AU ~ Conan-Doyle
By Sammy Girl
AU ~ Conan-Doyle
By Sammy Girl
PERSONAL DIARY - BUCK WILMINGTON
February 22nd 1896
I woke this morning to find myself wrapped around Chris, I remember last night, I remember him loving me, giving my body the release it needed, he relaxed me and pleasured me, chasing away the dark thoughts and waking nightmares. He shifted beside me and I knew he was awake - playing possum - the Americans call it.
"I'm awake," I whispered in his ear, taking the time to nuzzle it.
"Morning." With that he rolled over to face me. "Ready to face the world one more time?" he asked.
I was, I don't know why I let it get to me sometimes, and I wonder how I coped in those years we were apart, when I didn't have Chris to hold me safely. There was always, and still is, Mum. I guess she understands, she and Chris are my family.
The sun was up, a shaft of light streamed in through the heavy curtains; it illuminated the picture on the opposite wall. Suddenly Chris was out of bed and striding across the room. He threw back the curtains and without bothering to take in - from what I could see from the safety of a warm bed - the wonderful view, he crossed back to the far side of the room. As I watched, somewhat bemused, he drew a sturdy table across the floor and jumped up so he could reach it the picture, which was of some Standish ancestor, judging from the man's dress, from the time of the civil war. He held his hands across the man's face so that only his eyes and nose was visible.
"Well, who is it?" he asked me.
I have to say it was hard to concentrate, Chris was still naked and that was very distracting, BUT I am a professional and I put the sight of that whip cord thin, hard as nails, muscle packed frame with the morning sun glinting on that corn blonde hair, making it shine like spun gold, to one side, and studied the picture. And when I did …I saw what Chris had seen from all the way across the room. It was Stubbs!
"He's a Standish?" I said it like a question, but it was meant to be a statement.
"Undoubtedly, so now we know what he's after, he wants the money."
There was nothing we could do at that moment, so I dressed and went to check on my patient. I realised it was now after eight and I was embarrassed that I had left poor Doctor Sanchez for so long, he hadn't had any sleep at all. I found him sitting beside the bed, drinking a mug of tea and eating toast and marmalade. He informed me that young Tanner had been somewhat restless in the night but had slept through.
"Is he awake?" I asked.
"No, not yet, I was thinking it might be best to get JD awake before we try to wake him." I agreed, he was going to be disorientated and scared, having his brother at hand would be essential.
We woke JD and with him on one side and me on the other, and Sanchez at the head of the bed, JD gently touched an undamaged shoulder.
"Vin," he called softly. There was no response. "Vin," he tried again. Tanner murmured, his head rolled toward his brother's voice. "That's right, come on open your eyes." Finally Tanner managed to open his eyes, he blinked at JD, then to the relief of all of us a tiny smile came upon his face. JD dropped to his knees, he held his brother's gaze. "You're alright, you're safe. Here." JD picked up the glass of water from the bedside table and helped Tanner to drink, finally he let him rest back onto the pillows.
I could see Tanner's eyes, which are cornflower blue, suddenly dart round the room, wild with fear. To the boys credit he kept calm.
"It's alright, no guards, no crushers, no hound, you're safe here, this is Standish Hall."
"The Hall?" the voice was halting and not much above a whisper, his accent was even richer than JD's.
"Yes the Hall, Sir Ezra says you can stay here as long as you need to." I can't honestly say I ever heard Ezra say that but I have little doubt it is true.
"There was a thing," Tanner breathed. "It…it just came at me…oh God!"
"It's alright son, we know about the hound," I said.
Tanners head turned and he took in me and Josiah, fear sparked again.
"Vin, this is Doctor Wilmington. Do you remember him - from before?" he pointed at me, but Tanner shook his head. " He saved your life," JD explained. "And that is Doctor Sanchez, he looked after you last night." Tanned looked down the bed at Josiah.
"Vin?" I asked, drawing his attention back to me. "I need to ask you some questions and examine you, alright?" He nodded. "I'm going to ask JD to wait to one side, is that alright?" His eyes flashed back to JD, who smiled and assured him he wouldn't leave the room, before stepping back to stand by the door.
I was frankly amazed at the sight of the wounds, they looked good, better than I could have hoped, there had been little or no bleeding and I was relieved to see my decision to leave then uncovered had been vindicated. Some of them were a little inflamed at the edges, but there was no pus and little heat radiating from them. The bruising that had now come out was quite horrendous. He was stoical, doing no more than hiss as I examined his many wounds. Once the covers were drawn back up I sat down and placed a thermometer under his arm.
"Do you remember what happened?" I asked. He nodded. "Can you tell me what you remember?"
"I…" he started haltingly. "I was near the tor, and I saw… you?" I nodded. "You were waiting for the man from the hut. I moved away to the other side, and then…then," he faltered, pain was etched on his face. "It just came at me, and it was so big, I managed to get into the rocks, I don't remember anything after that, sorry."
"I'm going to give you something for the pain, do you think you could manage some broth?"
"I'd rather have tea," he managed another small smile.
I asked JD to go to the kitchen and fetch his brother some warm tea with plenty of sugar. Then I gave him a shot of morphine.
"Sir?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Will I be alright sir?" He had a look on his face, not fear, not apprehension more like resignation as if what ever the answer it was his lot in life. I see that look in the East End a lot and I shouldn't. People should not accept the unacceptable. I didn't know what to say to him. His temperature was only 99.3, hardly worth worrying about. That's a good sign, but it is too soon to tell, there was just no way of telling how well his injuries would heal or what complications lay in front of him.
"I'd say you are doing very well, all you need to do is follow your doctors orders, drink, eat when you can, lots of rest, and you'll be just fine," I lied.
It wasn't much of a lie; I have seen it in India. People - natives - ripped to shreds by a tiger or leopard, a few just heal, no fever no infection, they need rest, sometimes there are physical problems resulting to soft tissue or bone injury, but they don't get sick. I spoke to JD, who confirmed that Vin spent most of his childhood outside, like all boys he picked up his fair share of cuts and grazes, even broke his arm once, but he never got a fever, in fact he was almost never ill. Maybe there are people who are just better at fighting infection, like small pox vaccine; they have been exposed so often they are immune. I pray young Vin is one of them.
I persuaded Josiah to go to bed, and once JD was returned, left him to watch his brother. Chris and I ate in the dining room, Nathan promised to send some food up for JD and some broth for Tanner. Ezra it seems was still sleeping, and there was precious little we could do until he arose. What I did ask Chris about, was that word on the letter Rain found 'unnatural'.
"What does it suggest to you?" he asked.
I know what I had first thought, there are plenty that would call what Chris and I did last night unnatural, yet I hesitated to say it.
"Old friend, I can see in your eyes what you think. It is not beyond the bounds of possibility is it? After all Sir Henry was a life long bachelor, even with over a million to leave to his heir, he never once married. These occasional burnt notes, one on the day he died, going out to the moor gate - something he would normally never do, surely this suggests blackmail, and so called 'unnatural' practises would be a powerful blackmail tool, would it not?"
I agreed.
"So we have a man, who is being blackmailed because of 'unnatural' practises. This man had a friend who visited him often, stayed often at the house - in a room with a connecting door to his. This friend sports a custom made, very expensive walking stick with an unusual inscription on it. What does that tell you?"
I hesitated to say it - I am usually wrong - but the way he put it could only mean one thing.
"Sanchez?" I asked.
"It has to be, the poor man, if he ever finds out it was over him that Sir Henry was lured to his death…well, he won't hear it from us."
Upon that we both silently agreed.
Chris also confided that it was Jackson who sent the warning note. He did fear for Ezra's life, even his sanity, but his main motive was keeping Ezra away from the Hall until the business with Tanner was sorted out.
"Do you think they know about…you know…Henry and the Doctor?" I asked.
Chris thought about that, finally he asked, "a man would have to work very, very hard to hide such a thing from his butler and the woman who washed his sheets - don't you think?"
Indeed he would.
H*S*H*S*H*S*H
PERSONAL JOURNAL - JOSIAH SANCHEZ
February 22nd 1896
I don't know how to put down what has happened today - well tonight. Firstly I saw a look in Sir Ezra's eyes, while he gazed at that poor battered boy, Tanner, something that says he is attracted to the boy. I keep saying 'boy' when in truth he is a young man; he just looks boyish, even cut up like he is. I can see the attraction, he is very pretty, if I were ten years younger and he ten years older - well that is another matter. I had almost convinced myself I was imagining things; after all, I could almost hear Henry's voice in my ear. When we were at social events together he would comment on the young men, trying to decide who was the prettiest. He had this evil way of whispering in my ear and making me smile at the most inappropriate moments - damn man did it at a funeral once - Henry would have been drooling over Vin. God how I miss him.
Then he - Ezra - gave me my letters to Henry, the ones I wrote when I was up in London or he was, and when he went to Jamaica. I didn't know he kept them, I told him not to, it was risky, but he was such a romantic. I couldn't believe that Sir Ezra understood and it didn't bother him, but then I remembered that look, the way he gazed at Tanner, he was doing it again. He said he was happy for us, pleased his uncle had found love. I get the feeling love is the one thing our young baronet craves but has never found.
I wonder if Ezra's desire for Tanner is doomed to be unrequited, now? Well who knows, God moves in mysterious ways, and surely he would not have made us the way we are if he did not want us to be happy. The law forbids it, the church - all churches - say it is a sin, but I know my Henry was a gentle, God fearing, genuinely good man, he was no spawn of Satan, I don't believe I am evil - a sinner yes - but not evil. Sir Ezra? No, I have seen the good in him. Society is wrong, the church is wrong, the law is wrong.
The wonderful Rain had brought me breakfast not long after eight, and once Dr Wilmington had relieved me I returned to my room - I still think of it as my room - and was quickly asleep. I rose at noon, and left for the village to check on my patients and the parish records. Mr Larabee showed Sir Ezra and myself what he had found, a striking resemblance between Stubbs and a portrait of one of Sir Ezra's ancestors.
Mrs Wells had that look in her eye when I returned home, that look that says she is not happy with me.
"Well? Out with it Nettie," I challenged. She feigned innocence. "I know you, I know you will make me suffer for whatever I have done, so let's get it out in the open."
Nettie Wells is a fine woman, independent, intelligent, as good a nurse as she is a housekeeper - but - she thinks she is in control of my life, I don't.
"Where were you last night? You didn't tell me you were going to stay out." I took a deep breath, the woman is the worst nag, but she means well.
"Nettie I have slept over at the Hall without warning, on numerous occasions, especially after a dinner party, why was it a problem last night?" I enquired trying to keep my voice calm.
"That was before, when Sir Henry was alive and besides I heard the Hound last night, plain as
day I heard it, I thought it had got you."
There was real fear in her voice and that is rare for Nettie. Before, I would have dismissed her claim to have heard the Hound. I would have told her it was a superstition, the wind whistling over the tors or through the cotton grass. Not now.
"Maybe you did, but it has no interest in a simple country doctor, I am quite safe, and no matter how good intentioned your concerns are, I cannot guarantee I will not stay at the Hall again on short notice. If I can I will send young JD with a message, but last night that wasn't possible."
"Is JD alright?" I spun around to find Casey in the doorway.
"Yes my dear," I assured, "JD is fine. Now that is an end to the matter. I have to make rounds and then I need to look up something in the parish records."
Nettie scowled at me for another minute or so then relented. "What do you want to look up, perhaps I can do it for you," she offered.
I went on to explain my quest.
"I can save you a trip to the church," she announced. Why I didn't just ask her I don't know, little gets past Nettie, even if it was sixty odd years ago!
I sent Casey with a note to the Hall.
H*S*H*S*H*S*H
NOTE SENT TO CHRISTOPHER LARABEE FROM DOCTOR SANCHEZ
February 22nd 1896
Dear Mr Larabee,
My search of the parish records have confirmed what you suspected and were in fact just to back up what my housekeeper, Mrs Wells, has told me. Mrs Wells has lived in the village all her life, and there is little village scandal, however old, that escapes her. Sir Ezra's grandfather, Sir Charles, had a younger brother, John. This I can confirm from the parish records. According to Nettie he ran away with a girl of ill repute and was lost at sea. However as far as she can remember no bodies were ever found, at least none she ever heard about. I have duties to attend to here, but I will return to the Hall tomorrow morning. Please tell Dr Wilmington I will bring more medical supplies.
Yours Josiah Sanchez
H*S*H*S*H*S*H
LETTER SENT TO
MR CHRISTOPHER LARABEE,
C/O STANDISH HALL,
FOUR CORNERS,
DEVONSHIRE.
February 21st 1896
College Archives,
Imperial College,
London.
Dear Sir,
Further to your enquiry regarding the discovery and classification of the lichen, Septum Stella Aureus. This sub species is peculiar to the uplands of south Devonshire and its discovery is credited to a Mr John Standish. I have no further information on him. I hope this is of some assistance in your work.
Your servant,
Horace T Brailsford,
Chief Archivist, Imperial College.
H*S*H*S*H*S*H
JOURNAL - EZRA P STANDISH
February 22nd 1896
I find it hard to believe that this is the same day, so much has happened. I arose so much later than I had planned. Nathan informed me that Mr Larabee and Dr Wilmington have gone out riding but return at one for lunch. Since it was gone twelve by the time I had bathed, shaved and dressed I went to the oak room to see young Tanner. He was asleep, his brother watching over him.
"Morning sir," he whispered, a smile lit up his face.
"Good morning JD, how is your brother?" I asked.
"Oh he's doing very well, so Dr Wilmington tells me, he hardly has any fever and he isn't in too much pain. Not that he would tell us if he was…" There he seemed to run out of words.
I see the love in his eyes, hear it in his voice, I know what he did for his brother, what he risked. In my whole life I have never loved anyone I would risk that much for, and it wasn't just him. The Jacksons risked everything to help him, why? They had never met him; JD is no relative of theirs, yet they risked their very liberty to help him. My ever-loving mother would not have lifted one finger in the same situation, as she has shown me that on numerous occasions. Would I risk my liberty, maybe my life, for anyone, for mother? Look what happened when I tried to help, I gave my old clothes to Tanner and it almost got him killed. I would do anything to be able to take that back, he is so perfect, I can not bear it that I was responsible for his agony.
Tanner shifted in his sleep, it looked like he was about to wake and, coward that I am, I left him with JD. I am not ready to face him yet, to have him look at me. I don't want him to see in my face what I feel in my heart and be disgusted, I want to have my fantasy of love a little longer.
I joined Larabee and Wilmington for lunch. Over the meal Mr Larabee lay before me the evidence he had collected, it showed, quite unequivocally, that Stubbs is a Standish, my cousin. In the name of avarice he has engineered the death of, by all accounts, a good man, he has caused a young man who he had no quarrel with terrible injures, and now schemes to kill me too. And if the positions were reversed? What would I do for over a million pounds Sterling? How far would I go? Would I kill?
No.
I have done much in the pursuit of money, most of it illegal, but I have never killed, I have never deliberately tried to physically injure someone who was not attempting to injure me or, on occasion, mother. And Stubbs has not just physically injured, he tormented my uncle, causing him mental anguish, over many months, from the evidence of the Jacksons and Dr Sanchez. I am a coward, a play actor, a con man, a gambler, and I freely admit to having 'unnatural' desires toward men - but - I am not, nor have I ever been a killer. It is quite pleasant to find after all these years, that I am not the lowest of the low, I have some - well one - redeeming quality.
There stood before us the decision about tomorrow evening. I had to reply to the invitation Stubbs had left with me last night. Clearly it is a trap; a way to lure me on to the moor alone - for I alone am invited to dine at six, at High Tor House. The problem, as the great detective pointed out, is we have no evidence - none we can use, that is.
We know he claims to have discovered lichen, which was actually discovered by one John Standish, we don't know if he is John Standish or just taking credit for his work. We don't know if John Standish is related to Charles Standish, or even if my great uncle survived his fateful voyage - if indeed he ever took it. We don't know that he has a hound trained to kill me. We don't know if it was he who stole my boot. We know a huge dog attacked Tanner, but even if we could prove it did so because he was wearing my coat, we can't use this evidence with out giving Tanner up - which I will never do. It is all supposition and assumption, what Larabee calls 'circumstantial evidence'. There is nothing for it, I will have to go to dinner with this man and draw him out. For this has to end, I may be a coward but I am, I hope, also a gentleman, and no gentleman lets others suffer for him.
It took some persuasion, but young JD was eventually dispatched to deliver my acceptance note to Stubbs/Standish. I must confess it was a way to get some time alone with Vincent, even if it is just sitting and watching him sleep. Dr Wilmington seems more optimistic about his chances. JD told me he has been awake much of the morning, another good sign I am told. The bruises on his neck are horrid, and the cuts on his face ugly, but he is beautiful. My heart beats a little faster when I see him, my stomach tightens, I feel my skin flush. It is torture, but the pain is exquisite. I know my passion will always be unrequited, but while I can, I will relish it - pain is so close to pleasure. I am also resolved to help him, to this end I will engage Mr Larabee on his behalf to clear his name. If all else fails I will find him employment on one of my Caribbean properties - JD too if it comes to that. He will be safe there, and I can visit him on occasion. It would be tempting to keep him here, hide him, but he should not be caged, he has to be free. And while he recuperates, I will teach him to read. If he will let me and if I can be that close to him and still retain my faculties, the former seems more likely than the latter at this stage.
H*S*H*S*H*S*H
PERSONAL DIARY - BUCK WILMINGTON
February 23rd 1896
Afternoon
Tanner is making excellent progress, when I examined him this morning he was able to move all his fingers and toes. I had feared that some of the tendons were permanently damaged. He can flex his right knee through almost the full extent of its normal movement, the left is more restricted, but I am hopeful. Both arms can be flexed to some degree and he has full use of his hands. His fever remains at between 99.2 and 99.5. I have reduced the morphine and he is tolerating the pain well. I am very glad it wasn't me, I don't think I could have stood it. Ezra has sent for fresh lemons and Rain is going to make lemonade for him. I had asked JD what his favourite foods are, and especially drinks are, as we need to keep him drinking and eating. It is common enough in the army for fit active young men who find themselves bed ridden and inactive to quickly decline and lose interest in food. This can be avoided with some imagination. Ezra seems very eager to help in any way he can, as well as the lemons, he has ordered fresh venison - I get the feeling a fair few Exmoor Red Deer have found their way on to the Dunne family table, and Cadburys chocolates. Where he acquired a taste for such a luxury item, heaven knows but JD insists that he loves them; which it is all to the good because it will encourage him to eat - the boy is far too thin as it is.
Last night was wonderful; we just lay together for a long time, Chris' back to my chest, our naked bodies pressed against each other under a mound of blankets and quilts - for the temperatures have plummeted. We didn't draw the curtains; instead we were able to see the star lit night sky from the bed. Living in London, you forget what a real night sky is like. The Milky Way was clear as a bell, snaking its way over our heads, even with a near full moon, which was behind the house, casting eerie shadows across the lawn disappearing in to the ha-ha and streaking out across the moor beyond.
I could tell Chris had things on his mind, I can feel his mood through his body. I ran my hand over his chest, it wasn't a sexual thing, I just reminded him I was there. Then I nuzzled his neck once or twice before I asked.
"What's on your mind love?"
He said nothing for a long time, but I knew an answer was coming - eventually.
"This place, Dartmoor, if the Devil were to take a hand in our lives - the lives of man, here would be the place to do it." I didn't know what to say, in truth I didn't know what he was on about. "Do you ever think about her?" he finally asked.
When he says 'her' like that he means Sarah; he never says her name. I only met her once, but Chris wrote to me about her so often it was as if I knew her, and Adam. I still have those letters and the pictures he to sent me. The love I see there, the love in his eyes, that is why he can never really love me, why he will never say it, the 'L' word. I can't help loving him. I have been in love with him since I was fourteen years old, he knows that. I know I can't ever have real love, but I am content with what I can get.
"Yes," I finally said, "I think about her sometimes."
"Do I call to her in my sleep?" he asked.
That was a bit of a shock, he's never asked that before. The truth is he used to, but over the years his nightmares and dreams of Sarah have become less frequent, I can't even remember the last one - oh wait yes I can, last August 14th, it would have been Adam's birthday.
"You used to, to both of them," I replied honestly, "but not so much now - not when I'm around anyway. Why do you ask?"
He shifted his weight back, pressing more closely against me.
"Have I ever called her name when we were in bed?" There was a note of real concern in his voice.
"No," I lied, for in truth, in those dark days after I found him in Devonport, he would demand I take him with my mouth or my hand, it was - to him - soulless, and meaningless, and he called out her name when he came. But that, like all things, passed and he hasn't done it in years and years. He has never topped me. I wouldn't mind, I quite enjoy it now and again, but he has never asked or tried. I suspect he is worried he will compare it to making love to Sarah. It makes no never mind to me, I still love him, and still want to make love to him.
"Good," he said, and I felt him relax a little. "Buck, I…that is, what I mean is…. us, I need us." He didn't say any more, but that didn't matter, that is by far the most commitment that I have had from him.
I let my other hand drift down, very slowly, just letting it ghost over him, barely touching him. Finally when I reached his groin, I closed my hand around his shaft. To my surprise, he was already more than half hard - I always said he was wanton. I took my time, no heavy pressure, no squeezing, no slight wringing motion - he loves that, he comes almost instantly if I do it. No, I took it very steadily, slowly, gently, just stroking him up and down. We were generating quite a lot of heat under those blankets and his shaft was soon slick with perspiration. I felt the heat rise in my hand and spread out through his body, still pressed close to mine. I have no notion how long it took, time was immaterial then, but eventually, as I lay gently kissing his back, keeping the rhythm of my hand steady, I felt him tense. His breathing came in short gasps, and he suddenly had a death grip on my other arm where it lay over his chest. Then in the same silence that had proceeded it, he came, shooting all over my hand and his belly.
For a long time he just lay there, panting, his hands still gripping my arm, thought he was no longer endangering the circulation. He must have finally regained enough of his senses to feel my erection pressing into the small of his back. I wasn't looking for relief, this was about his needs, but - the damn thing has a mind of its own!
"You?" he suddenly said. I assured him I was fine, and didn't need anything. "No, no that's not right, I need to take care of you." Need - he said need! He needs to do something for me, not want, when he wants to do it, it is for his needs, no he 'needed' to do this for me. This is not like when I get into one of my black melancholy moods, this is different - though in truth I can't put down on paper why, because I don't fully understand it - but I feel it.
He reached behind himself and took my hand; gently he pulled it over to his own buttocks. "Get me ready," he instructed breathily.
My hand was still slick and sticky with his seed, so I did as he wanted, slipping my index finger in to that oh so tight, hot passage. There was no resistance, I worked it gently before I added a second finger, he stiffened just for a second and then relaxed. Sometimes I scissor my fingers, but last night I just moved them together. Keeping the tips almost still I moved the top of my hand in an ever increasing circle, slowly stretching him. He decided when it was enough, slipping off my hand and rolling over to face me. He pushed gently on my shoulder and I obediently rolled over onto my back. Once he had straddled me, keeping the blankets over his shoulder - for in truth it was very cold now, and there was no way either of us was about to get up and put more wood on the fire, he bent his head to my shaft. This was not sexual as such, he wasn't trying to bring me to climax with his mouth, not this time, he was just getting me slick and wet with his mouth. Once he judged I was ready he sat up and moved his lean hips, thigh muscles bulging to position himself over my shaft, which was now standing fully to attention. Using his own hand to help guide him, he lowered himself down on to me, taking the whole length in one smooth move. He hissed as his tight spot was breached.
"Hurt?" I asked.
"Only good hurt," he assured. Then he began to move, slowly, gently, he too was in no hurry. It felt so good; I lay there gazing at him, the limited illumination from the window picked out his body in pale light and deep shadows, which showed up his fine muscles. As he became more engrossed in what he was doing he arched his back and rose up and than slid down me. The blankets fell away to pool around him as he was taken by the rhythm of the moment. I was so close I was having trouble concentrating, I could feel the heat rising, my body hummed with its own power, rising ever closer to the point where I no longer had control over any part of it or its functions. His hands were massaging my chest, but I hardly noticed. I reached out vaguely aware I needed something to hold on to, as I groped aimlessly for his thigh or the sheets, his hands captured mine and held on to me as I climaxed, shooting straight up into him, my hips jerking off the bed repeatedly. Finally I was aware of his face close to mine, warm breath on my face, fingertips stroking the side of my face.
"Hello," he said softly. I think I said 'hello' back, I can't be sure. I'm fairly sure I thanked him but to be honest I only have fairly fuzzy memories of that moment. I think we slept as we were, him lying across me, me still inside him.
When I woke he had already left the bed. He was dressed in a nightshirt and my robe, sitting by the fire which now blazed in the grate.
"Morning sleepy head," he called cheerily. "Nathan is bringing coffee, so you may want to cover up a bit." He stood and tossed me my nightshirt. "And he's filling a bath - in the scullery, he offered to bring the water and the bath up here, but I said we were used to roughing it." I was still only half awake at this point and thus only understood half of what he was saying but I got the gist of it.
Since Ezra was not yet up, after breakfast we again went for a ride. I like the grey, he may be a carriage horse but he had a good turn of speed and character, I fear the bay is too docile for Chris' tastes. As we did yesterday, while trying to look just like two gentlemen out for a ride we managed to traverse the path between the Hall and High Tor House twice, getting a feel for the lay of the land.
At lunch Chris outlined what we know, what we can prove and what we only suspect. And what we can prove is precious little. Ezra will dine tonight at High Tor House. Chris believes that Stubbs will want him on foot and will manufacture some way to prevent him riding back. I suggested he may 'wire' the horse. For once I had hit upon some nugget of information the great Christopher Larabee didn't know, though once I started to explain it Ezra said he knew of the technique but by a different name. You remove one shoe and secure a thin wire around the hoof - it is difficult to see especially in poor light - so that it presses onto the frog as the horse walks, naturally feeling this unaccustomed pressure the horse picks up its foot as if lame, thought in fact no damage has been done. Chris agreed this was likely but did not rule out the possibility that he may do something more drastic. Since Ezra has become attached to Chaucer, he refuses to risk him and will ride the bay. I have to admit I am glad he didn't choose the grey.
H*S*H*S*H*S*H
JOURNAL - EZRA P STANDISH
February 23rd 1896
I sent JD out again this afternoon, to exercise Chaucer. This was a good way to get rid of him and spend some more time with Tanner. Vincent was asleep again; he sleeps beautifully, no snoring, no dribbling, just peaceful slumber. What would it be like to lie beside someone who sleeps so exquisitely?
"Albert Vincent Tanner," I said out loud. "I know you can't hear me, but I have to say this to you anyway - for tonight I go to beard the lion in his den. I go to confront the villain who is responsible for your current suffering. And if I do not return I need to know I have told you how I feel. I love you Vin; I have since I first saw you. You are the most perfectly beautiful man I have ever seen; your hair is like the finest silk, your eyes are bluer than a summer sky. If I could have you I would be happy forever, for you I would give up everything. I know this is fantasy. If you were awake you would be disgusted, if you were fit you would probably hit me, and if you were a free man you would have me arrested. But I am what I am, as God made me, I have tried to be other than what I am, but I can't. Know than that I will do what ever it takes to protect you, now and forever. For you are the light of my life, my one and only, my true one, my love."
Just as I stopped speaking Dr Sanchez entered the room with his bag; I, somewhat flustered, made my excuses and left the room. I have one last thing to do before I go and change for this evening. I pray it is a precaution only. I have faith in Mr Larabee, and the others. Dear God how have I come to this? What possessed me to leave America? "Money Ezra, always follow the money" Well I followed it mother, more money than all your schemes and scams could ever have produced, more money than I ever imagined I could have. And I could lose everything as fast as I found it. Is it worth it? Would I rather be poor but alive and free? Yes - I suppose everyone would - but I no longer have the option, not matter where I run to, I suspect that man would follow me. Perhaps he is mad? Men have lost their reason over far less. Money, they say, is the root of all evil and it is surely living up to its reputation in this place.
H*S*H*S*H*S*H
LAST WILL AND TESTIMONY OF SIR EZRA PIERS STANDISH, BARONET.
STANDISH HALL
FOUR CORNERS
DEVONSHIRE
ENGLAND
I Ezra P Standish, being of sound mind do here by will and bequest all my worldly goods as detailed in this document.
To Thomas Nettles, also known as Old Tom, the sum of £2000.
To Mr Christopher Larabee, the sum of £2000.
To Doctor John 'Buck' Wilmington, the sum of £2000.
To Mr John 'JD' Dunne, his family and dependants the sum of £10,000
To Mr and Mrs Nathan Jackson, all my properties, holdings and business in the Caribbean.
To Doctor Josiah Sanchez, I leave Standish Hall and all its contents (with the exception of the jewellery, which is to be distributed as detailed), its grounds and all land, property and estates in the United Kingdom.
The residual of my disposable income I leave to my mother Mrs Maude Standish.
The family jewellery is to be distributed thus.
Mrs Rain Jackson to have first choice of the jewels - sets of matching jewels to be treated as one item. Mrs Jackson may choose three things. Mr Dunne may then choose six items of female jewellery for him and his family. My mother is to receive the remaining jewels. Of my own and my late uncles rings, watches and studs, these are to be distributed among my friends as Dr Sanchez deems fit.
Signed this day February the 23rd 1896
Ezra P Standish
Witnessed by Thomas Nettles
X his mark
H*S*H*S*H*S*H
PERSONAL JOURNAL - JOSIAH SANCHEZ
February 23rd 1896
Afternoon
I returned to the hall the next day. Dr Wilmington asked me to check Tanner for him; he wants a second opinion, since he is doing so well Buck is beginning to doubt his findings. For a really good doctor, Wilmington seems to doubt his abilities a lot, it's a shame, he is very, very good at what he does - well from what I have seen, which is admittedly very little.
As I approached the room I could hear Sir Ezra speaking, his voice - that accent - is quite distinctive, though I couldn't tell what he was saying. As I entered he stopped and, after greeting me, left hurriedly. I was a little surprised to find the patient asleep, but then considering how I believe Ezra feels about Tanner maybe he feels he can only speak to him while he sleeps. However as I sat down Vin opened his eyes.
"How long have you been awake?" I asked, wondering what poor Ezra had said thinking him asleep.
A smile came upon that battered face, a smile that lit up his whole face in a way I have never seen before - not even when he first saw JD did he smile like that - and he said.
"Long enough."
I wonder, maybe there is hope for Ezra's dreams yet. As I suspected Wilmington has no reason to doubt his abilities, Tanner is very lucky, that is all. Lucky that he was found so soon, lucky that Buck and Nathan were on hand to save him. Lucky that Wilmington is so experienced with his kind of injuries. Lucky he appears to have the constitution of an ox or should that be a rat. It's not that I think he is a rat, but surely living and thriving in filth, rats must have a very high resistance to infection - like Tanner. God I'm rambling here. I just want this over. I'm writing this now to while away the time before we must all leave. Time has stood still I swear it, in Parliament Square right now the masses gaze up at Big Ben in amazement as the great clock stands frozen.