He probed the earth at the back of the skull on the off-chance that a rock or a large stone had caused the damage post-mortem but, as hed suspected, there was nothing save for more mud.
He was on the point of rising when what looked like a small twig jutting from the mud caught his eye. He paused. There was something about it that didnt look right, but he couldnt see what it was. Curious, angling his head for a better look, he went to pick it up. And then his hand stilled. It wasnt a broken twig, he realized. It was the end of a knotted cord. Her wrists had been bound together.
What is it? the sexton enquired from above.
Hawkwood sighed and stood. Were going to need a cart.
A cart? It was Gulley who spoke. The question was posed without enthusiasm.
Its a wooden box on wheels.
Hawkwoods response was rewarded with a venomous look. It was clear the gravedigger had been resentful of the sextons act of civic duty from the start. Hawkwoods sarcasm wasnt helping.
You do have a cart? Hawkwood said.
Its in the lean-to. Sexton Stubbs pointed helpfully with his cane towards the cottage and the ramshackle wooden structure set off to one side of it.
One of you, then, Hawkwood said, pointedly.
The directive was met with a disgruntled scowl. Mouthing an oath, Gulley turned to his protégé. All right, you eard.
Looking relieved to have been delegated, the young gravedigger turned to go, anxious to put distance between him and the pits contents. His commitment to the job looked to be disappearing by the second.
Leave the shovel, Hawkwood said. Youll get it back.
The apprentice hesitated then thrust the tool blade-first into the mound of dirt.
And bring more sacking, Hawkwood instructed. Dry, if you have it.
He glanced towards the sexton, who nodded and said, Theres some on a shelf inside the door. Youll see it.
With a wary nod the youth about-turned and hurried off through the drizzle and the puddles.
Hawkwood addressed the older man. You have something to say?
The gravedigger jerked his chin at the open trench. Dont see why we cant leave the bloody thing down there. We throw in some soil, we can cover it up.
Her, Hawkwood snapped. Not it. And no, we cant. Unless youve a particular reason you dont want her brought up?
The gravediggers jaw flexed.
Hawkwood felt his anger rise. Had the idea you might make a few pounds, maybe? Got an arrangement with the sack-em-up men for the one on top? Throw in this one and youd make a bit extra? That it?
It could also account for the shallowness of the trench, he thought, because it made the task of exhuming the bodies that much easier.
The look on the mans face told Hawkwood hed struck a nerve, but he felt no satisfaction, merely increasing repugnance. Gulley wouldnt be the first graveyard worker who earned extra spending money by passing information on upcoming funerals to the resurrection gangs, to whom freshly buried corpses were regarded as regular income, and he wouldnt be the last. Interesting, too, that Gulley had referred to the body as the thing, which was what the resurrection men called their hauls.
The expression on Hopkins face told Hawkwood that he wasnt the only one recalling the run-in with the carrion hunters. Some of the darker memories from that experience had evidently been awakened in the constables brain; images that were best left undisturbed.
For a moment it looked as though the gravedigger was about to offer further protest, but Hawkwoods expression and tone of voice must have warned him that an argument was futile and might prove detrimental to his own health.
It was then that the wisdom of what he was about to do struck Hawkwood forcibly and he cursed his rashness. It was too late now, though, for he had no intention of giving Gulley the satisfaction of knowing he might be dealing with a police officer whod just made what could well turn out be a very unwise decision. But as he caught the sextons eye, he was rewarded with a small, almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgement, or it might have been gratitude.
Over the constables shoulder, he saw that Dobbs was on his way back, pushing a flat, two-wheeled cart before him, the sacking folded on top. The carts wheels had become clogged with mud, making progress difficult. The older gravedigger, Hawkwood noted, could see that his assistant was struggling but made no attempt to assist. By the time the cart rolled to a halt, the apprentice was perspiring heavily.
Hawkwood addressed Gulley. Your turn. Get down here and mind where you step.
The gravediggers knuckles whitened against the handle of his shovel.
You wont need that, Hawkwood told him.
Sensing tension in the air, the constable went to step forward again.
Hawkwood, wondering what assistance Hopkins intended to offer while still holding his coat, waved him away.
It took a further ten minutes to scrape away the mud and, with Gulley taking the feet and Hawkwood the torso, and with the apprentice Dobbs helping to take the weight, lift the sack and its contents up and out of the grave, though it seemed more like a lifetime. The mud was reluctant to release its grip and by the time Hawkwood and the gravedigger were helped out of the pit, their boots and breeches were wet to the thigh and caked in clay. Hawkwood had also been uncomfortably aware of the ominous creaking sounds that had come from beneath his and the gravediggers feet as theyd taken the weight of the corpse between them. It had been with great relief that he had stepped back on to solid ground.
I want her delivered to the dead house at Christs Hospital, Hawkwood instructed as the cadaver was placed on the cart and covered with the dry sacking.
You know it?
The constable nodded.
For the attention of Surgeon Quill. Hes to expect me later.
Yes, Captain.
Good. Hawkwood took back his coat, but did not put it on. Dobbs can assist. Make sure the bodys covered at all times. Im probably in enough trouble as it is; God forbid an arm should come loose and frighten the horses.
Hawkwood knew that wasnt likely to happen, but having the two men watch over their gruesome load was one way of ensuring it would arrive safely. The other reason for the precaution was that during the excavation it had become obvious that inside the sack the corpse was naked. A clothed cadaver being carted through the streets was bad enough. The ramifications, if the state of this one ever came to light, didnt bear thinking about.
You cant do that! Gulley protested.
Hawkwood spun back. Of course I bloody can! I can do anything I want. I can even leave you in the damned hole if you dont stop whining.
Gulley bristled. But theres graves to dig!
Then do your own bloody digging! Youve got a shovel. Its not hard. You hold it at the thin end and use the other end to move the dirt.
Gulley coloured under the onslaught.
Ignoring him, Hawkwood addressed the constable. What the hell are you waiting for? Go.
Jerked into activity, Hopkins swallowed and called Dobbs to him. As the cart trundled away, Hawkwood turned to the sexton. Whens the funeral party due?
The sexton drew a pocket watch from his jacket. Not for an hour, yet.
Ignoring him, Hawkwood addressed the constable. What the hell are you waiting for? Go.
Jerked into activity, Hopkins swallowed and called Dobbs to him. As the cart trundled away, Hawkwood turned to the sexton. Whens the funeral party due?
The sexton drew a pocket watch from his jacket. Not for an hour, yet.
Then youve time to make the site presentable?
The sexton gazed about him. Aye, reckon so. He looked down at Hawkwoods muddy forearms and clay-covered boots and breeches, and jerked his chin towards the cottage and the smoke curling up above the black-slate roof. Got hot water on the fire, ifn you want to clean up.
Hawkwood considered the filth on his hands and the activity theyd been engaged in. Its a kind offer, Mr Stubbs. Im obliged.
The sexton nodded. To the hovering Gulley, whod retrieved his shovel and was holding it across his chest as if he was about to defend an attack on a bridge, he said, Ill be back soon as me and the officer here have concluded our business. Smartly now, Solomon, if you please. Dont want to keep the widow waitin.
Before Gulley could reply, the sexton gestured to Hawkwood. This way.
Hawkwood was not surprised to find the interior of the cottage was as tidy as a barracks. Not that there was much to it. The ground floor consisted of a single room which served as both parlour and kitchen. The furniture was plain and functional. There was an oak table, a bench and small dresser in the cooking area and a settle that faced the open hearth, which was protected by a metal guard. The wall at the back of the hearth and the ceiling immediately above it was black with soot. Cord had been strung across the ceiling from which several threadbare shirts had been hung to dry. A set of stairs in one corner led to the first floor and the sextons no doubt equally neat sleeping quarters. Incongruously, a small writing desk sat against the wall opposite the fire. Above it was a shelf bearing half a dozen leather-bound volumes.
Asking Hawkwood to take a seat, the sexton poured hot water into a jug from a pot on the hearth and emptied the jug into a blue enamel basin which he placed on the table. A drying cloth and scrubbing brush were produced from a table drawer.
The basin had to be replenished twice, by which time Hawkwood had removed most of the dirt from his hands and arms and his skin was pink from the scrubbing. Cleaning the mud from his breeches and boots would have to wait.
The sexton took the basin outside and emptied it on to the ground. Returning, he set it on the dresser and from a cupboard beneath produced a flask and two battered tin mugs. Without asking, he poured a measure into each mug and handed one to Hawkwood.
Itll take away the taste of the pit.
Hawkwood drank. Brandy: definitely not the good stuff, but the sexton was right. The smell of the grave had been so strong that by the time the body had been loaded on to the cart it did feel as though the back of his throat had become coated with the trenchs contents. Two swallows of the sextons brew and it felt as if his entire larynx had been cauterized. As cures went, it was eye-wateringly effective.
When his vocal cords had recovered from the shock, he asked the sexton if hed heard or seen anything during the night.
Predictably, Stubbs shook his head. Not a bloody thing. I tends to sleep right through. Might stir if a field battery was to open up by my ear, but that aint likely round these parts.
And the rain would have covered most sounds, anyway, Hawkwood thought, as well as every other sign that might have pointed to whoever dumped the body in the pit. As for the place of entry, in retrospect it was ludicrous to think the corpse might have come from over the hospital wall, which meant access had either been made via the main gate or else the body had been carried over the dividing wall from the adjacent burial ground.
Which left him where? Maybe the body would provide the answer. Suddenly, Gulleys argument was starting to make sense. Perhaps it would have been easier to have left the thing where it was.
The thing.
Dammit, he thought. Now Im calling her that. He drained the mug.
Sexton Stubbs, he saw, was throwing him a speculative look.
Youve a question? Hawkwood said.
The sexton hesitated then said, Back there, the constable called you Captain. Ifn you dont mind me askin, that mean you were an officer when you was in the Rifles?
Eventually, Hawkwood said. It didnt last.
The sexton turned the statement over in his mind. Emboldened by the cynical half-smile on Hawkwoods face, he enquired cautiously, You miss it?
The army?
The sexton nodded.
Sometimes, Hawkwood admitted. You?
Hawkwood thought about the sextons admission when they were standing by the graveside. Stubbs had received his wound at Corunna. Hawkwood remembered Corunna; the epic retreat across northern Spain in appalling winter weather. Discipline had broken down, food had been scarce and the dead and wounded had been left by the roadside. When Moores army eventually reached the port, there was no sign of the transports that should have been there to carry them home. By the time the ships arrived, four days later, the French, under Marshal Soult, had caught up and the town was surrounded, forcing the British to take to the field.
While Hawkwood had been leading skirmish parties against French forward positions, the 36th Regiment, along with others, had been engaged in a decisive rear-guard action on the opposite flank. Moores army had saved the day, albeit at the cost of his own life, and the evacuation had been completed. The 95th and the 36th had been among the last troops to embark.
The sexton took his time answering. Swirling the dregs of the brandy around the inside of his mug, he tipped the drink back and placed the empty receptacle on the table. Drawing a sleeve across his lips, he looked Hawkwood full in the eye.
Every bleedin day.
4
Rumour had it that Quill had once served in the Royal Navy and that hed been wounded in action at the Battle of Lissa while serving aboard HMS Volage under Phipps Hornby. Hawkwood had no idea if the rumours were true. From his own limited experiences of life on board a man-o-war, he thought Quill did have the look of someone who might be at home between decks, though not as a surgeon; more likely as the captain of a gun crew. He had a bruisers stature. The shaven, bullet-shaped skull added to the mystique. It wasnt hard to imagine him screaming orders, surrounded by sweaty, hard-pressed men ramming powder and shot down the barrel of a 32-pounder while enveloped in a world of fire, flame and flying splinters.
And yet, on the occasions that Hawkwood had visited him, there had been no visible sign of a wounding and hed always appeared remarkably affable, which, given the nature of his work and the environment in which he laboured, was something of a miracle. Quill was the surgeon appointed by the Coroner to perform necropsies, usually whenever the circumstances of death were outside the ordinary. His place of work was a dead house.
Quills dead house was located in a dark and gloomy cellar formerly a crypt situated beneath an annexe of Christs Hospital. With St Bartholomews just around the corner, it was a convenient staging post for transferring bodies from hospital to grave. The authorities had been using it for decades, mostly because they hadnt had to make any structural alterations.