They Hanged My Saintly Billy (45 page)

In London, he communicated with Cook's sick uncle, and with his own solicitors, who recommended that he should entrust his affairs to a respectable firm of Rugeley solicitors named Gardiner & Landor. The next day, Saturday, November 24th
,
on the platform of Euston Square station, he ran into Dr Palmer, who greeted him effusively with: 'Why, good day, Mr Stevens! Are you by any chance travelling down to Rugeley?'

'I am,' he replied.

'Why not let us share a compartment?' suggested Dr Palmer. 'I have found a nearly empty one farther along the train.'

'Many thanks,' answered Mr Stevens, 'but the porter has already placed my bag on the rack in this carriage, where I have acquaintances.'

'No offence taken,' Dr Palmer said smiling. 'By the way, I was summoned to London by telegraph soon after you left Rugeley.'

'Where are my stepson's horses kept?' Mr Stevens presently asked.

'At Hednesford, some
th
ree miles out of Rugeley,' came the answer. 'I'll drive you there, if you please.'

'That would be civil of you,' Mr Stevens said, and bowed slightly.

The guard then rang a bell, and they parted, each to his carriage.

Dr
Palme
r had just paid Pratt another four hundred pounds in notes, but it is unknown whom else he saw during his short visit to London. Possibly the nature of his other business there, though nefarious, would have proved him innocent of Cook's murder; this, however, is only a surmise.

Much as he disliked Dr Palmer, Mr Stevens thought fit to smother his feelings for the time being. When the train stopped at Wolverton, and they met in the refreshment room (among stale sandwiches and slices of pork-pie, grey with engine grit) he reopened the conversation. First apologizing for his heat in the matter of Cook's betting-book, he continued ingratiatingly: 'Doctor, this sudden death of my stepson is a very melancholy event and may, I fear, have impaired my usual good manners. His poor mother, you see, died young, and so did his father, at the age of a mere thirty-one. For the sake of his brother and sister, who are also delicate in health, I should like to know more abo
ut J
ohn's complaints, and therefore intend to have his body opened.'

'Why, that can easily be done,' assented Dr Palmer; but the interview was once more interrupted by the guard's bell, and they did not meet again until
th
e train
pul
lcd up at Rugby. Mr Stevens
th
en said: 'Since I live far from Staffordshire, and
th
e horses at Hednesford are supposed to be valuable, I think of asking some solicitor in your district to manage my affairs.'

'Yes, that would certainly be prudent,' Dr Palmer agreed. 'Do you know any solicitors there personally?'

'None,' Mr Stevens answered, after a moment's hesitation. But the Rugby stop is short, and service at the refreshment room is slow. The bell rang imperatively, and Mr Stevens tipped his cupful of scalding tea into a saucer to cool; then drank from the saucer, spilling some down his waistcoat as he did so, and ran for his carriage. He found Dr Palmer very forwardly, as he diought, ensconced in the scat next to his.

'You were talking about Rugeley solicitors,' said the Doctor.

' No, Sir, you were,' Mr Stevens snapped at him.

'Pray allow me to dry your waistcoat
with
this handkerchief,' offered Dr Palmer; but Mr Stevens curtly declined, and resumed conversation with the lady and
gentl
eman, sitting opposite, who shared his interest in German instrumental music. Dr Palmer did not venture to put in an oar.

On arrival at
Rugeley
, Mr Stevens gave his acquaintances a polite good-bye and alighted with Dr Palmer, who lowered his bag for him from the rack to the platform. As they waited for a luggage-porter, Dr Palmer said: 'If you will pardon my correction, Sir, there was certainly talk of a solicitor. Unless I misheard your remark, you know no Rugeley man personally?'

'My intention was,' explained Mr Stevens, 'to cut short a profitless discussion.'

'Well,' continued Dr Palmer unabashed, 'I know
them
all intimately, and can provide you with a most reliable one. Let me go home for a cup of coffee first; then I'll step across to The Talbot Arms and tell you about him.'

'Many thanks, but pray don't trouble yourself. With the help of Mr Masters, who seems to be a knowledgeable and judicious old fellow, I'll soon engage the sort of agent I require.'

'At all events, Sir, you'll not find a solicitor tonight.'

'And why not, pray?'

'It's late, and some of the best go out of town at
the
week-end.'

' Upon my word,' said Mr Stevens, ' I never in my life experienced any difficulty in finding a solicitor when I needed one, whatever the hour.' Then suddenly altering his voice and manner, he asked: 'Sir, if I should engage a solicitor as my adviser, I suppose you would not mind answering any questions he might care to put?'

Though Mr Stevens claims that Dr Palmer's reply: 'Oh, no, certainly not,' was accompanied by a nervous spasm of the throat, the moonlight can hardly have been strong enough for this to
be distinctl
y observed. They were now boarding the station omnibus, and no more was said.

The omnibus stopped outside The Talbot Arms. Dr Palmer entered his own house, and Mr Stevens, after leaving his bag in the care of Mrs Bond, went off at once to find Mr Gardiner, the solicitor—who was out of town, as it happened—and presently returned to supper at the hotel.

Later, Dr Palmer sought him out and said: 'I fear those bills I negotiated for Cook are going to affect me in a
deuce
dly unpleasant way.'

Mr Stevens replied, somewhat menacingly: 'I think you should know, Sir, that, since last we saw each other, I have heard a rather different account of John's affairs.'

'Oh, indeed?' remarked the Doctor politely. 'Well, I hope that the matter will be settled amicably, at any rate.'

'It will be
settl
ed, Sir, only in the Court of Chancery,' was Mr Stevens's severe rejoinder.

'Oh, indeed?' repeated Dr Palmer, coolly and offhandedly.

They did not meet again until six o'clock the next evening (Sunday), by which time Mr Stevens had consulted with Mr Gardiner, and the Doctor had attended divine service at St Augustine's Church, where he laid a sovereign in the collection plate.

Mr Stevens was now seated at a table in the coffee-room, writing a letter, while the cook prepared his dinner. Dr Palmer entered with a paper in his hand. He offered it to Mr Stevens who, however, took no notice of him, but went on writing. After a while, Mr Stevens looked up and said: 'Ah! Good evening, Sir! Do you know a local man named Smith?'

Dr Palmer answered: 'Smith? Smith? Smith? It's a common enough name hereabouts. I can think of at least a dozen Smiths.'

'I am referring to a Mr Smith who sat up with my stepson one night,' explained Mr Stevens.

'Why, of course,' said the Doctor. 'That's Mr Jeremiah Smidi, a very good fellow, a solicitor, the very man whom I should have recommended to you, had you let me.'

'I raised the question because, since the betting-book has been lost, it is important for me to know who was with my stepson Then he paused and inquired: 'Did you attend him in a medical capacity?'

'Oh dear, no!' replied Dr Palmer, caught off his guard.

Mr Stevens said: 'I ask you because of my determination to have his body opened. If you attended him professionally at any time, doubtless the medical man I engage will think it proper for you to be present at the examination.'

'May I ask whom you have in mind?' Dr Palmer ventured.

'I shall not know myself until tomorrow,' Mr Stevens replied, ' but think it only proper to disclose my plans. Whether you
are
present or not is a matter of indifference to me.'

With a curt nod of dismissal, Mr Stevens returned to his writing and this lack of civility so
nettl
ed the Doctor that he snapped back: 'And equally a matter of indifference to me, Sir.'

'That is surprising,' observed Mr Stevens, his eyes still on the letter before him. 'I thought that as a close friend of Mr Cook's, you would be interested to learn whether some other medical man may have accidentally given him a fatal dose.'

Then he re-read his letter, signed it with a flourish, and proceeded to address an envelope which he had already stamped.

Dr Palmer again offered the paper in his hand. Mr Stevens waved it away, saying: 'It looks like a financial document. You will excuse me: I never discuss finance of a Sunday.'

It was a sheet of yellow post-quarto written in Dr Palmer's handwriting, but signed 'J. P. Cook'. On the day after Cook's death, the Doctor had again summoned Samuel Cheshire to his house, poured him a glassful of brandy and pleaded: ' Sam, I count on you to save my life and fortune. When Cook and I drew up this document some days ago, we omitted to get it witnessed. It refers to a business in which I
freely assisted him, without any hope of benefit for myself except his continued friendship. In point of fact, I raised four thousand pounds for him in loans on my own security to help him out of his
diffi
culties, and here he acknowledges the various sums he had, together with the dates of receipt. Be a good fellow and witness it, predating your signature to last Saturday, the morning after Cook's arrival. It won't be legal otherwise, and my horses and furniture may be seized by the money-lending leeches.'

'Billy, old chum,' Cheshire answered, 'I very much regret that I can't oblige you. I have
alr
eady broken the Postal Regulations in steaming
open letters and allowing you to read their contents; but this would be going too far. Neither did Cook sign the document in my presence, nor would I recognize his signature. So I shouldn't fancy being summoned to give evidence on the matter at some future date—especially since this paper is supposed to have been witnessed at your house, on a Saturday morning, when the Post Office is at its busiest and many people saw me at work.'

'Oh, very well,' said Palmer. 'I'm disappointed in you, Sam! But it doesn't signify much; perhaps Cook's executors won't object to its not being attested—for at least he signed over a receipt stamp as
the
Law requires.'

Mr Stevens had taken care that Dr Palmer should steal a glance at the letter on the coffee-room table. It was addressed to Mr William Webb Ward, the Stafford Coroner, and demanded an inquest on Cook's body. He had already written asking Dr Harland of Stafford whether he would kindly conduct the
postmortem
examination.

Next morning, in
th
e hope of forestalling trouble, Dr Palmer caught old Dr Bamford just before he went out on his rounds, and requested him to sign Cook's death certificate. Dr Bamford did so, but on entering the cause of death as 'an apoplectic seizure' said: 'Properly, my boy, you should do this yourself. He was your patient, not mine.'

Chapter XVII

THE INQUEST ON JOHN PARSONS COOK

D
R HARLAND had been in practice since the year of Waterloo, and won a medical degree at Edinburgh only a few years later. He was a negligent and easy-going man of whom people said: 'If his patients recover, they pay him well; if they die, their heirs don't dispute the fees.' He used few drugs, reposing great faith in the power of Nature to effect cures if left to herself. Rhubarb, magnesia, calomel, and sulphur were, in general, the limit of his prescriptions: he chiefly favoured rest, and a diet of slops. It was this Dr Harland who had obligingly passed Walter Palmer as a good life, and been rewarded by Dr Palmer for this kindness with a dozen of 1834
port. Yet he could by no means be called ignorant of his profession.

On reaching Rugeley from Stafford, the morning of Monday, November 26th
,
Dr Harland went to visit Dr Bamford and, as he passed The Talbot Arms, was greeted by Dr Palmer, who emerged from the back of his house. 'Why, good morning, Harland,' said Dr Palmer, 'I'm glad that Mr Stevens has chosen you for this
post-mortem
job. Someone might have come with whom I'm unacquainted.'

Dr Harland shook hands, and asked: 'What
is
this case? I understand there's a suspicion of poisoning?'

' Oh, no,' replied Dr Palmer.' I don't think so. But it seems that a meddlesome London merchant named Stevens accuses Dr Bamford of treating the case wrong. I have the highest respect for the venerable doctor, and not merely because he brought me and my brothers into this delightful world. He's a wise, kindhearted old man, and I couldn't bear to have doubt cast on his medical ability. So, as I say, I'm glad you're here. There'll be no prejudice.'

'I feel ashamed to tell you, Sir,' Dr Harland confessed, 'that I carelessly left my instrument case behind at Stafford.'

'Then by all means use mine,' cried Dr Palmer, 'and get the business done with quick. To be frank, I believe that this queer
fellow also suspects me. I can't guess what he's at, or what he wants. He's making a loud hue and cry about a lost betting-book. Not only is it of no use to anyone, but at least fifteen people were in the room while Johnny Cook lay ill'—here he began ticking them off on his fingers—'two servants, a couple of jockeys, the housekeeper,
th
e landlord, a trainer, a barber,
o
ur Postmaster, not to mention two qualified doctors beside myself—so why he has picked on me, God alone knows. I feel justly aggrieved.'