CHAPTER 94: L'ESPRIT EST COMPLEXE
2 hours later
Thomas Barrow's Bedroom
Maison de Bennett
Thomas felt a slap, but his blissful sleep remained undisturbed. Shouts penetrated his euphoria, but the words held no meaning. It was not until the frantic note in Bates' voice pierced his consciousness that he squinted open an eye.
"Thank god, Pooh! Stay with me, now. Stay awake," begged Bates. "Brouette, call a doctor."
"I think I'd better," agreed Brouette as he rushed out the door.
Thomas slipped back into the darkness.
15 minutes later
Thomas swatted at the pungent odour biting his nose.
"Wake up, Pooh!" demanded Bates.
The obnoxious scent forced Thomas' eyes open. Smelling salts.
Bates stoppered the small bottle of spirits. "Keep those eyes open, Pooh, or I'll unplug it again."
"I don't like that stuff."
"I know. You and I are going to talk now. Remember ... every two hours ... your concussion?"
"I want to sleep."
"I know, Pooh, but you can spare me a couple of minutes." Bates smoothed Thomas' hair from his face as had become his habit. "Tell me your name, Pooh."
"You're cute."
"Yes, we're three cute men. Pay attention ..."
Thomas looked up at Brouette. "Don't you find him cute?"
Brouette smiled ever so slightly. "It's not my place to say."
Bates touched Thomas lightly under the chin. "Concentrate, Pooh. Tell me your name."
"Pooh."
"No, I mean your formal name."
"MISTER Pooh."
Again, Bates smoothed Thomas hair. "Pooh, are you having me on?"
"No!" Thomas closed his eyes and pulled a pillow over his face.
"No! Pooh! Wake up! Please wake up!"
Thomas did not like to hear the desperation in Bates' voice, but sleep was too beguiling.
20 minutes later
Thomas heard Roch shouting, but he could not see the fiend. Roch's voice was growing closer, louder, angrier, and Thomas could feel his heart pounding. He tried to shout for help, but he had no voice. This is a dream, he thought. One of those dreams where I have no voice. Wake up, you fool. WAKE UP!
Thomas sat bolt upright and opened his eyes. A short round man was standing at the far end of the room shouting at Bates in French and waving a piece of paper. Brouette was translating, and Bates seemed distraught. Thomas tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed. "What's wrong? What's happened?"
"Wait, Monsieur Barrow! Please stay where you are!" Brouette and the round man hurried to Thomas' bedside. Bates remained at a distance and watched silently.
"Monsieur Barrow, this is Dr Sauvé. He's Lady Bennett's doctor."
Thomas ignored the doctor. "Tell me what's wrong."
Brouette motioned to Bates, who hobbled quickly to the bed and leaned close to Thomas. "What is it, Pooh?"
"Tell me what's happened. Is it the baby?"
"No, Pooh, it's nothing like that. It's me. I made an error with the laudanum. The first dose should have been tomorrow morning."
Brouette interrupted. "It was the chemist's mistake, and the doctor said no harm was done."
Bates squeezed Thomas' uninjured hand. "I'm sorry, Pooh."
"You're a cute mama bear," Thomas muttered as he closed his eyes and left worldly concerns behind, at least for a time.
A few minutes later
As Thomas slept, Dr Sauvé examined his gunshot wound and abrasions and replaced the bandages. With Brouette as interpreter, he assured Bates that there was no sign of infection and complimented his bandaging.
"The doctor asks, how old are the scars on Monsieur Barrow's wrists."
Bates had not anticipated that type of question. "About two years."
"The doctor asks, has Monsieur Barrow been depressed lately."
"Brouette, will you promise to forget what I am about to say?"
"I promise, Monsieur Bates."
"Tell the doctor that my brother had a breakdown at the beginning of June after receiving some difficult, personal news."
Brouette grasped Bates' shoulder. "I am sorry for your brother's suffering, Monsieur Bates." After conferring with the doctor, Brouette turned to Bates. "The doctor asks, has there been any sign of depression today."
Bates thought for a moment. "No. The first sign for him has always been loss of appetite, but he ate today like a horse. You saw it yourself, Brouette."
Brouette smiled.
"Wait. When you tell the doctor, ask him why that is. How could a man who struggles with depression have survived the last two days and not be depressed?"
Brouette translated. The doctor turned to Bates and replied, "L'esprit est complexe." The doctor then apologized for shouting and insisted that he had been angry with the hospital chemist, not Bates. The chemist's instructions had not been clear.
Bates shook the doctor's hand, but he knew the truth. He, John Bates, had made a serious error. Had he truly been so stupid as to think that he could dose an exhausted man with laudanum and then ask him questions? He was thankful that he had not made a more serious mistake.
Brouette escorted the doctor downstairs and returned immediately. "Monsieur Bates, you should take a nap. I can sit with your brother while he's sleeping. Nothing is going to wake him now."
"That's kind of you, Brouette. Tell me, where is Lady Grantham and the others?"
"They're trying to pass the time in the drawing room playing cards."
Bates glanced at himself in the mirror to see if he were presentable. "I'm going to speak to them. I won't be long."
"Certainly, Monsieur Bates. Go down the main staircase, walk to the end of the wall of windows facing the garden, and turn left. The drawing room will be the first room on your right."
Bates took Old Ram and followed Brouette's directions. He studied the garden as he passed the tall windows. He resented the many lovely blooms. He resented anything that seemed unaware of Thomas' ordeal.
Bates turned the corner and found the drawing room. He straightened himself, took a deep breath, and opened the door. "Good afternoon, ladies."
"Bates!" exclaimed Lady Bennett. "We didn't expect to see you so soon."
"Sit down, Bates," ordered the Dowager. "You look dreadful."
"Honestly, Vi," scolded Ella. "Please sit by me, Bates, and tell us of your brother's condition. We haven't been able to think of anything else."
Bates gripped Old Ram tightly. "I will, but there's something I must do first. I must humbly apologize for my behaviour towards you."
"Nonsense," declared the Dowager. "I would have behaved in exactly the same manner if our situations had been reversed."
"That's not true," challenged Ella. "Vi would have been twice as self-righteous."
"I don't like to do things half-way," agreed the Dowager.
"I appreciate your trying to let me off the hook, Lady Grantham, but I respectfully ask that you allow me to speak."
"By all means," replied the Dowager.
"At the hospital, my brother gave Inspector Martel a statement of what had transpired, and the Inspector allowed me to read it. According to the statement, Giroux gave no hint as to his true nature. How can I condemn you for not seeing through the man's veneer when my own brother couldn't. Giroux's a confidence man, and a confidence man is skilled at being ordinary." Bates turned to Ella. "You were right when you said that my behaviour was self-righteous. Isn't the other side of that page a fall from grace?"
"Have you fallen?" asked Ella gently.
"I have, but the consequences were minor. I'm more fortunate than I deserve."
"Do you care to hear what I have to say?" asked the Dowager.
"No!" replied Lady Bennett and Ella in unison.
"Yes, milady," replied Bates. "I'd like to hear."
"I think you should take a seat, Bates. We'll order tea, and you can tell us what was in Barrow's statement and what injuries he has suffered so that we may encourage his recovery and appreciate that we all are more fortunate than we deserve. All except your brother, that is."
