She spoke while wagging a finger at him. ‘I will join you, Kendall, but all we will do is to discuss why you are here and whether I should, fool that I am, let you stay.’
‘Nothing other than that had crossed my mind, Sarai,’ he pledged.
As he turned away to walk to the stables to fetch her saddle, Sarai thought, but couldn’t be sure, that there was the trace of a smug smile on his face.
Perturbed by Buckingham Joe’s strange behaviour the last time they had been together had for some reason convinced Lancer that his friend was heading for Exeter. Whether his decision had been brought about by Lucy Hughes’s refusal to read his palm, or if Lucy had simply given life to something already latent in Joseph’s mind, Lancer felt sure that he was desperate to carry out what religion referred to as an act of contrition. In Joseph’s case it was likely that he aimed to atone for his wayward life as a highwayman by handing himself in for a murder he hadn’t committed.
The fact that it had taken several weeks for Lancer to reach Honiton on foot had greatly troubled him in fear that he wouldn’t reach Exeter in time to help his friend. He was walking out of Honiton on the Exeter road when a carter pulled up and called out to him, ‘Where are you headed for, friend?’
‘Exeter.’
‘Well come on board,’ the carter invited, patting the seat beside him on the cart. ‘I always say that a third-class ride is better than a first class walk.’
‘Thank you kindly,’ Lancer said, as he climbed up on to the seat.
‘I am not prying, just making conversation. Are you an Exeter person, friend, or going there on business?’ the carter enquired as he moved the cart on.
‘I’ve arranged to meet a friend there.’
‘Best if you find him tomorrow, as the city will be crowded the next day.’
‘What is it, some big celebratory annual event?’
‘Nothing of the sort, friend. It isn’t something to be celebrated but many will be doing so. It’s a public execution.’
The blood coursing through Lancer’s veins suddenly turned icy cold. He asked, ‘A local person?’
‘No. You might have heard of him, a highwayman they calls Buckingham Joe. He was tried and convicted of murder some weeks back.’
‘I’ve heard of him,’ Lancer said.
‘I don’t care whether he did it or not,’ the carter said vehemently, ‘but I don’t hold with hanging.’
‘I certainly don’t,’ Lancer said quietly.
‘Having said that,’ the carter uttered the words thoughtfully, ‘we do have a lot of that sort of crime in these parts, and I supposes something has to be done. Have you come across them sort of people in your travels, friend?’
‘I can’t say that I have.’
‘’Course you ain’t, being a gentleman.’
As they reached the outskirts of Exeter, the carter said, ‘Anyway, friend, I hope you enjoy your time in the city. Are you able to stay with this friend of yours?’
‘No, that isn’t possible,’ Lancer replied, the question being a stark reminder that he wished hadn’t occurred.
‘If you are interested I can give you the address of Mrs Williams who owns a boarding house. It’s a very respectable, clean place?’
‘I would welcome that. Thank you,’ Lancer said gratefully.
It was shortly after dawn when Sarai stepped out of Adamslee House and, out of habit, stood and looked up at the sky. There was a deep red glow on the eastern horizon where the incipient sun of that day was about to rise. Another day she thought, but not in the helpless and hopeless way as she had in recent months. On the plus side was the fact that she had not touched alcohol since giving her word to Dr Mawby. Another possible plus was the arrival of Kendall Harrison at Adamslee House. However there was a big question mark hanging over this. When they had ridden out together the previous evening and had dismounted in a leafy glade, things between them had gone further than she had planned for them to but not so far as Kendall had wanted.
Walking away from the house to open the top halves of the stable doors to save the ageing groom Morely one chore when he rose from his bed, she weighed the pros and cons of Kendall being there against each other. On the plus side was that Kendall was a man, a palpably attractive man, and a rich one. Since the death of Emil Edelcantz her financial status had for the first time in her life been uncertain. Apart from the money factor she had need of a man about the place, but last night she had sent Kendall to a room far along the first landing from her room, and had bolted her bedroom door securely. In Kendall’s favour was the fact that she had abstained from drink since he had been there. She was sure that she would have surrendered to her urge for alcohol had she been alone all of last evening. That to her seemed to her to put the stamp of approval on Kendall Harrison.
With the sun now up and shining in all its glory, she went back into the house just as he was coming down the stairs. They exchanged polite guest and visitor ‘Good mornings.’
Then she said, ‘I am about to tell Mrs Winchell that I want eggs, sausages and bacon for breakfast. Would you care for something different, Kendall?’
‘Not at all. I am content and most grateful to have the same as you, Sarai,’ he rejoined.
When breakfast was served they both kept the conversation light, although Sarai was aware that he was every bit as keen as she was to discuss the possibility of him staying at Adamslee House. But doubts whether it would be a wise move prevented her from introducing the subject. Though she accepted that it didn’t make sense, she felt it would help her to make a decision if he was the one to mention it first. She didn’t have long to wait.
With his plate empty he expressed his thanks for the meal, sat back in his chair and came straight to the point. ‘Well, Sarai, I believe that we both want to settle the uncertainty as to whether I was just an overnight visitor or am I moving in?’
‘Your use of the terminology moving in has puzzled me, Kendall,’ Sarai said hesitantly to gain thinking time. ‘You told me that your wife had left, but your home is in Dorchester.’
‘I am selling my house, which means there is nothing to keep me in that town,’ he explained, adding, ‘The decision is yours, Sarai, and I will abide by whatever you decide.’
‘I believe that we should give it a trial run,’ she declared. ‘That way we can test the idea to see if it works. A rider to that arrangement is that it allows either of us to end it at any time if necessary.’
‘That suits me fine. I am sure that it will be to our mutual benefit, Sarai.’
Sarai was about to agree when Agnes, the maid, came in to ask if she could clear the breakfast table.
Epilogue
‘GOOD MORNING,’ LANCER addressed Reverend Herring who answered his knock to the door. ‘My name is Joby Lancer.’
‘Good morning,’ the tubby little clergyman greeted him, but fell silent for a few moments, frowning. ‘Forgive me. Your name means something to me but I just can’t recall what. Another positive sign of old age no doubt.’
‘I have been to the Bridewell hoping to see the condemned man who is a friend of mine,’ Lancer enlightened him. ‘I couldn’t obtain permission, but the governor suggested that I called on you.’
‘Of course!’ Herring came close to shouting the two words as he slapped his thigh. ‘I have been visiting Thomas Oliver regularly who told me that you were his closest friend. Please, do come in.’
Invited into the small house, Lancer was brought a cup of coffee by an elderly housekeeper. Seated in a large, comfortable armchair, he listened with interest and some sorrow as the clergyman told him that he had seen Thomas Oliver, the name under which Buckingham Joe had been tried and convicted.
‘Your friend has found the peace of God and will face tomorrow unafraid, Mr Lancer. He spoke to me a lot about you, and believed that you would arrive in Exeter at some time. He instructed Walter Cole, the prison governor, that he didn’t want you to visit him. He told me that his ardent wish was for you both to have a m
emory of when you were together on the road as free as the Almighty intended men to be. That would not be possible, Thomas said, if your last memory was of visiting him in the condemned cell.’
Able to envisage Joseph saying this, Lancer changed his mind about asking the clergyman to arrange a visit to his friend before he was put to death.
‘You say he is at peace now, Reverend?’ he asked, needing to double-check.
‘You have my word on that, Mr Lancer. In the weeks that he has awaited execution he has found the Lord and is now a devout Christian. As you will know, Thomas is a truthful man. This very morning when I visited he assured me that he will go to the gallows tomorrow happier than he has ever been in his life.’
Lancer would not have been able to accept that about anyone other than Joseph. On the day when they had parted when leaving Salisbury he had sensed that his friend was regretting the life that he had lived.
‘Did he tell you that it was not him but another man who committed the murder that he has been found guilty of?’
‘He did,’ the clergyman nodded. ‘However, Thomas is aware that vengeance would make him lower than the person known as the Kentish Hero, but forgiveness would raise him above that man. He also instructed me that if you came to Exeter you must not be here when he faces the hangman. As you know the execution will be held in public. He prays day and night that you will grant him that fervent wish. He also asked that if I should see you I should tell you to return to Adamslee. He says that when you do it will be absolutely clear to you which of the two choices you must make. I expect that you understand his meaning, Mr Lancer.’
‘I do,’ Lancer confirmed. ‘You will be seeing him in the morning?’
‘It is my sad duty to be with him right to the end, Mr Lancer.’
‘Then please tell him that it would have been hard for me to be here tomorrow, but it will be worse to leave. Nevertheless, I shall do as he wishes. You will have the right words to tell him how my thoughts are with him now and forever more.’
‘I will tell him, my son,’ the Reverend Herring promised in hushed tones.
Already grieving over his friend, Lancer was further upset when he noticed the tears in the old clergyman’s eyes.
Now in a close relationship with Kendall Harrison, Sarai gave thanks to providence for guiding him to her. She had come to realize that she had misjudged him in the past, for he was a far more thoughtful and caring man than Emil Edelcantz had ever been, even in his most affectionate moments. Kendall had spoken of his desire to marry her when the situation with his wife was resolved. Sober and clear-headed for many weeks now, Sarai told him that was what she wanted, too. He was out riding that morning and, finding lately that she hated being parted from him, she hoped that he would have returned as she made her way back to the house after a pleasant walk in the garden.
As she reached the front of the house her heart pounded as she saw a horse tethered to a post near to the door. Then she was disappointed to see that it was not Kendall’s fine chestnut but a pony. The rider was standing at the door talking to Agnes. When the maid saw her approaching she pointed her out to the rider, who hurried to her. She found herself dreading whatever it was that brought the stranger here.
Little more than a boy, nervousness caused him to stutter when he got to her, he held up a folded piece of paper he was carrying in his hand. ‘Mr Trevor Bolland, the Governor of Dorchester Pris—’
‘I know who he is, boy,’ she cut his stammering short, wondering why she was treating the lad so rudely.
Then, as the blushing lad handed her the paper, she recognized that the same feeling of dread was still with her. She unfolded the paper and began to read.
My dear Sarai
I am writing to you because Kendall Harrison has left Dorchester and I fear that he may be heading your way. He is in trouble, Sarai. His newspaper business has collapsed and he is destitute, with no wife, no business premises, no home, no money, and massive debts. Having known Kendall for a long time I am familiar with the way his scheming mind works. It is likely that he will see you as widowed and vulnerable but financially sound.
My advice is that he is smooth-tongued so should he come to you must not listen to a word that he says. Send him on his way.
With kindest regards
Yours
Trevor Bolland
Sarai spoke to the lad as she folded the letter. ‘Thank you for bringing me this. Please thank Mr Bolland for me. What is your name?’
‘Robin, mistress.’
‘Well go back to the door and knock, Robin. When the maid opens the door tell her to give you a nice meal of whatever you fancy.’
‘Thank you kindly, mistress,’ the boy said, pleased to get away.
Sarai turned facing the hill that Harrison would come down when he returned. She would wait for him and wouldn’t have permitted him to dismount were it not for the fact that he would have to pack his belongings before leaving. She would make certain that he would not remain at Adamslee House for one minute longer than necessary, even if it meant using the shotgun on the rack in the hall to drive him away.
It was exactly eight o’clock in the morning when Lancer, riding a horse he had purchased in Exeter the previous day, topped a hill above Adamslee. He had planned to get here at this time in the belief that a once familiar view would ease his anguish over what Buckingham Joe would be going through at that very moment. There was nothing that could lessen his sorrow or alter the horrific picture he had in his mind of his friend’s last moments on earth. He had an impulse to dismount and kneel in prayer, but resisted the urge thinking that it would be sinful, because of the time that had elapsed since he had last prayed.
He found himself watching as a sparrow taught a youngster to fly while a tiny rabbit, totally entranced by the demonstration, tried it itself. The furred, panicky catastrophe that resulted caused the feathered student to crash-dive, while the adult sparrow, screaming abuse, chased the rabbit through hawthorn bushes.
Guilt overwhelmed him then as he realized that Joseph had died during the brief time he had been distracted by the display of nature. Then it occurred to him that the diversion had been a miracle sent to comfort him at that terrible time. Thinking that was an excuse for being too cowardly to share the suffering of his friend, he reprimanded himself as he rode off in the direction of Adamslee House.
Unsure of how Sarai would greet him, as well as wondering whether he should be here at all, Lancer dismounted and walked to the door of the house.
‘The mistress is poorly, sir,’ the maid who came to the door informed him.
‘Is it possible for me to see her for just a few minutes?’
About to reply, the maid remained silent as Sarai’s voice came from behind her.
‘Let him in, Agnes. I saw him riding up.’
The way the words were slurred should have warned Lancer. Even then he wouldn’t have been prepared for the sight of Sarai as she appeared behind the maid. Her hair was unwashed, loose and straggling. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, while her normally strong-featured face was swollen.
‘Go on about your duties, Agnes,’ she mumbled, before opening her arms in invitation to Lancer. ‘Come on in, Joby dear. Welcome home.’
When he made no move towards her she came at him with her arms still open wide and a crooked smile on her face. Revolted by both the way she looked and the odour that came from her, he swiftly turned and hurried to his horse.
‘Joby, darling. Joby, please do not leave me.’ She was crying, running towards him as he swung up into the saddle. She stumbled and fell to her knees. Staying down on her hands and knees she raised her head, matted hair falling about her now tear-stained face as she called to him, ‘Don’t leave me all alone. Please, Joby. It was Emil Edelcantz who betrayed you, not me.’ She screamed out more words. ‘It wasn’t me who betrayed you, Joby. I can’t live without you. I can’t live … I can’t live….’
He voice faded away. She was such a pathetic creature tha
t he was moved so strongly by pity that he was about to get down from his horse and go to her. But his good sense clicked in and he pulled the horse’s head round, kicked his heels into its flanks and rode away.
Don’t look back, he instructed himself. A few feet further on and his conscience gained the upper hand. Rising up in the saddle he half turned to see her lying face down in the dirt with her arms stretched out in front of her body. Agnes and Mrs Winchell had come out of the house and were running towards her.
Be strong, he commanded himself as he kicked his horse into a trot and rode away.
A short while afterwards he was riding along the cliff and saw Ruth Heelan wading through the sea with the large basket on her back. Going further along the cliff he came to the path and guided his horse down to the beach. There he dismounted and walked to the water’s edge.
‘Ruth,’ he called, but she ignored him.
‘Ruth. It’s me, Joby Lancer.’
This time she turned her head in his direction. After a slight hesitation she started wading to the shore. As she came limping out of the water she said, ‘I am sorry, I didn’t recognize you. What are you doing here?’
‘Just paying a visit.’
‘Will you be going to see Arabella?’
‘Is she well and happy?’ Lancer enquired.
‘She is well but not happy. My mum died and I am living with Arabella now. She can’t find work and I don’t make enough to keep Bella, her baby and me.’
‘What about her husband?’
‘Lionel, my brother, deserted her ages ago. I know she is not your responsibility, but it would mean a lot to her if you paid her a visit. She is really unhappy today as the rent collector is due.’
The Toll of the Sea Page 21