“It’s rather clumsy,” said Giles.
“Yes, but it is born of desperation. Arthur will be thirty next month, and there has been so much misfortune in this house, they are anxious to get him settled. We must excuse their clumsiness.”
“But Lady Maria cannot like it?” said Giles.
“She does not. But we have made a pact,” said Emma. “We are determined to help poor Mrs Hurrell. She seemed to quiver with misery as she asked us – one could not say no to her. She must be unhappy, and if we refuse I fear she will be in trouble for it.”
“Oh Lord, I hope not,” Giles said.
“This is a strange house,” said Emma. “So Maria and I are resolved to help her. But Maria will not give Mr Hurrell any encouragement. She will stay in my shadow at all times, and be perfectly indifferent if he attempts any lovemaking. But we will have done our duty by Mrs Hurrell, and Sir Morten will not be offended, which is the most important thing as far as we are concerned.”
“Especially since I wrote to him last night and said I would take the house,” Giles said.
“Oh, Giles, how wonderful!” She pressed her hands to his face and kissed him. “Oh, thank you! It will be the most perfect house when we are done with it, I promise you.”
He caught her in his arms, and returned the kiss, but only for a moment, because Maria joined them.
“I have spoken to Papa,” she said. “He is willing to let me stay if I promise to box Arthur Hurrell’s ears if he attempts any nonsense.”
“The trouble is that with some men that would only encourage them,” said Giles.
“Not Arthur Hurrell,” said Emma.
“And I will have a most cunning chaperone,” said Lady Maria, taking Emma’s arm and wrapping hers about it. “I shall be quite safe.”
“The cunning chaperone?” said Emma. “That sounds like the title of something, don’t you think? A comic opera in three acts, perhaps?”
“I wish I could stay and watch it,” said Giles.
He had arranged to meet Carswell at the Infirmary at eleven, with the intention of talking to Mr Pierce again.
He found him at Frederick Pierce’s bedside, along with Mr Harper and several nurses. Their patient was in a high fever, and thrashing about in the most distressed state. They were on the verge of plunging him into an ice bath as Giles came in, and it might have been a pool of flaming oil, such was the agony it evidently caused the poor man.
From the way Carswell and Harper were acting, this was a desperate measure. It was soon clear that the outcome of this scene could only be a tragic one.
Pierce grabbed Carswell by the shoulders, as if he wanted to use him to drag him from his fiery torment, and shrieked into his face. It was not just an expression of pain. He was attempting to speak.
“ST... ST.... STOCKHOLM!”
He continued to grip at Carswell’s shoulders, and stared about him with his bleary, red rimmed, exhausted eyes. His gaze rested on Giles.
“Yes, Mr Pierce?” Giles said, coming forward a little.
“Stock –” he said, and then with great effort so he was sure he could be understood: “Stock Holm.”
And then he collapsed and ceased to breathe.
~
“Stockholm,” said Felix again. “Stockholm? Why Stockholm?”
“Mr Pierce may know, but I don’t think this is the moment to talk to the Pierces. They will be too distressed,” said Major Vernon. “Perhaps tomorrow we will attempt it.”
“I should tell Gray,” said Felix.
“Ah yes,” said the Major.
“He will probably want to go to them. He will do them good, I should imagine.”
“We had better go and see him. He may have remembered something else, and then I want to talk to Lord and Lady Wytton. She seemed to be concerned about Fred Pierce. She may have some confidences about him. We can go by way of Hawksby – it is much the best road.”
“As you wish,” said Felix.
“I should pay my respects,” Major Vernon said.
Lady Blanchfort was in the house, and received them as if they had done her the greatest favour in the world by calling so unexpectedly. Her character reformation was still puzzling Felix, but he could not deny it gave him pleasure.
“Shall we go and find Eleanor?” she said, and they crossed the lawn together.
Eleanor was again stretched out on her chaise in the Tea House, intent on her reading, and she scarcely stirred until she noticed them approaching.
“This book!” she said. “It’s both terrible and compelling.”
“Which one is it?” Felix said. “Oh, the scandalous Mr Anon. Have you finished it?”
“Yes, just. And I can’t begin to know what to say about it. It’s so strange.”
“I bought it in Edinburgh,” said Felix. “The bookseller told me it had caused a scandal in Oxford.”
“And so you gave it to my daughter, Mr Carswell?” said Lady Blanchfort, with something of her old froideur.
“It’s not really scandalous,” Eleanor said. “And I may read what I like now I am married. Well, it is, but – it is quite outspoken about the Church, and I can see why everyone in Oxford would be upset, because of what he says about the University.”
“But it is a good tale?” Major Vernon asked.
“It must be, because I have been reading it all day,” Eleanor said.
“May I see it?” said Major Vernon.
“Of course,” she said, offering him the book.
“I may know who wrote this,” he said, having examined it for a few moments. “And it is a wonder you got hold of it. I have been told most of them were burnt.”
“Goodness!”
“The person who burnt them would be distressed to know a copy is in the hands of his neighbours,” Major Vernon said.
“You are being mysterious,” said Eleanor.
“I meant to be discreet and yet I have failed, haven’t I?” He turned the book over several times and then handed it back to Eleanor. “I would be careful where you mention that you have read it, that is all.”
“You don’t think I should burn it, though, Major Vernon?” Eleanor said. “Out of loyalty to the neighbourhood?”
“Even if he were to recommend that, I would entirely forbid it,” said Felix, taking the book from her. “I am vehemently against the burning of books, under any circumstances!”
“And you know I would never recommend that, don’t you, Carswell?” said Major Vernon, much amused.
“No, you are too pragmatic. You would say it only draws attention to the matter that they are trying to suppress.”
“Quite,” said Major Vernon.
“In some ways,” Lady Blanchfort said, “I find it more shocking to imagine a neighbour – presumably a gentleman – doing something so –”
“Barbaric!” said Felix, and offered the book to her. She shook her head.
“I don’t think I should. We are relative strangers here, after all. I hardly know anyone and I do not like to be prejudiced against my neighbours. You should probably forget what you have read, Eleanor.”
“I can never forget anything I read,” Eleanor said.
“Wait until you are older, Mrs Carswell,” Major Vernon said. “And my apologies, ladies, for raising this spectre.”
“I suppose you can’t bear to leave such puzzles unsolved,” said Lady Blanchfort, “and since you do so much for justice, sir, we will forgive you. And now, may I offer you some refreshments, before you go on your way? I shall not insult you by calling it luncheon, which I know is a thing despised by any man of action.”
~
“So, you are now a man of action in your mother-in-law’s eyes!” said Major Vernon, as they rode away after the refreshments, which might easily have been described as luncheon, and a lavish one at that. “A high compliment.”
“That was directed at you,” said Felix. “I have not done anything to make her love me, I’m sure enough of that.”
“Except
make her daughter happy?”
“I hope I have,” Felix said. “I feel –”
“You are still adjusting – both of you,” said Major Vernon. “You have to allow for a little uncertainty.”
“Yes, yes of course,” said Felix. “And it is a blessed relief that Lady Blanchfort has become –”
“An ally?”
“Quite,” said Felix. “And I have to admit, that in her present state, I’m glad she insists on living with us, because we would be in chaos otherwise. Eleanor is not practical, truth be told. Nor am I. We are not ready for our own establishment.”
Major Vernon smiled at that, and said, “I wonder if I am. Given I’m about to sign the lease on a house which is half-collapsing.”
“You found somewhere you like, then?”
“Rooke Court. It’s in the Precincts and has a beautiful garden, and if one was being strictly objective, that is all one can say is good about it. The rest is a list of imperfections that I am sure are going to cost me dear over the years.”
“Good grief,” Felix could not help saying. “I know the one you mean. It’s visibly crumbling, is it not?” That Major Vernon and the equally pragmatic Mrs Maitland were prepared to take on such a project seemed astonishing.
“The rent is tiny,” Major Vernon went on. “We are obliging the landlord, really.”
“Who is?”
“Sir Morten Hurrell.” He laughed. “My alleged book-burner, if you must know.”
“Ah, I wondered if you were ever going to tell me that. Good grief. I have heard something about him from Lord Rothborough. He is a dyed-in-the-wool reactionary, is he not?”
“I ought not to tell you to have any secrets from your wife, but it would be better if that goes no further.”
“That will be difficult. I’m no good at lying.”
“That is to your credit. Then if she must know, she must, but please caution her to be discreet. He is an important man in the district.”
“Indeed, he is your landlord!” said Felix, much amused. “Whom you now suspect of the most illiberal behaviour possible. Burning books! Unforgivable.”
“Yes, ‘suspect’ – please remember that. I’m only hypothesising, as you know well that I often do, and I’m probably wrong. But from the pages I read – I should have to read the rest to prove my case.”
“Well, I have the only copy in the district, if you are correct, and I shall read it first, if you don’t mind. I only got as far as the death of the hero’s beloved mother and I should like to know what happens next. Anon can certainly tell a tale, whatever the rest of it contains.”
“You should read it and then lock it away. Certainly I should not be allowed near it. After all, as you said, I cannot offend my landlord. Mrs Maitland would never forgive me. She is already making extraordinary sacrifices for the cause.”
“Locking away is as bad as burning,” Felix said. “However, I would not like to disoblige the future Mrs Vernon. For her I shall do it.”
“Thank you,” said Major Vernon. “I wish I had not even thought of it. It is simply the way my mind works – I’m constantly looking for connections. I wonder if it is not an over-developed and pernicious sense of curiosity that has led me into this profession.”
“It’s your great strength,” said Felix. “That eternal ‘why’. It underlines what we both do. It is necessary for progress, surely?”
“Yes, but it can make trouble in one’s private life,” said Major Vernon.
They reached Mr Gray’s rectory, a handsome house set in pretty gardens, and found that Mr Gray, predictably enough, was not at home. However, Mrs Gray was pleased to receive them.
They found her sitting in an arbour – it was clearly a day for arbours and tea houses – with another lady, whom Felix learnt was Lady Wytton. Nearby, various small children and their nurses were playing on the lawn. Given the number of children involved, it had to be assumed that they belonged to both ladies, but it still struck him as an excessive amount of childbearing for two women who were still so young. Neither of them was much above his own age. He knew how strong maternal instinct was, but it did not fail to astonish him that women of the educated classes seemed to embrace it, rather than put some check upon it. He wondered whether they would have adopted a rational alternative had they been offered it, or turned away in disgust as Eleanor had done. Society rewarded them for it, crowned them as mothers when they were admired for little else, but at the same time, he could not help feeling that it abused them. Mrs Gray was heavily pregnant and not far from her delivery, as far as Felix could judge, and, although pregnancy sometimes made a woman bloom, she looked faded, as if all her young health and beauty were soon to desert her.
Major Vernon sketched out the details to them and they were both at once distressed. It was clear enough that Fred Pierce had meant something to both of them.
“Oh, Harry will be –” Mrs Gray said, choking back her tears. “He is so fond of him. He had such hopes for him. We all did, did we not, Lavinia?” said Mrs Gray. Lavinia Wytton nodded, apparently unable to speak.
“And did either of you know if anything had been troubling him?” Major Vernon asked.
There was no time for them to answer, for at this moment a nursemaid, little more than a girl herself, came running up and said breathlessly, “Oh, madam, madam – Master Johnny’s fallen down on the fernery and he can’t get up. He’s lying there all twisted up!”
“What!” exclaimed Mrs Gray, and began to struggle to her feet. “The children are not allowed in there, Mary-Anne –”
“Yes, madam, but he ran off. Like he always does.”
“Stay there, ma’am,” Felix said. “Major Vernon and I will go and see to it.”
“Yes, yes, a good plan,” said Lady Wytton. “You stay here.”
“It is probably nothing,” said Major Vernon.
So they followed the maid back across the garden.
The fernery lay in a hollow and had its own gate, which the nurse swore was closed.
“He must have climbed over it,” she said. “I turned my back for a minute and –” She hurried along the path.
A superficial glance showed that the place would have been irresistible to adventurous small children. It was full of rocks and low-hanging branches, a natural playground, but a dangerous one. A turn in the path revealed the small figure lying in the cleft between two enormous rocks, and in a most alarming posture.
Felix ventured down. Some careful scrambling was required until he was able to crouch beside him. Mercifully the child was conscious, so Felix could set about testing which limbs he could still feel. The boy managed to nod and murmur his responses. Then for good measure he rolled over and vomited profusely over Felix. Felix scooped him up in his arms and carried him back to the path. There, with the child laid flat on the grass, he could make a more thorough examination. As far as he could judge, there was a fracture of the lower right leg.
Major Vernon had not been idle and had found one of the gardeners, and a hurdle on which to carry the child back to the house. Felix followed them, composing himself for the grim and delicate work ahead of him. Bone setting was never pleasant, and risky for a child of that age.
One of the other children, a little girl, escaped her nurse and came running up to him. She thrust a wilting flower into his hand and said: “To make Johnny better.”
Chapter Nine
It was impossible to speak to Mr Gray about Fred Pierce while his son lay in such a dangerous condition.
The sight of the boy in agony as the bone was set had been a distressing one. Carswell had banned Mrs Gray from the sick room until he was done, so it was left to Mr Gray to comfort and sustain his son, while Giles and the nurse served as dressers, helping Carswell with setting the leg as best they could. Carswell contrived a box made of splints for the child’s leg, so that nothing could be disturbed, and told them that the box would have to stay in place for at least two months. That looked to Giles like a terrible torture for the
child, but the alternative was amputation.
“He has a better chance of recovery from this, as a child, because he has the power of growth in him,” Carswell said to Gray, when the task was finished and the child was sleeping in a pleasant cloud of opium. “He will heal.”
“God willing,” said Gray.
“John willing,” Carswell said. “The power the patient has over his condition is never to be underestimated. He is to be encouraged to believe in that at all times, even when he is very low.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” said Gray. “I must go and speak to my wife. May she come in yet?”
“Yes, but only for a little while. Her strength must not be taxed. She does not look strong – I hope you do not mind my saying so? Has she had many difficulties with this last pregnancy? What has your usual physician said?”
“She has been more than usually tired,” Gray said, “that is true. But it will be hard to keep her from her duty here.”
“Her duty is to herself,” Carswell said. “I can tell her so, if you like? I would prescribe absolute rest, and that is even on the most superficial observation. You have help enough to nurse your son? Perhaps you could send for someone else? A female relative or some such.”
“John will want his mother,” Gray said.
“And he may have her, but in the smallest doses.”
“I must defer to your knowledge,” said Mr Gray. “And perhaps you should see her. Another opinion would not go amiss. I think she has been worried, although she will not tell me that directly!”
They went off together, leaving Giles in sole possession of the sunny family morning room, and a pleasant window seat. He took out his notebook and began to look at it.
He had written STOCKHOLM in capitals, and he turned the word over in his mind. Had Pierce simply been referring to the place, or had he meant something else by it?
He looked up and saw Lady Wytton standing in the doorway.
“I’m glad you are still here. May I have a word alone, Major Vernon?”
The Echo at Rooke Court Page 7
