by John Wilcox
‘And what exactly did you ask Lloyd’s to do, Doctor?’
‘I outlined the facts as I knew them,’ he puffed out his cheeks slightly now, ‘and they listened to me, I believe with some attention, given that I am coroner here and, to boot, an ex-merchant seamen officer. I said that the number of shipwrecks along this coast seemed to me to be unusually high. I, of course, explained that the prevailing weather and absence of room to manoeuvre under sail would have much to do with this, but I also suggested that it was unusual for one shipowner, the Blue Cross Line, to lose so many vessels in this way. They listened, I am glad to say.’
‘What was their decision, then, sir?’
‘Well, they kept me waiting, dammit – with some damage to my wallet, for London is an expensive place – before giving me that. But it was worth it, I think, because they have agreed to mount an enquiry into these recent ship losses and they intend to do it – and to call witnesses – here at Hartland Quay, which will concentrate people’s minds considerably, and the panel, or whatever we must call them, can look at the geography around here without having to rely on word descriptions painted in some London courtroom.’
‘Well done, Doctor.’ Josh rose and grasped Acland’s hand and shook it warmly. ‘I am sure you have rendered a great service to the Merchant Navy as a result of your visit. Was … er … there any mention of smuggling?’
Joshua watched closely the old man’s reaction to the question. Another sip was taken from the glass and then he said, ‘Not much, really. To investigate such a well-established custom in these parts, I fear,’ he looked up with a sad smile, ‘would probably take two or three more different enquiries, but the point was noted. The enquiry, I think, will be much more centred on the reasons why the ships foundered. If the need to land contraband on this coast was demonstrated as one of the reasons, well then, of course, any illegal act would be probed. That’s all I can say on the matter.’
‘When is the enquiry due to be held, Papa?’
‘I made them promise that, in Shakespeare’s words, “If it t’were done … t’were well it was done quickly.” So, I would suggest, say, within two weeks. Witnesses would need to be called, some of whom, including the panel, no doubt, would need to travel down from London. But I gave them a few local names to be getting on with.’
‘Can you mention names, sir?’
‘I don’t see why not. They will, I am sure, be contacted quickly anyway. Firstly, bearing in mind my own memories – and Cunningham’s, too, as well as your more recent experience – I felt that a representative of the Blue Cross Line’s management should be present. We shall definitely need you, my boy, to give evidence about the poor seaworthy state of the Line ships in the present, as I and probably Cunningham will concerning years ago.’
Rowena’s eyes lit up. ‘That means you will have to stay here for a while longer, Josh.’
‘Yes, I am afraid so, Weyland. You are most welcome, of course, to continue to reside here. Which reminds me. I must look at that leg. But you look agile enough now, so I hope that those splints can come off. Much more comfortable for you.’
‘Thank you, sir. I was hoping you would say that. But do tell me. What other witnesses did you suggest?’
‘Well, Cunningham, of course. I presume that you will continue to tell your story about the burning brazier, so he must answer for that, as well as talking of the poor state of the Line’s ships when we sailed in them. And the Reverend Hawker. He knows more about recent shipwrecks than most people around here, and I did put forward young Pengelly’s name, as a practising seaman who knows this shoreline like the back of his hand. No doubt they might find others they wish to question. We shall see.’
‘Hmm. We shall indeed. One last question to you, if I may.’
‘Yes?’
‘If I remember rightly, just before Row … Emma and I set off for Bude, which was just after the attack on me, you said that you had some enquiries to make?’
‘What, oh yes. I was referring to Lloyd’s, of course.’
‘Ah, I see. Not in the village here or Morwenstow, then?’
The doctor took a rather deeper draught of the cognac this time. ‘No. Not really.’ He reached out his glass. ‘My dear fellow, would you care to fill up my glass and, of course, do so for yourself, too.’
‘Oh Father! You are falling back into bad habits. I expect you drank a lot in London too, didn’t you?’
‘Hardly a drop passed my lips, dear daughter.’ He lifted his eyebrow to Josh and, for the first time, the young man felt a brief surge of liking for the old doctor, who had seemed momentarily to wrap him in a warm embrace of humorous and shared love with his daughter.
Josh lifted his glass, nodded to the doctor, turned to Rowena and said sternly, ‘Now drink your lemonade, like a good girl, Emma.’ Then he and Acland shared a grin and toasted each other.
The militia arrived the next morning, in the shape of a braided captain and a dragoon. After a consultation with Acland they took away the body to the Preventers’ barracks.
‘I shall have to hold the Coroner’s Court there,’ he said. ‘I shall call witnesses but it looks as though it can be only you – I want to keep Emma out of this – and Cunningham. Oh, and Pengelly as the last person to see him alive. We will do it tomorrow.’
They did so and a few people from the hamlet attended in addition to the witnesses. Josh repeated the circumstances of finding the body and Cunningham added virtually nothing to it, except to confirm that he, too, had noticed foot and hoof prints in the mud and grass underneath the tree. Pengelly could only testify that he had said goodbye to Drake at completion of work on the day before, before he himself had set for Morwenstow on foot, as was his daily practice.
There was little that could be added and Dr Acland recorded that he had examined the body and that Jem Drake had died by a blow to the throat, which had torn it apart. The hanging had added nothing to the cause of death. ‘My verdict,’ he said at the end, ‘is that the deceased was attacked by some person or persons unknown, sustaining a wound to the throat that caused his death and was therefore murdered. So I shall report to the magistrate. This hearing is now closed.’
Rowena and Josh walked away, as did Pengelly, who strode away quickly without a glance in their direction. The doctor and Cunningham stayed behind in close conversation.
Looking at them as they left, Rowena said, ‘I suppose Papa is telling Captain Jack about the Lloyd’s enquiry.’
‘Hmm. I suppose so. Why, though, is Cunningham getting so heated with your father? Look, he is getting quite angry. It looks more like a quarrel than an explanation.’
‘We’d better go. We shouldn’t get involved.’
Back at the house, Josh realised that yet another day had dawned without a letter from Mary being delivered. She surely would have returned now from wherever she had been and would have had plenty of time to write. He shook his head. Things were getting so convoluted! He itched to see his fiancée now – if only to sort out his feelings for her – but it was clear that he would not be allowed to go until after the Lloyd’s enquiry, at least.
Notification of the enquiry, however, came quickly. It was to be held in one month’s time at the inn in Hartland Point. A judge of the High Court had been appointed chairman and the ‘bench’ would comprise a representative of the Blue Cross Line, and three underwriters from Lloyd’s. The hearing would not have the force of law but witnesses would be expected to swear on the Bible before giving evidence. There would be no formal prosecution or defence for there was, of course, no plaintiff or defendant. A leading Queen’s Counsel, however, had been appointed to conduct the examination of witnesses, although the Lloyd’s members presiding could question them if they wished. The press would be allowed to report on the proceedings.
‘This is all very unusual, of course,’ said the doctor at the breakfast table, after he had finished reading from his letter. ‘But it shows that Lloyd’s is taking this matter seriously.’
; ‘To whom will they submit the result of the enquiry?’ asked Josh.
‘I presume it will be to the management committee of Lloyd’s, if there is such a thing. And, clearly, if wrongdoing is suspected the matter will then be passed over to the police.’
No one spoke for a moment. Then Josh said, ‘I am rather puzzled by the fact that one of the presiding Lloyd’s panel – one of the judges of the case, if you like – is a member of the Blue Cross Line company. If he is to be a key witness – and I hope he will have plenty to answer – then he should not be presiding, if you follow.’
Acland nodded. ‘I take your point and this is probably my fault. But I was so anxious that this company should be investigated for its record on safety and, indeed, seamanship, that I feared they would not attend unless they were on the presiding panel. So I suggested it.’ He looked sharply across at Joshua. ‘On reflection, now, I wish that you had accompanied me to London, but we couldn’t do everything at once.’
Rowena smiled at the compliment paid to Josh and he studied his plate in some embarrassment. ‘I doubt, sir,’ he said, ‘that I could have made a significant difference. You got your enquiry, after all.’
‘Ah well, it’s done now. Right,’ said the doctor, standing. ‘It’s time we looked at your leg. I think we can certainly remove those splints now, my boy. But I must examine the wound before we take that decision. Let us go to the surgery.’
‘May I come, too, Father?’ asked Rowena.
‘I don’t approve of non-medical persons being present at examinations, you know that, Emma. So I would rather you—’
Josh interrupted. ‘If I may put in a word, as the patient, Doctor, I must say that while you have been away Emma has impressed me with her basic medical skills on several occasions. I don’t mind at all if she is present.’
‘Oh, please, Papa. You know I am interested.’
‘Oh, very well. Come along.’
While Joshua lay on a couch in the surgery, the bandages securing the splints on either side of his leg were removed and the dressing underneath carefully unwound. To Josh, the wound appeared to be rather like an evil black crack below the knee, but Acland rubbed his hands with pleasure as he examined it.
‘To be frank,’ he said, ‘I was afraid that the, er, obvious gallivanting that you have been doing since I first dressed the leg would have caused some friction and even produced an infection, but this looks clean enough.’ He regarded Josh sternly. ‘I should really have insisted that you stayed in bed for a week or more but I realised that you were young and healthy enough and that the frustration of keeping the leg still in bed would probably cause more harm than benefit.
‘I know that, on the Continent, they have been experimenting for some time with a kind of starched bandage coated in plaster, which serves this type of injury well, but I lacked the skill and the materials to apply it, so it was a question of using the old-fashioned way by offering support with splints. But,’ he adjusted his spectacles and looked closely, ‘they seem to have served their purpose well. Yes, we can leave the splints off, but I insist you use a stick to help you walk. There are many in the kitchen. Choose one that suits you for length and so on. But,’ he held up a warning finger, ‘don’t go galloping about. Treat the leg with care. I will just put a light dressing on it now, which should make you feel much more comfortable.’
He pushed his spectacles back up to the bridge of his nose. ‘Would you like to apply the dressing, Nurse Acland? I shall observe how you do it.’
‘Oh yes please, Father.’
For the next few days, Joshua followed a self-imposed regime of taking daily walks, sometimes alone, sometimes with Rowena, but always accompanied by a thick stick and his knife in its sheath at his back. He also wrote another letter to Mary, enclosing a note of thanks to her mother, explaining that he would need to stay a little longer than expected in Cornwall because he had to give evidence at the enquiry, but that, as soon as that was completed, he would set out for Dover. He gave a penny to a boy in the village to take the letter up to the post box situated in the village at the top. He no longer trusted Rowena to be postmistress.
The time passed pleasantly enough and the arrival of his and Rowena’s overnight clothes from the hotel in Bude eased the problems presented by his sparse wardrobe, which had been supplemented after the shipwreck by old clothes from the doctor, few of which fitted him.
He attached no importance to the arrival back in Hartland Quay of the officer of militia accompanied by his dragoon. They were waiting for him at the doctor’s house when he limped back after his walk and it was only the white face of Rowena, standing at their side by the doorway, that gave him pause.
The captain stepped forward. ‘Joshua Weyland?’
‘Yes.’
‘I have a warrant here for your arrest on a charge of murdering Jem Drake. You may go to your room and pack an overnight bag – I will give you five minutes only – and then I must ask you to accompany me to Barnstaple.’
Joshua’s jaw dropped. ‘Murder? I have murdered no one. This is ridiculous.’ He turned to Rowena. ‘Where is your father?’
Rowena’s lower lip was trembling. ‘He is on his rounds. Oh, Josh. He will sort this out when he returns. I know he will. I will come with you to pack a bag now.’
The captain turned to his dragoon. ‘Go with them,’ then to Josh and Rowena. ‘You have only five minutes. I have brought a horse for you, Weyland, and we must ride hard if we are to be at Barnstaple before dark, so be quick. I don’t want to be caught out on the heath in a storm. So move yourself, man!’
CHAPTER TEN
The journey proved to be one of the most uncomfortable and depressing of Joshua’s life. The horses were strong and the captain set a cracking pace, alternately walking, trotting and even, in short spurts, galloping them. Josh’s attempts to question him about the details of the accusation against him proved completely unsuccessful, the officer grunting, ‘I can give you no information, so it is no use asking me. For God’s sake keep up the pace, man. We have a way to go yet.’
In fact, the light was fading as the trio arrived at the municipal jail in the centre of Barnstaple. It was a grey, forbidding place, built of moorland stone, with small windows criss-crossed with iron bars. Josh was handed over to a low-grade official at the desk, the captain was handed a receipt and he and his escort turned and left immediately.
‘’Ad anything to eat?’ asked the jailer.
‘Not since breakfast. I would be grateful to eat something.’
The man gave him a not altogether unpleasant smile, nodded, and called down a corridor. This was answered by the arrival of a huge, bearded man, who roughly pushed Josh against a wall, forced his legs apart and ran his hands over his body. He plucked out the knife and threw it into a corner, took the few coins that were in his pocket and then turned his attention to the bag that Rowena had insisted on packing for him. Everything within was thrown onto the floor, until the bag was held upside down and shaken to ensure that nothing was left hidden. His razor, brush, shaving soap and knife were confiscated and he gestured to Josh to pick up the contents and then pushed him down the corridor, which was lined by cell doors.
One was opened and a push in the back sent Josh flying into the interior, after which the door clanged shut and a bolt was pushed across. The only light filtered through a barred window high in the wall and, at first, Josh had difficulty in seeing anything within the cell. Then he made out a small iron bedstead with what appeared to be a straw mattress and two well-worn woollen blankets folded on top. A wooden chair, a cast-iron bucket and a bowl with a jug set within it completed the furnishings. The stone walls carried no decorations, of course, and they glistened with moisture. It was cold and the place smelt of urine and stale tobacco.
Josh sat on the bed and wrapped one of the blankets around him. Then, making sure he was unobserved, he took off his shoe and took out the golden guinea and a handful of shillings he had hidden there before setting out on the jou
rney. They could prove vital, but how, he could not comprehend at this point. He had given up teasing his brain about who might have given evidence that had resulted in him being arraigned in this way. So he sat, his mind empty, his head in his hands, the money grasped in one of them.
He jerked himself upright as a bolt was slid back and a key turned in the lock of his door. The jailer who had ‘received’ him, backed in carrying a tray with some sort of sandwich set on it – no plate – and a mug full of what appeared to be cold milk. The stub of a candle burnt in a saucer, giving a flickering light.
‘Bit of beef and bread to keep you goin’ ’til the mornin’,’ he said. ‘An’ a drop of milk, which my wife ’as brought round for you.’
‘Ah, that is kind,’ said Josh. ‘Please thank her for me.’
The jailer seemed surprised to find his prisoner speaking politely and in gentlemanly terms. ‘What are you in for, then?’ he asked.
‘Er, murder. But I have no details of the charge and I have never killed anyone in my life.’
The jailer grinned, showing two broken teeth. ‘Ah, that’s what they all say.’
‘Well, it’s true in my case. I am an honest sailor. An accredited second mate and I don’t take kindly to being locked up. When will I know the charge against me?’
‘P’raps in the mornin’, p’raps later. It depends ’pon ’ow busy the magistrate is. ’E ’as a big territory to cover, like, see.’
Josh took a grateful bite of the sandwich. The bread was stale but the meat seemed reasonably fresh and someone had spread a little mustard on the beef. ‘What sort of man is the magistrate?’ he asked.
‘Oh, ’e’s fair enough, is old Sir George. ’E won’t stand no nonsense but ’e is an honest man. Good to the poor, for instance. I’ve gotta go now. Piss in that bucket and if you want a shit you’ll ’ave to put it in the same place. You can empty it in the morning.’
