Shadow of the Past

by Judith Cutler

  Sucking my teeth and shaking my head at such apparent betrayal, I declared that I would forgive the miscreant if he came back penitent. In the meantime, Simon did his best, but as a carpenter and joiner he did not truly enjoy working with horses and found irksome my regular parish journeys through rain and snow. It would clearly be a matter of great relief all round if Jem was crossed in love and returned, his tail between his legs.

  As for Willum, his disappearance must simply be the way of those London street urchins – thieves, the lot of them – and good riddance. More fool the parson for having thought he could reform him and turn him from his bad ways.

  Now was the time for Mr Vernon to send his letter. All was in place. To reassure the Larwoods, now back in London, we explained what was in train, and bade them invite the redoubtable Alfred Mullins of the Bow Street Runners to protect them.

  I received a missive by return. It was Mr Mullins’ advice that they should take refuge deep in Kent with a cousin of his, and when they declined that, snow already falling, he had offered the services of his younger brother, but recently invalided out of the navy, as resident guard. They had accepted the offer, and Mr George Mullins would be installed by the time I received the letter. Nonetheless, though not a lover of snow, I saw that as the family’s greatest protection.

  Meanwhile, I recalled that I had need of a new hat and gloves for the winter, and took myself into Warwick, as if on a whim. Simon was silently resentful as he sat beside me. I had suggested that he remain at the rectory, but his sense of duty, along with what I now detected was a capacity for martyrdom, drove him to insist on accompanying me.

  My horses and gig in the care of the ostler at the King’s Head, I sent Simon to make the purchases that Mrs Hansard’s cook desired, and applied myself to the task on which I had ostensibly set out. A country parson is soon equipped, so, having had my new apparel sent to the King’s Head and having time in hand, I considered visiting Jem at the Rose and Crown. However, I realised such a move would be folly itself, and forced myself simply to stroll along the main streets. Quite by chance I found myself outside the office of Mr Vernon’s lawyer. Seeing candles still burning on the premises, I acted on impulse, and called in.

  Mr Knightley was a man of forty, but looked older, his teeth being much decayed and his cheeks in consequence quite sunken. He greeted me with suspicion, only giving the appearance of listening when I gave Mr Vernon’s name alongside my own. To my amazement, however, he merely responded by asking how I might identify myself – just as if I had been, like Mr Mullins, a Runner.

  Once again my father’s hauteur came to my rescue. ‘Would you prefer me to recite the baptism or the burial service?’

  His face folded into what might have been an appreciative smile, and he dusted the wooden chair the opposite side of his huge and untidy desk. ‘Aye, Mr Vernon told me you had a touch of the old duke about you. Welcome, my Lord—’

  He bowed, but I took his hand and shook it.

  ‘Parson Campion,’ I corrected him politely but firmly.

  The devil take Vernon for discovering and then revealing my secret. Should I blame the Hansards? Emphatically not. I knew they would die rather than thus betray me. ‘And now we have established my credentials,’ I continued, ‘might I ask if anyone has yet responded to Mr Vernon’s letter?’

  He gestured me to the seat he had dusted. ‘You might, sir. In fact, someone did this very afternoon.’

  ‘This afternoon?’ I echoed foolishly.

  ‘Indeed, you missed him by about ten minutes. He left precipitately, I must say.’

  ‘Why should that be?’

  ‘Because I declined to disobey the coroner’s instruction. He had insisted that only the young lady in question should receive his letter. I was therefore unable to accede to my visitor’s request to entrust it to him for safe delivery.’

  ‘And how did he respond to your refusal?’

  ‘With great anger. I confess that I almost reached for the cudgel I keep here behind my desk. However, he seemed to think better of giving way to his passion, and left with no more than a kick at the door to vent his spleen. I pity the next person he crosses.’ He permitted himself a sad shake of the head. ‘May I invite you to join me in a glass of wine, sir?’

  I waved away his offer, with something like impatience. ‘I must pursue the gentleman, sir. What was his name?’

  ‘Alas, that was another reason for my refusing to hand over the document: he declined to give it, or an address. As for his appearance, you will find many a gentleman about the town who looks like him in this cold wind – his beaver hat pulled down over his eyes, his collar up. He never removed his gloves.’

  ‘He did not even remove his hat indoors?’

  ‘A man wishful to escape recognition might well violate the laws of etiquette,’ he said dryly.

  ‘His voice?’

  ‘That of a man of at least middle years. Perhaps it was disguised – his mouth was muffled by his scarf.’

  ‘Would you recognise him again?’

  He raised his hands. ‘In the circumstances…’

  ‘Mr Knightley, I fear my exit must be as precipitate as your unknown caller’s. Even if I cannot give chase, I can at least report back to Mr Vernon what occurred this afternoon.’

  This time I had no hesitation in going to the Rose and Crown, there to seek out Jem. But before I reached the inn, my eye was caught by a small crowd of citizens, gathered round something which moved and moaned. A dog?Were the people mere lads, I might surmise that they were tormenting it for pleasure. But these were decent men and women.

  I ran forwards, nevertheless, spurred on by a woman’s cry for a doctor. I know not what fearful premonition drew me, but even as I pushed my way to the front of the crowd I knew I would find, in that bloody mess of rags, poor Willum.

  ‘Parson!’ he moaned weakly.

  ‘You are safe now. Jem and I will look after you.’ I doubted my words, but said sharply over my shoulder, ‘Fetch the new ostler from the Rose and Crown. Jem Turbeville. And bid him bring a door or gate – poor Willum’s leg is badly broken.’ I pointed at the jutting bone. As I spoke, I whipped off my coat and covered him gently.

  My reward was a glimmer of a smile. A feeble hand sought mine and gripped it.

  It seemed an hour before Jem arrived. Possibly it was less than three minutes. He was accompanied by a man I did not recognise, but who declared himself, as he pushed me aside, to be an apothecary.

  I wanted no mere sawbones to treat the lad, but a rapid enquiry elicited the information that the doctor was out of town.

  Together they lifted the ailing child onto a trestle table top, and swathed him with my coat.

  ‘You’ve always wanted to see one of the smart bed chambers at the Rose and Crown, and now you shall, lad,’ Jem said strongly. ‘Come, keep those eyes open and talk to me as we go. Tell what mischief you’ve been getting into, eh?’

  I found a likely looking boy to speed to the King’s Head to summon Simon and my gig, then at a run followed the little procession – I had almost called it a cortège, so solemn was it – to the Rose and Crown.

  However fast Simon rode on my breathless orders to Langley Park, however swiftly my dear friend rode back in response, I feared their journeys would be in vain. Even as I mounted the stairs, I head Willum’s moans growing weaker. Pray God the sawbones had not given the child brandy. It might still be a popular nostrum, but Edmund inveighed against its hazards.

  ‘Laudanum drops,’ Jem said briefly as I took my place beside him. ‘The lad’s sufferings are beyond endurance. We had to cut his clothes off him to save him further agonies. You were right – the leg bone is shattered. Mr Eyams believes his skull also to have been fractured, as is his jaw, and there is damage, he says, to the internal organs. All he can do, he says, is make him comfortable until the inevitable end.’

  ‘Why did you tell the lad to keep his eyes open? And to talk to you?’ I stroked the hair from Willum’s forehead
, but only revealing huge bruises and contusions my touch must have pained.

  ‘Because Edmund – Dr Hansard, I should say – believes that keeping a patient awake gives him a chance to fight. But – barring miracles, Toby – I fear the odds are against him.’

  ‘Who did this?’ I asked between ground teeth.

  ‘Let me just find out and he will never hit so much as a fly again,’ Jem declared. ‘Forgiveness be damned, Toby. I want vengeance!’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  At last, as the effects of the laudanum wore off, Willum became restless. Recalling what the doctor had done when my elder brother had taken a frightful tumble on the hunting field, I applied to the burning limbs and swollen face towels soaked in cold water and wrung out. But I would not let the apothecary bleed him further, not without Dr Hansard’s agreement.

  Jem, still on his knees beside me as we had prayed for the child’s recovery, slipped his hand under Willum’s. It was by now far too swollen for him to grasp it. ‘Tell me, Willum,’ he said urgently, ‘who did this to you?’

  There was no reply. At last, through his moans, we detected a plea for water. We could not risk lifting him so that he might sip from a cup, so Jem called for a spoon; little by little he dropped water on to the dry lips. At intervals, he repeated the question insistently.

  At last the words seemed to penetrate the blanket of pain enmeshing him. Willum’s eyes opened as far as the swelling would allow.

  ‘’Tis all right, Willum. It’s your friend Jem, and here’s Parson Campion beside you.’

  ‘No one can hurt you now,’ I added.

  Did he smile? The apothecary had had to remove broken teeth from his mouth so it was hard to imagine that he could.

  At last a bustle in the yards announced the arrival of a horseman. Did we dare to hope that it was Edmund? And if it were, could he – with God’s help – work a miracle? Had not been part of Our Lord’s Ministry been to heal the sick? God grant that this night his servant Edmund might share his Master’s powers.

  We heard feet taking the stair two at a time. And here at last was our dear friend.

  He wasted no words. ‘Tobias, Maria will be following in the gig, with Simon. Jem, I have brought you your clothes from Langley Park – a fresh shirt is better than one smelling of the stables. Tobias – we will need soap and water and fresh towels, do you hear?’ he added as I ran down the corridor.

  He was determined to keep me occupied until Maria’s arrival. First it was sheets to tear up as bandages, then the clean wooden slats he used for splints that he had strapped to his horse’s side. Next I had to bespeak the Hansards a room. Then rooms for myself, for Jem, and for Simon, too. Then he was concerned about the horse itself: it was a cold night and after its exertions needed a warm stable. Each time I returned to the room a further few inches of Willum had disappeared under bandages; there was a wonderful smell not just of lavender but also of another herb or spice. It was my job to clear away bloodstained sheets and poor Willum’s clothes. Edmund was working with a military precision that admitted no hindrance.

  Having offered to undertake, in addition to any fetching and carrying required by Edmund, such duties as would normally fall to a second ostler, I had no idea what time it was that Simon turned Mrs Hansard’s gig carefully into the inn yard. As I took the horses’ heads, she was already leaping down like a woman half her age, reaching for baskets and directing Simon to collect bundles and rugs.

  Only as I called did she turn from her tasks. Her hands still full, she ran to me somehow managing to embrace me without dropping anything. ‘Dear Tobias, thank God you were here – but what are you doing?’ She took in my shirt sleeves and dirty boots.

  ‘It matters not. Edmund is with Willum even now, Jem assisting him.’

  ‘Does Willum live?’

  ‘Just.’

  ‘Simon – pray deal with the horses. Mr Campion will carry all these things.’

  Although she seemed to be asking him for a favour, there was no doubting the authority behind the request. Simon tugged his forelock and took my place.

  Together she and I ran in; forgetting politeness, I led the way upstairs and to the sickroom, where only three candles now burnt. Both men were in shirtsleeves, liberally splashed with the child’s blood. They knelt in attitudes of fervent prayer. Swathed from head to toe, Willum lay perfectly still.

  Maria choked back a horrified wail. ‘You have lost him?’

  ‘Not yet. We may well. But the boy has good spirit. He has had beatings before. By God’s Grace – and thanks to Tobias and Jem’s quick thinking and actions – we may hope. Our prayers may be answered. He asked for you, Tobias. He said he had something to tell you.’

  I was on my knees beside the others. ‘What might that be?’

  ‘He said – and these were his words: “Tell the parson it was the cove up at the Hall what done it.”’

  ‘Sir Marcus! Dear God! I knew him for a vain and greedy man but never thought – or perhaps I did. I know not. But such an accusation, from a lad on what might be his deathbed – it must be acted upon, must it not?’

  ‘It must. An accusation of such seriousness must be brought before the authorities. Tomorrow we must call the constable. And I think we should summon Mr Vernon. Meanwhile, there is a more important task. Willum will sleep for a few hours, so Maria and I will take supper – I know, my love, that you will not be able to swallow a crumb but you must try. I would like your company at very least,’ he said, with a tender smile.

  ‘I will set about ordering it now,’ she said tearfully, leaving the room.

  ‘Tobias, it is now you who smell of the stables. Go and wash and change – I believe Maria has brought everything you will need from Langley Park. Jem, I leave you to watch over the lad. If there is any change at all you will call me.’

  ‘Of course.’ He nodded and sank again to his knees.

  ‘Jem,’ I said gently, ‘I do believe that the Almighty will hear your prayers just as well if you sit in comfort.’ I held my hand over Willum’s head. ‘And may He bless you and keep you and cause His light to shine upon you.’ I turned in horror. ‘Jem, has he ever mentioned being baptised? Let us do it now, just in case.’

  ‘I will stand godfather,’ he declared, happy to be able to do yet another act of kindness.

  He fetched Edmund and Maria, and in the tiny, fear-filled room, we dedicated to his Maker anything that might be left of Willum’s life.

  I cannot describe the agonies, both physical and mental, for Willum and his friends over the next few days. The worst point came when Dr Hansard decided, after much prayer and in consultation with his Warwick colleague, to amputate the damaged leg. With two medical men, Mrs Hansard and Jem in attendance, I was despatched back to Moreton St Jude.

  My task was to put it about the village that poor little Willum had been set about by riotous lads, full of ale and ill-humour. He had not recovered consciousness, nor was he likely to, but Dr and Mrs Hansard were caring for the dying child as best they could.

  Dr Toone, once more acting in his older friend’s place, augmented my story with eye-watering medical details. Everyone in the village was urged to pray – all did, I am sure, though some did not beg for his recovery but for a speedy and easy passing to a better world.

  Meanwhile, Mr Vernon had also descended on the village. No one was quite sure why, except for me, and I was unlikely to betray the reason. Back in Warwick, our bedside cabal had decided that until Willum was – God forbid – no longer on this earth, or had recovered enough to be removed to Lady Chase’s Shropshire estate, no enquiries must be put in train, lest Sir Marcus, afraid that the child might yet recover enough to speak, might make a further attempt upon his life. True, Willum was attended day and night, but that might make the man all the more desperate and result in other innocent people being hurt.

  So the story of the drunken violence was endorsed by no less a man than the coroner himself. Our distinguished visitor stayed with me at the rector
y – much to Mrs Trent’s terror, since she was unused to what she called the Quality– as it was felt inappropriate for him to stay at Langley Park, his host and hostess not being in residence. In any case, he and I rubbed along well enough, Dr Toone joining us in our bachelor existence most evenings.

  Lady Chase – hearing that her son was making progress – discovered that her poor nurse’s ailments were troubling her again, and left Moreton Hall for Shropshire. Staying on in their hostess’s absence did not seem to trouble Sir Marcus and his family, though there was talk of preparations being put in train for the family to remove to London for the young ladies’ coming-out ball.

  I had babies to baptise, mothers to church, and all the other pleasurable tasks incumbent on a country parson. All I lacked were daily bulletins from Warwick, though Mr Vernon, who could do so without suspicion or at least fear of interrogation, rode over regularly and brought me secret tidings of Willum’s amazing, if slow, recovery from all that had befallen him. Soon he too could be taken to Shropshire, where Bess would tend him, as she had so faithfully cared for Lord Chase – with no little success, according to her ladyship’s latest, but cautious, letter.

  ‘So when,’ I asked Mr Vernon, over port one evening, Dr Toone having accepted an invitation to supper with a family whose son he had delivered on a previous visit to the Hansards, ‘do we beard Sir Marcus?’