Cheating the Hangman

by Judith Cutler

  Red-faced and gobbling, Lawton, the squire out-squired, looked likely to have a seizure. Edmund’s expression might have been unkindly described as appraising. I suspect, however, he was not calculating a possible fee, but working out a diagnosis and possible prognosis for the future when the man must needs become his patient.

  ‘I always said we needed a parish constable,’ Boddice observed. ‘Always. I’d have been glad to put myself forward. Glad. But that Lord Hasbury was always keener on wining and dining those harum-scarum friends of his than paying me a fee. I told him, I said—’

  ‘Shut your mouth,’ Lawton suggested without particular animus.

  ‘Do we have your word? Will you escort us everywhere we go?’

  ‘Look here,’ Lawton said, ‘we had a warning. We told you. Threats. Dire threats.’

  ‘Contained in a note I never saw because you had thoughtfully burnt it,’ I said, scathing as my father would have been. ‘Perhaps you wrote it yourself – if it ever existed.’

  The result of that chance piece of sarcasm was amazing: both men turned colour, Boddice pale and Lawton purple. Lawton was already talking, suddenly co-operative. ‘We’ll go with you as far as Sarey Tump’s. Talk to her. See if she’ll walk with you.’

  ‘Assuredly she shall not,’ I said, perhaps stung at the thought of relying once again on a woman for protection. ‘Can you imagine taking a young babe to a deathbed? Use the sense God gave you, man! Indeed it is you two or no one. And I suggest you make up your minds soon, lest the poor man dies before we get there. Ethan, too – he is a very sick man and should be in his bed, not on his feet.’

  Boddice looked at Lawton and then at Edmund. ‘And who will be paying for these here medical visits?’

  Before Edmund could assure them that his services would be free, I stepped in again, my voice icily reasonable. ‘The village owes me reparation for my injuries. The village will pay – presumably, gentlemen, you, inasmuch as you represent the village. So are we ready to set out? Dr Hansard and I are ready as soon as our horses are brought round from the stable.’

  Edmund left me to speak to his wife, while Marsh located our boots and our bags. We both fell silent as Edmund joined us.

  ‘Has Maria accepted your decision?’

  ‘Without enthusiasm, shall we say? I would hardly be surprised to find her in the stables, directing Tom to fasten kitchen knives to the wheels of the gig so she can ride like Boadicea to our aid. She suggested, in fact, that we might ask Burns to abandon his usual peaceable duties and accompany us. I concurred. He might be the epitome of restraint, but his size has a certain abstract value, especially if he wears everyday clothes. And he is an excellent shot. Yes, against all my instincts, and – you may shake your head all you like – I have pistols for two in my bag.’

  There was little Edmund could do for poor Luke Stokes except give him some draughts to ease the pain. But he assured me, almost sadly, that though the old man was suffering, he too still had a long way to go before his death. We prayed together before some of Edmund’s laudanum drops eased him into a merciful sleep. As his eyes fluttered, he squeezed my hand. ‘Should have told you – but I know not what. I was to say I was sorry.’ Whatever it was he regretted, I was not this time to learn.

  Despite the presence outside of the reluctant churchwardens, we were both braced for perhaps an attack, or at the very least unpleasantness, as we left Luke’s dwelling, stolidly guarded by Burns. There was nothing to raise our pulses. The village seemed as deserted as our next patient had predicted, with all the men and probably all the children in the fields. Then I waited in the sun with Burns, talking about the developments in the cricket team, and in particular Robert’s still pleasing progress, while Edmund did what he could for Ethan, now stretched on the rags that made up his bed. This was, as he explained, little more than to provide a quantity of sweet-smelling dressings for his awful lesions. Then I entered and offered him Communion, but he lay face averted, with his eyes tightly closed. So I asked for God’s blessing upon him, and retreated, quickly, to the spring air.

  Boddice and Lawton accompanied us to the village boundary, and showed signs of quitting us there, until Lawton suddenly bethought himself of his manners, inviting us to join him in a glass of sherry. Surprised, indeed, nonplussed, we accepted, despatching Burns back to the Park to assure Maria of our safety. When he dragged his feet, Hansard asked blithely, ‘What on earth can go wrong?’

  Burns was too disciplined to reply, but his darkling glance spoke volumes.

  ‘Don’t forget, Burns, we rely on you to reassure Mrs Hansard with as much fervour and sincerity as if she were your mother, not your employer,’ I said.

  He bowed his assent. ‘Rest assured,’ he said, solemn as if he was in the drawing room, ‘I shall do no less.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  It was very hard to make small talk with men for whom we felt little liking and less respect, but we both sensed that behind the talk of the weather and the state of the fields lay another topic that the men were reluctant to broach. At last Hansard pulled out his watch, setting down his glass with a tiny but perceptible rap: he was ready to be on his way. I took this as a signal to get to my feet. If anyone had reason to wish to shake the dust of this village from his feet it was I.

  Lawton half-rose before sitting again. ‘This bit of bother the other day,’ he began.

  ‘The ambush or the lynching?’ I asked pleasantly. I did not resume my seat.

  Perhaps the airy movement of his hands suggested both. ‘You said that if people confessed to you, you could forgive them. Did you mean properly forgive? Shake hands and let them go about their business?’

  ‘What would you do, Mr Lawton?’

  ‘Hang them and be damned! But you’re a parson, aren’t you? You’re supposed to be good.’

  ‘Even if people try two separate ways of throttling me? And there is another crime to which these two may well be connected – the hideous murder of that poor unidentified man. Even if I do not claim justice for my own injuries, I cannot legally or morally forgive the crime committed against him. His killers must and shall face justice. As the most important laymen in the village, you would not want anything else, surely. If there is no connection between the cases, then if I am convinced of the sincerity of my assailants’ penitence, then forgiveness must and will be forthcoming. If and only if,’ I added sternly. ‘And now, since I have my own parish to care for, I most strongly recommend that you summon the curates whom you so rudely disdained and implement the Sunday school I understood we had agreed upon. I shall write to the bishop to tell him my views. Dr Hansard, shall we ride back together?’

  ‘So these people confessing might still be hanged?’

  ‘Not for their attack on me.’

  ‘Even so …’ Boddice’s wheedling tone reminded me of my younger sister when, still in the schoolroom, she was determined to persuade her long-suffering governess into a course of action she had already declined.

  Like dear Miss Buttridge, I found a short answer. ‘I am no lawyer, no magistrate. I cannot therefore negotiate. Do you understand? Good day, gentlemen. My advice is to do what I have already recommended. Meanwhile,’ I added, ‘there is the small matter of no church services. What arrangements are you making? I suggest you contact the archdeacon instantly to ask for advice. Obviously a speedy decision is required.’

  Edmund set our horses in motion, congratulating me, the moment we were out of earshot, on my stance. ‘I was proud of you, my friend. You said the right thing. And before you start agonising, I have to tell you that your own people need you alive, not dead in some vendetta you don’t even understand. Now, is Titus up for a bit of a gallop?’

  ‘Watch him!’

  At last, when the horses had enjoyed themselves, we slowed them to a gentle walk.

  ‘It occurs to me that this is just the sort of day when your father would benefit from some fresh air,’ Edmund remarked, stopping to admire the verdant fields and woods before us
.

  ‘He would benefit from many things, not least a visit from my mother. I have been a coward not to put the notion to him before. Or to write to Mama and suggest it to her.’

  ‘Even with a man as easy-going as Hasbury it is a mite awkward to wish another visitor on him – especially a lady who might not appreciate the entertainments on offer. Maria and I would be delighted to offer her accommodation if she is not too high in the instep to accept the hospitality of a man required to work for his living. Maria suspects, however, that she would welcome an invitation to your rectory, once all signs of its use as a hospital have been removed and it is returned to its usual tranquil state.’

  I shot a sideways glance at him. ‘So long as the standing invitation for me to dine with you is extended to her!’

  ‘Can you imagine that it would not be? Very well, let us take a light nuncheon with Maria and then tool over to Orebury to suggest your father takes the air.’

  ‘It is too late, Edmund. Look yonder!’ I pointed with my whip. ‘Surely that is he – though I do not recognise the equipage. And I do not believe he ever travelled in a governess cart before in his life.’

  We cantered gently down the hill towards the governess cart, where my father sat with his bad foot supported on a regal stool quite at odds with the humble vehicle, which was driven by no less a person than Thompson, the groom who had saved me many a beating. Strangely he looked as if he feared the overweight and rheumatic old pony might take it into his head to bolt. More likely my father had just vented his spleen at some trivial mishap.

  Titus whinnied in delight and fretted for the sugar he knew should be in Thompson’s right-hand pocket. ‘Turned into a beauty, hasn’t he, Master Toby – I mean, My Lord.’

  ‘Master Toby, please.’

  ‘Dear God – that excrescence of a hat!’ my father, who had been visibly seething, greeted me. ‘I thought you at least dressed like a gentleman. And whatever happened to your neckcloth?’

  Raising the offending headgear I bowed as low as Titus would let me. ‘I am but just come from attending a sickbed, sir. How else should I dress, but as a clergyman?’

  Thompson’s eyes rounded in horror, but Edmund, eyes a-twinkle, spoke before my father could: ‘I am delighted that you have taken my advice, My Lord. Has the exertion caused any pain apart from to your groom’s pride? The footstool is an excellent notion.’

  I caught Thompson’s eye, mouthing, ‘Walker’s?’ His nod was almost infinitesimal.

  ‘Are you returning to Orebury, My Lord? If so, we could ride beside you. I would welcome the chance to see that the exercise has done you no harm, and I am sure that Titus would enjoy renewing his acquaintance with what seems an old friend. Now, my good friend and colleague Dr Toone has just written to me concerning a new treatment for your condition, by the way. Ginger. Do you enjoy curries, sir, as I do? After my years in the East …’

  ‘Her Ladyship visit His Lordship here?’ Walker repeated in what I might only describe as a discreet squawk. I glanced in alarm at the door connecting the dressing room to my father’s bedchamber, but Walker had assured me that our quiet conversation could not be overheard, which considering what he said next was fortunate. ‘Mr Tobias, this is no household for a lady. The only reason it is so quiet now is that many of the guests are still abed.’

  It was my turn to express subdued horror. ‘At this hour?’

  ‘If you do not retire till daylight, you are unlikely to rise before the better part of the day is past,’ he said. ‘And, to make no bones about it, many are not in their own beds, if you take my meaning. The young persons are not necessarily Paphians, sir, but assuredly they are not the sort of lady one would wish to propose to one’s parents as a future bride. Chères amies, opera dancers, actresses – that class of young person, sir. And for gamblers, like His Lordship, the tables are open throughout the night, with the highest stakes. Some are quite rolled up and are living on their IOUs. One young sprig had to be dissuaded from staking his whole estate on the progress of a raindrop down a window.’

  ‘What on earth can have possessed my father to come here?’

  ‘He clings to his youth, Mr Toby, in a manner not altogether becoming. But I have said too much. All I beg is that you will not encourage Lady Hartland to venture here.’

  ‘I had hoped to invite her to the rectory.’

  ‘My advice would be to write one of the letters she so much enjoys, telling her of your adventures about the parish, Master Toby.’

  I could not suppress a shout of laughter. ‘My dear Walker, if she heard of my recent mishaps, I could not stop her posting here to nurse me! It would have to be a very carefully edited letter.’ Serious again, I reduced my voice to barely more than a whisper: ‘Does my father have any other more – more respectable – acquaintance in the area? Lord Wychbold lives but a stone’s throw away.’

  ‘Lord Wychbold? Here? They say he rarely stirs from his house except to make trouble. In any case, Master Toby, I can’t see him improving the situation.’

  ‘You are right – a scholar amongst all these hedonists – though I have yet to discover his area of expertise. Walker, you are awake on every suit: keep your ears and eyes open and find out just what he reads all day, can you?’

  He bowed, a smile lighting his tired features. ‘I will indeed, Master Toby. It will be good to have something to talk about in the servants’ hall, and your average servant is a great purveyor of low gossip.’

  ‘In that case you might launch another topic for your colleagues to chew over – Mr William Snowdon. I would give much to know his whereabouts.’ My explanation was brief, but I could not forbear asking rhetorically how he came to know with such speed of our need for an artist. ‘My interrogations of the servants came to nought,’ I added.

  ‘I will see what I can achieve. But that is My Lord’s bell. Shall I see if he will receive you?’

  Fortunately the fresh air had indeed inclined my father to sleep, so our game of chess was mercifully postponed till another day. On the other hand, there was one thing that I must do before nightfall – I must write an entirely fictitious account of my recent days in Moreton St Jude’s for my mother’s delectation. That done, if not entirely to my satisfaction, I wrote another letter, this one to the archdeacon, formally expressing my lively concern over the lack of services and pastoral care at Clavercote, and asking him to communicate my views to the bishop. I had an idea I was throwing a lighted spill into a heap of kindling.

  Despite Hasbury’s reluctance to provide a room for the inquest, it was held at Orebury House. Mr Vernon’s proceedings were short and to the point. Assuring us that at the moment the only possible verdict the jury could return was murder of an unknown person by person or persons unknown, a very unsatisfactory result, he sent us all on our way within ten minutes to find out at least the identity of the victim, assuring us that the rest would soon fall into place. He added a tart observation that it was more than time that even hamlets like Clavercote had a village constable. Since I had expressed identical sentiments I could not be surprised. The surprisingly few people come to view the proceedings as opposed to a surly and reluctant jury trooped out without audible comment.

  One person I did not expect to see was Sarey Tump, clasping Joseph, who was also supported by what I recognised as one of Susan’s shawls. She hung back in the darkest corner, almost wincing when I caught her eye but then defiantly raising her chin and making the tiniest of gestures with her head to the outside world. With others of the gentry, I was ushered out before the villagers and servants, but I dawdled on the gravel path, warning Edmund swiftly that I must talk to her alone. Nodding, he withdrew to the shade, but still, I noted, within earshot.

  ‘What on earth are you doing here, Sarey?’

  ‘Came to thank you for seeing Ethan Downs, sir,’ she said.

  Really? Why should she walk all this way with the weight of a baby in her arms? ‘Thank you. But I was truly just doing what any parson would do.’ Perhaps I
expected her to bob a curtsy and back away. But her face was troubled, as if she had something still to say but did not know how to begin.

  ‘Does Joseph thrive?’ I stroked his velvety cheek with my index finger. ‘I hardly need to ask – he is by far the healthiest person I have met in Clavercote.’

  ‘I wanted to ask, sir – all that food and these clothes … Are they really for me? Do I have to do anything to … to pay for them?’

  Dear God, what sort of payment did she mean? ‘They are all gifts freely given, with no expectation of anything in return.’

  ‘Really? Truly? So I don’t have to … you know …’

  ‘Are you asking me if you have to prostitute yourself with me to pay? Can you really imagine that? I am a man of God, Sarey.’

  Flushing a painful scarlet she muttered something I strained to catch.

  ‘Are you saying that other parsons might demand that? Has anyone asked you?’ I had a sudden fear, so great it gripped my stomach and bowel and it was all I could do to stand upright.

  ‘Not me. Not me.’

  ‘But other women? Other girls? Tell me, please, Sarey, so that something may be done to punish this fiend!’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Is there anyone you could talk to? Dr Hansard? He is a wise and understanding man, as you know.’ She shook her head slightly, whispering something. ‘Would you feel able to confide in my housekeeper, Mrs Trent, who has been such a friend to you?’ Did she nod slightly? ‘Sarey, she is not here at the moment but staying with friends. The instant she returns I will bring her to you. I promise.’ I added, not quite joking, ‘Provided that you undertake to stop anyone trying to hang me. I was very frightened.’