It was a glorious, glittering, blue-skied Christmas day. Approaching the doctor’s house, she found only one set of wheel and hoof marks in the snow. All was well; the carriage had transported her former employer to his Christmas dinner at Bold Hall. She let herself and Bess in at a servants’ door that was generally left on a latch. Shushing Bess, she waited for a moment in the gloom of the passage, hearkening for any sounds from the empty house. All was so still that she could almost hear the dust settling.
As quietly as she could, she crept upstairs and found the ring of old keys in the doctor’s chamber. In a moment she was downstairs again, trying each key in the strongroom lock. But try as she might, not one of them fitted; the brass lock was of an ancient type, with a series of catchments quite impervious to any key but its own. A pick-lock would also be useless in so antiquated a device. Cursing under her breath, she tried each key again. Death and fire. None of them would turn.
A clock on the wall showed the time to be fifteen minutes past noon. To be sure of avoiding the doctor, she needed to be far away on the path to Nell’s by the time he returned at two o’clock. What the devil were these keys for, if not the strongroom?
‘Let’s look downstairs,’ she whispered to Bess, who had been toddling about the kitchen in search of sugarplums. Together, they went to the nail-studded door that led to the wine cellar; it was possible, she thought, that there might be a small store of money in there. The very first key she inserted turned in the lock with a satisfying creak. Taking Bess by the hand, she took a few steps down a set of stone stairs that plummeted away into the cold bowels of the cellar.
A sudden gust of cold air, and a loud bang, made Tabitha cry out in surprise; the door had slammed closed at their backs, leaving the two of them standing unsteadily in complete darkness. Tabitha groped around herself with outstretched hands. Bess began to wail, a high-pitched, frightened sound that could have woken the Devil in that enclosed space.
‘Hush!’ she hissed to Bess. At last she found the wooden flatness of the door and, after a long search, the raised metal of the lock; but she could find no inside handle. The key was still where she had left it, on the outside. After endless frantic minutes, she understood that they were trapped.
Looking down, she noticed for the first time that a faint glow of light emanated from the bottom of the stairs. Bess was already moving steadily away from her down the steps towards the light. Perhaps there was another way out? With new hope, Tabitha followed Bess down the stairs.
It grew colder as they moved deeper underground. Reaching the bottom stair, they entered a barrel-ceilinged room like a chapel from an antique age. The flames of oil lamps revealed walls painted with pastel figures of great delicacy, all of them dressed in classical garb; she wondered if they might be relics of the days of the Roman invaders, for they were mighty old. Truly, this was a jewel box of a room.
It also appeared to be inhabited. Shelves displayed bound volumes of books with incomprehensible titles, a brass telescope of breathtaking intricacy, and a clock like a golden castle, set with tiny winged figures. The time, she read with dismay, was forty-five minutes after noon. At the centre of the room stood a spherical contraption like a gilded cage, in which cogs and tiny globes were suspended. She guessed that it was a mechanical model of the sky, the golden globe at its centre representing the sun, and a small ball of lapis lazuli signifying the earth.
Bess clung to her hand as they entered a second chamber, in which she was just able to see the glint of many glass jars in the faint light of further oil lamps. Peculiar shapes, that were neither foods or fruits, were suspended in the jars; peering into them, she gave an involuntary gasp to see various parts of human bodies. Here was a human heart, the great veins waving like tentacles; there the grey, sponge-like matter of the brain. She had to swallow back bile at the sight of a glass case containing two tiny twins with blue cords encircling them, clasping each other in an endless sleep. She hurried on past lidless blood-veined eyes, and unborn babies scrawny as newborn kittens.
Tabitha was grateful that, in her ignorance, Bess looked about her with nothing more than wary interest. At the furthest corner of the room stood another door; passing through it, she felt another shock of unexpected strangeness. This final chamber was dominated by an image sculptured in relief upon the furthest wall, and she recognized it as the same veiled figure carved upon the De Vallory monument. Before it was a black marble altar, bearing an open book. It was the almanack, its pages open at that day’s date.
Behind her, the bell of the golden clock rang out the hour: one o’clock. Tabitha looked back in the direction of the locked door. She had only one precious hour left before the doctor returned.
Trying to master her panic, she inspected every nook and cranny of all three chambers, rummaging for a trapdoor, a tunnel or even a cupboard. To her increasing dismay, she found nothing.
Catching her breath, she again paused by the almanack. It was the same book as her mother’s common sixpenny edition; only this was printed as large as the Bible chained to the pulpit in the church. She flicked through the pages and found the entry for her mother’s last day of life, the thirtieth of July. Below it, notated in Latin, was the word ‘Hart’ – and another familiar term from the parish records – ‘mort’, the ancient word for death.
The twelfth of August bore a similar account of Francis’s death; and ever more frequently, on the subsequent pages, the word Johanus appeared, alongside frequent doses of Aqua Laurocerasi, or, by its English name, cherry laurel water. Damn her dullard wits, she had been blind to a dozen indications. The doctor’s house was surrounded by laurel hedges, and there was an elaborate glass still on hand, ready to distil abundant quantities of the cordial that was delicious by the drop but deadly by the spoonful.
Bess tugged at her skirt, growing fretful. To quiet her, she felt in her pocket and, finding nothing else, gave her the skull watch. Gleefully, Bess grasped it and settled down on the stone floor, poking its empty eye holes with her stubby fingers.
A wooden cabinet stood beneath the black marble altar. Opening it, Tabitha found a lump of liquorice-like tar that she sniffed cautiously – it smelled powerfully of dried flowers: sweet, yet with a bitter tang. It was, she supposed, a lump of pure opium, for the doctor prepared his own tinctures, combining the drug with wine and spirituous waters. A flask of spirits of Ether stood beside it – that, she knew, he employed to sedate those patients in great agitation. Next, she lifted a dark blue bottle bearing the handwritten inscription for the doctor’s most favoured physic, Black Drop – and here, too, was a bottle of Aqua Laurocerasi. Even its cork emanated that sweet odour, of slightly over-toasted almonds. She wished she could serve the doctor a dose of his own medicine – yet how might she make him ingest it?
As the golden clock in the next room chimed the half hour, she pressed her fingers to her brow, cudgelling her wits as she had never done before. Snatching up an oil lamp, she ordered Bess to stay where she was, and hurried back up the stairs to study every inch of the door; intently, she guided the flickering lamp across its surface, in the hope of finding a hidden latch or a release. Still she found nothing.
Then a shriek rang out from the chamber below, followed by ear-piercing sobs. She hastened down again, and found Bess sitting, red-faced and tearful, with the skull watch beside her. Tabitha comforted her, seeing that the skull’s mouth had opened up wide; its jaw hung as if in grotesque mimicry of laughter.
Bess tearfully displayed her finger, smeared with crimson blood, and Tabitha petted her and kissed the scratch, promising that the pain would soon be gone. On the upper side of the skull’s elongated palate was the clock face, set with golden Roman numerals. When she flicked an inner plate open, she found the clock’s mechanism was just where the brain would sit, a jumble of brass clockwork. The lower jaw piece had sprung back violently on its silver hinge, showing both upper and lower mandibles lined with rows of tiny, rodent-sharp teeth; the lower jaw was smeared with Bess’s blo
od. She wiped it away on her apron.
‘Damn,’ she muttered; the razor-sharp teeth had also nipped her finger as effectively as if by the doctor’s scarifying instruments. Gently, she tried to close the mechanism, but its snapping jaws were as stiff as a rusty nutcracker’s. Finally, using her apron to protect her hands, she forced the jaws back together.
She felt, rather than heard, the change in the mechanism – inside the watch’s entrails of cogs, catchments and springs, a quivering movement began. At the same time, she heard it: a faint but steady ticking. She held it to her ear and listened to a rushing metallic whirr.
On the instant, a loud high-pitched note rang directly into her head, so painful that she dropped the watch to the floor. Bess and Tabitha stared at it, astonished as if a rock had begun to play a tune. Somewhere in the skull’s clockwork was a piercing silvery bell that had just woken, as if from long sleep, and was now shrilling like a death’s head summoning its living subjects.
Once it had stopped chiming, Tabitha stared dully at the damnable object. Why had it sprung to life just now? Sweet God, was she not sufficiently terrified by the ceaseless pitter-pattering of time, faster and faster, towards two o’clock?
Giddily, she tried to think of a means to overcome the doctor – but there was not even enough space behind the door for her to hide and attempt to push him down the stairs. There had to be a means to overpower him.
If only they had not become trapped in here. Then she could have offered him the skull clock, and … Suddenly a ploy came to her; she grasped at it and made her preparations.
Muffled sounds reached her from the floor above; soon after came the sound of a door distantly slamming. Taking Bess by the hand, Tabitha went to the bottom of the stone steps, fixing her eyes upon the locked door. A tight pain gripped her chest. How soon would he notice the key standing in the lock? Scarcely able to breathe, Tabitha picked Bess up and held her close against her heart, stroking the little girl’s hair.
Before she could gather her scattered thoughts, the door sprang open and the doctor’s tall silhouette filled the rectangular frame of the doorway. She saw him turn around to lock the door from the inside before pocketing the key and descending slowly towards them.
FORTY-SEVEN
A Riddle
My first is valued more than gold,
Because ’tis seldom found;
Many there be, that name do hold,
With whom ’tis nought but sound.
My second sails the skimming flood,
And makes a sight full fair;
Its fabric is of carven wood,
And its motion springs from air.
My whole, mid life’s distressing cares,
Is company, sweet and kind;
Happy who call this blessing theirs –
But few that solace find.
The 25th day of December 1752
Christmas Day
Luminary: Day decreased 8 hours and 52 minutes.
Observation: Moon in Gemini and lately separated from opposition of Mars.
Prognostication: Differences may be reconciled and a better understanding reached.
An hour later, as they trudged through knee-deep snow, Nat and the constable hitched a ride on a cart that overtook them in the muffled silence and threw themselves down among the sacks and barrels loaded behind the driver.
The constable had the means, and the good sense, to pay for some victuals from the man’s cargo. Their Christmas dinner felt like the best Nat had ever eaten: cold capons, minced pies and white rolls. Soon afterwards, he fell fast asleep, warm in the winter’s sun and rocked by the cart’s slow progress down the undulating road.
It was after one o’clock by the time the carter set them down, half a mile from Netherlea. Nat felt extraordinarily refreshed, well-fed and eager to search every house in the village.
‘The cottage first?’ he asked Saxton.
‘I reckon so.’
They struck off across white fields towards the distant spire of Netherlea church. Once they had set up a good pace, Nat forgot his soaking feet and raw hands.
‘What are your intentions towards Tabitha?’ the constable asked suddenly.
‘The Devil knows what business that is of yours,’ Nat flared.
‘A rake like you will treat her ill,’ said Saxton. ‘Tabitha deserves better. You will abandon her and scuttle back to London.’
‘Pox you, Saxton! If we do not hurry, we will both have abandoned her in her hour of greatest need. But – if she survives this Christmas day – it’s agreed we will marry. I’ve given her a diamond ring.’
They walked on in silence across another field.
‘Anyway, it is devilish impudent of you to say you cannot trust me,’ Nat said jovially. ‘What about your new position at the castle? Who was it made you that promise?’
Saxton shook his head dolefully.
‘You catch me there. He made a fine dupe of me. He told me he would speak to the high sheriff, and obtain a position of power, and good lodgings in the castle. “Think of Jennet,” he said. “And think of how such a position might be favourable in finding a fine new wife.”
‘Thank God my conscience pricked me,’ he continued. ‘And damn me, I’m glad you wrote that letter about De Angelo. I saw it then, the slavish way in which I had followed his orders – he cast snares in my path like Old Nick himself.’
‘You know him, Joshua. What is he capable of?’
‘Any cruelty, manipulation, murder,’ said Joshua grimly. ‘Only think of this almanack he printed, with these vicious predictions. Spreading fear is meat and drink to him, and all the while he laughs behind a mask of virtue.’
‘True. I’ve had time to run over the events of the day Sir John collapsed. An apoplexy – like damnation it was! That monster saw to our refreshments, then retired and no doubt set his ear to the wall until I called for assistance. And these predictions for the year’s end, “a violent bloody end”. We have to stop him.’
‘If it’s in our powers, together we will.’
And though they both were as eager as the other to reach the end of their journey, Nat touched his arm and for an instant the two men stood face-to-face and shook ice-cold hands together.
Tabitha was not to be found at the cottage.
‘The grate is still warm,’ announced Joshua, kneeling at the fireplace. ‘And look, a bundle of her belongings lies there, in the corner.’
Nat picked up a piece of paper written in a hand he knew all too well.
‘He has her.’ He passed the verse to Joshua, who crumpled it in his hand, banging his fist on the table.
‘Hanging will be too good for that murdering charlatan. Where d’you think he is, Nat?’
‘Let’s look about. Perhaps we can follow her traces?’
Nat went outside and cast his eyes over the deep snow, that had lain so long it now had a top layer of crystallised ice. Joshua joined him. They saw prints from large, almost rectangular boots, and also more frequent, smaller prints that came and went, along twin lines that Nat guessed must have been made by a small sled.
Their deliberations were interrupted by a lad in the De Vallory livery, crunching through the snow towards them from the woods.
‘Constable Saxton,’ the youth called warmly. ‘I am right glad to see you. Is Jennet Saxton here?’
‘She’s still in Chester, Tom. When did you last see Tabitha?’
‘Why, yesterday. She came to the hall.’
‘And today?’
‘I came along earlier, but no one answered my knocking.’
Joshua gave a series of sharp orders, seeing Nat’s impatience.
‘Tom. Run back to Bold Hall and raise the watch, or gather together any other sturdy men you can find. Then meet us at the doctor’s house. Get to it, lad. Run as fast as you can.’
FORTY-EIGHT
A Riddle
Long before Adam, I have lived,
And liveth still in certain souls,
A Prin
ce by name, right royal I am,
As also Lord and gentleman;
Men frequently cry out my name,
And celebrate my ageless fame,
And yet they seem to take offence,
If called down to my residence,
If you cast back through all these lines,
My common name reversed you’ll find.
The 25th day of December 1752
Christmas Day
Luminary: Sun sets at 48 minutes after 3.
Observation: Mercury in Capricorn opposing Jupiter in Cancer.
Prognostication: The fall of a great one by sickness or death.
‘Ah, Tabitha. Whatever brings you here?’
The doctor sounded remarkably unconcerned at finding her and Bess behind a locked door in his cellar. He descended the stairs with some difficulty, leaning on his cane and wheezing at the effort. On reaching the bottom he straightened up and smiled; a benevolent old gentleman from his silver buckles to his thin and courtly face.
‘I have brought you the timepiece,’ she said, her voice shaking only a little. ‘The door slammed behind us. Shall we do our business upstairs?’
She found herself squeezing Bess’s hand as he came closer towards them, smiling at her in the same benign manner he always had.
‘Oh, but now you are here, why don’t I show you around?’
‘We need to leave, sir.’
‘Leave? And where are you thinking of going?’
The Almanack Page 30