Adam felt near overcome by exhaustion. Whether it was from the wild ride, the emotions of the magistrate’s confession and passing, or his own inability to do more than ease the man's agonies, he did not know. Whatever the cause, he needed sleep and a return to normality. Thus it was that he asked Marshall to have him taken to his brother's house at Trundon. One of Marshall's men readied the inn's chaise and Adam, once more heavily cloaked against the morning chill – and prying eyes – left Holt before nine.
Giles was used to his brother arriving unannounced and travel-worn, usually after spending a long night at the bedside of some patient. He was not therefore surprised when Adam came. Nor did he question the simple statement that his brother had been called out to a dying man, and had asked to be brought to the nearest source of a soft bed and relaxing company. Though he was not the imaginative type, Giles understood that being so often close to suffering and death must leave you drained to the uttermost.
After taking a simple breakfast, Adam retired to bed at once. And though Amelia gave firm instructions to servants and children to make no noises that might disturb his rest, it would not have mattered. Had a regiment of dragoons been manoeuvring outside, he would have heard nothing. He slept for nigh on eighteen hours and woke feeling ready for more.
For a while, Adam stayed abed, but hunger eventually drove him to rise. When he had washed and shaved enough to appear respectable, he went downstairs, finding the servants preparing for breakfast. His brother and Amelia seemed determined to avoid any subjects of conversation but the lightest, though they must have been agog to know what had caused him such weariness. In its way, this was almost more unsettling that a barrage of questions might have been, but Adam was much moved by their concern. And so, politely declining an invitation to stay once he had breakfasted, he begged his brother for loan of a carriage to take him home. It would be some time, he told himself, before he would again subject his backside to contact with a saddle.
As he was making his farewells, Giles put a letter into his hand, telling him it had arrived early that morning. He had kept it aside lest it should prove bad news of any kind. Now he was free to read it along the way or keep it until he was safely back in Aylsham.
Adam could not, of course, wait so long to open the paper, so he began to read as soon as the carriage was moving down the drive from the Hall.
It proved to be a letter from Mr. Wicken, saying that he had arrived in Holt late on that Friday evening and needed to deal with certain matters. He would then take some rest in his lodging at the White Lion before calling on Adam. Would it be convenient for him to come to Adam's house on Sunday morning?
* * *
Mr. Wicken arrived at about ten on Sunday morning. Despite one night's sleep, the effect of a long journey, undertaken at high speed, still showed. He was not quite his normal urbane and elegant self.
Hannah ushered him into Adam's study, where her master waited. Then, as Adam had arranged earlier, she brought a jug of punch and a pot of good coffee, with both glasses and cups, then left, closing the door firmly behind her.
Mr. Wicken tasted the coffee, sighed in appreciation and stretched out his long legs. ‘You have no idea how good it feels to be in a fine room like this, drinking your excellent coffee, with no one coming in or out asking for direction,’ he said. ‘I cannot thank you enough for responding at once to my man’s summons, doctor. You impressed all by your calmness in taking charge of a most confused situation. And before you berate yourself for not having saved Mr. Harmsworthy, let me assure you I am fully aware you did all you could. Marshall was a soldier before he entered my service. An experienced officer too. He told me that he knew from the start Mr. Harmsworthy was far beyond the help of any physician.’
‘All I could do was hear what he termed his confession and try to ease his last hours,’ Adam said. ‘I still feel the greatest sympathy for the man. He admitted to killing the archdeacon and harbouring a wanted rebel and a French spy, yet I cannot bring myself to call him murderer or traitor.’
‘We will return to that matter in a little while,’ Mr. Wicken said. ‘Tell me first what he related in his so-called confession.’
Adam did as he was bid, speaking in Harmsworthy's own words with as much accuracy as he could. To do thus brought back much of the pain of the first hearing. Yet he believed he owed it to the dead man to let him speak in his own voice to those who would judge him.
When he had finished, they sat in silence. At length, Mr. Wicken spoke his thoughts. ‘There is something of the Greek tragedy about poor Harmsworthy's life,’ he said. ‘From all you have told me, it is clear he was caught in the meshes of a most unhappy fate. Is this your judgement too?’
‘It is,’ Adam said. ‘I have spent many hours since the man's death wondering what should be done next. My power to influence events is small indeed, but I feel bound to tell you my conclusions.’
Mr. Wicken smiled. ‘You may have more sway in these matters that you think, doctor. Since you are the only witness to Harmsworthy's words, none can act upon them without your co-operation. But that is of no matter for the moment. Tell me your conclusions and I will see if they match with mine.’
‘Let me make it clear that my concern is for the living, not the dead,’ Adam began. ‘First, I am of the opinion that making it public that Dr. Ross, the archdeacon, was murdered can bring no benefit to any. For a start, in my medical opinion, the blow to his head would have killed him anyway. That seems indeed to have been an accident. We have no proof other than Harmsworthy's words that the man was then smothered while lying on the ground. If he was, it but hastened what must have come about anyway. Mrs. Ross and her family have begun to come to terms with the events of April. To upset them again for no real reason seems to me cruel and unnecessary.’
‘So far we are in complete agreement,’ Mr. Wicken said. ‘The affair of Dr. Ross has only ever been a sideshow in relation to my concerns. Let us allow him, and his family, to rest in peace.’
‘Thank you,’ Adam said. ‘You have eased my mind a good deal. Yet it may not be so easy for us to agree on the rest. To brand Mr. Harmsworthy a traitor to his country for his actions would be just, I agree. There is no doubt of that. He knew O'Dowd was a wanted rebel. He knew the Frenchman …’
‘Monsieur Alphonse Baudet de Harnoncourt, a notorious agent provocateur,’ Mr. Wicken interposed.
‘… the Frenchman,’ Adam continued, ‘was a spy sent to try to bring about rebellion in our land. Still, he gave them shelter and did what he could to see them on their way to safety. That makes him a traitor without any doubt. However, he is beyond all our justice and the other two are taken …’
‘One is dead,’ Mr. Wicken said, ‘hanged as he richly deserved. The other says little, but probably knows less. No one trusted him in Ireland.’
‘What remains,’ Adam said, refusing to be led away from his argument, ‘is this. If we make known that Mr. Harmsworthy was a traitor, his whole family will suffer shame and likely ostracism from society. By his own words, none but he was involved in this treachery. I would not see them thus branded and ruined for the sake of his crime.’
Mr. Wicken smiled at this. ‘It should not surprise you, doctor, to find we are also of the same mind in this area. Your motives are purer and more worthy than mine, but we reach the same point by our different routes. To make public what Mr. Harmsworthy told you would serve only to alert our enemies to the true extent of our ability to keep watch on them. I wish to avoid that, for obvious reasons.
‘Let me tell you what I have done already. I could not wait to speak with you in detail, for which I apologise. Some actions must be taken on the instant for them to stand any chance of success.
‘You showed great presence of mind, doctor, in not identifying yourself at the inn in Holt. That has helped me a good deal and I thank you for it. Your little game with the innkeeper and the contraband in his cellar was also perfect. By the time I arrived, the man was so frightened by the prospect of
a visit from Revenue officers that he was ready to agree to anything I asked – only let him have the time to hide the evidence! He has already begun to spread abroad the story I told him. Indeed, he is saying it so often and so loudly that I do not doubt he will, in time, come to believe it is the truth. Much of it is, of course. I have found that a strong mixture of truth with the lies and distortions makes for a better result.
‘Here is the tale then. As before, a trap was being planned for more smugglers along this coast. Men in the service of the authorities were moving about in small parties, spying out the land and judging where the smuggling trade was most active. It was one such group that came last Thursday night to The King's Head, bearing a severely wounded man.
‘That man now has a name. It was Mr. Henry Harmsworthy, a well-known and respected magistrate in these parts. It seems Mr. Harmsworthy had been overseas, visiting old friends and conducting some business (which is true, in a way). His man had left a horse for him at Lynn, where he was due to return. (No mention of Ireland, you see. It is best if certain people do not know we ever traced him there.) His return to Lynn must have been later than he thought, for he was nearing his home only late in the afternoon. Thus it was that he was set upon by several thieves or ruffians. In the melée that followed, he suffered a severe wound to his chest from the discharge of a pistol.
‘Hearing shouts and a shot, a party of government men hurried towards the noise, but were too late. The ruffians had fled at the sound of the approaching horses and poor Mr. Harmsworthy was lying where they left him. At once, most of the rescuers bore him away to the nearest town, where they found him a room at the first inn they came to. Others rushed to summon an eminent physician, a specialist in battlefield wounds, who had been asked to spend a few days in the vicinity. Since men had been killed in the last seizure of smugglers, the authorities wished to be prepared for the next.
‘The physician came and did his best – none could have done better – but all was to no avail. Mr. Harmsworthy died. Now a substantial reward is being offered for the apprehending of his killers. It is also likely that a troop of dragoons will be billeted in Holt in the near future. The extent of smuggling along the coast between Wells and Cromer has reached such a point that the Revenue men alone cannot cope.
‘Well, doctor, does my story seem a good one to you? Will it convince people?’
‘I am sure it will,’ Adam said. ‘You have done this before, Mr. Wicken. That is plain. Lies there are, but remarkably few. A few things are made to seem otherwise that the reality. Yet all will convince, since nearly all is simple truth. I am amazed.’
‘In the work that I do,’ Mr. Wicken said, not bothering to conceal his pleasure at Adam's words, ‘it is as often necessary to explain public events away as it is to conceal others. Yet you gave me a good start, doctor. Without that, I would have needed to lie more and thus take a greater risk of the truth becoming known.’
‘I do have one complaint,’ Adam said.
Mr. Wicken frowned. ‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘I will put it right if I can, I assure you.’
‘Your tale includes an eminent physician, well-experienced in dealing with woundings. That, sir, is the most blatant falsehood I ever heard!’
‘Not at all, good doctor,’ Mr. Wicken replied, laughing now. ‘ I have done nought but bring forward what will sure to be true one day. I have no doubt of your future eminence. In what precise field … there I might, I own, be somewhat wider of the mark.’
Since there was no more to discuss after that, Mr. Wicken said that he must take his leave. He was, as always, needed back in London as quickly as possible. He might even be there by late that same evening, if he went at once.
As Adam was walking to the door with him, Mr. Wicken stopped. ‘My good doctor,’ he said, ‘I had almost forgot your fee for attending our patient, and I brought a banker’s draft with me expressly for that purpose.’
Adam took the document Mr. Wicken gave him and would have set it aside until after, had not Mr. Wicken urged him to check that it was all in order. What he opened was a banker’s draft, drawn on The Bank of England, no less. The amount startled him and he looked up at once, only to find Mr. Wicken smiling happily.
‘But sir,’ Adam protested, ‘this is far too great an amount!’
‘For such an eminent physician? I think not. Besides, it is well below the worth you have been to me,’ Mr. Wicken replied. ‘Hush, doctor. I will not take it back. Now, I must go, leaving you with my thanks as always and a certain belief that we will meet again – maybe sooner that you think.’ And with that, he stepped quickly out through the door to where his chaise, coachman and a discrete escort were waiting, leaving Adam standing open-mouthed in surprise.
34
The Story Elaborated
Wednesday 29 August 1792, Aylsham
Adam had been absent a good deal from his practice and patients of late. It behoved him to remember that he was, first and foremost, a doctor. Not a servant of the Alien Office, nor a rich man able to spend his time freely on whatever he wished. He thus devoted two full days to business and medical matters, ignoring all distractions. Only after that was done, and order restored to his life and work, would he allow himself some leisure. Thus it was Wednesday morning before he came at length to visit Lassimer's apothecary shop nearby.
Luck was with him. His friend was not visiting patients, nor was the shop full of customers. As soon as he entered, Lassimer pointed to the door of his compounding room, saying that he would take but a moment to finish his current task and close the shop for a while. Then they could speak in private and at length, for there was much news.
Lassimer did not join Adam quite as soon as he had promised. That was explained by the arrival of the lovely Anne, bearing a jug of good ale and a beaming smile for the doctor. Quite why she proved so disconcerting to Adam when she did this he did not know. It was plain though that she was well aware of the effect she could have on him at will and enjoyed seeing him flustered and embarrassed.
Coming into the room behind her, Lassimer saw what was happening in an instant and came to Adam's rescue.
‘Be off with you, you baggage,’ he said to her. ‘I will not countenance such shameful behaviour under my roof … save with me, of course. Our good doctor's mind is on higher things. You must not expect him to notice a servant-girl's charms, however pleasing.’ Then he gave the lie to his pretence of disapproval by fetching her a sound slap on the backside. She went, as ordered, but she was still smiling.
‘Ignore her, ’ he said to Adam. ‘She is all too knowing of the effect she produces in unwary males – especially those who deny themselves the proper exercise of their masculine nature on a regular basis. Now, what have you been doing, my friend – other than going out late at night in the company of a group of desperate-looking men?’
He laughed at the startled look on Adam's face. ‘Come, doctor. You must know by now that everything that happens in this little town is soon reported to my shop, sometimes within the hour.’
‘I was called to a patient in need,’ Adam said, thinking furiously. ‘As to the messengers who came to me, my patient had been entertaining a group of friends. They came together partly for protection and partly because none knew the road well.’
Adam need not have worried. Lassimer was far too eager to impart his own news to inquire too deeply into anything else.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘unless you were in Holt, you missed all the excitement. Our Mr. Harmsworthy – that same magistrate whose actions we so suspected – is dead! What do you think of that? No, I see you are not surprised. You knew already! But you have scarcely been out of your house since Friday. Maybe that strange gentleman who visited you on Sunday morning brought you news.’
This was all tending uncomfortably close to the truth. Fortunately, Adam had brought with him a simple way out of the problem.
‘I suppose I should be flattered that the town deems my coming and goings so important,’ he said. ‘In real
ity, I find it tiresome. Still, the answer to your question is simple. I know about the matters that took place last week in Holt because I received a long letter from Capt. Mimms only this morning. He seems as excited as you are about what took place there.’
Lassimer was crestfallen. ‘I had forgotten Capt. Mimms,’ he said. ‘Now, I suppose my news is stale.’
‘How shall I know until I hear it?’ Adam said. ‘What Capt. Mimms wrote seems incredible enough. Detachments of dragoons. Highwaymen on the road beyond Letheringsett. Pistols fired in a desperate melée. The local inn thrown into confusion in the middle of the night. I think he has taken too much of his own excellent wine.’
‘Then you are wrong,’ Lassimer said, once again excited at the opportunity to share his own knowledge of the events. ‘All that is true … aye, and more!’
‘Capt. Mimms writes that Mr. Harmsworthy was killed by footpads,’ Adam said. ‘Then a group of men happened upon him lying by the road and brought him to Holt seeking medical help. A physician was called, but it was too late. Mr. Harmsworthy died before dawn came.’
‘Hah!’ Lassimer said. ‘Capt. Mimms is a dull old stick indeed. He has left out much and reduced the rest to the most boring recitation of facts. He has even made serious errors in his relation. My own information comes from those who were close to being eye-witnesses.’
An Unlamented Death: A Mystery Set in Georgian England (Mysteries of Georgian Norfolk Book 1) Page 25