Cheating the Hangman

by Judith Cutler

  I grinned. ‘If I tell you nothing you will not have to lie to Mrs Hansard. But I hope that you will tell me how your other patient here goes on.’

  ‘Perhaps the incident affected his brain: he positively relishes both broth and gruel. Mrs Trent is entirely charmed. Starvation is a wonderful condiment, of course. He would not have lasted much longer – he is yet at risk with that ugly wound I hope and pray will not turn gangrenous.’

  ‘Has he said anything yet?’

  ‘He manages “please” and “thank you” but nothing by way of sustained conversation. Nor has he given his name yet. But he did ask one question – a reasonable enough one in the circumstances. He asked where he was. When I told him it was a rectory, he looked entirely bemused. But when I added that we were in the village of Moreton St Jude’s he uttered two simple words. “Thank God!” Now why should the name of our undistinguished if pleasant village inspire such relief?’

  I gave a terse explanation.

  ‘A footpad! My dear Tobias, this lends credence to the general theory that he is our housebreaker.’

  ‘If you were as hungry as he, would you make a mess with books and papers and ignore good food in kitchens and larders? Exactly so. So, please, I beg you, don’t repeat those words to anyone.’

  ‘Or he will swing for sure. I promise to keep quiet until he is well enough to be questioned. But if I doubt him, if I catch him in a lie, then I must tell the magistrate – Lord Hasbury, in the absence of Lord Chase. What a strange system, to give a man like that responsibility for the legal welfare of others, poor soul. I wonder if he will ever recover more of his reason …’

  ‘I told the man to come here. I urged him to. A dishonest man would have avoided the place like the plague.’

  He felt my wrist. ‘Your pulse becomes tumultuous, Tobias, and I do not want to bleed you again … If only we had better remedies …’ He straightened. ‘If I can’t give Robert good news I fear he will repeat his guard dog impersonation.’

  ‘Does he still speak? Or was it only fear that loosened his tongue?’

  ‘He has returned to shyness and timidity – but now he greets me by name. I believe we have a true miracle, Tobias. I hope and pray we have a similar one for our other silent friend.’

  ‘Amen,’ I said fervently. ‘When should I visit him, Edmund?’

  He looked at me ironically. ‘Were you not so unaccountably weary, I would say now. Very well, for five minutes only – for both your sakes. Tobias,’ he added, as I struggled out of bed, ‘take great care what you say. You may be putting food on to his plate, but take care you do not put words into his mouth. He may be a hardened criminal, remember, and while you may forgive, justice must be done. Here, let me help you with that, though Binns will be deeply offended that I usurp him – what a splendid garment it is, quite befitting the scion of a noble house!’ he added, as he settled my dressing gown on my shoulders.

  I turned to him. ‘Have you seen my father recently?’

  ‘As recently as two hours ago. The coloured water and reducing diet are slowly proving beneficial to his health, but not necessarily to his temper. He is sadly in need of entertainment other than railing at his medical man.’

  ‘He is still – his old self?’

  ‘If by that I apprehend that he was always autocratic and curt to his inferiors, yes. Tobias,’ he said with a curious edge to his voice, ‘had your injuries been more severe, undoubtedly you would have wanted me to send for your mother. I would have done it without consulting you, to be honest. Would you have wanted your father to attend – to take this to an extreme – your deathbed?’

  I sat heavily on the bed. ‘What a facer! Yes, Edmund, I believe I would. And by the same token, should his condition worsen for any reason, I would like to know. Would like you – well, it goes without saying that Mama would be there. Perhaps she would … negotiate … between us.’

  He pulled up a chair. ‘I have been at more deathbeds than I care to recall, and seen some touching reconciliations. Each time my main thought is of the waste – the waste of time, Tobias. The happy meetings, the family meals …’

  ‘The opportunities, in short, for many more disagreements, for the throwing of plates, for stormings from the room!’

  ‘Of course. Those too. Very well, are you ready to make a regal progress to see your guest?’

  The room in which he was being nursed was small even by the usual standards of servants’ accommodation. There was no fireplace, and the window high and small. The two men who had initially stood guard had disappeared, so at least its cell-like appearance was slightly lessened. Perhaps I should have insisted that he be carried to a guest bedchamber, but for once would bide my time.

  ‘You have a visitor,’ Edmund announced.

  The man, who had been lying back apparently drowsing, started up in quick apprehension. But as he saw me, his face was transformed. ‘’Tis a miracle. I have found you! Now let me kiss your hand and thank you.’

  ‘Let me shake yours instead,’ I said, alarmed at such excesses. ‘Because I am glad to see you again. What brought you here?’

  ‘Why you did, Your Honour! You said if I ever made my way to Moreton St Jude’s, you might put work my way. And there’s nothing Dan Strudd needs more than work: begging, finding food where I may – it’s no life for a soldier, Your Honour. Ex-soldier, I should say.’

  I looked at him sternly. ‘Are you a deserter, Dan?’

  ‘I was sent home – that good doctor of yours will tell you I took a ball to my ribs, and I was like to die.’

  ‘He has certainly suffered a bad injury, which has healed leaving an ugly scar.’

  ‘But my family was gone from my village I know not where, and who could I turn to? What I did to you was the worst, though, master, and I’m truly sorry.’

  ‘I forgive you unreservedly. But tell me, what happened the other night? At some point I must have banged my head, for I have no recollection at all …’ I was being disingenuous, of course.

  ‘I was just settling down in a copse for the night,’ he said. ‘Heard voices. Thought I’d best scarper, because maybe I’d taken a rabbit or pigeon I shouldn’t and who was I to know if it was a gamekeeper and some friends. But then one climbed a tree and the others – two of them – hid themselves in the ditches, I thought to myself. “They don’t mean any good to anyone.” So I lurked down the lane a bit. And this horseman came along. With white bands, not a neckcloth. And I said to myself, “Buggered if I’ll let them rob a clergyman.” I didn’t have time to warn the man – you, as it turns out. I thought I might scare that great horse into shying, so the rider’d have been as badly burnt as he would scalded. Then this man jumped and another had his great hands throttling the life out of you, so I could bear it no longer. And then somehow I helped you on your horse and you helped me up too.’ A spasm of pain overcame him.

  Edmund held a glass to his lips. ‘This will ease the pain and help you back to sleep. As it takes effect I will dress your leg again. I fear you may always walk with a limp—’

  ‘Who will employ a cripple?’ he cried. ‘A man who doesn’t even know his letters?’

  ‘There are many round here who will find work for a man who saved their rector. A little more? Excellent. Now, Tobias, I suggest you return to your bedchamber. Be so good, if you should see Binns, to ask him to assist me.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The visit from Archdeacon Giles Cornforth was an honour I found I could have done without. Susan showed him into the drawing room, where Maria, waiting for Edmund to finish his rounds in the village, was sitting with me. Perhaps his sensibilities were offended when he found me alone with a lady, but since we were chaperoned by her sewing basket and some articles she was making for Mrs Trent’s next maternal box, he could hardly demur. More as if it was due to his standing than to hers, he greeted her as if she were at least a duchess, but then almost literally turned his back on her and devoted himself to me. She raised an eyebrow: should she withdraw? Th
e shake of my head was minuscule, but she responded with a brief smile and applied herself to her stitchery.

  ‘You are unwell?’ he asked, indicating the table of potions beside me.

  ‘Indeed, sir, were it not for the skills of Mrs Hansard’s husband, I doubt if I would be receiving you. Rather you would be receiving me, in my coffin.’

  ‘You joke!’

  Determined that he acknowledge my kind friend properly, I said faintly, ‘Indeed, my recollection of events is so shadowy that Mrs Hansard can probably give a more coherent account than I can.’

  His eyes widened at the suggestion, and even more during her succinct narrative. Nonetheless he addressed his question to me. ‘But you have no idea who these assailants might be?’

  ‘It was dark. I was thinking more of the scene I had left behind than of my journey.’

  He said nothing. Mrs Hansard caught my eye: I should ring for refreshment.

  Equipped with a glass of wine, the archdeacon found he could address Maria directly. ‘The man who rescued Dr Campion: did he recognise no one?’

  ‘He is a stranger to the area, sir, and is so ill that my husband fears for his life. He has as little memory as Dr Campion of the events,’ she declared.

  ‘Perhaps I should visit this hero and express my thanks,’ Cornforth said, setting down his glass.

  She shook her head gently but firmly. ‘Such is his condition, Archdeacon, that even Tobias is permitted the shortest of visits once or twice a day. The poor man sleeps or lies unconscious the rest of the time.’

  I noticed, as perhaps the archdeacon did not, that neither of us mentioned him by name.

  Cornforth’s nod was supremely gracious. ‘I will remember him – and you too, Campion – in my prayers. Now, tell me, how do you while away your hours? May I perhaps send you some books? A selection of sermons? Or – what was that hobby of yours? – a sketchpad?’

  ‘I fear, Archdeacon, you are misled. I did have some sketches on my desk, but they were not mine. I was merely keeping them for sentimental reasons – a friend, you understand, who is far away.’ I hoped a note of unrequited love crept into my voice as my head drooped in melancholy reflection. Straightening my shoulders, I continued, ‘But there is no place in a clergyman’s life for false hopes.’ Almost I added that Mrs Trent had started the fire with the drawings, but that would have been an arrant lie rather than a half-truth.

  ‘Quite so.’ He coughed with embarrassment. ‘Now, I hear,’ he began, in quite a different tone, ‘that you have suggested that the curates doing Mr Coates’s work should effectively start a Sunday school in the village.’

  ‘I understand that they are very successful in the great towns and cities,’ I said. ‘And there is such great need we should embrace the opportunity to feed the children’s bodies in addition to their minds and spirits.’

  ‘But you yourself would not be party to this venture?’

  ‘I have my own responsibilities here in Moreton. We have a tiny village school here, of course, kindly endowed by a local family,’ I said, unwilling to enter another wearisome discussion. ‘And indeed,’ I added plaintively but accurately, ‘I know not how long it will be before I am fit to read Divine Service for my own flock, let alone someone else’s.’

  Suddenly but silently Maria was on her feet beside me, holding my wrist. ‘Your pulse is tumultuous once more, I fear. Pray let me give you a measure of the restorative draught my husband prescribed. If you do not improve, I will have to summon Binns to carry you to your chamber.’

  As hints went it was pretty broad. It was also effective. Within two minutes Cornforth was asking for his hat and gloves and being curtsied from the room. I did not attempt to rise and bow, waving instead a languidly apologetic hand.

  Maria had no sooner watched his departure from the window than she said flatly, ‘The moment Edmund or Toone returns we must remove Dan from here to a place of greater safety.’

  ‘Such a move would put the man’s life at grave risk,’ Toone declared. ‘And on what grounds, pray, Mrs Hansard? The fact that you do not like the archdeacon? I dislike churchmen as a matter of principle – Tobias is an honourable exception – but that does not sway my medical judgement, and I am convinced that Hansard will share my view. In any case, Dan is guarded, is he not?’

  ‘Intermittently,’ she snapped.

  ‘I will ensure that their presence is constant, day and night,’ I said swiftly.

  ‘To be honest,’ Toone said, adopting a more conciliatory tone, ‘I have been wondering if we should not send for a colleague with military experience. Army surgeons have far greater experience than either of us in speedy amputations.’

  ‘Amputations?’ we echoed as one.

  ‘That is why I called back in earlier than you perhaps expected me. I did not like the look of that leg this morning. I want to be here when Hansard examines it. Amputation is not something one undertakes lightly. But that does not mean it should never be done. For all our knowledge of herbs and poultices and fomentations, we simply have nothing in our pharmacopeia to fight against an infection like that, especially when the patient is too weak to put up a fight.’ He produced a crooked smile. ‘This is a case where your profession may have more power than mine, Tobias, but bruit that not abroad. Excuse me – I must visit Strudd.’

  Maria and Hansard himself, as dour as I’d seen him, decided that I would be much happier away from the rectory when Dr Keble, Toone’s military acquaintance, arrived, and that an afternoon tooling in Maria’s new gig round the burgeoning countryside would be beneficial in my recovery. My rebellion was brief but sincere: if I could not be praying for Dan in his room, I should be on my knees in church. Not to be was a dereliction of duty.

  Hansard’s rebuke was stern. ‘I have a very sick patient whose condition needs all my concentration. Dear as you are, Tobias, I cannot be worrying about you having an attack of the vapours because of the sounds you may or may not hear, or feeling faint at the very thought in church. Go with Maria: let the countryside be your nurse.’

  Indeed, nothing other than the beauty of the newly greening fields, with their promise of crops, would have taken my mind off what might be happening. Maria took us on byways the far side of Langley Park, towards Orebury House and beyond my usual sphere. Amazed that even in so short a distance the countryside should change so much, from largely arable to wilder wooded areas, I looked around me as if I were an artist indeed.

  Soon we realised we were not the only ones taking our leisure on such a lovely day. A young man on horseback was riding towards us on a handsome roan, which probably deserved a better rider; though he was dressed to perfection, from the brim of his modish hat to the toes of his glassily polished Hessians, his seat was awkward, and it was with some difficulty that he persuaded his mount to come to a halt beside us. Though I hoped for a moment he was the young man whom I’d seen riding hell for leather from Clavercote, his horsemanship suggested otherwise. When the horse was sufficiently calm, he doffed his hat to reveal an array of golden curls a debutante might envy; many would covet his periwinkle blue eyes too. Instead of a girlish lisp, however, he spoke with a pleasant baritone, with an accent suggestive of Harrow.

  ‘Julius Longstaff,’ he declared, ‘at your service.’

  ‘The poet!’ I hoped I sounded impressed rather than sceptical.

  ‘I do my best. Alas, I fear that my mount will not permit me to offer you my card.’ He certainly needed both hands to steady it.

  Having introduced Mrs Hansard, who responded with her open smile, I at least was able to produce mine, which, as his horse sidled nearer the gig, I was able to proffer.

  To my surprise, his eyebrows shot up. ‘Dr Campion!’

  ‘You recognise my name, sir?’ I said.

  His smile was disarming. ‘You have a certain reputation amongst the local gentry. Personally I would be honoured to be referred to by certain of the more antediluvian landowners as a turbulent priest.’

  ‘Provided,’ said Mari
a dryly, ‘that no one sent their knights to be rid of you.’

  ‘Indeed. However, I have no intentions of that sort, so pray, let me offer you hospitality. My wife and I are currently rusticating here at Taunton Lodge. The lodge is but five minutes up the lane, and I would be honoured to welcome you.’

  Being turned by his horse, keener on returning to his stable than quitting it, Mr Longstaff led the way. His formal education had not made him bound by formal etiquette, to be sure. Maria shot me a sideways glance, full of amusement and mischief, mouthing the words turbulent priest clearly accompanied by a plethora of exclamation marks. My only reply was a conspiratorial smile: I was sure that both of us were interested in what he might say, if we questioned him about local gossip, of our anonymous corpse. The very thought of his hideous death, coupled with the thought of what Dan might even at that moment be undergoing, brought bile to my throat.

  Without so much as tweaking the reins, Maria passed me her vinaigrette. ‘So this is our romantic poet,’ she observed. ‘But very much the gentleman, even if I perceive you do not admire his horsemanship.’

  We could certainly admire Longstaff’s hospitality, which was disconcertingly generous considering that we were complete strangers – even if he had assuredly heard of me. He introduced us to his wife, a pale rabbit of a child, terribly young to be expecting an imminent confinement. Mrs Hansard oozed sympathy from every pore, her kindness enabling our hostess to speak, though in a dazed whisper, as she pressed us to more cakes and more wine.

  Longstaff tried to quiz me on my reputation, but seemed happy to take me at my own word. We spoke, as anyone with eyes must, of the poverty in the villages and the need to ameliorate the lot of the workers. He was passionate at the injustice: looking around me at the luxury in which he lived, it was hard not to smile wryly at this champagne revolutionary. Only when he had railed at the government for a full five minutes did he change the subject, with some violence, and mention, without any prompting, my role in finding the crucified corpse.