And so I followed Lower back to New College, and the warden’s lodgings, a large pile which occupied much of the western wall of the quadrangle. We were taken by the servant into the room in which Warden Woodward received guests, and found Locke already there, stretched out in conversation by the fire, as easy as if he owned the place. There was, I thought, something about the man, who could always inveigle his way into the good graces of the powerful. How it was I do not know, he was neither easy of manner nor particularly good company, and yet the assiduity of his attention to those he considered worthy of him was so great that it was irresistible. And, of course, he carefully crafted his reputation for being a man of the utmost brilliance, so that these people ended up patronising him and feeling grateful for it. In later years he went on to write books which pass for philosophy, although a cursory reading suggests that they do little but carry his bent for flattery on to the metaphysical plane, justifying why those who patronise him should have all power in their hands. I did not like Mr Locke.
His ease and self-assurance in the presence of Warden Woodward contrasted with the manner of my friend Lower, who fell into despondency when required to produce the mixture of deference and politeness required for dealing with those greater than he. Poor man; he desperately wanted favour, but had not the ability to pretend, and his awkwardness was all too frequently viewed as rudeness. Within five minutes the fact that Lower had been asked to examine Grove’s body with Locke there merely to observe had been all but forgotten; all the conversation passed between the lengthy philosopher and the warden, while Lower sat uncomfortably by the side, his humour sinking as he listened in awkward silence.
For myself, I was gladly quiet, as I did not wish to incur Woodward’s displeasure again, and it was Locke – to give him credit – who rescued me.
‘Mr Cola here was dismayed at your censure of him earlier in the day, Warden,’ he said. ‘You must remember he is a stranger in our society and knows nothing of our affairs. Whatever he said was perfectly innocent, you know.’
Woodward nodded, and looked at me. ‘Please accept my apologies, sir,’ he said. ‘But I was distraught and did not mind my words as I should have done. But I had received a complaint the previous evening, and misconstrued your meaning.’
‘What sort of complaint?’
‘Dr Grove was being considered for a living and was likely to be given the place, but a complaint was lodged yesterday evening which alleged he was of a lewd way of life, and should not be appointed.’
‘This was the Blundy girl, was it not?’ Locke asked in a wordly, disinterested fashion.
‘How do you know that?’
Locke shrugged. ‘Common knowledge in the taverns, sir. Not that that fact makes it true, of course. Might I ask where this complaint came from?’
‘It came from within the Fellowship,’ Woodward said.
‘And more particularly?’
‘More particularly it is a college matter alone.’
‘Did your complainant give any evidence for the accusation?’
‘He said that the girl in question was in Dr Grove’s room yesterday evening, and he had seen her go in. He complained lest others see her and bring our reputation into question.’
‘And was that true?’
‘I had planned to ask Dr Grove this morning.’
‘So, she was there last night, and Grove was dead this morning,’ Locke said. ‘Well, well . . .’
‘Are you suggesting she extinguished his life?’
‘Heavens, no,’ he replied. ‘But extreme physical exertion, you know, may in certain circumstances bring on a seizure, as Mr Cola here so innocently pointed out this morning. That is by far the most likely explanation. If so, then a careful examination will certainly help us. And anything more sinister seems unlikely, as Mr Lower says the girl seemed genuinely upset when she was informed of Grove’s death.’
The warden grunted. ‘Thank you for the information. Perhaps we had better proceed? I have had his body placed in the library. Where do you want to examine it?’
‘We need a large table,’ Lower said gruffly. ‘The kitchen would be best, if there are no servants around.’
Woodward went off to dismiss the kitchen staff, and we went into the next room to examine the body. When the house was deserted, we carried it across the hallway and into the domestic offices. Fortunately Grove had already been laid out and washed, so we were not delayed by that less than agreeable business.
‘I suppose we’d better begin, don’t you think?’ Lower asked, clearing the dinner plates off the kitchen table. We took off Grove’s clothes and, in the state in which God had created him, lifted him up. Then Lower got his saws, sharpened his knife and rolled up his sleeves. Woodward decided that he did not want to observe, and so left us to it. ‘I’ll get my pen if you would be so good as to shave his head,’ Lower said.
Which I willingly did, paying a visit to the closet where one of the servants kept his toiletries and fetching a razor.
‘A barber as well as a surgeon,’ Lower said as he drew the head – for his own interest only, I thought. Then he put down the paper, stood back and thought for a moment. When fully prepared, he picked up knife, hammer and saw and we all paused a moment in the prayers appropriate for those about to violate and enter God’s finest work.
‘Skin isn’t blackened, I note,’ Locke said conversationally when the moment of piety was over and Lower began carving his way through the layers of yellow fat to the rib cage. ‘Are you going to try the heart test?’
Lower nodded. ‘It will be a useful experiment. I’m not convinced by the argument that the heart of a poisoning victim cannot be consumed by fire, but we should see.’ A slight ripping sound as the layers were finally severed. ‘I do hate cutting up fat people.’
He paused a while as he opened up the midriff and held open the thick heavy flaps of fat by nailing each corner to the kitchen table.
‘The trouble is’, he continued once this was done and he had a clear view inside, ‘the book I consulted did not specify whether you were meant to dry the heart out first of all. But you see Locke’s point about the lack of blackening on the skin, do you, Cola? A sign against poisoning. On the other hand, it is livid in patches. You see? On the back and thighs? Maybe that counts. I think we must call it inconclusive. Did he throw up before he died?’
‘Very much so. Why?’
‘A pity. But I’ll have his stomach, just in case. Pass that bottle, will you?’
And he decanted in a very expert fashion a slimy, bloody, stinking froth from the stomach into a bottle. ‘Open the window will you, Cola?’ he said. ‘We don’t want to make the warden’s lodging uninhabitable.’
‘People poisoned commonly do vomit,’ I said, recalling a case in which my teacher in Padua had been allowed to poison a criminal to see the effect. The poor unfortunate had died rather unhappily; but as he had been due to have his limbs cut off and his entrails burnt before him while he was still alive, he remained until the end pathetically grateful to my master for his consideration. ‘But I believe they rarely manage to expel all of the stomach’s contents.’
Conversation ceased at this point as Lower busied himself transferring stomach, spleen, kidney and liver to his glass bottles, passing comment on all of them as he held each individual organ up for me to see before popping it into its bottle.
‘The cawl is yellower than usual,’ he said brightly, as the work slowly restored him to good humour.
‘Stomach and intestines are an odd brownish colour on the exterior. The lungs have black spots on them. Liver and spleen much discoloured and the liver looks – what would you say?’
I peered inside at the odd-shaped organ. ‘I don’t know. It rather looks as though it had been boiled to me.’
Lower chuckled. ‘So it does. So it does. Now, the bile; very fluid. Runs all over the place and a sort of dirty yellow colour. Most abnormal. Duodenum inflamed and excoriated but with no traces of natural decay. Same applies to
stomach.’
Then I saw him eyeing the corpse reflectively, as he wiped his bloody hands on his apron.
‘No more,’ I said firmly.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I do not know you well, sir, but already I recognise that look. If you are thinking of opening his skull and removing his brain, then I must beg you to desist. We are, after all, trying to establish the cause of his death; it would be quite illegitimate to go chopping bits off to perform dissections on them.’
‘And he will be on public view before the funeral, remember,’ Locke added. ‘It would be hard to disguise the fact that you had cut his skull in two. It will be bad enough making sure no one sees that his head has been shaved.’
Lower clearly considered disputing this, but eventually shrugged. ‘Keepers of my conscience,’ he said. ‘Very well, although medical knowledge may well suffer for your moral stand.’
‘Not permanently, I feel sure. Besides, we should be putting him back together again.’
And so we set to work, stuffing his cavities with strips of linen to present a good appearance, sewing him up, then bandaging the wounds in case any fluids should emerge to stain his funeral garb.
‘Never looked better, in my opinion,’ Lower said when Grove was finally dressed in his best and placed comfortably on a chair in the corner, with the bottles containing his organs lined up on the floor. Lower, I saw, was determined to have those at least. ‘Now, the final test.’
He took the man’s heart, put it in a small earthenware dish on top of the stove and poured a quarter-pint of brandy over it. Then he took a splinter of wood and lit it at the stove and thrust it into the bowl.
‘A bit like plum pudding, really,’ he said tastelessly as the brandy exploded into flames. We stood around and watched, as the liquid burnt, and then eventually spluttered out, leaving an exceptionally unpleasant odour in the air.
‘What do you think?’
I examined Dr Grove’s heart with care, then shrugged. ‘A bit charred over the surface membrane,’ I said, ‘but no one could say that it had been consumed, even partly.’
‘My conclusions as well,’ Lower said with satisfaction. ‘The first real evidence in favour of poisoning. That’s interesting.’
‘Has anybody ever tried this test on someone who has indubitably not died of poisoning?’ I asked.
Lower shook his head. ‘Not that I know of. Next time I have a corpse I’ll give it a try. Now, you see, had young Prestcott not been so selfish we could have had a comparison.’ He glanced around the kitchen. ‘I suppose we had better clear up a bit; otherwise the servants will bolt when they come in tomorrow morning.’
He set to work himself with a cloth and water. Locke, I noted, did not assist.
‘There,’ he said after many minutes’ silence in which I had tidied, he had washed and Locke had puffed on his pipe. ‘If you would call the warden, we can put Grove back. But before we do, what is our opinion?’
‘The man is dead,’ Locke said dryly.
‘How?’
‘I do not think there is enough evidence to say.’
‘Sticking your neck out as usual. Cola?’
‘I am disinclined on the evidence so far to think his death anything but natural.’
‘And you, Lower?’ Locke asked.
‘I would suggest that we reserve judgement until such time as further evidence is forthcoming.’
With a careful warning that we were not to inform anyone of the evening’s activity, lest too much scandal be excited, Warden Woodward thanked us for our help after we had presented our puny conclusions. The relief on his face – for Lower had not told him about Stahl and he clearly thought the matter was now closed – was self-evident.
Chapter Thirteen
* * *
IT IS THE custom of the English to bury their dead with as much speed as they hang them. Under normal circumstances, Dr Grove would have been interred in the cloister of New College already, but the warden had used some pretext to delay the ceremony for a full two days. Lower used the time granted him to urge Stahl to speed, while I was left at liberty due to Mr Boyle’s absence in London, which town had a greater attraction for him since his beloved sister moved there.
Most of the day I used up in attending to my patient and my experiment, and the moment I arrived, I saw with joy that both were progressing well. Mrs Blundy was not only awake and alert, she had even eaten a little thin soup. Her fever was gone, her piss had a healthy bitterness and, even more extraordinarily, there were the first signs of improvement in her wound. Little enough, to be sure, but for the first time I saw that her condition had not deteriorated.
I was delighted, and beamed at her with all the triumphant affection a physician can have for an obedient patient. ‘My dear woman,’ I said when I had finished my examination, applied some more salve and sat down on the rickety stool, ‘I do believe we may yet snatch you from the jaws of death. How do you feel?’
‘A little better, thank you, praise be to God,’ she said. ‘Not ready to go back to work yet, I fear. It is a great concern to me. Dr Lower and yourself have been more than generous, but we cannot survive without my earning money.’
‘Your daughter does not earn enough?’
‘Not to keep us out of debt, no. She has trouble with her work, for she has a reputation for being fiery and disobedient. It is so unfair; a better girl no mother ever had.’
‘She is sometimes more outspoken than a girl in her position has a right to be.’
‘No, sir. She is more outspoken than a girl in her position is allowed to be.’
There was a sudden defiance in her weak voice as she said this, although what exactly she meant was not immediately clear to me.
‘Is there a difference?’ I asked.
‘Sarah was brought up in a society of the most perfect equality between men and women; she finds it hard to accept that there are things forbidden her.’
It was difficult to resist a smirk, but I remembered she was my patient, and so humoured her; besides, I had undertaken my travels to learn, and even though this was far from being useful experience, I was broad-minded enough then to tolerate it.
‘I am sure a good husband would teach her all she needs to know on that subject,’ I said, ‘if one can be found for her.’
‘It will be difficult to find anyone she would accept.’
This time I did laugh out loud. ‘I think she should take anyone willing to have her, should she not? She has little enough to offer in return.’
‘Only herself, but that is much. I think sometimes we did not do right by her,’ she replied. ‘It has not ended as we expected. Now she is all on her own, and her parents are a burden rather than a support.’
‘Your husband is alive, then?’
‘No, sir. But the calumnies that were heaped on him bear down on her as well. I see from your face that you have heard of him.’
‘Very little, and I have learned never to believe what I hear when it is bad.’
‘In that case you are a rare man,’ she said gravely. ‘Ned was the most loving of husbands and the best of fathers who devoted his life to winning justice in a cruel world. But he is dead and I will soon be so as well.’
‘She has no resources whatsoever? No people apart from yourself?’
‘None. Ned’s family was from Lincolnshire, mine from Kent. All my people are dead, and his were dispersed when the fens were drained and they were thrown off their lands without a penny. So Sarah is quite without connections. What prospects she had were taken by slander, and she has spent the small sums she saved for her dowry on me in my illnesses. The only thing she will have from me when I die is her freedom.’
‘She’ll manage,’ I said cheerfully. ‘She is young and healthy, and in any case, you do me a great disservice. I am, after all, doing my very best to keep you alive. With some success, I must say.’
‘You must be very pleased that your treatment worked. It is strange how much I wish to live.’ br />
‘I am pleased to gratify you. I think that we may have stumbled on a remedy of unparalleled importance. It was a shame that Sarah was all that we had available. If we’d had a bit more time, we might have been able to recruit a blacksmith. Just think, if we had given you the blood of a really strong man, you might be up and about by now. But I’m afraid the spirit contained in a woman’s blood will not allow your leg to mend as rapidly. Perhaps in a week or so we could repeat the treatment . . .’
She smiled, and said that she would submit to whatever I thought necessary. And so I left, in a high state of good humour and self-regard.
I met Sarah herself, trudging through the muddy slush of the lane outside, carrying more sticks and logs for the fire. Even she I greeted with good cheer and, to my surprise, she responded warmly.
‘Your mother is doing well,’ I told her. ‘I am delighted with her.’
She smiled easily, the first time I had seen such an expression on her face. ‘God has smiled on us through you, Doctor,’ she replied. ‘I am very grateful.’
‘Think nothing of it.’ I replied, warmed by the response. ‘It was fascinating. Besides, she is not fully cured yet, you know. She is still weak; weaker than she herself knows. And I think further treatment might be useful. You must make sure she does nothing that might endanger that. I suspect you will find it difficult.’
‘I will indeed. She is much used to activity.’
Although the thaw was beginning, and the country was slowly emerging from the long dark of winter, it was still ferociously cold when the wind got up, and I shivered in the gusts of bitter air. ‘I must talk to you about these matters,’ I said. ‘Is there anywhere we could go?’
She told me there was a drinking house around the corner which had a fire and I should go there. For herself, she would build up the fire and ensure her mother was comfortable, then join me.
The place she indicated was not at all like the spacious, elegant coffee house kept by the Tillyards, nor even like the grand inns that had grown up to service the coaches; rather it was a place for the mob, and had only the fire to commend it. It was owned by an old woman who sold the ale she brewed to local customers who would come in to warm themselves. There was no one there but myself, and it was obvious it was not a room ever graced by the presence of gentlemen; I was regarded with a curiosity which was not friendly when I opened the door and walked in. None the less I sat myself by the fire and waited.