by Val Wood
Thorp spent most of Friday in bed or resting in a chair and Jamie gave himself the task of writing to Hunter’s parents; he’d written a page describing Hunter’s attributes and their friendship before he realized that he was writing to them as Hunter and not Maugham-Hunt and referring to his friend as Hunter instead of Gerald and had to tear it up and start again. When he’d finished that, he began a letter to Felix, expressing his grief at their father’s sudden demise and asking if there had been an inquest to ascertain the cause. He also told him where he had been and that he had not received his letters until arriving back at his lodgings.
He wrote of his sisters and trusted that they were not overly distressed by the tragedy and were bearing up well and that he would be there to help comfort them at the funeral service; he then added his congratulations on Felix’s impending marriage and hoped that the bride-to-be would take the delay of her nuptials with patience and good heart. This last he wrote ironically, convinced that the marriage would go ahead as planned.
He went out later to post the letters and took a short stroll in the unseasonably warm weather. If Thorp is up to it, he thought, I might suggest a short carriage drive tomorrow, just to give him a change of scenery.
‘Oh, aye. That’d be grand,’ William said, when he asked him. ‘I don’t know London at all. First time I came was when we set off for ’Crimea, and that wasn’t really seeing London, was it?’
Jamie agreed that it wasn’t and they might as well make the most of it whilst they were there. ‘I don’t know if I’ll be back again either,’ he said. ‘We both seem to have an uncertain future in front of us.’
‘I know what I’m going to do,’ William said determinedly. ‘That’s if I heal up all right. I’m going to be a farrier. I was apprenticed to a blacksmith afore I joined ’military and I can do shoeing and smithying, especially now that I’ve had so much experience, an’ I’ve decided to go back to it.’ He pursed his lips. ‘But I might stop in Hull, rather than in ’country, seeing as all ’family are there, my ma and brothers and sisters; if there’s room for me at ’Maritime I’ll stop wi’ them and if there’s not then I’ll find a place and set up on my own. There should be plenty o’ work in a town like Hull.’
‘I wish I could be so sure of my future,’ Jamie murmured, and William expressed surprise.
‘I’d have thought you’d be well set up,’ he remarked. ‘Qualified; a professional man! Surely everybody needs a doctor at some time or other. If they can afford them, that is.’
‘You would think so, wouldn’t you, but I have to rethink my plans since my father’s death; I need money to set up a practice unless I can persuade someone to take me as an assistant.’ This was the nub of why he wanted to visit Dr Birchfield; to ask if he knew anyone who wanted a newly qualified surgeon apothecary.
The following day was a typical autumn day when they set out, bright but with a hint of the winter to come. As they approached the Thames William asked if they might stop for a minute for him to get out of the carriage, as he’d like to take a closer look at the river. ‘Tell my ma about it, you know,’ he said. ‘She’s never been to London, nor ever likely to come.’
He looked beyond the wharves at the surging rushing river. ‘Not as wide as ’Humber,’ he commented, ‘but a grand sight.’ Ferry boats, ocean-going ships with creaking sighing sails, clanking paddle steamers churning up the water and coal-carrying tugs filled the waterway. ‘All that shipping! Bet some of it comes up our way; you know, to Hull and Hedon Haven.’
‘It does,’ Jamie agreed. ‘And it comes in from all over the world. The Thames is London’s commercial highway; a lot of freight is being carried by railway now, but it surely won’t ever take over river traffic.’
They continued their journey and Jamie pointed out the Westminster Hospital, opposite Westminster Abbey, where he had done his medical training. He told William that it had been built about twenty years ago to replace a much older building.
‘It has plumbed water closets on each ward,’ he said, and then laughed. ‘You wouldn’t believe the stink from them! In a hospital of all places!’
The driver took them along different routes to see the sights, including Buckingham Palace, and when he slowed up he called down that the queen wasn’t in residence, having gone with her family to Balmoral in Scotland.
‘No use calling in for tea then,’ William joked.
They drove down the narrow streets towards Covent Garden, which smelled of fruit and flowers intermingled with hay and horse dung but was empty of porters and barrows as it was now early afternoon.
‘There are theatres in this area,’ Jamie said. ‘I used to go occasionally when I could afford it.’
‘That’d be good.’ William leaned forward to look closer from the cab window. ‘Would you fancy that, doctor? My treat. I’ve got my back pay and you’ve been generous towards me.’
‘Are you up to it?’ Jamie said, and when William said he was he thought that seeing something jolly or listening to music might lift the malaise that was hovering over him. ‘We could go to a matinee.’
He called up to the driver to ask him if he had heard of a good performance anywhere.
‘Best try Drury Lane, sir,’ the driver called back. ‘It’s as good as anywhere and they ’ave musicals as well as straight plays.’
‘Shall we give that a try?’ Jamie asked William, who agreed that they should, so the driver about-turned and headed towards Drury Lane.
Jamie got out of the cab to look at a theatre poster which was advertising a melodrama. ‘What do you think?’ he asked William and they both shook their heads. They needed to be entertained.
‘If I drop you ’ere,’ the driver suggested, ‘and if soldier can walk a little way round the corner, there’s a theatre – well, it’s a tavern really – that does burlesque and singing; that’ll cheer the young chap up no end. You can come and go as you please. Say I leave you for an hour an’ then come back for you?’
Jamie raised his eyebrows. William should choose; it was his treat after all.
‘Yeh!’ William stood up carefully. ‘That sounds just the ticket.’
It was a small insignificant tavern from the outside and they would have walked past it had they not been given directions. A poster advertised acrobats, dancers, comics and entertainers and William pointed to a picture of a red-haired singer and the caption The glorious voice of Eleanor Nightingale. ‘She looks like our Nell,’ he said. ‘Except for ’colour of her hair and being older.’
The matinee was about to start and they were given the option of sitting downstairs or up in the small gallery, which was already quite full with a crowd of noisy boisterous people hanging over the edge of the balcony.
‘I’d never get up them stairs,’ William said, looking up at the narrow staircase, so they were shown to the end of a row in the middle of the main floor. Jamie went to get them both a glass of ale and they settled down to be entertained just as the curtain opened.
Jamie drank from his glass as an acrobat turned somer-saults across the stage; watched sleepily as a man urged a dog to run up and down a ladder, then jump through a flaming hoop; listened bleary-eyed to the comic’s risqué humour, and was closing his eyes when he was jerked awake by a nudge from William.
‘Hey,’ the corporal whispered. ‘She’s ’dead spit of our Nell. I could almost think it was her.’
‘Who?’ Jamie whispered back, blinking as he looked towards the stage where a young woman was taking a bow. ‘Who is she?’
‘My sister; ’youngest.’ William stared hard at the singer, who began another song and preened coyly as she twirled a parasol. Another comic came on after she had finished to some applause and some cat-calls and orange peel thrown from the gallery, and William whispered that he’d had enough if Jamie had.
They stumbled out of the darkness of the theatre and found the hansom waiting in the street.
‘I can’t believe it,’ William was muttering, gazing at the poster in the glass
case. ‘I just can’t believe it.’
‘What?’ Jamie asked. ‘What can’t you believe?’
‘That’s our Nell!’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Sure as owt,’ William said. ‘When she was just a little bairn she used to say she was going to be a singer when she grew up.’ He started to laugh. ‘Wait till I tell Ma that I’ve seen our Nell on a London stage.’ He put his head back and roared. ‘But I won’t tell her what a God-awful voice she’s got.’
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
WHEN JAMIE AND then William stepped down from the train at Paragon railway station, first one and then the other glanced round at the fluttering flags and limp bunting and the tubs of flowers which decorated the platform.
It had been a long journey, starting early that Monday morning from King’s Cross to Peterborough and then on to Leeds, where they had to wait for a connection to York from where they caught a train to Hull. They had been lucky enough to have seats given up by other passengers on seeing William’s injuries, and from York were allocated a carriage to themselves by a porter who said he had a son fighting out in the Crimea, and ushered other passengers further along the train so that William could lie full length along the seats and rest his aching limbs.
‘What’s been going on here?’ Jamie asked a porter, and turned to William, who was pale-faced and leaning heavily on his crutches. ‘Looks like they were expecting you,’ he jested.
‘Pity you weren’t here on Friday or Sat’day,’ the porter said, gazing at William’s careworn and bedraggled state. ‘Her Majesty could’ve welcomed you home herself.’
‘What?’ William groaned. ‘She’s been and I’ve missed her! Aw! Pity, I could have asked her to thank her generals personally for allowing me to go out to that hell-hole.’
‘We’re on ’winning side, aren’t we?’ the porter said. ‘Sevastopol is under siege. Can’t be long afore we break through. News coming in is good, so I hope you’re not bitter.’
William sighed and shifted uncomfortably to ease the pain in his leg and foot and the soreness beneath his arms from leaning heavily on the crutches. ‘Bitter?’ he croaked. ‘No, just battle-worn.’
Jamie asked for directions for the Maritime in Anne Street and if the porter could get them a cab.
‘It’s onny across ’road, sir,’ he said. ‘If sodger can manage to walk it’s no more than two or three minutes at most.’
‘We’ll get a cab.’ Jamie was adamant. ‘You’re exhausted.’
‘No. I’ll get there on me own two feet.’ Then William grinned, his face twisted in a wry and painful attempt at humour. ‘Well, one foot mebbe. Don’t want my ma seeing me arrive in a cab like an invalid.’
Jamie picked up William’s rucksack. No use arguing with him, he knew that. They had got to know each other pretty well over the time they had spent together, and the corporal’s stoicism, strength and humour in spite of his injuries filled Jamie with admiration. If I could have half the empathy and understanding with my own brother as I have with William Thorp, he had thought on several occasions, I’d count myself very fortunate.
They crossed slowly and carefully in the direction the porter had given, stopping frequently for William to take a deep breath before continuing.
‘I said we should take a cab,’ Jamie argued. ‘You just won’t listen.’
‘No, doctor,’ William croaked. ‘I’ve allus done as I wanted.’ He cursed beneath his breath. ‘An’ – I never admit – when I’m wrong.’
‘I think we’re almost there.’ Jamie stopped to ask directions of a long lanky lad running past.
‘Just ’round ’corner, sir.’ He glanced at William. ‘Do you want a hand?’
‘No!’ William growled. ‘I’ve come all this way – thanks anyway.’
‘You’re as stubborn as a mule,’ Jamie began, but his voice tailed away as they turned the corner and he looked down the street to see the back of a young woman with dark hair who had come out of a doorway. She was holding the hands of two children, one on each side.
His breath caught in his throat. It’s her. Bella! Although he was escorting Thorp back to his new home, he had pushed from his mind the possibility that he might see Bella again. He was afraid of his feelings, for he had thought of her often, particularly since meeting her brother; he was afraid too that she might be different from his imaginings, but more than that, that she might have forgotten him and be committed to someone else.
And so she is; well committed, by the look of things, with two children by her side. Have I been away so long? The little girl with her was small and the boy, who limped, what age would he be? He couldn’t tell; he had no knowledge of children except for his sisters and he couldn’t recall how tall or small they had been when young.
She disappeared at the end of the short street and he glanced at William, who was looking down and concentrating hard on swinging along on his crutches without putting too much pressure on his foot.
‘We’re here,’ Jamie said as they came to a smart entrance with glass and wood doors and a sign above with the name Maritime Hotel engraved upon it.
‘Crikey!’ William looked up. ‘I never thought …’
‘Quite splendid, isn’t it!’ Jamie said. Opening the door, he placed William’s knapsack inside. ‘Well, here we are. I’ll take my leave of you now that you’re safely back.’ He patted William’s shoulder, as he couldn’t shake hands. ‘I’ll call in and see how you’re getting on when I’ve seen my family and attended my father’s funeral and – everything.’
William stared at him. ‘Don’t go! Not yet! I want you to meet my ma and everybody.’
Jamie shook his head. He didn’t trust himself to speak. He wanted to say how much he had enjoyed William’s company and hoped they could keep in touch, but he was embarrassed that he hadn’t told him about himself; that he had been to the Woodman and met his family but most of all that he harboured hidden feelings towards his sister which, as he now recognized, was why he hadn’t said anything in the first place. What a fool I am. What an utter fool.
‘It’s you they’ll want to see, not me. I’ll meet them next time,’ he said briskly. ‘But in the meantime, get plenty of rest. Change that dressing every day. Keep off your broken leg and don’t walk unless absolutely necessary; take the medication I’ve given you but don’t overdo it, and if you have any difficulties at all before I return,’ and he knew that return he must, ‘then send for Dr Birchfield in Albion Street.’
William had a puzzled frown above the bridge of his nose, but he leaned rather precariously against the wall and put out his hand. ‘All right. Cheerio then, Doctor James.’
Jamie nodded and shook his hand. ‘Goodbye, Corporal Thorp.’ He turned and walked briskly away, feeling somehow that William Thorp was watching his back.
William pushed through another door into a reception area where there was a small desk with a posy of flowers on it, but no one sitting there. Hope I’ve got ’right place, he thought as he hopped into the saloon, where a thickset man was polishing glasses behind the bar.
He glanced up. ‘Afternoon, sir.’
‘Afternoon. Is Mrs Thorp about?’
The barman put down his polishing cloth and took an open-mouthed breath as he observed William with his travel-stained red coatee, his crutches and his broken limb.
‘Yes, sir, she certainly is. I’ll get her.’ He rushed from the saloon through a door into what William assumed were private quarters; he could hear the barman calling urgently.
Only a few moments elapsed before the door opened again and Sarah, her head questioningly on one side, stood there looking at him.
‘Hello, Ma,’ he greeted her, his voice breaking. ‘It’s me, William; come home at last,’ and fell, weeping, into her open arms.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
JAMIE HAD WRITTEN to Dr Birchfield asking if he might call on him and avail himself of his hospitality before returning to Holderness; he had advised him of his father’s demise, but when
he was invited into the doctor’s home by a wrinkled and bent old woman dressed in black, who turned out to be the doctor’s widowed sister, Mrs Scott, Dr Birchfield told him that he already knew of his father’s death.
‘The obituary was in the local newspaper,’ he said. ‘Your father was well known in the district. It’s a pity about the estate being sold. I’m surprised your brother isn’t keeping it on; there’d have been a good living, I would have thought.’
‘I don’t think his heart was in it,’ Jamie said neutrally. ‘But he’s moving to Lincolnshire in any case; he’s getting married – to a farmer’s daughter.’
When he told the doctor the name of Felix’s intended bride Dr Birchfield gave a dry laugh. ‘He won’t be getting his hands dirty then,’ he said. ‘He’s marrying money.’
‘I don’t know,’ Jamie confessed. ‘I only know Felix told me there wouldn’t be much of an inheritance from the estate. Which is why I wanted to talk to you, sir, if you wouldn’t mind advising me; I need to find a position where I can earn a living as a surgeon apothecary. I’ve had good results in my finals.’
He told him of the death of his friend and colleague and his own thwarted plans because of it. ‘I wondered if you had any influence at the Hull Infirmary, where I could work as a junior surgeon.’
Dr Birchfield ran his fingers through his white whiskers and surveyed him. ‘I’m surprised to hear what you say about your inheritance. I thought … Forgive me,’ he murmured. ‘It was a few years ago and things change. Give me a little time to think over what you have said. There might well be something I can do for you. For old times’ sake.’
Jamie stayed the night at the doctor’s invitation and shivered in the unheated guest room. At breakfast the next morning he was given thin unsalted porridge, a semi-cooked egg and dry bread, served up with trembling hands by Mrs Scott.
When she had left the breakfast room, the doctor apologized. ‘I’m afraid that Norah’s cooking is not up to scratch,’ he said grimly. ‘She was never taught to cook, but she insisted when I came to live in Hull that we should share a house so that she could look after me, since she was widowed with time on her hands, but in fact she’s the one who needs the care. She’s deteriorating fast.’
