‘Not really,’ James admitted. ‘I had my head down last time I came through here.’
‘You were brilliant, Sir. The girls haven’t stopped talking about it. Mr Evans is about, but he should be in His Lordship’s dressing room right now. You’ll be okay in the hall for half an hour or so.’
Jasper led him past the kitchens to more familiar territory and the servants’ hall where James had lived with the earl’s staff during Archer’s stay. When the maids saw him, they covered their mouths with their hands as they laughed, but Jasper told him it was in admiration, not mockery, and when Mrs Jenkins appeared majestically from her parlour, she was more than pleased to see him.
‘What a delight,’ she said, tipping her head gently. ‘Going another round with Mr Evans?’
‘I hope not,’ James said feigning jokiness.
‘Probably for the best,’ the housekeeper replied. ‘Thank you, Jasper, you can return to your work.’
‘Yes, Mrs Jenkins.’ The lad turned to James, gazed up, and offered him a heart-warming smile. ‘Good to see you again, Sir,’ he said, and scampered away.
Despite the warmth of Mrs Jenkins’ welcome, James detected an uneasy atmosphere below stairs. Without Archer to shield him, he felt vulnerable and wanted his business completed as quickly as possible.
‘Mr Holt?’ he asked as he was invited to sit.
Mrs Jenkins glanced at the clock. ‘Will be free presently. They are preparing the dining room.’
‘Is His Lordship at home?’
‘He is. Harvey can’t be delayed for long.’
‘I shall endeavour to be quick, Mrs Jenkins,’ James said. ‘But tell me. How did Jasper come by the injury to his eye?’
The woman’s face tightened, and she took a breath through her regal nose, looking down it at the flagstone floor.
‘He says an accident,’ she said. ‘But I’d not be so sure about that.’
‘Oh?’
‘Not my place to cast aspersions.’
James sensed she needed to cast them at someone, and he was willing to lend an ear. All the same, it wasn’t fair to compromise her professionalism by offering her the opportunity to speak candidly.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Sorry I asked.’
‘Don’t be,’ the housekeeper replied. ‘Someone should be asking questions about the man’s state of mind.’
‘You mean Jasper?’
‘No.’
A maid entered with a mop, and Mrs Jenkins moved away.
‘If you wait there, Mr Wright,’ she said. ‘Harvey will be with you any moment.’
With that, she bustled out, leaving James to listen to the clatter from the scullery, and nod politely at the maid every time she looked at him. Steam wafted lazily in from the kitchen, swirling behind the girls as they entered and shrouding them when they left. The cook was preparing roast chicken, and even though he had had more than his share of Mrs Norwood’s meat pie, James’ stomach rumbled.
He was scanning the hall for a biscuit barrel when Harvey appeared, red-faced and pulling off his gloves.
‘Bugger! Should have left these upstairs,’ he muttered to no-one in particular as he threw them on the table, only then noticing James. Shock appeared on his face, quickly followed by delight. ‘Mr Clearwater?’ he beamed. ‘What on earth…?’
‘Just the man,’ James said, rising and offering a hand which was enthusiastically shaken. ‘Harvey, I can’t stay long, but I need your help. Are you free for fifteen minutes?’
‘I can be, Sir,’ Harvey said, straightening his hair in a mirror. ‘What for?’
‘Can we talk privately?’
‘Below stairs? You’re joking,’ Harvey laughed. ‘Follow me.’
The footman led James from the hall and along a corridor not dissimilar to the butler’s passage at Clearwater House. They followed white walls in need of painting and closed doors with glass panels, but unlike Archer’s town hose, the lighting was gas, and the sconces hissed each time James passed one. Harvey showed him into his footman’s pantry and closed the door.
‘Joseph is upstairs attending His Lordship,’ he said. ‘And Prune-face is with him. What do you want, Sir?’
‘First thing,’ James said, standing behind the door in case anyone saw. ‘Call me James, or Jimmy if you’d like.’
Harvey looked as if he’d been told he was a free man, and nodded, grinning.
‘Cheers. Second,’ James continued. ‘I really need to see a painting that’s on your grand stairs. It’s called “Artful Deception.” Do you know it?’
‘I do, Jimmy. It’s right at the bottom. Horrible thing. What do you want to know about it?’
‘How can I see it?’
Harvey blew air through his teeth. ‘Without His Lordship catching you?’ He shook his head doubtfully. ‘You’d have to be bloody lucky. Oh, sorry…’
‘No, no,’ James waved it away. ‘Think of us as mates, Harvey.’
‘Yeah?’ Harvey was overjoyed, reminding James that not all servants were treated as well as he was treated by Archer.
‘Yes, of course,’ he said. ‘Can I nip up the backstairs, pop my head through the baize and see it from there?’
‘God, no. It’s half a mile away. Only way is to walk through the house, or use the stairs…’ An idea struck him, and he held his nose while he thought, something which made James laugh. ‘We could come out on the first floor,’ he said, picturing it as he stared at the sink. ‘If we come down the stairs, we might be able to see it before the turn. Will be a distance and from above. That any good?’
‘I hope so,’ James said. ‘Can we go?’
‘Yeah, but hang on. Why do you need to see that horrid thing?’
‘It’s a long story. Look, I know the route you’re talking about. I’ll go on my own. I don’t want you getting into trouble.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about me, mate. I’m used to that. You know what that painting’s about though, don’t you?’
‘I have no idea. That’s why I must see it.’
‘Well, I can tell you.’ Harvey propped himself against the counter with his arms folded. ‘It’s about something that happened years ago. Not around here. Up north where your Clearwater family used to have mines.’
‘Mines?’ James had never heard Archer mention anything about a business in mining.
‘Yeah,’ Harvey continued. ‘I think it was the present viscount’s grandfather who gave the painting to His Lordship when he was young. Not sure why. I think Earl Kingsclere’s ancestors bought the mine… But the painting’s about something that happened when the Clearwater estate owned it.’
‘Which was…?’
‘Just want to make sure I get this right for you, Jimmy,’ Harvey said, wagging a finger at James and then looking seriously at the wall as he thought. ‘There were two men, brothers, or cousins…? No, brothers because their dad owned the mine. The deepest in the country, they said. Least, it was back in seventeen… whenever. They said that it had a shaft that went right to the bowels of the earth, straight down, mind. If a miner fell off the ladder coming up after twelve hours with a pickaxe, no-one would bother to bring up the body because they were already dead and half buried. I imagine it was too much effort, but it’s a folk story, so who knows…’
‘Yes, okay, Harvey. I don’t have a lot of time.’
‘Sorry. Right. Anyhow, family business, money and all that, these two couldn’t decide who ran the mine when their dad died and left them half each. So, they fought over it and tried to kill each other.’
‘Where was this mine?’
That seemed to be the most logical question. James only needed a location, and if the place had once belonged to the Clearwater family, it would be easy to track down. Marks could do that for him in the morning.
&n
bsp; ‘Let me think… Up north… Cross… Across town? Can’t remember, but it’s not working now. Closed not long after the earl was given the painting.’
‘Harvey.’ James took his shoulders, forcing the footman to face him. ‘What’s in the painting? What does it show?’
‘Two men fighting over the lip of the pit,’ Harvey said, now searching for his memory behind James’ eyes. ‘The ghost of the dad running screaming. Bad weather. Usual kind of gloomy picture, except for the hate in the brothers’ eyes.’
‘Is that what’s so horrific about it? You called it a horrible thing.’
‘Yeah, it is. One brother killing another is bad enough, but when you look at it, you realise it doesn’t matter. They’re both falling into the pit, so the one being run through with a sword is probably better off dead before the thousand feet drop. You still need to see it?’
James was thinking.
‘Jimmy? You’ve gone pale.’
The analogy was easy. Two brothers fighting over money, the dead father in the background horrified at their deaths. One being killed with a sword, a family business, an inheritance, the running man…
If Archer and Crispin were the warring brothers, who was the dismayed ghost?
Quill. A dead man walking, and one who would run screaming if both brothers died. If Crispin was dead, Quill would have no fortune to manipulate, but he would still have Archer to torment. If Archer died, he would have no-one to play his insane games against, but would still have access to the family money. But, if they were both dead, Quill would have nothing.
The final pieces of James’ fifteen puzzle slotted into its square and spelt out Archer’s endgame.
‘Oh shit,’ he whispered as realisation dawned.
If Archer couldn’t save himself, he could at least save his name and fortune, and Quill would be there to witness it, at the mine where Archer would either commit murder or suicide.
‘Harvey, yes. I must see this painting and find out where it is supposed to be. Please. Take me there now, and if there’s any comeback on you, I’ll take the blame. I promise. Will you risk it?’
‘Blimey, Jimmy. You want to see that hideous thing bad, don’t you?’ Harvey stood back and put his hand on the door handle. ‘Well, I’ll take you direct to the ground floor. You’re a gentleman in this house, Sir, and other gentlemen have asked to admire His Lordship’s gallery when he has been indisposed. Follow me. I’m only doing my duty.’
They took the backstairs to the ground floor and followed a long passage, passing several serving stations and cupboards before reaching a baize panel.
‘Isn’t this it?’ James asked as Harvey walked straight past.
‘That’s only for the butler and housekeeper,’ Harvey said. ‘The likes of us have to go anther twenty feet.’
James caught him up, and twenty feet further, came to another baize.
‘Right,’ Harvey said, after looking at his watch. ‘His Lordship should be upstairs dressing right now, but he’s always down well before the dinner gong, and I’d rather not get caught on the stairs with no reason.’
‘And the countess?’
‘She won’t say anything if she sees us. She doesn’t have a say in anything, poor woman. All the same, be quick.’
Harvey led James onto the ground floor and a gallery crammed full of art. Some of the frames were larger than the images they held, and the collection was so tightly packed, it was impossible to appreciate any of them. The gallery led to a passage off which James saw a ballroom, before finally opening into the entrance hall. James had come this way only a few days previously. The study was to his right and the library to his left, both doors closed. They had seen no other servants, but there were voices above. With a finger to his lips, Harvey beckoned him closer to the stairs, and after checking there was no-one watching, offered his hand to the painting.
Horrific was a good word for it. The first impression was of doom. A wheelhouse chimney belched smoke that gathered to become a storm-heavy sky, the clouds lit from the inside by bolts of lightning. Between James and the chimney were two men, their faces contorted in agony, mouths open, and their teeth bared like animals. One was being run through with a sword that pierced his heart, the tip protruding from his back and dripping blood. The man was falling out of the picture, towards James, as if the observer was in the mineshaft looking up, and as the murdered man tumbled, he pulled his brother with him. As Harvey had said, neither was going to survive. In the background, fleeing the scene as if about to hurl himself from a cliff, another man, running.
‘Crosstown,’ Harvey whispered.
‘What?’
‘Crosstown Mine. I remember now I’ve seen it. Local legend up there. Right. Seen enough…?’
‘What the devil are you doing here?’
More than a roar, it was a bellow of outrage weighted with hatred, and it hit James from the side. Staggering with shock, he looked to the landing, expecting the earl to be bearing down on him, but there was no-one there. A jolt and a grunt made him spin just in time to see Harvey ripped from the bottom step and hurled into the hall.
‘Bloody imbecile,’ the earl screamed as Harvey righted himself. ‘Get here. To attention, boy.’
Trembling like a scolded dog, Harvey obeyed his master.
‘How dare you bring servants into my house.’ The earl struck Harvey a blow to his head, hard enough to knock him off his feet.
‘My Lord!’ James instantly regretted shouting. Anger was not going to win with this bully, and swallowing it, he managed a quieter approach. ‘Please, Sir,’ he said, trying his hardest to think like Archer. ‘You don’t do yourself justice. The fault is entirely mine. I promised…’
‘I don’t care what you have to say, you smarmy bum-boy,’ the earl seethed as he sauntered closer. ‘Stealing, were you?’
‘Yes,’ James said, catching the man off guard. ‘Stealing a glance at one of your paintings on behalf of Viscount Clearwater. Not wishing to trouble you with such a small matter, your excellent man here offered to show me. He did, Your Lordship, make me promise not to dawdle, and had it not been for this interruption, I wouldn’t have.’ Ignoring the old man’s open mouth and flaring red nose, he turned to Harvey. ‘Would you mind, Harvey? The backdoor, please. Good day, Your Lordship.’
‘Stay where you are,’ the earl ordered, raising his cane threateningly towards James.
‘Perhaps we should discuss this in private, Sir.’ James stood his ground. ‘We could also exchange information concerning blackmail and your part in a deception.’
Kingsclere’s expression was as descriptive as the paintings on the stairs. Redness faded to white as his anger dissolved into fear, immediately replaced by panic as he lowered his cane, unsure what to say in front of his servant.
‘I thought not,’ James nodded. ‘Good day.’
Not caring if the man balled him out, but only caring that Harvey was taken out of his reach, James stood between master and footman, his back very decidedly to the earl, and encouraged Harvey to pass safely in front before following him back to the gallery.
Once safely behind the baize door, the pretence melted like a thin sheet of ice in a flame. Slumping against the wall, James only saw fire behind his eyes as he forced himself to control his breathing, his head pounding and his heart beating against his ribcage. His eyes were about to explode with tears until Harvey put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The touch shocked him, but quelled the flames of frustration, and after a few deep breaths, he was able to speak sanely.
‘Are you hurt, Harvey?’
‘No, Sir. We get used to it.’
James was sickened. ‘We?’
‘Usually Jasper, he’s the current punchbag. I used to be until they bumped me up to second footman, now young Jasper gets the sharp end of it.’
&n
bsp; ‘You mean that man searches him out and vents his anger on a child?’
‘I know he doesn’t look it, but he’s nearly seventeen, Sir, and been used to it for four years now. No family to complain or move him out, see? The master can do anything. Jasper’s just happy to have a home.’
‘And you?’
‘I only get it if I’m within his reach when he blows. Right, shall we get you back to the servants’ hall for your hat?’
They walked, but James was unable to let the matter drop.
‘Does your butler know about this?’
‘He does, of course, but he takes after His Lordship. The only one who gets away with anything is Joseph, and…’ They weren’t being overheard, but even so, Harvey leant close. ‘If you ask me, Joseph is his favourite to use for a different reason.’ A wink made his meaning no clearer.
‘How?’
‘When the countess is having one of her headaches, if you get me, Jimmy.’ Another wink and the penny slipped into the machine. ‘I’m surprised the earl has any children at all, the way Joseph has trouble walking some days.’
The penny fell, but for some reason, James wasn’t surprised.
‘You disapprove of that, do you?’ he said, walking again.
‘Men can do what they want, Jimmy, as long as they don’t force it on others.’
‘And that’s what goes on?’
‘Can’t be proved, but Joseph’s old enough to fend for himself if he wanted to. I didn’t say a thing, and don’t tell anyone. Please?’
‘I won’t, and thanks for the information about the painting.’
They were approaching the backstairs to the basement when Harvey stopped again, this time taking James’ elbow.
‘Can I ask you something personal, Mr Wright?’ he said, concern clouding his face.
‘If you don’t mind me not answering,’ James replied, having a suspicion he knew what was coming.
Artful Deception (The Clearwater Mysteries Book 6) Page 19
