An Instance of the Fingerpost (17 page)

‘What do you think?’

I examined Dr Grove’s heart with care, then shrugged. ‘A bit
charred over the surface membrane,’ I said, ‘but no one could say that it had been consumed, even partly.’

‘My conclusions as well,’ Lower said with satisfaction. ‘The first real evidence in favour of poisoning. That’s interesting.’

‘Has anybody ever tried this test on someone who has indubitably not died of poisoning?’ I asked.

Lower shook his head. ‘Not that I know of. Next time I have a corpse I’ll give it a try. Now, you see, had young Prestcott not been so selfish we could have had a comparison.’ He glanced around the kitchen. ‘I suppose we had better clear up a bit; otherwise the servants will bolt when they come in tomorrow morning.’

He set to work himself with a cloth and water. Locke, I noted, did not assist.

‘There,’ he said after many minutes’ silence in which I had tidied, he had washed and Locke had puffed on his pipe. ‘If you would call the warden, we can put Grove back. But before we do, what is our opinion?’

‘The man is dead,’ Locke said dryly.

‘How?’

‘I do not think there is enough evidence to say.’

‘Sticking your neck out as usual. Cola?’

‘I am disinclined on the evidence so far to think his death anything but natural.’

‘And you, Lower?’ Locke asked.

‘I would suggest that we reserve judgement until such time as further evidence is forthcoming.’

With a careful warning that we were not to inform anyone of the evening’s activity, lest too much scandal be excited, Warden Woodward thanked us for our help after we had presented our puny conclusions. The relief on his face – for Lower had not told him about Stahl and he clearly thought the matter was now closed – was self-evident.

IT IS THE
custom of the English to bury their dead with as much speed as they hang them. Under normal circumstances, Dr Grove would have been interred in the cloister of New College already, but the warden had used some pretext to delay the ceremony for a full two days. Lower used the time granted him to urge Stahl to speed, while I was left at liberty due to Mr Boyle’s absence in London, which town had a greater attraction for him since his beloved sister moved there.

Most of the day I used up in attending to my patient and my experiment, and the moment I arrived, I saw with joy that both were progressing well. Mrs Blundy was not only awake and alert, she had even eaten a little thin soup. Her fever was gone, her piss had a healthy bitterness and, even more extraordinarily, there were the first signs of improvement in her wound. Little enough, to be sure, but for the first time I saw that her condition had not deteriorated.

I was delighted, and beamed at her with all the triumphant affection a physician can have for an obedient patient. ‘My dear woman,’ I said when I had finished my examination, applied some more salve and sat down on the rickety stool, ‘I do believe we may yet snatch you from the jaws of death. How do you feel?’

‘A little better, thank you, praise be to God,’ she said. ‘Not ready to go back to work yet, I fear. It is a great concern to me. Dr Lower and yourself have been more than generous, but we cannot survive without my earning money.’

‘Your daughter does not earn enough?’

‘Not to keep us out of debt, no. She has trouble with her work, for she has a reputation for being fiery and disobedient. It is so unfair; a better girl no mother ever had.’

‘She is sometimes more outspoken than a girl in her position has a right to be.’

‘No, sir. She is more outspoken than a girl in her position is allowed to be.’

There was a sudden defiance in her weak voice as she said this, although what exactly she meant was not immediately clear to me.

‘Is there a difference?’ I asked.

‘Sarah was brought up in a society of the most perfect equality between men and women; she finds it hard to accept that there are things forbidden her.’

It was difficult to resist a smirk, but I remembered she was my patient, and so humoured her; besides, I had undertaken my travels to learn, and even though this was far from being useful experience, I was broad-minded enough then to tolerate it.

‘I am sure a good husband would teach her all she needs to know on that subject,’ I said, ‘if one can be found for her.’

‘It will be difficult to find anyone she would accept.’

This time I did laugh out loud. ‘I think she should take anyone willing to have her, should she not? She has little enough to offer in return.’

‘Only herself, but that is much. I think sometimes we did not do right by her,’ she replied. ‘It has not ended as we expected. Now she is all on her own, and her parents are a burden rather than a support.’

‘Your husband is alive, then?’

‘No, sir. But the calumnies that were heaped on him bear down on her as well. I see from your face that you have heard of him.’

‘Very little, and I have learned never to believe what I hear when it is bad.’

‘In that case you are a rare man,’ she said gravely. ‘Ned was the most loving of husbands and the best of fathers who devoted his life to winning justice in a cruel world. But he is dead and I will soon be so as well.’

‘She has no resources whatsoever? No people apart from yourself?’

‘None. Ned’s family was from Lincolnshire, mine from Kent. All my people are dead, and his were dispersed when the fens were drained and they were thrown off their lands without a penny. So Sarah is quite without connections. What prospects she had were taken by
slander, and she has spent the small sums she saved for her dowry on me in my illnesses. The only thing she will have from me when I die is her freedom.’

‘She’ll manage,’ I said cheerfully. ‘She is young and healthy, and in any case, you do me a great disservice. I am, after all, doing my very best to keep you alive. With some success, I must say.’

‘You must be very pleased that your treatment worked. It is strange how much I wish to live.’

‘I am pleased to gratify you. I think that we may have stumbled on a remedy of unparalleled importance. It was a shame that Sarah was all that we had available. If we’d had a bit more time, we might have been able to recruit a blacksmith. Just think, if we had given you the blood of a really strong man, you might be up and about by now. But I’m afraid the spirit contained in a woman’s blood will not allow your leg to mend as rapidly. Perhaps in a week or so we could repeat the treatment . . .’

She smiled, and said that she would submit to whatever I thought necessary. And so I left, in a high state of good humour and self-regard.

I met Sarah herself, trudging through the muddy slush of the lane outside, carrying more sticks and logs for the fire. Even she I greeted with good cheer and, to my surprise, she responded warmly.

‘Your mother is doing well,’ I told her. ‘I am delighted with her.’

She smiled easily, the first time I had seen such an expression on her face. ‘God has smiled on us through you, Doctor,’ she replied. ‘I am very grateful.’

‘Think nothing of it.’ I replied, warmed by the response. ‘It was fascinating. Besides, she is not fully cured yet, you know. She is still weak; weaker than she herself knows. And I think further treatment might be useful. You must make sure she does nothing that might endanger that. I suspect you will find it difficult.’

‘I will indeed. She is much used to activity.’

Although the thaw was beginning, and the country was slowly emerging from the long dark of winter, it was still ferociously cold when the wind got up, and I shivered in the gusts of bitter air. ‘I must talk to you about these matters,’ I said. ‘Is there anywhere we could go?’

She told me there was a drinking house around the corner which had a fire and I should go there. For herself, she would build up the fire and ensure her mother was comfortable, then join me.

The place she indicated was not at all like the spacious, elegant coffee house kept by the Tillyards, nor even like the grand inns that had grown up to service the coaches; rather it was a place for the mob, and had only the fire to commend it. It was owned by an old woman who sold the ale she brewed to local customers who would come in to warm themselves. There was no one there but myself, and it was obvious it was not a room ever graced by the presence of gentlemen; I was regarded with a curiosity which was not friendly when I opened the door and walked in. None the less I sat myself by the fire and waited.

Sarah arrived a few minutes later and greeted the crone with familiarity: she was welcomed while I was not. ‘She was an army woman,’ she said.

This, apparently, was meant to be explanation enough; and I asked no more.

‘How are you?’ I enquired, as I was anxious to note the effect of the procedure on the donor of the blood as well as the recipient.

‘I am tired,’ she said. ‘But that is more than made up for by seeing my mother improve.’

‘She is also concerned about you,’ I replied. ‘That is not good for her. You must present a cheerful countenance.’

‘I do as I can,’ she said, ‘although sometimes that is not easy. Your generosity, and Dr Lower’s, have been a great boon in recent days.’

‘Do you have employment?’

‘Some. I am working again for the Wood family most days, and in the evenings there is occasionally some work at a glove maker’s. I stitch well, although it is hard sewing leather.’

‘Were you upset about Dr Grove?’

Instantly I could see the caution come over her face, and I feared was about to be subjected to another one of her outbursts. So I held up my hand to prevent it.

‘Please do not think me malicious. I ask for a good reason. I must tell you that there is some cause for concern about his death, and it has been said that you were seen in the college that same evening.’

She still looked stonily at me, so I continued, half-wondering why I was taking such trouble. ‘It may well be that someone else will ask you the same questions.’

‘What do you mean about concern?’

‘I mean that there is a small possibility that he died of poison.’

Her faced turned pale as I spoke, and she looked down in thought for a few seconds before staring blankly into my eyes. ‘Is that so?’

‘As I understand it, he had discharged you from his employ recently?’

‘True. And for no good reason.’

‘And you resented it?’

‘Very much. Of course. Who would not? I had worked hard and well for him, and never for a moment deserved any reproach.’

‘And you approached him in the coffee house? Why?’

‘I thought he would have had a good enough heart to help my mother. I wanted to borrow money from him.’ She looked at me angrily, daring me either to pity or criticise.

‘And he turned you away.’

‘You saw that for yourself.’

‘Did you go to his room the night he died?’

‘Does someone say I did?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who says this?’

‘I don’t know. Answer the question, please. It is important. Where were you?’

‘That is none of your concern.’

We had reached an
impasse
, I could see. If I kept on pressing, she would walk out, and yet she was very far from satisfying my curiosity. And what possible reason could she have for not being frank? Nothing was so important that it was worth encouraging suspicion in any form, and she must have known by now that I meant her well. I tried one last time, but again she blocked my enquiry.

‘Was there any truth in these stories?’

‘I know of no stories. Tell me, Doctor, is someone saying Dr Grove was murdered?’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t think so. There is no reason to think so at the moment and he is to be buried this evening. Once that
has taken place, the matter will be closed. Certainly the warden genuinely believes, I think, that there is nothing suspicious about the occurrence at all.’

‘And you? What do you believe?’

I shrugged again. ‘I have heard of many men of Grove’s age and appetites dying suddenly of a fit, and apart from that it is of little concern to me. My main concern is your mother, and the treatment I have given her. Has she passed any stools?’

She shook her head.

‘Make sure you collect them if she does,’ I continued. ‘They will be of great importance to me. Do not let her up, and make sure she does not wash. Above all, keep her warm. And if her condition changes at all, let me know instantly.’

THE FUNERAL SERVICE
for Grove was a solemn and dignified affair which began shortly after darkness had fallen. All through the day, I imagined, the preparations had been made: the college gardener excavated a space in the cloister next the chapel, the choir of boys practised, and Woodward prepared the eulogy. I decided to attend once Lower told me he thought there would be no objection; Grove was, after all, one of the few people I had known in the town. But I insisted on his coming as well; there are few things more distressing than being at a religious ceremony and not knowing what to do next.

He grumbled about it, but eventually agreed. The régime in New College, I gathered, was not greatly to his liking. When it began – the chapel full, the attendant priests in vestments – I could see why, from his point of view. ‘You will have to explain’, I said in a whisper during a lull in the proceedings, ‘what the difference between your Church and mine is. I must say I can discern very little.’

Lower scowled. ‘There is none here. Why they are not open and pronounce their obedience to the whore of Babylon – apologies, Cola – I do not know. They all want to, the scoundrels.’

There were, I guessed, about half a dozen or more of Lower’s persuasion, and not all were as well behaved as he. Thomas Ken, the man who had disputed with Grove over dinner, sat ostentatiously through the whole service and talked loudly during the requiem. Dr Wallis, who had been so rude to me, sat cross-armed and with the disapproving quietude of the professional cleric. A few more even laughed at the most solemn moments, earning them ill-tempered looks from others. If the ceremony concluded without degenerating into an open fight, I thought at one stage, then we would be fortunate.