The Bloodless Boy by Robert J. Lloyd Read Free Book Online Page B

as the ink on it dried, betrayed itself, before being redipped, and the regularity continued. Hooke did not think he had ever seen numbers so perfectly done.
    Grace’s voice called up from the lobby.
    ‘Mr. Hooke, all of London calls upon you this evening,’ Mary said, putting down his tea.
    Observation VIII
Of Assistance
    Grace let in the visitor, and led her up to the drawing room. The woman wore an enveloping headscarf, whose dryness showed that it had finally stopped snowing.
    ‘Mrs. Oldenburg?’ Hooke said doubtfully. Then, when he was sure: ‘Good evening to you, Dora-Katherina.’
    The old lady’s resolve crumpled. Seeing her distress, Hooke took her by the elbow. He apologised to her for all the clutter, pulled out a chair from by the table, and poured her a small amount of the remaining claret.
    ‘Mr. Hooke,’ she said to him, once she had recomposed herself, removed her scarf and coat, and was holding the glass he offered to her. ‘I have the most terrible news, and I come for your assistance, and your counsel.’ Her accent revealed her Irish origins.
    ‘Tom, will you go to your room?’ Hooke said. They heard the crashes of his footsteps above.
    She took a long sip of the wine, and then carefully placed the glass down on the table in front of her. ‘Henry committed self-murder this morning.’
    ‘Merciful God!’ Hooke put his hand to his mouth.
    ‘I wish not the manner of his death to become known. I think that you, also, would prefer such shame a secret.’ She said the words in a monotone, her mouth moving stiffly.
    ‘How did he do it, Mrs. Oldenburg?’ Hooke looked even greyer than usual.
    ‘A ball fired from a pistol,’ she replied. ‘I forgot he even kept the thing.’
    Hooke sat down heavily, and stopped to think, to draw himself together. ‘We cannot allow this to tarnish his good name.’
    The old lady, despite her grief, was clear-headed enough to know that Hooke meant the good name of the Royal Society. She had calculated this, and relied upon it. She picked up her glass again.
    The threat of scandal made his decision a swift one. ‘Your house is secured, and empty?’
    ‘Yes . . . the servants do not live in . . . none other knows of his death.’
    ‘No neighbours heard?’
    ‘Those we have are out of the town. He was at the top of the house, and I am sure that no one on the street heard the shot. Certainly, none came to investigate.’
    Looking thoughtful, Hooke poured her more of the claret. ‘I know a man to write the certificate. We will call upon him. It shall be our own little intrigue, Mrs. Oldenburg. We did often disagree, your husband and I, on philosophical and pecuniary matters, but the Society owes him much. Will you lead me to him? I need first to call upon my assistant, to rouse out the physician.’
    He found a quill and paper and wrote out a note. He sanded the ink dry, left Dora-Katherina to finish her drink, and climbed the stairs to Tom’s room.
    Tom was thrilled by the importance of the mission, made clear by the extraordinary visit Hooke made to his room, and the solemnity of the Curator’s tone. The boy took the note, addressed to a Dr. Diodati, along with a small lantern that Hooke, after spiking a candle into it, gave to him.
    ‘Talk to no one, Tom, and be as quick as you can. Go with Harry to find Dr. Diodati, and I shall see you in Pall Mall.’
    The boy ran off into the dark, a diminishing point of light.
    Hooke joined Dora-Katherina, who waited for him looking shrivelled, her sorrow seeming to have made her retract into herself.
    The enciphered papers were behind her, up on the bookshelf. Glancing at them, Hooke decided that he would not have the time to peruse them. He had to see to Henry Oldenburg, to disguise the manner of his death.
    And what of the Secretaryship? He would campaign for the vacant position.
    And what of the boy found at the Fleet and preserved in the Air-pump? And the other, stored at the College of Physicians, along