The Lazarus Gate Read Free Page A

enthusiasm for dry land. Of course, the English weather and the grimy London docks conspired to do just that, but it seemed like paradise to me. I disembarked the Navy steam cutter, HMS
Gannet
, for what I hoped was the final time, finding myself peering through thick swirls of mist on a drear and chilly morning. I closed my eyes to drink in the sounds and smells of London—labourers and ships’ captains calling out and barking orders; bells tolling from departing ships across the mist-wreathed Thames; the creaking of ropes and timbers; the clanking of chains, winches and pulleys; the smell of tobacco, coffee, rum and sugar drifting from containers, and mingling with the salty air and smoky London particular. This, then, was home. A home that I had not seen in some six years, yet which still burned brightly in my memories.
    My escort awaited me at the gates, and he was not quite what I had been expecting. Not that I’d really known what to expect. Captain James Denny of the Royal Horse Guards was a young, thin-faced man with a surprisingly garrulous nature and easy sense of humour. He and the two soldiers he had brought with him were not in uniform, but presented me with salutes regardless. When I returned the honour, Denny winked and said, ‘Oh no, sir. You’re a civilian now.’ I cracked a smile, albeit a humourless one.
    Captain Denny, who insisted I call him Jim, was under instruction to meet me and help me get my bearings. He was at my disposal for a day or two, and whilst I initially felt irked that Horse Guards had sent a nursemaid for a man of my experience, I quickly became at ease in Jim’s company and was glad of the companionship. No sooner had we stepped outside the main gateway to the docklands than my head swam. Any sense of relief I felt at the British weather, the cobbled streets and plain architecture was immediately countered by my confusion. I had hoped for a swift return to a more familiar district of the city and, as if reading my mind, Jim showed me to a waiting cab. The soldiers took my few bags—a great relief, for I was still gaunt and weak from my long convalescence—and secured them on the cab’s stowage, and in a trice we were away.
    My first task, and one of no small importance, was to find somewhere to live. My father had spent so much of his later life on the move that anything resembling a family home had long since been lost to me. After Mother had died my father had grudgingly supported me, but even then I had been unable to lay down roots whilst my studies took up most of my time. What had become of our old properties after Father’s death remained a mystery to me.
    When I remarked that I had no idea where I would room, Captain Denny became quite animated.
    ‘My dear fellow,’ he exclaimed, ‘it seems the world is your oyster! You must ride with us to Westminster and seek suitable accommodation.’
    I baulked at the idea, and he realised almost before he had finished speaking that lodging in Westminster was beyond my means. Not that I truly understood what my means were, but the bookkeeping would also have to wait for now.
    ‘Of course, if you desire something more, ah, “homely” while you become acclimatised to the city,’ he continued, correcting himself as he went along, ‘then I can show you some marvellous guesthouses. Let’s get you some rooms, courtesy of Her Majesty’s armed forces, eh? I know a good place in Bloomsbury if it suits.’
    He smiled warmly, and I could detect no real snobbishness. The army looks after its own, and until I had seen the state of my accounts I was rather glad of someone to pick up the bills and organise things for me. I accepted his offer, and he instructed the driver to take us to the north end of Gower Street. I knew the area of Bloomsbury to be an unassuming district, with a reputation for being frequented by intellectuals, artists and dreamy dilettantes, and I was sure it was a place in which I could be anonymous. I craved peace