The Resurrection Fireplace

by Hiroko Minagawa

  Carts and carriages going back and forth on the road were obliged to avoid the livestock. Birds that strayed from their fellows were goaded back into line by the drover. As Barton and the others watched, they blocked the way of a sedan chair, whose carriers showered them with abuse.

  “Do you suppose that Sir John will ‘shoe the goose’?” Barton asked, gazing at the mud- and sand-encrusted legs of the flock. “Shoe the goose” was an expression then current in London for performing an apparently impossible task.

  “Indeed I expect he will,” said Edward with a smile.

  They entered the tavern, which, being a renovated house, had a number of private rooms on the upper floor.

  After ordering a meal of cabbage stew and roast goose, Barton turned to Edward. “For the magistrate to get this particular goose shod,” he said, “it is important that you tell him all you know. I sense that you are still withholding something.”

  “Before I tell the magistrate, Professor, I wanted first to tell you.”

  “By all means.”

  “It concerns the meaning of the word ‘fountain.’ One person does come to mind as someone Nigel and I alone might associate with that word.”

  “Who?”

  “It is not easy to say this, Professor.”

  “Al told you earlier, I think. There is someone else who might know how the fireplace is built, but for some reason you are unwilling to tell me his name. Does ‘fountain’ somehow refer to him?”

  “Neither Al nor I have any wish to accuse this person specifically. I hope you will not be vexed.” He hesitated before continuing. “What Al suggested to me was that the previous owner of the house is likely to have known of the fireplace’s structure.”

  “Who that might be I do not know,” said Barton. “I only rent the building. It was my brother who bought it. If we ask him, I am sure he will tell us who owned it before. Why was this hard to say?”

  “Professor, you are principally interested in dissection and experimental science, but I am sure you can imagine that before anyone makes a purchase as important as a large house he would have the building inspected thoroughly.”

  Barton thought for a moment. “You mean to say that Robert knew about the fireplace?”

  “That is what Al found it difficult to tell you. It had also occurred to me, but I did not like to raise your brother’s name. But, yes, even if he had never examined the fireplace in person, he may well have heard that it was of Prince Rupert’s design.”

  “Perhaps my brother did know how it was made. But, Edward, surely you cannot mean to imply that he concealed that faceless cadaver there.”

  “No. Just that he may have shared our knowledge about the fireplace. As for the meaning of ‘fountain’… Nigel, I am sure you remember. The day after our first encounter with Nathan, we met up with him again at Matthew’s.”

  “Yes,” said Nigel with an awkward smile. “The fountain in the square outside had stopped, and when it started again, a passer-by was…”

  “… Drenched.” Edward turned back to Barton. “That was an experience that Nathan, Nigel, and I shared—just the three of us. I wondered, therefore, if by leaving the code word ‘fountain,’ Nathan meant to remind us of that passer-by.”

  “You speak of a ‘passer-by’ in general terms, but do you believe this person had some connection with Nathan?”

  “That I cannot say. However, it was the same individual who might be the only other person familiar with the structure of the fireplace.”

  “You mean Robert? That is slander, Edward.” The potato reddened.

  “I have said only what I know to be true.”

  Barton let out a heavy sigh. “Let us separate fact from hypothesis. The index, middle, and ring fingers on the boy Cullen’s right hand were stained at the tip. This is a fact.”

  “The stain must have been ink from when he perhaps used those fingers to mark a ‘fountain.’ This is merely hypothesis, I admit, but I think it quite plausible. And Nathan did not know your brother’s name.”

  “… This stew is most unpleasant. Even Nelly’s cooking is more palatable. Nigel, what has you looking so dispirited?”

  “Nothing. I am all right.”

  “Remember? Your drawings impressed even that silent fellow,” Barton said, baring his teeth to indicate who he meant.

  Nigel smiled wanly. “It was a relief that he returned them.”

  “Where were we, Edward? The faceless corpse was at the bottom of the flue. This is a fact. The design of the fireplace is known to my five pupils. This is also a fact, I think.”

  “Yes. Your brother may also know it, but that is conjecture.”

  “Something you consider likely to be true.”

  “Yes.”

  “Still, that he should have ”—Barton struggled to get the word out— “should have killed Cullen, or for that matter the man who has yet to be identified… this remains uncertain.”

  “Of course.”

  “If the boy did not know Robert’s name, they cannot have crossed paths again after that first encounter.”

  “Perhaps not. We do not know.”

  “Robert had no cause to kill him—no reason whatsoever.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the roast goose. Barton began to slice the meat, revealing the moist white flesh within.

  “Now this beats Nelly’s cooking,” he said.

  “Speaking of Nelly…”

  “What of her?”

  “She talks quite openly to me.”

  “Her fondness for you is obvious. Your plate always has the largest cut of meat.”

  “You noticed, sir? A rare honour.”

  “I am not quite the dodderer you boys take me for. Nigel, today I shall give the largest slice to you. Your drawings of the foetus were masterful.”

  “Rewarding me with food, sir?” He sounded amused. “You treat me like a child.”

  “Now, Edward, on what matter has Nelly opened up to you? Confessed her ardour, did she?”

  The Professor knew this was not what Edward meant, but he was reluctant to broach a subject he knew must be broached.

  “Nelly counted Miss Roughhead’s nurse among her closest friends,” Edward said.

  “Her nurse… . Ah, the Bow Street Runners mentioned her, as I recall.”

  “Bray observed that had we taken the body of the nurse instead, there would have been no fuss. He also told us that she was so overcome by the death of her charge that she took poison beside her grave. You, Professor, then expressed some regret—saying that you would have liked to have the nurse’s cadaver too.”

  “Indeed, indeed. I remember now.”

  “Miss Roughhead’s nurse—her name was Norma—was Irish, like Nelly, and of course a Catholic. London has very few Catholic churches, and those that do exist are all but invisible, tucked away from prying eyes. If the Catholics were to grow too active, they would only be suppressed again, after all.

  “Nelly met Norma in church. Despite her position with the gentry, it seems that Norma did not put on airs, and was instead quite friendly to Nelly, who was her junior. When the two realized that they came from neighbouring villages, they grew closer still. Apparently, Norma sometimes mentioned sending money back to her elderly parents at home. Her father, it seems, was both ill and impoverished. If she only had the money, she would send for him and have the best doctors in London treat him. Something of that sort.”

  “And?”

  “A short time before Miss Roughhead’s death, Nelly met Norma at Sunday Mass. Norma looked extremely troubled. She let slip a few hints about being made to say that a ‘black man’ had done something to Elaine, but revealed no more. Even to pass this on was difficult for her. Nor did her mood improve after this confession, Nelly said.”

  “‘Black man’? Do you mean that Miss
Roughhead fell pregnant to a negro? Impossible! This is not the colonies, after all. Where would she even meet one? We have no slaves in London—although our chimney-sweeps and tanners are worked almost as hard.”

  “About six months ago, just when Miss Roughhead became pregnant, one of the slaves being transported to the New World fomented a mutiny en route and seized control of the ship.”

  “Yes, I recall the incident.”

  “The slaves on those ships are treated abominably,” Nigel remarked with a flash of anger. “They are shown less kindness than animals.”

  “Are you an abolitionist, then, Nigel, with Edmund Burke?” asked Barton. Burke was another critic of the government quite as fierce as Wilkes.

  “The commandeered ship was prevented from returning to West Africa by a storm, and it landed near the mouth of the Thames,” Edward continued, his voice and expression showing no emotion. “Most of the slaves made their way into London, and were soon caught, but it is just conceivable that Miss Roughhead encountered one in the meantime… . When they were imprisoned, Burke and some like-minded people took on their case, and their trial is still going on—a trial to decide whether slaves are the property of their owners, or whether they have rights as human beings. These men were not prisoners of war, or debtors unable to make good on their arrears. They were simply living peacefully in West Africa until they were hunted down and captured with nets by another tribe working for the slave traders. But merchants are not the sort to sit by and be stripped of their rights to the property they have obtained, and so the trial has not yet reached a conclusion.”

  “The foetus was unquestionably white.”

  “Yes. The strange thing is that Norma said she was made to say this. She was compelled to, against her will.”

  “Why did you not mention this sooner?”

  “I did not keep it back intentionally. When Nelly told me the tale, I more or less ignored it as household gossip. I, too, noticed that the foetus inside Miss Roughhead was not of mixed parentage, but did not think it necessary to make anything of the matter; in any case, there was no time to. In the end, however, I decided that I must at least tell you, Professor.”

  “Sir John is the one you must tell, surely.”

  “No—I could not inform the magistrate without consulting you first.”

  “What does it have to do with me?”

  “Miss Roughhead’s physician was Robert, your brother.”

  “How did you know that? I was unaware of it myself until I heard it from Robert directly not long ago. And when he came in, fuming, he had you leave. You cannot have heard.”

  “Nelly told me. When she was talking about Norma.”

  “Ah, Edward… . You truly do know everything. Much more than I do. Even regarding my own brother!”

  “Professor, this is a private room, but if you speak too loudly you may be overheard outside it.”

  The waiter came to take their order for dessert, which made Barton lower his voice.

  “We recommend the Snow and Cream,” the waiter said.

  “Very good. That will do.”

  “It may take some time.”

  “Very well.”

  Once he had left, Barton leaned forward, chin in hand. “Miss Roughhead’s nurse lied that her charge had been made pregnant by a black man. Or rather—was forced to lie. Who would do this? And to whom was she made to say it?”

  “I do not have the facts.”

  “A hypothesis will do.”

  “One thing nags at me about what Nathan told us.”

  “I deduce from your hesitation that what you have to say may displease me. Nevertheless, I must hear it.”

  “The bookshop to which Nathan took his poems… I cannot recall its name, but I know that it was where Nathan met Miss Roughhead for the first time. She was ill that day. Nathan did not grasp the reason for her illness, I think, but given what came afterwards, I believe that she was some three months pregnant at that time.”

  Barton sat up straighter and urged him to go on.

  “The two of them began seeing each other—by which I mean only that they met in a tea-shop so that Nathan could read books to her… in any case, I understand that Miss Roughhead was in good cheer. Her upbringing was sheltered. If, whether by a runaway slave or someone else, some violation of her person had taken place…”

  “You mean, if she had been raped,” said Barton bluntly.

  “Yes. In that case, surely she would not exhibit such composure. One would expect her to hide in her house, rather than tour the city with her chaperone. And when she visited the bookshop, she was alone. Unmarried, yet pregnant—and in good cheer, it seems. Two possible explanations suggest themselves. First, that she fell pregnant to someone she loved, and intended to marry. It is improper to have physical relations before any ceremony has taken place, of course, but such things are not unheard of. Second, that she was raped, but did not realize it. She may have been rendered senseless with ether or some similar agent, and violated while in that state.”

  Their Snow and Cream arrived, a great glass dish reverently carried in. Pale yellow cream with scoops of whipped egg white scattered on top like islands, round as the serving spoon: it was a feast for the eyes too. The waiter distributed their serving plates and left the room.

  Barton had somewhat lost his appetite.

  “Nigel,” he said. “What do you think of all this?”

  “I am not much for hypothesizing,” he admitted.

  “The man who may have etherized and then abused Miss Roughhead was white,” continued Edward. “He forced the nurse to falsely claim that her charge had been molested by an African. Why? He had no chance of marrying his victim. Perhaps his social standing was too low, or he was already married. To whom did he force the nurse to lie? To Miss Roughhead’s parents. Even if, through innocence, the girl herself failed to recognize that she was pregnant, the nurse must have known soon enough. Eventually her mother would have noticed too. Her father would have been incensed. When he heard additionally that the man involved was an African, he would have confronted her in a fury. Might not the marks on her posterior be from a whipping?”

  “You made a point of mentioning that my brother was the Roughhead family’s personal physician. Why?”

  “I have little respect for him,” said Edward crisply.

  “I have noticed as much.”

  “Dr. Barton is fraudulent,” Nigel exclaimed. “He brags that the results of your research, Professor, are his own. Edward’s, too.”

  “But even I,” Edward conceded, ‘will allow that the work we are engaged in could not have reached its current level without his financial support. Which makes it undesirable for the magistrate’s office to view him as a suspect.”

  “I disagree,” said Barton. “The truth must be revealed, wherever it may lie.” But his words lacked conviction. As a source of funding, his brother was irreplaceable.

  “As regards Miss Roughhead, we have no solid truth, only conjecture.”

  “If all conjecture were discounted, thought would come to a halt. Even your testing device was developed over a long period of trial and error.”

  “You may suppose that I arrived at this theory of mine solely due to my dislike of Dr. Barton. Indeed, I have no evidence. It is supposition, nothing more. Consider, though: as her physician, he would have had many opportunities to put Miss Roughhead to sleep and commit an act of that sort. Suppose he does so, and when her pregnancy becomes obvious, persuades Norma to tell Sir Charles that his daughter is carrying the child of a negro. The furious father beats his daughter, which becomes a motive for self-murder.”

  “Driven to suicide?”

  “There is another, still more unsavoury possibility. An unmarried girl giving birth to a child of mixed race would be an even greater scandal. It is not unthinkable that her father gave her the arsenic—kil
led her himself.”

  Barton let out a little moan. Corpses he could cope with, regarding them simply as material for analysis, but murder involving blood relatives he did not even like to consider.

  “Or perhaps her father, more concerned with the family name than his daughter’s life, asked her physician to administer the arsenic,” said Edward. “Few obstacles to this would have presented themselves.”

  The delicate islands of egg white were already sinking. The three diners had hardly touched them.

  “The most likely explanation, difficult as this is to say, is that the physician who prepared the way for Miss Roughhead’s suicide also poisoned her before the truth could come to light.”

  “There are no grounds for such an inference.”

  “Call it a flight of fancy, then.”

  “Why should the nurse obey the physician’s orders and lie to her employer?”

  “Money, no doubt. Remember what Nelly said. Norma was sending money back to her parents in her home village. Her father was bed-ridden and destitute. She vowed that if she could only afford to, she would send for them and engage the services of a good London doctor for her father.”

  Barton poked at one of the sunken islands with a spoon.

  “The physician offers her enough money to bring both parents over and promises to help her father, and she accepts the bargain. Later, she is killed, to secure her silence. Just a flight of fancy on my part, but…”

  He seemed unable to decide how to continue. Eventually, he said, “There is something we have been hesitant to discuss with you, much as we would like to, for fear of wounding your feelings.”

  “Well, what is it?”

  “May we continue this conversation at home? It is no simple matter.”

  Chapter 6

  He heard the key turn in the lock, and the door opened.

  “Making progress?” Evans asked.

  Nathan closed the book on heraldry he had been looking at.

  Evans entered the room, carrying Nathan’s dinner on a silver tray. Bringing meals and taking away dirty dishes, even dealing with the pot kept under the bed: Evans did it all himself, leaving nothing to his servants. Meals were one thing, but Nathan found the handling of his chamber pot insufferable. It made him feel under tight control.