Corridors of the Night (38 page)

Magnus turned to Hester. He looked as desperate as Radnor, as if posed on a cliff edge with the devil behind him and the long fall to the rocks below.

Hester looked at Radnor, meeting his eyes. He stared back at her without flinching. There was a terrible black laughter inside him, as if even in dying he had won a victory over her, his will over hers. In that moment the last doubt in Hester’s mind vanished that he had killed Adrienne. She realised that he was quite aware that she knew it, and could do nothing. He was also perfectly sure that she would care for him now, whatever she felt. If she failed to do so, that would be his final victory over her. He would have destroyed what she believed in. It was not the defeat over death that he wanted, but it would be a defeat of the life he had to leave to others, and no longer share.

He smiled at her, past Magnus, as if he had not been there.

‘I need another transfusion,’ he said a little hoarsely. His voice was weak. ‘You know how to do that, don’t you, Mrs Monk? You’ve helped poor Hamilton often enough – you know it by heart. And I’m sure you will have children you can use somewhere in the hospital.

There was an aching timeless silence.

Thoughts flew through Hester’s mind. Did she want to save Radnor? With Hamilton Rand dead, did she have the skills? She had watched, but never done it alone. What if she made an error?

The doctor’s oath – first do no harm.

She thought of Orme bleeding to death, and Monk’s grief, which he was trying so hard to conceal.

How do you learn for the future, except try with the unknown?

Some things you discover, like fire. Others you have to invent, like the wheel.

It was Magnus who spoke. ‘I’m not as good as Hamilton was, but I’ll try. And Mrs Monk will help me.’ He turned to her. ‘Won’t you?’ There was pleading naked in his eyes, urgency. Surely not to save Radnor’s life. Was it to redeem the reputation of the hospital? And was he aware of the exquisite irony of using Hamilton’s invention to save the man for whose crime he was hanged?

‘Please?’ Magnus said softly.

If she refused, and with whatever reason she gave, Radnor would have won, or he would believe he had. Perhaps in the future she would believe it too. Excuses would become weaker and weaker until she knew them for lies.

‘Yes . . . yes, of course I will.’ She turned to Magnus. ‘We must be quick.’

‘Good,’ he accepted. ‘Thank you. Have him brought to the room we used before. The machine is still there. I’ll go and get the blood and prepare it. I know exactly what Hamilton did. Just . . . just take care of him.’ Before she could reply Magnus turned sharply and left the room. They could hear his footsteps fade away down the corridor.

A moment later a porter appeared with a wheeled chair and together they helped Radnor into it and as carefully as possible, took him to the transfusion room.

They lifted him on to the bed. Hester was horrified at how light he was, as if half the substance had gone from the man who had cut such an impressive figure in the courtroom twice, to give shattering evidence that had altered the courses of two trials. One had freed Hamilton Rand and sent him rising to the peak of his career. And the other had condemned him to be hanged.

Alone with him, Hester made him as comfortable as she could. He was feverish; she knew it even before taking his temperature, or his light, erratic pulse. She bathed him in cool water before helping him into one of the hospital nightshirts. She did it carefully, very gently so as not to further bruise his body. Adrienne could not have been more tender.

It pleased him, as if he had made her do it.

‘I travelled,’ he told her hoarsely. ‘I went to France, Mrs Monk. I stared up at the sun and watched through half-closed lids the coast of Normandy, great skies with the white clouds drifting across them like ships with gigantic sails set. I smelled the wind in the ripe grass, up to my thighs, tangled with wild flowers and scented sweet as heaven. I lay on the dry earth and made love under the trees, hearing their leaves whisper of eternity.’

She did not answer.

‘You think I’m going to burn in hell, don’t you?’ he challenged her. ‘Some religious hell of infinite pain, no doubt. It will be a new adventure, because I’ve already been to heaven.’ He strained to keep his concentration on her.

She looked him in the face, seeing the wasted flesh on it and the burning, challenging eyes.

‘I think hell is the vision of heaven you can’t taste or touch, Mr Radnor. A place where you gradually lose the ability to feel anything except anger and self-pity, and the infinite regret for what you could have had, but threw away. Eventually you will become an empty wraith, incapable of beholding heaven at all, even if you could imagine it, except as an old dream you can’t hold on to any more. But you will never forget that you could have had it, only you let it go.’

He stared back at her. ‘Damn you!’ he hissed between his teeth. ‘Damn you!’ All the hatred in his soul was in the words, and in his eyes.

Magnus returned, looking from one to the other of them. ‘Have you prepared him, Mrs Monk? We have no time to waste. It’s nearly four o’clock already.’

‘Yes, he’s prepared,’ she replied, facing Magnus and turning her back on Radnor.

Magnus nodded. It was some time since he had assisted Hamilton, far longer than since Hester had, so he was very careful and relied on Hester’s help. He attached the bottle of fresh blood to the contraption, checked that all the pieces were connected and working, and then inserted the needle into the vein in the crook of Radnor’s arm. He opened the valve and the transfusion began.

Radnor lay smiling, as if even watching the deep red blood enter his body brought him strength. Or perhaps it was his victory over Hester and Magnus Rand that seemed to invigorate him. After all he had done to Hamilton, it was Hamilton’s invention that would save his life, yet again. And Hester and Magnus would watch it.

It was slow. Magnus was meticulous. Everything was right. He had Hester check and double check.

By midnight, the procedure was completed. Radnor was sleeping peacefully, a half-smile on his face. Magnus was so pale and tense Hester was afraid for him. She sent word for Sherryl, whom she trusted both for honour and for skill, to come and watch Radnor. Then Hester persuaded Magnus to go to one of the empty rooms and lie down. Sherryl would send for him if there were any change. She accepted his order that she go home. She longed to go home to Monk and creep into bed beside him, feel his arms around her. Perhaps she would tell him all that she had felt, the conflicting emotions inside her. But, on second thoughts, it would be better not to speak of it at all, simply to be beside him.

In the morning both she and Monk woke up late. Monk was in the kitchen making a cup of tea and she was coming down the stairs when there was a knock on the door. She went to answer it, expecting it to be Hooper enquiring where Monk was. But when she opened the door it was Magnus Rand standing on the step. He looked haggard, and so pale he could have been on the point of collapse.

‘Come in,’ she said immediately. ‘Please . . .’ She stepped back to allow him to pass her and walk unsteadily into the sitting room. He collapsed rather than sat down in the large chair beside the fire.

She followed him in, afraid he was seriously ill. He looked weaker and more exhausted than even long hours or the horror of his brother’s death could account for. She looked at him gravely.

‘I can get you a strong cup of tea, but you need more than that. Please tell me honestly what is wrong with you, and what I can do.’

He looked up at her. His eyes were red-rimmed, his skin totally without colour.

‘Have you been up all night?’ she asked quietly.

‘Pretty well,’ he replied. ‘Bryson Radnor died at about four o’clock, or a little after. Horribly,’ he added. ‘I didn’t think it would be as bad as it was.’ He smiled with a faraway look, as if reliving what he had seen and which now was indelibly graven into his mind. ‘It’s a while since we lost a patient to the white blood disease.’

‘We did all we could,’ she told him, emphasising each word. ‘He had many months more of life than he would have had without your treatment.’

Monk walked past them into the room and stopped beside Magnus. He looked down at him with intense pity.

‘Hester, the kettle is about to boil. I think Dr Rand needs a mug of hot, sweet tea. You’d better make it as strong as you can, and put a good tablespoon of brandy into it.’

She hesitated only a moment then went to do as he asked. Rand must ache with grief and loss. Now he must feel defeat on top of that. He needed help; above all he needed some kind of friendship. Hamilton’s death had taken from him all the family he had, a man who had been both brother and father to him.

Monk sat down on the chair opposite Magnus.

‘What happened?’ he asked gently. He needed to know, in case the answer jeopardised Hester in some way. Whatever his pity for Magnus, he could not allow that.

Magnus looked across at him, no artifice in his face at all.

‘We gave him a blood transfusion,’ he replied. ‘Or more exactly, I did, and Mrs Monk helped me. She’s an extremely good nurse. But I expect you know that.’

‘You did it the same way your brother did?’

‘Exactly. Your wife would tell you that. She was with me all the time.’ He took a long, deep breath and let it out in a sigh. ‘She did everything she could. She is in no way responsible for anything that happened. And no one could think it, I promise you.’

‘Then how did Radnor die?’ Monk pressed him.

Magnus smiled with exquisite irony. ‘We did not have the Roberts children any more. They are doing well, I believe.’

‘Yes, they are. So whose blood did you give to Radnor?’

‘Two pints of it,’ Magnus answered. ‘I feel like hell . . .’

‘Whose blood?’ Monk repeated, watching Magnus’s ashen face.

‘Why, my own,’ Magnus replied, his eyes unwavering from Monk’s. ‘I couldn’t give him somebody else’s, could I? Knowing what he was . . . without their permission . . .’ He smiled very slowly. ‘I am afraid he died a very hard death, even if it was comparatively quick. Not as quick as hanging, of course.’

‘Did you know it would kill him?’ Monk whispered.

‘I was pretty sure.’

Monk was silent for several seconds – in fact, until he heard Hester’s step along the passage, bringing the tea.

‘I suppose he insisted?’ he said at last.

‘Oh, yes! Medical obligation to try,’ Magnus agreed. ‘But Hester didn’t know. She really didn’t.’

Hester came into the room carrying the tea, looking with concern at Magnus, then glancing at Monk.

‘You had better give it to him a bit at a time,’ Monk told her gently. It was completely unnecessary. She would do that anyway. Whoever he was, and whatever she knew or guessed, she would do that, always.