Chapter Twenty-eight

Avon came on an errand from Miss Teague, or he wouldn’t have been sitting in plain sight in the park just beyond the university, waiting for Davey. There he came finally, striding along the sidewalk beside the student he had helped with bones in the indigent ward. Something about the way the other student walked – maybe it was the angle of his head – seemed familiar to Avon.

Perhaps it was an overabundance of caution; more like it was the wariness born in him from his ignominious childhood. Whatever the reason, Avon eased from the bench to a spot behind a tree with significant girth, the better to see and not be seen.

Avon watched, wondering if he was losing some of his skills, stuck here in Edinburgh. He couldn’t remember where he had seen the student before. No matter. He had time, and he was patient.

He joined Davey beyond the spot where the two parted. “Who is he?” Avon asked, in lieu of a greeting.

“Edwin Hamilton. He wanted to thank me for helping him pass one of Mr. Coffin’s bones examinations. Muscles of the hands and feet are next week.” Davey’s expression turned introspective, shy almost. “He could even be a friend, p’raps.” He regarded Avon. “No skulking today?”

“Only a little. Miss Teague wanted to know where Mr. Coffin lives, so you could deliver a message.”

They walked more slowly toward Wilmer Street, now that Edwin had gone the other way. “Do you know where Mr. Coffin lives?”

Avon nodded; certainly he knew. “I followed him a week ago.”

“Why?”

Avon shrugged, not really sure why he had done that. “Just curious. It’s a modest flat on the main floor. He should close his draperies.” He grinned because he was a tidy Rat. “He doesn’t make his bed and there are books everywhere.” Should he say more? Why not? “Miss Teague could organize him in a minute.”

They both laughed. “What’s her message?” Davey asked.

“She wants to invite him to dinner tonight.”

“Let us deliver it. He wants cheering up, I think.” Davey slowed his steps and told Avon about the humiliation of the frogs. “He turned the whole disaster into a wonderful lecture on muscle power.” His frown reappeared. “Dissection Three was probably a trial for him, well, anyone with any sensibility. The professor made light of the body of a prostitute. Not a good day for our professor. I don’t know what Quakers believe, but I doubt they are debauchers.”

Avon was certain Davey knew as little about his own parentage as he did. That prostitute could have been our mother, he thought.

They crossed the park and came to a boulevard full of wagon traffic, a less cultivated area than Wilmer Street, with its stately single houses.

“I would have thought Mr. Coffin could afford more,” Davey said. “His suits are good quality and he is a gentleman.”

“He can afford more,” Avon assured him. “I told you he should keep his draperies drawn, especially since his flat is on the ground floor.”

“How did you learn that much?”

“I stole a dozen apples from a merchant and a basket, too, and told the landlord this was a delivery for Mr. Coffin, and could I leave it outside his door,” Avon said. He smiled at Davey’s amazement. “Davey, we are Gunwharf Rats. I am not dead to all reason. Once I knew which was his flat, I returned the apples and basket, with no one the wiser.”

“Avon, you will always amaze me,” Davey said. “So you either jimmied his lock or looked in his window.”

“The window. It faces the back of the house. I don’t know why he hasn’t been robbed before. There was a very fine silver hairbrush and comb in plain sight. He even leaves pounds sterling on his desk.”

“P’raps it is a Quaker sort of thing,” Davey said. “I think they are supposed to lead lives with no vanity. He probably chooses to live there.”

“That’s it. Number Five,” Avon said. Suddenly shy, he stayed back as Davey mounted the shallow steps and knocked.

Mr. Coffin came to the door in shirtsleeves and wearing slippers. “Davey, come in. I didn’t know you knew where I lived.”

“I didn’t. Avon found you.”

“And where is he?”

“Oh, around.”

To Avon’s surprise and odd gratification, Mr. Coffin stepped outside, looked to the alley, then back to the ashcans. He waved Avon over.

“I thought you wouldn’t see me, sir,” Avon said.

“I wanted to find thee,” Mr. Coffin said. “Thee needn’t skulk around me, lad, not ever. Come inside.”

The odd feeling returned. I would never have to ever skulk again, if I had a father like Mr. Coffin, he thought. His delight grew as Mr. Coffin touched his shoulder. No one ever touched him except Master Six, and of course Mrs. Six, who had at one time or other enveloped all the Rats in her generous embrace. Who else? Miss Teague, hesitantly at first when she went to their room at night and tucked the blanket higher. Now she did it with no thought, as though a touch had become second nature to her, as well. He doubted she ever touched her feral nephews.

“Gentlemen, what is thy message? Sit, if thee wishes.”

Say what you will about Mr. Coffin’s clutter, it was mostly paper clutter, and his chairs were comfortable, Avon discovered. Davey held out a note for Mr. Coffin. Avon watched Mr. Coffin’s face, pleased to see the frown line disappear. He looked from one to the other.

“Miss Teague has invited me to dinner tonight,” he told them. “I hope she won’t mind if we leave for the indigent ward directly afterward. Duty calls, Davey.” To Avon’s delight, he included him. “Avon, I need thee, as well. I have an idea.” He tapped the note. “I wonder how Miss Teague knew I wanted to visit at Wilmer Street tonight, anyway.”

“Master Six tells us Rats that women have special powers, sir,” Avon said. “You will have to meet him someday, and Mrs. Six.”

“I already have, Avon,” Mr. Coffin said, to Davey’s evident amazement. “I wanted to know thee better, Davey, and how I could help.” His glance took in Avon next. “And what did I learn but that there would be two of thee? Let’s not keep a kind lady waiting.”

Dinner was, as Mrs. Six would say, ever so more-ish. Even though they ate in the kitchen as usual, and Mrs. Perry glared at Avon when he forgot to put his napkin in his lap right away, Miss Teague seemed to sparkle. True, she was as thin as ever, but her eyes seemed somehow softer, especially as she smiled at Mr. Coffin. Avon glanced at Davey, who winced when she stated her opinion firmly on the matter of Napoleon and his machinations. To Avon’s relief, Mr. Coffin showed no disgust that a woman should have an opinion about anything. He even seemed to relish the notion. The two of them argued mildly about what the British Army should do next on the Continent, Miss Teague not giving an inch with her ideas, and Mr. Coffin holding firm with his.

If anything, they both sparkled, as if energized by good conversation, accompanied as it was by excellent food. Mrs. Perry had outdone herself. Maybe it was the softer glow of beeswax candles in silver candleholders Avon hadn’t seen before, instead of tallow candles and plain sticks. Whatever it was, Miss Teague looked almost pretty.

The magic continued as they adjourned to the sitting room. Mr. Coffin laughed when Miss Teague told him that he and Davey had her total permission to sit on the carpet. “The sitting room was always my particular plague, too,” she told their dinner guest. “I always wanted to sit on the floor, but my father, God rest him, was too proper. It is, after all, a sitting room.”

They all laughed. Mr. Coffin held up one finger and said, “I suggest we follow suit, Miss Teague,” and sat on the carpet. After a moment’s delighted silence, Miss Teague did, too, declaring, “I should have done this years ago.”

Mrs. Perry gave them all a great stare when she came into the sitting room with a tea tray. She took a look around, served tea, then joined them on the floor, when Mr. Coffin insisted. “We are equal,” he told her. “I need to talk to all of thee, for there is something afoot.”

He deferred to Miss Teague first. “If there was something particular thee needs to tell me – considering that it was thy invitation that brought me here – excuse my overreach.”

“Nothing, really,” she said. Avon watched with real appreciation as she rosied up with such a comment, and became, if only for a moment, almost lovely. “I am discovering, sir – p’raps the Gunwharf Rats are reminding me – that I like company.”

They all looked expectantly at Mr. Coffin, who addressed himself to Miss Teague. “How much does thee know about what is going on at the college?” he asked.

“I know that you have been censured for calling the dissection of a poor man to the professor’s attention, when he should have been properly buried. Then you saw to his burial.” She shuddered and rubbed her arms. “I think most of us not connected to medical education probably assume that burial would always be the case.”

“It is a rougher world than even I knew, when I joined the faculty here,” Mr. Coffin admitted. “Professor McGrath, the dissector, as much as told me that my…my – he called it insubordination – would make this my last term here. Apparently, I am not to coddle dregs of our society, even the dead ones.”

“A wretched man is Professor McGrath,” she said.

Avon heard no self-pity in Mr. Coffin’s conversation, only something that sounded more like apology. “I tried hard to be accepted here,” he said to them all. “My grades were outstanding, and I had the ear of several academicians from other august institutions, including London University, where I matriculated, who wrote glowing references. I made no errors in an oral examination the faculty administered.”

“Then you should have received the position, as you did,” Miss Teague pointed out.

“Recent events have forced me to consider my motives,” he said. It was Mr. Coffin’s turn to rosy up. “I am ashamed to admit that I was also propelled by pride, and not just the service of mankind. I wanted to be the first person in the Society of Friends to be accepted in this august center of medicine. That is vanity to a Friend.”

“Sounds like human nature to me,” Miss Teague said.

He flashed her a smile, but his eyes were bleak. “I knew that some of the bodies we dissected – all for the good of scientific education, mind you – had to have been the result of grave robbing. There are obvious signs of body snatching, and I overlooked them.” He put his hand on Avon’s shoulder. “And thee, lad, thee was so distressed that a dying man was sent to a premature death.” He looked away. “I fear I would have accepted that, too, had I not realized how much it bothered thee. I have arrived at the decision that I am not the man I should be, certainly not the Quaker. This place has changed me, and not for the better.”

“I would say you are better than most of us.” She said it so quietly, so kindly.

“That is quite the nicest thing anyone has told me in recent years,” Josiah said. He patted Avon’s shoulder. “I would say that Portsmouth’s Gunwharf Rats have found themselves a pleasant refuge at 158 Wilmer Street.”

“We have,” Davey said, his voice equally quiet. “At school, some of the students are even starting to talk to me. It’s a small thing, but it matters.”

“As it should. Miss Teague, I know that my days here are numbered, but Davey has a bright future ahead of him. What about thee, Avon, what does thee want?”

I want to stay here with Miss Teague, Avon thought, but wisely did not say. He ventured another thought even more absurd: I would stay with you, too, Mr. Coffin. Another absurdity followed. I wouldn’t skulk.

“Well?”

It was also absurd, but he could not deny it. “I would like to see justice done for Mr. Perkins.”