The Angel in the Glass Read online

  Theo leapt up. ‘Wait!’ he yelled. ‘Stay and tell me more – there’s nothing to fear, and maybe I can help you …’

  He trailed off. There was no point in continuing, for the big man was already out of the front door and running away up the road.

  Returning to his office, Theo reflected that there wasn’t very much maybe about whether or not he could help the big man find his missing friend. Admittedly, one half-starved vagabond looked much like another, but when one of the species turned up dead and another came searching for a missing one, the laws of logic suggested strongly that it had to be one and the same man.

  But at least, Theo told himself, he had learned something.

  The dead man’s name was Jannie.

  And, even if he had died cold, sick and alone, there had been at least one person in this hard world who cared about him.

  That evening, after the children were abed and Theo had enjoyed a particularly toothsome supper with Elaine, the realization came to him that he wasn’t going to sleep that night unless he’d discussed the big man and his missing friend with somebody. The somebody he had in mind was Gabriel Taverner, and, for the whole day since the big man’s visit, Theo had been half-expecting to see the doctor present himself in his office.

  But he hadn’t.

  Elaine, yawning and already muttering about it being sensible to have an early night as they were both tired, was surprised, not to say quite cross, when Theo announced he was going out. When he told her he was heading for Rosewyke, she gave him a perceptive look as if to say, Of course you are, and said no more.

  The late evening air had the particular sweetness that comes after rain. As Theo rode off, he reflected to himself that he probably wouldn’t have bothered if the fierce storm that had struck earlier was still raging. A night of little sleep was preferable to a soaking.

  The sky cleared as he covered the few miles to Rosewyke. Approaching the house up the long path from the road, he was surprised to see it in darkness. Gabriel, to the best of his knowledge, was not a man to retire early to his bed.

  Theo dismounted and, trying to be quiet – no need to wake the household if the master wasn’t there – made his way to the yard at the rear. Peering over the wall, he could see right into the stables. Celia’s grey mare was in her stall, and Gabriel’s black horse was dozing in the neighbouring one. Hearing a sound from behind him, Theo turned to see Gabriel’s outdoor man standing watching him warily.

  ‘Oh, it’s you, Master Davey!’ the man said with relief when he could see Theo’s face. ‘I heard a noise and came to investigate.’

  ‘I am sorry if I woke you, er—’

  ‘Samuel,’ the man said. ‘No need for apologies, sir, I wasn’t asleep. After the doctor, were you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Samuel shook his head. ‘Then I fear you’ve had a wasted journey. He went out, and in the midst of the worst of the storm, too.’

  ‘And I don’t suppose you have any idea when he’ll be back?’

  ‘None whatsoever,’ Samuel said cheerfully.

  It was in the nature of a doctor’s profession, Theo reflected morosely as he rode home again, to be called out at night. But why, he thought tetchily, did it have to be this night?

  Theo was thinking once more about Gabriel Taverner the next morning as he sat in his office, staring grumpily out at the bright sunshine drying the puddles from the previous night’s storm. I shouldn’t have to seek the bloody man out, he said to himself. Who’s the coroner here?

  He knew his irritation was irrational, which somehow only intensified it. The doctor owed him no particular allegiance and certainly wasn’t any more bound to help him identify the dead vagrant than any other local resident. And why, Theo asked himself, did he want to see Gabriel anyway?

  To talk to him, was the only satisfactory answer.

  And then, as if the wish had summoned up the man, Symon from the outer office put his head round the door and announced that the doctor had just arrived and wondered if he could have a word.

  Theo’s immediate thought, as Gabriel came into the room, was that he looked furtive.

  ‘What can I do for you, Gabe?’ he asked, his tone deliberately neutral.

  ‘I meant to come and see you before,’ Gabriel answered, ‘only the past couple of days have been very full and I didn’t have the chance.’ He waited, but when Theo made no comment, went on, ‘I was wondering if you’ve made any progress with the identity of the dead man.’

  I have studied the scrap of paper that was folded up and tucked away inside his coat until I see that half a face in my dreams, Theo could have said, and yesterday a very large man with a strange accent called on me to ask if I’d seen his companion, and I’d wager a small stack of coins on it being our dead man he’s searching for, only he ran away before I learned nearly enough.

  But he just said shortly, ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Oh!’ Gabriel was looking at him doubtfully. Then he said, ‘Is anything the matter, Theo?’

  ‘I called on you late yesterday evening, after the storm,’ Theo said. ‘You weren’t there.’ Good God, he thought, angry with himself, I sound like some love-lorn suitor lurking round his beloved’s door for a sight of her. ‘No doubt you were summoned to attend a patient,’ he added brusquely.

  ‘I had indeed been called out,’ Gabriel said calmly, ‘only not to anyone needing my medical skills.’ He smiled briefly. ‘Jonathan Carew required my help.’

  Theo stared at him. He had the strongest sense that there was a lot more to the matter, but that Gabriel was intending to keep it to himself. And why shouldn’t he? he thought.

  All the same …

  ‘Was this help that was needed anything to do with our dead man?’ he asked.

  Gabriel shook his head. ‘As far as I can tell, nothing whatsoever.’ He paused. ‘It was something that clearly affects Jonathan deeply, although he did not explain why.’

  Theo didn’t answer. Gabriel put up with the silence for a few moments, then his expression darkened. Approaching Theo’s desk, he leaned down, resting his hands on it. ‘Theo, I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you called, and also that I don’t feel any obligation to explain my whereabouts to you on what was a private matter and nothing to do with you, either personally or professionally. But I’m here now, I’ve come to offer any help I can, so will you stop looking at me so suspiciously and tell me if you’ve any news?’

  Theo stared up at him. Gabriel was a big man, as tall as himself but not as broad, and there was, as he’d thought before, something dangerous about him. Out of nowhere came a memory of the events of the previous year, when Theo had been quite certain there was more to what had happened than he’d been told; than he was ever going to be told …

  Nothing but speculation, he told himself.

  ‘It is possible that we now have a Christian name for our dead man,’ he said.

  And briefly, crossly, he told Gabriel about the big man’s visit.

  EIGHT

  I was still thinking about Theo’s reticent visitor as I rode on my way. As Theo had pointed out, the obvious conclusion was that the huge man had been asking about the dead vagrant. The obvious conclusion, although not necessarily the correct one.

  With some effort, I turned my mind to other matters.

  I was on my way to visit a patient who lived a mile or so beyond Rogeus Haydon’s farm, on the road out to the moors. She was an elderly woman, and she’d been attacked by someone hiding behind her henhouse when she had gone out the previous day to collect the eggs. I’d visited her already and she wasn’t badly hurt. She’d been very frightened when the man, or woman, or boy – she hadn’t got much of a look at the thief – had leapt out at her, and furiously angry that he’d made off with a capful of eggs. The only damage, however, was a bruise on her shin where she’d fallen as her assailant rushed past her in his panic to escape.

  There was no real need for my second visit. The old woman’s husband was already grumbling that she had n
o right to be sitting in her kitchen with her feet up and why wasn’t she getting on with her chores? Did she expect him to do everything himself?

  ‘Yes,’ had been her answer to that. She’d caught my eye behind her husband’s back and winked at me.

  This morning, the bruise was coming out and the front of her skinny leg was mottled black and purple. ‘Pretty, isn’t it, Doctor?’ she asked with a grin.

  ‘Gorgeous,’ I agreed. I examined the leg, turning it this way and that, then laid it carefully back on the stool on which it had been supported. ‘Another day of rest,’ I pronounced, ‘and then, provided it doesn’t pain you too much, I think you might be able to return to light duties.’

  As her husband stomped off in disgust to feed the hens, the old woman whispered, ‘Thank you, Doctor.’

  Having seen my patient, I now felt free to attend to the real business that had taken me out on that particular road: Farmer Haydon’s mastiffs.

  I had believed Judyth when she said they would suffer no permanent harm from being drugged. But, having seen the rapidity with which the mandragora had stopped them in their tracks, I couldn’t stop the doubts niggling away at me. While it had been of prime importance to send them to sleep while Jonathan and I explored the dell, I certainly wished them no permanent harm. They were splendid animals and only bad-tempered and fierce because the farmer had made them so.

  I rode along the road that wound round Farmer Haydon’s acres. I slowed down, began a one-sided conversation with Hal, and even whistled a tune or two. No sign of the dogs.

  I was now approaching the track that turned off towards the farmhouse. Still no dogs. I was fearing the worse when a loud voice yelled out, ‘Oi, you!’

  I drew rein. Turning, I saw Rogeus Haydon stumbling down the track towards me. ‘Did you call?’ I said politely.

  ‘Yes I did!’ he cried. His cheeks were bright red, he was puffing hard and sweat was pouring down his face. As he ran, the flesh of his chest and belly wobbled like a jelly. ‘You wait there, I need you!’

  I waited until he had run right up to me. ‘Are you sick?’

  ‘Me? No, I’m never sick.’

  You may well be soon, I thought, if you continue to eat and drink so much that you make yourself swell like a cow in calf.

  ‘Then someone in your household needs my help?’

  A crafty look crossed his face. ‘Yes,’ he replied.

  I turned Hal’s head. ‘In that case lead on and I’ll follow you up to the house.’

  The farmhouse was set a short distance back from the road. The yard was filthy, and I tied Hal to the gatepost so that only one of us need enter it. I was about to head over to the door, standing ajar, but Haydon said, ‘Not that way.’

  Thinking that his outdoor workers probably lived in their own quarters off the yard, as indeed mine did, I let him lead me over the muck, mud and the foul, rotting straw of the yard to an enclosure on the far side.

  Haydon pushed the door aside and said, ‘What do you make of that, then, eh?’

  The two dogs looked up at their master and me. One gave a soft bark, one cowered away. They looked dazed, sleepy, and puzzled – if a dog can look puzzled – although they were without doubt alive.

  But it was not the time or the place to demonstrate my relief.

  I said, ‘I’m a physician, Farmer Haydon. My patients are human, not canine.’

  He waved a dismissive hand. ‘Ah, but it’s all one, isn’t it?’

  The answer to that was either very simple or impossibly complex. Since I didn’t have the patience for the latter, I simply said very firmly, ‘No.’

  ‘You’re here now,’ wheedled the farmer. ‘Can’t you have a quick look and tell me what’s happened to them?’

  I should have said no. Most of me wanted to say no, but then the larger dog gave a little whine, and shook its head as if mystified at its own weakness, and guilt at having caused its distress overcame me.

  I knelt down on the straw – fairly fresh and quite clean, I was relieved to find – and held out a tentative hand to the larger dog, who extended his nose to sniff it. ‘He’ll not hurt you,’ Haydon said. ‘I’m here, see, and he knows you’re no threat.’

  It was reassuring. I leaned closer and ran my hands over the dog’s huge head. I fondled his ears, and he pushed himself against me, almost knocking me off balance. He was panting now, and his tongue looked dry.

  ‘Have they been sick?’ I asked.

  ‘Not in here,’ Haydon replied. ‘Why?’

  ‘I think they’ve probably eaten something that disagreed with them,’ I said, which was as close to the real diagnosis as I was going to give. I ran my hand along the dog’s body, feeling the ribs beneath the short coat. Then, looking up at the farmer, I said shortly, ‘Your dogs don’t get enough to eat. Kept hungry, they’re far more likely to consume things best left alone.’

  ‘They need to be hungry if they’re to do their job,’ Haydon countered. But he couldn’t meet my eyes.

  I went over to the second dog and had a good look at him too. ‘You asked my advice and I’m giving it,’ I said curtly. ‘Feed your dogs properly. Keep them fed and watered – both of them need water right now – and treat them with a bit more compassion.’ Haydon gave a snort, which he quickly tried to disguise as a cough.

  It suddenly occurred to me to wonder if he knew about the removal of the panels from Foxy Dell; if, indeed, he’d even been aware they were there. Still making a pretence of examining the dogs, I said as casually as I could manage, ‘Does their presence stop trespassers as efficiently as you had hoped?’

  He gave a self-satisfied chortle. ‘Oh, yes indeed! Those lads won’t dare come back, and nor, I’ll warrant, will anyone else.’

  ‘Not even for jewels?’ I persisted. It was risky, but I had to know.

  ‘Jewels?’ Now the scathing laugh was full-blown, so much so that it prompted a coughing fit. When he had recovered, Farmer Haydon said, ‘The boys got a beating for nothing. What they found was just a couple of bits of old broken glass, and I insisted on taking them back purely to make a point. They were my property, after all, found on my land.’ He threw out his chest and thumped it. ‘Chucked them on the midden when I got home.’

  I gave the dogs a last pat, waiting until I was sure my relief wouldn’t be obvious.

  Then I got up, brushing straw from my hose and jerkin.

  ‘Are they going to be all right?’ Haydon demanded, nodding at his dogs.

  I stared at him. ‘Yes.’

  I strode back across the yard and untethered Hal, mounting and nudging him with my heels. ‘How much do I owe you?’ Haydon called after me.

  ‘Nothing,’ I said over my shoulder. ‘As I told you, I treat humans. It wouldn’t be ethical to charge for advising on the health and wellbeing’ – I stressed the word – ‘of dogs.’

  He was saying something as I rode off, possibly expressing his thanks.

  I wasn’t at all sure, however, that I’d earned them.

  It was approaching noon when I got back to Rosewyke. I was hungry, and the exertions of the previous night were catching up with me. I’d hoped to call in on Jonathan as I passed by the village, but he was neither at home nor in the church. It occurred to me that he might be avoiding me – or, more accurately, avoiding my inevitable questions, of which I had so many – but I suppressed the thought.

  Sallie served a cold spread of bread, cheese, meats and pickles, accompanied by a jug of ale, and explained the lack of a hot dish by announcing that she hadn’t had the time since she’d been busy all morning making rose water and intended to go straight back to it once Celia and I had eaten.

  ‘You’d almost think,’ Celia remarked quietly as Sallie bustled in and out, a preoccupied frown on her face, ‘that our unreasonable demand for a midday meal is something of an inconvenience.’

  I grinned. ‘Undoubtedly it is,’ I said. ‘But she does make excellent rose water.’

  When we’d finished, and Sallie had raced to
clear the table and wash the crocks, Celia and I went through into the library. It faced south-west, and the afternoon sun was pouring in. We settled in chairs set either side of the hearth, and the sweet smell of stocks and roses floated up from the arrangement Celia had placed in the empty fireplace. I felt very sleepy.

  But, just as I was starting to doze off, Celia said, ‘You were back very late last night.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said noncommittally.

  ‘And don’t tell me it was to see a patient,’ Celia went on very softly, ‘because, for one thing, I didn’t hear anybody come calling for you, and, for another, you didn’t take your bag.’

  ‘Oh.’ She had checked, then.

  ‘You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to,’ my sister went on magnanimously. ‘I just wondered, that’s all.’

  I was about to say I had no intention of telling her, but then, thinking about it, I wondered if that first reaction wasn’t perhaps too hasty.

  Because after what I’d seen last night there were so many things buzzing round in my head, and, in the absence of Jonathan, nobody with whom to discuss them.

  And Celia, I reminded myself, was no unsophisticated illiterate. Our grandmother, the redoubtable Graice Oldreive, had believed fervently that everyone should be educated, girls as well as boys, and, Celia’s and my parents being too busy to find much time for the task, had taken it upon herself to introduce my siblings and me to the wonders of the world. Celia, who had remained at home long after I’d gone away to sea, had been the main recipient of our grandmother’s teaching, our elder brother Nathaniel having also abandoned the schoolroom at around the age I did, in his case for the life of a farmer.

  Could I tell Celia about last night? It was obviously a mission that no one was meant to know about. Jonathan and I had hidden our identities under enveloping cloaks and gone out in a storm, under cover of darkness. It was hard to think of anything else we could have done to ensure nobody saw us.

  But the person I was thinking of sharing it with was Celia.