“That’s horrifying,” I breathed because I could not help myself.
“All the more so for Thornfield.” Mr. Sack sipped his vintage, clearly unperturbed by its shade. “The woman I refer to is Karman Kaur. Thornfield was in the thick of it and, in his later delirium, it became clear to my man Clements that upon spying Karman in the watery massacre, Thornfield tried to save her. The fool got sliced in the back for his trouble. He nearly drowned in blood and gore before he made it to Karman on a riverbank covered in corpses, but she was so full of holes that only meat remained of her. Head half blown off, body riddled with grapeshot. Pity. She was remarkable. He spent over twenty hours on that beach with her remains amidst the carnage, unable to move from blood loss. Oh. Have I delivered too graphic an account for your taste, Miss Stone? My apologies.”
In truth, I did feel faint—with rage, with grief. “Blood has always upset me, and imagining . . .”
“Here, a bit more claret will restore you.”
Crimson liquid splashed before me. “Mr. Thornfield was delirious afterwards, you say?”
“He had suffered a large wound which went untreated for a full day after taking a literal bloodbath, so that is hardly surprising.” My eyes shot up to the political as I realised Augustus Sack was actually enjoying my distress. “Thornfield was on the brink of death for a fortnight. I was busy planning terms of the treaty with the Director, but Clements was with him for much of it. The illness was an ugly one, Miss Stone. Fever visions, night terrors—often you could hear his screams, before Clements had managed to calm him.”
If Mr. Thornfield had been the one to relate the story, I should not have been able to bear it; seeing his face, his attempts at a wry brow, his guilt like a gouge through his breast, his natural stoicism—all should have conspired to tear me in two. Learning the details from an utter villain, however, one I knew had ordered a child kidnapped and starved, that was a simple matter of endurance. Mr. Sack could smirk knowingly all afternoon, relate any repulsive tragedy which had befallen Mr. Thornfield, and I could sit there, blithely picturing my knife in his guts.
“Tragic, no doubt, and yet I cannot fully sympathise when the man so unnerves me,” I owned, downing half the claret. “Thank you. Mr. Sack, I feel much restored.”
I had puzzled him, for he beamed in approval whilst his eyes narrowed to cruel slits. “Forgive me—I should never dream of upsetting a lady of your myriad charms intentionally. Where was I?”
“Mr. Thornfield was ill, but . . . I have heard nothing to indicate he was mad?”
“Ah, yes!” The portly diplomat settled himself back in his chair. “I first knew Charles Thornfield as a strapping young medico with a head of hair so black it was nearly as blue as his eyes. After the battle, he was finally brought back to our camp by a Bengali company, and the wretch was so covered in dried gore that an orderly shaved his head. When he could walk again, and speak a little, after three weeks’ time, the new growth was white as goose down. The entire camp was unsettled by it—they thought him possessed by a devil. And perhaps it was something to do with the circumstances in which he found his lady love, but he developed the most extraordinary aversion to touch thereafter. Clements clapped Thornfield by the bare arm one afternoon whilst he was shaving and nearly got a razor in his eye. He began wearing gloves soon thereafter, even when the Director demanded his services in the second Sikh conflict. I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen a man performing surgeries whilst wearing gloves, Miss Stone? Madder than a full March moon, and he has never fully recovered.”
“Clearly not,” I said, half smiling. “Not if he couldn’t manage to puzzle out that his closest friend kept the trunk under his nose all that while.”
“You most eloquently return us to the topic at hand, Miss Stone.” Mr. Sack tapped all ten fingers of his hands together. “I confess to having been testing you—I know it was early days for you at Highgate House when I was present, but nevertheless I could not help but wonder whether a connection formed between you and Charles Thornfield. How foolish would I have been to take into my confidence a confederate of his, sent to sound me out? But now I see that you, like him, are merely a thief.”
His words, warm at the outset, deepened to a sickly-sweet growl.
I glanced at the time and then at the window, where scattered snowflakes drifted to their sooty demise. No one, I realised, knew I was here save Sack and the grey-moustached clerk who had shown me in; suddenly I wanted someone else present, anyone else.
Draining my wine, I shrugged. “I am not accustomed to being called names, Mr. Sack, but you can see my dress and the necklace for yourself, so I can hardly contradict you. Anyhow, I have already made my full confession. What do you want from me?”