Authors: William Savage
A
dam sat in silence
, turning over and over what Mr. Wicken had told him. Every turn produced fresh combinations of what he knew. As he did so, he upended each piece and combined one part with another. Then he fitted together accounts from different sources and and sometimes took them apart again. Inferences and deductions were made, considered and rejected. Guesswork filled gaps and was pulled out again. Occasionally facts and ideas fitted together with such precision that he knew they had to form part of the truth. Yet even now the full solution eluded him.
The archdeacon was not a stupid man. Did he guess that he was being led on? Would vague rumours of dissidents and freethinkers be sufficient to draw him deep into the Norfolk countryside. Would they be enough to take him there late in the afternoon, to a lonely spot like Gressington? He must have been intending to meet someone. Who was it? Did they meet, or was he dead before the other person could arrive?
Feeling disgusted that he knew so much and yet understood so little, Adam felt disheartened. Even Mr. Wicken, with all the resources at his command, had made little headway. How could he, a country doctor, hope to do better? Why should it matter to him anyway? It was not his problem. His job was to heal the sick.
As Adam said those words to himself – ‘my job is to heal the sick’ – something happened which he could never explain afterwards. It was as if his mind was filled with a brilliant light, and his body convulsed by an electrical charge. If he had been a superstitious man, it might even have made him think about divine intervention. As it was, he sat up suddenly, slapped his hand on his thigh and shouted, ‘Damn my boots! What a fool I have been!’
His shouts brought the maid, Ellen, hurrying into the room, but before she could even open her mouth, Adam was issuing his orders.
‘Pen, ink and paper!’ Adam said. ‘Hurry, girl! Quick as you can.’
The maid stared for moment, clearly wondering whether her mistress’s son was in full possession of his reason. Then she hurried off as she was told, and returned in but a few minutes with the writing materials.
‘The mistress says…’ she began, but got no further.
‘Quiet! Let me think. I am going to write a short note that I want you to take immediately to the house that I will tell you. Wait there for the reply and hurry back as fast as your feet will carry you.’
The maid bobbed uncertainly and stayed silent. The gentry could be extremely strange at times, and it did no good to antagonise them. While Adam wrote, she did her best to become invisible.
‘There,’ Adam said. ‘Take this at once to the archdeacon’s house in the cathedral close. Make sure that those within hand it immediately to their mistress. Then wait, as I told you, and bring the reply back to me.’
The girl hastened to the door, slipping through just as Adam’s mother entered.
‘Adam!’ His mother said. ‘What on earth is going on? You have an unknown visitor at breakfast time and spend nigh an hour with him, ignoring even the most basic duties of a host. Next, he leaves without any ceremony and you sit alone in here for another half-hour, leaving everyone wondering what is happening. Then you shout loud enough to wake the dead and send my maid running to get you pen and paper. Now, I perceive…’ They heard the front door bang shut. ‘…you have sent the poor girl on some errand, I know not where. My dear boy, I know that I have urged you in the past to treat my house as your own, but do you not think this is going too far? Would it not have been polite to ask if you could command my staff in this way?’
‘I apologise most humbly, mother,’ Adam said, ‘but there is not time. It is of the greatest importance that I speak again with Mrs. Ross before I have to leave Norwich.’
‘Mrs. Ross? The archdeacon’s widow? I did not know that you were acquainted with her.’
‘I spoke with her yesterday morning, at her invitation,’ Adam said. ‘Something that I have just learned may be of tremendous importance to her. She is sick in mind and body, and will not be cured until she is able to resolve certain matters. I will do what I can, but much depends on me being able to speak to her quickly, then act on what she says. I cannot be sure, you see. It all seems to make sense, but I have been wrong before. Now, before Ellen returns, I must ask you a vital question. Do you know a Mr. Jempson, a prominent merchant in Norwich, I believe, and a Quaker? Where does he live?’
‘I am more amazed than I can say,’ his mother replied. ‘Yes, of course I know of Mr. Jempson. I imagine that everyone in this city does. If it were not for our foolish laws, by now he would be an alderman and probably Lord Mayor. He has done much for those who live here and brought great prosperity. Yet I am not acquainted with him personally – as it seems you are.’
‘I recently had occasion to save him from footpads, ’ Adam said, ‘but that is of little matter. Things he told me then seem to fit with things I have heard today, and others I was told by Capt. Mimms. Do you know where he lives, mother? I must try to meet with him as soon as I may. Oh, and may I stay here tonight? My return to Aylsham must be delayed.’
‘Your last question is probably the only one I have understood,’ his mother said. ‘Yes, of course you may stay. You really had no need to ask. Sophia and I will be glad of your company for another evening – at least, if this wild mood leaves you and you are fit for our company again.’
‘Do not be cross with me, mother. I will explain as soon as I am able, for I know that I have inherited much of my curiosity from you.’
‘I am not cross, merely bewildered. However, enough of that. I do know where our admirable Quaker lives and you shall send Roger, the stable-lad, there with your message. It is a good way off and poor Ellen will undoubtedly need to recover her breath and her wits when she returns. I had not marked you for such a sly-boots, Adam. You are plainly involved in some urgent enterprise, yet you have made not the smallest mention of it to your own mother. Your brother Giles is so like his father. He is a plain, solid, country squire, with neither the wish nor the imagination for adventures. Well, I cannot say I was not warned. Before you were seven years old, your grandfather said to me that, one day, you would surprise us all. What he had marked in you, he did not say, and I paid little heed. I was wrong. It seems all our family’s adventure, inventiveness, boldness and nerve – so long absent on the family tree – are concentrated in your person. Now they are showing themselves in full. It takes my breath away.’
Adam grinned at that. ‘Well, mother, you always said there must be a black sheep in every family.’
She laughed. ‘No,’ she said, ‘you are no black sheep. You have too wise a head and too good a heart for that. Yet I begin to wonder if you do not have something of the wolf in you. I perceive you are engaged in a hunt that I must not impede. Ah, Ellen is back. ’
Almost at once, the maid came into the room. Her breathing was laboured and her face quite pink from the effort she had made to return with all speed.
‘Mrs. Ross says…’ but she had not the breath to continue and must needs gasp in air in a most comical manner. ‘Mrs. Ross says…’
‘Stop! Breath a little first. If you fall down in a faint, as you are like to do,’ her mistress said, ‘we will never know what the poor lady said.’
Ellen did as she was bid and stood there for several moments until her breathing and her colour were more normal. Then, straightening her back, she presented her information in a rush. ‘Mrs. Ross says you may call on her at any time, sir. She will be most pleased to see you and she is quite taken aback by the urgency of your message. But she had already determined to tell you all just not so soon…sir.’
‘Thank you, Ellen,’ Adam’s mother said. ‘I am sure my son is most grateful for your diligence in returning in peril, so it seems, of your own well-being and decorum. He is, as usual, too preoccupied in thinking about what you have said to tell you so himself. Go to the kitchen, sit down, and tell cook I say to give you a pot of small ale and some food to revive you. Oh…before you sit, please step into the yard and tell Roger I have an urgent errand for him. He is to come here immediately.’
As the maid left, Adam was already on his feet and moving towards the door. ‘I cannot wait for Roger. Please, mother, tell him to go this instant to Mr. Jempson’s house. Let him present my compliments and ask if I may have opportunity to speak with Mr. Jempson in person and in haste. Then bring back the response at once. Something like that. I am sure you can word the message more politely. What matters is that Mr. Jempson receives my message as quickly as may be and is apprised of its importance.’ With that, Adam was out of the door and away, leaving his poor mother standing once more in a state of the greatest shock.
W
hen Adam was shown
into her parlour, Mrs. Ross stood to welcome her visitor. She must feel less frail, Adam thought.
‘I had not expected you to call again quite so soon, Dr. Bascom,’ she said, ‘though I am glad to see you. Thanks to the draught you gave me, I slept well last night and woke much refreshed.’
‘I am delighted, madam,’ Adam said. ‘As I said to you yesterday, more than anything you need to allow your mind and body to recover. You have endured a period of great unhappiness. I hope that I may be able to ease your mind still more, as a result of some information that came to me unexpectedly only this morning. I will soon return to my home in Aylsham, so I wished to take the opportunity of being in Norwich to call upon you and deliver my news in person.’
‘You are most kind, sir. As I told your mother’s maid, I was myself determined to ask you to call upon me again when you were next in this city. It seems the opportunity for both of us has come immediately.’
Adam cast around for some way to introduce the reason for his visit as gently as he could. Mrs. Ross’s state remained fragile. He had no wish to startle her or cause her further distress.
‘Mrs. Ross,’ he began. ‘Forgive me for making what can only be an assumption based on certain comments you made when we talked last. I do not usually listen to gossip, but in this case – where it seemed to bear on the welfare of a patient – I felt I had no choice. I have heard that there was a falling out between your husband and your only son, not long before the tragic events at Gressington.’
‘You have heard correctly, Doctor. That is an event that weighs heavy on my conscience. When we spoke yesterday, I was quite unable to tell you of it. That was, I now believe, an error. I excused myself by noting that you were a stranger to me, and that I had no need to add to my distress by recalling things I would much rather forget. Yet your diagnosis of my condition appeared all too accurate. If you recall, you suggested that the ills of my body might well be produced by malignant workings of my mind. At that point, I almost blurted it out. I am ashamed to say that my courage failed me, as it has done so often in the course of my life. Maybe this time I will not be so punished for my cowardice, for you seem to be my guardian angel in this matter.’
‘No angel, madam, I assure you. But I may be able to bring a message of comfort nonetheless. Were your recent fears centred on the thought that your late husband may have gone to Gressington churchyard either in pursuit of, or for a meeting with, your son? Did you imagine that his death was linked to something that passed between them?’
To Adam’s horror, Mrs. Ross’s face became as white as any ghost’s and she fell back into the chair behind her, gasping for breath.
‘Mrs. Ross…madam…are you unwell?’ Adam said. ‘A thousand apologies. I am such a clumsy fool. I have startled you and, as a doctor, I should have known to avoid that. Sit still, please. Compose yourself. Shall I call for a servant? I ran from my mother’s house with such speed that I did not bring my medical bag with me. How I curse myself for what I have done! I came to bring you relief, as I imagined, and I have brought hurt instead. I do not deserve forgiveness…’
In his distress, Adam must have continued to condemn himself for several more minutes, had not Mrs. Ross held up her hand for silence.
‘Please, Dr. Bascom. Do not blame yourself. I was taken aback for a moment, that is all. I am quite well, I assure you. The accuracy of your diagnosis and deduction amaze me more than I can say, for you have struck the nail fairly on the head.’
‘Dear lady,’ Adam said, still inwardly cursing himself. ‘Let me continue at once, since I know now that the news I bring can cause you only relief. Why your late husband went to Gressington on that fateful evening I still do not know for sure. Yet what I can tell you with assurance is that it was neither to meet your son there, nor to pursue him in any way. Whatever happened to cause Dr. Ross’s death, accident or not, your son had nothing whatsoever to do with it.’
In the lengthy silence which followed, Adam stood and stared at his hostess, quite unable to decide on what he should do. She shut her eyes and held one hand to her mouth, becoming quite still. Gradually her breathing seemed easier and some colour returned to her cheeks.
At last, her eyes still shut and tears staining her face, she spoke. ‘Please sit down, doctor, for I can sense you looming over me. If you do not move away a little beyond my reach, I may not be able to prevent myself from jumping up and kissing you. And that would be most improper.’
Adam sat, though he still leaned forward, ready at any moment to spring to aid his patient.
After a little longer, the lady opened her eyes. ‘You cannot imagine what relief you have brought me, Dr. Bascom, and what gratitude I feel. I can still scarcely speak from it. But sit still and I shall explain all. First, let me recall my proper duties as a hostess and call the servant to bring us refreshments, for I see from the clock over there that it is already past noon. I imagine that you would take something, sir? My appetite has returned on the instant and I find myself more thirsty and hungry than I believe I have ever been before.’
‘Thank you, madam. Some small refreshment would be most welcome, for breakfast feels to have left me some long time ago. I am delighted that you feel ready to accept nourishment again. Only, I beg you, be moderate at the outset, whatever you feel. Even the best of food and drink may be rejected by a stomach that has lain empty, or near so, for some time.’
N
either wished
to go to the dining room, so Mrs. Ross bade her servant bring them some cakes and a pot of good chocolate for herself. Adam chose chocolate also. He feared that ale or punch might make him sleepy, for he felt quite worn out.
‘Please forgive my impertinence, doctor,’ Mrs. Ross said, when the dishes and plates had been cleared away. ‘I believe that I see in you a physician who should give thought to healing himself also, for you appear quite tired out.’
‘You are as able at diagnostics as I am,’ Adam said. ‘I am indeed tired, for much has happened in these two days. Yet I am not so tired as to be unable to listen to your tale. As so often, my curiosity will, I vow, give me no rest until I do.’
‘Then I will begin at once,’ the lady said. ‘Our marriage was blest with but two children, the elder a girl and the younger a boy. There was a third, another boy…but he did not long survive. Our daughter is now married and is raising a fine family in their house near Cambridge. She is a most dutiful and happy wife, I am glad to say. I was the first, but never the second.’
‘Never, madam?’
‘That is how it seems now, doctor. But my trials in the uncertain landscape of marriage are not so much to the point and I will pass over them for the moment. I need say only one thing, for that is essential to understand what I will tell you and the part I played in it. I was totally dominated by my husband. His wishes became mine. His actions I could not question. I now see that was destined all along to cause great grief. Our son, William, is a fine young man, sir. At school he was an able scholar, excelling in mathematics and all subjects bearing on things mechanical. Yet almost from the day of his birth, my husband had destined him for high office in the church. What my husband wished was unalterable law in our household.
‘When his school days were ended, William pleaded with his father to allow him to study at a Scottish university. They are, I believe, better disposed to mathematical and similar subjects than the more conservative universities in England. His father would have nothing of it. William must attend the university at Oxford, as his father before him. Nothing less would fit him for swift ordination and a smooth path to a bishopric. When William protested that he felt no vocation to the church, that too was dismissed as something that would come in time.
‘William went up to Oxford at the start of the Michaelmas term last year. He did not wish to go, but his father fell into a violent temper and ordered him to do as he was told. He even preached him a powerful, extempore sermon on the need to honour one’s father. Mothers were not mentioned, since my husband had long assumed I would subordinate myself to him – as indeed I did, God forgive me. Needless to say, William fared poorly at Oxford. He avoided the studies he found so irksome. Unlike the sons of the rich, he did not waste his time in gambling or drinking. Instead, he travelled to Birmingham to meet with some of the leading citizens there. They are men of great mechanical and business ingenuity, I believe, and held in the highest regard by many. Of course, that counted for nought with my husband. Especially when he found the majority to be dissenters.
‘At the end of the Hilary Term, in April of this year, a message came from William’s tutor that he should not return. In deference to my husband’s standing in the church, and his position as a graduate of the university itself, it was most discreetly phrased. His tutor wrote that William might not yet be ready to embark on the studies his father had arranged for him. Perhaps, given a gap of a year or so, he might take up his studies there again.
‘I will leave you to imagine the scene between father and son. Each spoke in the most intemperate language; each doubtless hurt the other badly. What finally caused a break was when William announced that, during a visit to Birmingham, he had encountered a young lady and fallen in love. Her father had brought her to meet a Dr. Joseph Priestley, a man of great reputation as a natural philosopher. Father and daughter had then shown friendship and condescension towards my son. As happens in such cases, youth and shared interests soon led to a more tender attachment. Before the end of the week the father and daughter spent in Birmingham, my son was smitten.
‘All this he explained, adding that he had maintained a correspondence with the young lady, with the full approval of her family. He hoped, he said, to ask her to be his wife, once he was in a position to support her.
‘If he thought this might pacify his father, he could not have been more mistaken. At once, my husband’s fury increased and he shouted that no son of his should ever marry a strumpet he had met by chance. Of course, our son sprang to the defence of his love, saying that she came from an excellent family and a wealthy one. Her father, it seems, is a most respected merchant and banker. The boy never got to say his name, for at the word ‘banker’ my husband at once demanded to know if the family were dissenters.
‘It was the final blow. No son of Archdeacon Ross, no son of a man destined to be a bishop of the Church of England, could ever marry a dissenter. It would destroy my son’s prospect of high church office. Worse, far worse, it would harm my husband’s career also.
‘William was ordered from the house at once and told never to come here again. He was not even allowed to speak with me before he went. Indeed, my husband only told me of his action well after the boy had gone. It was when he sat at his desk, writing to his lawyer to cut William out of his will. When I asked where William would go, the only answer I received was that he could go to the Devil himself, for all his father cared.
‘I thought I had loathed my husband before, but now I found that I hated him with every fibre of my being. Yet still all those years of subservience held me in their chains.’
Mrs. Ross was weeping freely now and Adam would have stopped her continuing with her tale, had she not thrust out a hand to signal him to stay where he was. ‘No, sir. Do not ask me to stop. Until I tell someone all, this poison will continue to wrench the life from me. I am not a wicked woman, I believe, merely a weak one. Now I have been punished for that almost more than I can bear. Let me seek redemption and a new life. The events I have described happened scarcely two days before my husband left this house, never to return. He is dead, sir, and though his God damn me to burn for eternity for saying so, I am heartily glad of it.
‘When the news came of his unexplained death, I feared the worst. Oh, not that my son would willing kill his father – never that. Yet perhaps they had met, continued their argument and some accident had thus been brought about. I expected my son to hear of what had happened and hurry home. When the days passed and he did not, I thought I should lose my wits. I played the part of the grieving widow, prostrated by her husband’s death, since that was what people expected. To my secret joy, it even served to absolve me from attending that monster’s funeral. I vowed on the day my son was banished from his own home that I would never again act as a dutiful wife. Nor would I cross the threshold of an Anglican church, if I could by any means avoid it. As soon as I have found fresh lodgings, doctor, I will leave this house and have no further dealings with any part of my former life.’
‘Have you heard from your son?’ Adam asked, as gently as he could.
‘Not one word,’ she replied. ‘I believe my daughter must have some idea where he is, for they were always close. If that is so, she will not tell me. All she will say is that he is alive and well under the protection of people well-disposed to him. He may have forbidden her to say more, for I am sure he must blame me in part for what happened to him. I could – God knows I should – have sought to reverse my husband’s actions. I did not and my silence must have seemed to betoken full support.’
‘I will not tell you not to blame yourself, madam,’ Adam said, ‘for it is too late for that. Nor will I blame you in any way for your feelings about your husband’s death, since he bore the majority of the blame in this matter. In the same circumstances, I must have felt the same. Still I can perhaps offer you a glimmer of hope.’
‘You have heard of my son?’ she asked, sitting up and leaning across to grasp his hand.
‘Not that,’ Adam said. ‘Not quite that. Now, I must ask you to bear with me and summon up your courage, for all I can offer at this stage is a hope, nothing more.’
‘I will do as you say, doctor, and it can be the start of my path to a better life. I have always been a coward. No longer. Men say that faculties grow with use. Thus I will use my stunted courage and hope, in time, to see it grow stronger.’