The Echo at Rooke Court

by Harriet Smart

  They spent a few minutes planning how to proceed, at the end of which Giles made a note to mention to Captain Lazenby that Walker ought to be promoted as soon as was possible, for he was a man of shrewd common sense and natural authority. Then, having been supplied with coffee and breakfast, he sat and wrote his letters in the comfort of Walker’s little office, before setting out again into the town, calling first at the Post Office and then at Bennett’s uncle’s shop. This gentleman, Mr Lane, was as helpful and sensible as could be desired, and by midday, even Dr Perry had been located and brought to the fever hospital.

  “I cannot say I agree with your methods,” he said, on presenting himself to Giles and Carswell, “but the truth is we have being trying to remove Wharne from his post here for some time. We were perhaps not firm enough with him. The post is a well-paid one – the endowment is rather curious in that respect.”

  “It often takes a crisis to change matters significantly,” Giles said.

  “Certainly. The numbers suffering from enteric fever in the town are raised to alarming levels and now we have cholera confirmed.” He gave a sigh.

  “Only two cases,” said Giles.

  “It seems that the late Mr Makepiece and Mary Pepper knew each other before they were admitted. She was a servant in his house,” Carswell said. “I find that interesting.”

  “You are a contagionist?” said Dr Perry.

  “When it comes to the cause of cholera I do not know what I am,” Carswell said. “The more I read and observe, the less clear it becomes.”

  “There is some truth in that,” said Perry. “Perhaps we should make a tour of the wards together, Mr Carswell?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Before you go to the wards, Dr Perry, there is another matter I would like to talk to you about. The reason why Mr Carswell and I came here in the first place, in fact. It will not take long.”

  “Yes?”

  “We are investigating a case of fire-setting in Northminster, the target being Wytton’s bank. I believe you told one of your patients that you had heard a rumour that Wytton’s bank was unsound and he ought to withdraw his funds.”

  “I was told that, yes,” said Perry.

  “Who told you?” Giles said.

  “A patient here. A woman called Esther. She would not give her full name. She was in a terrible condition and I was able to help her somewhat. She insisted in telling me that I should be wary of Wytton’s bank, that I ought to remove any funds I might have lodged there from it forthwith. Of course, patients do say curious things in extremis and one does not always believe them. But she was full of conviction.”

  “And you told this to whom?”

  “I told it to Richard Preston. I have been looking after his family for many years and he is a respectable merchant in the town, not a great man, but I know he has many financial interests here about. He has given me good advice in the past, and when I went to call on his wife, who had some trifling illness, I told him what I had heard.”

  “And where will I find him?” said Giles, making a note of the name.

  “Usually in Hesketh Street – he lives above his warehouse, but they have gone to the country, to his brother-in-law’s farm. For I also told them that there was fever in the town, and they thought it best to take a holiday for the sake of their children.”

  “And the woman, Esther, did not tell you anything about how she came by such information?”

  Perry shook his head.

  “But as I said, she had great conviction. There was something about her – most curious.”

  Carswell and Perry set out on their survey of the wards and Giles went upstairs to where Esther Braithwaite and Lucy were lodged. He found her sitting, as before, at Lucy’s bedside, holding the girl’s hand. Esther looked very pale, and had wrapped a blanket tightly about her. She was shivering.

  “I think you ought to go back to bed, Mrs Braithwaite,” he said, and to his surprise she consented. Giles helped her back into bed. “Dr Perry is here now,” he said. “He will want to see you again.”

  “I would rather see a clergyman,” she said, and suddenly clutched at his hand with both of hers.

  “Mr Gray was your parish priest?” She nodded. “I cannot bring him here at once, but perhaps I can give him a message from you? He would tell you to unburden yourself to me, for the sake of your own peace of mind.”

  She rolled her head away from his gaze, but continued to clutch his hand.

  “You saw my children,” she said after a long moment.

  “I did.”

  “Tell them, please tell them that I had to do it. I had to.”

  “You were forced into it, yes, I understand. I have thought that all along, Mrs Braithwaite. Someone compelled you. Will you tell me who?”

  “I cannot.”

  “Tell me and I will bring him to judgement. He deserves to suffer for making you do this dreadful thing. Fred Pierce’s blood is on his hands as much as yours.”

  There was a long silence and still without facing him she said, almost inaudibly, “Her hands.”

  “A woman?” Giles said. “A woman made you do this?”

  Now she rolled her head back, as if infinitely weary, and looked up him.

  “Miss Peggy,” she said. “It was Miss Peggy at the big house –”

  “Margaret Wytton?”

  She nodded and then closed her eyes.

  “God forgive me,” she said.

  At which her breathing became most unsteady and she was soon gasping for air. Even as Giles called for assistance, he heard the death rattle in her throat, and in a moment or two more, she was gone.

  ~

  Dr Perry had arranged quarters for them at The Blue Bell, an inn in a hamlet that lay half a mile from the fever hospital. The accommodation was by no means luxurious, but after the fever hospital, Felix found it a pleasant relief to sit in the late afternoon sun in the old-fashioned garden. He was surrounded by the sweet scents of pinks, lavender and rosemary and the trees were full of apples and pears. Nothing was yet ripe, but there was the promise of a good harvest. Axworth and all its horrors seemed distant. He could almost imagine himself in the gardens at Ardenthwaite. The ginger cat of the establishment sat on the bench beside him and allowed him to tickle his chin.

  Major Vernon came into the garden, stopping to pluck a sprig of rosemary before sitting down on the bench with the cat between them.

  “Our dinner will be ready in a quarter of an hour,” he said.

  “I should be hungry,” said Felix, “but I have no appetite.”

  “It might come back when you sit down to it. And later you will be glad of having eaten.”

  “Probably,” said Felix.

  They had decided that he would remain in Axworth for the next few days, at least. His services were sorely needed, for there had been further admissions during the day, some of them from the workhouse. No one was as yet showing any further signs of cholera, but as some of the enteric symptoms were similar there was no saying what might develop.

  Major Vernon sniffed the sprig of rosemary and said, “I will go to Raythorpe first thing. I need to tell poor Mr Braithwaite his wife is dead.”

  “At least she confessed.”

  “Only after a fashion.”

  “And talk to Miss Wytton?”

  “Yes,” said Major Vernon. “That’s a curious twist. One can only speculate what manner of secret there could be sufficient to make Mrs Braithwaite act so desperately.”

  “Bigamy, bastardy or whoring?” said Felix. “Theft?”

  “All possible. I was thinking, though, of the arson itself. After all, Esther had considerable skill, although she failed to do what she was supposed to do. However, what if she had in the past successfully set a fire and Miss Wytton knew about it? The latter conceives that a fire will conceal what has gone wrong in the bank and cover up any wrongdoing on her brother’s part. Therefore she approaches Mrs Braithwaite to do the deed.”

  “If something lik
e that is the case,” Felix said, “then the bank must be in a dire state. How did Margaret Wytton come to know of it?”

  “That’s an interesting question, for she does not seem close to her brother. There was some friction between them when I saw them together. Perhaps that is a result of the plan they conceived having failed so spectacularly. He was, I remember, attempting to pack her off to some relative. I hope he has not – I should like to talk to her as soon as possible.”

  “I wonder if Mark Hurrell has been found yet?”

  “That would be convenient, certainly. But perhaps he has already reached the Continent and will continue to elude us for years.”

  “Do you think he is guilty?”

  Major Vernon thought for a moment and said, “His father said a curious thing. He accused Mark of having seduced Miss Wytton and that was why Arthur Hurrell considered he was free of his obligations to her. There may be some secret history between Mark Hurrell and Miss Wytton. She went to see him several times at his house, unchaperoned, after all.”

  “Perhaps she killed Arthur, furious at his prevarication, and she now hopes to marry Mark?” Felix said. “If she is capable of coercing someone into committing arson, as you think, she may be capable of murder.”

  “That was what I was thinking. Perhaps she was more in love with the idea of being Lady Hurrell than either of the gentlemen. Her going unchaperoned to the Hermitage so often might be a stratagem to force Mark into marriage. Remember that if Arthur is dead, Mark is the heir to everything. Everything is entailed. Now, this is spinning a wild tale, but perhaps she hopes to force him to the altar quickly – and she may have the means to pressure him into it.”

  “Given that Sir Morten said Mark seduced her?”

  “Quite. So she gets her Hurrell husband – then he is arrested and hanged for the murder of his brother. She is left with the name and the prospect of a handsome widowhood and more. Especially if she is with child.”

  “No wonder Mark Hurrell cleared out of the district, then. Do you seriously think she might have actually murdered Arthur Hurrell?”

  “It’s not beyond the realms of the possible, surely? After all, she is highly motivated. She is about to lose her family name and fortune in a bank disgrace, it seems. Her arson plot has been a disaster. She is angry at Arthur for having made her wait to marry. She has wasted her best years waiting. She knows Mark has a weakness for her and can be manipulated easily. She can sacrifice him to her cause because she has no true feeling for him. He is a tool, just as Mrs Braithwaite was a tool.”

  Felix thought for a moment.

  “There is no reason why she should not have stabbed him. It does not require much strength, and he would not have been on his guard with her.”

  “But her character – is she that passionate, violent type who can only endure so much when circumstances go against her? Is she the sort that will fight for herself against all odds, even if it means turning to crime?”

  “And as a plan, all that is fraught with risk,” Felix said.

  “Perhaps she is beyond caring about that. She is driven by her emotions – her need to be someone at last, when she has been denied it for so long. Imagine being kept waiting by Arthur Hurrell like that, when you have been promised paradise – to be the mistress of Hurrell Place and one of the first ladies in the county. And then to have it constantly kept from you, as if you were utterly insignificant? She has languished as an unmarried woman without any proper status. In fact, her world is full of men who have failed her: Arthur Hurrell, her brother and Mark Hurrell – if he did seduce her. Even if he only made love to her, it would have been a cause for grievance. But it is all a theory!”

  “But she could have planted the arrow and that smock at the Hermitage. She went there enough times, after all,” said Felix. “And if Mark Hurrell had done it, would he really have been so careless?”

  “That has been puzzling me as well. Perhaps he intended to retrieve them and destroy them later?”

  “Why not take them when he fled, then?” Felix said. “He is not a fool.”

  “But if you put a man under pressure, he may start to behave like one,” Major Vernon said, getting up from the bench. “Come, let’s go and see if our dinner is ready.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  After dinner, Carswell went back to the fever hospital while Giles remained at The Blue Bell, with the proviso that he could be sent for if any further crisis arose. Giles, suspecting that this would the case, drew the table and chair close to the window to get the best of the remaining light, and set about writing his letters and reports. He was surprised to have finished this task without being interrupted, despite writing a lengthy missive to Emma at Holbroke, so he took Mark Hurrell’s ill-fated novel out of his pocket and began to read.

  He found himself diverted by it. Hurrell’s style was rough and often lurid, but there were flashes of brilliant writing that made him want to read on. The world that sprang from the pages was convincing. He did not know if it was because of his recent stays in the neighbourhood that he recognised the descriptions of those magical woodlands and the stately beauty of Hurrell Place itself, there called Breakbridge Hall. Then another house was described, situated in the cathedral close of a nearby city. This was most certainly meant to be Northminster, for a famous blue cheese and a racecourse were mentioned. This second house was significant in the tale – it was where Lady Breakbridge, the hero’s mother, was staying while she saw a succession of doctors in her ultimately futile search for a cure to an illness that no one could name.

  She spent her days stretched out on an ancient couch with only a grey parrot and a faithful old servant for company. Her bodily weakness made her effectively a prisoner. She was too weak for guests and certainly too weak to see her children. Then a marvellous thing occurred – a visit was permitted, and one Sunday the younger children, accompanied by their governess, were driven into town in the ancient family coach, and after attending matins at the Cathedral, they were allowed to call upon her.

  Hal had never seen this ancient house before. It seemed to shiver and creak like a ship at sea in the brisk spring wind that was taking all the blossom from the trees. They climbed up the staircase to the room where their mother was, and found her there lying on her couch, surrounded by flowers, with the parrot on his stand. She spoke to them all in turn, although her voice was no more than a whisper, such was her weakness. Then, delight of delights, just as they were leaving – for they were allowed only a few minutes with her – she called him back to her side. Why he was chosen above his sisters and brothers at that moment he did not know. He was not the last born, nor the first born, not the cleverest and certainly not the best behaved of them. Yet at that moment, he was called back.

  The others went into the garden to pick flowers, and he was left alone with her and Miss Smith, a deaf old retainer, who sat with her sewing at the far corner.

  “You remember who you are named for?” she said, taking both his hands in hers.

  “Yes, Mama, your brother.”

  “Yes, my dear, dear little Hal,” she said, “who was taken from us when he was just nine.” Hal swallowed hard and nodded. “How like him you look now. I could think you were his ghost,” she said, reaching out and touching his cheeks, “except for these roses.” Her voice became even quieter. “I could think you were him, indeed, come to take me to Paradise, for I am sure he is there, just as he was, as perfect and as beautiful as you are now.” She pulled him into her arms and he found himself crying as she held him, and he felt her shake with sobs too.

  “You will get well, Mama,” he said. “I am sure of it. And you and Bobby will come back to us at home, and –”

  “No, no, I am sorry, Hal, but I shall not be coming home. It will break my heart, but I shall have to go forever soon enough. Jesus himself has told me it is my time and you must accept that, as the good boy I know you are.”

  “I am not a good boy,” Hal said. “Papa says –”

  “
You are a good boy,” she said, now lifting him from her breast and looking straight at him, her hands pressed to his cheeks. “For I know you will look after your brothers and sisters as you ought. I know you will not fail me.”

  “I will try, Mama, I promise,” he said, shaking now. He felt as if she had handed him some great wooden chest that he could not lift, let alone carry. But her eyes told him he must attempt to carry it.

  She kissed him and said, “Now, do you know that there is something very clever in this room, Hal? Do you see that pillar there?” He nodded. “If you tell it your secrets, I shall be able to hear them here. And if I tell you mine you will be able to hear them too.”

  “Truly?”

  “Yes. Go and see.”

  So he went to the pillar and pressed his ear against it, and heard his mother say, in the most curious voice, as if she were not in the room at all, but speaking to him as if he were in a dream: “And there is a wrong that must be righted, Hal. It will be said when I am gone, when you are older, things will be said – you will not believe them, my love, you must never believe them. I am innocent.”

  He broke away from the pillar, staring at her, but she waved him back to his place.

  “And you will tell them all that what is said is not true. Do you promise me?”

  Now he ventured to speak, turning his face to the pillar.

  “What will they say that you have done, Mama?”

  “A very bad thing, that no wife should ever do. Your papa believes it to be true and he has punished me for it. I know you have been punished when you have done nothing wrong, Hal, so you will understand me, you will know how I feel. I am innocent.”

  “Punished?” he said, but there was no answer and he turned around to his mother again. She had sunk back onto the pillows and was breathing hard.

  “That’s enough for now, Master Hal,” said Miss Smith, getting up. “Madam is exhausted.”

  He kissed her hand and left.

  “It is the most fanciful scene,” Giles wrote, finding what space he could in his unsealed letter to Emma to summarise what he had just read. “But striking – and surely it must refer to Rooke Court? No wonder Sir Morten found the book so offensive – as well as a tyrannical father, he is a vengeful husband. I would be interested to know your opinion of it, but I do not know where we are to find a copy for you.”