The Wolf Hound and the Raven

By Scott Johnson

While out walking his dog one evening during a terrible storm, Robert Harris finds a half-drowned figure lying at the edge of the sea. The strangely dressed man has no recollection of who he is, or how he came to be there.

When Robert’s ward, Mary, takes him to the nearby town, it soon becomes clear that others know of the man’s identity and they will stop at nothing to find him. As the details of the man’s past are slowly discovered, he becomes embroiled in a battle of politics and power as the search for his identity leads him, and those willing to help, on a fast-paced and dangerous journey across Victorian England.

When the truth about the man’s past is finally unearthed, the shocking discovery has far wider reaching consequences.

The story continues in the sequel, 'Return to Havenmill'.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scott Johnson
• Release date: Dec 11, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370443079

Scott Johnson

"Scott Johnson turns his multiyear pursuit of truth and justice on the trail of one "mendacious" lawyer into a relentless documentation of the worst excesses that have cost consumers billions. The next time someone wonders why they can't find affordable home insurance, hand them this book." William Stander, Executive Director Florida Property & Casualty Association.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Awakening

From the darkened quiet of sleep came a soft dull drone, growing and subsiding, increasing in volume. The noise grew louder, a roaring and splashing, bringing sense to the peace and stillness of unconsciousness. With each gentle prod of the water, life began to return to the prone figure. As if from a deep slumber he stirred, the icy water lapped ever higher, each surge louder than the last, splashing higher and higher up his body until with a final effort rolled the figure onto his back. The man’s eyes slowly opened, struggling against the stinging sand and lashing rain. He half turned as the sea waters rushed across his drenched body. Slowly, he emerged from the water. With great effort he inched his battered body further up the beach from the sea’s edge, clawing at the wet sand. Exhausted, he fell. Darkness cloaked him once more.

Upon the cliff top the stout figure of Robert walked, wrapped thickly against the cold wind and the lashing rain. From the Southern edge he worked his way along the path, weaving from side to side and leaning heavily on his walking staff. From the tall grasses his sodden collie sprang, darting this way and that, her long tongue hanging comically from one side. She circled playfully in a wide arc, uncaringly close to the drop to the right.

Go on girl, get going. Let’s be inside. He motioned her away with a fingerless gloved hand and she disappeared once more into the long coarse grass.

Ahead, in the fading light, the silhouette of a cottage was barely visible, clinging to the land in defiance of the weather. He headed towards it, glancing between the path in front and the sea below to the right. The beach shone like a silvery necklace between the darkening sky and blackened sea.

Ahead Edie barked. Go on I said. Get on home. Leave the damn rabbits.

The man battled on against the storm. Again Edie barked. Ahead he could see her at the cliff edge. She ran up to him barking and jumping before running back to look out to sea again.

What’s got into you, eh?

The dog returned, barking excitedly once more, before turning and running back to take the same position on the cliff top.

What have you… found… Eed?…. he asked as he struggled for breath and steadily made his way over to where the dog stood.

At the edge of the cliff he squinted and looked out towards the churning sea. The rain lashed against his face. He raised a hand to shield his eyes and stop the stinging, and scanned the shoreline.

There’s nothin’ there you daft dog. Go on with you!.. The dog looked at him, barked, then turned her gaze back towards the sea.

He scanned the sea edge and the shoreline again, over towards the headland, and back along the beach. Suddenly he stopped, dropping his hand and letting out a gasp. On the sand below he could make out a dark shape. A figure lay with its arms outstretched, head towards the cliff face, feet lying near the line of the tide. He tried to focus more, furrowing his brow. A sense of shock and urgency washed over him as he figured out what to do. He turned to Edie and headed off further along the cliff top.

Come on Edie, we have to go he told the dog. Good girl Eed… Good girl Eed he repeated as he searched for a spot on the cliff edge safe enough to climb down.

Holding on to the coarse grasses with one hand and using his staff with the other, he winced and cursed as he slipped and climbed his way down the thirty metre slope towards the rocks below. Edie weaved her way down the incline, jumping onto the rocks with great agility and onto the beach before racing over to the figure ahead. By the time Robert got there she had licked the figure’s face, a bright patch glinting from beneath the dirt and blood. It was a man. Robert turned him over carefully and wiped the sodden hair from his eyes. The man moaned slowly. Clearly he was alive.

Right then, come on you, he muttered as he sought to get a grip on the man and lift him up.

Although Robert was a strong man, his younger years were behind him. Cursing through gritted teeth he struggled to raise the man up. With a final third tug of his drenched overcoat he hauled the semi-conscious man over his shoulder. Stuttering from faltering knees, he tottered back to the rocks before inching back up the slope, scrabbling for grip against the pelting rain and clawing wind.

The shadowy veil of sleep was lifted. The sound of crackling grew louder. A pinpoint of orange light grew brighter. The moan of the wind and the patter of the rain became clearer. Slowly he opened his eyes and tried to focus. He was in a small simply furnished room. Wood beams crisscrossed the ceiling from which hung copper pots and an unlit lantern. His gaze turned towards the fire near his feet. A large open fire roared and crackled, spitting and smoking from the wet logs. His coat and clothes were hung on a rack beside, drying in the heat. On the rug in front of the fire lay a dog sleeping soundly; a black and white border collie with its head on its paws. Across from where he lay was a window, its wooden shutters open revealing the glistening rivers of rain that streamed down the leaded panes outside. The wind whistled through the gaps.

He startled as a large man entered, well over six feet and solidly built, with a grizzled beard and wet hair. He carried a tray which he set down in front of him on a small circular wooden table. The contents of the tray clanged and chinked to which the man ‘shushed’ himself. He paused and looked over. The rescued man looked back from the couch, his jade eyes deep-set and glinting from the fire light.

Ah, sorry… I didn’t mean to wake you, he apologised.

The rescued man made no reply.

How are you feeling? You’re alive at least. And a little drier now, he added with a nervous smile. My name is Robert.

The figure continued to watch in silence.

Are you hurt?

Still no response.

You look like you’ve been through Hell. There’s blood on you but I don’t think you’re cut bad, save for the bash to the head – probably from the rocks.

Robert took a bowl from the tin tray, picked up a spoon and handed them to the man.

Expect you’re hungry? he asked as he passed them over.

The man sat up slowly, propped feebly by flattened and faded cushions. He winced and held his side, pausing as he struggled to sit upright.

So you are hurt then? I’ll have to get you to see a doctor in the morning. Try not to move much. We’ll get you into town. The storm will have blown over by then, hopefully, he motioned towards the window with a nod. He proceeded to fill a bowl of boiled meat and vegetables for himself and sat in a chair opposite the sofa.

Were you washed from a ship? Or did you take a fall down from the cliff? Robert asked as he took a noisy spoonful of dinner.

The man just looked at him vacantly then tentatively lifted his bowl and tasted the meal.

You could at least tell me your name stranger. Do you speak English? Spee-ka Een-gleesh? he added helpfully.

The man lowered his bowl and looked down. His eyes surveyed the room before turning his attention back to Robert. There was a silence, even the wind and rain seemed to pause.

I… don’t know, croaked the man, struggling to get the words out as if speaking for the very first time. He coughed and sipped some water.

You don’t know? Robert replied in surprise. You don’t remember your own name? Well, that can’t be good can it? What do you remember then, stranger? The fire crackled and spat, interrupting the silence. Do you remember how you ended up down on the beach? There’s not many a man that comes this way, and you sure don’t look like a fisherman.

Robert carried on eating and broke apart a bread roll, undeterred by the stranger’s lack of conversation. He glanced over to Edie, who was taking notice of the noise with one eye but was too preoccupied with enjoying the warmth of the fire to really care. His gaze fell to the man’s coat. Robert pointed at it with a segment of bread.

Maybe you have your name in your coat? You know, a label or something? A letter perhaps?

He put his bowl back on the tray and walked over to the stranger’s coat drying beside the fire. Lifting it gently he checked its pockets, glancing towards the stranger as he did. In the light he could see that it was a long coat, dark grey-blue in colour and made of wool. It was heavy and still wet from the sea. Sand tinkled lightly onto the floor as he turned it over. On the shoulders were small holes where something had been removed or lost, perhaps the coat was damaged when he carried the stranger to the cottage. Epaulettes? Inside was a ripped label with the numbers six, one and nine marked on. He checked the deep side pockets. All empty, save for wet sand and grit. Checking the inner pockets he found a folded piece of paper. It was smudged with red lipstick – a kiss. He opened it carefully. It read ‘Remember me. We’ll meet again XXX.’ Putting it back he turned the coat over. Buttons on the front glinted in the golden glow of the firelight. There were two rows, two were missing from the right flap of the coat. He ran his thumb over one of the buttons and felt the pattern. A bird. Squinting he held the button closer to the fire light. An eagle with wings out-stretched. It was unusual but didn't look particularly expensive.

Not seen one like that before. Not from around here then? he asked holding the coat towards the injured man. That’s a nice long coat you have there.

The stranger didn’t reply. Robert folded the coat, sat back in the chair and finished his soup. You’re not one for talking, eh? he asked to which he received no response, save for a brief glance.

When the two had finished their meal in silence, Robert stood and took the bowls over to a sink where he washed them briefly with a jug of water. He dried his hands and looked towards his unexpected guest.

"It’s been a long day. You should get some more rest, it’s late now. I’ll wake you in the morning and we’ll get you over to Glynsbrook and see the doctor. Night ‘Longcoat’ ."

The man said nothing. Slowly he slid down onto the sofa and pulled the blanket up to his chest as Robert closed the shutters gave the fire a final log and a quick stoke.

Blackness. A rumbling sound. Voices shouting. A crack of gunfire. Screams. Explosions. A thud. A bang. Blinding pain shooting from limb to limb.

The stranger bolted from the sofa. As he struggled to get the sweat-soaked blanket from him he fell heavily onto the floor. The thud pounded through his painful abdomen causing him to cry out. His heart raced, sweat ran down his forehead, his chest pounded. The room came into view. The fireplace. The chair. His coat. Edie the dog (watching him quizzically). Calming himself down, he wiped his brow on his vest. With a deep sigh he stood gingerly and staggered over to the sink. From the jug he poured himself a glass of water, emptied it, then another, then poured the rest of the contents of the jug over his head. He breathed out deeply gripping the sides of the sink. The shutters in front of him were partially open. Slowly he pulled them back and looked out of the window, letting daylight into the dusty cottage. In front of the cottage were fields of tall grasses rolling away from the shore, separated by a dirt track. From over the brow of the hill a two-wheeled cart approached pulled by a single brown and white horse. Two figures sat at the front.

As the cart approached it became clear that one of the figures was Robert. His gait and bulk were unmistakable. The other, dwarfed by the big man and holding the reins loosely, was a petite woman. She reeled the horse in and turned the cart into a clearing to the front of the cottage. Stepping down she loosely wrapped the reins against a rickety fence post and flicked her curly bright red hair from her face. With a gloved hand she tied it back loosely. They approached the front door.

"Ah, ‘Longcoat’, you’re up and about. Good to see. Do you feel any better this morning?" asked Robert as he entered and walked over to the fire to warm himself. Edie got up lazily to greet him. The dog suddenly spotted the woman and with a wag of her tail bounded over to her and gratefully received some fuss and attention.

Longcoat, this is Mary, Robert said gesturing with his hand to the lady tickling the collie.

She pulled off one of her cloth gloves and held out her hand to him which he shook briefly. For a slight woman she had a strong grip and rough skin. She was small, dressed in a simple long black dress with a white collar and a grey shawl over her shoulders. Her hair was a wavy mass of fiery orange curls.

Pleased to meet you, she said with a courteous smile. Robert told me how he found you on the beach last night, and that you cannot remember your name?

He shook his head slowly, looking over to Robert. Her green eyes stared at him, searching for an answer. Again he shook his head.

No, he said softly.

He doesn’t talk much, this one, Robert shouted over his shoulder from the sink.

She studied his face. Not exactly handsome, but not old. He was a rough looking man, his lined skin and deep-set eyes gave him a tired, almost haggard, look. Those eyes; the eyes of a man that had seen many things.

You’re lucky to be alive. Perhaps you were on a ship? she said looking to Robert for agreement. Robert shrugged his large shoulders in reply.

I went down to the beach this morning, there was nothing else. No cases, no debris, no wreck – nothing.

Robert’s asked me to take you into town, Mary addressed the man. It’s about ten or so miles from here. I’ll take you to see Doctor Clement. He’s a friend of ours, he’ll check you over. The stranger nodded. I brought my cart to take you. Come on then, if you’re ready, we’ll leave straight away, she added, offering him her arm for support.

Longcoat pulled on his coat slowly, obviously in some pain and discomfort. Robert placed a large hand on the stranger’s shoulder as he stood to leave. As he turned Robert leaned in close and whispered in his ear.

She’s like a daughter to me, Longcoat. You remember that… He waved a finger in warning as they headed out. The stranger looked back, nodded slightly, and closed the door slowly behind him.

Chapter 2

Glynsbrook

The road was little more than a dirt track, cobbled in places, uneven and bumpy with deep ruts carved by wagons and horses. The land was a sea of tall grasses which rippled in the strong breeze. Overhead, dark grey clouds filled the sky, moving north ominously at great speed. Mary looked over to Longcoat, then towards the sky, and back again.

The rains are done. At least you won’t be in for another drenching today, she said watching him as he studied the landscape.

The man stared straight ahead and pulled his coat tighter around him, turning up the collar to keep out the breeze. She studied his profile as they rode. His hair was dark, just long enough to blow behind in the wind. He cheeks were prominent and his unusual jade coloured eyes were bright and deep set. His jaw was square and unshaven, grey patches crept through the dark beard giving him a stern but handsome look. It was hard to figure out how old he might be. Sometimes he looked quite young, at other times he looked much older. There was something mysterious about him, something unusual.

He turned and glanced at her. It was almost like he knew that she was watching him. She blushed and looked ahead to the road, yanking on the reins quickly.

It was lucky that Edie found you, she ventured, glancing over to him. She seems to like you. It’s not like her, she doesn’t normally like strangers.

He nodded briefly.

So you truly have no memory? You don’t know who you are, or what happened to you? Anything at all? she asked.

He shook his head slowly. Nothing… he replied matter-of-factly. His voice was soft and deep.

It must be an odd feeling. I can’t imagine what that must be like. Dr Clement should be able to help. He’s an old friend. He lives in Glynsbrook – that’s the town where we’re heading to. It’s a nice town. It seems to get bigger every time I go there. The market’s good, you can get everything you could possibly want – if you’ve got the money of course!

She noticed that he was watching her.

I’m sorry, I tend to go on a bit if I’m nervous, she apologised.

That’s fine. I cannot tell you much about me I’m afraid, so you will have to do the talking for the both of us.

Mary smiled. So you do speak then?

What about you? he asked quietly looking directly at her. She looked back at him, his bright eyes were stern and intimidating. Tell me about yourself .

She smiled sheepishly and shrugged.

Well… there’s not much to tell really, she replied. I live on a farm about a mile north east of Robert’s cottage. My parents died some years back. Robert looks out for me though. He’s like an uncle to me. I guess I look after him too. His health has not been so good these past few winters. We do just fine though. We both like the peace and quiet up here. She scanned the land around them. Her gaze fell to him. He listened intently, huddled in his woollen coat. He smiled and nodded.

Robert’s a good man, she continued, a kind man. A big daft ox – and stubborn as one at times too. He doesn’t like me fussing over him when I visit. Always moaning. He doesn’t complain about the cakes I bake for him though! You’re lucky he found you. You could have drowned, or worse.

Worse? Longcoat replied. Worse than death?

Mary felt her cheeks flush. Well, sure, I guess there’s nothing worse than dying. Other than being in Hell I suppose! She made a face, mocking herself and her babbling conversation.

Longcoat smiled at her. She was a gentle woman, full of kindness and patience. Strong too.

It was kind of Robert to take me in, I… Longcoat started, his voice trailed off.

Mary turned frowning, waiting for him to finish the sentence. He was looking down towards the muddy track.

Blackness suddenly enveloped him.

Pain shot through his body, a thousand knives stabbing at once. The world stopped. Voices. Shouting. The boom of a bomb. Thud. Boom. Crack crack. The zing and whistle of bullets narrowly missing him. He could see his hands in the darkness, caked in mud and blood. He gripped the coil of cold barbed wire tangled in front of him. Voices shouted again, close, nearby, out of vision. A figure appeared before him, shouting and yelling, though he couldn’t understand the words. The uniformed man pointed his gun.

Longcoat let out a sudden gasp and writhed in the grass, his arms flailing weakly.

Longcoat! Longcoat! shouted Mary as she desperately tried to hold his arms down. Are you alright? What’s wrong?

The grey sky reappeared above. His vision slowly returned. Mary’s worried face came into view. He blinked, trying to focus, and found himself lying in the grass at the side of the road beside the cart. The dull pain returned in his stomach.

Are you all right Longcoat? Mary asked again worriedly. He pulled himself up slowly using the cart wheel for support. Mary helped him stand.

I must have… passed out, he muttered, clinging to her.

Come on, we’ll get you to Doctor Clement. He’ll know what’s wrong with you.

They managed to get him back into the cart. When he was safely back in Mary jumped up and with a sharp snap of the reins the horse shot forward at speed down the bumpy road.

After a short ride, the town of Glynsbrook came into view. They passed through a collection of outlying cottages and farm houses clustered around a sprawling mass of streets. The town was busy. Numerous horse drawn carriages, carts and horses weaved along the main street, to-ing and fro-ing. The main road ran through a market place; the destination for many visitors on this day. The market was full of stalls selling a variety of fruit, vegetables, fish and meats. Traders shouted out prices and offers, their tones musical but largely incoherent. From the main square Mary turned off and steered the cart down a lane lined with grand stone buildings. Many were shops, their bay windows filled with displays of cloths, hats, perfumes and clothed mannequins. A web of streets and alleyways ran in every direction. After a short while Mary stopped the cart outside a dark grey stone building. Simple columns framed a large black painted wooden door. A brass plaque was screwed to the stone beside the door. It read 25 The Lanes, Dr Jeremiah Clement, General Practitioner. Mary climbed down from the cart, ran up the few steps to the door and pulled the bell a few times. A gentle tinkling could be heard beyond, followed by the tip-tap of shoes upon tiles.

The door partially opened. An elderly woman in a grey flared dress stood before them peering out cautiously. The woman burst into a big smile when she recognised Mary.

Well, hello my dear. How are you?! she asked, in surprise and they embraced.

Hello Mrs Holloway. Is Doctor Clement in? Mary asked.

The woman looked to Mary’s bedraggled and muddy companion and gave him a disapproving frown. He’s not here, my dear. He’s taking an early lunch.

Mary caught the woman’s expression. Oh, Mrs Holloway, this gentleman here needs his help. He’s been in an accident – Robert found him. Do you know when he’ll be back? she asked.

She shook her head. Closing time no doubt… she muttered under her breath.

Mary stood on the steps and thought for a moment.

"Thank you Mrs Holloway. Come on, he’ll be at The Keys. I know where we can find him."

She grasped Longcoat’s hand and ran off down the lane, pulling him after her like a child. A few twists and turns later they stopped outside a slim fronted building on a street corner. The low rumble of voices could be heard from within, broken by the occasional sound of laughter. A black sign swayed above them. Three faded golden keys were now barely recognisable.

Mary ventured inside. It was dark and smoky, filled with a dozen men drinking, talking and gambling. A bar with wooden stools lay ahead. Glasses hung from a rack above it. Framed photographs lined the walls. A barman with a long moustache and a dirty waistcoat greeted them cheerfully, peering under the line of tankards.

What’ll I get you two? he asked, looking curiously at Longcoat’s attire.

We’re looking for Doctor Clement. Jeremiah Clement? Mary asked, searching through the drinkers. The barman nodded his head, looked to the right and motioned with his head.

At the far end of the bar, perched on a stool, was a slumped figure. They headed towards him. Mary coughed loudly.

It’s a little early in the day for that isn’t it? she scolded, folding her arms.

The man startled and raised his head slowly. Wild grey hair spread unkempt in every direction. An empty whisky glass in his hand. He patted the pockets of his burgundy coat, briefly pulled out a pocket watch and checked the time, before putting it back. Frowning, he looked up at her. The man’s face seemed to light up.

Ahh, my dear Mary! the man exclaimed as he hugged her. Mary! Mary… My dear girl. He held her shoulders and looked at her smiling, lost in thought. My dear girl… You’re the spitting image of your mother you know.

She smiled. You always tell me that!

He lifted a folded up a newspaper and waved it at her face. Says the Ottomans have declared war on the Russians.

Mary took the newspaper from him and placed it on the bar where it immediately started to blot from spilled ale.

I should visit more often – I’m sorry. He blinked as he tried to focus. So how are you? I haven’t seen you since… since… His voice trailed off.

It’s been nearly a year. I’ve not forgotten you, you know. We’ve both been busy, she added with a smile. You and father were friends for a long time. You know that you can come and visit me whenever you want. Jeremiah, I’d like you to meet my friend. She turned to introduce the two men. Jeremiah, this is… Mr… Longcoat.

"Long Coat?"

Well, that’s what uncle Robert calls him. That’s the problem, you see. He can’t remember anything. He’s been in an accident or something – he has no memory, and he’s hurt his side. Robert found him on the beach off Cornby Head near the cottage during the storm last night. We thought it might be best if I brought him here to see you. Can you help him?

I see… Interesting… he said, peering over the top of his spectacles to study the stranger.

The man’s icy jade eyes gleamed from the weathered face. They shook hands gingerly.

Well then… Come with me then, my lost friend.

Jeremiah slid from his stool and walked steadily towards the door and back to the house down The Lanes arm in arm with Mary.

No-one noticed the fourth figure slip from the tavern and follow them amongst the shadows back to number 25. The figure leaned in a doorway across the street and waited patiently.

By the time the three arrived back at the Doctor’s house, the fresh air had sobered Jeremiah considerably. At the door he fumbled in his pockets for his keys, checking his trousers, his jacket and waistcoat pockets a number of times. At his fourth attempt to get the keys into the lock, the large black front door flung open to reveal the disapproving figure of Mrs Holloway.

"I trust you had a good lunch then Doctor Clement?" she asked sarcastically.

Fine, fine, thank you Mrs H, he replied as they went inside Would you be so kind as to put on a pot of tea for our visitors, Mrs H?

Dr Clement, I do wish you wouldn’t keep doing this. It worries me to see you drinking like this, she stated.

Little wonder… he countered, casting a wry wink at Mary. Just a little lunch time drinky-wink, Mrs H, that’s all.

You drink too much she continued.

You worry too much. It’ll be the death of you, he replied as they headed in.

You’ll be the death of me, she muttered under her breath as she closed the front door.

They’re like an old married couple really, Mary whispered to Longcoat with a smile as the doctor led them down a tiled hallway, through a door at the end and into a study. Gaslights illuminated a room with a large desk to the right, a leather couch and two wing back chairs were placed at the end. Shelves of books covered the wall from floor to ceiling behind. To the left of the room was an examination bed, a workshop type table and walls filled with medical drawings and scientific looking objects.

The doctor approached the bookcase and proceeded to pull out a number of leather bound books. Longcoat and