I felt impelled to stand up, as if to make it easier for them to fit the noose round my neck. But then I found my voice. ‘Brothers and sisters,’ I said, as if I was in the safety of St Jude’s, and trying to ensure that all heard the collect, ‘why this anger? Why this threat of violence? And why, for goodness’ sake, if you hate me, do you hate Jem too? A decent working man, if ever there was one! For your conscience’ sake, let Jem walk free, I pray you.’
There was silence, then a rumble of conversation. Women’s voices grew louder. I heard words like ashamed of yourselves and cowards. Under cover of the noise I hissed, ‘Do not argue, but go. Run. Save yourself. Promise me. Promise me.’
He did not speak, but looked me in the eye. He gave an infinitesimal nod. Soon he was manhandled down, Cribb still secure in his arms, and pushed through the crowd to safety.
It was time to speak again. ‘Thank you, my friends. That was both generous and just. Now accord me the same justice. If I am to die, at least let me know why. What in God’s name have I ever done to harm you? I swear to you that I have only ever striven to do you good.’
Because of the thudding of my heart, re-echoing through my ears, I could not tell what people at the edge of the crowd were saying. Were they baying for my blood, or protesting that I should continue to speak?
Two men leapt up beside me, twine at the ready to bind my wrists. I could smell their sweat – their fear, their hunger, their poor rotting teeth.
I did not proffer my wrists but stood as tall as I might. I did not fear death. We all had to come before the Judgement Seat, where I trusted my Saviour to speak on my behalf, sooner or later. Yes, I had hoped it would be later – I still had so much work to do. But I did not relish the physical indignities of death – would I scream? Would I void my bladder, my bowels?
There was movement in the crowd.
I thought I picked out a woman’s voice. Surely it was Sarey’s? She would testify for me if she wasn’t shouted down. But what was one voice against those calling for revenge for Molly? Why Molly? Why me?
I spread my hands. ‘Brothers and sisters, how can my death avenge Molly’s? I never met the poor maid. Never in my life. Though she was driven to take her own life, I would have given her a Christian burial here in your churchyard. Has not our Master told us, Judge not that ye be not judged!’ Suddenly I was tempted: I wanted to accuse Mr Snowdon in my stead. Should I? Dare I? I had no grounds apart from one fleeting glimpse. Surely it was the devil whispering in my ear! No, I would say nothing that I did not know to be true. ‘Surely you know that I would give anything to bring her vile seducer to justice? Surely you know that I am here to serve you in whatever ways I can? Had I not been visiting one of your own friends on his deathbed would I have been set on by footpads and nearly done to death?’ In a horribly theatrical gesture, I tore off my neckcloth and showed them my bruises. ‘Even now a poor stranger who came to my rescue lies at death’s door.’
There was more murmuring, still not wholly friendly. But then a woman’s voice called out strongly, and everyone turned to look at her because she was riding a splendid horse. Astride it. Clutching a small boy to keep her in place.
Robert halted Titus long enough for her to sit tall and speak. ‘You’ve all had your say, and not much of it sense either, from what I hear. Where are you, Sarey Tump? And that wastrel husband of yours? Jim? Show your faces if you dare. And hold up young Joseph, who would assuredly be dead if it hadn’t been for that good young man.’
Robert nudged Titus nearer. Mrs Trent could not decently dismount without help. Titus was beside me. My gig was to be her mounting block, I her groom. Robert remained glued to Titus’s back, Titus pressing himself to me. Robert flashed me a smile that in anyone else I would have thought encouraging. Perhaps it was. I smiled back.
‘Thought we’d best come,’ he said. ‘Just in case.’
Mrs Trent smoothed her skirts and adjusted her bonnet. ‘That’s better.’ She turned again to the crowd. ‘Now, get rid of those damned nooses, before anyone thinks to tell the militia about it. Go on: both of them.’ Arms akimbo she looked about her. ‘And where is the squire, may I ask? And Farmer Boddice? Humph!’ As if she were saving that topic up for later, she continued, ‘What children you all are, picking on an innocent man just because you can’t find the guilty one. You owe Dr Campion more than you’ll ever know because he’s a man who does good by stealth, like the Bible tells us. Now, he came to talk to you all particular – suppose you get him a glass of that rubbishy stuff that passes for ale at the Dun Cow and when he’s wet his whistle, you can all stand still and listen.’
The first sip tasted like nectar. Only then did I realise that the ale was indeed thin and sour and I left the rest untouched.
This time the silence was expectant.
‘Thank you, my friends, and may God in His mercy remember you in all your troubles. Mrs Trent has spoken kindly but truthfully: I am trying to improve your lot, which heaven knows is bad enough. But I fear that I have indeed done something that has caused you great offence, and if you do not want to shout it out, perhaps you will speak to me in private and I will do my best to put it right. But I also need your help. As you know, a man was killed horribly just before Easter. Sooner or later it will not just be me and my friends trying to apprehend the murderer – the full force of the law will descend on Clavercote, and you know what will happen then: many secrets best kept hidden will be exposed. And, whether I wanted it or not, someone would be brought to justice for the attack on me. I am prepared to forgive and forget if my assailants are men enough to ask my pardon. But the Bow Street Runners would not understand that. If my rescuer, a homeless soldier, dies, the Runners may consider that he was murdered. Consider that. Remember: if someone confesses, I will do my best to protect him. Otherwise the best I can do is pray with him as he ascends the gallows.’ I could say no more. Indeed, I could do no more. Weariness washed over me in a great tide. My body folding of its own accord, I sank to my knees.
Perhaps the crowd thought I was praying. I ought to have been. And soon was, as I heard braver voices than some reciting the Lord’s Prayer. I managed to add my amen before a roaring tide filled my ears and a swirling mist closed my eyes and I was no more.
I knew I ought to recognise the face swimming before me, but could place neither it nor the sunny room where I lay. Soon I sneezed horribly – someone was waving burnt feathers under my nose while another hand proffered a vinaigrette.
‘There you are, Master Toby: you’ll be as right as ninepence in a moment.’
‘Mrs Trent?’
‘Now just you lie still. You’re here in Taunton Lodge, on account of Mr Longstaff’s rescuing you.’
‘Rescuing me?’
‘Aye. Jem ran all the way to Taunton Lodge, that being the nearest dwelling, and begged for help. Mr Longstaff sent straight off for Dr Hansard. He and Jem were already riding hell for leather down the road towards Clavercote when they came across young Robert and Titus heading straight towards them. As for me, Master Toby, it’s some time since I drove a gig, specially one as fine as yours, but there’s some things you don’t forget, and I was heading that way too. Only more slowly,’ she added.
‘That’s three times you’ve saved my life,’ I whispered.
‘Get along with you, do. Dr Hansard will look in when he’s not so occupied. It seems Mrs Longstaff’s pains started with the upset. Such a to-do you’ve created. And nothing to show for it all,’ she added, with the sort of reproving look my mother used to give me when I came home in all my dirt after a youthful adventure.
I managed to laugh. ‘At least I learnt to trust your judgement in the matter of that beer. Vile, bitter stuff. But perhaps strong enough to go straight to my head since I was imbibing on an empty stomach? I cannot imagine why else I should have collapsed as I did – unless it was the memory of you galloping in like Boadicea. Mrs Trent – you, riding astride Titus!’
‘Robert riding Titus, and me clinging on for dear
life. Now, Master Toby, will you do the sensible thing and sleep a little more?’
I looked at her quizzically. ‘I’d rather have a mouthful of tea and a slice of toast. If Longstaff’s household isn’t in too much chaos with the baby on its way?’
‘If it is, you may trust me to set it back in order again.’
Within minutes she reappeared. My paragon of a saviour had somehow contrived to burn the toast, but it tasted like manna from heaven.
Before I felt strong enough to find Jem and bid farewell to my kind host and would-be rescuer, the screams from upstairs became more frequent and more urgent. Longstaff’s heir would surely not be long in coming. Hansard, looking unwontedly anxious, despatched Jem in my gig to recruit a midwife whose services he could trust; until she arrived, both Mrs Trent and Maria were with the poor mother-to-be. Longstaff meanwhile paced about wringing his hands, telling anyone within earshot that he should have stayed in London where he would have commanded the services of Sir William Knighton, not some country sawbones.
I pushed him into his study, strewn with sheet upon sheet of scrawled-on and screwed-up paper. My intention was to give him a bear-garden jaw for undermining my friend’s efforts and for alarming his servants who might carry his opinions to his wife. Then I would invite him to join me in prayer. However, he no sooner saw the mess than he fell upon one of the sheets with a cry of triumph. Sitting at his desk, he was soon absorbed in his rhymes; it was not long before more sheets accrued on the floor.
With time obviously on my hands – I could not suggest that I leave for home if a difficult birth was in train and I might be needed, even if I could offer no more than prayers, my emergency case being still at the rectory, of course – I asked if I might have paper and ink, taking his grunt as an affirmative. This time my letters to Lawton and Boddice were couched in less friendly terms. They were to present themselves to me at two-thirty the following afternoon, it being the Sabbath notwithstanding. Robert could take Titus for a little more exercise, returning home via Clavercote where he would deliver my missives.
‘Ride Titus again?’ His face was transformed.
‘Of course. But this is not an emergency, so I want you to have more care for your neck and for his. Robert, will you and Susan be able to fend for yourselves this evening? Those two military men will still be there, and of course Mrs Trent is with Mrs Longstaff, and I feel I must stay. Just in case.’
He looked around, sucking his teeth in the way Jem occasionally did. ‘I dare say this ’un will have an ivory teething ring?’
‘Probably two. But none more precious than the one you whittled. Off you go. And say a prayer.’
‘Just in case, eh, sir?’
‘Just in case.’
The baby made its appearance before Jem returned with the midwife, and was pronounced by Hansard to be a pretty, taking little girl. Mrs Longstaff was tired, but perhaps not as exhausted as her husband, who had completed another seven lines almost to his satisfaction. Mrs Trent, no longer needed as a nurse, was already anxious about returning home, being unused to driving at night, particularly when there was no moon. Jem, clasping my hand with unusual fervour, offered to lead the way, if Longstaff could lend him one of his hacks. I declared myself fit to handle the ribbons and so the three of us made a decorous return to the rectory, Cribb providing a rather fidgety warmer for our feet.
Cribb at his heels, Jem led Longstaff’s hack and the gig pony straight to the stables while I handed down Mrs Trent. Almost before her feet touched terra firma, Jem returned, dragging both Robert and Susan with him.
‘Look who I found bedded down together in there!’ he thundered, furious that his special charge should have let him down. ‘You should be ashamed, the pair of you, taking advantage while Mrs Trent’s back is turned. Toby, I’ll be giving this young whelp of yours the benefit of my belt.’
Mrs Trent, pointed, brooking no argument. ‘Get indoors, do, Susan: I’ll speak to you later! You too, Robert – I’ll have my say and then Mr Jem will have his.’
But Robert dawdled, even as her hand fell on his shoulder. I thought I heard him whisper, ‘Please, Dr Campion, sir, it was just in case.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The last thing I wanted after all the drama of the day was a loud and hysterical scene in the kitchen, but I followed, unwilling to undermine Mrs Trent’s authority. I also wanted to hear what Robert obviously wished to impart. However, in the presence of three adults, Robert unsurprisingly lost all power of speech. Susan was hardly better, covering her face with her apron, and sobbing so hard that her whole body shook. ‘I didn’t … we thought … that man,’ was all I could make out.
I drew the ashen Robert to the quietest corner. ‘Just in case, Robert? In case of what? Quietly, now – pretend you’re talking to Titus.’
But he would not or he could not.
Mrs Trent, equally frustrated, shook Susan not quite gently. ‘If you carry on like this I shall have to slap your face just to quieten you.’ She looked at Jem and me. ‘With your permission I suggest we deal with this in the morning. There’s no sense to be got from them. Go you to your room, young woman, and be thankful you’re not out on your ear without a character.’
Susan stood stock-still, shaking her head dumbly. At last she managed, ‘Please, please Mrs Trent – let me stay down here until you go up. Please!’ The girl fell to her knees, hands raised.
I expected her to receive a flat negative, but something – some sort of understanding – softened the tired lines of the older woman’s face. ‘Very well. Light our candles, there’s a good girl, and we’ll go up together. As for you, Robert, I shall expect to see a bright fire burning in here tomorrow.’
The boy went rigid.
I shot an apologetic glance at Jem, knowing he would feel that I should have let him discipline the child, and said to him, ‘Titus has had a difficult day – it’s left him very nervy. He’d like some familiar company, I have no doubt, but you and I have a lot to discuss, Jem. What would you advise?’
‘I’d advise … but that can wait till the morning.’ At last he seemed to understand me. ‘I suppose you’re right: that horse needs a bit of a fuss. Robert, look to it, will you?’
To my shame I had almost forgotten about Dan and the decisions the medical men had to make. While Jem found us bread, cheese and beer, I hauled myself upstairs to the room – once nominally Robert’s, of course – to enquire how he did. There was no one to ask but the patient himself.
He appeared to be asleep, but opened his eyes as a board creaked under my foot. ‘Still got both my legs,’ he said tersely. ‘But such a to-do there’s been, master. Such squawking and carrying on. I think Captain Keble and that man of his are blowing a cloud downstairs to calm their nerves.’ He shifted uncomfortably.
‘I’ll send Wells up to you, shall I?’
‘I’d be obliged, master.’
The temptation to head straight to my room and close the door on everyone was almost overwhelming, but I made my way down to my study. Before I even entered I gasped at the smell: someone was smoking pungent cigarillos in my private room! I could not approve such want of consideration. My study might be their headquarters, but it was not ultimately their territory, and I allowed myself to feel offended. I opened the door. Their back to me, both men lounged at their leisure, neckcloths undone, and both had their booted feet on my desk. Neither showed any inclination to turn round, a fact that perhaps owed something to the presence of three empty bottles, which had once held my finest claret.
Silently I reached across my desk and picked them up. They had left wet rings, which were already bleaching the mahogany.
‘Gentlemen,’ I began quietly, having the satisfaction of seeing them struggle into a more vertical position, ‘you are here as my valued guests, but I fear that this is an abuse of my hospitality. Mr Wells, your patient needs you. Captain Keble, I am happy for my guests to smoke, but not indoors, and certainly not in my sanctum sanctorum.’
He threw the butt – and the one that Wells had left smouldering on the edge of my desk – into the fire, and straightened his clothes.
‘We told you that we had made this our headquarters,’ he said. ‘They never bleat like that when we commandeer properties abroad.’
‘I’m sure they don’t,’ I agreed affably, throwing open the windows despite the cold night air. Suddenly I found my brain clicking together things that people had said or done earlier this evening. What had Dan called it? A to-do? I felt anger burn within my breast. ‘Your smoking apart, is there any other trivial cause for me or my servants to bleat?’
‘Oh, you heard about that silly wench, did you? Couldn’t take a bit of friendliness? Tried to give her a guinea to stop her crying, stupid bitch. There it is.’ He pointed to the coin as if it made all well.
‘I will pass it on to her when I see her in the morning,’ I said coldly. ‘I take it that Wells will sit up with your patient tonight? In that case, sir, I suggest it is time you retired to your bedchamber. I would suggest that you do not smoke your cigarillos there but limit yourself to snuff, if tobacco you must have.’ I held the door open for him.
Jem was waiting in the hall, arms folded. He waited until Keble had made his unsteady way upstairs before steering me by the shoulder into the kitchen, where Cribb, dealing with a bone, barely looked up as I collapsed on to a chair, needing the table to support me. ‘Well done, Toby. I was ready to wade in and offer a little assistance if necessary, but you handled that beautifully, if you don’t mind my saying so – and after all today’s heroics, too. Come, tell me all – what happened when I scooted off?’ He poured beer for us both and pushed a tankard towards me.
‘In a moment. I want to see that Titus is all right.’ I struggled to my feet.
He pushed his chair away from the table, apparently determined to accompany me. ‘What was all that about nerves? That horse would walk through cannon fire without turning a hair.’
Cheating the Hangman Page 14