Poor Tom Is Cold (15 page)

“Open your mouth wide.”

He did and Stevens peered into it. He’d picked up some sharp instrument from another tray without Murdoch noticing and he tapped the gum where all the pain was emanating.

“Ow.” Murdoch tried not to make that a bellow.

“Hm. Did that hurt?”

His face was very close to Murdoch’s, and at this intimate distance, he saw that the dentist had a small cut on his chin where he’d nicked himself shaving.

“Um,” he replied.

“How long have you had the ache?”

“’Bout two weeks.”

“Oh, dear, that is a long time. You really should have come in sooner. I’m afraid it looks infected. It will have to come out.”

Murdoch’s thoughts must have been obvious, because the dentist patted his arm.

“Don’t worry. I have all the latest equipment. The extraction will be quite painless.”

“How long have you been practising?” Murdoch asked.

Stevens looked disconcerted. “To tell the truth, I graduated from dental college this spring. But I was in the top five of the class.”

“How many altogether, six?”

Stevens smiled uneasily and Murdoch himself grinned. “Just a joke, sir. My apologies.”

He was afraid to ask him how many patients he’d had. His tooth was throbbing again. Besides, there was something jolly about the man and sympathetic. That must count for a lot surely.

“If that’s the only thing to be done, then we’d better do it.”

“You’ll be glad. Better this than weeks of pain. And an abscess can cause the devil of a lot of problems. Look.”

He pointed at his neck just below the jaw and Murdoch saw a rather deep, round scar.

“The result of an abscessed tooth. The infection went right through to the cheek. We didn’t have very good dentistry the way we do now. So you see, I know what it’s like.” Then he shouted, “Inge!”

Almost at once, the door opened and the young woman appeared. So much for fancy telephones.

“This is Mrs., er, Mrs. Stevens. I am proud to say my wife and also my assistant.”

She smiled at Murdoch shyly. “Don’t worry, it will be over before you know it.”

She went behind the Chinese screen and came back with a linen towel that she placed over his chest, tying the ends behind his neck. She had a nice flowery smell about her that he liked. Carnations perhaps. He could hear the dentist rooting around behind him, but he
resisted the impulse to turn and investigate. Then Stevens appeared on his left-hand side. He was wheeling a small cart in which sat a long metal cylinder. There was a rubber tube looped around the top. At the end of the tube was a cone-shaped piece. He manoeuvred the cylinder closer to the chair.

“This is nitrous oxide. You’ve probably heard it called ‘laughing gas.’ It’s a wonderful discovery, I must say. Most people feel completely euphoric and it utterly takes away pain. Two ticks of the clock and it will be over.”

“I saw that stuff used at a music hall show a few years ago,” said Murdoch. “It made people do really silly things. Is that going to happen to me?”

Stevens shook his head. “This gas is for medicinal purposes, not entertainment. All that will happen is that you’ll go into a pleasant dreamlike state.”

“And the alternative?”

“We could administer laudanum or chloral hydrate but those will need an hour or so to take effect.”

Murdoch looked at Inge Stevens. Even in her severe cap and uniform there was a soft prettiness to her.

“I’ll do the gas,” he said.

The dentist nodded at his wife and she went over to the sink in the corner of the room, returning with what looked like a glass of water.

“Swill out your mouth with this and spit it out.”

Murdoch did so. The liquid had a strong, tarry kind of taste.

Mrs. Stevens dabbed at his mouth as he sat back in the chair and he was reminded of Mrs. Kitchen wiping away the blood from Arthur’s chin. The memory grabbed him and he sighed. Misunderstanding him, the young woman said softly, “You’ll probably think I’m prejudiced but Dr. Stevens is really very good. I even let him pull one of my teeth and I didn’t feel a thing.”

Murdoch hoped this hadn’t happened while they were on their wedding trip but he didn’t comment, allowing himself to surrender to their administrations. The dentist placed the rubber cone over his nose and mouth.

“Just breathe normally.”

He fiddled with a dial on the cylinder and Murdoch heard the soft hiss of the gas.

“I’m going to count backward from ten. Nice easy breaths now. Don’t gasp. All right, here we go … Ten … nine … eight …”

Murdoch’s head was beginning to spin as if the top part were rotating like a top. For a moment he wanted to fight it off, get back his control, but Inge touched his forehead and he relaxed. The spinning sensation stopped and he felt as if he were floating up, way up in the sky.

“Three … two … one.”

He started to have a lovely dream about dancing with Liza, a waltz that he was executing effortlessly. He tried to tell her how beautiful she looked in her new white silk gown, but he had a big piece of apple
in his mouth and it got in the way. He tried to roll it off his tongue but a pip stabbed him sharply. He struggled again to get rid of the fruit and suddenly it was gone. Liza was speaking to him, “Mr. Murdoch, Mr. Murdoch,” and he wondered why she was being so formal.

“Wake up, Mr. Murdoch. Wake up. We’re all done.”

He opened his eyes. Two rather anxious-looking faces were hovering above him. Dr. Stevens had nice brown eyes, he noticed, with girlishly long eyelashes. Inge’s eyes were an unusual hazel colour. Both of them beamed. “They should kiss each other,” he thought. He felt so happy that they were happy. Perhaps they should kiss him too. He smiled and felt something wet run down his chin.

“Oops,” said Mrs. Stevens, and she quickly wiped away whatever it was.

“Tooth’s out,” said Stevens. “Do you want to see it?”

“Why not.”

The dentist had been holding the tooth behind his back and he whipped it forward and held it under Murdoch’s nose. He’d used some kind of device that close up resembled a medieval thumbscrew. The ring at the end had been slipped over the tooth and then twisted. The bloody prize was firmly in its grasp.

“The infection had made the gum spongy so it lifted out like a carrot,” he said. “Now you can sit there for a while longer until the gas has worn off. Told you, didn’t hurt a bit, did it?”

“I didn’t feel a thing,” said Murdoch. He grinned broadly. What wonderful parents they will make. He wanted to put his head on the dentist’s shoulder and have it stroked. Either that or curl up in Inge’s lap and be rocked.

“Your gum will be sore for a few days. I’ve packed the hole with some absorbent cotton and you can take it out in a couple of days when the bleeding has stopped. But if it’s still bad by tomorrow, come by and I’ll fix it.”

“Like Medusa, you mean?”

Stevens looked puzzled, but he smiled politely and waited for Murdoch to stop laughing at his own joke.

“We’ll give you some laudanum and some antiseptic to rub on it. Now I should tell you that while you were under I had a check on your other teeth and you’ve got some bad cavities developing. When this has healed, you should come back and I’ll fill them.”

“Fill them?”

“Well, I can extract them if you prefer but these days we are recommending filling. Gold is good. It’ll last you a lifetime.”

“Can you sit up now, Mr. Murdoch?” Inge asked. He sat forward in the chair and then got to his feet rather shakily, enjoying the feeling of her cool hand in his.

“Do you want to keep the tooth?” Stevens asked.

“No, no thanks. It’s never been one of my favourites.”

They all chuckled, especially Murdoch, who considered he was being quite a wag today. Inge started to escort him back to the other room. At the door was a
glass-fronted cabinet and he saw it was filled with shelf after shelf of denture sets. They were all grinning at him, which made him respond in kind. Outside, in the little anteroom, not even the bill dampened his good humour. He paid up, made an appointment to come in next week, and went down the stairs, armed with his bottles of medicine.

As he headed for home, he had to admit he felt happy. The experience hadn’t been nearly as bad as he’d expected. Amazing what developments had happened in the last few years. He splashed vigorously through a puddle. Yes, indeed, he would recommend young Forbes to anyone that asked. No, that wasn’t right. His name was Stevens. And his lovely wife was Inge. Such an adorable smile she had, such gentle hands. A wife to be proud of. Suddenly he thought of Enid. He’d have to tell her the story of the denture sets. That would make her laugh. She had good teeth, just slightly crooked on the lowers. Perhaps she would go to Stevens as well. He chuckled at such a good idea and a passerby, bent under his black umbrella, glanced over at him with some alarm. Murdoch touched the brim of his hat.

“Good afternoon, lovely weather, isn’t it?”

The man didn’t respond and Murdoch continued on his way. Ahead of him was a particularly large puddle. He aimed for it and stamped through with great satisfaction. His gum was sore but the horrible white pain had gone. Hurrah for modern science.

T
HE SILENCE THROUGHOUT DINNER
was so heavy, Lewis felt as if it had landed on the back of his own neck and was bowing his head. He had spent most of the time watching the lamp in the middle of the table. Janet hadn’t cleaned it properly and it was smoking badly. A boy at his school had told him that one of their lamps had exploded, and hot oil and bits of glass flew straight into the face of their maid. “She was blinded from then on,” said the boy. Lewis had been so frightened by this story that he sat as far away as possible from the lamps at home, irritating his mother, who could not reassure him. There was a second larger lamp on the sideboard behind him, but he thought he was far enough away to be safe.

As it was a Thursday, they had had a boiled leg of pork, carrots, and parsnips, also boiled, and a pease pudding which always accompanied the pork. His mother made up the menus and they were exactly the
same from week to week, unless they had company, which happened rarely. Lewis loathed pease pudding but had forced himself to eat it, knowing he would draw his grandfather’s wrath if he didn’t clear his plate. Nathaniel was in a bad skin, worse than usual, and he had not spoken to anybody the entire meal. Mamma and Papa still weren’t on speaking terms. Augusta sent all necessary requests or instructions by way of Lewis:

“Ask your father to pass the parsnips,” or “Tell your father there is no more meat.”

Even Uncle Jarius, who was usually talkative, had been quiet, and Uncle Frank might have been struck dumb for all he said.

Suddenly Lewis quailed, feeling his grandfather turn toward him.

“Stop fidgeting, boy. You’d think you had worms the way you’ve been wriggling.”

Nathaniel had a long wiry grey beard that thrust out from the sides of his chin and virtually obscured his mouth. This meant that, when he spoke, the hair below his lips moved up and down in a way that made Lewis want to giggle.

Augusta intervened quickly.

“It’s his new suit, Father. The wool is scratchy.”

She reached over and tugged the jacket collar away from Lewis’s neck.

His grandfather looked as if he were about to continue with his complaint, but Janet came into the room
with her tray. She put it down on the sideboard, aware that everyone was watching her.

“What’s the sweet?” asked Nathaniel.

“Baroness pudding, sir.”

“I hope it tastes better than it did last week. It was a soggy mess as I recall.”

Janet bobbed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Eakin. I boiled it much longer this time.”

The sweet was a suet and raisin pudding that had to cook for at least four hours.

Clumsy because of the criticism, Janet clinked the dishes noisily as she cleared the table. Nobody spoke and Jarius was the only one who assisted her by handing over his plate.

“I’ll serve, Janet. You can bring it to me,” said Augusta.

She did so and Lewis tried to catch her eye to give her a quick grin of sympathy, but she was too intent on placing the pudding dish as delicately as she could in front of his mother.

“Shall I pour the tea, ma’am?”

“No, I’ll see to it.”

Janet curtsied again and returned to the sideboard, where she piled the used china on the tray. She left as fast as she could, but she had barely closed the door when Nathaniel spoke.

“That girl is not improving, Augusta. Can you talk to her?”

“I do all the time, Father. I cannot make silk out of a cow’s ear … I mean, out of a sow’s ear.”

“Fool,” muttered Nathaniel.

Hearing him, Augusta flushed as red as her own maid had. Lewis tried to pretend he’d gone deaf and stared at the pale roll of pudding that his mother was handing him. His father had managed to withdraw his presence so completely from the table, he might as well have not been there.

Nathaniel sprinkled two large spoonfuls of sugar over his own portion and began to eat, smacking his lips. In front of him was a jug of beer that was almost empty. It was the second one he’d consumed tonight. Lewis knew that his grandfather’s mood was greatly affected by the number of jugs of beer that got emptied. Usually, it was only one, but two downed, and downed quickly, spelled trouble. He looked over at his uncle Frank. He wasn’t drinking anything at all, although he usually shared a carafe of wine with Jarius. Augusta only drank liquor at special occasions or if she was ill, and her husband did likewise. Lewis wished she would pour the tea. He was allowed a cup now as long as it was heavily supplemented with milk, and he enjoyed the feeling of being grown-up that it gave him. However, Augusta didn’t move; instead she nibbled at her pudding. Lewis had only recently been accorded the privilege of eating with the grown-ups at the evening meal. So far he heartily wished he was in the kitchen with Cullie, even
though that afternoon she had frightened him by recounting the tale of the policeman who had died. She’d heard all this from the baker’s boy.

“For love. Imagine that. Shot his brains out with his very own gun. They were all over the place. That and the blood. It was so thick you’d think the room had been painted red.”