The Unburied

by Charles Palliser

  I wondered where our host’s dinner was and then I saw dirty dishes piled up in a crowded corner of the sideboard. According to what Quitregard had told me, the old gentleman’s servant-woman, Mrs Bubbosh, must have left at noon and would not return until six. I supposed she had prepared this repast.

  Seeing me looking round the room in obvious and highly discourteous surprise, Mr Stonex said: ‘I’ve been looking for something. A document. I wanted to show it to you.’ Then he turned to Austin and said: ‘I haven’t succeeded in finding it.’

  ‘You haven’t found it?’ Austin repeated.

  The old gentleman smiled. ‘It’s most frustrating. However, pray be seated.’

  ‘But you must find it!’ Austin exclaimed.

  ‘I very much hope to do so.’

  We established ourselves around the table and I said: ‘Might I ask what it is?’

  ‘I intend to tell you,’ he said and I saw Austin glance at him in surprise. ‘It’s an account of Freeth’s death which was written about fifty years after the event,’ Mr Stonex said. ‘There was an old serving-man in the house who had been here at the time as a kitchen-boy. When my grandfather was a young man he was interested in the story and took the account down verbatim from the old fellow’s lips shortly before he died.’

  ‘I would be fascinated to see it, but you really shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble,’ I said, looking round at the confusion he had created.

  ‘I didn’t imagine I would need to turn the house upside down for I thought it would be with all my legal documents,’ he said, addressing Austin rather than me. ‘But it turned out not to be.’

  ‘Then where do you think it might be?’ Austin demanded. I was surprised at the intensity of his response for I had not thought he cared so much for the story of Freeth.

  The old man half-turned to indicate the boxes and papers piled up on the sideboard. ‘Assuredly among those. I’ve brought all the boxes of documents in the house here and will look through them while we take our tea. Speaking of which, please help yourselves. I dined very recently, so I will take nothing myself.’

  I acted on his invitation and began on the bread and butter. Austin seemed not to be hungry for he took nothing.

  Our host crossed the room, lifted the kettle and made tea in a large pot beside the range, continuing to talk to us over his shoulder: ‘I can remember most of the story even without the written account, for my brother and I made a game of it.’ He paused and then said quickly: ‘And my sister, too, of course.’ He turned and addressed me: ‘You know that I grew up in this house?’

  ‘It must have been a wonderful place for a child,’ I said.

  ‘There are so many passages and dark corners where we could hide, that we used to play elaborate games of hide and seek that lasted for hours. And how we plagued our elders by secreting ourselves and spying on them or leaping out at them when they least expected it.’ He laughed. ‘We loved dressing up – swords, cloaks, beards. I was wonderful at it. And then we re-enacted famous moments from history: the execution of Mary Queen of Scots, the burning of Joan of Arc. And one of our favourites – bloodthirsty young savages that we were – was the death of Dean Freeth.’

  I smiled. ‘How did you do that?’

  As he placed the tea-pot on the table he said: ‘Our text was the story handed down from the kitchen-boy and we took on the different roles. I always liked to play the officer in command of the garrison. He is the real hero of the affair.’

  If I had been surprised by the condition of the room I was even more astonished by the affability of our host. The old gentleman was showing himself to be even more utterly unlike Quitregard’s description of him than he had at my first encounter. It must be, I speculated, that he was much more affable with strangers than with his fellow-townsmen. And yet that could not be true since he was so familiar towards Austin who had lived there for so long – though perhaps he regarded him as an incomer to the town after a mere twenty years. And it was hard for me to judge how well the two knew each other for Austin appeared to be awed by and even frightened of the old gentleman.

  ‘Is he the hero?’ I asked. ‘Surely he played a repugnant part in the Dean’s death?’

  ‘He acted boldly and decisively as one needs to in a situation of crisis,’ our host replied. Then he cried: ‘But we’ll play the game again now and see for ourselves!’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Austin asked.

  ‘We’ll enact it.’ He turned to me: ‘You’re a historian. You can put flesh on the dry bones of the past.’

  ‘Historians are not required to have any imagination,’ I objected. ‘In fact, it’s a positive handicap.’

  ‘I think you have quite enough imagination to handicap a whole college of historians,’ Austin said rather bitterly.

  ‘Then you are well qualified to play the game,’ our host broke in.

  He stopped in the middle of the room: ‘Imagine that it is the morning of September the tenth in the Year of Our Lord 1643,’ he began theatrically. ‘Dean Freeth is in his study next door. The kitchen-boy is cleaning pots in this very room. There are two Parliamentarian soldiers in the kitchen, for the Dean has been put under virtual arrest in his own house. It is half-past ten and the Dean has less than an hour to live. He does not know it, but his death has been decided upon.’

  ‘Good heavens!’ I exclaimed. ‘Then you believe it was not an accident?’ I remembered that at our meeting the day before he had referred to the Dean’s ‘execution’.

  ‘I am convinced of it,’ our host said, pouring out the tea for each of us and handing it round. ‘But judge for yourself. I need you to imagine the situation. Just three weeks ago a Parliamentarian army reached the city and began a siege. There was panic and terror. Many of the more well-to-do citizens managed to flee – among them the wife and nine children of Dean Freeth. They were sent by him with some of the servants to a place of safety – a handsome manor-house a few miles from Thurchester.’

  ‘That he had stolen from the college!’

  ‘Ah, you know about that! Then you know what a greedy scoundrel he was.’ Still standing at our table, he added: ‘Please help yourselves to the cakes.’

  I thanked him and began to cut slices of the chocolate cake for Austin and myself. The old gentleman went on: ‘The majority of the townsfolk, lacking servants to stay behind and protect their possessions, have had to stay with their property – unless they have already lost it, for in the course of the Siege many of the houses were damaged or destroyed. The Cathedral itself was bombarded and some of the buildings of the Close set on fire. Six days ago, the military Governor capitulated on condition that the defenders be allowed to escape and that the town not be sacked.’

  He crossed to the sideboard where the sugar-bowl and cream-jug were standing. I noticed that he put them down and was absent-mindedly rubbing out the writing on the slate with a dish-clout. Then he returned to the table and set down the bowl and jug so that Austin and I could help ourselves. He walked over to the table strewn with documents and began sorting through them, half-turned towards us, all the time talking without a pause: ‘The Royalists did escape but the Parliamentarians went back on their word and looted and burned many buildings in the town. On the sixth the besieging army moved on, leaving a young officer in command of a small garrison. I am he.’ As he spoke he straightened his back, his face took on an expression of youthful resolution and before my eyes he suddenly became a twenty-five-year-old officer brooding over his next move. ‘I am in desperate straits. How can a mere handful of men hold down six thousand angry and reckless people? Only by goodwill or, if that fails, by intimidation. Goodwill has been lost beyond recall. Now the situation is becoming even graver. Three days ago – on the seventh – a rumour reached the town: a Royalist army was approaching. The townspeople were enraptured. Salvation was at hand! A mob congregated in the market-square and I had to disperse it by ordering my soldiers to fire over their heads. The temper of the people has become worse.’
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  As I listened I took one of the little cakes, noticing that Austin had not touched any of the food.

  ‘The next day the Dean, a notorious supporter of the King’s party, delivered a sermon in the Cathedral inciting the townspeople to insurrection and there was a riot in front of the Cathedral so that once again I had to order my troops to fire. This time a woman was injured by a stray shot that went too low. The situation was now extremely dangerous and because I was worried that the Dean might become a figurehead for a rising, I took the decision to put him under arrest in his own house and billet two troopers here to guard him. On the ninth I come here to tell him so.’

  ‘But the man was an ecclesiastic,’ I said. ‘Some respect was owed to the cloth, even though he was an avaricious and dishonest schemer.’

  The old gentleman snapped out of character and said to me sternly: ‘You are Freeth.’

  ‘I beg your pardon. What do you mean?’

  ‘That’s your role. So don’t talk about him. And certainly not in those terms. Speak up and defend yourself.’ Suddenly he became the young officer again: ‘Mr Dean, you do not leave this house without my permission.’

  ‘I am a reverend of the Church,’ I said with considerable self-consciousness. ‘You owe me some respect.’ With a sense of my own brilliance, I added: ‘Young sir.’

  ‘You are a fool, sir,’ my host said sternly and I found myself blushing. ‘And an unprincipled one for you are dabbling in politics for your own ends and risking the lives of many.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ I said rather feebly.

  The old gentleman briefly reappeared and frowned as if to hint that I must do better than that. Then he instantly vanished again: ‘You are a traitor, sir. You hope that if you can help to recapture the town for the King, you will be rewarded with a bishopric. You do nothing except from self-interested motives.’ As he finished speaking he turned away and began scrutinizing a document from among those on the sideboard.

  ‘Have you any evidence for that assertion?’ I demanded indignantly, feeling myself strangely moved to defend the man.

  ‘The record of your previous conduct,’ he answered as he threw the document to one side. ‘You are a greedy, ambitious man of modest capacity who has advanced by fawning upon those in power while lording it over those under you. You plundered the Foundation and misappropriated the college’s endowments.’

  ‘I deny it. I took the property into my own possession to save it from being confiscated by your Parliamentarian friends.’

  ‘Pshaw! If you really believe that, it only shows how easy you find it to justify to yourself your worst acts, and that’s proof of your profound dishonesty. Are you saying you have never had a shameful, ambitious, self-aggrandizing thought? That you never wanted to steal something that was not your own?’ He gazed at me with extreme intensity and I was unsure if he was acting or really accusing me. Could he read my mind? At the memory of the temptation I had grappled with earlier that afternoon I felt my colour rise.

  ‘I ... No.’

  ‘You claim the privilege of your cloth and yet you conspired to murder William Burgoyne in order to remove a rival for the deanship. For that alone, I could have you tried and hanged and nobody in the town would shed a tear for you.’

  ‘I did not plot his death.’

  ‘Are you saying you did not long for his destruction?’

  ‘Yes, I hated him. I hated him because with all his unfair advantages, he was going to become Dean instead of me. And I hated him because he was cleverer than I!’ I started. What had made me say that?

  ‘If you insist on killing all those who are cleverer than you, you will be fully employed.’

  Before I could defend myself, my host, still speaking as the young officer, said: ‘It turns out, however, that I have miscalculated. The townspeople are incensed by this treatment of the man whom they have adopted as their figurehead, however much they despise him personally. And so later the same day an angry mob comes to the Close to try to rescue him. Again I have to order my men to fire and this time several people are injured. I realize that the townspeople will organize another and larger attack, and that my men will be overwhelmed. Now, sir, I ask you, what can I do?’

  ‘I admit that you are in a difficult dilemma. What did you do?’

  ‘What I need to do is to find a way of removing the Dean, but to do it in a way that discredits him in the eyes of his fellow-citizens. I know that he is scorned by them for his greed and venality, and suspected of something even worse in the Burgoyne affair. I need to remind them of that. In some way I have to separate the public Freeth, who is a symbol of opposition, from the private man who is despised. He has to be publicly exposed to shame for the things he is known to have a weakness for. I know that Hollingrake, the Treasurer, is resentful towards him because of some history of past collaboration which has soured. A former ally – like a former lover – is always the most bitter and therefore the readiest for revenge. I have him brought to me privily. Mr Treasurer,’ he suddenly said to Austin who started. ‘You do perceive how Freeth’s actions are endangering the whole Foundation? In his lust for office and wealth he is likely to bring down the wrath of Parliament upon the heads of all of you.’

  Rather to my relief, Austin merely gazed back open-mouthed at the old gentleman. I was acquitting myself better than he. ‘Oh surely,’ I protested. ‘You’re not suggesting that Hollingrake was implicated?’

  He kept his gaze on Austin: ‘The Cathedral and all its charitable works are being recklessly staked by this gamester, this man without scruple who has robbed his own family.’

  Austin stared back at our host with naked terror in his face and I began to wonder if he was, after all, performing better than me. And what was the meaning of the reference to Freeth robbing his own family? I knew nothing of that.

  ‘I ask you to help me deal with this man.’

  ‘You’re suggesting there was a plot?’ I exclaimed.

  Our elderly host turned his cold, youthful gaze on me: ‘The situation justifies it. This is a town in the middle of a civil war with the danger of the death of many people if I lose command of public order. And the loss of the town for the Parliamentary cause. In such circumstances it is permissible to take a single life.’

  I shuddered at how cold-bloodedly he uttered these chilling words.

  ‘But that principle, once conceded, could be extended indefinitely,’ I protested. ‘There are always ways of justifying the death of an individual for the sake of the many.’

  ‘And sometimes that is right,’ the old man said calmly.

  I was astonished by this remark. He seemed to realize what effect his statement had had upon me.

  ‘Leading safe, comfortable lives at the end of the nineteenth century it is probably hard to imagine having to act as decisively as that,’ he said. ‘If you had been in the situation in which the young officer found himself, Dr Courtine, would you have let events take their course and lost the town for your own side? Or would you have rolled the dice and risked everything?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘To dare all like that, that is the incomparably great adventure of life. That is how one knows one is alive. Otherwise one is dead without being buried.’

  As he spoke those words he kept his gaze fixed on Austin who now nodded slowly.

  ‘Did Hollingrake realize what he was being invited to participate in?’ I asked.

  The old gentleman turned and stared at me in delight as if I had invented a new twist to the game. Then he swung round to address my friend: ‘What do you say, Fickling? You’re playing him so you should understand him better than Courtine and I. Did you know that what you were getting involved in would result in a man being butchered?’

  Austin replied in a leaden voice: ‘Yes, I did know. Though I somehow made myself not know it.’

  ‘Then play the part you’ve undertaken, man!’ The old man growled. Then in an instant he became the young officer again and said contemptuously: ‘Just
do what I tell you and you need have nothing to do with the deed itself.’

  Austin stared at him like a rabbit before a snake.

  ‘One way or another,’ the young officer continued, ‘his account must be closed.’

  ‘His account must be closed,’ I repeated, and glanced at Austin who was still gazing at his tormentor. ‘That is a curious phrase.’

  Slowly Austin nodded his head.

  ‘What is the plot?’ I demanded. They both turned to look at me.

  ‘Oh no,’ the old gentleman cried. ‘You’re to be kept in the dark for the moment. But I promise you, you’re going to find out very soon!’

  At that moment the big grandfather clock in the corner of the room made a noise as if it were clearing its throat and then ponderously struck the first quarter.

  Our host looked at Austin.

  ‘Can that be right?’ Austin exclaimed and pulled out his watch.

  ‘No, that clock is fast,’ Mr Stonex said. ‘I don’t know why, for all the other clocks in the house keep time well.’

  Austin turned to me: ‘What time do you believe it is?’

  I took out my timepiece: ‘A minute or two before five.’

  ‘That’s what my watch says.’ He turned to the old gentleman. ‘I’m anxious not to miss the whole of Evensong. Courtine has not heard the organ and this will be his last chance since it’s to be out of commission from tonight.’

  ‘Then you may leave at half-past five and still catch the end of it,’ our host said. Then he raised a hand and lowered his voice. ‘It’s now half-past ten on the fatal morning. I’m the kitchen-boy.’ At those words he seemed to shrink, to become even younger than the officer he had just been playing, and into his eyes came a look of frightened simplicity. He suddenly hammered on the table so that the crockery jumped. ‘Without warning there is a thundering at the street-door.’ As the servant-boy, he started at the noise and then made his way timidly towards the door.