The Indigo Ghosts

by Alys Clare

  ‘Yes,’ he murmured. He looked exhausted, and I saw the signs of long torment and strain around his eyes and mouth.

  I straightened up and looked at Elaine, now standing close to Theo; he had his arm round her, giving silent comfort. She too looked pale; it is not easy to watch with equanimity as someone stitches torn flesh.

  ‘Is it possible for the patient to stay here tonight?’ I asked. ‘He needs rest, and I will give him a draught so that he will sleep, and begin to heal, and it would be better if—’

  ‘Of course,’ Theo interrupted, and Elaine nodded her agreement.

  I knelt down beside the man once more. ‘You need to sleep,’ I said. ‘I will make a drink for you that will help.’

  He whispered, ‘I can’t pay you, Doctor.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I replied. Then, for the despair I sensed flowing out of him was growing fast, I tried to lighten the mood: ‘I’ll add a coin or two to the next rich man’s bill I present.’

  He managed a feeble smile; he was a brave man.

  Elaine fetched a mug of hot water and I mixed a sleeping potion. I helped the man raise his head and he took a few sips. Then, as the drink cooled, he finished it.

  ‘I will stay with him for a while,’ I said to Theo. Elaine had bade me good night and disappeared upstairs, but Theo was still hovering in the doorway. Jarman Hodge had also vanished, although I suspected he wasn’t far away. ‘Go to your wife, Theo.’

  ‘Very well.’ He looked relieved, but then he said, ‘Call me before you go.’

  I sat down on the floor beside my patient. He was restless still, the straw of the mattress rustling as he turned this way and that.

  ‘Is the pain still severe?’ I asked. I had put a drop or two of poppy in the potion, so his discomfort should have been easing.

  ‘It’s not so bad,’ he admitted. ‘But—’ He shut his mouth like a trap.

  ‘But you are very anxious about something, or someone,’ I finished for him. He shot me a glance, and I realized I’d guessed right. A worrying possibility struck me: ‘Was someone with you?’ I asked. ‘Were they too attacked by the dogs?’ I had a vision of a man lying in a ditch, his throat torn out; or stumbling about, gravely wounded and desperate for help yet having been overlooked by whoever found the man lying before me.

  He shook his head. ‘No. I was by myself. We– I thought to slip in, unseen, and it seemed better to go alone. Besides, it’s no task for an old man, and the wall was high …’ He gave a great yawn, his eyelids fluttering. He was on the edge of sleep, about to give in to it, but then he muttered something else.

  I leaned over him, trying to make it out.

  ‘… wasn’t right, what happened,’ he was saying, ‘not what we expected, but they misunderstood. The messenger said it would be different, or so we thought … I saw it, saw the fire and the good food, the fine gentlemen and the pretty ladies, and we were dancing … shapes in the firelight, bodies in the flames, and the serpent’s dark eyes glittering … can’t … shouldn’t have …’

  The pauses between the meaningless words were getting longer. Presently the man gave a deep sigh, turned on his side and gave himself up to sleep.

  I waited for a while, listening to his steady breathing. I put my fingers on his forehead, but he felt warm rather than hot. There was nothing more I could do for him that night.

  I stood, picked up the lantern, walked softly out of the room and quietly closed the door. Jarman Hodge materialized from wherever he had been waiting. ‘How is he?’ he asked.

  ‘Asleep.’

  He crossed to the door that opened onto the stairs up to Theo and his family’s quarters, tapping on it. ‘He’ll not want you to leave before speaking to him,’ he said, noticing me watching.

  ‘No, he said as much to me.’

  We heard footfalls on the stairs, and Theo emerged into the hall, closing the door behind him. ‘The patient’s asleep,’ I repeated before he could ask.

  ‘Good. Come in here.’ He led Jarman Hodge and me into his office.

  I put the lantern on his desk and the three of us sat down. ‘You wanted to talk to me?’ I said.

  ‘I did,’ Theo said. ‘Jarman, go on.’

  ‘Did you notice the man’s hands, Doctor Taverner?’

  ‘No, I did not, for the damage was all to his left leg. That was a violent attack,’ I went on, angry on behalf of my patient, ‘and he will suffer permanent scarring.’ Theo and Jarman were both looking expectantly at me, and all at once I understood the import of Jarman’s question.

  ‘Blue?’ I said.

  ‘Blue,’ they echoed together.

  Silently I swore at myself for my lack of observation; I who, as a physician, was trained to take in every aspect of a patient.

  ‘You had more urgent matters to attend to,’ Theo said charitably. ‘But it seems that lying asleep in my front office is another of the Falco’s blue ghosts.’

  I pictured the man, seeing his features in my mind’s eye. His skin and his hair were indicative of mixed blood, but his facial features were those of an Englishman, as were his blue eyes. On the other hand, I had not studied him all that closely; as Theo said, I’d had more important concerns.

  ‘There’s still at least one more of them out there,’ Theo went on. ‘This fellow couldn’t have squeezed through the little window at the back of the house any more than the corpse down in the cellar.’

  ‘He said we,’ I exclaimed, remembering.

  ‘What’s that?’ Theo demanded.

  ‘When I was talking with him, at one point he said we did something or other, but then he changed it quickly to I.’

  ‘Will he live?’ Theo asked bluntly.

  ‘He ought to, for the bleeding had already slowed down by the time I got to him, thanks to your wife’s good work, and that was the immediate danger to life. However, infection may well set in, in which case his prospects are not bright.’

  ‘But it may not?’ Theo persisted.

  ‘No. Some people appear to deal better with such injuries, and our man next door may be one of them.’ I was also putting my faith in Judyth’s quaint garlic remedy, but I didn’t say so. I had the feeling that my hopes said more about my feelings for Judyth than the likely efficacy of the treatment.

  ‘We need to talk to him.’ Theo rapped the desk in emphasis. ‘He’s one of the fugitives from the Falco, he and his companions endured that awful voyage in that terrible hiding place for some powerfully imperative reason, and now he and at least one other man are at large in my area. I want to know what they’re here for and how it’s come about that I have had three corpses to deal with since they came ashore and one of them is still missing!’

  His voice had risen to a shout, and it was a comment on the potency of the sleeping draft I’d administered to the injured man in the room opposite that he didn’t wake up and cry out in alarm.

  Presently Jarman Hodge stirred in his chair. ‘I’m not saying I have the answers to those questions, sir,’ he said quietly, ‘but I’ve been working on a theory of my own, and recent events have led me to believe I may not have been wasting my time.’

  Theo spun round to face him, eyebrows raised. ‘Well?’ he snapped.

  Jarman paused for a moment, then said, ‘I’ve been absent these past three days, and—’

  ‘Yes, I’d noticed,’ Theo remarked.

  ‘—and now I will tell you where I’ve been.’ He looked at me, then back at Theo. ‘I rode across the high ground to Start Point, or, to be accurate, Slapton.’

  I knew of Start Point, as does every sailor from the south west of England, for it is notorious for shipwrecks. I didn’t think I knew anything of interest concerning Slapton, however, although clearly Theo did. Glaring at Jarman, he said, ‘And what was your purpose there, or shall I hazard a guess?’

  Again he flicked his eyes briefly to me. ‘The name does not mean anything to you, Doctor?’

  ‘A long, sandy shore and a small village?’

  ‘Right, and
a pleasant place to live, which is probably why a renowned inhabitant of Plymouth has recently purchased a house there.’

  ‘You refer to Sir Richard Hawkins,’ Theo said sternly. I detected a warning in his words: Beware, for he is a powerful man.

  ‘I’m well aware of whom I speak, sir,’ Jarman murmured. ‘Son of Sir John Hawkins, sometime mayor of Plymouth, Member of Parliament, vice-admiral in the navy and knighted only last year by King James.’

  ‘I thought he resided in Plymouth?’ I said. The house, I’d heard, had been left to him in his father’s will, although there had been some sort of dispute between Sir Richard and John Hawkins’s second wife. Or so town gossip had it.

  ‘He does,’ Theo said. ‘The new residence in Slapton is more of a family home.’ Impatiently he turned back to Jarman. ‘So, Slapton?’

  ‘I had heard tell that Sir Richard has been spending time over in the new house of late, and it seemed logical that anyone having business with him might well try to seek him out there. The house is situated in a quiet spot, protected by a screen of trees and a good three-quarters of a mile from the church, so someone hoping for a few quiet words with Sir Richard might rate his chances of success more highly at Slapton than in Plymouth. Such was my thinking, anyway, although in the event I was wrong – or the talk in the town was wrong – for, apart from a couple of brief visits, Sir Richard has been in the Plymouth house for most of the autumn.’

  I looked at Theo, expecting to see him brimming with impatience at this long and apparently irrelevant preamble. But he was watching Jarman intently, his eyes alight with possibilities.

  ‘So I left Slapton as quick as you like and rode back to Plymouth, where I set myself up in an inn with a view of the Hawkins house. I observed Sir Richard’s comings and goings, I watched as a stream of visitors stepped up and knocked on his door, I noted his servants going about their daily routine. And then, tonight, I saw what I’d been hoping to see.’ He jerked his head towards the room where the injured man lay. ‘I saw him, creeping along the wall that runs along between the back yard of the house and the side alley that borders it. I saw him climb over, I heard the dogs go for him and I saw him come flying back out to safety. Not that he found that easy, with his leg torn to rags.’

  ‘Was there anyone with him?’ Theo demanded.

  ‘Thought I spotted an older man, watching from further down the alley. He must have fled when I went to the wounded man’s aid.’

  ‘And no doubt, had you managed a proper look at him, you’d have observed that he too had blue hands,’ Theo murmured.

  I said, unable to contain myself, ‘But why would a fugitive from the Falco want to speak in private with Sir Richard Hawkins? What possible business could he believe he had with a man of his wealth and station?’

  Jarman turned to me. ‘I’d have thought precisely the same thing myself, Doctor. Makes no sense, really, unless you consider where the hanged man was found.’

  We’d cut him down a mere four days ago, but it seemed much longer. He’d received his savage death by the river and close to where my friend Josiah Thorn likes to fish. ‘Buckland,’ I said slowly, trying to see the significance.

  ‘Yes. Very near to the estate that was the home of another seafaring man.’

  ‘Francis Drake,’ Theo said.

  I was cross with myself for not having made the connection. I knew full well how the great man had made a highly advantageous marriage and on the proceeds purchased the beautiful house known as Buckland Abbey. I had never been there, and when Buckland was mentioned, my mind had leapt to my old friend the retired doctor.

  ‘I should have realized that,’ I said.

  ‘Well, I dare say you’re preoccupied with your recent tending of that poor young man’s body,’ Theo said. ‘Each to his own area of expertise, Gabe.’

  It was kindly meant, but his remark made me feel worse.

  ‘So one of the fugitives goes to the house where Francis Drake lived,’ Theo was saying, ‘and … and what? Are we suggesting someone in the household shot him in the back and hung him up to drain the blood out of him?’

  ‘Hardly!’ I protested.

  ‘Who owns Buckland Abbey now, Jarman?’ Theo asked, ignoring my remark. It was interesting, I thought, how Theo was quite confident that Jarman would know.

  His confidence was warranted. ‘Sir Francis, they say, didn’t want the estate to go out of the possession of the Drake family. When he drew up his will back in the 1580s he was required by his marriage settlement to leave Buckland Abbey to his wife, but he didn’t sign the document. While he was at sea he added a codicil, by which the bulk of his estate would be left to his brother Thomas, who, unlike Sir Francis, had a son. There was a second son, although I believe he died,’ he added, ‘and there’s also a daughter.’

  ‘So Buckland Abbey is now the residence of Thomas Drake,’ I said. It was understandable, I reflected, that Sir Francis would name his brother as his heir, for the two had sailed together on the Pelican; she was the sturdy and steadfast ship who was renamed the Golden Hind and in which Drake had circumnavigated the world.

  Such a voyage must surely have intensified the already strong fraternal bond and the two of them had continued to sail together, Thomas captaining the Adventure and part of the group who sailed with Francis on his last voyage …

  Theo and Jarman were in the middle of quite a heated exchange, and I dragged myself back from my memories and returned my attention to them.

  ‘… and you suggest that the fugitives intended to visit both Sir Francis and Sir Richard?’ Theo was saying loudly. ‘But in God’s holy name, why?’

  ‘It’s more than a suggestion,’ Jarman said mildly, ‘for I saw the man in the next room climb Sir Richard’s back wall with my own eyes, and the spot on the river where the other man was strung up is only half a mile from Buckland Abbey.’

  ‘It doesn’t prove he had been there, nor that anyone there is responsible for his death!’ Theo protested. ‘The mere proximity of the house is scarcely sufficient for me to go charging up there and demand to know if some member of the household shot a runaway from the Caribbean and then drained the blood out of him!’

  ‘Of course it’s not, sir,’ Jarman said. ‘You can’t do anything on such slim evidence.’ There was a definite emphasis on the first word.

  ‘But someone else can?’ Theo was smiling.

  ‘Oh, I think so,’ Jarman said, returning the smile. He glanced at me, then addressed Theo again. ‘I plan to ride up to Buckland tomorrow morning, with your leave, sir—’

  ‘Why ask for my leave?’ Theo said grumpily. ‘You don’t usually bother.’

  ‘—and I’d take it as a favour if the doctor here would come with me.’

  ‘I shall be pleased to,’ I said. I stood up. ‘If we are to have an early start, I will leave you now and return to Rosewyke.’

  ‘Good.’ Theo was now also on his feet, and he ushered me out of his office and towards the front door. I paused to check on the injured man, but he was deeply asleep.

  I wondered if he would still be there in the morning. Unless Theo locked him in, somehow I doubted it.

  Theo and Jarman stood in the road as I rode off, but I was barely aware of them. My mind was already deeply engaged in one question: why a group of men had sneaked on board the Falco in Hispaniola, endured dire peril and unbelievable hardship and finally slipped off again at Plymouth, leaving one of their number dead and a tiny, dried-out corpse nailed up in their hiding place, apparently with the purpose of seeking out two of England’s most renowned and admired sea captains.

  What was it all about?

  The night was very cold and the darkness was profound. Hal knew his way home and needed no guidance, the countryside was deeply familiar and held no fears, and I was relaxed, happy to think I’d soon be asleep in my own bed. It’s possible that I slipped into a half-sleep, soothed by Hal’s steady pace. I thought I heard a sibilant voice, hissing softly as if someone lurking in the shadows b
eside the track was speaking to a companion but not wanting to be overheard.

  I came back to full alertness, shaking off the dream, the movement so abrupt that I almost fell out of the saddle. Encouraging Hal to a trot, then a canter, I hurried for home.

  It was very late now. I rode into my own yard and quietly saw to Hal – Samuel emerged groggy-eyed to help, but I sent him back to bed – and then went into the house. I glanced quickly into the parlour, but there was nobody there and all signs of the meal had been tidied away.

  It was a relief. I looked forward to discussing the recent turn of events with Celia, but just then all I wanted was to go to bed.

  ELEVEN

  As Jarman Hodge and I set out the next morning I asked about the wounded man.

  ‘Gone,’ Jarman said briefly.

  ‘Ah.’

  Buckland Abbey was the largest and most noticeable building for miles around. Its religious origins as a Cistercian house were evident, although the previous owner had begun turning it into a residence fit for a fine gentleman and his family and the Drakes were continuing the process. Nevertheless, the first thing to strike the eye was the vast, buttressed end wall of the chapel; the front façade of the large house next to it still looked like an abbey, to which someone had added a somewhat inharmonious tower.

  Jarman Hodge and I took up a vantage point some way away and stared at the place.

  Presently he remarked, ‘Rising ground over there, Doctor.’

  I followed the direction of his pointing arm. There was a low wooded ridge behind the house, and it was easy to imagine a man fleeing for the safety of the trees and not being quite quick enough.

  ‘We’ll have a closer look,’ I said.

  We rode round the imposing grey-stone buildings, careful to stay on the track. Had anybody spotted us – and it was almost certain that someone at Buckland had noted our presence and was keeping an eye – we were simply passers-by.

  We rode along the foot of the rise. We came to a place where trees overhung the track; their leaves were falling now and they offered little in the way of concealment, but it was better than nothing.