The Echo at Rooke Court

by Harriet Smart

  “What a pity,” said Felix, and threw the book down. “Do you remember that afternoon when we were last here?”

  “I do,” she said.

  “And now we can stay here as long as we like and quite alone,” he said, stroking her cheek. “Think of that! And one day when you are better, then we will do exactly what we wanted to do then...” He finished by kissing her.

  “Yes, you are wicked,” she said.

  “So are you,” he said, and kissed her again. “But since we are married, it does not matter. We are absolved!”

  “I am not so sure,” she said, disentangling herself from his arms a little. “Not if we proceed as you would like. It seems so wrong, Felix. I have been thinking so hard about it, and I cannot...” Then she pressed against him once more and sighed.

  “Give it a little more time,” said Felix. “When you are well again, it will seem clearer.” He felt very confident of this.

  “You must think I’m such a fool,” she said.

  “No, no, never. I just think we have a lot of nonsense crammed into us by society and it is difficult to get rid of sometimes.”

  “If it is truly nonsense?”

  “It is,” Felix said. “Believe me.”

  She straightened then and gazed at him.

  “I will try,” she said. “I promise.”

  “And you will drive me into town after lunch?”

  She nodded and smiled. “Why not? That will annoy Mama excessively!”

  Chapter Five

  “Another early breakfast, Mr Carswell?” said Lady Blanchfort the next morning at six. She had come into the dining room, and found him at his coffee and bacon. He staggered up from his seat, rather astonished by the sight of her. She was wearing a green silk dressing gown, her hair loose and flowing over her shoulders, unadorned by a cap, and in her arms was a large, long-haired marmalade cat, with a distinctive white ruff. “No, no, please don’t get up!”

  “I’m needed at the Infirmary,” he said, sitting down again. “And I’m taking over Mr Peterson’s duties so that he and his family can take some leave.”

  “Oh yes, I remember now,” said Lady Blanchfort, dropping the cat onto the floor. “It is a rude return for you both.”

  “I’m glad to be back,” Felix said, with perfect honesty. “There is a lot to be done.”

  “Very commendable,” said Lady Blanchfort. “Many men in your position would succumb to idleness. May I join you?”

  “Yes, of course,” Felix said, surprised at her conciliatory manner.

  “I take it Nell is breakfasting in her room,” said Lady Blanchfort.

  “She is indisposed,” said Felix. The cat had now padded up to his chair and was determined to jump onto his lap.

  “As she was for most of yesterday,” said Lady Blanchfort. “I take it this is – you will forgive my frankness – that regular condition experienced by women?”

  “Yes,” Felix said.

  “That is just as well,” she said, pouring herself a cup of tea. “She is still so young.”

  “Quite,” Felix said, most surprised that she should share his opinion. The cat was now on his lap, waving his tail in Felix’s face and sniffing at his empty plate.

  “Oh, excuse me, sir,” said Felix, lifting him off and putting him back on the floor.

  “I hope you do not mind him,” said Lady Blanchfort.

  “No, he is magnificent. It is just that his claws are a little sharp.”

  “I will clip them. Forgive me. He and I have become rather good friends while you were away. He wandered in from the farmyard and is so handsome that I have let him become lord of all he surveys.” She bent down and picked him up again. “Have I not, Byron?”

  “Byron?” said Felix with a laugh. “That is quite a name.”

  “I know – it is foolish, perhaps, but I thought he had a touch of the Corsair about him,” said Lady Blanchfort. “But please do say if you find him objectionable. I do not want you to feel that you are not master here. You must tell me all your quirks and fancies so that we can bend to them.”

  “Should I be encouraged in that?” he said. “And really, you should not have to trouble yourself when –” He shrugged and got up from the table. Byron jumped from his mistress’ lap and came to wind himself about Felix’s legs.

  Felix might have said that it was Eleanor’s business to make his tea to his liking and see to his slippers and his shirts, but she had not shown any inclination so far. And if she were not there, who would order the dinner or indeed see to his breakfast? That Eleanor would think of these things seemed most unlikely.

  “I should go,” he said.

  She nodded, and then suddenly got up from the table and followed him to the door, where she gently caught his arm.

  “Excuse me,” she said, “it is only that Byron has –” And she reached out to brush some cat hair from his lapels, before stopping abruptly, as if conscious she had been overfamiliar.

  “Thank you,” he said, but she had turned away to scold the cat.

  ~

  At Constabulary Headquarters, Felix was presented with the usual ragbag of ailments and injuries to deal with, both among the constables and the occupants of the cells. In the latter, he was called to examine a woman, Agnes Williams, who had assaulted her lover and several other men in a pub brawl. She had been committed to the cells to cool off. She was heavily pregnant and had been complaining loudly of labour pains since the small hours. The duty sergeant had taken this for a ruse, for it had happened many times before that female prisoners faked the symptoms of labour to secure their liberty. Felix began to examine her – no easy task, for she was wary of him – and soon found she was in labour after all. It did not look as if it would be a simple delivery – he could not detect a heartbeat for the child – so he decided to take her to the Infirmary, and supervise the delivery there.

  His suspicions proved right. The child was dead in the womb and he was tasked with the miserable business of removing it as safely as he could. By this time, Mrs Williams had lost what little command of her emotions she had left, and was fiercely resistant to his help, screaming at the sight of the knife. She had no confidence in anyone’s opinion, certain that her strong pains meant the child was well, and that time would do its work as with her other children.

  “I’ll not have you meddling! You will kill it, sure as sure!” she said, pushing him violently away, as he attempted to help her.

  “I’m sorry to say the child is dead already!” Felix said, with as much grace as he could manage. “And you will be too if you don’t let me help you.”

  It would have been better if he could have knocked her out, or perhaps, as he had read in some cases, mesmerized her into submission. In the end, they had to resort to restraints, and a large measure of brandy. She lay there, howling and bellowing more loudly than anyone could have imagined possible in such circumstances, and no doubt putting the fear of God and the Devil into every other patient in the building. She was only silenced by the sight of the dead child which Felix had, due to its small size, been able to bring out intact. She demanded to hold it, so he had the restraints removed while he delivered the placenta (which mercifully presented no complications) and allowed her to take the child. However, Mrs Fletcher, the matron, was certain she would try to run away with the little corpse and that such maternal sentiment should not be indulged.

  “Just makes it harder for them, sir,” she said.

  “Five minutes, then take it from her,” said Felix, feeling sick as he said it.

  “I want her christened!” screamed Mrs Williams. “I want a parson!”

  Felix left on this pretext, glad to get out of the room. He always found himself unequal to such cases. He was attempting to compose himself in the passageway, his hands still sticky with blood, when a giant of a man, fashionably dressed in loose pale linen riding clothes, a soft straw hat and a turned-down collar tied with a jaunty red kerchief, came striding along towards him.

  “A
re you Mr Carswell?” the man said. “I was told I would find you here.”

  “Yes, but I am busy, as you can see,” said Felix holding up his hands to him.

  “I understand, sir. Henry Gray at your service. I have come in to visit Mr Fred Pierce.”

  “Gray?” said Felix. “You are a clergyman?”

  “Yes,” said Gray.

  “Will you baptise a stillborn?” Felix said, indicating the door. He was not sure that this was an orthodox procedure, but Gray did not look like an orthodox clergyman. He looked like a progressive and prosperous farmer.

  “Of course,” Gray said, and sailed in ahead of Felix.

  If he was shocked by what he saw, he gave no sign of it. Instead, he went straight to the bedside, put his hand on the woman’s shoulder and fixed his gaze on her as if there were no one else in the room. Astonishingly, the woman gazed back at him, as if enraptured. This was the sort of mesmerism that Felix had been wishing for earlier.

  “My name is Gray, and I am a priest,” he said in a soft voice. “What name will you give her?” he said.

  “Mary-Anne,” said the woman, still looking up at him. Meekly, she offered up the child, and he took the little form into his arms.

  “A cup of water, if you please, nurse,” he said, and then, having been given it, he poured the water over the child’s head and said, “Mary-Anne, I baptise thee in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.” He handed the child back to the mother, folding the cloth around it more closely, carefully covering her face. Taking a prayer book from his pocket and quickly finding the place he wanted, he went down on his knees and said, “Let us pray! Oh, Almighty God with whom do live the spirits of just men, made perfect, after they are delivered from their earthly prisons, we humbly commend the soul of this thy servant, our dear sister, into thy hands, as into the hands of a faithful Creator.”

  Are you a faithful Creator? Felix thought. He had bowed his head from habit, rather than conviction, and although the words were comforting and familiar, he struggled with them as he always did. The brutal tragedy of what had preceded this, from the sight of the blood-stained straw in the woman’s cell to the perfect tiny feet of the corpse, could not be washed away unquestioningly in a tide of divine love. He wished for a moment that Eleanor could have seen it. Then she would have understood what he meant. But perhaps that was too severe a lesson for her.

  He noticed that Mrs Williams was shaking violently now, mostly from shock, and he took up a blanket and draped it about her shoulders, as Gray finished the prayers. She flinched slightly at his touch but allowed him to do it.

  “Get her some good mutton broth, Mrs Fletcher; get her clean and comfortable, and give her some laudanum,” he said. “And let her keep the child with her as long as she sees fit.”

  Mrs Fletcher frowned at him.

  “If you say so, sir,” she said.

  Gray followed him into the passageway.

  “A sad case,” he said.

  “I found her in the cells at the Constabulary. She took a broken gin bottle to her husband in The Fox and Grapes last night. I think he might have kicked her in the stomach, given the bruising on her abdomen. We will need to get hold of him.”

  “You think the assault killed the child?” Gray asked.

  “It’s possible. I’ll know when I have done a post-mortem. Do you want some coffee, Mr Gray, or perhaps some whisky?”

  “Whisky?” said Gray with a smile. “Certainly.”

  He took Gray to his narrow slot of a room and sent for some coffee and hot water.

  “Excuse me, won’t you?” Felix said, pulling off his shirt and starting to scrub himself.

  “Of course.”

  “The whisky is on the shelf there. Help yourself.”

  “Thank you,” said Gray, and proceeded to pour out two drams. “I am glad to meet you at last. I have heard a great deal about you.”

  “That’s always alarming,” Felix said, pulling his shirt back on.

  “Not at all, in your case. All good, I assure you. Slainte!” Gray held up his cup. “You are just back from your wedding journey, I believe?”

  “There are no secrets in Northminster,” Felix said.

  “Forgive me,” said Gray. “Mr Harper mentioned it. May I offer you both my best wishes! The crown of matrimony is a glorious thing, is it not? And now I have met you, you and your wife must come and dine with us. It is an easy road between Hawksby and Raythorpe, especially at this time of year. We are neighbours.”

  “Yes, I suppose we are,” said Felix, taking up his whisky and sipping it. “I’m not used to the fact of living at Hawksby yet.”

  “This is regular fire-water!” Gray said admiringly, having sipped from his own glass.

  “It comes from near my father’s parish in Pitfeldry,” said Felix. “It is a trifle rough.”

  “Your father’s sermons are great friends to me,” Gray said. “His vision of what parish life should and can be – he is one of our great men, in my opinion.”

  “I am afraid he will not like that,” Felix said.

  “That I can believe. But his tenets – a practical ministry, for the needs of all God’s people, no matter how humble – that is true wisdom. I will not take preferment, I will not climb that ladder. That is not the way to the Kingdom. I have found my lot at Raythorpe and I will serve out my days there, God willing.”

  “You came here to see Frederick Pierce, I take it?” Felix said, wondering if this was how future bishops were wont to speak. “His mother mentioned your name. I have not been in to see him yet. How is he today? Mr Harper –”

  “He was not entirely hopeful,” said Gray, sitting down. “And I suppose you are not either?”

  “The damage is extremely extensive. There are things that can be done, but whether he is strong enough to endure them is another matter.”

  Gray pressed his hands to his face for a moment, and then said, “When I last spoke to him, a day or two before this happened, he was troubled by something – that is why I wanted to speak to you, given your connection with the Constabulary.”

  “That’s interesting,” Felix said, sitting down opposite him. “Do you think that Fred may be connected with the fire in some way?”

  “It was about something at work.”

  “To do with the bank?”

  “It was hard to tell. It was a most frustrating conversation, and I am struggling to know if I am recalling it correctly, especially in the light of what happened. I tried to draw him out; he would not say what precisely, but he seemed deeply troubled. It was to do with his father, but what that might be I cannot imagine. And then I heard the building next to the bank had burnt down, and Fred had been so late at his desk there. It puzzled me.”

  “You don’t think him capable of setting a fire?” Felix said.

  “Why would you think that?”

  “The circumstances are peculiar.”

  “Fred Pierce would not set a fire,” said Mr Gray. “That I can assure you. But he was worried about something in the bank, that is all I can say with certainty.”

  “That’s useful to know, Mr Gray,” said Felix. “Thank you. And if any details come back to you, then please do not hesitate to tell me or Major Vernon.”

  “I only hope Fred survives to tell us the whole tale for himself,” said Gray, getting up. “But I fear that despite all your care and skill here, God’s will may be that He takes him at this time, rather than later. It is hardly surprising. Fred has a pure heart and a good soul. He will be in my prayers!”

  ~

  “So it was something to do with the bank and his father?” Giles said, finding Carswell at the Infirmary.

  “Yes. Gray was adamant that Fred would never set a fire, but he is a man who always thinks the best of everyone.”

  “That’s a useful talent,” said Giles.

  “Not in our business,” said Carswell. “But in his, I suppose it is.”

  “So your theory is that Fred perhaps di
scovered something that discredited his father, and set the fire to conceal it?”

  “And burnt the wrong building down,” said Carswell, “having paid off the watchman.”

  “It’s a possibility. We need to talk to Mr Pierce again. It is difficult in the circumstances to press him, but if he has something on his conscience then he may be persuaded to unburden himself. We’ll talk to him tomorrow. I am going to see what the watchman tells us first. He should be sober enough now.”

  Giles left the Infirmary and went down to Constabulary Headquarters where Noakes was waiting to be interviewed.

  “It was a woman that gave me the money,” Noakes said, with little prompting.

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that, sir, yes.”

  “Out of the goodness of her heart?”

  “I suppose so, sir.”

  “How much?” Giles asked.

  “Fifteen shillings or so.”

  “All coin?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And she came to you at the warehouse? Where and when was this?”

  “Well, I was in my hut, just having a dish of tea, a bit after seven, and she came in, just like that.”

  “Do you often have visitors?”

  “No, sir, not often.”

  “And it never occurred to you, at any time in this transaction, that it was rather strange for her to come in there and offer you fifteen shillings to desert your post?”

  Noakes rubbed his chin and considered.

  “Yes, but – well, fifteen shillings is fifteen shillings.”

  It was depressing, Giles thought, how easily a man could be bought. He had no loyalty to his employer.

  “How much does Mr Cartwright pay you?”

  “Twenty shillings a week.”

  That seemed a wretched amount, even by Northminster standards. Cartwright obviously felt that the security of his premises was not important.

  “And she asked for the key,” Noakes added, as if that excused him entirely.

  “You gave her keys as well? For fifteen shillings?” Giles said. “Come on, Noakes, tell me how much she really gave you.”

  Noakes looked around, his anxiety palpable now.