Skin and Bone--A Mystery

by Robin Blake

  ‘Quite so,’ I said with a smile. Then I bowed and picked up my hat. ‘Good day, Mr Recorder.’

  * * *

  In the hope that Lord Derby might be prepared to see me, I called at Patten House, but was told his Lordship was from home on business. So I returned to the office where Luke Fidelis awaited me.

  ‘The Sultan of Scrafton thrives, I hope,’ I said at once.

  He shook his head gravely.

  ‘The Sultan has a morose look this morning. His eye is not as beady as it should be and he is proving a choosy eater. I tried him on maize and sunflower seed but he will touch neither of them. I wonder if he is pining for Scrafton. I had better consult my new friend Jon O’Rorke in the matter, or the bird’ll never be in a fit state to fight a week today. Now, you will be interested in this.’

  He took from his pocket a letter, which he put into my hand.

  ‘It’s from Kathy Brock to me.’

  ‘From Kathy? Where does she write from?’

  ‘From Wigan. By all means read it for yourself.’

  The letter was short but it was literate enough.

  Dear Doctor Fidelis,

  I hope you do not mind. I am writing to you because you were kind to me about my bruises on that day we met in the lane. I want your word on a doctor hereabouts in Wigan – or between here and Warrington, where I go sometimes. Do you know one that would be kind as you are and take my side? I would be obliged if you would give me the name of such and write to him yourself about me so he is warned. Please write me care of Didcott’s drapery shop.

  Your poor friend, Kathy Brock

  ‘Well! I wonder what that’s all about.’

  ‘She may have had some more knocks from Pitt, her uncle. Perhaps she has got a lasting injury and he refuses to acknowledge it or allow her to be treated.’

  ‘But why does she say she hopes this doctor will “take my side”. Her side in what? Surely not a formal dispute. She can hardly be taking an action for battery against Terence Pitt, for she would not stand a chance of winning. What will you reply?’

  ‘Well, as it happens I know someone – Dr Hume of Warrington. I worked as his apprentice for a year when I was more or less of a stripling. He is utterly honest, to his own detriment, I may say, since most of the other doctors there are no straighter than ours are here. They hate Jack Hume for his refusal to charge their high fees. No more will he play their astrological games, or prate to the patients about wet and dry humours, as they all do.’

  ‘You will recommend him to Kathy, then?’

  ‘I want to help her and that is the best I can do short of going to see her myself.’

  ‘Could you not do that?’

  Fidelis shrugged.

  ‘How can I? I am training a gamecock for the biggest fight of his life. Anyway that’s not what she has asked me to do. Hume will serve as well as me – better, in fact. He is a remarkable physician.’

  ‘I suggest, when you write to her, you inform her of how matters are in the case of the dead baby – that the Mayor has taken over the inquest, and that I fear this would not bode well for her if she chose to return to Preston.’

  ‘She won’t come back unless she feels in greater danger from her uncle than she does from Mayor Thwaite.’

  ‘Both seem equally threatening, in my opinion. The poor girl is between a very sharp rock and the devil of a hard place.’

  Our talk drifted to how the resumed inquest under Thwaite might turn out. I described my visit to Thorneley’s to deliver the papers in the case. I also mentioned my curiosity at seeing the ‘Private Instructions re: P.M. – Mr Kay’.

  ‘I have had Mr Kay to dinner,’ I said, ‘having met him when we were both applying unsuccessfully for an audience with Lord Derby. He is a land surveyor summoned by his Lordship, for some reason that Kay had not yet been told. It is to do with Captain Strawboy, I do know that. Kay has been told to apply for his instructions to Captain Strawboy “re P.M.”. What is that?’

  ‘Strawboy represents Lord Grassington, not Derby, does he not?’

  ‘It seems Lord Derby has a stake in this “P.M.” thing also. But what is “P.M.”?’

  ‘Project Something, I guess. They are projectors, after all.’

  ‘And why are surveying instructions passing through the hands of the Corporation’s legal officer? And what is the reason for secrecy?’

  ‘I am interested in this fellow Kay. What is he like?’

  ‘A devoted apostle of improvement in all its forms. He talks of nothing else – and I do mean nothing. His conversation was so stultifying that Elizabeth and I could scarcely keep awake. I expect you would like him.’

  Chapter 19

  THE CITY OF York already had a splendid Assembly Room with no fewer than forty-two Palladian columns, while Bath also had magnificent rooms dedicated to assembly and polite concourse. I have lived long enough to see Preston build its own Assembly Room at last but, until it came, large gatherings with presentations and dancing were always held in the great first-floor dining room at the White Bull Inn, with its long refectory tables removed for the purpose. Refreshments were served in the downstairs coffee rooms.

  The conduct of the Assembly revolved around the presiding family, which was naturally that of the Earl of Derby. The opening ceremonies were ones of arrival and announcement. The Derbys took their places in chairs arranged on a raised dais at the end of the hall, and there held court while music played and Billy Wilkinson the town crier, having scrutinized tickets at the door, bellowed out the names written on them. Each ticket holder then entered the hall, walked the length of it to the dais – under the close scrutiny of those who’d preceded them – before bowing or curtseying to the Earl and Countess.

  It took some time to get everybody in, and those waiting to make an entrance formed a queue which, at its longest, stretched down the stairs, out of the door and into Market Place. I noticed, as Elizabeth and I took our place in line, that women whispered behind their fans and several people avoided greeting us, though they stared, then looked away at the instant we looked back. Possibly they disapproved that we had shown our faces, or were just surprised. Ahead of us waited James Starkey and his wife. I tapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘Hello Starkey. I’m ready for that game of bowls,’ I said.

  Starkey kept his back turned, pretending not to have noticed. I looked at Elizabeth and loved her for the way she wrinkled her nose fiercely at his back. It is a curious feeling to suffer ostracism, even to that petty extent, but easier to bear when you have such a wife as mine.

  We ascended the stair and with each step the orchestra was more clearly heard, and the accompanying buzz of chatter. We reached the top of the stair and gave our card to Billy. He hesitated and looked at us as if uncertain what to do.

  ‘Come on, Billy,’ I said. ‘Announce us.’

  He cleared his throat and turned to the room.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Titus Cragg!’ he roared.

  There was a noticeable drop in the level of conversation as we walked arm in arm up the centre of the room, flanked on both sides by Assembly-goers watching our every step. I tried not to think about what they were whispering, but kept my eye on Lord Derby, looking for a friendly sign, or some indication of what he might be thinking. He glanced at us as we advanced towards him, then turned aside to the Countess and said something behind his hand. She tightened her mouth and his eyes betrayed a moment of laughter, though when he removed the hand his mouth showed no sign of it.

  ‘What was so funny?’ I murmured after we had made our obeisance and moved to the side.

  ‘Who can tell what amuses a Lord?’ she said. ‘But I still think he is on your side, Titus.’

  ‘I wish I could be sure of that.’

  We were now watching the Grimshaws progressing up the room, the former mayor pouting his chest and looking self-importantly around while his wife kept her eyes on the Derbys. She was looking in particular, I thought, at the women’s dresses. It was a byword of Elizabe
th’s that studying what the Stanley ladies wore on special occasions was the most direct way of finding out the London fashion.

  The Grimshaws were followed by a succession of burgesses, with their wives bedizened by pearl and precious stones. Eventually my nemesis appeared, surprisingly escorted.

  ‘My Lady Rickaby and the honourable Captain Strawboy,’

  She looked straight ahead while the Captain smiled and nodded to one or two acquaintances.

  ‘Why is she with Strawboy?’

  ‘Because they are related, remember? Old Sir Grimes Rickaby was Strawboy’s mother’s brother. So they are aunt and nephew.’

  Not far behind these two came the Scroop family, or half of it. Scroop himself fat and prosperous; his wife, who had not been seen since her confinement, looking exhausted, hardly doing justice to her expensive silks. Trailing behind their parents came the misses Scroop – an anxious-looking Harriet and her two equally nervous nearest sisters who, with rounded shoulders and blushing cheeks, kept their eyes on the floor as they came forward under the collective scrutiny.

  Lord Derby was about to call an end to this first phase of the proceedings when one last arrival was heralded by the stentorian voice of Billy Wilkinson.

  ‘His lordship, thee – Viscount Grassington!’

  I was very curious to see this peer, who had never before been in Preston (to my knowledge) but who was now taking such an interest in improving our town. He was a tall, spare-looking man in his fifties, with prominent cheekbones, a nose that I would call sub-aquiline and a thin mouth. He came into the room unaccompanied, stalked the length of it and gave the dais a perfunctory bow. Then he held out his hand to be shaken by Derby, who was already out of his chair and descending from the dais. The two lords went off talking closely, with their heads together, no doubt to get a glass of wine or punch in the room below.

  ‘They seem to be friendly enough,’ I said. ‘Is there no Lady Grassington?’

  ‘He’s widowed,’ said Elizabeth.

  We were now joined by Luke Fidelis, who admired Elizabeth’s Wigan coal necklace and asked if she would keep a dance for him. Fidelis was a much more skilful dancer than myself and she agreed, but insisted I must go out on the floor with her first, as a show of unity to the world. Then Elizabeth’s cousins Mary-Ann and Grace, with the latter’s new husband, sought us out, and they too admired the necklace. Grace and Arthur Arkwright had been married only six months, and were still in the first flush of love, that is, taking every opportunity to touch hands and exchange burning looks. After hearing the history of the necklace, Grace expressed the wish to have one of her own. But Mary-Ann, forthright as ever, changed the subject. She had angry words to say about the Court Leet’s decision to depose me.

  ‘It is a crying shame, Cousin Titus. You must be reinstated as soon as possible. We shall not rest until you are.’

  ‘I fear there’s not much you can do, my dear, though it is most kind of you.’

  ‘I can speak out and I have done so. I’ve heard remarks being made about your presence at the Assembly and I’ve given those people a piece of my mind, I do assure you.’

  ‘Please don’t get into a quarrel on my account.’

  ‘Quarrel? I’ll not quarrel with them. I’ll tell them.’

  A quadrille was called and this suited me well, as I did not want to take part in a set with many couples and run the risk of an insult during the dance. The Arkwrights agreed to make up the four and we spent ten minutes walking up, and walking back; skipping this way and skipping that; turning and being turned. I watched the faces of Grace and Arthur and remembered with pleasure the freedom and silly bliss of first love. When the band sawed their final chord we were a little out of breath and pleased at having got through the dance with all its complications and not tangled feet or tripped over.

  A visit to the refreshments was proposed and we went downstairs. While young Arkwright set about finding jellies for the ladies, and punch for us all, I looked around the room for Lord Derby, wondering how to get some time alone with him.

  I need not have worried. I had only half finished my glass of punch when I heard a voice beside me speaking my name: it was the Earl himself.

  ‘I have read your note, Cragg,’ he said. ‘Very sorry I couldn’t see you yesterday, but I had much business and not a moment to spare. However, I think we might have a small word now, if it does not disturb your enjoyment.’

  We walked apart from the others into a corner of the room. Derby was very friendly. He was in general not the warmest human being you might meet, but he knew how to speak amicably with people in all walks of life, and this he did with me. The act seemed a calculated challenge to the town’s tittle-tattle: no one could hear what we were saying, but everyone could see that we conversed seriously and in friendship. For a peer of the realm to talk so with a commoner on a social occasion could only be seen as a mark of favour.

  ‘I start by saying I do not approve the action of Mayor Thwaite in removing you from the coronership,’ the Earl told me.

  ‘I am deeply grateful, my Lord. Can you make him reverse it?’

  ‘Ah! That’s another thing. My position is delicate, especially at the moment.’

  ‘If you were to read the record of my hearing at Court Leet, I think you would agree it is an arbitrary judgement.’

  ‘I am sure, I am sure. But to speak candidly, I need to be friends with the Corporation just at the moment.’

  ‘Of course, I do understand that, but—’

  ‘I must not give them any cause to oppose me, you see, as I have plans which … well, never mind the details, but I may very well need their support, and soon. I don’t think the law would smoothly support me in overruling a decision by the Mayor, so it would have to be a dirty fight and, value you though I do, Cragg, I cannot afford such a fight now. So you will have to bear your misfortune, I fear. But I do deplore all this whispering against you personally. Lady Rickaby is a ninny and very silly, and I hope by my speaking here to you openly, and in front of all these people, that the obnoxious woman’s credit will be dinted a little.’

  ‘I am grateful, my Lord.’

  He patted me on the arm and smiled.

  ‘It’s nothing. Perhaps you would like to come and shoot with us next month. The pheasants will soon be fat and ready. I’ll ask my secretary to suggest some dates.’

  He left me with a final encouraging smile. I was not sure what to make of this. On the one hand he had told me he would not help me. On the other he had gone out of his way to show his support for me in public, and asked me to shoot. As a mark of favour, that outweighed the enmity of the Mayor by some margin.

  Our party – now swelled by the addition of Nick Oldswick the watchmaker, another old friend who had not deserted me – decided to return up the stairs to the dancing room. Just as we entered, an angry female shout rang out above the general noise. Beside the door as we came in we found an argument had broken out between Abraham Scroop and his eldest daughter. Such things are not unusual at balls and assemblies, of course. Fathers see their little girls flirting with unsuitable men; daughters flash with anger when they are told off, and there is much hectoring and flouncing. But this was different. Harriet did not strike me as a defiant sort of girl: more the opposite. Yet she and her father were standing with Dr Harrod, who stood blinking and glancing back and forth between father and daughter, in what looked like benign bafflement.

  ‘I shan’t dance with him!’

  ‘You shall!’

  ‘No, I shan’t because I won’t! I refuse!’

  Harrod made pacifying gestures with his hands.

  ‘Let’s not get too upset about this, Abe,’ he said. ‘And dear Harriet. Would one dance for your father’s sake be so terrible?’

  She sniffed and shook her head. Scroop was growing red in the face as another wave of anger rose up in him.

  ‘If I say you shall dance with my friend, then you shall, my girl.’

  ‘I won’t! I won’t dance
at all, ever. I don’t like dancing and I don’t like—’

  Scroop grabbed his daughter by the wrists and pulled her round to face him.

  ‘Listen to me, Harriet Scroop. I shall not let you add insult to your refusal. You will dance!’

  Harriet was trembling now and crying, as her mother came hurrying up to make peace. She asked her daughter a question, inaudible from where I stood. Harriet closed her eyes tight, as if in pain, then leaned towards her mother’s ear and spoke for about twenty seconds with passionate urgency. Mrs Scroop took a moment to take in what had been said, glanced at her husband, then at Harrod, Harriet and finally at Scroop again.

  ‘We are leaving, Abraham,’ she said firmly, when she had recovered herself, and loudly enough to be heard by those of us standing nearby. ‘This is no place for us tonight. We must all go home at once. At once!’

  So, amidst a storm of gossip, and despite anything Scroop himself had to say about staying on and not causing scandal, his wife bundled him and their daughters out of the White Bull an hour and a half before Lord Derby would be expected to call time on the Assembly.

  ‘Who’s she refusing to dance with? Did you hear?’

  ‘No, but it must be the Captain. It’s him she’s being pushed towards – and she doesn’t much like it.’

  I thought of Jon O’Rorke’s assessment of Harriet Scroop: ‘afraid of nature’. This was evidence of something of the sort, but it did not accord with what I had seen at Water Lane, the encounter between Strawboy and Harriet in the morning room. She had blushed then and become a little breathless in the Captain’s presence. As far as I remembered, it was he that had been cool. So what had she said to her mother that forced their so sudden departure?

  Several people were asking Dr Harrod what was the matter, and why the Scroops had left, but he merely smiled and said he was sure it was nothing – nothing but a young girl feeling overwrought and a mother understandably concerned for her daughter’s delicate health. Then, despite this show of complacency, he hurried out after them.