The Innkeeper's Daughter (38 page)

As soon as the crutches were ready and Thorp had tried them out and discovered that the red-hot pain in both leg and foot was going to be worse than he had expected, Jamie made plans to leave and arranged a lift in a waggon to the railway station.

‘Sorry you’re leaving us, Dr James,’ Sergeant Thomas said. ‘Any chance that you might come back?’

Jamie looked round the hospital ward. ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘In a way I’m sorry to leave when I know how much help is required, but I have to get back to London and find out my results and sort out various things’ – one of which would be to write to Hunter’s parents. ‘I came away in a hurry,’ he told the sergeant. ‘Never even told my family where I was going. I’ll be in hot water with my father when I do get back.’

‘Very good then, sir.’ Sergeant Thomas saluted him. ‘Been a pleasure knowing you.’

‘Likewise.’ Jamie put his hand out and shook the sergeant’s. ‘I’ll write and let you know if I’m coming back.’

The railway journey to central London was agony for the corporal; Jamie could see his fatigue and pain, but he didn’t want to give him strong medication yet, otherwise he might fall asleep. He’d given him a few grains of opium to ease the pain and then realized that he’d never get him on the train heading north that day. There was only one thing to do and that was to take him back to his own lodgings, where he hoped that his landlady had kept his room; he had told her that he would be away for only a few days.

He flagged a horse cab to take them to the lodgings and the driver asked if the corporal had been out in the Crimea. William was wearing his regulation red cloth coatee with tail flaps, with a flannel shirt beneath it and dark grey trousers, one leg of which had been cut to accommodate the splint. On his head he wore a dark blue forage cap with a blue pom-pom on the top and not the peaked shako that he said the men hated, as they were so uncomfortable. He wore only one boot as he couldn’t get the other over his septic bandaged foot, but had put it and his greatcoat in his knapsack, along with his spare boots, socks and blanket. Jamie had offered to carry the pack on his back.

‘Aye,’ William told the driver. ‘And glad to be out of it.’

‘We beat ’em though, didn’t we,’ the driver said as he urged the horse on through the traffic. ‘Marching towards Sevastopol now.’

‘God go wi’ em,’ William muttered. ‘There’ll be some bloodshed afore it’s over.’

When they reached the lodging house and Jamie and the driver helped William out, the driver tipped his forehead, shook hands with him and refused the fare. ‘My contribution to the war effort,’ he said. ‘To all our brave lads.’ He looked at Jamie for a moment. ‘Went to fetch him home, did you, sir?’

Jamie shook his head. ‘No. I’m a doctor. Tended the wounded.’

So he too was given a firm handshake, which oddly enough, he thought, since he felt he had done little, made him feel quite proud.

The landlady greeted him exuberantly. ‘I wondered where you and Dr Hunt had got to, sir; I’ve kept your rooms though I could have let them ten times over. But I knew you’d let me know if you weren’t coming back and, besides, all your things are here. I’ve kept the rooms dusted and aired and only this morning I lit a fire. There’s lots of post for you, and Dr Hunt too; where is he, do you know?’

‘First can we get this young man to a chair or bed, Mrs Whitfield? He’s badly in need of medication. Then I’ll tell you all the news, and it’s not good I’m afraid.’

William was helped upstairs to Jamie’s room and fell on to the bed, beaten by pain and exhaustion. Jamie gave him a dose of laudanum and then went down to give his landlady the news of Hunter and to ask if the corporal could stay for a day or two.

She was very shocked to hear of Hunter’s death. ‘Such a jolly young man.’ She held a handkerchief to her eyes. ‘I can’t believe it.’

Now that Jamie was back at their shared lodgings, he too comprehended more forcibly the impact of his friend’s death. Whilst working at the hospital, it had somehow seemed illusory and unreal, but now the knowledge of it was hitting him hard and he was totally downhearted and depressed.

He explained that he was escorting Thorp back home and asked if he might stay until he was fit to travel.

‘He can have Dr Hunt’s room,’ she said. ‘I’m sure he won’t – wouldn’t have minded in the least. Oh dear!’ She turned away. ‘Such news.’ She took a deep sniffing breath. ‘I’ll get you and the soldier some food, Mr Lucan, or are you Dr Lucan now?’ she said hopefully.

‘I don’t know,’ he said quietly. ‘And somehow it doesn’t seem quite as important as it once did.’

There was a pile of post waiting for Hunter and this he put
to
one side to send to Hunter’s parents along with his own letter of condolence. When they had finished their soup and he’d changed Thorp’s dressing he helped him into bed in Hunter’s room and then returned to his to glance through his own letters. One, judging from the heading on the envelope and the style of address – Dr J. Lucan – he knew would be the result of his exams and although he was keen to know how well he had done he was drawn to three envelopes addressed to him in his brother’s handwriting and another from one of his sisters, Frances or Mary. There was also another in a scrawled hand which he didn’t recognize.

He decided to open the latest letter from Felix, postmarked two days ago, rather than the two earlier ones, one of which must have arrived just after he had left for Blackwall.

It began tersely and without preamble.

James,

As you haven’t bothered to reply to either of my previous letters I am writing to tell you that you are too late. Father died two days ago in his sleep.

If you have any concern at all, the contents of his Will will be read straight after his funeral next Wednesday. There will be little enough for you or our sisters but you will be expected to attend.

Your brother,

Felix Lucan.

Jamie read the letter again before it dropped from his hand. What? How? Why? What had been the matter with his father? He had had a series of chesty coughs but nothing to indicate that he was severely ill. He got up and paced about, confused, unbelieving and bereft at his father’s death, especially coming so soon after the death of his friend.

He groaned and put his head in his hands. Then, trying to get his thoughts in order, he reached for Felix’s other letters and opened them. The first advised him that his brother was going to be married to a young woman whom Jamie wouldn’t
know
as she was from Lincolnshire, the daughter of a man with a vast amount of land which needed managing. He then mentioned quite casually that their father had agreed to sell the estate as he didn’t feel well enough himself and there would be no one to run it if he, Felix, moved away; but he would keep two of the farms to generate income for Frances and Mary until such time as they married.

The second letter, written shortly before the final one, asked Jamie to come at all speed as their father was very ill and not expected to recover. Frances and Mary were already on their way to see him for the last time.

‘How can Felix blame me for not being there, for that is how it appears to sound,’ he muttered angrily. ‘There was nothing in his earlier letter to imply that there was any urgency, only in the second one, and by then, from the sound of things, it was already too late.’

He was outraged by his brother’s accusation and devastated by the news of his father’s death.

A sudden noise brought him to his senses. It was Thorp shouting in his sleep; nightmares, Jamie thought. Who knows what torments are driving him? He went to the door of his room and encountered Mrs Whitfield coming up the stairs.

‘What’s wrong?’ The landlady’s face was creased with anxiety. ‘Is Corporal Thorp worse? Should we send for a doctor?’

‘He’s no worse, Mrs Whitfield,’ he said. ‘But the pain disturbs his sleep.’ Then he gave a slight smile, even though he felt not in the least humorous. ‘And I
am
a doctor!’

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

JAMIE DIDN’T OPEN
his other letters until just before climbing into bed at almost midnight. He had sat for some time debating the consequences of his father’s death and his brother’s marriage and wondering if the latter would be delayed in deference to his father’s passing. But he doubted that would enter Felix’s thinking. He was also concerned about his sisters. They were still young and he hoped that their aunt would continue to act as their chaperon.

He turned to his letter from the Royal College of Surgeons and discovered that he had passed his final exams with Honours; there was also a personal letter from the Principal congratulating him on his results.

He heaved out a breath. Well, that’s a hurdle over with, and I should be cock-a-hoop with joy, but I’m not; since my friend and would-be colleague and my father are dead, my world seems to have shattered.

There was yet more unfortunate news as the letter with unrecognizable handwriting was from Bob Hopkins to tell him that his brother had already given him notice in view of selling up the farm. Mrs Greenwood too it seemed had been told she would be dismissed, unless a new buyer wanted to take her on, as had Bob’s mother, who was the cook.

‘I am writing to you, Dear Sir, Mr Jamie Esquire,’ Bob had continued, ‘to ask if you are any nearer to becoming a doctor and in need of a coachman or a man about the place as I
cannot
see my way to doing anything else as hosses has been my life.’ He had signed at the bottom, ‘Your humble servant, Robert Hopkins.’

This latter was the final straw and Jamie sat on the edge of his bed and wept for the loss of his father, his friend and all his familiar childhood memories which were now shredded and blown away like chaff in the wind.

He had already consulted his Bradshaw to work out the best and quickest way home. They’d travel from King’s Cross railway station by the Great Northern line to Peterborough and York and then change trains for Hull. If his father’s funeral was on Wednesday they could travel on Monday, which this being Thursday should give Thorp sufficient time to recover and prepare for the journey. On arrival Jamie could visit Dr Birchfield and hope to stay the night with him before going on to Holderness the following day.

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.