Bluegate Fields - Anne Perry [58]
The surgeon was talking. He had a good face, strong without arrogance. He told the truth, sparing nothing. But he stated it as fact, without emotion or judgment. Arthur Waybourne had been homosexually used. A ripple of disgust spread through the room. Everyone doubtless already knew, but it was a pleasure, a kind of catharsis to be able to express the feeling and wallow in it. After all, that was what they had come for!
Arthur Waybourne had recently contracted syphilis. Another wave of revulsion—this time also a shudder of surprise and fear. This was disease; it was contagious. There were things about it one knew, and decent people stood in no peril. But there was always mystery with disease, and they were close enough to it for a thrill of apprehension, the cold brush of real danger. It was a disease for which there was no cure.
Then came the surprise. Giles stood up.
“You say, Dr. Cutler, that Arthur Waybourne had recently contracted syphilis?”
“Yes, that is so.”
“Unquestionably?”
“Unquestionably.”
“You could not have made a mistake? It could not be some other disease with similar symptoms?”
“No, it could not.”
“From whom did he contract this disease?”
“I have no way of knowing, sir. Except, of course, that it must have been someone who suffered from the disease.”
“Precisely. That would not tell you who it was—but it would tell you undoubtedly who it was not!”
“Of course.”
There was a shifting in the seats. The judge leaned forward.
“So much would appear to be obvious, Mr. Giles, even to the veriest imbecile. If you have a point, please come to it, sir!”
“Yes, my lord. Dr. Cutler, have you examined the prisoner with the purpose of determining whether he has or has ever had syphilis?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And has he that disease?”
“No, sir, he has not. Nor has he any other communicable disease. He is in good health, as good as a man may be under such stress.”
There was silence. The judge screwed up his face and stared at the doctor with dislike.
“Do I understand you to say, sir, that the prisoner did not pass on this disease to the victim, Arthur Waybourne?” he asked icily.
“That is correct, my lord. It would have been impossible.”
“Then who did? How did he get it? Did he inherit it?”
“No, my lord, it was in the early stages, such as is found when it has been sexually transmitted. Congenital syphilis would betray entirely different symptoms.”
The judge sighed heavily and leaned back, a look of long-suffering on his face.
“I see. And of course you cannot say from whom he did contract it!” He blew his nose. “Very well, Mr. Giles, you appear to have made your point. Pray continue.”
“That is all, my lord. Thank you, Dr. Cutler.”
Before he could go, however, Land shot to his feet.
“Just a moment, Doctor! Did the police subsequently ask you to verify a diagnosis of another person, who did have syphilis?”
Cutler smiled dryly. “Several.”
“One with particular reference to this case?” Land said sharply.
“They did not tell me—it would be hearsay.” The doctor seemed to find some pleasure in being obstructively literal.
“Abigail Winters?” Land’s temper was rising. His case was flawless and he knew it, but he was being made to look inefficient in front of the court, and he resented it.
“Yes, I did examine Abigail Winters, and she does have syphilis,” Cutler conceded.
“Communicable?”
“Certainly.”
“And what is Abigail Winters’s profession—or trade, if you prefer?”
“I have no idea.”
“Don’t be naïve, Dr. Cutler! You know as well as I do what her trade is!”
Cutler’s wide mouth showed only the slightest of smiles.
“I’m afraid you have the advantage of me, sir.”
There was a twitter around the court and Land’s face flushed dull red. Even from behind him, Charlotte could see the color stain his neck. She was glad her veil hid her own expression. This was neither the place nor the time to be amused.
Land opened his mouth and closed it again.
“You are excused!” he said furiously. “I call Sergeant Harcourt Gillivray.”
Gillivray took the stand and swore to his name and office. He looked freshly scrubbed and neat