CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
Polidori waited an hour in the office of the captain of the guard, checking and rechecking the fresh supplies he’d bought at the apothecary on the way to Kensington Palace. At noon he was called to Apartment 1. A valet led him through the clock-chiming, bird-caroling salons, up the stair and into Augustus Frederick’s suite. The curtains were open wide, sunlight streaming in, but the window sashes were firmly secured. The air was stale with the smell of sweat and unwashed masculinity. Augustus Frederick stood at the window with his back to Polidori—greasy, shaggy hair, a dirty quilted dressing gown, silk slippers, bare hairless calves and forearms.
“You have returned, Doctor. Do you require an apology?” he said without turning from the window.
“Not at all, sir. I came
