Cheating the Hangman (23 page)

‘So we are. First let me hand this over to Squire Lawton so that he can at least feed and clothe those he worked so hard to save last night. And then – do you think Maria will have saved us some breakfast?’

‘I will vouch for it. And for the presence of more hot water in the boiler.’

My first duty, once washed, shaved and breakfasted, was to return to the rectory to thank Mrs Trent and her team and ensure that they too rested. Robert knuckled sleep from his eyes as Titus clattered into the stable, but insisted that he was ready to return the horse to his usual gleaming self. Will would help when he woke up – he jerked a thumb at the next loose box, where the Langley Park lad lay flat on his back, snoring gently. Mrs Trent was not asleep, but stood alone in the kitchen surrounded by towels and bedlinen, checking each item and allocating it to a pile.

I put my hands on one of the stacks. ‘Have you rested, Mrs Trent? I thought not. And neither have I. So we will agree that that is our first priority. I collect Susan is abed?’

‘Has been these last two hours, Master Toby.’

‘Excellent. Robert will no doubt curl up again with Titus. And as for you and me, whichever wakes first shall knock on the other’s door. No buts. The situation in Clavercote is grave indeed, but we will help all the better after an hour’s sleep.
Dr Hansard’s instructions. And neither of us would dare go against them, would we?’ I ushered her from the room.

I was awoken by the sound of horses’ hooves and the creak of wheels. Maria had arrived, unaccompanied, in her smart gig. In fact, as I saw when I ran downstairs, there was hardly any space for a groom. She and her household might have stayed away from Clavercote last night, but they had not been idle. There were bundles that might have contained linen or clothing, and baskets of bread and vegetables. In fact, she told me with a smile, she had come to reclaim Will, if he was ready to help. A kick from Robert ensured he was. He was to accompany Mrs Trent, having packed my gig with her offerings. A cart, driven by Mr Tufnell with Mr Mead beside him, was weighed down with sacks – gifts, Mr Tufnell announced, from local farmers and their wives. Moreton St Jude’s had suffered – I could now see that the rectory roof was missing several slates, but the good husbandry of our local landlords had ensured that the cottages had withstood most of last night’s onslaught.

Desperate as I was to help the villagers of Clavercote, I had somehow to keep my promise to support the confessed murderers in their time of need. This was made easier by the arrival of teams of workers from Hasbury and Wychbold’s estates: clearly my friends had spoken to good effect. So I begged a loaf and some ale from Mrs Trent’s supplies, and set off to Warwick to do my duty.

At least the men had all been removed to the condemned cell. To a man in the best of health, this might not be seen as an improvement, spartan as it undoubtedly was. But at least the cell was quiet, the straw was fresh, and the gaoler
had found some blankets. Even the invalids managed a sip of ale and a morsel of bread. Josiah had no problems wolfing down his share and more. None was capable of holding a prolonged conversation, so, reminding them of the power of God’s love, I prayed with them and left two to sleep and the third to create yet another straw man.

Before I left, I bespoke accommodation for the days of the trial and executions at the Green Dragon, conveniently close to the courthouse, and ordered food and drink to be sent daily to the three Clavercote men. For a moment I was tempted by the shop window of a tailor – but was truly revolted by such vanity in the face of others’ total loss.

The next few days passed in a maelstrom of activity. I found myself feeding children, conducting a deathbed marriage and acting as a joiner’s labourer. At some point I fitted in church services both in Moreton St Jude’s and in Clavercote, using just the Lady Chapel, since the nave and crossing still functioned as a dormitory. At one point, however, our work was interrupted by the arrival of an absurd phaeton, suited to tooling round London, but hardly appropriate here. Lord Hasbury, perched high above the villagers, dispensed largesse and advice in equal measure. At last he beckoned me over. His groom produced an ignominious parcel, which he handed to me with an illicit wink.

‘Seen much of Wychbold?’ Hasbury asked, as I clutched the parcel to my chest.

‘Not since the day he was … waylaid … I had not expected to see him so well turned out, Hasbury, nor in charge of such good horseflesh.’

He snorted with laughter. ‘Nor I! After all those years
of study you’d think he had completely dried up. And now, all of a sudden, it seems he’s in the petticoat line at last – thinks it time to set up his nursery. He’s got his eye on an attractive woman, I hear. The
on dit
is that she’s a bit of an ape leader. But then, he’s long in the tooth himself. Must be fifty if he’s a day, and you can’t tell me he’s worn well.’

‘Is the lady a bluestocking who would join him in his endless research?’

‘Research, you call it! He reads books about nonsense, as far as I can see. He wants to know each religion’s view of the devil, he tells me, and not just religions any Christian would approve of. Eastern ones,’ he said darkly. ‘Now,’ he added briskly, ‘Hartland will be leaving us soon – going back to Derbyshire to finish recruiting his health.’

‘I would like to pay my respects before he does,’ I said. But I added a helpless gesture – how could I be spared? ‘Besides, any of my clothes suitable for visiting a gentleman have been so assailed by the elements, that as you see, I have had to resort to a jerkin and brogues. I could not arrive at your door like this, let alone present myself thus to my father. But please pass on my regards to him, and only spare him any details of my garb if you fear they will cause him an apoplexy.’

He did not argue, but I thought I detected a slight cough from his groom.

‘Will you be attending the trial, Hasbury?’

He shook his head. ‘Smoky business all round, if you ask me. Reminds me of when I was a lad at Eton. The beak’d tell one of us to own up or we’d all feel his cane. Sometimes we’d put our hands in our pockets and pay one of the fags to confess – he’d probably had nothing to do
with whatever he was supposed to have done, not even been there at the time. But for half a sovereign he’d swear on oath that he’d done it. Must have happened in your time there.’

‘You’re right. It did. None of the villagers could afford to pay a bribe – but that doesn’t mean you’re wrong in principle.’ I reflected that this was probably the first time I’d ever had a sensible conversation with him.

‘Glad to hear it. I’ll have a word with that secretary of mine – see if he can have any good ideas. Lord knows, I pay him enough. I’ll bid you good day, then, Mr Master Builder.’ With one beautifully gloved finger, he touched the brim of his hat and bowled off.

Stowing the parcel in my gig, I returned to work. But I was concerned. Any dutiful son would bid his father farewell – even offer to escort him on his journey. Papa would have sufficient postilions to render that unnecessary, but a visit was undoubtedly called for.

At the end of the day, unused to spending my days in such physical toil, I was ready to collapse straight on to my bed when Robert knocked on my chamber door and, with a low bow, handed me Hasbury’s parcel, the existence of which I had completely forgotten. Stripping off the brown paper and string, I found one of the coats I had left behind when I left home, two waistcoats and a pair of breeches. Included were two notes.

The first was from Walker, apologising for taking such a liberty as to send home for more clothes for me, but he believed that if I were to appear in court to give character references for the three accused, I should need to look the
part. He himself was more than competent to make a few slight adjustments in the apparel, were it necessary.

The second was from my mother. After two pages of family and estate news, she added,

By the time I clawed my way back to wakefulness, there was no sign of my household, just coffee and fresh rolls on the kitchen table.

So there was no one to entrust with my reply to Mama’s letter, scribbled and hastily worded as it was. At times like this I could lament, albeit briefly, the convenience of a large household, where one only had to ring a bell for one’s every whim to be satisfied. Should I post it myself now or wait till my day’s work was done?

On impulse, I sent the letter first.

As a consequence I had time for far less work in Clavercote: sharp showers battered my conscience as much as they lashed the building works. I was in for a wet ride if I were to go to Warwick today. Since I would be going the next day, to take up temporary residence at the Green Dragon, I
was terribly tempted not to go. But then conscience, in the form of two village women, reminded me of my duty.

They were so thin, had so few teeth and so little hair I had no idea of their ages: they might have been forty or seventy – I could not tell.

The less bent hailed me. ‘Sir! Master Parson! Will you be seeing my brother Ethan today?’

‘Perhaps not today. But tomorrow or the next.’ I might have slapped her face. ‘Why do you ask, ma’am?’

‘Because I’ve made some soup with those vegetables your grand friends sent us. There’s a drop left and I thought he and the others might share it. They say they starve them in prison.’

I did not want to explain that, thanks to me, their men had good food. ‘Surely you need every scrap of nourishment yourself.’

‘Not as much as them, Sir. A little taste of home. Tell them Betty and Martha sent it special and they’re to drink up every last drop. And some of last year’s elderberry cordial.’ She produced a bottle sealed with wax.

The other woman held up soup. Despite all the chaos, the poor woman had gone to the trouble of finding a jar, tying a paper lid on with feeble string. I reached for it and for the cordial. ‘I promise it will get there as soon as I can take it.’

Toone, catching sight of me preparing to leave, offered to ride with me. We kept up a brisk pace, glad, I think, to escape the apparent chaos that might have made sense to those whose business was rescue and reconstruction. What conversation we had largely concerned Wychbold’s change in demeanour, and how it had been brought about. Toone denied responsibility, ascribing it to a sudden realisation that he lacked an heir to carry on his name.

‘That does not appear to have bothered him before,’ I observed, before encouraging Titus to leap a hedge I ought more sensibly to have avoided by using the gate that Toone preferred.

‘But perhaps the lady who has caught his eye is one who applauds men who do good works.’

‘She might want to visit his residence – it scarce merits the term ‘home’ – before she accepts his kind offer. But tell me – when and where did they become acquainted? And do we know the lady’s name?’

His response was a gale of laughter. ‘You are normally
the most ascetic of men, Toby, but suddenly you give a glimpse of what you might have been had you stayed in your expected station in life: you would have been just as shameless a gossip as the next man. I don’t know the lady in question, or even her name. Come on – I’ll race you to that windmill!’

Toone was already fifty yards ahead, and it was time to give Titus his head.

I had forgotten the presence of the soup.

We had regained a suitably sober demeanour when we entered Warwick gaol, and were soon confronted by sounds, smells and sights to wipe any last joie de vivre from our faces. Luke Stokes was on the point of death. The gaoler, angling for largesse, told us he had on his own initiative summoned a nearby apothecary, who was trying to bleed the poor old man. Although at first Mr Keyte was inclined to be belligerent towards us both, not understanding the nature of my own doctorate, he soon realised that there would be no need for him to take the blame if – when! – his patient died.

I said what I hoped would remind Luke of our Saviour’s promises, but Toone murmured that he probably heard no more. Nonetheless, I continued to pray aloud until the death rattles ceased and his struggles were over.

We stood in silence as his body was removed from the cell.

‘It was too late to offer Luke Holy Communion,’ I said sadly. ‘But it would be good to offer it to Ethan and Josiah on the eve of their trial. Would you join me, gentlemen?’

The apothecary agreed with alacrity, though Toone,
unsurprisingly, was less enthusiastic. When I offered the wafer and the wine, Ethan Downs was too ill to stand or kneel, but this time at least he did not turn his head from me; and Josiah, though coughing blood and clearly running a high fever, accepted what I offered before returning to his task of making straw men.

I was about to drink the last of the wine when Toone leapt forward, preventing me. Wrenching the chalice from my hand, I believe he was ready to tip the contents on the floor.

‘No! The wine has been blessed. It must be finished! I have wiped the chalice with a purificator.’ I showed him the tiny napkin.

‘Nonetheless, give Ethan and Josiah the rest. It is madness,’ he said, less explosively, ‘to drink from where the lips of so sick a man have rested, purificator or no. Indulge me, Dr Campion, in this, I beg you.’

Between them the two invalids, for it was truly impossible to think of them as vicious murderers, drank the wine.

‘That was good, Parson,’ Josiah said, almost animated. ‘Fair warmed me through. Ain’t got any more have you?’

On his straw, Ethan nodded, holding out a weak hand.

‘Alas, no. But I do have some elderberry cordial, sent by your own sister,’ I said. ‘A taste of home, she promised.’

‘My granddaughter, you mean? But she be dead, poor wench. Poor, poor child . . .’Twas for her I did what we had to do.’

‘Are you confessing to the murder of which you stand accused? Truly?’

‘Did I not put my name to it? Luke too, who bought the nails with the last of his savings? We were sworn, sir,
we were sworn. And I am truly sorry for it, and for all the trouble it brought to your door.’

Taking his hands, I prayed with him, for him, and for my own ignorance and prejudice. At last he gripped my hands in a feeble farewell, it seemed, and he turned his face from me, and from the world.

The apothecary and Toone had been murmuring quietly in the corner about relieving Ethan’s obvious agony, taking no notice of the appalling exchange only feet from them. I could say nothing of it yet, and in fact, now it dawned on me that I was bound by the seal of the confessional, I never could reveal what Ethan had said. To fend off more serious reflections, I produced the bottle of cordial. Mercifully it was still in one piece with the seal intact. They exchanged a glance, the significance of which I did not understand.

‘I cannot think of anything more soothing,’ the apothecary said firmly. ‘Ah gaoler, might we have a couple of cups?’

First eyeing the bottle, the man scuttled off, speedily returning. He had brought three small tankards. ‘Can’t say I’d mind a drop of that myself,’ he said. ‘Carrying the dead is a thirsty business.’

I was about to pour a liberal libation when Toone stepped forward. ‘We will all drink with you shortly, sir, when our business here is done. Allow us a few minutes to complete our examination.’

Toone opened the bottle, sniffing cautiously. Then he poured a drop on to his finger, tasting it cautiously. The apothecary did the same.

I looked from one to the other. ‘Gentlemen?’

‘We did not want inadvertently to poison them,’ Toone
said. ‘What you said about a sister alarmed me: I thought I heard say that neither man had any family. I just suspected a … benign … plot. But I find nothing to alarm me.’

Keyte nodded his approval. ‘Nonetheless, I would advise no more than a few sips after their wine. A drunken scene in the condemned cell would not be appropriate.’

‘Is it safe?’ I insisted. ‘I pity the men from the bottom of my heart, but I may not pre-empt their trial and punishment, no matter how I might deplore it.’ I turned my eyes to the two sufferers, dropping my voiced as I asked, ‘Do you have anything in your pharmacopeia that might ease their suffering?’

‘Only laudanum. And we would have to administer a very high dose for it to be efficacious. In a healthy man, it would do no harm; but these are not healthy men.’

Somehow I asked, ‘You mean it might end their sufferings altogether?’

Keyte nodded. ‘Indeed. There is a hair’s breadth between a merciful dose and a lethal one. I am sure that neither Dr Toone nor I would hesitate to administer a draught were either man simply lying in his own bed. But here—’ shrugging, he spread his hands expressively. His next words came out with a rush. ‘In front of witnesses, I dare not, lest I be accused of perverting the course of justice.’

‘And I dare not, for the sake of Dr Campion’s conscience.’ Toone clapped me on the shoulder in an affectionate gesture.

Shaken from the reverie Ethan’s words had induced, I dropped the bottle of cordial.

The gaoler grumbled twice over – at having to clear up the glass and missing his projected treat: he had even
brought a tankard to the cell. But Keyte produced a hip flask of good brandy, and poured it all into the tankard. The delicious fumes filled the cell. To my astonishment, the gaoler turned to Toone. ‘I might spare a drop for they two there?’

It was but a drop in each tankard, but I blessed him for his kindness.

‘I will be staying at the Green Dragon for the trial,’ I said, ‘so I will see you again. Thank you a hundred times, my man.’ I dug in my breeches for half a guinea, but found only a whole one. I pressed it nonetheless into his hand – I would not do his job for a thousand times more.

It was too late for Keyte to dine with us when we left our patients, but I invited him to do so when I attended the trial. He undertook to visit the gaol regularly to see how his patients did. I promised to pay his fee.

We parted well pleased with each other. Of Ethan’s words I said nothing; surely they had to be regarded as his final confession, and were to be shared with no one. But clearly some sort of justice was being done.

Of Betty and Martha there was no sign when I returned the next afternoon to Clavercote to apologise for the loss of the soup. My enquiries elicited a slight hesitation before any of those I questioned responded – usually with a vague gesture that they were somewhere over yonder. I had thought that my efforts on the villagers’ behalf had earned me a greater degree of trust, indeed warmth, but today, despite occasional bursts of sun, there was a decided chill in the air. Some of it was attributable to the continued struggle for life of Adam Blacksmith, who had been injured
trying to save others during what the villagers all called the Big Storm. Little groups would congregate near the forge, hoping for news. I joined them, even knocking to gain admittance so I could pray with him. Of all those in the village he seemed least keen to be reconciled with me, however; his daughter, a new baby in her arms, hung her head as she begged me to go.

But Lawton and Boddice seemed to make a point of shaking my hand and wishing me good day. By now I was totally confused, and very glad to make my excuses: I had an early evening confirmation class to teach.

Since Mrs Trent was still devoting so much of her time to the villagers of Clavercote, I naturally turned to Langley Park for dinner, to be greeted by three very serious faces.

‘And yet I do believe I should quietly rejoice,’ said Toone, shaking my hand in greeting. ‘Ethan has died, relatively peacefully, according to Keyte. He fell into a deep slumber soon after we left, the gaoler told him, and never awoke. I am glad he was spared a trial, gladder still that he did not swing.’

‘I have to ask: does any suspicion attend his death?’

‘Lord, no. If there were, Hansard would go on oath that the man was not expected to live so long. As for poor Josiah, it would be a mercy if he had left us in just such an easy way, but it is to be hoped that the judge will allow natural causes to take their course. Damnation, we would not let a dog or a horse suffer thus – why a human being? And do not tell me it is God’s Will, Tobias, or I swear I will knock your head off.’

Burdened with words uttered under what I believed was
the seal of the confessional, I could only speak the simple truth. ‘I know nothing of God’s Will. Does anyone? And I grieve as much as you at the imprisonment of a dying imbecile. There are those who praise those who endure suffering with patience and joy at the prospect of the life hereafter, but Josiah has very little concept of this life, and none, I fear, of the next.’

Toone shook my hand. ‘Forgive me. My tongue ran away with me. Dear God, Edmund, I could use some of your excellent sherry …’