The King's Exile (Thomas Hill Trilogy 2)

by Andrew Swanston

  ‘You may be sure that we shall, Mr Sprot. May we take it that the other injuries are also now attended to?’

  ‘You may, sir. They are comparatively minor, although the splinter wounds could yet fester. I have probed for fragments with the Saviour as you may have heard, but if any remain you will need me again. I will attend tomorrow in the hope of seeing laudable pus, a sure sign of recovery.’

  ‘Our thanks, Mr Sprot. Now come inside and I shall see to your fee.’

  ‘Most kind, Mr Lyte, Miss Lyte.’ Ever courteous, Sprot tipped his hat to Mary. ‘An honour to be of service. But would you not wish me to examine your own injury, Miss Lyte?’

  ‘That won’t be necessary, Mr Sprot. It’s only a graze.’

  ‘As you wish, madam.’ Sprot was clearly put out.

  Mary sat down in the parlour with the men. ‘Thank God that’s over,’ she said when they were out of earshot. ‘The wretch wanted to bleed the arm. Bleed it, for the love of God. He said something about bad blood in the wound. What rubbish. The poor man’s lost quite enough blood as it is, without Sprot taking more. I forbade it.’

  ‘And I’m quite sure you were right, my dear,’ said Charles, although, in truth, he had no idea whether she was or not. He cared for neither Sprot nor medical matters, especially when they involved saws and knives.

  Adam saw Sprot to his horse and came back to join them. ‘We got off lightly and I trust we shall not be called upon to do it again. It was quiet last night, I take it?’

  ‘It was,’ replied Thomas. ‘We posted sentries but there were no alarms.’

  ‘And now that you’re back, Adam, I shall take my leave,’ added Charles. ‘I must see that all is well at home. I’ll bring news if I hear any.’

  ‘We are both in your debt, Charles,’ said Mary. ‘I don’t know what we should have done without you.’

  ‘Nor I,’ agreed Adam. ‘I wouldn’t have liked to tackle that Viking myself.’

  ‘All in the course of duty,’ said Charles, adding with a bow to Mary, ‘and pleasure, of course.’

  Adam shook his hand, and Mary reached up to kiss him on the cheek. ‘Thank you, Charles. Go well.’

  For the love of God, tell Adam you wish to marry her, thought Thomas. Challenge him to a duel if you have to. With two swords.

  By that evening, Mary’s wound was worse and she had a fever. Adam put her to bed with a sleeping draught and she was still asleep when Sprot bustled in the next morning. Thomas was sitting at her bedside, where he had been for most of the night.

  Having checked on the wounded men, Sprot insisted on visiting Mary and was tut-tutting about not having been permitted to examine her wound the day before. ‘It is never wise to decline the services of an experienced surgeon when they are offered,’ he admonished them, ‘and one’s fee must reflect any difficulties occasioned by delay.’

  ‘Damn your fee, Sprot,’ barked Adam, ‘my sister’s leg is my concern. Kindly examine it and give us your opinion.’

  Sprot peered closely at the wound, pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘It is as I feared, sir. There is no sign of suppuration. The wound cannot heal without laudable pus being expelled. It is essential to healing. There is no sign yet of the patient sinking into delirium but it will come as surely as night follows day. In such cases I have learned from long experience that it is the lesser of two evils to remove the damaged limb at once.’

  Adam was horrified. ‘Are you sure, Sprot? The leg looks strong. Is there no alternative?’

  ‘I fear not, sir. The wound should by now be suppurating freely.’

  ‘I cannot believe that is necessary,’ said Thomas, with as much conviction as he could manage. In truth, he had no more idea about suppuration and laudable pus than he had about the workings of the heart. Like Charles, he simply did not trust Sprot.

  Sprot peered at Thomas. ‘Have we met, sir?’

  ‘I think not,’ lied Thomas.

  ‘Well, sir, your medical knowledge may be superior to my own,’ observed Sprot, clearly offended that his opinion was being questioned, ‘but I doubt it. The leg must come off.’

  ‘Good God. Then it had better be done quickly,’ said Adam.

  ‘Very well.’ Sprot opened his satchel and took out a small hand saw. ‘The patient should be bound tightly and her arms restrained. We must keep her as still as we can during the cutting.’

  Adam called for Patrick. ‘Patrick, it’s necessary to remove Miss Lyte’s leg. Bring a bowl of hot water, cloths, rope and brandy. And a bucket for the blood.’

  Patrick too was horrified. ‘But there’s no poison, sir. The leg can be saved. Let me try my mother’s remedy, I beg you.’

  ‘There is no time for it to take effect, Patrick, even if it does have healing properties. Kindly do as I ask.’ The look on Adam’s face told Patrick that further argument would be useless. He went to collect what was needed.

  While Adam and Thomas were tying her hands to the bedposts, Mary opened her eyes. Groggy from the sleeping draught, she did not immediately take in what was happening. The sight of Sprot, bloodstained coat removed and brandishing his saw, however, brought her to her senses. She screamed. ‘Adam, Adam, what’s happening? Why is Sprot here?’

  ‘Hush, sister. We need to act quickly.’

  ‘For God’s sake, no.’ It was a cry of anguish. ‘I forbid it. I will not have my leg off. Send Sprot away. Get Charles. Thomas will stay with me.’

  ‘Mary—’ began Adam.

  ‘No, Adam. I will not suffer it. Get Charles.’

  ‘Why Charles?’

  ‘I need him. Kindly send for him at once.’ Mary struggled but Thomas held her gently until she subsided on to the bed.

  ‘I will be here until Charles arrives,’ he said. ‘Mary will come to no harm in that time.’

  Adam knew his sister. ‘Mr Sprot, be so good as to wait outside. I will fetch Mr Carrington. Patrick will give you food and drink.’

  ‘As you wish, sir,’ replied an unhappy Sprot, ‘although I cannot condone the delay. Every minute may be crucial.’ He peered again at Thomas. ‘Are you certain we have not met before, sir?’

  ‘Quite certain, Mr Sprot,’ replied Thomas. Then, doubtless consoling himself with the opportunity further to increase his fee for the time wasted, Sprot disappeared.

  ‘Mary,’ said Adam quietly when he had gone, ‘I too dislike Sprot and I would not have sent for him if I thought there was any other way. Your wound is not suppurating. Sprot is the only surgeon on the island. We have no choice.’

  ‘There’s always a choice, Adam. It’s my leg and I choose not to let Sprot near it. Now kindly fetch Charles. I want him here.’

  Adam nodded and left. Charles would have to be fetched before Mary would permit anything else to be done.

  Thomas sat with Mary while they waited. He used a damp cloth to wipe her face, which was frighteningly hot to the touch, and encouraged her to sip water. ‘Well, Thomas, what do you make of this? Sprot wants to take my leg off, Patrick says it can be saved without endangering my life. What would you do?’

  ‘My instinct would be to do the opposite of what Sprot says. I think the man’s a charlatan. He’d like to take a leg off everyone and return to England a wealthy man.’

  Mary smiled weakly. ‘I rather think Charles will agree. And besides, between you and me, he likes it when both my legs are wrapped around him. One wouldn’t be the same at all.’

  ‘Mary, I’ve seen the way you look at each other. Can you not marry him and forget about Perkins?’

  ‘I wish I could. Adam, however, feels duty bound to honour his promise. If Sir Lionel demands it, he will send me home to marry Richard and I will spend the rest of my days in misery.’

  ‘So you must defy your brother or suffer a loveless marriage to a man you don’t know. Shouldn’t your wishes be taken into account?’

  ‘Of course they should. But Adam is old-fashioned in such matters. Debt of honour, duty, chivalry, all that sort of thing. Thankfully, Barbados society is
more open-minded. I think it comes from the island having no history. After all, it’s less than twenty-five years old.’

  ‘It must have a history, I suppose. Just not one we know about,’ said Thomas thoughtfully.

  The door was thrown open and in strode Charles, with Adam not far behind. ‘What’s all this?’ he demanded. ‘Adam says Sprot wants to take your leg off. I’ve never heard such nonsense.’

  ‘He spoke of suppuration and laudable pus.’

  ‘Too much or too little?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘The man’s a dangerous fool. What does Patrick say? He knows about this sort of thing.’

  ‘He says that his mother’s remedy will save the leg.’

  ‘For the love of God, why then are we taking notice of Sprot? Send him away and fetch Patrick at once.’

  Mary and Thomas exchanged a glance. Adam shrugged and went to give Sprot the news. The wretched man would not be happy. His opinion rejected in favour of that of a slave and no fee. A bad day for Robert Sprot.

  ‘Thank the Lord for that,’ said Mary with a sigh. ‘I was afraid that you might tell me to be sensible and leave it to the surgeon to decide.’

  As soon as a disgruntled Sprot had been sent on his way, Patrick was summoned to begin his treatment. The three men watched with interest.

  ‘I shall apply the remedy six times each day,’ said Patrick, when he had coated the wound. ‘You must lie still, conserve your strength and eat all that I bring you. We’ll know within two days if the leg is safe.’

  ‘And I shall visit frequently to make sure that, for once in your life, you’re doing as you’ve been told,’ added Charles.

  ‘Mixture, food, visitors. I shall be quite exhausted. Now go away, all of you. I want to sleep.’

  Charles, as good as his word, rode over three times to see what progress there had been. Each time he asked Patrick what he thought. Patrick had no doubts.

  ‘Miss Lyte’s leg will be as good as new, sir. Mr Sprot’s opinion of the healing process is not one my people share. A suppurating wound is to be feared, not desired. Thankfully, there is no sign at all of pus in Miss Lyte’s leg. She has no fever now and she is eating well.’

  ‘Let’s hope your surgeons are wiser than ours. Or at least wiser than Mr Sprot.’

  ‘Of that I am sure, sir.’

  Patrick would let no one near his patient while he was treating her, so Thomas had to rely upon his progress reports. Having experienced Patrick’s aloe mixture, he expected Mary to make a full recovery. Nevertheless it was a relief when she emerged from her room to sit in the parlour. Seeing him throwing scraps to the chickens, she called him over and asked him to sit with her.

  ‘Thomas, how are you? None the worse for your experience, I trust?’

  ‘No, Mary, thank you. I am quite well. But more importantly, how are you?’

  ‘Very much improved, thank you. And thanks to Patrick I still have two legs. Really, I think Sprot should be banished. The man knows nothing.’ Thomas nodded in agreement. ‘And I have you to thank for being here at all. My brother and I owe you a great debt.’

  ‘There is no debt, Mary. If it weren’t for your kindness I wouldn’t be here either.’

  ‘And I promise we shall find a way home for you. While I was recovering Patrick told me more about your family and what happened to you. Is it true?’

  ‘It is. I was arrested on a charge trumped up by a certain Tobias Rush, the most vicious man the devil ever made, deported without trial and indentured to the Gibbes. He arranged the whole thing because I exposed him as a traitor when I was with the king in Oxford. I thought he was dead until he appeared at the Gibbes’s estate. It was only then that I realized they were in his pay. He had me whipped and gloated that he had taken my house and that Margaret and the girls were living happily with him.’

  ‘Did you believe him?’

  ‘That he has taken my house, yes. That he has forced them to live with him, perhaps. That Margaret has suffered him to lay a finger upon her, no.’

  ‘And your nieces?’

  ‘I weep for them every day. Still children, children with neither father nor uncle, and living in the same house as Rush.’ Thomas shuddered at the thought.

  ‘That is much as Patrick told me. Adam and I are resolved. You must not return to the Gibbes. We must get you back to England just as soon as we can.’

  CHAPTER 21

  1651

  ON THE DAY the Assembly voted to receive Francis, Lord Willoughby of Parham as their next governor, Adam returned in a state of such excitement that even Thomas was caught up in it.

  Walrond had been under pressure from the Assembly to acknowledge Willoughby’s claim or be vilified for disloyalty. As the most ardent Royalist on the island, that was something he could not tolerate and he was persuaded to agree to continue as governor for no more than three months while Willoughby settled in on the island.

  Charles had managed to have himself rowed out to his lordship’s vessel to speak to his old friend. He had brought back the news from England and an assurance that Willoughby would not leave before he had carried out his commission and been appointed governor of Barbados. Charles had complete confidence in Willoughby’s doing exactly what he said.

  Charles’s faith was justified. When, two days later, Lord Willoughby stepped ashore at Bridgetown harbour to a fanfare of trumpets, Adam, Mary, Charles and Thomas were in the crowd awaiting him. As he had when they had taken sugar to the warehouse, Thomas had insisted on coming in spite of the risk and Adam, to Thomas’s surprise, had chosen to stand with them rather than with the other Assembly members. Skulking on the estate would not get him home any quicker and Patrick had reported no more drunken rages in Speightstown. Fear of the Gibbes had receded.

  A guard of the governor’s own militia lined the short route from the harbour to the Assembly House where the members, led by Humphrey Walrond, waited to welcome him. His lordship was dressed in a sparkling white cotton shirt, ruffled at the neck and wrists, blue velvet jacket and breeches and white silk stockings. His greying hair curled around his neck, the buckles on his shoes were gold and the feather in his hat had once belonged to a peacock. Accompanied by his personal bodyguard of halberdiers, Willoughby walked at a carefully measured pace, turning this way and that and acknowledging the cheers of the crowd with a beaming smile and a wave of his hand. Lord Willoughby of Parham was not a man to let an opportunity for ceremony slip by.

  When he reached the steps of the Assembly House, Willoughby stopped and, with an extravagant sweep of his hat, bowed low to the welcoming party. The halberdiers lined up behind him to prevent the crowd pushing forward and Walrond came down the steps to greet him. They shook hands, spoke a few words, and then Walrond led him up to where the other members waited. Willoughby greeted each of them and turned to face the crowd.

  ‘If appearances are anything to judge by,’ said Mary quietly, ‘this is an impressive man. Let’s hope the substance matches the looks.’

  Charles smiled. ‘I assure you it does, my dear. I’ll wager it won’t be three months before he takes over. Less than half that, I’d say.’

  ‘We shall see,’ said Adam. ‘But he’s here and that’s a start.’

  In a deep voice which carried even to the back of the crowd, his lordship started to speak. He spoke of the honour Charles Stuart, the future king of England, had conferred upon him, his pleasure at being on such a beautiful and prosperous island and his determination to govern fairly and in the interests of all. He spoke too of his belief in political and religious tolerance and hinted, no, more than hinted, at the possibility of the sequestrations being reversed. He expressed his gratitude to those who had supported him and who had worked to effect an easy transition from one governor to the next. Without mentioning Walrond, he managed to convey his disapproval of the way in which Sir Philip Bell had been treated.

  It was a fine performance from a man well practised in the art of understanding an audience and delivering what it
wanted. Willoughby also knew that good speeches, like good sermons, do not tax the patience of the listener. He wasted no words.

  The applause was long and enthusiastic as Willoughby turned to follow Walrond into the Assembly House. He was on the point of entering when a small man, dressed in black and carrying in his right hand a battered Bible, squirmed through the crowd and past the line of guards to plant himself on the steps. Holding up the Bible, he turned to the crowd.

  ‘I am the Reverend Simeon Strange,’ he began, ‘and I am here—’ On this occasion, however, his congregation did not learn why the little reverend was there. Before he could enlighten them, two burly guards had stepped forward and picked him up by the arms. They carried him down the steps and threw him roughly into the crowd. There he lay for a moment, shaken but unharmed, before rising and making as if to try again. Fortunately he was restrained by those around him. The reverend had to content himself with clasping the Bible to his chest and trying to look dignified. To a chorus of coarse laughter that cannot have been easy. It was as well for the little man that only one member of his audience knew the truth about him, and that man would not be saying anything.

  As the crowd dispersed, Mary found herself being accompanied by her three companions towards the other side of the square from the Assembly House. Patrick’s remedies had worked their magic and apart from the slightest of limps she had quite recovered from her wound. Charles led the way. ‘There’s a tolerable inn I know just over here. I don’t believe Mary will be embarrassed by it and it’s time for a little sustenance.’

  ‘I daresay I can manage as long as I have three gallant escorts,’ said Mary, ‘but kindly stay sober and protect my virtue at all times.’

  ‘We certainly shall,’ Adam assured her, ‘and we have the finest swordsman on the island to defend us should we have need of him.’

  The inn was dark but a cut above most, its customers being landowners and merchants who valued a quiet place to refresh themselves while talking business. Adam and Charles recognized several faces and nodded politely. They chose an empty table in a small alcove at the back, where they were partially hidden from the rest of the room and could make sure that Mary was not in any way discomfited.