CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

JAMIE DIDN’T OPEN his other letters until just before climbing into bed at almost midnight. He had sat for some time debating the consequences of his father’s death and his brother’s marriage and wondering if the latter would be delayed in deference to his father’s passing. But he doubted that would enter Felix’s thinking. He was also concerned about his sisters. They were still young and he hoped that their aunt would continue to act as their chaperon.

He turned to his letter from the Royal College of Surgeons and discovered that he had passed his final exams with Honours; there was also a personal letter from the Principal congratulating him on his results.

He heaved out a breath. Well, that’s a hurdle over with, and I should be cock-a-hoop with joy, but I’m not; since my friend and would-be colleague and my father are dead, my world seems to have shattered.

There was yet more unfortunate news as the letter with unrecognizable handwriting was from Bob Hopkins to tell him that his brother had already given him notice in view of selling up the farm. Mrs Greenwood too it seemed had been told she would be dismissed, unless a new buyer wanted to take her on, as had Bob’s mother, who was the cook.

‘I am writing to you, Dear Sir, Mr Jamie Esquire,’ Bob had continued, ‘to ask if you are any nearer to becoming a doctor and in need of a coachman or a man about the place as I cannot see my way to doing anything else as hosses has been my life.’ He had signed at the bottom, ‘Your humble servant, Robert Hopkins.’

This latter was the final straw and Jamie sat on the edge of his bed and wept for the loss of his father, his friend and all his familiar childhood memories which were now shredded and blown away like chaff in the wind.

He had already consulted his Bradshaw to work out the best and quickest way home. They’d travel from King’s Cross railway station by the Great Northern line to Peterborough and York and then change trains for Hull. If his father’s funeral was on Wednesday they could travel on Monday, which this being Thursday should give Thorp sufficient time to recover and prepare for the journey. On arrival Jamie could visit Dr Birchfield and hope to stay the night with him before going on to Holderness the following day.

Thorp spent most of Friday in bed or resting in a chair and Jamie gave himself the task of writing to Hunter’s parents; he’d written a page describing Hunter’s attributes and their friendship before he realized that he was writing to them as Hunter and not Maugham-Hunt and referring to his friend as Hunter instead of Gerald and had to tear it up and start again. When he’d finished that, he began a letter to Felix, expressing his grief at their father’s sudden demise and asking if there had been an inquest to ascertain the cause. He also told him where he had been and that he had not received his letters until arriving back at his lodgings.

He wrote of his sisters and trusted that they were not overly distressed by the tragedy and were bearing up well and that he would be there to help comfort them at the funeral service; he then added his congratulations on Felix’s impending marriage and hoped that the bride-to-be would take the delay of her nuptials with patience and good heart. This last he wrote ironically, convinced that the marriage would go ahead as planned.

He went out later to post the letters and took a short stroll in the unseasonably warm weather. If Thorp is up to it, he thought, I might suggest a short carriage drive tomorrow, just to give him a change of scenery.

‘Oh, aye. That’d be grand,’ William said, when he asked him. ‘I don’t know London at all. First time I came was when we set off for ’Crimea, and that wasn’t really seeing London, was it?’

Jamie agreed that it wasn’t and they might as well make the most of it whilst they were there. ‘I don’t know if I’ll be back again either,’ he said. ‘We both seem to have an uncertain future in front of us.’

‘I know what I’m going to do,’ William said determinedly. ‘That’s if I heal up all right. I’m going to be a farrier. I was apprenticed to a blacksmith afore I joined ’military and I can do shoeing and smithying, especially now that I’ve had so much experience, an’ I’ve decided to go back to it.’ He pursed his lips. ‘But I might stop in Hull, rather than in ’country, seeing as all ’family are there, my ma and brothers and sisters; if there’s room for me at ’Maritime I’ll stop wi’ them and if there’s not then I’ll find a place and set up on my own. There should be plenty o’ work in a town like Hull.’

‘I wish I could be so sure of my future,’ Jamie murmured, and William expressed surprise.

‘I’d have thought you’d be well set up,’ he remarked. ‘Qualified; a professional man! Surely everybody needs a doctor at some time or other. If they can afford them, that is.’

‘You would think so, wouldn’t you, but I have to rethink my plans since my father’s death; I need money to set up a practice unless I can persuade someone to take me as an assistant.’ This was the nub of why he wanted to visit Dr Birchfield; to ask if he knew anyone who wanted a newly qualified surgeon apothecary.

The following day was a typical autumn day when they set out, bright but with a hint of the winter to come. As they approached the Thames William asked if they might stop for a minute for him to get out of the carriage, as he’d like to take a closer look at the river. ‘Tell my ma about it, you know,’ he said. ‘She’s never been to London, nor ever likely to come.’

He looked beyond the wharves at the surging rushing river. ‘Not as wide as ’Humber,’ he commented, ‘but a grand sight.’ Ferry boats, ocean-going ships with creaking sighing sails, clanking paddle steamers churning up the water and coal-carrying tugs filled the waterway. ‘All that shipping! Bet some of it comes up our way; you know, to Hull and Hedon Haven.’

‘It does,’ Jamie agreed. ‘And it comes in from all over the world. The Thames is London’s commercial highway; a lot of freight is being carried by railway now, but it surely won’t ever take over river traffic.’

They continued their journey and Jamie pointed out the Westminster Hospital, opposite Westminster Abbey, where he had done his medical training. He told William that it had been built about twenty years ago to replace a much older building.

‘It has plumbed water closets on each ward,’ he said, and then laughed. ‘You wouldn’t believe the stink from them! In a hospital of all places!’

The driver took them along different routes to see the sights, including Buckingham Palace, and when he slowed up he called down that the queen wasn’t in residence, having gone with her family to Balmoral in Scotland.

‘No use calling in for tea then,’ William joked.

They drove down the narrow streets towards Covent Garden, which smelled of fruit and flowers intermingled with hay and horse dung but was empty of porters and barrows as it was now early afternoon.

‘There are theatres in this area,’ Jamie said. ‘I used to go occasionally when I could afford it.’

‘That’d be good.’ William leaned forward to look closer from the cab window. ‘Would you fancy that, doctor? My treat. I’ve got my back pay and you’ve been generous towards me.’

‘Are you up to it?’ Jamie said, and when William said he was he thought that seeing something jolly or listening to music might lift the malaise that was hovering over him. ‘We could go to a matinee.’

He called up to the driver to ask him if he had heard of a good performance anywhere.

‘Best try Drury Lane, sir,’ the driver called back. ‘It’s as good as anywhere and they ’ave musicals as well as straight plays.’

‘Shall we give that a try?’ Jamie asked William, who agreed that they should, so the driver about-turned and headed towards Drury Lane.

Jamie got out of the cab to look at a theatre poster which was advertising a melodrama. ‘What do you think?’ he asked William and they both shook their heads. They needed to be entertained.

‘If I drop you ’ere,’ the driver suggested, ‘and if soldier can walk a little way round the corner, there’s a theatre – well, it’s a tavern really – that does burlesque and singing; that’ll cheer the young chap up no end. You can come and go as you please. Say I leave you for an hour an’ then come back for you?’

Jamie raised his eyebrows. William should choose; it was his treat after all.

‘Yeh!’ William stood up carefully. ‘That sounds just the ticket.’

It was a small insignificant tavern from the outside and they would have walked past it had they not been given directions. A poster advertised acrobats, dancers, comics and entertainers and William pointed to a picture of a red-haired singer and the caption The glorious voice of Eleanor Nightingale. ‘She looks like our Nell,’ he said. ‘Except for ’colour of her hair and being older.’

The matinee was about to start and they were given the option of sitting downstairs or up in the small gallery, which was already quite full with a crowd of noisy boisterous people hanging over the edge of the balcony.

‘I’d never get up them stairs,’ William said, looking up at the narrow staircase, so they were shown to the end of a row in the middle of the main floor. Jamie went to get them both a glass of ale and they settled down to be entertained just as the curtain opened.

Jamie drank from his glass as an acrobat turned somer-saults across the stage; watched sleepily as a man urged a dog to run up and down a ladder, then jump through a flaming hoop; listened bleary-eyed to the comic’s risqué humour, and was closing his eyes when he was jerked awake by a nudge from William.

‘Hey,’ the corporal whispered. ‘She’s ’dead spit of our Nell. I could almost think it was her.’

‘Who?’ Jamie whispered back, blinking as he looked towards the stage where a young woman was taking a bow. ‘Who is she?’

‘My sister; ’youngest.’ William stared hard at the singer, who began another song and preened coyly as she twirled a parasol. Another comic came on after she had finished to some applause and some cat-calls and orange peel thrown from the gallery, and William whispered that he’d had enough if Jamie had.

They stumbled out of the darkness of the theatre and found the hansom waiting in the street.

‘I can’t believe it,’ William was muttering, gazing at the poster in the glass case. ‘I just can’t believe it.’

‘What?’ Jamie asked. ‘What can’t you believe?’

‘That’s our Nell!’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Sure as owt,’ William said. ‘When she was just a little bairn she used to say she was going to be a singer when she grew up.’ He started to laugh. ‘Wait till I tell Ma that I’ve seen our Nell on a London stage.’ He put his head back and roared. ‘But I won’t tell her what a God-awful voice she’s got.’