Unable to sleep and with a myriad of fears of what could possibly be happening to her husband, out on such an errand and with bugaboos inhabiting those rocks, Sarah came downstairs to keep the fire burning in the grate and a candle to welcome him home. Still adorned in her flannelette night dress and bed-socks, she wrapped her thick woollen shawl around her shoulders. The room was warm enough as she sat in her rocker before the fire but the trepidation that she felt made her draw the shawl ever tighter around her. Her senses were beginning to dull with the onset of tiredness as she rocked to and fro when suddenly she heard voices outside. Still unsure and somewhat afraid following Ruth’s brush with the vagrant that had called himself ‘Joseph’, she was reluctant to unlock and open the door and she peered warily from behind the curtain. It was only when she identified Amos’s voice that she threw back the bolts. At the sight of Jim she was somewhat embarrassed that he should see her in night attire, her modesty compromised, but such thoughts quickly faded from her mind as she saw the bundle of humanity they carried. If a spectre she anticipated, this was a vision of almost parallel. The candle she carried flickered in the draught through the open door and perhaps it was a trick of the flickering light but the grotesque disfigurement of the face seemed to be heightened, and the disgusting smell, a mixture of wood smoke and fetid bodily odour, turned her stomach. Her hand across her mouth and nose to somehow block out the smell, she turned back into the room to light the oil lamps wondering what vermin or contagion he carried.
“My God, Amos, what are we going to do with him?”
“Do you recognise him? Is this Joseph?” Still almost retching, she looked again into that disfigurement and said, “I don’t know. How can I tell, his face, it’s so disfigured and he’s so filthy”.
“Well, whoever he is, he’s in a poor way. We’ve got to do somethin’ for him – clean him up an’ try to get him warmed through. He needs somethin’ inside him. I’m no doctor but by the looks of him he’s goin’ down with pneumonia”, interjected Jim.
“Let’s get him in front of the fire. Sarah, we’re going to have to bathe him to get rid of this filth. Can you heat some water? and I’ll bring the bath tub in. We’ll have to strip these old rags off him and I’ll find him some of my old clothes – they’ll probably be too big but anything’s better than what he’s got”.
“I wish Mabel was ‘ere. She’d know what to give him to bring him round”, said Jim almost to himself, but Sarah overheard and said,
“I remember when Amos nearly lost his life in the blizzard, I made a potion, now, what was it? – the juice of a lemon, a goodly pinch of ginger, some black pepper and just a taste of salt, all mixed into hot milk with a good drop of brandy, to be sipped having first consumed three whole pepper corns”. She began to gather the ingredients.
Water was heated for the bath and the two men began to strip the rags from Joseph whilst Sarah averted her eyes and concentrated upon the concoction. She also put some goose grease to warm whilst she delved into her chest of medicines and found a small brown fluted glass bottle marked ‘Bezoar’. She uncorked the stopper to find that the sediment had settled so she replaced the stopper and shook the bottle vigorously until all the sediment had dispersed. As she poured out a spoonful, Jim asked,
“Whatever’s that?”
“It’s just an old remedy for poisons and the like. I believe it’s something taken from the stomach of animals”.
“He’s not been poisoned”.
“We don’t know that do we? Maybe he’s poisoned by the drink. Better be safe than sorry”.
“You knows best missus”, said Jim as he tilted Joseph’s head back and Sarah poured the medicine between his lips. Joseph, despite appearing to be unaware of what was happening to him, gave an involuntary cough and his facial reaction said all that was necessary about the taste. Sarah returned to her task of heating water and preparing the concoction, modestly turning her back on the now naked Joseph whilst the two men took soap and flannel to him.
“Look ‘ere Amos. See, his back’s covered with scars. He’s had a damn good whippin’ at some time in his life.”
“Poor devil”, remarked Amos.
Amos soaped the silver grey hair and poured a jug of lovely warm water over his head to rinse the suds away, being most gentle and extremely careful about his face. The cord about his neck he lifted over Joseph’s head and briefly looked on the silver locket that hung there but made no remark and put it aside. His pathetically under-nourished body seemed to be all skin and bone; ribs that could all be counted and hip bones that stuck out almost as though they would protrude through his skin. He continued to cough so much that Amos was concerned that this condition could be ‘The King’s Evil’, the consumptive disease which would explain the wasting of his body. Perhaps it wasn’t pneumonia at all.
They towelled him dry and dressed him in Amos’s old clothes and soon the disgusting form was transformed into something almost human again.
Whilst Jim assisted Sarah to feed the peppercorns and the potion to Joseph, Amos took a lantern and prepared the vardo for their guest. The old stove soon sprang to life again with wood from the old apple tree, giving a beautifully sweet aroma to his old home. Blankets were laid in the old cot and it all brought back sweet memories to him. Joseph, who’d shown no resistance to all that was happening to him, had only made moaning noises and loud, harsh coughing throughout but it seemed that warmth was eventually returning to his body and the shivering had significantly subsided. He was soon installed in his cot inside the vardo, wrapped up warm and resting peacefully.
Back inside the cottage, Sarah took the distasteful old rags that were once Joseph’s clothes, and threw them outside for burning. Whilst she emptied the bath water Amos and Jim returned to the house.
“It’s two o’clock, will you stay ‘till morning, Jim”, asked Sarah.
“Yes, I will if it’s no inconvenience to you. I can get my head down on yon settle. I’ll be off at first light and I should be back home afore the first stage”.
“I’ll unsaddle the horses, put them in the field and bring the saddles inside where they’re safe”, said Amos, as he went through the door.
Amos had slept only fitfully and had twice been to check on Joseph who seemed to be resting peacefully. He’d prepared a breakfast of sliced ham with eggs that filled Jim before he set off home. The morning seemed pleasant enough but the orange-red hew was enough to make Jim remark, “Red sky of a mornin’ – be a shepherd’s warnin’. I’ll get off because I can smell the rain in the air”.
“Well, thanks, Jim. I’m most grateful to you. I just hope Mabel’s sympathetic to the fact you’ve been out all night”.
“Not a snowball’s chance in Hades”, laughed Jim.
Amos returned to the breakfast table where he sat examining the silver locket belonging to Joseph that he’d somehow neglected to return to him after his bath. It was a simple, plain, oval locket with a minimal amount of filigree around the outer edge. He pressed his thumb nail into the edge and the locket sprang open. There was no photograph, just a lock of auburn hair and a brief inscription, “My heart is yours. M.” and on the opposite side were just the hall marks and a maker’s name ‘Aaron & Levi Rosenberg, Silversmiths, London’. He snapped the locket shut and put it in his pocket.
Once more he ventured to the vardo and was pleased to see that although Joseph was still recumbent and wrapped tightly in his blankets his one eye was open.
“Hello my friend. How are you feeling this morning?” asked Amos, but Joseph looked at him with a strange detached look and made no reply. His deep chesty cough hadn’t eased.
“You’re safe here, Joseph. There’s no need to feel afraid, you can stay here and no-one will know”, said Amos but the invalid simply made a whimpering sound and covered his head with the blanket. It was plain he was still extremely weak and very much afraid so Amos tended the stove with more logs and then left. His mind was still deeply troubled by this individual despite the compassion he felt for him in his sickness, and his thoughts returned to the locket. He asked himself, “If, indeed, this is Joseph, then why would he be keeping a locket close to his heart that was inscribed with the letter ‘M’ if he was so devoted to his memory of Sarah and her child? and where on earth did auburn hair fit into the story?” He strode out for the inn and Master Carew as he continued to puzzle over the affair; it just didn’t fit.
“Master Matthew, events have moved apace since last we spoke. We found Joseph in a cave beneath the Roaches some distance from here. I’m afraid he’s extremely ill – most probably pneumonia but there may be complications with consumption. We’ve installed him in the vardo in my garden. It’s warm and dry and we’ve made him as comfortable as we can but although we’ve given him a potion and rubbed him well with warm goose grease, he really needs a doctor”.
“You promised you’d call me if and when the search began for him”.
“Yes, I apologise, but my friend and I had an idea about the cave and we took the opportunity to visit there whilst it presented itself, but that’s not the issue – he’s ill and we must decide, do we call a doctor or not. You’ve made great stress of the fact that he’s a fugitive in fear for his life so it must be your decision to call a doctor”.
“If I could contact father he’d know someone reliable but, the fact is I can’t, so, what other options do we have?”
“I hardly feel we’ve any options at all. There’s a doctor in Leeke who’ll attend him for payment, so that’s no problem. It just appears to be a question of trust. Does his Hippocratic Oath seal his lips, or will money buy his silence? We don’t know him nor can we judge his character. What are we to do?” asked Amos.
“Are you convinced that he needs a physician, will not good old-fashioned remedies bring him back to rude health?”
“I’m afraid old-fashioned remedies won’t cure his consumption. You must come and see him for yourself”.
“Very well Mr. Carlisle, I’ll come with you, now,” agreed Mathew.
At the vardo Matthew appeared apprehensive as he opened the door, as if not quite knowing what to expect. The last time he’d seen Joseph had been in the company of his father in a dark recess of the stables at the inn and he realised that he hadn’t really taken notice of his condition. Thinking back about that meeting, yes, Joseph had coughed but it had never entered his head that it could be anything more than a summer cold. He was certainly dishevelled and had an unpleasant bodily smell about him, but again it had never seemed to be of any significance because he’d seen so many of the ‘great unwashed’, as he termed the unfortunates of this world who roamed the streets, begging for subsistence, that he hadn’t thought anything of it. Let’s face it, washing was considered by many to be debilitating – washing away the natural oils of the skin. Anyway, why would he be concerned about him when most probably the distasteful smells of the stable would have been overpowering?
As he stepped inside the door the atmosphere in this enclosed space, with a stove throwing out considerable heat, was quite intolerable to him; the dryness of the air was only humidified by a bowl of water imbued with oil of lavender. Matthew nervously fingered the vinaigrette in his pocket and then dabbed at his perspiration with his silk ‘kerchief, wondering if this airless box on wheels carried any foul odour that might do him harm.
Joseph lay in just a cotton night-shift, the blankets all discarded on the floor by his cot. Beads of perspiration stood out on his brow but Amos noticed that his delirium was not as pronounced. He didn’t show the abject fear that he’d shown earlier, and he thought that perhaps he’d recognised Matthew as a friend. The coughing began again, Joseph’s whole body shook and his face began to take on a purple hue with the effort. Matthew spoke soothingly to him but refrained from touch or close contact as though afraid of the consequences.
“Hello, Joseph. You must stay here and allow these good people to help you. I’m afraid that father has had to travel to London but I shall stay until you’re showing signs of improvement”. Whether Joseph comprehended what Matthew was saying to him is uncertain, the only reaction seemed to be more coughing, so Matthew followed Amos out into the fresh air and was conscious of himself breathing deep to overcome his own nauseous feelings.
“I agree. We must bring a physician to tend him, his condition is much more serious than I thought. How do we contact this doctor?”
“I must ride into Leeke for him and trust that he’s not about his ministrations to the sick or, more likely, still suffering himself from a night in some ale house”, answered Amos.
Matthew followed Amos into the cottage where Sarah was preparing gruel for Joseph. “It’s difficult to get anything into him, gruel is probably the only food he can take and then only a mouthful or two”, she said. Little Beth was playing happily on the floor, and as Ruth entered the room she was clearly surprised to see Matthew and immediately began to feel the burning sensation in her cheeks as a blush coloured her face. Before she’d chance to speak, Matthew turned to her and said,
“Good morning, Miss Ruth”, and casting a furtive glance towards Amos, continued, “How pleasant to see you again. I sincerely hope you’ve recovered from your upset concerning that unfortunate business of Joseph’s visit that frightened you”.
Ruth was flustered and seemed almost lost for words for a moment and then replied, a little embarrassed,
“Yes, Sir. It’s most kind of you to ask”. Amos and Sarah looked at each other with that knowing look but remained silent.
“Does it concern you that Joseph’s here, in the caravan? I wouldn’t wish that you should have any fear of him”.
“No, I’m not afraid of him, at least not in quite the same way now that I’ve seen how ill he is. It was the surprise of finding a stranger, and so disfigured, that frightened me”.
“I feel a little uncomfortable that you’re burdened in this manner. It’s a difficult situation we all find ourselves in, but doubly so for your family, Thank you for helping Joseph in this way”, then turning directly to Amos, he said, “Now I must return to the inn to write an urgent letter to father. He must be told of the developments, so can I rely on you, Sir, to fetch the physician. If there is any problem regarding payment I’m sure father would wish to assist”.
“You can be assured, Master Matthew, that we’d feel it our obligation, our moral duty, to assist anyone in such dire need, whoever they were. I’m not a church-going, God fearing man, but a Christian non-the-less, and I’m sure you’re familiar with the parable of the Good Samaritan; well, we have our principals too. As for Doctor Broad, be assured that I shall bring him here with all speed and you needn’t concern yourself about payment for his renditions”.
“Well, thank you, Sir. May I call on you again tomorrow to see how Joseph does?”
“Of course, it’ll be our pleasure”.
As Matthew disappeared down the garden path Sarah whispered in Amos’s ear, “I think his desire is as much to see Ruth again as it is to see how Joseph fares. I believe we need to watch him closely”. Amos shook his head with something of a rueful, or concerned, expression on his face and said, “Come, I’ve something to show you”, and they sat together on the settle and Amos brought the locket from his pocket.
“Have you seen this before?”
“Yes, I saw it last night when you took it from Joseph as you bathed him”.
“No. I didn’t mean last night. I was actually asking, have you seen this locket before in the past – for instance when you were a maid in the Craven family household or did Joseph wear it then?”
“No, I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve ever seen it before”.
Amos opened the locket and showed her the lock of hair,
“Auburn hair. Who had auburn hair in the family?”
“No-one that I can remember. Most of them had a light, mousey coloured hair and Joseph’s was the colour of ripe corn”.
“Does the initial ‘M’ hold any significance for you?”
“No. None that I can think of”, and in her mind she tried to recall all the members of Joseph’s family and none carried the initial ‘M’ or had auburn hair.
“The mystery deepens”, said Amos as he closely studied the inscription and the silversmith’s name in the locket. “It’s strange, don’t you think, that he wears this around his neck? If he really is the real Joseph with such strong concerns for both you and Ruth, why does he have a locket that’s inscribed with the initial ‘M’, which contains a lock of auburn hair?”
“It’s certainly a puzzle but there’s no accounting for what some people become attached to. He’ll probably have a quite reasonable explanation but as far as I can remember there’s no-one in the Craven family that it’s likely to have belonged to”.
“Hmm, well, when he’s a little better I shall certainly ask him, or perhaps, better still, have someone make enquiries of these silver-smiths, Aaron and Levi Rosenberg, London. Perhaps they could tell us whose locket this is”, said Amos snapping the locket closed and replacing it in his pocket.