Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Dorian looked out his carriage windows, watching local farm hands harvesting grain. The harvest had been poor, just as it was all across England. The unseasonable cold and damp had destroyed much of the standing crop, just as farmers, millers, and grocers had hoped for the means to restock their dwindling stores.

Charlie had encouraged him to add to the music he had written but was immensely secretive about his play. “I don’t want anyone stealing my ideas before my first show,” he explained. “I am sure everyone will enjoy it, and I cannot wait for the first performance.”

Dorian’s music was more than ready. He had rehearsed the pieces with the small orchestra Charlie had cobbled together from various street performers. Fortunately, the musicians all had talent, and their renditions were perfect. They were all hoping to be ‘discovered’ by rich patrons and held high hopes for this performance.

Dorian was greeted at home by his butler. The house was quiet, and Dorian took advantage of it to have a late tea and to encourage his jangled nerves to settle. Emma trod down the stairs and came to him directly. “Have you seen my father?” she asked. “He has been spending a lot of time at the hospital of late. I am worried about him. Perhaps you could have a word or two with him?”

“I am not at all sure,” Dorian said. “He did not welcome me at the hospital before I left. Now that I have been away, I am not at all sure what my reception might be.”

“Please try,” Emma begged. “I am worried about him. Reuben has been by twice, looking for him. The butler says he has not been eating.”

Dorian accepted the late tea a serving maid brought in, giving the young person a brief nod of thanks. “Just let me eat this. I came down with Charlie’s troupe and all their effects, so we did not stop on the road. I’m famished. Perhaps you should have a bite with me?”

“I had tea earlier,” Emma said. “But I’ll take a cup with you if you don’t mind.” Her demeanour was pitiful, like that of a hound puppy expecting to be kicked.

Dorian gave himself a mental scold for not considering what his precipitous departure might have done to Emma. It had clearly left her in something of a quandary since she was technically engaged, yet, for all intents and purposes, abandoned by her future husband.

He did not bolt the food but ate quickly with purpose, washing the last bite down with the cooling tea.

Emma looked at him beseechingly. “Do the best you can to find him, Dorian. He has been behaving oddly of late. I am afraid he might be coming down with something.”

Dorian gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Why don’t you have one of those biscuits?” he suggested. “And have another cup of tea. You are looking a bit worn down yourself. I know how Jonathan gets when he is working. He is probably hot on the heels of some new cure.”

Emma nodded looking askance at the plate that held three remaining biscuits. When she looked up, her eyes were wide and exceptionally bright, as if she was holding back tears. “Thank you, Dorian. I knew I could count on you.”

Dorian hastily departed, feeling like a cad of the first water. The only thing he could do about it was to see where Jonathan had got to. At the hospital, he instructed his driver to walk the team up and down. “I should not be long,” he said. “I’m just going to look for Mr Holt. He should be somewhere about.”

Dorian first checked the administrative offices and found that the staff there had gone home for the evening. He then looked into Jonathan’s office and found it in considerable disarray. Scribbled papers were stacked on nearly every available surface. A cold alembic with some sort of brown substance congealed in the base of one bubble stood on a rickety set of shelves in one corner.

Closing the door behind him, Dorian looked up and down the hall. A group of students, wearing student robes from St Justus came around the corner and down the hall.

“Lord de Clare!” one of them called out. “Have you seen Mr Holt? He was supposed to meet us in the lecture hall to speak on distillation. But we can’t find him anywhere.”

“I’m looking for him myself,” Dorian said. “How are all of you? Are you doing well? Enjoying your experience here?”

The students exchanged glances. Something was clearly up, but Dorian could not say exactly what it might be.

“Excellent experience, Lord de Clare,” one of the other students piped up. “We’ll have student tales to tell for sure.” He then gave a muffled Oof! as if someone had elbowed him in the ribs.

“Yes, excellent,” the first student said. “We’d best be getting on. Good to see you again.”

They all hastened back off down the corridor.

Dorian watched them go, perplexed. What could possibly be going on? Jonathan never neglected his students. He said they made him feel young again.

Dorian tried looking into several other offices and even the clinic waiting area. Jonathan was nowhere to be found.

He started to go into the hospital area but came up against a door with a large, new padlock on it. Dorian frowned at it. On principle, they had never locked the hospital doors, other than in individual rooms where the patient might be a danger to himself or others.

Dorian frowned at it. As he turned to see what other areas he might search, Jonathan came up and clapped a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Dorian! You are home!” he exclaimed. “The students said you were looking for me. Have you had tea?”

“I stopped at the house,” Dorian said. “Emma asked me to come look for you. I think she is worried because you’ve not been home for tea.”

Jonathan gave a nervous bark of laughter. “Heh, heh, well, can’t have my daughter worrying about me. Why don’t we go on over there, and you can tell me all about London.”

“All right,” Dorian conceded. “And you can tell me about your projects.”

“Of course, of course,” Jonathan said. “Always glad to show off.”

But his speech was oddly brittle. Dorian felt sure that something was off, but he could not put his finger on it. What had happened in his absence?

The two of them went on out to Dorian’s carriage.

“Tell me about Mr Hooper’s wonderful new play,” Jonathan directed. “I saw the carriages and wagons come in earlier today.”

“I really don’t know much about it other than the music,” Dorian replied. “Charlie has kept his script close and sworn all the actors to secrecy. I’ve rehearsed with the musicians, but I’ve not seen even a single page of the script.”

“Is that normal?” Jonathan asked. “Surely, the musicians need to have their cues at least.”

“We do have that,” Dorian admitted. “But they are not enough to give any idea of the plot. I will be as surprised as anyone by how it unfolds.”

“It still seems strange to me,” Jonathan said nonchalantly. “And not quite the usual thing.”

“He says it is something to do with keeping other playwrights from stealing his words,” Dorian tried to explain. “I’ll admit, it doesn’t make a lot of sense to me, either. But it is his play.”

Jonathan laughed. It was more of a nervous titter than a true laugh, but the mirth was genuine enough. “To be sure, it is. I’m sorry I worried Emma. I’ve missed your help at the hospital, especially with the clinic. Running both has me drawn a little thin.”

“I am sorry if that is so,” Dorian temporized. “But it seemed to me that all I was doing was bringing in donations. Anyone could do that.”

“I’m sorry if that is how it seemed,” Jonathan said. “Your presence in the clinic was quite valuable. As for the fundraising, you have a rare gift for it. Hospitals might be charitable organizations, but they still need cash to feed the patients, purchase medicines, and even pay the drudges who empty the bedpans.”

Dorian heaved a sigh. “I suppose so.”

“Did you enjoy writing music?” Jonathan asked, seeming genuinely interested.

Dorian brightened at that. “I did, and I do,” he said enthusiastically. “In fact, working with the musicians has been the most fun I’ve had in years.”

“Then I suppose it was a profitable trip,” Jonathan mused.

Dorian wondered to himself if that was true. He’d yet to see any cash from the venture and had spent a great deal of his own money feeding himself and the musicians. Jonathan also seemed lost in thought.

The rest of the ride continued in silence. When they entered the manor, they found that Emma had left the dining room and was seated in the drawing room. She whisked something under a pillow as the two gentlemen entered. Her cheeks were suspiciously pink, and Dorian wondered what she had hidden.

Jonathan kissed his daughter on the forehead. “Sorry to have worried you, my dear. As you know, the hospital has kept me preoccupied these last several weeks.”

“I know,” Emma said. “But I cannot help but worry when you are gone so long and come home looking sad and tired.”

“Goes with the occupation,” Jonathan said lightly. “Now, I shall bid you both goodnight.”

Dorian and Emma watched him leave. “Thank you for finding him and bringing him home,” Emma said.

Dorian shrugged. “It was more like he found me and whisked me out of the hospital. When did he start locking the ward? Do you know?”

Emma looked concerned. “I didn’t know he had started doing that,” she said. “But he said something about some special supplies going missing and having to turn off a couple of students.”

Dorian sighed. “I guess I should have stayed. But it seemed to me that I was doing so little that it would not matter.”

Emma hesitated a moment, then said, “It would seem that we never really know our own value until its worth is tested. I’m glad you are home, Dorian. But I’ll bid you good night. I think I can sleep now that Father is home.”

“Good night,” Dorian said, turning away from her and going into the hall. He thought he heard the rustle of paper behind him just before Emma also left the room and went towards the wing she shared with her father.