Chapter 17 A Game of Chess
A Game of Chess
ALWYN SPENT the next morning scouring Dr Felix’s library for any text he could find regarding the care for and recovery of apoplectic patients.
When it was time to be on his way to the Caspars’ house, he stopped first at the looking glass by the door.
As he retied his cravat, he thought again of how he had scolded Sliger in the street.
Yet here I am, primping like a débutante.
However, a practitioner ought always appear presentable, his pride countered as he checked his teeth for remnants of his breakfast.
As well as smell nice.
He lifted his arm and ducked his head to sniff what he might before casting one last appraising look at the glass.
Normally, his reflection neither distressed nor pleased him.
Knowing all of his life that he was a rather ordinary looking fellow, he wondered now if Miss Everson found his unremarkable features disappointing.
Tucking this thought away, he left the Felixes’ house, locking the door behind him, and began the twenty minute walk to Hertford Street, his thoughts flitting back and forth between Mr Caspar and Miss Everson.
I’ve got to get his right hand moving. Shall I have him open and close a book to exercise it?
Would it be unseemly to tell her that I tried more than once to ride out to Trippingham to see her?
I didn’t observe him walking. Just saw him move his legs across the bed. Yes, I ought to try and get him up on his feet today.
Here in town, any number of men will certainly admire her. Oh, dash it all! She’s a person, not a bouquet to be plucked from a monger’s basket!
Arriving at the house, he headed towards the servants’ entrance where the footman had led him the day before. Just as Dr Felix often did when his visit was expected, he let himself in. There in the kitchen, a servant looked up from the massive lump of dough she was kneading on the table.
“I’m here to see Mr Caspar.” He lifted his satchel to indicate his purpose.
“D’ya know the way?” She pointed with a dredged hand.
“I do, thank you.”
As he went further into the house, he heard a voice cry out, “George! George, please allow me to go down to your study and get it. Oh Lee, hold onto him!”
Hurrying towards the uproar, Alwyn arrived in the front hall just in time to see Mr Caspar at the top of the staircase, his legs crumpling underneath him.
It was only the footman’s firm grip on his elbow that kept him from taking a significant tumble as he sat down hard on the uppermost step. Mrs Caspar sank down next to him.
“I only…want to play…a game of chess,” Mr Caspar said though he made no move now to go anywhere.
“You mustn’t suppose you can go down the staircase safely, darling,” his wife said, wiping a few tears away roughly. “Not without assistance, anyway.”
Even from where he stood at the base of the stairs, Alwyn could see the lines of exhaustion etched into her face. He put down his satchel and started up the steps saying cheerfully, “Good morning!”
Mr Caspar looked him up and down, but there was no light of recognition in his eyes. His right eyelid hung heavily, almost closed. Similarly, the right side of his mouth drooped.
“Who might…you be?” His voice was tinged with suspicion.
“I am Mr William Alwyn, come to assess your health after the apoplectic attack you suffered yesterday.”
“I’ve been…in bed all morning,” Mr Caspar said, seeming to ignore the explanation. “A tiresome business. I want to go…downstairs.”
“Very good — I’ll help you with that.” Alwyn knelt and helped the man up from the floor. “Mrs Caspar, please go and have a rest. I won’t leave his side.”
“Yes, Rose.” Mr Caspar chimed in, surprising everyone. “You look like…you need a nap.”
Giving Alwyn a faint, ironic smile, Mrs Caspar kissed her husband on the cheek, then went down the hall, her shoulders drooping.
“And now, for that game of chess,” Mr Alwyn redirected. “We’ll find the set in your study, I presume?”
“Yes, yes.” Pleased at the prospect, Mr Caspar did not object when Alwyn’s steadying hand found further purchase on his torso.
“Hold on to the rail with your left hand, and step down with your right foot,” the young man told the elder. “That’s it. Now, follow with your left foot, but just the one step down. Steady! Yes, I’ve got you. Again now, leading with the right.”
When they had descended the final step, Alwyn kept his grip on Mr Caspar’s underarm, trying not to think about where Miss Everson might be within the house.
As they continued towards the study, he reminded himself that knowing her whereabouts was most certainly not his purpose in coming to Hertford Street.