Free The Lazarus Curse by Tessa Harris Page B

shrugged. “Och, our children, we call them, Dr. Silkstone,” he said with a grin. “These are the delicate things; small mammals, insects, that sort of creature.”
    “You have clearly done an excellent job in very tragic circumstances,” said Thomas, thinking of the dead doctors Welton and Perrick. He, himself, had seen many a man die of the yellow fever on his own voyage from Philadelphia to London all those years ago, and the memory of it would never leave him.
    A forlorn look scudded across the captain’s well-worn face.
    “They were good men,” he replied thoughtfully.
    “And only one remains, I am told.”
    The captain looked Thomas in the eye.
    “The artist. A Mr. Bartlett, l believe.”
    “You are correct, sir.”
    “I am to liaise with him regarding the specimens. Is he not on board?”
    The captain sat back in his chair and shook his head.
    “I am afraid you have just missed him, Dr. Silkstone.”
    Thomas looked puzzled and waited to be enlightened.
    The captain’s expression hardened. “There was an issue with some of the cargo, I believe, and an officer asked if Mr. Bartlett would accompany him to the Customs House. He’ll be back presently.”
    “But papers were sent by Sir Joseph Banks himself,” said Thomas. A note of anxiety crept into his tone.
    Seeing his concerned reaction, the Scotsman’s face split into a smile again and he shook his head. He was clearly unfazed by the artist’s absence.
    “Dunni worry yoursen, Dr. Silkstone. He’ll turn up soon enough and in the meantime your precious specimens of flora and fauna will be unloaded safely.”
    The plan was to store most of the cargo in the Royal Society’s own warehouses, and the plants at Kew Gardens.
    Thomas nodded in reply. This Mr. Bartlett was, by all accounts as Sir Joseph had indicated, someone who took his duties most seriously. If there was a problem with His Majesty’s Customs, then he would know to contact the great man directly.
    “Thank you, Captain,” he said. “I am sure you are right.”
    McCoy slapped the desk as he rose, as if trying to draw a line under the slight hitch.
    “I expect you would like to inspect the cargo, Dr. Silkstone,” he said as he began fastening the buttons on his jacket. It seemed rather too big for him after his voyage.
    Thomas nodded. “Naturally I must take receipt of Dr. Welton’s papers, too. I need them before I can start to catalogue the specimens.”
    The captain stopped by the low cabin door. “I have possession of most of them. They are in my chest.”
    “Most of them?” queried Thomas.
    Still hovering on the threshold, the captain nodded. “All except for Dr. Welton’s private journal. That is in the safekeeping of Mr. Bartlett. He was most insistent that he should take charge of it. He told me he swore on his own life, as the doctor lay dying, that he would see it was delivered into Sir Joseph’s hands himself, so you’ve no need to worry on that score, either,” added McCoy.
    Thomas’s concern was aroused. He wished he could have as much confidence in this Mr. Bartlett as his superiors seemed to.
    “So the journal is on his person?” Thomas tried to hide the disquiet he was feeling.
    “Aye. In his satchel. Carries it with him everywhere,” came the captain’s reassurance.
    Thomas remained concerned, although he tried to mask his feelings with a smile and allowed the captain the last word.
    “He’ll be here soon, or with Sir Joseph. Either way, Dr. Silkstone, Mr. Bartlett is a most dependable young man.”
     

Chapter 13
     
    C ordelia Carfax’s small eyes followed her husband as he flopped into a chair by the fire. His normally ruddy face was rendered even ruddier by a day spent in the biting wind on the golf course. She could tell by his expression that all was not well and she suspected it was not his game that had put him in a sour humor.
    “Your arm is worse?” she inquired tersely as Cato, looking resplendent in a fine lace ruff and scarlet