Why Mermaids Sing

Chapter 37

It was midafternoon by the time Sebastian drove into the village of Avery in Kent. Having left Tom searching the docks of London for a man named Parker, Sebastian was forced to consign the chestnuts into the care of a lad at the livery stable and walk across the green to the rectory.

In the gentle sunshine, the redbrick walls of the rectory seemed more somber than ever, the heavy drapes closed tight at the windows. Sebastian plied the door’s brass knocker, then listened to the summons echo into stillness in the depths of the house.

He was about to knock again when he heard quick footsteps in the hall. The door was yanked open by the housekeeper, Mrs. Ross, who blanched at the sight of him and put up a hand to straighten her crooked cap.

“My lord,” she said with a gasp, “I do beg your pardon for leaving you standing here. I thought the housemaid, Bess, would get the door, but I suspect she’s not back yet from the apothecary’s. We’ve been at sixes and sevens here, ever since the Reverend took his turn for the worse.”

“Reverend Thornton is ill?” said Sebastian, unraveling this.

Mrs. Ross nodded her head vigorously. “He had a bad turn, just after you left. And look at me, leaving you standing on the doorstep.” She opened the door wider and stepped back. “Please, do come in, my lord.”

“May I see him?” Sebastian asked, stepping into the shadowy hall.

“If you wish, my lord. But I don’t think he’ll recognize you. He doesn’t even seem to know Dr. Newman, and they’ve been friends these twenty years or more.”

She led the way up the stairs to a darkened bedroom lit only by a solitary lamp turned down low. The figure in the vast tester bed seemed shrunken, the wispy gray hair on his scalp damp with sweat, his eyes open but staring blankly.

“Reverend Thornton?” said Sebastian.

No answering gleam of recognition lit the man’s half-open eyes. As Sebastian watched, a pool of spittle spilled over the edge of the clergyman’s mouth to dribble down his chin. He made no movement to wipe it away.

“It’s terrible to see him like this,” said Mrs. Ross. “Such a brilliant man he was, so good and God-fearing.” The front-door knocker sounded again and she jerked away with a quick apology.

Left alone, Sebastian stepped closer to the bed’s edge. The rector continued to stare dumbly into space.

“What happened on that ship?” said Sebastian softly. “Hmm, my friend? It was something terrible, was it not? Did you try to stop it, I wonder, good, God-fearing man that you are? Or were you a willing participant?”

He became aware of voices on the stairs: Mrs. Ross’s high-pitched, anxious notes answered by Aaron Newman’s soothing words. A moment later, the physician entered the room alone.

“Any glimmer of recognition?” he asked Sebastian.

Sebastian shook his head. “How long has he been like this?”

“Since shortly after you left.” The doctor came to stand beside his patient. Drawing a handkerchief from his own pocket, he gently wiped the spittle from his old friend’s chin. “Mrs. Ross found him collapsed on his study floor.”

“Has he said anything?”

“No. Nothing.” The doctor glanced up. “I’m sorry if you were hoping to ask him any more questions.”

Sebastian let his gaze drift around the room. It was an old-fashioned chamber, with solid oak furniture and a couple of gently worn, tapestry-covered chairs drawn up to the empty fireplace. Beside one of the chairs sat a woman’s sewing basket and embroidery frame, as if their owner had only just put them down. “Has he ever spoken to you of what happened aboard the Harmony?” Sebastian asked, bringing his gaze back to the physician’s face.

“You mean on his voyage home from India?” The doctor drew a straight-backed chair closer to the bed and sat. “Very little. Why?”

“I think the events on the ship are linked in some way to the deaths of Nicholas Thornton and the others. Sir Humphrey Carmichael and Lord Stanton were also passengers on that voyage.”

“Good God.” Then the inevitable conclusion must have occurred to him, because the doctor’s eyes opened wide. “Surely you’re not suggesting that—” He broke off, unable to put the thought into words.

“We have no way of knowing,” said Sebastian. “But what was done to the victims’ bodies does seem to suggest that the killer, at least, has reason to believe that the survivors of the Harmony resorted to cannibalism to stay alive.”

The doctor’s gaze fell to the shrunken, vacantly staring man in the bed. “No. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe he’d do such a thing. You didn’t know him. How could a man who dedicated his life to God, who could quote Cicero and Seneca at length, who was working on a new translation of the Confessions of St. Augustine—how could that man do something that violates one of the most basic tenets of our civilization?”

“Some men will do anything to stay alive.”

“Not this one,” said the doctor, one fist closing tightly around his old friend’s slack hand. “I don’t believe it.”

“Did he ever happen to mention the names of any of his shipmates, besides Carmichael and Stanton?”

Newman pursed his lips. “I believe there was another man and his wife. I seem to recall Mary Thornton mentioning them once or twice. A couple from somewhere up north.” He paused, thoughtful. “There was a spinster of a certain age and a younger gentleman who was with the East India Company. There may have been others, but I’m sorry, I couldn’t put a name to any of them.”

“It’s a start,” said Sebastian, turning toward the door.

The doctor stayed where he was, his gaze on the silent man in the bed. “If it’s true,” said Newman after a moment, “if the Reverend did do what you’re suggesting…he would see it as his fault, what happened to Nicholas. How could any father live with that kind of guilt?”

“Obviously he could not,” said Sebastian, and left the doctor there at the bedside of his dying friend.