The Dead Shall Not Rest by Tessa Harris Page B

“If these documents stand up to scrutiny,” he said, pointing to the satchel, “and there is enough support from those of high rank, then there is every possibility of success.”
    Lydia suddenly felt reassured. “So, you will act on behalf of Mr. Byrne?”
    “I shall draw up a contract, if it is your wish, my lady,” he said, leaning forward in an intimate manner.
    “Yes, yes, it is.” Lydia nodded, allowing herself to smile.
    “Then I shall make ready the necessary paperwork and we shall arrange to meet again next week so that Mr. Byrne can sign the relevant documents of engagement.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Marchant,” she said, and she rose to leave the office. She only hoped she had just taken a decision that she would not come to regret.

Chapter14
    C harles Byrne lay on his bed, thinking of home. Closing his eyes, he could see the sun shimmering on the glassy lough and the green-clad hills beyond. He could hear the gulls as they swooped and called over the water and he could smell the heather on the breeze and he wondered if he would ever return.
    A timid knock broke his rest. Emily put her head around the door.
    “Mistress Goodbody said I was to check on you, sir.” She walked toward the bed. “Can I fetch you some water, or food, perhaps? Cook has made some broth.”
    Charles opened his eyes to see her face, fresh and youthful, looking down on him. He saw tendrils of pale blond hair peeking out from underneath her cap and the cherry red of her full lips.
    “Will you sit with m-me?” he asked slowly.
    Emily was straightening the bedcovers and stopped still at his words. She dared not look at him.
    “Mistress Goodbody would scold me for that, sir. She would tell me I ought to be scrubbing or cleaning the brasses.”
    Charles Byrne’s gaze remained fixed on her face. “And what would you say, Emily?” He said her name slowly and deliberately.
    She allowed herself to look at him, his black hair spread out, his eyes tired and sad, and his skin so white that it was almost the same color as his pillow.
    “I would say I would, sir.”
    His face broke into a grin. “Then I would say I was a lucky man.”
    They smiled at each other, and their smiles dissolved any barrier there had been between them before. Charles raised himself on his elbows and Emily plumped up his pillows. “In that case,” he said, “I shall ask you to bring me a bowl of broth.”
    “Very good, sir,” she said, curtsying.
    He shook his head. “I am Charles.”
    “Very good, Charles.”
    She turned to go, but just before she went out of the door, he called her back.
    “Tell Mistress Goodbody that my h-hands are very shaky,” he said, holding up his right hand and waving it loosely in jest. “I shall need you to feed me.”
     
    Thomas had spent much of the afternoon lecturing on the physiology of the liver and was collecting up his papers as two or three dozen students were filing out of the theater when he spied a familiar face approaching.
    “Ah, Carrington,” he said. The student smiled briefly, but seemed unusually earnest. Gone was the affable ease that had so impressed Thomas before. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
    “May we talk in private?”
    The doctor ushered him into an adjoining consulting room and bade him sit. “What is it?”
    The young man looked apprehensive and wrung his hands nervously in front of him on his lap. “It concerns Dr. Hunter, sir,” he began. “I felt you were the only person I could turn to.”
    “Go on,” urged Thomas.
    “Last week I went to his laboratory late to continue some work for him, but I was overcome with sleep. I went into the small room that lies just off the laboratory for a quick nap. I must have been asleep for about half an hour when I heard Dr. Hunter return. I did not want to be chastised, not again. I knew it could mean an end to my career with him, so I hid in the room. There was a knothole near the bottom of the door, so I crouched down to see what he was