An Instance of the Fingerpost (99 page)

‘And you are sure of this?’ Locke said, turning and apparently noticing me for the first time.

‘I am. I tried to tell the court, but was hooted down.’

‘I will not ask you how you know,’ he said softly, and his penetrating look made me realise, for the first and only time, how it was that he subsequently achieved such a place in the world. For he saw more than other people and guessed more still. I was grateful to him for his silence and have been ever since.

‘Very well,’ he continued. ‘The only problem is that we may take her place on the gallows. I am a generous man, I think, but even I have limits to what I will do for a patient.’

Lower, meanwhile had been pacing up and down in the greatest agitation, occasionally sneaking a glimpse out of the window, then looking in turn at Sarah, then Locke, then me. When Locke and I had finished our exchange, he spoke.

‘Sarah?’ he said softly, and repeated it until she lifted up her head and looked at him. Her eyes were bloodshot and ill, for the little vessels within them had ruptured, and gave her the air of a very devil, and the whiteness of her complexion made this seem even more frightening.

‘Can you hear me? Can you speak?’

After a long pause, she nodded.

‘You must answer me a question,’ he said, coming and kneeling on one knee before her, so that she could see him clear. ‘Whatever you have said in the past, you must say the truth now. For our lives and souls depend on it, as well as yours. Did you kill Dr Grove?’

Even though I knew the truth, I did not know the answer she would give. And she did not give one for some time, but eventually she shook her head.

‘Your confession was false?’

A little nod.

‘You swear this by all you hold dear?’

She nodded.

Lower stood up, and heaved a heavy sigh. ‘Mr Wood,’ he said, ‘take this girl upstairs to Boyle’s chamber. He will be indignant if he discovers, so try not to make a mess. Dress her as best you can, and cut off her hair.’

I stared uncomprehending, and Lower frowned. ‘Now, Mr Wood, if you please. You must never query a physician while he is trying to save a life.’

And I led Sarah out by the hand, hearing Lower murmur: ‘In the next room, Locke. It is a long shot, but it may serve.’

Although there seemed little wrong with her, Sarah was still unable to speak or do anything except sit, staring into space as I followed my instructions. It is hard cutting off hair without a scissor, and the result would have done no credit to a woman of fashion. That, however, was not Lower’s intention, whatever else he had in mind, and within a short while I had done as I was told, then tried my best to clear up the mess.

Then I sat down beside her, and took her hand. There were no words I could say that would have answered my need, so I said none. But I squeezed lightly, and eventually felt the very slightest of squeezes back. It was enough; I broke down in the most complete of sobs, bending my head down across her breast while she sat there immobile.

‘Did you really think I would leave you?’ she said in a voice so soft and weak I could barely hear her.

‘I could hardly hope for anything better. I know I did not deserve as much.’

‘Who am I?’

It was the most glorious moment of my life. Everything before built to that question, everything after, the years of life which I have had since and still hope to have, are the merest coda to it. For the first and the last time, I had no doubts and had no need of thought or calculation. I did not need to consider, or assess evidence, or yet to use any of the skills of interpretation needed for lesser matters; all I had to do was state the manifest truth without fear, and in perfect confidence. Some things, indeed, are so obvious that examination is
redundant and logic contemptible. The truth was there to be believed, the most perfect gift because so undeserved. I knew. That was all.

‘You are my saviour, the living God, born of the spirit, persecuted, insulted and abused, known to the magi, who died for our sins and is resurrected, as happened before and will happen again in every generation of man.’

Anyone who heard me would have thought me mad, and in that sentence I stepped for ever out of the full society of my fellow men and into a peace of my own.

‘Tell no one of this,’ she said softly.

‘And I am afraid. I cannot bear to lose you,’ I added, ashamed of my own selfishness.

Sarah seemed scarcely to pay any attention, but eventually leant forward and kissed me on the forehead. ‘You should not be afraid, and should never be afraid. You are my love, my dove, my dearest and I am your friend. I will not forsake you nor ever neglect you.’

They were the last words she spoke to me, the last I ever heard from her lips, and I sat by her side, holding her hand and staring in awe at her until a noise from below roused me once more. Then I rose from the bed where she sat, staring blankly across the room, and went back down to Lower. Sarah now seemed completely unaware of my existence.

The carnage in that room downstairs was truly diabolical, and even I, who knew the truth, was appalled by it. How much greater must Cola’s shock have been when he forced his way in and saw what he thought to be Sarah’s body. For Lower had taken the corpse he had acquired in Aylesbury, and roughly hacked it into unrecognisable fragments, so brutalising the head that it was scarcely recognisable as human. He himself was covered in blood from a dog Locke had slaughtered to complete the illusion, and the stench of the alcohol in the room was unbearable, even though the window was wide open to allow the winds into the room.

‘Well, Wood?’ he said, turning to me with a grim expression. Locke, I saw, had resumed his languid, absent pose, and was standing idly by at the door. ‘Will anybody spot our imposition, do you think?’ And with a knife, he levered an eyeball out of the skull on the table, so that it hung by a thread from its socket.

‘I have cut her hair, but the experience has so affected her she is hardly capable of moving, I think. What do you suggest we do with her now?’

‘Boyle’s servant has some clothes in the cupboard next to the chamber,’ he said. ‘At least, he normally keeps them there. I think we must borrow them. Dress her up and get her out of the building so no one will recognise her. Until you can, keep her upstairs and quiet. No one must see her, or even suspect that there is anyone there.’

Again I mounted the stairs, found the clothes and began the lengthy process of getting Sarah into them. She spoke not a word during the whole operation, and when I was finished I left her and went out by Mr Crosse’s back door and followed a little lane down to Merton Street and my house.

First, however, I called into the Feathers, as I needed a few moments to steady my nerves and collect my thoughts. And was approached by Cola, looking tired and worn out himself, who wanted news of the execution. I told him the entire truth except for the one detail of importance and he, poor man, took it as confirmation of his theory about blood transfusion, that the death of the spirit in the donor must inevitably cause the death of the recipient as well. I could not, for obvious reasons, illuminate him on this point, and demonstrate that his theory had a fatal evidential flaw.

He also told me of the death of the mother, which grieved me greatly, for it was yet another burden for Sarah to bear. But I forced myself to put it aside as Cola went to remonstrate with Lower, and I went myself to my house to discover my mother in the kitchen. She had been greatly affected by Sarah’s fall, and had taken to sitting quietly by the fire when she was not praying for the girl. This morning, as I arrived – for despite everything it was still scarcely eight – she sat all alone in the chair no one else was allowed to occupy, and I saw to my astonishment that she had been crying when no one was there to see her. But she pretended not to do so and I pretended not to notice, as I had no wish to humiliate her. Even then, I think, I wondered how something of normal life could continue despite the wonders I had just witnessed and could not understand how no one had noticed anything, except myself.

‘And it is done?’

‘After a fashion,’ I replied. ‘Mother, I must ask you something in all seriousness. What would you have done to help her, had it been in your power?’

‘Anything,’ she said firmly. ‘You know that. Anything.’

‘If she had escaped, would you have assisted her, even though it meant breaking the law yourself? Not given her up?’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘The law is nothing when it is wrong and deserves to be disregarded.’

I looked at her, for the words sounded strange on her lips, until I realised it was something I had once heard Sarah say herself.

‘Would you help her now?’

‘She is beyond my help, I think.’

‘No.’

She said nothing, so I continued, my words blurting out once I had gone too far to retract. ‘She died and is alive again. She is in Mr Boyle’s apartment. She is still alive, mother, and no one knows of it. Nor will they ever, unless you say something, as we have all decided to try and help her away.’

This time even my presence did not provide enough incentive to spare her dignity, and she rocked back and forth in her chair, clutching her hands together and muttering, ‘Thank God, thanks to God, all praise to God,’ with the tears welling up in her eyes and rolling down her cheeks until I took her by the hand and got her attention once more. ‘She needs hiding until we can get her out of the town. Do I have your permission to bring her here? If I hide her in my study, you will not betray her?’

Of course she gave her absolute promise, and I knew it was better than any I might make, so I kissed her on the cheek and told her I would be back after nightfall. I last saw her bustling about the kitchen, dragging out vegetables and our last winter ham for a celebratory feast when Sarah should come again.

It continued a strange day, that one, for after all the frenzied activity of the first few hours, all of us – Lower, Locke and myself – found ourselves with time on our hands, and little to do until night came. Lower realised that the events at least had made up his mind about journeying to London, for his reputation amongst the townsfolk would never be the same again, such was the disapproval of his
supposed activities. He now had no choice but to risk all and begin the long task of establishing himself elsewhere. The remains of the girl he had bought in Aylesbury were taken off to the castle and burnt on the pyre – Lower’s humour returned sufficiently for him to remark that she had been pickled in so much alcohol it would be fortunate if she did not blow up the entire building – and I had been given money by Cola to ensure the decent burial of Mrs Blundy.

Organising the burial was a simple, if painful, process; there were plenty of people who were now prepared to do something, so great was the revulsion felt for the fate of the girl, that they were happy to make some amends by treating the mother as well as possible, especially as they were to be paid for their kindness. I had the priest at St Thomas’s undertake to perform the rites, and set them for that evening, and he also sent his men round to collect the body and prepare it. It was not either the priest or the church the woman would have chosen for herself, but I had no clear idea who should do it, and as asking anybody but an established minister would create untold difficulties, I decided it was best to avoid unnecessary complications. The service was set for eight o’clock that evening and, as I left, the priest was already shouting at the sexton, telling him to dig a grave in the poorer, more neglected part of the churchyard so that a more valuable plot, such as is occupied by gentlemen, was not used by accident.

I had entirely put out of my mind the unwelcome task of telling Sarah what had occurred. It would have to be done, of course, and I knew I would have to do it, but I simply postponed it as long as possible. Lower had already been told by Cola, and looked greatly upset by the news.

‘I cannot understand it,’ he said. ‘She was not well and was very weak, but when I saw her she was not dying. When did she die?’

‘I do not know. Mr Cola told me of it. He was with her, I think.’

Lower’s face darkened. ‘That man,’ he said. ‘I’m sure he killed her.’

‘Lower! That is a terrible thing to say.’

‘I don’t mean deliberately. But his grasp of theory is better than his practice.’ He sighed heavily, and looked mightily concerned. ‘I feel bad about this, Wood. I really do. I should have attended
the woman myself. You know Cola planned to give her more blood?’

‘No.’

‘He did. I could not stop him, of course, as she was his patient, but I refused to have anything to do with it.’

‘It was the wrong treatment?’

‘Not necessarily. But we had a falling out, and I did not wish to be associated with him. I told you that Wallis said he has in the past stolen other men’s ideas.’

‘Many times,’ I said. ‘So?’

‘So?’ Lower repeated, greatly affronted. ‘Is there anything worse?’

‘He might be a scheming Jesuit, here in secret to rekindle civil strife and subvert the kingdom,’ I suggested. ‘That might be accounted worse.’

‘Not by me.’

And the remark broke the tension which had been building up all day, and all of a sudden both Lower and I found ourselves collapsing in gales of laughter, roaring until the tears rolled down our cheeks, gripping each other tightly as our bodies shook with the most strange merriment. We ended on the floor, Lower flat on his back, still heaving, I with my head between my knees as the laughter made my head spin and my jaw ache. I loved Lower dearly then, and knew that, whatever our differences and whatever gruffness of character he might have, I would always love him, for he was a truly good man.

When we recovered and wiped the tears from our eyes, it was Lower who brought up the topic of what to do with Sarah. No laughing matter, that.

‘She must obviously leave Oxford immediately,’ I said. ‘She cannot stay in my chamber for ever and even with her hair cut, she is easily recognisable. But where she should go, and what she should do, I am at a loss to suggest.’

‘How much ready money do you have?’