by Iain Pears
To explain briefly – and this succinct account was the result of piecing together innumerable accounts until I understood what had happened – the escape of Jack Prestcott from the king’s justice was partly my doing. I had delivered the message about the lad wanting a visitor, and Dr Wallis, the very man who had been so rude to me at dinner, had gone in Grove’s place because of my medical advice. It was a kind act, both to Grove and to Prestcott, and I felt ashamed for deriving some small amusement from the result.
Wallis had asked that the prisoner be unshackled so that he might have more ease in prayer, and was left alone with him. About an hour later, still swaddled in his thick black gown and heavy winter hat, he had emerged so distressed at the imminent loss of a fine young life that he had scarcely been able to speak, merely tipping the jailer twopence and asking that Prestcott be allowed an undisturbed night’s sleep. Reshackling could wait until the morning.
The gaoler, who would undoubtedly lose his place as a result, had obeyed and it was not until after five the next morning that the cell was opened. Whereupon it was discovered that the person on the little cot was not Prestcott, but a bound and gagged Dr Wallis who had, so he related, been overpowered by the young criminal, tied up and stripped of his cloak and hat. It had been Prestcott who left the previous evening and who had won, as a result, nearly ten hours’ start on any pursuers.
This intelligence caused a wonderful sensation; the population at large of course enjoyed the majesty of the law being made ridiculous but was aggrieved at the loss of a hanging. On balance, admiration for the audacity outweighed the disappointment; the hue and cry set off to find him, but I suspect that most were not wholly displeased when they came back empty-handed.
Having appointed myself Grove’s physician, I was naturally dispatched by Lower to examine his eye once more so that I could pick up gossip on the matter. However, the thick oak door leading to his room was firmly shut and locked, and this time there was no reply when I beat on it with my stick.
‘Do you know where Dr Grove is?’ I asked of a serving woman.
‘In his room.’
‘There is no answer.’
‘He must be still asleep.’
I pointed out that it was nearly ten o’clock. Did not Fellows have to rise in order to attend chapel? Was it not unusual for him to be still asleep?
She was a surly and unhelpful woman, so I appealed to Mr Ken, whom I saw walking around the other side of the quadrangle. He looked concerned, because he said it was Grove’s particular pleasure to take the roll at chapel, and persecute latecomers. Perhaps his illness . . . ?
‘It was only an inflamed eye,’ I said. ‘He was well enough to dine last night.’
‘What medicine did you give him? Perhaps that accounts for it?’
I did not like the suggestion that I might be responsible for making him ill, if he was so. But I hardly felt like admitting that my cure – which I had used as an example of the superiority of experimental medicine the previous evening – was merely water and eau de cologne.
‘I hardly think so. But it concerns me; is there any way in which we can open this door?’
Mr Ken talked to the servant and while they went in search of another key, I stood outside the door, and pounded again to see whether Grove could be roused.
I was still pounding when Ken reappeared with a key.
‘Of course, it will be of no use if his own is in the lock, you know,’ he said as he knelt down and peered through the keyhole. ‘And he will be very angry indeed if he returns to find us here.’
Ken, I noted, looked alarmed at this prospect.
‘Perhaps you want to retire?’ I suggested.
‘No, no,’ he said uncertainly. ‘We have no love for each other, as you may have noticed, but in all Christian charity I could not abandon him if he were ill.’
‘You have heard about Dr Wallis?’
Mr Ken suppressed a twitch of very unzealous merriment just in time to maintain his sombre countenance. ‘I have indeed, and it shocks me that a man of the Church should be treated in such a shameful fashion.’
Then the door was open, and all thought of Dr Wallis was banished from our thoughts.
That Dr Grove was corpus sine pectore was indisputable, and it was apparent that he had died in considerable pain. He was lying on his back in the middle of the floor, face creased up, mouth open, with dried saliva dribbling out of one side. He had vomited and emptied his guts in his last moments, so there was an insufferable stink in the room. His hands were clenched so they more resembled claws than human hands, with one arm outstretched along the floor, and the other at his neck, almost as though he had tried to extinguish himself. The chamber itself was in total disarray; books lying on the floor, papers scattered about, so that it looked as if he had flailed around violently in his last moments.
Fortunately, dead bodies do not trouble me greatly, although the shock of seeing this one and the horrible circumstances of its arrangement distressed me. But the sight terrified Mr Ken. I half-thought he almost made the sign of the cross, and only stopped himself in time to preserve propriety.
‘Dear Lord protect us in our time of sorrows,’ he said with a shaking voice as he saw the outstretched body. ‘You,’ he said to the servant, ‘run and fetch the warden quickly. Mr Cola, what has happened here?’
‘I am at a loss to say,’ I replied. ‘The obvious explanation would be a seizure, but the clenched hands and expression of the face would not indicate that. It looks as though he was in some great pain; perhaps the state of the room is a result of that.’
We looked quietly at the poor man’s corpse until the sound of steps on the wooden stairs roused us. The warden was a small, alert-looking man who maintained a great degree of self-possession when he saw what was within the room. He had a small moustache and beard in the old Royalist manner but, I was told, was in fact a Parliament man, who had hung on to his position not because he was a great scholar – the college paid little attention to that – but because he was a marvellous man with the money. As one Fellow remarked, he could make a dead pig yield up a perpetual profit, and for that the college respected him.
‘Maybe we should have a more definite opinion before we proceed,’ he said after he heard Ken and myself explain what we had found. ‘Mary,’ he went on, addressing the servant who was still standing in the background, ears flapping, ‘go and find Dr Bate in the High Street, if you please. Tell him it is urgent, and that I would be grateful for his immediate attendance.’
I almost opened my mouth to speak here, but again said nothing. To be passed over so rapidly did not please me, but there was little I could do about it. My only hope was that, my services not required and this a college matter, I would not be expelled from a most interesting situation. Lower, for one, would find it hard to forgive me if I returned without the story complete in all particulars.
‘It seems clear to me’, the warden said in a definite tone of voice that brooked no contradiction as we waited, ‘that the unfortunate man had a seizure. I can think of little else to be said. We must of course wait for confirmation, but I have no doubt it will be forthcoming.’
Mr Ken, one of those obsequious prelates who made a point of agreeing with anyone more powerful than he, nodded fervently. Both of them, in fact, seemed excessively eager to reach this conclusion, but it was mainly because of my sense of pique, I think, that I ventured my own opinion
‘Might I suggest’, I said tentatively, ‘that the particulars of this business be examined more thoroughly before such a conclusion is adopted?’
Both looked at me with reluctance as I spoke. ‘For example, what ailments had the man complained of in the past? Did he, perhaps, drink too much the previous evening? Had he taken some physical exertion which strained his heart?’
‘What are you suggesting?’ Woodward said, turning round, stony-faced to confront me. I noticed that Ken turned pale at my words as well.
‘Nothing at all.’
‘You are a malicious man,’ he replied, taking me entirely by surprise. ‘Such an allegation is entirely without foundation. For you to bring it up at a time like this is monstrous.’
‘I know of no allegations, nor am I bringing them up,’ I said, completely bemused, yet again, by the unpredictability of the English. ‘Please assure yourself of my entire innocence on that. I simply wondered . . .’
‘It is obvious even to me’, Woodward continued vehemently, ‘that this was merely a seizure. And, what is more, it is a college matter, sir. We thank you for raising the alarm, but do not wish to trespass further on your time.’
Which statement was obviously a dismissal, and a somewhat offensive one. I took my leave with more politeness than they.
Chapter Ten
* * *
I HAD ALMOST finished my tale, keeping my fellows in the coffee house enthralled by the account. It was, after all, about the most exciting occurrence to have happened in the town since the siege and, as everybody involved was known to my audience, doubly interesting for that. Lower immediately started wondering whether he might offer to examine the body himself.
We were trying to persuade him that the chances of being allowed to anatomise Dr Grove were slight, and he was protesting that such an idea had never crossed his mind, when he looked up behind me, and a faint smile flickered across his face.
‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘What can we do for you, child?’
I looked around, and saw Sarah Blundy standing behind me, pale and tired. Behind her, the woman Tillyard was coming into the room, scolding her for her impertinence. She took hold of her arm, but Sarah threw it off angrily.
It was clear she had come to see me, and so I looked at her coldly, as she deserved, and waited to hear what it was. I knew already: Lower, I was sure, had talked to her, and stated the price of her mother’s life. Either she made amends for her behaviour, or her mother died. It was, I think, a small fee.
She dipped her eyes in an attempt to be modest – such eyes she had, I thought, very much against my will – and said in a low, quiet voice, ‘Mr Cola, I would like to offer you my apologies.’
Still I said nothing, but continued to look frostily at her.
‘My mother is dying, I think. Please . . .’
It was Dr Grove who saved the old woman’s life, then. If it hadn’t been for the memory of his behaviour in exactly the same setting a few days back, I would have turned away and made Tillyard throw her out as she deserved. But I wasn’t going to give way easily.
‘Do you think for a moment I should lift a finger to help her? After the impudence you have showered on me?’
She shook her head humbly, her long dark hair cascading around her shoulders. ‘No,’ she said almost inaudibly.
‘So why come?’ I said doggedly.
‘Because she needs you, and I know you are too good a man to abandon her because of my fault.’
Praise indeed, I thought sarcastically as I made her wait in anguish and suffering a few more moments. Then, as I saw Boyle coolly appraising me, I sighed heavily and stood up. ‘Very well, then,’ I said. ‘She is a good woman and I will come for her sake. Having a daughter like you must be suffering enough for her.’
I left the table, scowling at Lower’s look of smug self-satisfaction. We walked across the town barely exchanging a word. Try as I might, I could not but feel pleased, and not because of having won a cheap victory. No; my pleasure was due solely to the fact that I could now conduct my experiment, and perhaps even save a life.
I had not been in the cottage more than a few moments before any further thoughts about the daughter dissipated entirely. The old woman was pale and restless, tossing and turning in her bed in delirium. She was also fearfully weak, and had a fever. At least the wound had not turned gangrenous, which had been my worst fear. But it was not mending either: skin, flesh and bone were not knitting, even though, by this time, there should have been very distinct signs that natural healing was taking effect. The splints still held the bone in place, but this was useless if her frail and weakened body would not look after itself. I could not make it do so, if it refused to act in its own interest.
I sat back and stroked my chin, my brow furrowed as I tried to come up with some other, more conventional treatment, some drug or some salve, which might help the old woman. But my mind was a blank. I want it understood that I tried to think of all possibilities which would obviate the need for my experiment: I did not rush into the attempt recklessly. Lower was right in saying the project should first be essayed on an animal. But there was no time, and no alternative that either I, or Lower when I asked him, could suggest.
And the girl knew, as well as I did myself, how limited were my resources. She squatted down on her haunches in front of the fire, cupped her chin in her hands and gazed calmly and intently at me, for the first time a look of grave sympathy on her at my evident dismay.
‘Her chances of recovery were not good, even before you came,’ she said softly. ‘Because of your kindness and skill she has lasted longer than I thought possible. I am grateful to you for that, and my mother has long been prepared for her death. Do not reproach yourself, sir. You cannot defeat God’s will.’
I looked at her carefully as she spoke, wondering whether there was some sarcasm or condescension in her voice, so used was I to rudeness from her. But there was none: she was speaking only with gentleness. Strange, I thought; her mother is dying, and she is comforting the physician.
‘But how do we know what God’s will is? You may be sure of it, but I was not brought up so. Maybe I am supposed to think of something that will aid her.’
‘If so, then you will do so,’ she answered simply.
I agonised with myself, hardly daring to say, even to a girl like this who could not possibly begin to understand what I was proposing.
‘Tell me,’ she said, almost as though she could see my indecision and hesitation.
‘For a long time I have been pondering a form of treatment,’ I began. ‘I do not know if it would work. It might very well kill her more quickly than an executioner’s blade. If I tried it I could be your mother’s saviour, or her killer.’
‘Not her Saviour,’ the girl said seriously. ‘She has no need of another. But you could not be her killer either. No one who tries to help could be anything but her benefactor, whatever the outcome. It is the wish to help which is important, surely.’
‘The older you become, the more difficult it is to heal a wound,’ I said, wishing I had made this point to Grove the previous evening, and surprised at the wisdom of her remark. ‘Something a child would shrug off in a matter of days may be enough to kill an old person. The flesh becomes tired, it loses its resilience, and it eventually dies, freeing the spirit which abides within.’
The girl, still squatting, looked impassively at me as I spoke, neither shifting restlessly, or showing signs of incomprehension. So I continued.
‘Or it may be that the blood grows old by constantly coursing through the veins, until it loses its natural strength, and becomes less effective in conveying the nutrients for the heart to ferment the vital spirits.’
The child nodded at this, as though I had said nothing that surprised her; whereas in fact, I had advanced some of the latest discoveries and, for good measure added an outlandish interpretation that would already have had my elders shaking their heads in dismay.
‘Do you understand me, child?’
‘Of course,’ she said. Why shouldn’t I?’
‘It surprises you that I say the blood circulates through the body, no doubt?’
‘That could only surprise a physician,’ she said. ‘Any farmer knows it.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘If you bleed a pig, you cut the main vein in its neck. The pig bleeds to death and produces soft white meat. How else could all the blood come out of one slit unless it was all connected? And it moves of its own accord, almost as though it is being pumped, so must go round and round. That is al
l obvious, isn’t it?’
I blinked, and stared at her. It had taken practitioners of the medical art the better part of two thousand years to make this astounding discovery, and there was this girl saying she knew it all along. A few days ago, I would have been furious at her impudence. Now I merely wondered what else she – and the country folk she mentioned – might know if only people troubled to ask them.
‘Ah. Yes. Very well observed,’ I said, thrown off my path as I struggled to remember what I’d been talking about. I looked at her seriously and took a deep breath. ‘Anyway, what I propose is to give your mother fresh, new blood, to give her the restorative power of a woman very much younger than she. It has never been done before, never even thought of, as far as I know. It is dangerous, and would be scandalous if it were publicly known. And I do strongly consider that it is the only chance your mother has of continuing in this life.’
The poor girl looked stunned at what I had said, and I could see a look of strained apprehension on her face.
‘Well?’
‘You are the physician, sir. It is in your hands.’
I took a deep breath, realising that I had half-hoped the girl would start to abuse me again, accusing me of flouting the Law of God or some such and thus relieve me of the burden I had so cavalierly taken on. But I was not to escape my fate so simply. I had staked my good character, my expertise, on what I had said, and there was no going back.
‘I will have to leave you and your mother alone for a while and go and consult Lower, whose assistance I will require. I will be back as soon as possible.’
I quit the hovel, leaving Sarah Blundy kneeling by her mother’s bed, stroking the old lady’s hair and singing a song in a low, soft voice. A comforting and gentle sound, I thought as I left; my own mother had sung to me thus when I was ill, and stroked my hair in the same way. It had reassured me in my illness, and I offered up a prayer that it did the same for the old woman.
