He couldn't feel her fingers on his wrist. In fact, he couldn't feel his right arm at all. Couldn't even relate to it. As if that arm she was holding belonged to somebody else. What—?
She said, "You're in the Neuro Ward at the base hospital. You had a CVA, a cerebrovascular accident. A stroke. My name is Rowena. I'm the floor nurse this shift. Do you understand?"
A stroke? How could that be? He said, "I understand." But what came out of his mouth instead was a horrible, slurred, slack-lipped sound: "Awo unnersan."
His incipient panic expanded into full-blown terror.
The nurse put her hand on his chest, on the left side. He felt that. "Easy. Your doctor is on the way, she'll explain it all to you, but listen, don't worry. You've got some transient paralysis on the right side. It's going to go away. What happened to you was not major. The drugs you are on are going to fix the damage. It'll take a few days, maybe a couple of weeks, okay? But you are going to be all right."
Gridley felt his panic abate a little. He was going to be all right. He clutched at that, trying to get a tighter grip on it. He was going to be all right.
Unless she is just telling you that so you don't lose it, his inner voice said.
Another woman entered the room, a short, heavyset bleached blonde. She also wore green scrubs, and she carried a flatscreen. Without preamble, she said, "I'm Dr. West. Some time yesterday afternoon you had a small CVA — a stroke. There were no clots or major bleeders apparent on the CAT and MEG brain scans, and the cause is idiopathic — that means we don't know what caused it. Your vital signs are normal, your blood pressure, respiration, and pulse are all fine, and your blood chemistry is within normal limits. Aside from the CVA, everything is great. You have what we think is a transient hemiplegia or hemiparesis, and we expect full resolution of that. You following me?"
Gridley nodded, not wanting to hear his own voice.
"Good. You'll be here for a day or two, then we'll let you go home. Physical therapy starts this afternoon. Somebody will come in and show you some exercises."
The doctor glanced at her watch. "Got to run. I'll check in on you later, with a bunch of medical students. People will come and go, draw blood, give you meds. Try to get some rest."
Dr. West handed the flatscreen to Rowena and left.
Get some rest?
Yeah, right. Part of his brain had exploded and he was supposed to rest? No way. Not gonna happen. He didn't want to just lie there and worry about it, either, but what choice did he have? He was tubed and wired, and he wasn't going anywhere.
Lord. How could this have happened?
Chapter 7
Applewhite brought Goswell's tray and set it on the table. Vapor rose from the teapot's spout — it was a bit cool out here in the garden, but crisp and bracing. Goswell nodded. "Thank you, Applewhite."
The butler poured a cup of tea, adding one lump of sugar and a squeeze of lemon. "More scones, sir?"
"I think not. A telephone, if you would."
"Certainly, milord."
Applewhite produced a mobile from his jacket pocket before Goswell could even take a sip of the tea. He shook his head. Technology. A mixed blessing, to be sure, but fortunately, one that had served him well, financially and otherwise.
"And what was our scientist fellow's name again?"
"Peter Bascomb-Coombs, milord."
"Ah, yes, of course." Goswell repeated the man's name into the phone, then held it to his ear. It rang thrice.
"Yes, what is it?" He sounded irritated. Well, of course, these kinds of fellows always did.
"Geoffrey Goswell here."
"Oh. Lord Goswell." That changed his tone quick enough, eh what? "What may I do for you?"
"Not much, my boy. I was ringing you up to see about that, ah… small matter we discussed recently over supper."
"Ah, yes, well, it is proceeding apace, my lord. There have been a couple of minor setbacks, but I have taken care of them, and we should be back on schedule right enough."
He was properly cautious, the scientist. Even though Peel had assured him that his mobile phone and the scientist's were both secure against eavesdroppers, Goswell hated to have things of this nature spoken aloud outside the confines of his own home.
He nodded, then realized the man couldn't see him because this mobile didn't have cameras and whatnot connected to it. "Right, then. And those, ah, curious fellows you spoke of?"
"They are no longer curious, my lord. They have other things to occupy their minds at the moment."
"Very good, then. I'll ring off now."
Applewhite appeared and took the mobile, put it away. "Will there be anything else, milord?"
"Yes, see if you can hunt up Peel, would you? I'd like to have a word with him if he's available."
"At once, milord."
Applewhite departed to fetch the major. That, at least, would give Goswell time enough to sip his tea before it got cold.
From the corner of his eye, Goswell caught a motion. He looked directly that way and saw a rabbit over in the flower bed, nibbling on some greenery. Cheeky bastard! He wasn't fifty feet away! Of course, the dratted rabbits never came out when he had his shotgun at hand; they were smart enough to know that wasn't wise. His vision was not as keen as once it was, but he could, by God, still pot a thieving rabbit at fifty feet with either barrel of his Purdey fowling piece, thank you very much. He considered calling Applewhite and telling him to collect his shotgun so that he could blast the offending rabbit but decided against it. It was too lovely a morning to ruin with shotgun noise, satisfying as it might be to teach the bunny some proper manners. Better to have the care-taker loose his dogs on the things. They seldom caught one, the dogs, but they had such fun chasing them, and the rabbits tended to clear off for a time thereafter.
He sipped his tea. And when Peel approached, the rabbit decided to remove himself. Perhaps it somehow knew that Peel was an excellent shot with his ever-present pistol and that to stay might be unwise.
"My lord?"
" 'Morning, Major. Do sit down and have some tea."
"Thank you, my lord." Peel seated himself. A decent chap, the image of his father, old Ricky. He poured himself a cup of tea, black, no sugar.
"I've been thinking about this scientist fellow of ours."
"Bascomb-Coombs," Peel said.
"The very one. I've been thinking perhaps we should keep a close eye on him, if you know what I mean. He is valuable enough, but with the things he has tucked away in his head, we wouldn't want to have a falling out, now would we?"
"I shouldn't think a falling out is likely, my lord."
"Well, no, hardly. But one must be diligent and prepared, what?"
"I understand completely. As it happens, I have anticipated that you might feel this way, so I've set a watch upon our Mr. Bascomb-Coombs."
"Have you? Excellent. You're a good lad, Peel."
"Thank you, my lord. I appreciate your confidence in me."
Goswell smiled and sipped at his tea. It was good to have men like Peel around, men who knew how to do things without having to be led by the hand. Men of decent breeding who wouldn't embarrass one with social blunders or rash actions. More like him, and the Empire would never have sunk so low.
"Should Mr. Bascomb-Coombs should ever think to become a problem, my lord, we are of course prepared to deal with him in an… expedient manner."
"Ah, well, very good, then. Have a scone."