“You are home!” Daphne exclaimed. “It’s wonderful! But you are hurt. How did that happen?”
“Rifle bullet while we were taking the French frigates. I’ll tell you all about it. But first, what brings you to Ameschester?”
Daphne explained briefly, finishing by saying, “It doesn’t matter really, now. Not with you home and wounded.”
“No. It is important. We are responsible for our people. We will have lots of time after the hearing to catch up on all the news. Let’s go into the inn and you can tell me all about the problem. There is one bit of news I do have to know right away, however. About the baby.”
“Oh, of course. You haven’t heard? We have a boy. He is just the most wonderful baby! He is called Bernard, as we agreed before you left. Berns for short. He’s perfect! Oh, I have so much to tell you! Did you get any of my letters?”
“No, and I have lots of news to tell you, also. But let’s deal with Jacob Nestor’s difficulties first.”
The inn staff had righted the table that Daphne had knocked over and cleaned up the mess she had made. She was mortified to realize what she had done, but she was greeted again by kind smiles and polite service. It would never have occurred to her that all the local people took pride in the fact that the very unconventional Daphne Moorhouse had become a great lady by marrying Captain Giles and had remained as spontaneously unpredictable a person as she had always been.
Daphne had observed before this occasion how Giles assembled facts and arguments methodically before making a decision on important matters. She had never before seen him operate with a time constraint. Without rushing her, he got the essence of the charge against Nestor from her, why she thought the allegation might be spurious, and why she felt so helpless in the face of the malice of Sir Thomas Dimster. Within half an hour, Giles had extracted and evaluated every bit of information she had about the situation and was ready to proceed. For the first time Daphne felt some strong hope that poor Jacob Nestor would not be hanged or even convicted.
The magistrates’ court was to be held in a room of the Fox and Hounds. Giles and Daphne made their way to it, accompanied by Captain Bush, Carstairs and Captain Bush’s coxswain, a man call Tramorgen. Giles surveyed the room as they entered, deciding whether he would be more effective speaking from the back of the room or the front. He chose the front and led his party to seats in the front row.
The magistrates appeared and took their seats on a slightly elevated platform behind a long table. Sir Thomas Dimster occupied the center chair, flanked by two other men whom Daphne did not recognize, but she presumed that they were the other two justices of the peace.
Sir Thomas took up a gavel, banged it on the table in front of him, and announced, “We are now in session. Constable, bring in the cretin so that we can get him hanged properly.”
As the chairman sat back to await his order to be obeyed, Giles rose to his feet. In a voice that was not overbearing, he addressed the clerk who was seated at the end of the table, “Note my words carefully, clerk.”
Then, in a voice that could reach the fore-topgallant cap in a gale, he continued. “Sir Thomas, you have no authority to sit as a magistrate. Your appointment has been cancelled, as you well know. I demand that you excuse yourself immediately.”
“I will do as I please,” replied Sir Thomas. “My appointment was revoked by mistake, so we will pay no attention to that contention. You, sir, cannot interrupt our proceedings this way. Constables, arrest this man and hold him in the gaol until we have time to deal with him. It will do him good to cool his heels there for a couple of days until we decide his fate.”
Both constables looked a bit nervous at the order. Giles unquestionably had the look of a man who was used to command, far more than did Sir Thomas. However, they didn’t have much choice, especially if they wanted to keep their positions. As they stepped towards Giles, Carstairs and Tramorgen rose from their chairs. The constables hesitated, looking very unhappy about the prospect of taking on the two menacing sailors.
Giles took advantage of the pause. “Constables, arrest Sir Thomas Dimster and convey him to the gaol,” he said. Then addressing the whole room, he announced, “I am Captain Sir Richard Giles, an officer in His Majesty’s Navy and, as such, I am an officer of the crown with full authority to put down sedition wherever I find it.” Giles had no idea if his claim to authority had any validity, but, if not, he would cross that bridge when he came to it. It never occurred to him that he might be guilty of much the same type of offense as was Sir Thomas. Since Sir Thomas was rendered temporarily speechless by the effrontery of this man, and knowing that, in fact, he should not be presiding over the court, Giles was able to continue without being interrupted.
“I have here a letter from Mr. Justice Avery stating that, in view of the charges pending against Sir Thomas Dimster, his commission as a Justice of the Peace has been revoked. As a result, he has no authority to sit on this court, let alone to preside over it. I suggest that you other two magistrates have Sir Thomas held for the assizes both on the original charge and on the charge of knowingly impersonating an officer of the crown.”
If Giles had no real idea of what the law was, the same was true of the two remaining magistrates. They were landowners in the area and only served as magistrates because of the prestige that the position might offer. They had no training of any sort to do their jobs. After a hasty consultation between themselves, in which they concluded that Sir Thomas seemed to have landed himself in very hot water, which they did not want to spill over onto themselves, they told the clerk to prepare the necessary document to have Sir Thomas taken to the jail and kept there.
“Now, gentlemen,” said Giles, since the two magistrates seemed to be in some doubt about what to do next, “you should hear the case that brought us here – the alleged poaching on Mr. Wark’s land.”
“Quite right,” proclaimed one of the two remaining magistrates “Let’s get the miscreant in here so that we can hang him properly.”
Jacob Nestor was brought in, looking very disheveled and grubby after spending some time in gaol.
“Right,” said the magistrate who had decided to act as chairman. “What do you have to say for yourself before we sentence you to hang?”
Giles was on his feet again, “I would call to your attention, your worships, that, for at least the past forty years, magistrates do not have the power to order capital punishment. All you can do is bind him over for the assizes, but first you have to establish that there is a case against him.”
Giles had no idea where he had picked up these pieces of information, or even if they were true, but it should be enough to make these incompetents think twice about ordering any hangings. “You have not done that yet. Don’t you think that you should call witnesses to present evidence of the crime?”
The magistrates’ immediate response to this was to huddle together. The silent one seemed to be a good deal less happy with what was happening than the vocal one. As the conversation continued he seemed to be getting angry and his final remark could be heard clearly by everyone in the room, “Sir Thomas got us into this, and he isn’t about to get us out of it. We may be on thin ice so we had better do everything according to the book. Captain Giles seems to know what the book says, so we had better do what he suggests.”
“Mr. Wark,” said the magistrate who had assumed the chair, “is your witness here?”
“Yes, your honor, it is Mr. Jenks, my gamekeeper. He is sitting beside me.”
“Mr. Jenks, come up here so that we can all hear you clearly. Now tell us what happened.”
“Yes, sir,” replied the gamekeeper. “It were night time, about ten o’clock I’d say. I found this man here with a brace of rabbits, fresh killed, don’t you know? So I held him at gunpoint while my assistant, Georgie, tied his hands behind him. Then I marched him to Mr. Wark’s barn, where we kept him until morning and then brought him here. Can’t have poaching, can we, sir? Or so Mr. Wark said.”
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p; “I see,” commented the magistrate. “That seems cut and dried. Let’s get on with the sentencing.”
Giles was on his feet again. “As Nestor’s master, I demand my right to question this witness.”
“What? Oh … well, just go ahead, if you must.”
“Now, Jenks, where and when did you find Nestor?” Giles took over the questioning.
“On the track between Mr. Wark’s wood and Dipton Hall’s. It were just at dusk. He had a brace of rabbits in his bag.”
“What made you think he was poaching?”
“Well, he had the rabbits.”
“Are Mr. Wark’s rabbits different from my rabbits?’
“No, sir.”
“So Nestor could have caught them in Dipton Hall Wood.”
“I suppose so.”
“What made you think they were Mr. Wark’s rabbits?”
“Mr. Wark told me to seize any of Lady Giles’ tenants or workers who had rabbits and take them to gaol for poaching. He said that Sir Thomas Dimster had asked him to do so to teach Lady Giles not to meddle in his affairs. He said that Sir Thomas would make sure that he hung the offender and would let Lady Giles know why it had happened.”
“So, to sum up, you are saying that Mr. Wark conspired with Sir Thomas Dimster to murder one of my people?”
“I suppose. But Mr. Wark was very firm on teaching people a lesson to stay well away from his wood. He don’t like people going there – they might find out where he hides the smugglers’ goods.”
That got an audible gasp from the other watchers. Everyone knew about the smuggling, of course, but stating it so blatantly in open court was sure to make the revenue officers descend on the wood with their troops, and quite possibly dry up the supplies of brandy, wine, tobacco and other luxury goods in the area.
“Thank you, Jenks,’ said Giles. “Your worships, I suggest that it is now clear that there is no case for Nestor to answer. You may want to have Mr. Wark arrested on charges of conspiring to commit murder, or whatever the offense really is, and add that charge to those against Sir Thomas as well.”
“Yes, Captain Giles. Quite right. Constable, arrest Mr. Wark. He is over there.”
“And Nestor?”
“Yes, yes. Jacob Nestor, you are free to go.”
Daphne couldn’t resist her impulse to hug Giles as the court concluded. It was totally inappropriate to show such affection in public, but she was far too glad to have him back and acting so strongly for her not to show how she felt. It immediately bothered her that he winced at her embrace, not from embarrassment, as first she thought, but from the pain in his shoulder. She had forgotten that he was wounded!
Captain Bush refused their invitation to ride in their carriage to Dipton. “You will want to talk and talk without me present. I’ll just get a coach to take me home.”
Both Giles and Daphne were glad. They had so much to tell each other and it simply could not wait. Daphne immediately asked Giles about his injury, but he fobbed her off by saying, “It is nothing. Just a minor wound I received when Bush and I captured two French frigates. His is more serious, especially as he took a ball in the thigh as well”
Before Daphne could ask more details about both the battle and the wounds, Giles said, “Now you must tell me about the baby.”
It took quite a while for Daphne to tell Giles about his son, especially when one of her remarks diverted the conversation temporarily onto other matters. Mentioning that she wasn’t nursing young Bernard led to the question of who was his wet-nurse. Revealing the name led to the question of how Giles’s illegitimate half-nephew, Thomas, and his mother, Nancy, were doing. Then, the discussion came back to the mention of the nanny. Daphne explained how Nanny Weaver had brought her and had agreed to play the same role for young Berns. Luckily, from Daphne’s point of view, Giles had no opportunity to ask about how the matter of the London lease had been resolved.
The carriage was turning through the gateway marking the start of the drive to Dipton Hall before Daphne could ask a question about Giles’s voyage. She got no reply since, instead, he asked. “Has it suddenly become very cold in here?”
Daphne looked at him. He was shivering as if he were in a blizzard without clothes, even though it was quite warm in the carriage and he had on a great coat. Before she could do anything, the shivering stopped, but Giles was now slumped in the corner of the carriage, not like himself at all. Daphne yelled to the coachman to get to the Hall as quickly as possible. Something was clearly wrong, but she couldn’t think of anything to do about it immediately. Had taking over the hearing been too much for him? What had she been thinking when he arrived, clearly wounded and tired, to ask him to help Jacob Nestor?
The carriage pulled up to the portico of Dipton Hall and a footman opened the door. “Assist
Captain Giles out of the carriage, Justin,” Daphne ordered the footman, “and take him upstairs immediately. Steves, send for Mr. Jackson, at once. Captain Giles is critically ill. Have him come right away.”
Daphne trailed Giles and the two footmen who were almost carrying him upstairs.
“Take him into my bedroom,” she ordered. “Undress him and help him into his night shirt and into bed. Steves, have the fire in the bedroom built up again. I want it warm, really warm.”
Daphne supervised the servants assisting Giles to undress and to get into a nightshirt and then helped him into bed. While this was going on, she noticed that his wound in the shoulder was looking red and swollen and that there was blood and other discharges marring the outside of the dressing over the wound. She immediately ordered that the cook should start boiling water and for someone to find some clean material to use for bandages. She knew that Mr. Jackson seemed always to need boiled water and clean bandages when he had wounds to deal with. It was still a little chilly in the room and Giles had started shivering again. Daphne didn’t hesitate. She stripped off her dress, not waiting for Betsy’s help, with buttons popping out all over the place, and crawled under the covers with Giles and held him tight. Her husband needed warmth, so she would provide it!
It took endless minutes for Mr. Jackson to arrive.
“Daphne, you can let go of him now. In fact, you can get out of bed so that you can help me. Captain Giles what is the problem?”
“I feel cold and sometimes too hot and very weak. My shoulder is hurting abominably.”
“Let’s have a look.”
Mr. Jackson placed his hand on Giles’s forehead for several moments and then took his pulse. He looked more and more perturbed at what he was discovering.
“I am afraid that your wound has become infected and has caused blood poisoning. I’ll have to have a look at it. But first, I need a clean glass.”
Betsy handed the apothecary-surgeon a clean glass. One of Daphne’s peculiarities was that she insisted that the glass on the nightstand be washed every day. Mr. Jackson took a small bottle from the bag he always carried when attending a patient. He poured a small measure of some gray liquid into the glass. “Drink this, please, Captain. It tastes horrible, I am afraid.”
“What is it?” Daphne asked.
“A tincture of mold, a special mold, that seems to help cases like this. I don’t know why. Daphne, you can get dressed while I look at the injury. You others,” Mr. Jackson addressed the servants who were in the room, dithering about not knowing what to do. “I need some sheets or other covering to protect the bed.”
Without waiting for an answer, Mr. Jackson started to remove the dressing from Giles’s shoulder. “As I suspected. I don’t think your surgeon succeeded in getting all the debris out of the wound before sewing it up. It is not healing at all properly. I am going to have to open it up again. Daphne, you are the best person here to help me. Get into your oldest clothes. They are likely to be ruined.”
As Daphne signaled to Betsy to find her least valuable dress, some of the servants looked at her in astonishment. It was not the proper role for the lady of the house to assist a surgeon in his ta
sks. That was up to a servant. They were slowly getting used to Lady Ashton’s eccentric ways, but this went beyond anything they would have expected. The servants who had been with her longer, and had known her as a young woman before she had even met Giles, recalled how she had assisted Mr. Jackson more than once when everyone else around had seemed likely to faint or be sick when faced with the reality of severe wounds. Doing the unexpected could almost be expected of Lady Ashton when faced with a crisis.
“This is going to be extremely painful,” Mr. Jackson warned Giles. “Drink this, it will help a bit.”
“What is it?” Daphne asked.
“Laudanum. It should help the pain and maybe reduce the dangers from my having to open up the wound again.”
In a few moments, Giles seemed to retreat into himself. Mr. Jackson tested his pulse again and then began working on the wound. He removed the stiches and eased his fingers into the cut that Dr. MacLean had made on Glaucus. Mr. Jackson would have to open up the wound to see what had been left in it.
“As I thought,” he muttered. “It is not healing.”
Soon the surgeon was deep into the wound. Daphne helped by passing instruments and, at times, by helping to hold the wound open or to wipe away blood that was obscuring the inside of the cut so that Mr. Jackson could work better. Despite the laudanum, Giles was clearly in pain that he was trying to bear stoically, but some groans did escape his lips. These diminished as Giles seemed to withdraw into himself.
“Thank Heavens,” Mr. Jackson said after a while.” I have found some strands of cloth that may be causing the problem.”
The surgeon continued to probe the wound and found some more small bits of cloth. He also discovered some tiny fragments of lead, which he also removed, and also some small splinters of bone. The search for foreign objects in the wound seemed to go on forever. At last, the Mr. Jackson was satisfied.
“I think I have all of it,” he said to Daphne. “The bullet hit his shoulder bone. It cracked the bond and, in doing so, it must have broken off some pieces. Nothing special needs to be done about that, it will heal on its own if we can get the blood poisoning under control. The bullet carried pieces of his coat and shirt right into the wound, and that what produced the problems. The ship’s surgeon must have removed most of the material brought into the wound, but he didn’t find it all or every bit of the bullet that must have broken up when it hit the bone. Not surprising in the middle of a battle that he couldn’t find everything. The things that were brought into the wound are likely the source of the problem. Now, I will just pour some more of this tincture into the wound and some rum. And then we can close it up.”
A War by Diplomacy Page 30