The forgotten gift, p.19
The Forgotten Gift, page 19
And what of me? I should complete this account by listing my own injuries. I am better off than Pinkton, and I will pull through, but I did not escape unscathed. I have cracked ribs, very many bruises across my whole body, a deep cut on the back of my head, and worst of all, a broken jaw, courtesy of Plaistow’s boot.
I am in the prison sickbay, and bed-bound. The slightest movement of my torso causes severe pain and it is only today that I have been able to manage to hold a pen, balance an exercise book on my knee and write this journal. My jaw is bandaged tightly and I gain nourishment by sucking up thin gruel through a narrow hollow tube. One eye is swollen shut, and my head has been shaved around the cut to allow it to be stitched closed. I have been offered laudanum for the pain but am frightened of its long-term effects.
Nathaniel says I look a sight and he says it is as well there are no looking glasses in the sickbay. The mention of mirrors brought the sapphire-encrusted looking glass I’d bought for Lucy to mind. To think it was bought on the very same day I discovered her affair with my father! I wonder if it is still where I left it – tucked away in my clothing drawer at home – or has my mother cleared out my room, not expecting me ever to return to it?
9th June
Today I got out of bed and walked the length of the room for the first time since the beating. There is not much space in which to walk. The sickbay is a small room containing six narrow beds, separated by small bedside tables. Four beds are occupied besides mine at present – by men who seem to be constantly coughing. The occupant of the sixth bed died yesterday. He lay there, eyes open, skin greying, for an hour before he was noticed and his face thankfully covered by a sheet.
Every step of my walk was painful – my chest screaming at the movement. I tried also to speak to Nathaniel when he arrived but he could barely make out my words due to the continued swelling of my jaw. There is no news from Charles. The man, Pinkton, died of his injuries. My actions did not save him.
11th June
It gets easier. I can move around the sickbay now, and can speak intelligibly. The jaw bandages must remain in place for several weeks more to allow the bone to heal. The pain lessens gradually, day by day. Either it is lessening or I am becoming used to it.
12th June
I was visited today by Governor Freeman. He has entered the sickbay daily since I’ve been here, as part of his rounds, but this was the first time that he stopped by my bedside to speak to me. He put his hands behind his back and stood to attention, while I remained reclining on my bed. I am still not permitted to move except when the prison surgeon commands it, with an orderly at my side.
‘Mr Britten, I understand you are making a good recovery after this, ahem, unfortunate incident.’
‘Yes, sir, I am much better,’ I replied.
‘Then you shall soon return to your cell, and resume the regular routines of the prison.’ He said this with a slight smile and a nod, as though I would rejoice at the news. ‘In recognition of the seriousness of your injuries you will have only half-quantities of oakum to pick for the first week.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ It seemed the only reply expected of me.
He nodded, satisfied, and continued with his rounds. I imagined sitting on the backless stool in my cell, bending over the oakum, teasing it apart, and shuddered. It would be very painful. Walking around the exercise yard in pace with the other men would be impossible. My only hope was for Charles to come with news. Nathaniel had written to tell him of my injuries but prisoners in the sickbay were not permitted visitors.
I feel lower this evening than at any time since entering the prison. I tell myself there is still hope for a release, and it may come soon, but with every passing day I find it harder and harder to hold on to those thoughts. Indeed I wonder if it was all a dream – Charles’s visit and my confession to Nathaniel. Perhaps I never told him the truth at all. Perhaps none of it happened and there is no hope of release. I am here to serve out my sentence.
And then I begin to question what is the truth and what is not. It has been so long, and I become confused. Did I perhaps poison Lucy as I’ve always maintained? Am I the murderer after all? Why else would I be here? There seems to be no reality beyond the ever-constant pain, which surrounds me and engulfs me. I struggle to remember life before the beating, life beyond the sickbay. Life before prison is just a faint, hazy memory.
18th June
My goodness, the last entry in this journal seems like another lifetime ago now! So much has happened. I barely know where to begin. At the beginning, as Mr Smythe always said, and so that is where I shall start.
On the day after the governor’s visit I received another visit – this time from Nathaniel, and he was excited. I knew that meant something had happened.
‘Are you improving, George?’ he asked. ‘Can you walk a little way? You are wanted for an interview in the governor’s office.’
I gaped. I have not walked as far as that since before the beating. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘I can try, perhaps with your support … Who is the interview with?’
‘I shall tell you as we walk. It may help take your mind off the pain. I wish we had an invalid chair, then I could push you along, but sadly there is no such thing in this institution.’
‘My legs weren’t broken. If we take it steady I can walk.’ I swung my legs over the side of the bed, stood up, slid my feet into my prison boots and set off with the chaplain at my side. A warder followed. Any movement of prisoners has to be accompanied by a warder at all times. Even when the prisoner is in such a state as I am.
It was a long walk, for the governor’s office is in a different wing of the prison to the sickbay. I had to rest several times, leaning gingerly against the wall, catching my breath yet not breathing in too deeply because that hurts my ribs more.
‘Tell me,’ I said, as we shuffled along, ‘what has happened? Who am I to see?’
‘Your brother has done some detective work, following up on what he already guessed and what you told me. He talked to those witnesses and persuaded them to speak to Inspector Watling. It seems the inspector was at first reluctant to reopen the case, having secured a confession, but when your brother told him what he had found out and that you wished to retract, he had little choice. It seems that Watling is a diligent soul, and once he accepted that there was a question mark over your guilt, he began a deeper investigation to try to arrive at the truth.’
My stomach lurched at this, and I had to stop again. It was one thing for the case to be re-investigated to prove my innocence, but quite another if his questioning led to the full story. Nathaniel must have read my worries on my face, for he put a hand lightly on my shoulder and looked into my eyes. ‘You must let justice take its course, George. You are not to blame and you shall shoulder the blame no longer, whoever it is you are protecting.’
I did not answer, but began again the painful shuffle along the corridor. The warder with us began mumbling complaints about our slow progress but Nathaniel gave him a look that silenced him.
At last we reached the governor’s office, and I approached the door that opened to the cage within. Nathaniel shook his head.
‘No cage for you, today. Come in through this door.’ He led me through the other door into the office, and once inside, indicated a chair for me to sit down. A chair! One with a back and an upholstered seat! I realised it was many weeks, months, since I had sat on such a luxurious seat. I was still marvelling at this so it was a moment before I realised three more men were entering the office. The governor, Charles, and Inspector Watling joined the chaplain and myself. The warder took up a position outside the door.
‘George, dear brother, it is so good to see you again!’ Charles crossed the room and leaned over me as though to hug me where I sat, but just in time Nathaniel caught his arm and pulled him back.
‘I am sorry, sir, you might cause him pain if you embrace him. I fear he is not yet fully healed.’
‘I am healed enough to greet my brother,’ I said, putting out my hand to shake his. Thankfully the shake was gentle. I could see on his face he was shocked at the sight of me – the grubby bandage still holding my jaw in place, the multi-coloured bruises around my eye, the pain that I feel must be permanently etched onto my face.
‘You remember Inspector Watling, of course?’ Charles said, indicating the policeman who nodded at me.
‘Yes, I remember him well,’ I replied.
The governor coughed. ‘This is most irregular but it seems your case is to be reopened, and in the meantime, you are to be released pending the investigation. I shall let the inspector explain.’
Released! I could hardly believe it. I barely took in the inspector’s words. I wanted to grin from ear to ear but my broken jaw would not allow it, so all I could manage was a kind of grimace. Charles grinned enough for the both of us.
Inspector Watling pulled out a notebook to refer to. ‘You owe your brother a debt of gratitude. He persuaded me to re-interview members of your parents’ household, and among them the maidservant Maggie. She is a simple soul, but she does remember that day, and with gentle encouragement she was able to tell me that she sat with you in the church that morning. She also told me that a woman from the village whom she referred to as Ma Whiteley had entered the church while you were both there, and saw you. I was able to confirm this with Mrs Whiteley and the two testimonies together are enough to convince me of your innocence, despite your earlier confession. In addition, your father’s groom John Lincoln witnessed your return to the house, after Lucy had already been taken ill. You cannot possibly have been the person who added arsenic to the hot chocolate and took it up to Lucy.’
Three witnesses! I knew that Maggie’s alone would not have been enough but Mrs Whiteley’s and John Lincoln’s statements backed her up. ‘No. You are right – I could not have done it and I did not do it. I apologise for my earlier lies.’
‘Oh, George, why did you lie?’ sighed Charles. I looked at him but did not answer. I could not be the person to tell him our mother was a murderer.
‘No doubt because you were protecting someone else,’ Inspector Watling said. ‘And I have my suspicions who that might be. I have re-examined all the evidence and re-interviewed everyone who was in or around the house that morning, including both your parents, and the housekeeper.’
I felt myself pale under my bruises and bandages. I couldn’t believe I had suffered so much for nothing, and that my mother might still have to endure punishment for her crime.
‘Unfortunately,’ he went on, ‘I do not have enough solid evidence to secure a conviction. But mark my words – I have not given up yet.’ He fixed me with a piercing glare, as though it was me he suspected after all. I felt only relief that he had not found sufficient evidence, and offered up a silent prayer that it would remain so.
‘George, you are to be freed with immediate effect,’ Charles said. ‘The chaplain explained to me the extent of your injuries so I have arranged for you to go to a private hospital for a week or two to complete your recovery, and then when you are able to travel you shall come home at last.’
He didn’t even try to keep the note of excitement out of his voice. All I felt was relief. No more oakum picking. No more would I be at the mercy of thugs like Warder Plaistow. No more would I be tied to the harsh, unvarying prison routines, designed to dull the senses and exhaust the soul. I could not speak. I simply shook my head in disbelief.
‘He is tired, I think. We should not dally. Let us transfer him to the hospital immediately,’ Nathaniel said.
With a pang I realised that leaving the prison would mean leaving behind Nathaniel and his friendship. It was the only thing that had kept me going. I looked at him with sadness and saw a reciprocal look in his eyes – sadness but also joy that I was to be released.
‘I shall visit you in the hospital on my day off,’ he said, as though guessing what I was thinking.
‘A carriage awaits outside,’ said the governor curtly. He probably wanted this over and done with, so he could return to his regular duties.
‘I fear it may be a little uncomfortable but I shall tell the driver to steer as smooth a path as possible and the journey is a short one,’ said Charles. ‘Can you walk to the prison gates?’
Oh, I could walk to the prison gates all right. It took time, but the walk to freedom was so much better than the walk into incarceration. The sweet clang of those seven iron gates, each one unlocked to allow us to pass and then relocked behind us, with me being on the side of freedom each time, was as music to my ears.
I shall not dwell on the carriage journey except to state that it was exceedingly painful with every jolt sending waves of pain through my cracked ribs. I vomited twice and felt close to death by the time we arrived at the hospital. There, I was taken by invalid chair to a pleasant private room, where I am attended at all times, day and night, by a succession of competent, caring nurses. How very different it all is from my treatment in the prison sickbay!
It is in my hospital room, seated at a small writing desk, that I write this journal entry. A surgeon attends daily and is pleased by my progress. In another week he thinks I will be fit enough to manage the journey, by carriage and railway, home to my father’s house. Nathaniel has visited as he promised, and Charles has been here many times too. My parents have not visited, although my father did send a brief note via Charles saying he was glad I had been released. I wonder what sort of reception will await me when I finally return home.
Chapter 21
Cassie
It was just four weeks to go until Christmas now, and Cassie realised she had an extra person to buy a present for. What to get for Bethany was a question she agonised over for ages. Something nice, special, not over the top but something Bethany would treasure. Cassie roped Shania into helping her with ideas, one morning at work when they were on a coffee break at the same time.
‘Jewellery?’ Shania said. ‘Something pretty in silver?’
‘I think she has quite definite tastes in jewellery,’ Cassie said, recalling a chunky set of purple beads Bethany had been wearing on one of their meet-ups.
‘Clothing? A cool leather jacket?’
‘Too expensive. I’m on a budget.’
‘An even cooler battered second-hand one?’
‘Hmm, lovely idea and I can imagine her liking such a thing, but it is so personal. I don’t think I could choose the right one for her.’
Shania nodded sagely. ‘You have a point. Just trying to cast my mind back to eighteen and think what I would have liked. Obviously she’ll have iPods and phones and all that kind of thing, being a youth of today. God, I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her.’
So Cassie did ask Bethany, in a phone call that evening.
‘You know what I’d really like more than anything?’ Bethany said, sounding just a little hesitant. ‘A day out with you. A whole day, pottering around the shops, having coffee and lunch somewhere, just chilling. Maybe even dinner at the end of the day. Wish you lived closer.’
‘Well,’ Cassie replied, ‘such a day can easily be arranged. Why don’t we meet halfway – not in London but somewhere neither of us know well that we can explore together? Where can you easily get to by train or bus?’
‘Great idea! I can get anywhere, really. Pick a place.’
‘OK! Well … how about … I don’t know. Rugby?’ Cassie remembered visiting the little town years ago. It had a good smattering of pubs and coffee shops, and parts of the famous school were open to the public to wander around.
‘That’s just down the road – easy to get to for me. But a long way for you?’
‘It’s fine – I’m getting used to driving up and down the M1! Right, I’ll do a bit of research and text you a place to meet. I’ll get up early and be there by ten-thirty.’
By the time she went to bed that evening, Cassie had planned a day out in Rugby, with suitable-looking cafés and restaurants flagged on Google Maps so she could see them on her phone. Bethany had said she just wanted company and chat for the day, and there were plenty of places in Rugby where they could do just that. Cassie resolved to buy her a present anyway – as they wandered around the shops they were sure to spot something she liked, and Cassie would offer to buy it for her.
Saturday rolled around at last, and it was a fine winter’s day. Cassie didn’t mind the drive up to Rugby at all – not with the prospect of the day ahead of her. She sang along to the radio for the whole journey, arrived in good time and found suitable parking. Rugby was a more compact town than she’d remembered, but quaint and inviting-looking in the winter sunshine. She arrived at the designated meeting place – a coffee shop in the town centre – fifteen minutes early but was not surprised to see Bethany already there. Her daughter always managed to arrive first.
They kissed in greeting, ordered coffees and a pastry each, and began chatting.
‘So, you’ve talked to your parents again?’ Bethany asked.
Cassie nodded, and told Bethany about the previous Saturday’s visit to the Christmas market. ‘It wasn’t an unqualified success, to be honest. It’s going to take a while to get used to this new relationship.’
‘I know. I was totally prepared for you and I to feel awkward in each other’s company to begin with, but we haven’t, have we?’
‘Not at all. We’ve just slotted right into a good relationship, haven’t we?’
Bethany smiled. ‘Do you think that’s because we are close blood relations? That we naturally have an affinity for each other?’
Cassie shrugged. ‘I don’t know. The old nurture or nature argument, isn’t it? Do we get on well because we share the same genes?’
‘I think so.’ Bethany leaned forward. ‘That’s kind of why I’d really love it if you decide to trace your real father. Wouldn’t it be amazing if you just found you clicked with him, the way I have with you?’
