To recover from this melancholy, I forced myself back into society, and in particular agreed willingly to Lower’s suggestion that I accompany him and Cola to the play. I had not seen one for near four years, and much as I love my town, I admit it has few diversions to occupy a brooding mind when it needs distraction. I had a splendid day, I recall, for despite Mr. Cola’s criticisms, I found the story of Lear and his daughters both entertaining and moving, as well as most excellently acted. And I also enjoyed passing the rest of the evening in good company and again had my interest in the Italian aroused. I spent a considerable time talking to him, and used the opportunity to probe him as much as I dared. Whatever there was to be discovered, however, remained elusive to my intelligence; Cola parried my questions about himself with ease, and forever returned to matters in which his own beliefs and opinions played no part. Indeed, he seemed more than aware of my curiosity, and amused himself in avoiding any answer of substance.
I could not, of course, ask him directly about my interests. Much as I would have liked to know why he had searched Sarah Blundy’s cottage, it was impossible to put the question in any fashion which would have produced a useful reply. But, by the time he left he was aware of my suspicions about him, and he looked at me more warily, and with greater respect, than before.
Once he and Lower had gone, Locke and I spent another hour in agreeable conversation before we too left the inn and retired. I wished my mother good night and passed some time in my daily reading of the Bible and was on the verge of retiring for my night when a hammering on the door brought me back down the stairs to open up the door I had just laboriously closed up. It was Lower, apologizing greatly for the disturbance but asking for a moment of my time.
“I am at a complete loss,” he said when I had ushered him into my room and asked him to keep his voice down. My mother detested any sort of disturbance in the evening, and I would have had to endure many ill-humored days thereafter if Lower’s conversation or boots had awoken her.
“What did you think of Cola?” he asked abruptly.
I gave a noncommittal reply, as it was clear to me that it mattered not at all what I thought of him. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I keep on hearing shocking tales about him,” he said. “I was summoned by Dr. Wallis, as you know. Not only is this Cola a man who habitually steals the ideas of other people, but Wallis now seems to believe he may have had some involvement in the death of Dr. Grove. Did you know that I anatomized the man? The point was to see whether his body accused Cola.”
“And did it?” My heart was beating faster as this subject was raised. My worst nightmares were coming true before my eyes, and I had no idea how I should best react. Until that moment I had no idea that Grove’s death was under investigation, and had not only persuaded myself that I was safe, but had even reached some conviction in my mind that his death was in no way connected with myself.
“No. Of course not. Or maybe it did; by the time I’d cut him open it was impossible to say whether he was bleeding in accusation or not. Either way, the test produced nothing.”
“Why does Wallis think this?”
“I have no idea. He is a close man, and never says anything unless he has to. But his warnings have alarmed me. And now, it seems, I have to take Cola off on tour with me. I shall lie awake every night, convinced he will slip a stiletto into me.”
“I wouldn’t concern myself too much,” I said. “He seemed a perfectly ordinary man to me, for a foreigner. And I know from experience that Dr. Wallis gets a strange pleasure in appearing to know more than other people. Often it is not the case, but merely a device to encourage confidences.”
Lower grunted. “Still, there is something odd about the man. Now it has been pointed out to me, I can feel it. I mean, what is he doing here? He’s meant to be sorting out his family affairs, but he should be in London for that. And I know that he has done nothing whatsoever about them. Instead, he has attached himself to Boyle, and is remarkably obsequious to him, and is taking on patients in the town.”
“Only one, surely,” I pointed out. “And that scarcely counts.”
“But what if he decides to stay? A fashionable doctor from the continent. Bad news for me, and he is remarkably keen to hear all about my patients. I do believe that he may be thinking about trying to steal them from me.”
“Lower,” I said sternly, “for a wise man, you are the biggest fool I know sometimes. Why would a man of means, the son of a wealthy Italian merchant, want to set up in Oxford to take your patients? Be reasonable, man.”
With great reluctance he conceded the point. “And as for having anything to do with the death of Dr. Grove, then I must say I think that total fantasy. Why on earth would he, or anybody else, want to do such a thing? Do you know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think Grove killed himself.”
Lower shook his head. “That is not the point. The point is that I am to spend the next seven days in the company of a man whom I increasingly distrust. What am I to do about it?”
“Cancel the trip.”
“I need the money.”
“Go on your own.”
“It would be the height of discourtesy to withdraw an invitation once given.”
“Suffer in silence, condemn not on the word of others, and try to establish for yourself what he is. Meanwhile,” I said, “as you are here and know him better than anyone, I must ask your advice on something. I do so reluctantly, as I am loath to excite your suspicion still further, but it is a curiosity which I cannot explain.”
“Go ahead.”
So, in as unsensational a way as I could manage, I told of my visit to the Blundy cottage, and how I had seen Cola come in, establish the woman was asleep, then search the entire premises. I decided to leave out what happened thereafter.
“Why don’t you ask Sarah Blundy if anything is missing?”
“He is her physician. I do not want to undermine that trust, nor to have him refuse again to treat her mother. What do you think?”
“I think I will sleep on my money bag when we are in the same bed,” he said. “It seems odd that you spend considerable effort trying to assuage my suspicions, then reignite them again at the last.”
“I apologize. His behavior was strange, but I hardly think your own fears have much substance.”
The conversation reawoke my own concerns and, I must note, at no point did Lower mention that the magistrate had already begun investigating Sarah as a possible culprit. Had he done so, then I would have behaved differently. Rather, my thoughts as Lower left me to peaceful solitude once more turned more to Cola’s strange behavior, and I decided to reach the bottom of the matter. Before I did so, however, I decided it would be best to question Sarah on the matter, physician or no.
“From that shelf?” she said when I had recounted the incident. “There is nothing of value there. Only some books which belonged to my father.” She examined the books carefully. “There is one missing,” she said. “But I never read it as it was in Latin.”
“Your father read Latin?” I asked in some surprise. He was a man of parts, that I knew, but I had not realized his self-learning had proceeded that far.
“No,” she said. “He thought it a dead language, and of no use to anyone but fools and antiquarians. Begging your pardon,” she added with a faint smile. “He wanted to create a new world, not revive an old. Besides, he once told me he did not think we had anything to learn from pagan slave-masters.”