. ‘You don’t mean to attend the funeral, surely?’
‘No, no,’ Grey said hastily. ‘I was only thinking of Dr Hunter. He, um, has a certain reputation . . . and Nicholls did go off with him. After the duel.’
‘A reputation as what, for God’s sake?’ Hal demanded impatiently.
‘As a body-snatcher,’ Grey blurted.
There was a sudden silence, awareness dawning in Hal’s face. He’d gone pale.
‘You don’t think— no! How could he?’
‘A . . . um . . . hundredweight or so of stones being substituted just prior to the coffin’s being nailed shut is the usual method – or so I’ve heard,’ Grey said, as well as he could with Dottie’s fist being poked up his nose.
Hal swallowed. Grey could see the hairs rise on his wrist.
‘I’ll ask Harry,’ Hal said, after a short silence. ‘The funeral can’t have been arranged yet, and if . . .’
Both brothers shuddered reflexively, imagining all too exactly the scene as an agitated family member insisted upon raising the coffin lid, to find . . .
‘Maybe better not,’ Grey said, swallowing. Dottie had left off trying to remove his nose, and was patting her tiny hand over his lips as he talked. The feel of it on his skin . . .
He peeled her gently off and gave her back to Hal.
‘I don’t know what use Charles Carruthers thinks I might be to
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