Resistance

Chapter 1

Matlock, Derbyshire, England
September 10th, 1816

Dr. Peter Fairbanks rode along the mucky road on horseback as the threatening gray clouds pursued him. Like hulking guards, dressed in silver armor, they'd rolled over the moors in his shadow. As he neared his destination, they broke open, washing out his path. Against the chill, he tucked further into his coat. His hired mare labored in its fatigue, snorting out white puffs into the black night.

When he reached the gates to Matlock, he was grateful that they were open. The doctor trod along the empty streets, seeing contrasting scenes through the residential windows. Lanterns cast yellow light onto the cobbles, shifting and fluttering with the shadows of tradesmen enjoying dinner with their families. He wished he were half so lucky.

The truth was he had no real home or family. His only brother was an estranged one and lived miles away. Preston would be less than hospitable if Peter showed up there. Their childhood home was boarded up and falling to shambles.

A hunger cramp turned his stomach as he came to a stop before the Tall Heather Inn, where beasts and men sought the shelter beneath the awning. Entering the establishment, he saw that despite the inclement weather, the Inn was populated by two dozen or so men and women of all shapes and sizes.

The barkeep nodded to him, which was the best greeting he expected, being a stranger. Peter shook his coat free of water and hung it by the door before taking a seat at the counter. He ordered a pint, and spent more time looking into the foam than drinking from the tankard. Surveying the room, he saw that most of its patrons were in good health, conversing over the day's work or their latest hunting trips.

"Excuse me, sir. Is there a doctor lodged hereabouts?" Peter asked.

"Eh now, boy, be you needing a doctor so soon? You ain't had none of your ale yet," joked the barkeep with a grin.

"No, my inquiry has nothing to do with my health, though it has a great deal to do with my welfare. You see, sir, I am a doctor. My name is Peter Fairbanks. I am looking to set up a practice and I was wondering if there might be a use for me in town." Peter had almost exhausted the funds on which he had to live, having just a pound and fifteen shillings left in his purse. It would not get him very far.

"Oy! Lily, this young bloke says he's a doctor. Fancy that! And just when Campbell say he won't come no more! What luck!"

"Handsome one, that!" a busty redhead shouted from across the taproom. A few patrons chuckled. Peter flushed.

"Aye, we got a use for you! We ain't had a good doctor in these parts in a long while. Well, none that was learned anyway. Had a surgeon, Mr. Downs, but he died some six month ago now." He idly dried the same glass he'd been wiping for the past five minutes.

"I see..."

"Where you be from?"

"I've come up from Melbourne." Peter sipped his ale, and broke eye contact with the man, hoping not to be bored with pleasantries.

"You never did! Why, me cousin lives thereabouts, name of James Crockett! Ever heard of him?"

"Crockett? I do not recall." He wished he'd never asked the barkeep any questions at all. Desiring to settle his own needs, he changed the subject. "Sir, might the owner of this establishment be available? I may need a room for the night."

"Why sir, that be me. I'll give you the finest gentleman's room for three crown a week. That includes meals."

Before Peter could agree to the reasonable arrangement, the establishment's oak door flew wide open. Filling the doorway was a man almost too big for it.