An Unlamented Death: A Mystery Set in Georgian England (Mysteries of Georgian Norfolk Book 1) (21 page)

‘Could he have done it?’

‘For while ‘e could,’ Osman said. ‘Course, in the end ‘e would have to disappoint one or the other. My guess is that ‘e planned to give the parson some spot to visit. Then, when nothing was found, ‘e would rant and roar that ‘is informer ‘ad cheated ‘im. Of course, once ‘e’d made them rich cullies fear ‘e might betray their secret, ‘e could go on getting money from them for years ahead. It was, you ‘as to admit, a neat enough scheme.’

‘So what went wrong? Something must have happened to cause the arch…the clergyman to be killed.’

‘It seems ‘e had set up another meeting at the same place as before. This time, the parson-type was to bring more money and be told the place and time of the next meeting of them madge culls – I means buggerers, sir. Course, according to Garnet, something would cause the meeting not to ‘appen, so as ‘e could extract still more gelt to reveal where and when it ‘ad been moved.’

‘And so?’ Adam said.

‘Went to the churchyard, ‘e did, nice and early, and waits. ‘E always did this. Although ‘e told the parson to come alone, Garnet was mighty cautious. Now ‘is caution was proved right an’ all. The parson came alright, but ‘e ‘ad a magistrate with ‘im!’

‘What did Garnet do then?’

‘Took to ‘is heels, you may be sure. Thought that was the end of it. But next day, the parson’s body is found right there in the churchyard. Garnet ‘adn’t killed ‘im neither. ‘E swore that over and over.’

‘Did he know, or guess, who had?’

‘Said ‘e reckoned it must ‘ave been one of the sodomites, or someone paid by them. They must have been watching ‘im and believed ‘e was passing their names to the clergyman. Odd thing, though. No wounds on the body, ‘e said, nor any sign of a struggle. What’s more, when ‘e suggested it must ‘ave been some kind of accident, everyone went along with this. Fair puzzled, Garnet was. Why wasn’t anyone interested in looking deeper?’

‘Did he know why?’

‘Not at all, sir. All ‘e could imagine was that the rich fornicators had enough power to make sure no awkward questions was asked. It must have been that, ‘e said, because some fool doctor started asking all the obvious questions at the inquest and the coroner fell over ‘isself to shut ‘is mouth.’

‘And then?’ Adam prompted. How much longer would this take?

‘That was pretty much it. Garnet lay low for a few weeks, then started up again. ‘E got a message from some smugglers that a party would bring ‘im two men to be taken out to their ship, no questions asked. This time, though, the Revenue men caught ‘im and, like a fool, ‘e tries to fight ‘is way out.’

‘Did he know anything about the men he took out to the ships?’ Adam asked.

‘No, ‘e did not, sir, and I believed him. Them smugglers are ruthless men. Cross ‘em in any way and you’ll be food for the fishes. No, Garnet was no fool about that. ‘E’d take the money and keep ‘is eyes and ‘is mouth tight shut.’

So there it was. The archdeacon had not died by Garnet’s hand, even though he had been fool enough to pay the man for imaginary information. Well, what could you expect from someone as bigoted as Dr. Ross? Had he hoped to make his name as the man who exposed the next Hellfire Club? For the rest, it was much as Adam had imagined. A clandestine deal gone wrong, leaving the archdeacon in a lonely churchyard in the dark.

Not alone, though! Mr. Harmsworthy had been there. He must be involved. It had to be so.

A
s he was taken back
upstream in the wherry, Adam remained sunk deep in thought. If only he had been cleverer, he told himself, they could have worked nearly all this out for themselves, weeks ago. Now everything depended on Mr. Wicken being able to lay hands on Mr. Harmsworthy. If he escaped, they could go no further.

Thus it was that he met Mr. Gamelion again and was driven back to his home. Wisely, the man didn’t press him for news, beyond asking if he had got what he wanted.

‘Yes,’ Adam said. ‘I did. Please send word to Mr. Wicken that I shall write to him at length as soon as I may, but the main mystery remains. It is all up to him now.’ With that much, the man had to be content.

E
ach evening
, it was Adam’s habit to take a candle and spend some time alone in his study catching up on his reading. At the same time, he answered correspondence that did not relate to patients or his medical practice. He enjoyed studying and tried to stay in touch with various avenues of knowledge opened by the new scientific methods. He also tried to keep in contact with some at least of the friends he had made during his years of study. He thought too many physicians preferred leisure to learning. Those were the ones whose medical knowledge stopped short the day they qualified. They gained experience, of course, but they rarely strayed from the methods of treatment they had been taught twenty or more years before. He was determined not to be of their cast of mind.

A loud banging at his door late that Thursday evening roused him from his studies. He had been reading of a most interesting case of severe nausea and stomach cramps. This had gripped a party of people who had dined together, so it was clear that something they had eaten had caused the symptoms. What was not clear at all was how to discover what that was. Being questioned, all admitted to having tasted at least something of every dish on the table. The author of the paper had therefore undertaken a series of experiments involving feeding each dish in turn to various dogs. When none of these beasts displayed any symptoms, the experimenter felt he had reached an impasse.

Adam angrily laid his book aside to deal with whoever it was who seemed intent on rousing the whole neighbourhood. Had he been in a better temper, he would probably have gone into the hallway to discover who had come calling. As it was, he stayed where he was and waited for the maid to bring him news.

Adam was still more annoyed when the door to his study was flung open. A stranger entered almost at a run, followed by Hannah, the maidservant, still feebly protesting at such a grave breach of etiquette.

The stranger nodded to him in a perfunctory manner, then demanded to know whether he was Dr. Bascom. Such rudeness effectively silenced poor Hannah. Yet there was something in the stranger’s manner and posture – some erectness in his stance and directness in his eyes – that caused Adam to temper his reply.

‘Yes, sir,’ he said. ‘I am Dr. Bascom. May I ask whom I have the honour of addressing?’

‘Pardon my haste, doctor, and the lack of manners it forces upon me. My name is Marshall and I am employed by someone whom I think you know: Mr. Wicken. It is on his instruction that I am here. He told me that, should anything arise of an urgent nature that could not wait until he might be reached, I was at once to come to you.’

By now, Adam felt like a hound held tight on the leash and the quarry in plain view. Still, he forced himself to keep his voice calm and even.

‘Welcome, Mr. Marshall. I will hear your tale at once.’ Then, turning to Hannah, still vibrating with suppressed anger at such an assault upon her master’s home, he said merely, ‘Thank you, Hannah. You may leave us now.’

By unspoken agreement, Adam and his visitor stayed silent until the servant had left the room and closed the door behind her. Adam could hear Mrs. Brigstone’s voice enquiring what had caused such a noise at this hour and Hannah replying that she had left all in the master’s hands. The housekeeper knew better than to disturb them. She was used to people arriving at the house at all hours, wanting the doctor to give aid to someone in distress.

As silence returned, Adam sat again in his chair and motioned to Mr. Marshall to take a seat as well.

‘Permit me to remain standing, sir,’ Marshall said. ‘My mission is urgent and I will shortly ask you to accompany me at once to render what assistance may be possible.’

‘Very well,’ Adam said. ‘Give me your report.’ His use of this military term was deliberate. When it produced no sign of surprise, he was convinced that the man standing before him, though he wore no uniform, was indeed a member of one of His Majesty’s armed forces.

‘We have found Mr. Harmsworthy, sir. When we have leisure, I will tell you all you wish to know of the matter, but not now, with your leave, for every moment of delay counts against us. Suffice it to say that he left Lynn at dawn this morning, traveling along the road towards Fakenham. He was making good speed, yet not hurrying unduly. He passed through Fakenham without stopping and began to head for Holt. He may have wished to stop there. It could be he went that way because it is a better road than making his way in the lanes closer to the shore. But now, being once again on familiar ground, he was better able to notice anything unusual about him.

‘Of a sudden, he turned in the saddle, appeared to see more people behind him than ought to have been there and urged his horse headlong into a gallop.

‘My men gave chase, meaning now to seize him, since he would not lead them anywhere once he knew of their presence. He rode as fast as he could, but our horses are better than most and he must have realised he would be overtaken before many minutes had passed. That was when he drew a pistol from under his cloak and discharged it.’

‘At your men? Did they fire back, for I assume they were also armed?’

‘They did not fire, sir, being under the strictest instructions to avoid notice if possible. If not, they were to take the quarry alive and unharmed. But I did not make myself clear as I should. Mr. Harmsworthy did not fire his pistol at my men, he fired it at himself.’

‘Suicide.’ Adam said. ‘So, after all this, he has been lost.’

‘No, doctor, which is why I am here. It is no easy matter to aim a pistol when riding at full speed, as I know very well. I have done it myself on many occasions and wasted ball and shot on nearly all of them. Even he must have thought that a shot to the head would likely miss, for he pressed the muzzle of the pistol against his chest and fired in that position. Nevertheless, the violent motion of the horse must have caused the muzzle to slip at the last moment. The ball passed through him, sir, right enough, but it failed to cause immediate death. Nor did the fall from his horse, for the poor animal was winded and had slowed almost to a walk by the time its master slid from the saddle.’

‘Is he hurt badly?’

‘I have seen many men shot on the battlefield, sir,’ Marshall replied, ‘and I believe I know the signs of a mortal wound. He is gravely hurt, doctor, and may not last long enough for Mr. Wicken to reach here from London. That is why I am here. We took him to an inn in Holt, The King’s Head, and have lodged him there under guard. Aye, and the innkeeper is mighty sour at our doing so, though I promised him ample payment. Will you come with me, doctor? You may be able to preserve his life for a little longer. You may even disagree with my view of his wound and be able to save him altogether. Yet, whatever happens, I will have discharged my duty to Mr. Wicken in seeking you out.’

‘Of course I will come,’ Adam said. ‘Allow me but time to put on suitable clothes, speak to my housekeeper and have the groom make ready my horse.’

‘With respect, doctor,’ Marshall said, ‘I doubt your own horse could keep pace with ours when we are in haste. We have a suitable beast ready and saddled outside for you, and an escort to see us safe through the roads at night. As to riding gear, might not a thick cloak be sufficient?’

‘It might,’ Adam said. ‘Still, I would tell my housekeep where I am going in such haste. I will also need to fetch my medical bag. Will you allow me enough time for these?’

‘Of course, doctor. One of my men will bear your bag for you. You may need both hands on the reins before this ride is out.’

Adam knew himself to be, at best, an indifferent rider, so he bore this implied judgement of his ability without rancour. He dreaded the ride, if truth were told. Though he believed he could stay in the saddle, barring accidents, he was sure the damage to his backside would be severe. When he finally returned, he would have to bear a good deal of discomfort as a result.

‘Two minutes then,’ Adam said, and went to find Mrs. Brigstone and his thick cloak, only to discover she had already anticipated his needs. She was standing by the front door with the cloak over her arm and his medical bag in her hand.

A
dam would long remember
that night’s ride to Holt. His own horse, Betty, would never have kept up the pace the others set. Nor would he have relished telling his groom the next day why he had returned with her broken-winded and exhausted. The cavalry horse he had been given was, fortunately for him, a sure-footed and co-operative beast. Yet even getting onto its back had been a challenge, so tall an animal was it.

Now, as they rode into Holt well after midnight, they made a noise such as must rouse every householder in the town. Adam’s body had long since become numb with the fearful shaking their pace caused, for they thundered along poor, rutted roads at somewhere between a fast canter and a full-out gallop. Every horse was marked with flecks of foam. Adam’s backside was probably scarred for life.

The innkeeper at The King’s Head was ready to meet them when they entered his house. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded of Adam. ‘I don’t know you. Are you the one in charge, because if you are I demand an end of all this.’

Adam’s reply was terse enough to have stopped any sensible person from continuing.

‘I am a physician,’ he said. ‘You have a gravely injured man here. Stand aside at once.’

‘Stand aside? Stand aside? You aren’t the doctor in Holt. We have our own doctor. What cause is there to bring one such as you in from heaven knows where else. And in such a manner! These men turn up here with some wounded criminal, commandeer my best bed, ruining the sheets with blood. Five shillings those sheets cost me! Worse, they keep everyone up half the night, then ride through the town as if all the devils from hell were chasing them. You have woken every Christian soul in the place and caused who knows what stories to spread about my inn. I’m an honest innkeeper, I tell you. I’ll have the law on you!’

It was too much. When Adam spoke again, the quietness of his voice and calmness of his manner should have told the innkeeper he was about to regret what he had just said. ‘You say you are an honest innkeeper. Very well. Let us prove it. Captain Marshall (he had no idea whether this was truly Marshall’s rank, but it sounded right for the purpose), send two of your men into the cellar of this inn. Let them search a little and see if there is anything that could be of interest to the Revenue.’

In an instant, all the colour drained from the innkeeper’s face. Vainly he tried to turn aside the terror that had fallen upon him. ‘Sir, good sir, I spoke hastily. I did not mean any disrespect. You may have whatever rooms you want in my humble establishment, for you come on His Majesty’s service …’

‘Indeed we do,’ Marshall said grimly. ‘Baker, Sawyer, go into the cellar and report back on to me what you find there. If any stand in your way, use your weapons.’

The two men hurried off to do as they were bid, trying to suppress their grins at the effect all this was having on the pompous landlord. The innkeeper ran after them, still vainly offering apologies. Marshall now turned to Adam. ‘How did you guess he has contraband within?’

‘We are scarce four miles from the coast, Mr. Marshall. You are unlikely to find one single inn in these parts that does not have regular dealings with the smugglers. No, probably not above half a dozen gentleman’s mansions either. It was no guess. Come, take me to my patient. That fool of an innkeeper has wasted time we can ill afford, if what you told me before proves true.’

O
ne look
at Mr. Harmsworthy was enough to confirm that Marshall had been accurate enough in his estimation of the wound. The man's face was white as the best paper. His breathing was harsh, irregular and accompanied by specks of moisture on his lips. And his skin, though clammy with cold, was drenched in sweat. Mr. Harmsworthy was dying. Adam doubted he could prevent that. The best he could do would be to ease the pain of his passing a little.

Adam fumbled in his medical bag for the laudanum which might bring sleep and some relief from pain. At that moment, Mr. Harmsworthy’s eyes opened and he recognised who was standing over him. ‘So, doctor. They have brought you. Do not waste your energy on trying to heal me. I am dying and I know it. Indeed, I welcome it and would have had it come far sooner than this. At least it will release me from the hangman’s noose, even if it does not free my family and name from the disgrace I have brought upon them.’

‘Hush,’ Adam said. ‘Do not try to speak. I will prepare a draught to ease your pain in just a moment.’

‘Wait, good doctor,’ Mr. Harmsworthy said. ‘People say confession is good for the soul. I have no time for priests or their cant, sir, nor do I fear entering hell after I die, for I have long been there in this life. Yet I am still vain enough to wish at least one man to know this before I die: though I am a murderer and a traitor, I am not an evil man. What I did, I did from love, though it brought me none in return. Let me speak first, then I will take your potion and pray it may help me die in less pain that I suffer now. I need a clear head to tell my tale – and tell it I will, though it speed my death.’

F
or a moment
, Adam looked at the dying man with nothing in his heart but sympathy and anguish that he should come to this. Then he nodded his head and sat by the bedside, leaning close to hear the quiet voice. A voice that explained how a dull English country squire had come to commit murder and treachery through the demands of love.

‘I must perforce start with my childhood,’ Mr. Harmsworthy began,‘ for without understanding that you can understand nothing that happened later…’

Adam interrupted him. ‘Nay, save your strength. I know you were born in Ireland. I also know something of your family and circumstances before you came to Norfolk. If you must tell, tell only what is essential.’

‘I am amazed,’ the dying man said. ‘I knew the authorities were on my trail and must have taken care to discover what they could of my past. I had not known they would tell you. Never mind. I will do as you say, for I feel myself sliding into the abyss. Yet there is one part of my youth you will not know, for none do save one, who is dead already. There I shall start.’