Chapter 48
Lydia put her head out of the carriage and breathed in the salty air. She had never seen the sea before, and now it stretched out before her like a great azure carpet, fringed by the cream and gold shingle of the shore. A dozen or so fishing boats bobbed on choppy waters a few hundred feet out as seagulls whooped and called above. In the distance great cliffs of chalk rose from the beach, while up ahead the twin towers of a church poked over the horizon.
“Reculver,” said Carrington, following Lydia’s gaze. “We shall soon be in Margate.”
“Yes.” Lydia nodded and slipped her gloved hand into Emily’s. The maid was sitting beside her and had remained silent throughout the journey. “We shall watch from the cliff top,” she said. “Mr. O’Shea has made all the arrangements with the fishermen.”
Less than two hours later they were in Margate and had stopped by the wooden pier. Lydia surveyed the scene, scanning for Thomas. Her efforts were in vain. A few fishing boats were in port, but most were out at sea. There were hoys, too, loading and unloading cargo. Donkeys waited patiently with great panniers on their backs, flicking troublesome flies from their eyes with jerks of their heads. Horses pulled carts and wagons laden with barrels of fish to take to London. There was noise, shouts from the fishermen and the dockers, and gulls, circling overhead. But of Dr. Silkstone there was no sign.
O’Shea halted the cart by one of the hoys and climbed down to talk to a stocky man on board. Lydia saw him nod and call some of his men over. They lowered a gangplank so that O’Shea could board. He gestured over to his gang. There were nods and handshakes and the others returned to the coffin.
“This be the vessel, your ladyship,” said O’Shea to Lydia.
“But Dr. Silkstone is not here yet. Can we wait?” She was growing increasingly anxious.
“The tide waits for no one, ma’am. The skipper says we need to leave port in the next hour, or we’ll lose another day.”
“Very well,” she said reluctantly. “We shall drive up to the headland and watch you discharge the coffin from there.”
Lovelock drove them east up a steep track that led to the cliffs that stood sentinel over the vast sweep of the bay. All the time Lydia was looking out of the window, watching for Thomas, but as the road rose, the people below became as small as black pebbles on the seashore. Even if he had been there, she would not have been able to distinguish him from the others below. She could, however, discern the hoy as it left the port, making its slow and solemn progress with its precious cargo. She wrapped her shawl around her. The sea breeze was stronger the higher they rose. She saw Emily shiver, not from cold, she suspected, but with the thought of seeing Charles’s body consigned to the depths.
“ ’Tis what he dearly wanted,” comforted Lydia.
“Aye,” replied the maid. “But ’tis a sad thing that it had to come to this.”
Lydia knew exactly what she meant.
When they reached the crest of the hill, all three of them alighted. Lydia had brought her prayer book with her, the same one that she had consulted in her darkest hour at Boughton. She had chosen a few words of commendation and had hoped that Thomas would be able to read them as Charles was lowered into the sea. In his absence, she would have to ask Carrington, she told herself.
As they stood on the cliff top, the wind whipping around their faces, they could still make out the hoy, struggling to leave the shelter of the port. Although the tide was with it, the wind was blowing onshore, pushing against the vessel as it attempted to make headway, like some great, unseen hand. Lydia had brought a telescope with her and was watching the mariners on board trim the sail to the prevailing wind.
After a few minutes, however, they began to make progress and were soon rounding the foreland and heading out to sea. So preoccupied were Lydia, Carrington, and Emily with the spectacle that they did not notice a lone horseman galloping up the track until he came to an abrupt stop just a few feet away.
“Dr. Silkstone!” cried Lydia as she saw the doctor dismount and hurry over to her.
“Thank goodness I have found you,” he panted. He was relieved to see that Carrington did not seem to have done anything untoward in his absence. His accusations would have to wait until after the interment. “I am in time?” he said.
“Yes. The vessel will be in the right position soon,” replied an unsuspecting Carrington.
“Twenty fathoms out,” said Thomas, repeating Charles’s instructions. He had even heard a rumor on his travels that there were those with diving bells who would seek to haul the giant’s coffin to the surface.
Lydia handed Emily the telescope. “Here,” she said. The servant had never held such an instrument before, but with help, she put it to her eye and was able to focus. “Tell us when it is time,” she instructed.
Next she handed Thomas the prayer book. “Could you read a psalm for Mr. Byrne, please?”
The doctor took the psalter and opened it at a marked page. Through the telescope Emily could see the men were heaving the coffin into position on thick linen straps.
“It is time,” she said.
Thomas turned his face to the sea and read: Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day; Nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday. A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.
They stood in silence for a few more moments, saying their wordless farewells, as they watched the great coffin plunge into the sea, safe from the clawing hands and sharp knives that had hounded Charles ever since he had come to London.
“He is safe now,” said Lydia to Emily. The maid crossed herself and nodded, wiping away the tears that streamed from her eyes. As the two women began to walk back to the carriage, Thomas took the opportunity to confront Carrington.
“I have spoken with Hunter,” he said. His expression gave nothing away.
The young student looked uncomfortable and let out a nervous laugh. “And he denied any wrongdoing, of course.”
“Not only did he deny murder, he accused you of the killing as a way of revenge for the death of your father. You wanted Hunter disgraced, did you not?” Thomas’s voice remained calm, but his thrust was cutting.
Carrington’s expression changed. “Of course I want him disgraced. Any surgeon, any physician, any anatomist worth an iota of respect wants him disgraced, Dr. Silkstone.”
“So you do not deny putting the castrato’s larynx in the storeroom to implicate Hunter?”
The student stiffened, as if proud of himself. “I do not deny it, but I did not commit the murder.”
Thomas was stunned, but he did not show it. He thought he could be confident in his accusation. He persisted.
“So how did you come by this?” he asked, walking over to his horse and pulling out the jar containing the larynx from a pannier. “You, of all people, know I can prove if it is Cappelli’s or not.”
An insolent look settled on Carrington’s face. “Save your science, Dr. Silkstone,” he sneered. “It is Cappelli’s sure enough and, yes, I put it in Hunter’s store, but I did not commit murder.”
“But you know who did?”
Carrington raised a contemptuous eyebrow. “Perhaps,” he tormented.
Thomas grew impatient. “Constables are waiting below in the port,” he said, pointing below. “They are waiting for my signal.”
Carrington let out another nervous laugh. “That was a foolish move to make, Dr. Silkstone,” he shouted, the gathering wind muffling his words. Suddenly his eyes darted to his right and he rushed forward, grabbing hold of Lydia as she was about to climb back into the carriage. Emily screamed as she watched the student take her mistress by the throat, then put his hand over her mouth. “Let me leave on my own, Dr. Silkstone, or I will take her with me.”
Thomas rushed forward, too, but Carrington only tightened his grip on Lydia’s neck. “Let her go, Carrington. It’s over. You know you cannot escape,” the doctor told him, walking slowly toward him.
“Oh, but I can,” he countered, and flinging Lydia to the ground, he jumped up onto Thomas’s horse and began kicking it violently and tugging at its rein. The crop had been left on the saddle and now he used that, too, lashing the animal ferociously. But instead of galloping off, the terrified horse reared up on its hind legs and let out a loud whinny before bolting off along the cliff top toward the town.
Thomas ran to Lydia. “Leave me, you must get after him,” she said as Emily comforted her.
“The constables are waiting for him. They will arrest him,” replied Thomas. But just as he said this, there was another whinny in the distance from the horse. Running over to the crest of the hill he could see the beast rearing up halfway down the track. It was up on its hind legs, neighing loudly as it had before. Only this time Carrington was not in the saddle.