Sacred Hunger - Barry Unsworth [148]
‘You are a man of much experience,’ the Governor said, moving his almost bloodless lips in the semblance of a smile. ‘Please be seated, gentlemen. Will you take a glass of port, Captain?’
‘Thank you, sir, I will.’
‘And you, Mr Paris?’
‘I would be content with a little lemon water, something of that kind.’
‘You do not care for port then?’
‘Not in this heat.’ Paris’s tone was abrupt. Whatever the progress he had made towards humility, he was no better able than before to bear with condescension.
‘You are right, sir,’ the Governor said. ‘You are a man of sense, I can see. The captain is well seasoned and I dare say it does him no harm, but I never touch it myself in the middle hours of the day. I have some barley water here. Will that suffice?’
‘Thank you.’
‘Your port, Captain. Gentlemen, good health! I will not join you at present, pray forgive me. What I generally have at this time of afternoon, or just a little later, is a syllabub of cream and thin cider, sweetened with a modicum of honey. I find it answers very well. What do you think of such a dish, sir?’
‘Think of it?’ Paris found himself being regarded closely. For all the nonchalance of the tone, the Governor’s eyes were fixed on him with a distinct sharpness of interest. ‘I would think it healthsome and nourishing,’ he said.
‘I am glad to hear you say that, sir. I prepare it myself, with my own hands. To teach my last imbecile of an orderly how to make it in the right proportions took me months, gentlemen, and I cannot tell you what stores of patience. And no sooner was he schooled to it than he succumbed to an ague of some sort that is going round among the troops. I find myself unable to face the prospect of beginning all over again with another, so I do it now myself.’
The Governor paused and appeared to muse some moments, looking down his nose. ‘Yes,’ he said softly. ‘I find it answers pretty well.’
It seemed to Paris now that he could hear screams, though he could not tell from where they were coming – somewhere outside, it seemed.
‘Charles Gordon, whom you did business with, Captain, was my predecessor here,’ he heard the Governor say in his well-bred, languid tones. ‘He died of a putrid fever. He died in the room next to this one. His predecessor died in this room where we are standing, of a burst blood vessel. But whether we say they died of this or that, they both died of the same thing, gentlemen.’
‘Oh, aye, what was that?’ Thurso said with interest.
‘They died through not taking proper care of themselves. Diet is the key to it. Would you not agree, as a medical man, Mr Paris?’
‘I do not know. There are other factors in a climate such as this one. Certainly, diet is important.’ The screams were coming from somewhere below them. Paris glanced towards the windows. The drapes were drawn against the strong light. He thought of the flights of stairs they had mounted to come here. The rooms must lie along the ramparts of the fort, facing the afternoon sun …
‘Yes, I am sorry,’ the Governor said. He had noticed the surgeon’s distraction. ‘There is a private of marines being flogged; they have chosen just this time to do it and sounds rise to us here from the courtyards in spite of –’
‘Well, you need not apologize to us, sir,’ Paris said, rather too hastily. ‘Our ears will recover from the discomfort more quickly than will his back.’
The Governor’s eyebrows had risen slightly at this impetuous speech, but when he spoke his expression had resumed its usual frigid composure. ‘It was I who ordered him the flogging,’ he said. ‘He stole a snuff-box from my study and sold it for drink – it was quite clearly proved upon him. I ordered him a hundred lashes. The snuff-box was one I set particular store by, it had a sentimental value for me. You will understand