her. But she may be unable to help us.’
‘Surely she can – if Norton is right about her reasons for abandoning the maze.’
‘I agree. Yet she may still deny all knowledge. Having met her, Trenchard, I’m sure you can imagine that.’ A meaningful glance.
‘Yes. I can.’
‘Besides, what could it be? And does it really matter now that Prince Napoleon has withdrawn from the case? It cannot prove or disprove Norton’s claim. James wasn’t even born in 1846.’
‘When was he born?’
‘February 1848. Why do you ask?’
‘I don’t know, really. It’s just …’
‘You said you felt that everything Norton said was true. Does that extend to his claim to be James? We may as well know where we all stand.’
‘It could be, you know,’ Cleveland put in. ‘I know it’s tough on you fellows, but I find the chap awfully convincin’.’
‘But you, Trenchard,’ said Davenall. ‘What do you think?’
‘I don’t know your family well enough to say. I never met James. Was he … close to his father?’
‘No. That’s the strangest part of all this. Sir Gervase was the coolest, least forthcoming, least fatherly of men. I always felt he wouldn’t have given James the time of day. But, then, how well can I claim to have known him? I was his solicitor first, his cousin … hardly ever. Dr Fiveash’ – he turned towards the pacing figure by the door – ‘have you yet resolved your crisis of medical conscience?’
Fiveash glared across at them. ‘It is not to be taken lightly.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that it was. At least you can clear up this business of the death certificate. I understood Sir Gervase to have died of the continuing effects of a stroke.’ He looked back at Trenchard. ‘Sir Gervase suffered a stroke … oh, three years ago. He spent the last eighteen months of his life in a nursing home in a perfectly helpless condition. Ironically, the stroke seemed to be brought on by a series of disagreements – and open arguments – stemming from his refusal to have James pronounced dead.’ His gaze returned to Fiveash. ‘Would you care to comment, Doctor?’
Fiveash pulled himself up with a great sigh. ‘The certificate will show the cause of death as general paralysis of the insane.’
‘Insane?’
‘A mere form of words. The symptoms are not inconsistent with a stroke and, indeed, he did suffer a mild stroke.’
‘Mild? I was told at the time that it was severe.’
‘The illness was severe, the deterioration rapid, but the symptoms were of long standing. The point Norton was making is, however, a simple one. General paralysis of the insane is a common manifestation of tertiary syphilis. Put plainly , Sir Gervase died of syphilis.’ He slumped down in a chair.
Richard Davenall glanced across at his cousin. ‘Did you know of this, Hugo?’
‘Mmm?’ Sir Hugo stirred from his lethargy. ‘Yes. The old boy had the pox. Did you expect me to announce it in
The Times
?’
‘You might have told me.’
‘I didn’t consider it any of your business.’
‘It is now. Does your mother know?’
‘Not from me. And I don’t think she guessed. She never visited him, not once. I trooped out there often enough, God knows, and he’d look at me, disappointment written on his face. It wasn’t me he wanted to see. Sometimes, I didn’t even think it was Mother.’
‘But James?’
‘Yes. My precious vanished brother James.’ He suddenly grasped the tasselled fringe on the arm of his chair, twisting and grinding it in his hand. ‘That man isn’t James. He can’t be. He’s too … too damned impressive.’
‘And he is not syphilitic,’ Fiveash added mournfully.
Richard Davenall leaned across his desk, staring at the doctor intently. ‘Will you now state plainly what you declined to disclose earlier?’
‘Very well. James consulted me in April 1871 – just as Norton said. He complained of deteriorating vision, combined with watering of the eyes, spasm of
‘Surely she can – if Norton is right about her reasons for abandoning the maze.’
‘I agree. Yet she may still deny all knowledge. Having met her, Trenchard, I’m sure you can imagine that.’ A meaningful glance.
‘Yes. I can.’
‘Besides, what could it be? And does it really matter now that Prince Napoleon has withdrawn from the case? It cannot prove or disprove Norton’s claim. James wasn’t even born in 1846.’
‘When was he born?’
‘February 1848. Why do you ask?’
‘I don’t know, really. It’s just …’
‘You said you felt that everything Norton said was true. Does that extend to his claim to be James? We may as well know where we all stand.’
‘It could be, you know,’ Cleveland put in. ‘I know it’s tough on you fellows, but I find the chap awfully convincin’.’
‘But you, Trenchard,’ said Davenall. ‘What do you think?’
‘I don’t know your family well enough to say. I never met James. Was he … close to his father?’
‘No. That’s the strangest part of all this. Sir Gervase was the coolest, least forthcoming, least fatherly of men. I always felt he wouldn’t have given James the time of day. But, then, how well can I claim to have known him? I was his solicitor first, his cousin … hardly ever. Dr Fiveash’ – he turned towards the pacing figure by the door – ‘have you yet resolved your crisis of medical conscience?’
Fiveash glared across at them. ‘It is not to be taken lightly.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that it was. At least you can clear up this business of the death certificate. I understood Sir Gervase to have died of the continuing effects of a stroke.’ He looked back at Trenchard. ‘Sir Gervase suffered a stroke … oh, three years ago. He spent the last eighteen months of his life in a nursing home in a perfectly helpless condition. Ironically, the stroke seemed to be brought on by a series of disagreements – and open arguments – stemming from his refusal to have James pronounced dead.’ His gaze returned to Fiveash. ‘Would you care to comment, Doctor?’
Fiveash pulled himself up with a great sigh. ‘The certificate will show the cause of death as general paralysis of the insane.’
‘Insane?’
‘A mere form of words. The symptoms are not inconsistent with a stroke and, indeed, he did suffer a mild stroke.’
‘Mild? I was told at the time that it was severe.’
‘The illness was severe, the deterioration rapid, but the symptoms were of long standing. The point Norton was making is, however, a simple one. General paralysis of the insane is a common manifestation of tertiary syphilis. Put plainly , Sir Gervase died of syphilis.’ He slumped down in a chair.
Richard Davenall glanced across at his cousin. ‘Did you know of this, Hugo?’
‘Mmm?’ Sir Hugo stirred from his lethargy. ‘Yes. The old boy had the pox. Did you expect me to announce it in
The Times
?’
‘You might have told me.’
‘I didn’t consider it any of your business.’
‘It is now. Does your mother know?’
‘Not from me. And I don’t think she guessed. She never visited him, not once. I trooped out there often enough, God knows, and he’d look at me, disappointment written on his face. It wasn’t me he wanted to see. Sometimes, I didn’t even think it was Mother.’
‘But James?’
‘Yes. My precious vanished brother James.’ He suddenly grasped the tasselled fringe on the arm of his chair, twisting and grinding it in his hand. ‘That man isn’t James. He can’t be. He’s too … too damned impressive.’
‘And he is not syphilitic,’ Fiveash added mournfully.
Richard Davenall leaned across his desk, staring at the doctor intently. ‘Will you now state plainly what you declined to disclose earlier?’
‘Very well. James consulted me in April 1871 – just as Norton said. He complained of deteriorating vision, combined with watering of the eyes, spasm of
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