Free An Instance of the Fingerpost by Iain Pears Page B

hoot for Galen. Or Paracelsus. Or any foreign magus with his slobberings and mumblings. These people are the merest frauds. As are you, sir, if you drivel on in such a way. You should not be let loose among the sick.’
    ‘But, Lower . . .’
    ‘More orthodox remedy,’ he said, mimicking my accent cruelly. ‘I suppose some gibbering priest told you that, and you do as you’re told? Eh? Physick is too important to be left to the dabblings of a rich man’s son like you, who could no more cure a cold than you could a broken leg. Stick to counting your money and your acres, and leave serious matters to people who care for them.’
    I was so shocked by this outburst, so unforeseen and so very violent, that I said nothing at all in reply, except that I was doing my best and that no one better qualified had offered their services.
    ‘Oh, get out of my sight,’ he said with the most terrible contempt. ‘I will have none of you. I have no time for quacks and charlatans.’
    And he abruptly turned on his heel and marched away, leaving me standing in the street in shock, my face burning red with anger and embarrassment, conscious above all that I had provided cheap entertainment for the mob of shopkeepers all around me.

Chapter Six
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    I RETURNED TO my room in deep distress to consider what I should do next, and try to understand how I had caused such offence, for I am one of those who naturally assumes the fault lies in himself first of all, and my lack of understanding of English ways had greatly heightened my uncertainty. Even so, I was convinced that Lower’s shocking outburst was excessive, but the temper of the country then cast all opinions in extremes.
    So I sat by the little fireplace in my cold room, with the feelings of desperation and loneliness, so recently banished, coming back to plague me once again. Was my acquaintanceship at an end so soon? Certainly in Italy no relation could survive such behaviour, and under ordinary circumstances we would now be preparing to duel. I intended to do no such thing, of course, but did briefly consider whether it would be better to leave Oxford, for my association with Boyle might well become intolerable, and then I would be friendless once again. But where could I go? There seemed little point in returning to London, and less in staying where I was. I was fixed in my irresolution when feet on the stairs, and a heavy pounding on the door roused me from my dreary thoughts.
    It was Lower. With a grave look on his face, he marched determinedly in, and placed two bottles on the table. I regarded him coldly and cautiously, expecting another round of abuse, and determined that he should speak first.
    Instead, he ostentatiously sank to his knees, and clasped his hands together.
    ‘Sir,’ he said with a gravity which had more than a touch of the theatrical in it, ‘how can I ask you to forgive me? I have behaved with the manners of a tradesman, or worse. I have been inhospitable, unkind, unjust and grossly ill-mannered. I offer you my humblestapologies on my knees, as you see, and beg for a forgiveness which I do not deserve.’
    I was as astonished by his behaviour now as I was before, and could find no suitable reply for this contrition, which was every bit as excessive as his violence an hour or so previously.
    ‘You cannot forgive,’ he continued with an ostentatious sigh as I remained silent. ‘I cannot blame you. Then there is no choice. I must kill myself. Please tell my family that my gravestone should read, “Richard Lower, physician, and wretch”.’
    Here I burst out laughing, so absurd was his behaviour and, seeing that he had cracked my resolve, he grinned back.
    ‘Truly, I am most gigantically sorry,’ he said in a more moderate tone. ‘I don’t know why, but sometimes I become so angry that I cannot stop myself. And my frustrations over these corpses is so very great. If you knew the torments I go through . . . Do you accept my apology? Will you drink from