With silver in his pocket the driver became a changed person. “Yes Sir Your ‘onour.” He grinned at Merriman revealing a mouthful of rotting teeth, the man’s breath almost knocking Merriman off his seat. “These nags ‘o mine can trot, never fear.” He flicked his whip and cracked it between the two horses heads without so much as touching them. The horses immediately broke into a lively trot and didn’t slow down until Merriman had pointed out which was the doctor’s house.
“You’ll wait for us, I have further to go yet.” Without waiting for a reply, Merriman jumped down and walked to the front door which opened before he reached it, to reveal the Doctor himself.
“My dear James, what a pleasure to see you again, what brings you here?” He peered past Merriman to where McBride and Shrigley were struggling to draw the stretcher out of the carriage.
“I’m sorry to trouble you Sir, but I have a man here who I think to be close to death, if you could look to him right away I’ll explain all later.”
Immediately the doctor was all efficiency. Bring him in, bring him in, I’ll call my daughter.” Merriman and McBride carried the stretcher inside the house and placed it on a table as the doctor directed.
“What happened to him”, he asked, feeling the patient’s forehead.
“Pistol ball in the back four nights ago. Mr. McBride here got the ball out and has done all he can but I’m afraid it is not enough.”
“Right, help me to turn him on his side.” The doctor swiftly removed the bandages to reveal the wound which was even more swollen and angry looking. Grahame moaned and started to thrash about.
“Hold him down” ordered the doctor, “you boy, up on the table and sit on his legs.”
Shrigley scrambled up just as Helen Simpson came into the room carrying the doctor’s bag. “Why Lieutenant Merriman, I had not expected to see you again so soon.”
“No time for all that Helen” said the doctor opening his bag and selecting some instruments. “I need hot water and bandages and a glass of brandy. I must open this wound at once.”
“Brandy, Doctor?” said Merriman.
“Oh, not for drinking if that’s what you are thinking. No, it’s to wash my instruments before I use them. In India I found that fewer of my patients died of complications after surgery than those of other doctors. I always kept my instruments clean whereas others never bothered. I don’t know why that should be, but it certainly was so.”
Helen returned with bandages and the brandy, with a maidservant carrying a steaming kettle of hot water and a metal bowl. The maid left the room and Helen poured water into the bowl together with the brandy. The doctor plunged his instruments into the hot liquid and then, selecting a scalpel, he turned back to the patient.
“Hold him tight Gentlemen, unconscious though he is he will feel this.” The doctor drew the bright blade across the wound, severing the stitches and opening the flesh. There was an immediate gush of blood and foul smelling liquid pus. Helen was there with rags to mop it away, not in the least upset at the sight. Selecting a pair of long forceps the doctor probed into the hole in Grahame’s back.
“Aha, got you” he exclaimed, withdrawing the forceps with a small piece of lead clasped in the jaws. He plunged in again, gently moving the instrument round and extracting it again with what was evidently a piece of Grahame’s coat.
“Right Helen, I think the usual medication will suffice.” He held a pad of material over the wound while Helen poured a little water into another bowl and added a few drops of liquid from a small green bottle. “Hold him again, if you please Gentlemen.” They did as requested and he slowly poured some of the liquid into the hole. Grahame moaned and tried to move but Merriman and McBride held on grimly and Shrigley did his best with the man’s legs.
The doctor bent and sniffed at the wound, “No smell of corruption there, Helen, show the gentlemen your needlework.” The girl deftly stitched the sides of the cut together with no hesitation even though her hands became smeared with blood. The men watched with amazement, especially McBride who looked absolutely thunderstruck.
“You know that his shoulder blade is cracked I presume” said the doctor. “I want you to hold him upright whilst I bandage him. This pad over the wound will retain any further seepage and the bandage round his body and upper arm will hold the bone together. That’s it, now to get a little restorative down him.” He held Grahame’s head back, opened his mouth and poured in a draught which Helen had prepared. “You can lower him down slowly, on to his side if you please.”
“It’s a miracle” gasped McBride. Indeed it appeared so. Some colour had returned to Grahame’s face and although it was still pale, the waxy appearance had gone.
“I believe he’ll recover now, but I would prefer you to leave him here if you can so that we can watch his progress” said the Doctor.
“If you think that would be best, although I had expected to take him to my parent’s house” replied Merriman.
“No, James, I’ll keep him here, but if you could manage to carry him up to our spare room, strip him and get him into one of my nightshirts I would be obliged.”
That done they returned downstairs and the doctor produced the brandy bottle and glasses. “James? Mr. McBride?”. McBride shook his head. “Thank you Doctor, but no. I have had my difficulties with alcohol recently and would prefer not.”
Dr Simpson poured a measure of brandy for Merriman and himself. “And what about you, young man?” he said to Shrigley.
“J-Just a little Sir, if I may.” The midshipman made the mistake of draining the glass at a gulp and was instantly reduced to a coughing, wheezing, eye watering heap of embarrassment.
“Now James, who is the man upstairs and what has happened to bring you back here so soon?”
“It’s a long story Sir, but I’ll make it as brief as possible. This is Mr. McBride my ship’s surgeon, whose training has been all too short and the boy is Midshipman Shrigley.” Merriman launched into an abridged version of the events of the past few weeks, from his appointment to the Aphrodite to the re-capture of the Revenue cutter, but making no mention of the Royal Yacht or Grahame’s position. “He is a Mr Laurence Grahame, who has been sent here by the government to report on the activities surrounding the piracy of the cutter. Unfortunately he got himself too close to the action with the result you have seen.”
Merriman stared hard at McBride and Shrigley as if to dare them to disagree with his version of events. “He’s well thought of in London and it would not help my career if he were to die when in my care.”
“We will take the greatest care of your Mr. Grahame” said Helen, who had not taken her large dark eyes off Merriman’s face during his recital.
“I’m certain of it Ma’am, my thanks to you both. And now I regret that I must rush away again. I have not told you all Doctor; there are weighty matters afoot and with Mr. Grahame insensible it falls to me to take his part. I must go to my father’s house and maybe to Chester city. If I could impose further, may I leave Mr. McBride here until my return later today? I am sure that he will have a thousand questions to ask you.”
“Of course he may stay, will you be able to stay a little longer when you return?”
“I think not Sir, but my ship could be in these waters for some time to come, which I hope will give me the opportunity of calling on you again. Miss Simpson, pray forgive my abrupt departure Ma’am, but it is the King’s business and cannot be delayed.”
“It appears that we are fated to meet but briefly Sir, but I do hope that we shall see you again soon and for longer”. Merriman took her extended hand and bowed.
“It is my earnest hope too Ma’am.” Did he imagine it or had she gently squeezed his fingers again. Straightening up he looked into her eyes for a moment before she blushed and averted her gaze.
Little Shrigley was watching everything with his mouth agape and when Helen turned to him, smiled and said “Be sure to look after our dear friend, your Captain, for us Mr. Shrigley, and brin
g him safely back to us,” he blushed and stammered “I will, I will Ma’am, depend on it,” he was already her devoted slave.
Chapter 22: Welshman Owen returns
Waking the coachman from his slumbers, Merriman directed him to his father’s house near the village of Burton. As the battered conveyance made it’s way along the country road, Merriman fell into a deep reverie. Shrigley, seeing his captain’s serious face, kept himself quiet in a corner assuming him to be considering weighty matters of command. In this he was quite wrong as Merriman was day-dreaming about Helen Simpson.
He was smitten, he admitted to himself. Not that he had had much to do with the fair sex, a sea going life saw to that, but he knew that she affected him deeply. Surely the signals he had received or thought he had received, the slight hand clasp and the blushes could not mean that she herself was not also so affected. But what of it, he was most probably wrong.
He put thoughts of the lady from his mind as the wheels of the carriage crunched on the gravel driveway to his father’s house.
“Down you get Mr. Shrigley” said Merriman jumping down himself. He turned to the coachman and gave him another few coins. “Off you go now.”
The man grinned and touched his tattered hat with his whip in mock salute. “Aye-aye Cap’n” were his parting words as he whipped his team into motion.
The sound of the carriage wheels brought servants and Captain Merriman to the door.
“James, back so soon, this is marvelous, I have news for you, come inside, both of you,” called Merriman senior from the top step.
“Your mother and sister have gone to the town again, and Matthew is with his tutor at school, so I am alone apart from the servants and your man Owen who came back yesterday.” They were standing in the hall and Shrigley was looking up in awe at the portraits lining the stairs. “If your young midshipman can close his mouth you may introduce him.”
“Of course Father, may I present Mr. Alfred Shrigley, Sir. Mr. Shrigley, this is my father Captain Merriman.”
Poor Shrigley was already quite overwhelmed with the morning’s happenings and now he was face to face with a Captain no less. Merriman was pleased to see the first confusion on the boy’s face change to determination as he bowed and said “Your servant Sir” with all the aplomb of a courtier.
“You are welcome Mr. Shrigley” said the Captain “Are you hungry, boy?”
“Yes Sir, I am.”
“Thought so, never met a midshipman yet who wasn’t. You too James?”
“Me too Father. We haven’t eaten since the early hours before we left the ship.”
“Annie” bellowed his father, “Annie, hungry mouths to feed.”
Annie bustled in, wiping her hands on her apron, “I’m coming, I’m coming. Oh Mr. James, this is a surprise, are you staying?”
“No Annie, we must leave as soon as we have fed, we have to be off again as soon as maybe, so something cold and quick must suffice, thank you.” He led the way into the dining room to wait for the food. They sat, and Merriman told his father everything about the re-capture of the Revenue cutter, the French involvement with the Irish and the threat to the Lord Lieutenant’s party.
“Good God, you and Grahame have done well to find out all this so quickly. Mind you, it’s no surprise to find the French mixed up in this, can’t trust ‘em, never could,” said the older man.
“And if that were not enough, Father, there is another plot to do with a cargo of plumbago or graphite, which the French intend to steal. Mr. Grahame may know more but he has been severely wounded and is now unconscious at Doctor Simpson’s house. The French must be stopped but I have no other information to go on.”
There was a break in the conversation as Annie and a serving girl came in with plates of sliced meat, chicken legs, bread thickly spread with golden butter, and small bowls of pickles and large bowls of fruit. Shrigley looked at the food longingly, licking his lips in anticipation. He reached out towards the chicken legs then realized what he was doing and looked guiltily at the others.
“Better than ship’s fare, eh, boy, go on help yourself,” said Merriman. Shrigley heaped his plate and devoted himself to filling his stomach while he had the kind of opportunity which rarely befell a mere midshipman.
“I’ve been thinking about this plumbago James. Only last week I was talking with a fellow magistrate at a function in Chester. Bankes, that was the man’s name, from Saughton Hall at Northop over the other side of the river; seems his family in London owns extensive holdings in Borrowdale, somewhere in Cumberland, with mining at Seathwaite where they extract plumbago, and he was telling me about the stuff. Apparently it has several names. Where it is mined they call it Wad, but it’s also known as plumbago, or graphite or even black lead, the poorest quality of the stuff is used for writing materials. He also said something to do with the theft of the stuff. Now what was it?”
His brow furrowed in concentration. “I have it. He told me that they have always been troubled by theft because the stuff is so valuable. Even small amounts are worth stealing and it would be smuggled out of the country in exchange for contraband goods which would be smuggled back in. Apparently Cumberland graphite is the finest quality in the world and that found elsewhere is poor stuff by comparison. Seems that the miners are often laid off so that production is reduced and the price kept high.”
“I know that it is used in foundries to help in the casting of cannon and iron shot and I have heard that it even has a use in making gunpowder”, interrupted Merriman, “If the French want to risk stealing it, then they must be short of it. We must stop it falling into their hands.”
“I remember something else” said his father, “Bankes told me that normally the graphite all goes overland to London apparently, to the company’s sole agents, but it was often stolen before it reached there. They are planning to keep it in a strong warehouse under guard at a port, until they have sufficient to make up a full cargo which would be shipped in a specially chartered ship.”
“That must be what the French are after. If their agents among the smugglers have realized what is being arranged then they must be going to try and take that ship. That is another reason they wanted the Revenue cutter. With two ships against them, one certainly armed with cannon, the trading ship would have little chance, even with guards aboard. It all fits together, don’t you agree?”
“Sir, Sir,” said Shrigley with his mouth full of roast beef, “They haven’t got the cutter now Sir, so they might not attack the trader. They might find it easier to attack the warehouse where nobody would be expecting an atta ----- Sir.” His voice trailed away as he realized his own temerity in expressing his opinion to his Captain and a Post Captain.
Merriman and his father looked at the diminutive midshipman in silence for a long moment, then at each other whilst Shrigley tried to make himself as small as he could, not however, ceasing to eat.
“D’you know James, the boy has a good head on his shoulders. That might be just what they will do. Well done Mr. Shrigley, you could go far. It must be considered James.”
“Another strange thing Father, when we were in Chester last, I saw Sir William Forrester, and I remembered that you introduced me to him many years ago. He was in the hotel with a lawyer by the name of Robinson who has a clerk called Beadle. I’m certain Robinson and Beadle were on a dirty little trading ship we stopped when coming back from Ireland. If I am right, they gave false names to my boarding officer and I was hoping to take young Shrigley here, who was in the boarding party, to Chester to see if he could confirm that Robinson was the man on the boat, but we won’t have time for that now.”
“Sir William Forrester eh! I’ve not seen him for years.”
“What do you know of him Father?”
“Not a great deal James, beyond the fact that he is quite wealthy and has vast estates in Ireland. There was talk some time ago concerning him dipping his fingers into government money when he held a government post, but nothing came of it. Why, do
you think he is involved in this affair?”
“I don’t know, but I am convinced that Robinson and Beadle are up to no good and he certainly knows them. I call to mind what Mr. Grahame told us about treason involving someone near to the Viceroy, maybe this is the man?”
“You could be right James, he will bear watching. Yes, come in.” This as a knock came on the door, which opened and Owen stepped into the room.
“Annie said you was ‘ere Sir, I thought you’d want to know what I’ve done.”
“Quite right Owen, what news have you.”
“Well Sir, I can’t go back to the smugglers now. I don’t know what I did to make ‘em suspect I was a spy Sir, maybe I asked too many questions, but three days gone two of ‘em faced me and accused me of working for the Revenue. I brained one with a bucket and ran for it before they could call for help. Took me two days to find my way back ‘ere Sir, had to go a long way round.”
“No matter Owen, you’re safe and you have done well. With what you found out and with intelligence from elsewhere, we’ve managed to re-take the Revenue ship and uncover some other plans. Tell me, have you heard any of the smugglers speak about plumbago or Cumberland?”
“Plumbago, Sir? No, I never heard of that place before.”
“Not a place Owen, it’s something dug out of the ground which is used in the making of cannon balls in a foundry. And Cumberland?”
“Yes Sir, one time I remember, one of the men said we would be going up to Cumberland, a big run that would make us all rich.”
“Did he mention a place name?”
“I think so Sir”, the big man scratched his head, “Sounded like a bird if that’s any ‘elp Sir.”
“Ravenglass!” shouted Merriman senior triumphantly, “Bankes mentioned Ravenglass.”
“Aye, that’s it Sir, I remember it now.”
“Right Owen, Get your gear together, you can come back to the ship with me. Now then Father, I must leave something else in your hands. He paused for breath, “I must get back to Parkgate to speak with the captain of the Dorset and then back to my ship. If you could arrange to have a discreet watch kept on Robinson and his clerk something might be learned. Mr. Flitwick of the Customs House in Chester might help with that but he should be informed that I saw one of the clerks in his employ in close conversation with Beadle. That could explain how the smugglers knew where the Revenue ship would anchor on that night.”
A Certain Threat (The Merriman Chronicles Book 1) Page 19
