The Candlelit Coffin (Lady Fan Mystery Book 4)

by Elizabeth Bailey

  Ottilia gave her spouse a reassuring smile, suppressing the shadow that brushed her heart. “I am afraid it is just as you say, sir. An inconvenience cruelly removed.”

  “Inconvenience? God, I wish she had told me! Inconvenience! It does not bear thinking of.”

  “Yet someone did think of it, sir, with a vengeance.”

  Charlton seemed too taken up with the horror to turn his mind to identities. “Why go to that extreme? For the Lord’s sake, there are ways enough to secure a female in that condition, are there not? A man of honour ought to pay for his mistakes.”

  “With marriage perhaps?”

  He waved this aside with impatience. “An ineligible female? Of course not. But provision may be made. Accommodation, an allowance and so forth.”

  Francis gave the man a wry look. “You are talking as a man of means, Charlton. A trifling expense for such as you or I perhaps. To others, keeping a mistress and child may be a luxury.”

  “Added to which,” put in Ottilia, “Dulcie was no country wench to be readily shut away in some corner of a man’s estate. She trod the boards and was a beauty of note throughout the South Coast.”

  The corners of Charlton’s mouth turned down. “The fear of scandal operated also? Well, he chose a mighty peculiar way of avoiding it.”

  “Oh, the sensational nature of the murder was quite deliberate, do you not think?”

  “Was it? Why?”

  “My dear sir, because it concentrated attention upon the company of The Grand Ferdinando. Although we have discovered Dulcie had neither interest in nor intention of dispensing her favours to any of them.”

  To her surprise, Charlton nodded. “That is so, ma’am. I lectured her on the evils of her situation and warned her to be circumspect. She laughed at the very notion of succumbing to her fellow actors. I believed her sincere.”

  “Interesting. Did you also warn her against the gentlemen posing as your rivals?”

  The startled look in Charlton’s eyes was accompanied by a swift in-drawn breath. His tone became taut. “You assume too much, Lady Francis. I did not seek her affections.”

  A restive movement from her husband told Ottilia his choler was rising and she hastened to smooth over the moment. “I did not imply as much, sir. One may be pardoned, perhaps, for imagining an interest in a girl whose repute of beauty is legendary and with whom you are known to have associated.”

  A rueful laugh escaped the man and he threw up a hand. “Touché!” He turned an eye on Francis. “I admit I’m a thought ready to take umbrage. When one’s motives are purely avuncular, it is galling to be tarred with a common brush.”

  Francis cocked a sceptical eyebrow. “Purely avuncular? Would you have us believe you never once saw the female in the light of conquest?”

  Charlton’s cheek darkened and Ottilia could have cursed. She threw an admonitory look at her spouse, but he returned it with an impenitent frown. Yet this sudden ruthlessness proved salutary.

  “I admit,” said Charlton in a heavy tone, “that my first impulse deserved censure. But it dissipated rapidly. Had you known Dulcibella, you would not doubt me. She was little removed from the schoolgirl and had none of the sophistication one might expect of an actress.”

  Seeking to encourage this turn, Ottilia kept her tone light. “She was naïve?”

  “Naïve? She had no notion of her vulnerability. She supposed men wished to court her for some fairy-tale ending. Her charm lay in her innocence and a total lack of conceit.”

  “If you befriended her, I must suppose you took note of those who did regard her with a predatory eye.”

  “Of course he did,” Francis put in on the edge of a snap. “He said as much to me, did you not, Charlton?”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “You are talking of that fellow Paglesham. An upstart puppy. I had reason to curse his pretty face, for Dulcie did favour him. She blushed at mention of his name, insisting this ‘Perry’ of hers meant her no harm.”

  “Then you did warn her against him,” pursued Ottilia.

  “I tried. She assured me she had taken my lessons to heart and would let no man take unwanted liberties with her. She claimed she knew how to keep a man at arm’s length. So much for that.”

  “It was true. She would not permit her fellow actors to go beyond the line.” Ottilia gave a faint smile. “Though her notion of where the line stood left a little to be desired, I surmise.”

  Charlton’s jaw tightened. “As we see.”

  Ottilia’s sympathies veered towards the unfortunate Dulcie. “Come, sir. She paid dearly for succumbing. It is not for us to judge her now.”

  He drew in a taut breath and nodded, throwing a considering look from her to Francis and back again. “You suspect Paglesham of the deed?”

  “He is on the list,” said Francis.

  “As was I, I thank you.”

  The clipped tone told its own tale. Ottilia began to despair of making further headway. She tried for a lighter note. “Well, you have confirmed he had the preference, sir.”

  “Moreover, he makes no secret of his conquest,” put in Francis.

  “Then, Good God, why does not Tretower arrest the fellow?”

  Ottilia received an exasperated glance from her spouse and very nearly gave way to merriment. “My dear sir, one cannot arrest a man merely upon supposition. There must be substance if a charge is to stick.”

  “What more is needed, if he admits to having defiled the poor girl?”

  “For pity’s sake, man, a fellow is not to be thought guilty of murder merely because he had his way with the wench! Where have your wits gone begging, Charlton?”

  The other man threw up his head, staring at Francis. “You suggest he was not the only one? I won’t believe she peddled her wares to Edgcott, if that is what you mean.” He blew out a disparaging breath. “Not that the fellow had not the gall to try. At his age! Disgraceful. Mind, I dare say he is as chary of being suspected as any of us.”

  “He seemed insouciant to me,” said Francis on a frown. “What makes you say so?”

  “He’s taken to hobnobbing with Paglesham. Comparing notes, I shouldn’t wonder.”

  Ottilia’s mind jumped. “You’ve seen them together?”

  “In a coffee shop just the other day.”

  “Mrs Horniman’s?” asked Francis.

  “No, some other. I don’t know the name. An obscure little hole. I was walking by with my girls, whom I had taken to a doll’s hospital for a needed repair for Lizzy’s favourite, and Paglesham and Edgcott came out of the place together.”

  A new possibility was rearing in Ottilia’s head. “Did either see you?”

  “I don’t know. I paid scant attention at the time, for Lizzy was plaguing me to know how long her doll might be obliged to remain there. Indeed, it only came back to me just now.”

  Ottilia found her husband’s eyes on her, in a questioning look she knew well. She gave him a speaking glance in return and set her gaze on Charlton.

  “I must thank you for being so frank, sir. You have been immeasurably helpful.”

  He gave a small shrug. “I could do no less. Don’t hesitate to call on me if I can do aught else.”

  He rose and Francis followed suit. A bow and a curt word of farewell and he was gone. Ottilia was not in the least surprised when her husband sat down again and fixed her with a commanding eye.

  “Out with it, my woman of wonder. And no fobbing me off.”

  She could not resist a spurt of mischievous laughter. “You know me too well.”

  “I do, and I won’t be denied. What is afoot?”

  She sobered, watching for his reaction. “What do you say to a conspiracy? Paglesham lures Dulcie with promises and Edgcott carries out the deed.”

  Having set his second-in-command to the task of seeing what he could discover at the livery stables in Weymouth and its environs, George betook himself to Dorchester to confer with Justice Shellow. The elderly squire had agreed with the two other landowners
and designated justices of the peace in the area that he would oversee this particular murder and requested George to report to him.

  “For I don’t mind telling you, m’boy, that I’ve more gumption than the two of ’em put together, though I trust you won’t tell ’em I said so.”

  The twinkle that accompanied this request had drawn George and he’d been relieved to be dealing with a fellow of ordinary common sense.

  “Won’t tell you how to do your business, Colonel, but keep me informed, m’boy, and let me know what you need from me.”

  It was therefore with every hope of receiving the necessary assistance that he approached Shellow. His quarry was at home and eager for news, pausing only to pour them both a glass of sherry before requesting George to open his budget. He whistled when he heard of what had come to light.

  “A witness, you say? More than we could have hoped for, m’boy.”

  “Yes, sir, but his description does not help us to identify the murderer.” He explained the difficulty and moved swiftly on to the resurrection men. “What we do have from the boy is an identification of the men who dug up the grave and extracted the coffin.”

  “There’s a piece of luck, Colonel. Well done.”

  George gave a hollow laugh, but refrained from pointing out that it was scarcely his doing. Shellow naturally had no notion Ottilia was toiling on his behalf.

  “Unfortunately, sir, our witness has not seen the men in Weymouth since the murder. They were despatched from the scene before it took place, so I surmise they — er — scarpered, as the boy has it, the moment they learned what the gentleman they helped had done.”

  Justice Shellow set down his empty glass on a little table beside the comfortable leather-covered chair he was occupying in his bookroom. “But they can point the finger, m’boy, if we can trace ’em.”

  George set aside his own glass, the wine barely touched. “That is the difficulty, sir. Truggery and Stowe operate outside the law.”

  “Resurrection men?” George received a shrewd look. “Thinking of the hospital here, are you?”

  “Indeed, sir. The boy specifically states they sell to the surgeons in Dorchester.”

  “Then you may leave that to me. Happen to know old Keymer well. Runs the place.”

  “Excellent, sir.” George leaned forward in his seat. “I was hoping you might be able to set your constables to hunting these fellows down. It’s possible they might operate in Lyme Regis and Exeter.”

  The elderly man looked at him rather hard. “Reason to think so, eh?”

  “One of our suspects was seen in both places, hanging around the theatres there. I’m off to Lyme after I leave you, to see what I can find out from that angle. Also to check the livery stables for this coach.”

  “You said a gentleman, Colonel?”

  “It looks that way from what the boy said. But a player could assume the necessary voice.”

  “But would he know how to get hold of these resurrection men of yours, m’dear fellow? Sounds to me to be a shady character. Who’s this suspect who haunts the theatre?”

  “A Captain Edgcott.” The justice lifted his gaze in a suddenly intent look. “Do you know him, sir?”

  “Heard of him. Something of a fly by night. Settles in one place ’til they get his measure and takes off again to find another set of pigeons for plucking.”

  “A Captain Sharp then?”

  “Not that kind. He don’t cheat unwary lads in gaming hells and bully them to pay up. More of a go-between. Helps out young fellers who get themselves in a fix and daren’t tell their sires. Edgcott makes it all go away — for a fee or a promise or favour in return.”

  George heard this with a leap of surmise. “Then he could well be our man.”

  Shellow raised his brows. “Got reason to think so?”

  “If his stock in trade is as you say, sir. At present we are focused on Edgcott or the pretty young fellow Paglesham, but this gives me to think, sir. If Paglesham, who says he did succeed with the victim, was responsible for her condition —”

  “He engaged Edgcott to murder the wench on his behalf? Hm.”

  Shellow’s regard was tinged with scepticism as he pondered, steepling his fingers. George waited with a thread of rising impatience. He was half inclined to drive straight back to Weymouth and arrest both for conspiracy to murder, but Ottilia’s caution was rubbing off on him. He needed proofs first.

  At length, his elderly host sat back, dropping his hands to the arms of his chair. “Possible. Seems a trifle over the odds for Edgcott. Fellow’s morals are dubious. Might indulge in actions on the edge of the law, what you might call petty crime. But outright murder?”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “Think he’s got too much regard for his own neck to put it in jeopardy. Not the sort of man to go to such lengths. Would’ve thought he’d arrange to pay off the female.”

  “Ah, but this is a female of renown, sir, a recognised beauty and an actress to boot.”

  The justice still looked dubious, but he nodded. “See what you mean. Drastic measures called for, you think?”

  “There seems no other recognisable motive for the deed, sir.”

  Shellow shook a finger. “And we won’t forget there are two deaths to be accounted for.”

  “The infant, yes. We will charge him with both murders when we catch him.”

  “There’s the rub.” Shellow pushed himself to his feet. “Do your part, m’boy. No saying what you may find out from these other theatres. Rely on me for the hunt for the gravediggers. Can’t do anything now until Monday, but I’ll see Keymer then. He might have a clue as to the whereabouts of these resurrection men of yours. What were the names again?”

  “Truggery and Stowe, sir. The former is likely the ringleader.”

  Shellow moved to an escritoire set to one side of the room and opened it. “Make a note of that now. M’memory is not what it was. Don’t you fret, m’boy. I’ll set the search going for these fellows and send to you at once if we find ’em.”

  George thanked him and, after detailing where the investigation stood otherwise, left in a more hopeful frame of mind. He was gratified by the intelligence of Edgcott’s habits, which chimed well with Ottilia’s concentration on him or Paglesham. The business looked to be in a fair way to being settled, which augured better for his chance of making his peace with Cecile.

  As he drove the gig he used for longer journeys onward towards Lyme Regis, he could not help dwelling on yesterday’s contretemps. The Ferdinando company were due to give their final performance on Tuesday, which meant Cecile would be out of his reach afterwards. He had told her Bournemouth was not far, but the truth was he could not leave Weymouth until this damned murder was resolved.

  Nor did he feel it politic to be pressing his suit upon Cecile until he could do so with the knowledge of having assuaged her grief and upset at her friend’s distressing demise. His whole desire was to go to her and mend his fences, but his present duty held him captive.

  The one excursion to the Assembly Rooms had tired Ottilia unduly and Sunday found her ensconced on the chaise longue, watching the world go by outside the parlour window. She had adjured her husband to remain with Sybilla for the duration of the service at St Mary’s Church, and to accompany her to the Rooms afterwards if she wished it.

  “With luck, you may get a sight of Paglesham. Try, if you do, to find out what he was up to with Edgcott at that coffee house.”

  “Certainly, if the fellow shows his face. Though I should doubt of getting anything out of him, assuming your theory holds.”

  Ottilia was not sanguine either, but she felt it was worth his remaining for a space on the off chance, even though Sybilla would no doubt be engaged with her three gentlemen cronies and admirers. She was glad to think her mother-in-law was finding some amusement in their stay since she had come purely on Ottilia’s behalf.

  From what she could see from the window, it looked to be a trifle windy outside with the wav
es showing choppy. The Esplanade was all but deserted. She spotted a couple hurrying along, the man holding his hat and the woman’s petticoats blowing close about her legs. Several children were braving the surf, their shrieks tinny on the distant air. Ottilia watched them with a curious mixture of pleasure and pain. A little sigh escaped her and, as she withdrew her gaze, her eye caught on a cloaked figure standing on the Esplanade side of the cobbled street below.

  Ottilia felt a catch at her breast. A three-cornered hat shadowed the man’s face, but it was evident from his stance that he was watching the window. Perkin’s description jarred in her head and she stared down, struck by a creeping sense of trepidation.

  It was he! The murderer. She was sure of it. And he knew of her involvement. Why else would he seek to frighten her? Was that his intent?

  A flare of defiance rose up. She would not be intimidated in her own home. Without a thought of the danger, Ottilia rose up and went swiftly to the door and out into the hall. She ought to call for Hemp or Tyler, but her feet were moving too fast to think it through. In a moment, she was in the hall, wrenching the front door open.

  Caution kept her on the threshold as her gaze hunted the opposite side of the road. The man was no longer there. Where had he gone so fast? Did he guess she was coming down? Her pulse was out of true, but she crept a couple of steps beyond the door, glancing this way and that along both sides of the street and down the Esplanade. No cloaked figure rewarded her search. She made out a distant form with a cane limping in the direction of the pier, a dog gambolling beside it. The children were still chasing waves, a nursemaid calling from the shore. But there was no one else within sight. For a moment Ottilia wondered if her debilitated condition had caused her to imagine it, but she breathed more freely nonetheless.

  As she turned to go back into the house, the cloaked figure loomed up before her, blocking the doorway, and grasped her by the throat.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Instinct sent Ottilia’s hands up to clutch the man’s wrists as she gazed up into a face disguised by a half-mask under the concealing three-cornered hat. A voice, guttural and low, spat vicious words into her face.