Dixon made room for Cantwell, forced a mug of beer into his hand and slung an arm around his shoulder, giving him a brutish squeeze. ‘How was Wilsbury?’
‘Sir Timothy was abuzz with enthusiasm as usual. I’ve got good news for you and the men. Let’s see to business while the lads are still sober.’
Dixon banged his mug on the table. The men ignored him until he climbed onto the table and clapped his hands. This attracted the notice of other patrons and a round of derisive jeers.
‘Geoffrey has a few words for you fine young gentleman. Pay attention,’ Dixon said, amongst more light-hearted banter.
‘Thank you, John. Firstly, Sir Timothy is extremely pleased with our work in Nazareth. The discovery of the frogs has proved a valuable find, and he has decided to display them throughout Europe’s major cities in a lecture tour expected to last six months.’
Cantwell saw several of his men shift uncomfortably on their seats.
‘Sir Timothy has generously offered to retain you on full pay in the meantime, but expects you to be ready to sail in seven months - no exceptions.’
An excited murmur spread around the table.
‘Drinks on me,’ someone yelled.
Cantwell interrupted the start of the celebrations.
‘Sir Timothy hinted at a long sea voyage. Let’s charge our glasses to his good health.’
The men lifted their mugs to the rafters, cheered Sir Timothy’s name in unison and downed their foaming beers.
Cantwell pulled the pouch of sovereigns from his coat and emptied a fistful of gold onto the wet table. The men sobered as the coins were divided up, the inn overflowing with good will. With the fireplaces crackling against the harsh cold outside, Cantwell turned to Dixon.
‘Sir Timothy heartily endorsed your presence on the European tour.’
‘Just let me check my diary, Geoffrey.’ Dixon chuckled, his eyes swallowed in a fleshy squint, ruddy cheeks turning redder than usual. ‘And when do we leave, my good man?’
‘I estimate a month,’ Cantwell said, taking a deep swig of his beer.
‘Time to relax and unpack the equipment,’ Dixon said.
‘Enough time to buy you a new suit, get that scruffy beard trimmed and your hair cut.’
Cantwell gave Dixon a playful punch in the shoulder.
‘We will also be accompanied by Charles Webster of the Royal Society and Mr Vincent Scanlan. Sir Timothy has pegged you to act as an ambassador for the Society and to work the crowd at the after-speech functions. Are you confident of fulfilling such a brief, Mr Dixon?’ Cantwell said with mock officialdom.
‘Beer included?’ Dixon said with raised eyebrows, trying to avert a grin.
‘By the gallon as long as it doesn’t affect your charm and good standing with the gentry. You wouldn’t want to disgrace yourself and spoil your chances of snaring a bride. I saw the ladies eye you over in Paris last year and they weren’t just admiring the shine of your shoes,’ Cantwell laughed.
‘Hogwash, Cantwell. Pour me another beer.’
Dixon’s blush of embarrassment hid beneath his florid complexion.
‘So be it, John. Let’s meet on Monday at 9 a.m. to unload the equipment.’
Cantwell fumbled in his coat pocket. He pulled out four gold sovereigns, pushed them into Dixon’s palm out of sight of the men and muttered from the side of his mouth. ‘For the suit and whatever you need.’
Unable to offer a public protest, Dixon pocketed the coins.
‘Sir Timothy has been more than generous, John, just passing on some of the bounty. A good tailor will have you stitched up and ready to impress in no time.’
Cantwell stood to stretch his legs. He downed the last of his beer and shook Dixon’s hand. The other men, sober enough to notice him leaving, offered their thanks and good wishes.
‘Take care, you scoundrels. I want you all raring to go in seven months.’
Turning his back on the group, Cantwell departed the inn. A cold burst of air struck his face as he stepped out onto the snow, leaving the warmth of the Boar and Whistle behind.
16
Charles Webster opened the crocodile-skin case, pulled the ornaments from their bed of cotton wool and sat them on a leather atlas beside a brass-rimmed magnifying glass.
Balancing the atlas in the crook of his arm, he walked through a pair of French doors onto a balcony furnished with a small table and two chairs. He had a view over the Thames, and for the first time in more than a month the sun rose bright as silver in a cloudless blue sky. Webster felt the weight of depression that regularly befell him, begin to lift. He eased the ornaments onto the table and sipped the mug of coffee his wife had brewed, feeling more positive than he had for some time.
The frogs suspended in glass sported bulging green eyes and orange pupils. Their bodies were pure gold down to the wrists with webbed feet dipped in blue. Their most stunning feature, a vivid red cross, extended from behind the head to the tip of the tail. Two of the ornaments posed frogs either sitting or leaping. The third ornament housed a frog with a fly on its extended tongue, another looking like a puppy begging for a biscuit and one with its stomach protruding from its mouth.
The chilly air was slowly warming. Webster weighed each ornament and measured their dimensions. He held one up to the sun and made a startling observation. The intense light rendered the frogs transparent and Webster saw what appeared to be tiny tadpoles packed within their stomachs. He remembered Scanlan’s suggestion to break open the ornaments, and his heart beat a little faster at the thought. He could answer a lot of his own questions with a sharp scalpel and a good microscope.
Confident the harlequins were an undescribed species, he lifted a large leather-bound volume from a wall of shelved books and cleared a space for it on his desk. Frogs: A Natural History of the Amphibian Order Anura was etched in gold leaf on the deep red cover. By famed American herpetologist Kimberley Bailey, it detailed the life cycles of frogs and toads through exquisite coloured drawings.
Webster leafed through its wide pages in wonderment.
Announcing a new species to the scientific world would meet with both scorn and enthusiasm. The politics of science was equally divided between professional jealousy and the eternal quest for funding. But Webster also knew rejection of his submission could add mystery, fuelling controversy for the tour of Europe.
Webster’s coffee went cold. He drained the last of it, his mind cascading with new thoughts and angles to describe the harlequins for official certification by the Royal Society and its board of academics. No frog fitting their physical description appeared in contemporary literature, and its colouring, patterns and hues were inimitable.
Webster closed the book. He would inform Sir Timothy of his initial observations then prepare a comprehensive report to present at Wilsbury in three weeks’ time. Perhaps the fly might be a new species, someday bearing his name. But to quash false hope he quickly dispelled the thought.
From the bottom of the stairs his wife called him to morning tea. He collected up the ornaments and brought them inside, resting them on Kimberley Bailey’s voluminous book of frogs. Filled with the joy of scientific discovery he descended the narrow stairwell to the kitchen.
17
At 8 p.m., three black carriages reached Wilsbury in thick fog. Porters tended each carriage, escorting the occupants into the mansion and relieving them of their overcoats.
Sir Timothy greeted his guests with his usual infectious enthusiasm. Grinning from ear-to-ear, he ushered them into an opulent sitting room where the sofas were wrapped in crimson velvet and the long windows dressed in gold silk. The walls were hung with paintings, mostly portraits and hunting scenes, the largest a stunning rendering of Sir Timothy’s ship, Hercules, cresting a giant Atlantic swell, spray flying through the rigging and water rushing over the deck.
The fat logs in the hearth were well set with a crust of red coals. As the butler entered the room with tall flutes of French champagne, Sir Timothy cleared hi
s throat to speak.
‘Welcome to Wilsbury, my good friends. Caroline and I are so pleased you could attend. Dinner will be served in half an hour but in the meantime, feel free to explore Wilsbury House,’ Sir Timothy said.
To dine with Sir Timothy and Lady Sivewright was a privilege only surpassed by an audience with King George the Third at Windsor Castle. No man or woman ever declined an invitation to Wilsbury unless on their death bed and even that was not a viable excuse for some.
The Websters and Scanlans toured the halls and cavernous rooms of the mansion while Cantwell and Dixon relaxed in the sofas, chatting to the beguiling Lady Sivewright.
Lady Sivewright sparkled in the lamplight, elegantly dressed in a cream silk gown lathered in pearls and diamantes. She wore black shoes fixed with gold bows at the heel, and her hair was done up with an emerald-studded pin. Her eyes danced and Dixon melted after them. She tried to allay his obvious infatuation, but he fell hopelessly under her spell. Cantwell spotted the development immediately, having seen it many times before. Lady Sivewright was deeply in love with Sir Timothy and totally devoted to their two young children, but she was powerless to deflect the gazes of men. Some women within Sir Timothy’s wide circle of associates were jealous of her beauty. However, her genuine selfless character was evident to any who cared to look past her goddess-like appearance.
‘Geoffrey, Timothy told me about your wonderful discovery in Nazareth. I assure you this is the most exciting project in his life. He is more enthusiastic than usual, if it is possible, like a child with a new toy,’ Caroline said.
‘Truly a fortunate and very interesting discovery, Lady Sivewright,’ Cantwell said.
‘I insist you both call me Caroline. Please go on, Geoffrey.’
‘As you know, Caroline, Sir Timothy entrusted the ornaments to Professor Webster to study in detail, so I’m eager to hear his report this evening,’ Cantwell said.
‘I hope Timothy will show us the frogs tonight. I believe they are truly beautiful,’ Caroline said.
‘Nowhere near as pretty as you, Lady Sivewright,’ Dixon said.
Cantwell discreetly jabbed Dixon in the ribs.
‘Thank you, John. Let us adjourn to the dining room, I think dinner is about to be served.’
They took their places at a long table laid with glistening silverware. The men were seated next to their wives with Cantwell and Dixon opposite each other.
When the port and cigars arrived after a sumptuous meal, Sir Timothy tapped a spoon against his wine glass to gain everyone’s attention.
‘The night is young and I now invite Charles to tell us about the ornaments. Thank you, Charles.’
Webster swung the crocodile-skin case from the floor onto the table and stood, nervously brushing down his dinner suit.
‘On behalf of Olivia, I thank Sir Timothy and Lady Sivewright for their generous invitation to dinner at Wilsbury. We feel most blessed.’
Olivia tapped him gently on the leg with her shoe to hurry him up.
‘It is a great honour to be entrusted to study the ornaments.’
Olivia Webster forced a smile around the other guests, wishing her husband would dispense with the formalities. Charles had not shown her the trophies and she desperately wanted to see them.
Webster took the ornaments from the case, closed the lid and rested them on top. All three ladies were transfixed.
‘Geoffrey Cantwell and his men, including Mr John Dixon, unearthed these treasures during an archaeological dig in Nazareth three months ago. They were in a grave, nestled alongside the bones of a woman. Three coins from the tomb put its age around seventeen hundred and fifty years, dug in 25 AD, give or take ten years, possibly during Jesus Christ’s lifetime.’ Webster had everyone’s undivided attention.
‘The Harlequin frogs preserved in the glass are in perfect condition, and appear to be an undescribed species, possibly extinct for some time. Incredibly, their stomachs appear to hold tadpoles, a quirk of nature previously unknown to science.’
‘Should we give the frogs a name?’ Virginia Scanlan said.
‘Indeed,’ Sir Timothy said, ‘and I’m happy for Geoffrey to have that honour. Have you given it any thought, my good friend?’
‘I have,’ Cantwell said. ‘Trinity Harlequin suitably defers to the frog’s red dorsal cross and the discovery in Nazareth.’
Whispers of approval ran around the table.
‘In addition, the scientific name, Atelopus Jesusii pays homage to the blood Christ spilled on the cross to save us,’ Cantwell said.
Sir Timothy momentarily dropped his emotional guard then stood quickly out of his chair to clap support. The Biblical references appeased his religious convictions and the other guests joined in the applause.
‘Thoughtful and well composed names, Geoffrey, sure to be considered by the review board.’
A palpable air of excitement filled the dining room.
Webster continued. ‘Two more points if I may. On the tongue of one frog is a tiny black fly. You can see it clearly with the magnifying glass. And a discovery I’ve withheld from Sir Timothy until now.’
Sir Timothy raised an eyebrow as Webster glanced in his direction.
‘One of the harlequins is unlike the others.’
‘How?’ Vincent Scanlan said.
‘Held to the sunlight one frog is totally opaque, as if solid, and I have no explanation for it.’ Webster said.
‘Thank you, Charles. I admire your sense of drama. Perhaps further investigation will yield an answer. Over the past month my London office has been busy organising details of the tour. Hundreds of bills have been printed for display in museums, universities and colleges, and we have obtained permission to post them in cathedrals and churches. Personal invitations will be sent to important state and community dignitaries. The venues for each event will seat a maximum of three hundred people at tables beneath an elevated stage. Personage aside, guests will pay a healthy sum to attend. The chance to rub shoulders with royalty and the like will be an irresistible lure,’ Sir Timothy said.
Virginia Scanlan passed an ornament and the magnifying glass to Dixon.
‘Your travel arrangements and accommodation are organised. The first of the lectures will be here in London then we’ll cross the channel on the Hercules to France and travel by coach to Paris. After touring Europe, the Hercules will collect us in Gibraltar and sail to Cairo via the mouth of the Nile for the final lecture,’ Sir Timothy concluded.
The men adjourned to the drawing room, leaving the ladies to pour over the ornaments and proffer their frivolous opinions.
As the grandfather clock chimed midnight, Sir Timothy toasted the success of the venture then the guests exchanged pleasantries and boarded their carriages to London.
18
On a cold December evening, the first carriages arrived at the Ballard Theatre off St Michael’s square. The cobbled streets shone like mirrors, the gutters puddled with rain. A glistening parade of dignitaries checked their tickets and invitations at the door and were ushered to their seats.
Inside, the stage was bright with oil lanterns. Each round dining table was topped with a candelabrum steeped in candles. A belt of smoke adhered to the high ceiling, queuing to push its way out the vented windows into the wet night air, and a buzz of conversation accompanied the tinkle of glassware, popping corks and the splash of champagne.
At 8 p.m. the royal carriage appeared and a red carpet was unfurled across the pavement. Sir Timothy and Lady Sivewright greeted King George and Queen Charlotte. A brief trumpet fanfare announced them to those inside then Sir Timothy entered and introduced the royal couple in a loud voice. ‘Your Royal Highnesses King George the Third and Queen Charlotte.’
Every guest stood and applauded. Affectionately known as Farmer George by his subjects, the king and his heavily pregnant wife were escorted to a table near the stage. When they sat, so did the guests.
At 8:10, Sir Timothy walked onto the stage, fixed his hands firmly
on the lectern and beamed broadly across the crowd. He waited to be noticed and soon the theatre hushed.
‘Royal Highnesses, distinguished guests, ladies and gentleman. Tonight’s revelations will prove both intriguing and controversial. I encourage you to cast aside any preconceived assumptions and listen carefully to the facts as they are presented. Let me explain a little of the lecture’s format and the origin of the find.
‘A discovery was made three months ago, near Nazareth in the Middle Eastern country of Israel. The objects to be unveiled tonight were unearthed from ruins by eminent archaeologist Geoffrey Cantwell who will describe the circumstances of the incredible find. Professor Charles Webster of the Royal Society will detail the discovery and reveal his startling conclusions for your consideration. Historian, Doctor Vincent Scanlan will discuss how coins found with the mystery objects helped date the find. At the conclusion of the presentations there will be time for viewing and questions followed by dinner. Please welcome Mr Geoffrey Cantwell.’
Applause greeted Sir Timothy’s introduction and the arrival of Cantwell to the lectern, slightly dishevelled in his best tweed suit. He related his gripping tale until an impatient shout came from the audience.
‘Tell us what you found.’
No one rebuked the inebriated gentleman, for secretly they shared his sentiment. Cantwell held up a hand to quieten the murmurs pervading the theatre.
‘Professor Webster will deliver that wonderful revelation.’
The applause reached a crescendo and Farmer George threw back a flute of champagne and sucked on the cigar clamped in his teeth.
As the applause subsided, Webster placed the crocodile-skin case on a table at the front of the stage. It drew the eyes of every man and woman but Webster made no reference to it at all. Olivia Webster and Virginia Scanlan sat smugly, exuding an air of pre-knowledge they were unable to disguise beneath their powdered faces. On the royal table, Lady Sivewright delighted in every revelation as if hearing them for the first time.
The Jesus Germ Page 7
