‘How close?’ Adam asked, but Lassimer seemed not to hear.
‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I will tell you how things really went.’ Thus he launched into his own tale.
According to this, the authorities had planned another significant assault on the smuggling gangs, much as before. It was to involve detachments of dragoons, Revenue Riding Officers and others. A group of local magistrates had also been summoned to assemble in Holt, ready to dispense immediate justice. All those captured would thus be on their way to prison in Norwich without delay.
One such magistrate was Mr. Harmsworthy. He, it seemed, had only the day before arrived back at Lynn from the Netherlands, where he had been pursuing his business interests. By the time the summons reached him, the hour to assemble was close. He could not delay. In his haste, he was unwise enough to ride out alone to join up with the others. Either that, or he expected to meet with a suitable escort before he had gone far. Whatever the reason, he rode alone, protected only by a brace of pistols at his saddle. That was when he was set upon by a murderous band of those same smugglers he was expecting to commit to the assize. They had an especial hatred for him, for they blamed him for the capture and punishment of so many of their number.
‘They must have been watching his home,’ Lassimer said. ‘When he rode out, they knew at once that they could fulfil their design. All that was needed was to come upon him before others were about on the same road.’
‘I imagine they had been studying the methods of the people of Aylsham,’ Adam said. ‘Maybe they even had an apothecary in their number.’
Lassimer rewarded this witticism with a glare, but refused to be turned aside when in full flow.
‘However they accomplished it, they caught Mr. Harmsworthy alone on a deserted stretch of the road,’ he continued. ‘There followed a terrific chase, with many shots fired by both the pursuers and their quarry. The sounds of galloping horses and pistols being fired woke people from Field Dalling to Letheringsett and beyond. Of course, there were too many of them for Mr. Harmsworthy to fight off. They had come to murder him. Now they fulfilled their purpose.
‘As soon as they saw him fall from his horse, mortally wounded, they rode off, leaving him lying in the road. As luck would have it, a small detachment of Revenue men had also hear the noise of shooting and hurried to see what was going on. They found Mr. Harmsworthy, but it was too late. He was already dead.
‘Fearing lest the smugglers should return, these men took up the body and went as swiftly as they could to Holt, where they lodged the corpse in The King's Head Inn. The innkeeper, so I am told, is in excellent repute with the Revenue on account of his refusal to deal with smugglers in any way. Thus he was trusted to provide a secure refuge, should the smugglers be so bold as to come to carry the body off.
‘Just in case the Revenue men had been wrong, the innkeeper sent at once for a most eminent retired naval surgeon – a personal friend – who, alas, certified death.’
‘Doubtless they reasoned they did not have time to find an apothecary,’ Adam said. ‘To search the bedrooms of all the widows in those parts in hope of discovering where one might be would have occupied them to the morning.’
‘You are in a strange mood today, Bascom,’ Lassimer complained. ‘If I were not so fond of you, I would take such words amiss.’
‘Ignore me,’ Adam said at once, for he did not wish to upset his friend. ’I do not mean to mock you. It is just that your tale is so serious that I felt in need of a moment of levity.’
‘Hmm,’ Lassimer replied. ‘I judge you would be well-served by resisting such urges in future. Others might not be as understanding as I am.’
‘Your pardon,’ Adam said. ‘It was a most foolish and unnecessary remark and I withdraw it at once. Please continue with your tale. You are indeed telling me much I neither know nor could ever guess at.’ The worth of Wicken's remark about mixing a good measure of the truth into a lie was now proved in ample measure. Much mollified, Lassimer continued.
‘My story is almost complete,’ he said. ‘With Mr. Harmsworthy dead, the authorities called off their plan and turned at once to trying to secure his killers. To kill a magistrate is a most serious crime. The reward offered is thus in proportion. I do not doubt it will prove more than enough to persuade someone in the gang to implicate the rest.’
‘What is the reward?’ Adam asked.
‘A thousand guineas! Imagine that. Why, it is more money that most honest men would expect to see in seven years.’
‘It is indeed a princely sum,’ Adam agreed. Of course, Mr. Wicken could have offered even more, had he wished, since none would ever claim it. Still, he has calculated well, Adam said to himself. It is enough to provoke great interest and discussion, yet not so much as to occasion total disbelief.
‘Of course,’ Lassimer continued, ‘the worst of all – at least for us – is that we cannot now know what part Mr. Harmsworthy played in the death of Dr. Ross, the archdeacon.’
‘Indeed,’ Adam said. ‘I expect no more about that affair will ever be brought to light.’ Enough, he told himself, you are enjoying this too much. He had not realised how easy it was to speak the truth purely to mislead.
They sat in silence for a few moments, then Lassimer spoke again. ‘So, it is over at last. I am almost sad. I enjoyed puzzling over things with you – and setting you right on several occasions, as I recall.’
Adam smiled at this. He did not begrudge Lassimer his moments of triumph. What his friend said was true. Without him – and Capt. Mimms, Mr. Jempson and even Miss Lasalle at the end – he might well have failed to get anywhere.
‘All that you say is true, Lassimer,’ he said. ‘I too feel somewhat sad that our quest has ended. And I admit most readily that you found more solutions that I did. All of which proves, once again, that apothecaries have the most devious and calculating minds. Physicians, on the other hand, are much too honest and straightforward to do well in such murky waters.’
At once, the old sparring between them began again and they spent another hour in that amicable state of teasing that is such an important part of true friendship. It did indeed seem as if both of them should return wholly to their respective businesses and leave the solving of crime aside. Yet they were to be proved quite wrong about this before too many months had passed.
35
Postscript
A Letter from Mrs. Bascom to her son
Norwich, 28 August, 1792
My Dear Son,
I should be gratified to find myself at present much in demand amongst the better society of this city. Alas, it is not my wit or conversation that causes so many invitations to be sent. Nor does the blizzard of calling cards in the hallway signify anything about me. It is not even curiosity to meet dear Sophia, richly though she deserves it.
No, what draws all attention is the simple fact that I have a son. Not any kind of son, you understand. This one is hailed as ‘a young man of infinite promise’, ‘the best ornament of the medical profession in these parts’ and ‘saintly in his care for his patients’. I am assured on all sides that he is ‘quite the thing’. People pester me with questions about him. Certain ladies amongst my acquaintance have derived much repute from having met this amazing young man ‘in the flesh’, in a manner of speaking – though I am certain more than one of them (and none more so than Miss Jane Labelior) would dearly like to turn that saying into reality.
Who can this man be? I have but two sons. One is a country squire, with no connection to medicine. The other is a physician it is true. But I know him only as a most retiring and scholarly person. Admittedly, he is sometimes drawn into all kinds of madcap actions through a most over-developed curiosity, but no more.
Yet, I am assured, this is the one. Mrs. Ross, the wife of the late archdeacon, sings your praises more sweetly than the choir in the cathedral sing their anthems. Amongst the Quakers of this place, of which there are many, your name is held out as a paragon of bravery and good sense. Ev
en the bishop's chaplain, I hear, has been moved to refer to you as ‘an excellent person’. That is a great compliment indeed, coming from him. He is well-known to be critical of all who are not relatives of His Lordship, the Bishop, or members of the higher ranks of the peerage.
On the subject of Mrs. Ross, I imagine you know that she and her son are now reconciled. He is living in Birmingham at present, I understand, where he has found eminent men in commerce and banking closely interested in furthering his career. All thought Mrs. Ross would leave Norwich, but she assures us it is not so. She has left the Archdeacon's residence in the Close, of course. Yet her son intends to return to this city in due time. It seems that he has good hopes of entering into a partnership with one or more of his patrons from Birmingham and starting a business here of banking. In the meantime, he has rented a suitable property for his mother. Since, we are told, his father did not manage to cut off his inheritance in the legal sense – dying before that could be done – he has sufficient wealth to establish himself in business when he is ready.
I would ask you when you next intend to visit me, but you might do better to stay in Aylsham until the fuss has died down. Unless, of course, you relish the idea of being pestered by every eligible young woman (and a good many not so young) with long accounts of their ailments. I think Sophia and I will come again to visit you instead. Then we can go on to Trundon as we did on the last occasion.
Sophia and I get along wonderfully together. She is quite the most tactful and delightful of companions. When we wish, we attend the theatre and other sundry entertainments, where she seems always to draw a small crowd of attentive young men. Sad to say, they depart unsatisfied, for she is resolute that she will never marry. Instead, she spends her time with several close female friends of her own age. They are gaining the status of bluestockings, I fear, for they occupy themselves mostly in reading, study and scientific experiments most unsuitable for young ladies. I do not interfere. What is judged acceptable for the young of our sex has always seemed to me to be too dull to contemplate.
What she thinks of you she will not tell me. Make of this what you will. I suspect she harbours a certain tendresse, but will not admit it. But then, I am a silly, sentimental old woman. It is just as likely that she rarely thinks of you at all.
So, my dear boy, expect us to visit during the last two weeks of September, if that is convenient for you.
Until then, I remain your most loving and devoted mother,
Mrs. Eleanor Bascom.
About the Author
William Savage was born and spent his childhood in the historic city of Hereford, on the borders of Wales, before taking his degree at Peterhouse, Cambridge. Thereafter, his career included a variety of managerial and executive roles. Now retired, he lives in a small market town in Norfolk. Three years ago, he began volunteering at a National Trust property nearby, and this turned his lifelong interest in history towards researching and writing about the eighteenth century. This is his first work of fiction.
@penandpension
www.penandpension.com
An Unlamented Death: A Mystery Set in Georgian England (Mysteries of Georgian Norfolk Book 1) Page 26