Quarantine: A Novel (44 page)

a small brown bottle, and placed it on the nightstand. “Much has changed in such a short period of time.”

It had been a week since the morning when Cedella returned

from the outhouse, looking confused and, he thought, troubled.

He asked if something was the matter, but she went about her

business, preparing tea and rolling dough to bake bread. In such a short time she had made his grandfather’s small house clean and tidy, a place he longed to return to each night. Finally, once the dough was in the oven, she sat in the rocking chair, tears rolling down her cheeks. And when he knelt beside her she told him that

for several weeks now her blood had not flowed.

“We plan to marry next month,” he said.

“Do you now?” Mrs. Sumner asked.

“And in the spring I hope to begin to rebuild our house on

Orange Street. Only the chimney remains from the old house,

but it can be repaired, and it will provide a strong foundation for the timbers.” Suddenly, he was overcome with the desire to tell

her, to say what he had been thinking. “We will need the room.”

“Cedella, yes. I’m not surprised that she proved durable.”

“We have not told anyone yet.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” She turned her head away on the

pillow. “But you must tell me something else. Marie, you see her?”

“Yes, of course. She resides there in Market Square, and she

gave me Dr. Wiggins’s medicine bag and instruments. At his

instructions, evidentially.”

“I have sent Fields, but she refuses to come and see me. One

cannot blame her, under the circumstances.”

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“Well, she herself is much occupied.”

Mrs. Sumner now turned her head to look at him, and her stare

had such force that he sat down on the side of the bed. Highly

inappropriate, Dr. Bradshaw would say, but she didn’t seem to

mind. And then her hand, her right hand, reached out and took

hold of his wrist. “She is with child, is she?”

Leander nodded.

“Fields wasn’t certain but suggested as much.” Her hand moved

down until her fingers entwined with his, dry and surprisingly

firm. “Now, you must understand some things about this family.

When I learned that Giles had died and been buried at sea, it was a shock, but after seeing him, feverish, with his leg amputated, I was somewhat prepared. But a week later word came that a ship bound

for London had gone down in a storm a day out from Halifax, and

that’s when I collapsed. Samuel was aboard that ship. Stupid, abject Samuel. But it hit me with such force. At first I didn’t understand why. But lying here these weeks, I came to realize that with Giles and Samuel gone, it would soon mean the end of this family. And

I had such hopes for it. You may think me a devious, conniving

old woman, but this desire was always behind my every thought

and action. But now we may have a future, and it’s up to Marie,

whom I pushed out of this house.” She held his hand tightly. “So you must watch over them, see that these children grow strong

and well.” He was perplexed, but she only stared at him. “You

must promise me this.”

“I will, of course.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” She let go of his hand and closed her

eyes.

He got to his feet, picking up his hat and medicine bag, looked

down at her once more, and left the room. Fields was waiting out in the hall, and he gave Leander the slightest bow before entering the bedroom and shutting the door behind him.

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Leander descended the front stairs and found Benjamin standing in the vestibule, his hands clasped behind his back. “Must I address my former assistant as Doctor now?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“It’s that damned leather bag and such a fine leather hat—

they’re the only thing that separates you from the stable boy who’s up to his knees in manure.”

“True,” Leander said, “though the hat belonged to my

grandfather.”

“I see, an heirloom to keep you warm through the coming

long winter.” Benjamin gestured toward the library down the

hall.
“He
wants a word.”

“Really?” Leander started down the hall, pausing to look back

at Benjamin. “Rachel, how is she doing?”

Benjamin extended his hands in front of his stomach. “She

thinks twins. Runs in the family, apparently. If I had only

known—”

“What would you have done?”

“Given half measure?”

“You, sir, are incapable of doing so, in anything.”

Benjamin gave a slight, mocking bow.

Leander continued on down the hall and knocked on the library

door, and from within Mr. Sumner said, “Come in.” The door

creaked as it opened. The curtains were drawn and it was quite

dark; Leander stepped inside and shut the door. He could barely

see his former master, lying on the daybed. What little light was in the room seemed to be concentrated in the reflection off the wine bottle that stood on the floor by Mr. Sumner’s hand. The room was stuffy, but the air was sweetened by the smell of Madeira.

“How is she?”

“Resting comfortably, sir.”

“I wish I were.” He pointed toward a chair by the desk.

“Come, sit down. No formalities, understand? Besides, I’m too

poor now.”

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Leander sat in the chair and placed his hat and bag on the floor by his feet.

“Wine?”

“No, no thank you.”

“She’s had an awful turn, you know. First Giles, and then

Samuel. I suppose I’ve always been motivated by jealousy, first

toward my younger brother—she always favored him, you

know—so I thought—” he swept his arm above his head, as

though presenting the room, lined with hundreds of volumes—“I

thought this, a fine house, with gardens and stables and all, this might impress her. And then my own son, Samuel. She took to

that overfed, worthless child as if he were her own. Out of sym-

pathy, I would tell myself. But, still, it hurts. Sad, really. So much of what we do, what we become is the result of the first thing we desire in life: mother’s love.” He picked up the bottle of wine, raised it to his mouth, and drank. When he lowered the bottle, he held it out toward Leander. “You sure? I believe we once shared

a bottle, didn’t we?”

“Yes, one night out in the orchard.”

“Right. Poisoned—I was convinced it was poisoned. Well,

you survived that.”

“Thank you, no.”

Mr. Sumner held the bottle in his lap. “So, you’re a professional man now, though it never much got in Giles’s way. This is why I

want to speak with you. The night he died aboard that ship,
The
Golden Hand.
He told me something I know he wanted me to pass on to you. It’s why you inherited that medicine bag of his, which was the only thing he really had to give to his son.”

“Sir?”

“You heard me.”

Mrs. Sumner had said
them—you must watch over them.
Leander scratched his cheek, repeatedly. “His son? I’m his son?”

“Your mother never let on?”

“No.”

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“You had no idea.”

Leander took his hand away from his face and looked at it as

though it might reveal something. “No, not exactly. But—but I

suppose there were moments when I felt that there was something

between them. I recall once he said something about my eyes

resembling hers.” He folded his hands in his lap and looked toward the window. A thin shaft of sunlight passed between the curtains, and a constellation of dust motes drifted in the air. “And the

morning after Dr. Wiggins inspected your ship
Miranda,
I recall that when I told my mother about it, she seemed, I don’t know,

different, keenly aware in a way I didn’t understand. I thought it had to do with the quarantine.”

“Yes, well, they did the proper thing, those two, and kept

their love in quarantine for all those years. A weaker man and

woman . . . but no matter now.” Mr. Sumner raised the bottle

to his mouth again and finished it off. “So, that makes you—it

makes us related. You’re my nephew, I believe.”

“I suppose that is so.”

“Which is why I must tell you that I cannot—you see, all these

years Giles looked after Mother, and she insisted that I compensate him fairly, but now I’m afraid I won’t be able to do this—”

“It’s not necessary, sir.”

“—but you see—” again he gestured with his arm, “most

everything is taken, sold off. This furniture, my library, most

of my ships, everything. And I still have creditors a-knocking,

demanding their due. I don’t have enough to square things with

everyone, and eventually this house will go on the block.” He

lowered his arm. “Then where will I be?”

“Your mother said you have ships that will return in the

spring.”

“She believes that, does she? Good.” Mr. Sumner turned on

the daybed and placed his feet on the floor. He put the bottle down and rested his elbows on his thighs. “I must ask you, nephew, if you’ll still continue to care for her—I can’t deny her that.”

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“Of course I will, sir. I’ll look in on her regularly.”

“Good. Your compensation will be somewhat unusual, but I

hope it will suffice.”

Mr. Sumner got to his feet, rather unsteadily, and offered his

hand. This was, Leander realized, intended as a compliment.

They shook hands, and immediately Mr. Sumner sat down on

the daybed, stretched out, and turned his head away. Leander

picked up his hat and medicine bag and went to the door. Before

going out, he looked back toward the daybed, but it was so dark

he could barely see Mr. Sumner.

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Benjamin was waiting out in the hall.

“He mentioned the matter of your compensation?”

Leander nodded.

“This way, then.”

Benjamin led him down the hall and into the kitchen, which

was empty except for the heavy old woman who had once given

Leander a bowl of stew, and Rachel, who was large with child,

tending to a pot hanging in the fireplace. She looked up uncer-

tainly, and she offered Leander the faintest smile.

Benjamin led him out into the courtyard. “Delivered any

babies yet?”

“Assisted.”

“No trick to it, I understand. Though making them’s more to

my liking. It’s the one thing I’m good at. My father says making sons is as easy as blowing a feather off your knee. Daughters, easier.”

“I will be visiting Mrs. Sumner again soon, so perhaps I could

have a look at Rachel?”

“We’d appreciate it, Doctor. And I have yet another favor to

ask when you return.”

They crossed the courtyard and entered the stable. It was cold

inside, and the stalls were empty. Oddly, there was no noise, no 360

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activity; there had always been the sound of work being done—

hammers, saws, the sigh of the bellows in the blacksmith’s shop.

Now there was only silence. At the back of the stable they came

to the groom’s office. The door was open, and Mr. Penrose was

asleep in a chair, wrapped in a blanket before the small stove. His breathing was labored.

Benjamin touched Leander on the sleeve, and led him toward

the back doors of the stable. “Between the Madame, Master

Sumner, and my father, I don’t know who’s going to go first. I

just want to see that he’s comfortable.”

“We’ll see what we can do for him.” Leander stopped and

placed his bag on a bale of hay. He took out a bottle and gave it to Benjamin. “This should ease the congestion in his lungs.”

Benjamin nodded as he put the bottle in his vest pocket. “He’s

been going downhill since the night that that Boston man died.”

“Mr. Clapp.”

“They fixed the scoundrel, though it almost killed my father.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t know?”

“The Boston man washed up on Joppa Flats, dead. Cedella

and I were there. There are all sorts of stories—about the con-

stables, about the mobs—but no one seems to know for certain

what happened.”

“Because no one really wants to know,” Benjamin said. “I hear

there was talk of taking action against some of the constables—

perhaps even the high sheriff Thomas Poole—but there was no

proof.”

“But you know?”

Benjamin leaned a haunch on the bale of hay. “We were

there—my father and me. There had been a mob roaming the

streets, looking for Clapp and Samuel. They finally found Clapp, who was in the custody of the high sheriff and some of his constables. Word came that Samuel had escaped Newburyport, and

this turned the mob for the worse. They demanded that Poole give 361

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up Clapp, and they threw a rope over a lantern post down by the

wharves. Poole argued for law and order, but it was hopeless—

even some of his own men were for a hanging then and there.”

“I believe that,” Leander said. “I saw them earlier, and they

were out for blood.”

“There was a great deal of confusion, a brawl, really. And

my father—he was never one to keep out of the fray—he took a

beating and ended up in a puddle. Caught a terrible chill, he did, and his breathing ain’t been right since. But this Clapp, somehow during the fracas he got free. Runs out on the wharf, chased by

this drunken mob—runs right off the end of the wharf and disap-

pears into the river, and were they ever disappointed.”

“And the next morning we found his body on Joppa flats,”