“We have arrested those responsible.”
“There is a man called Mackie, who has connections with the housebreaking trade, and who has in the past attempted to incite civil disorder in order to distract constables from their ordinary business. From what Inspector Rollins told me, this incident has his fingermarks all over it. Has anyone yet reported a burglary? If I were you I would put extra men on the more affluent quarters – St Anne’s, for example – for many of them are empty at the moment while people take their holidays.”
At this Lazenby opened the door.
“I think you should leave now, Major Vernon.”
“Very well; one more thing. If I might ask about Lord Wytton and Miss Wytton?”
“That does not concern you.”
“It does, greatly. I understand you released them without charge.”
Lazenby closed the door again and said, “This is not your case any more, Major Vernon. However, out of common civility and to satisfy your curiosity, and in the hope that you will leave quietly, I will tell you. I considered that the evidence against them was not yet sufficient to bring charges. They both gave me their word that they would not leave the district while the investigation continues. There, does that satisfy you?”
“Not at all, I am afraid,” said Giles. “For a start, one does not take such people at their word. And the evidence to charge them was more than sufficient. Did you take the trouble to read it? I’m sure Rollins would have brought you his report. He takes great trouble over his reports – they are always excellently put together, and he would not neglect his duty on this occasion.”
“I read his report, but I do not consider the facts sufficiently established. It was my opinion that you acted hastily in arresting them.”
“If I had not brought them in when I did, there would have been no evidence left. I am certain they intended to destroy the ledgers and no doubt get away to the Continent as soon as they could. And I’m sure the Justices would have agreed with me, especially if I had been allowed to interview them both. It would not have been much work to get the full story out of Wytton, and as for Miss Wytton – what did she say to you? Did she cry copiously?”
“She was distressed by her confinement. I did not want her to become ill,” said Lazenby. “And I decided that public order was better served by having such persons not kept so publicly under arrest. The rumours of the bank failure began as a result of your arresting them – that is clear enough. It is difficult to keep such a matter quiet.”
“Yet releasing them did not prevent a riot!” Giles said. “And now we have two suspects at large and three of our best men injured! If you had one shred of honour, sir, you would have handed in your resignation to the Watch Committee by now. I cannot even begin to conceive that a man in your position could be so gulled by rank. Have you learnt nothing in this business?”
“I released them for the sake of public order!” said Lazenby. “And I will not waste any more of my time in justifying my actions to you, sir. Your manner is outrageous. I will not be spoken to in this fashion by an inferior officer, especially one who is suspended from duty. You will leave the building at once, Major Vernon. I hope it will not be necessary to have you removed by force.”
Realising he was losing control of his own temper, Giles decided that it was best to do as he was bid. He was aware that he had said a great deal too much and expressed himself far too warmly. There was something about Lazenby that provoked him and made good sense and diplomacy impossible.
He was turning this over in his mind as he walked briskly away, only to turn a corner and come face to face with Sergeant Coxe. He smiled – it was a welcome sight.
“How excellent to see you, Coxe,” he said, shaking his hand.
“And you, sir. Have you just been with the Captain?”
“Yes, and it went badly.”
“You must be vexed with him, sir,” said Coxe.
“As he is with me. Now, tell me, the Wyttons – what happened?”
“I did my best, sir, I truly did. I did manage to get five minutes with the young woman before Captain Lazenby came in, but I don’t think I got anything of use out of her. She’s as wily as they come.”
“Thank you, Coxe. You had better go and not be caught talking to me, for I am a marked man at the moment. You must do as the Captain tells you and think of your own bread and butter.”
Coxe hesitated for a moment and then said, “If you say I must, sir, but there’ll be no pleasure in it. And what if they don’t let you back? They had better, sir, or I shall throw it up myself and find another line.”
“With a child on the way?” Giles said. “I don’t think Mrs Coxe would be too happy about that, Sergeant. And beside, you are one of the best we have here. The force cannot do without you. You must put your head down and bear it, and keep working towards your inspectorship.”
“And could the force do without you, sir?” said Coxe, with an expression that suggested Giles should take his own advice. How that was to be achieved was quite another matter.
~
“Ought you to be reading? Won’t it tire you?” Eleanor said.
“It’s only a novel,” Felix said.
“I could read to you if you like.”
“You have already read it,” he said. “It’s Mark Hurrell’s book. But if you want to –”
“With pleasure,” she said, taking the book. “And while I read, you can drink your broth.” She smiled. “Do you remember how I refused to drink my broth? That morning at Ardenthwaite. I think that was when I knew we had to be married, after I had that strange dream.”
Now she placed the tray in front of him and tucked a napkin into the neck of his nightshirt.
“Drink all of it, mind,” she said, “or I shall scold you.”
It was just as well he had regained his appetite, and that the broth smelt delicious. This fresh incarnation of Eleanor as the attentive but patronising nurse was not something he found he could enjoy. The thought of her scolding was unendurable, so he dutifully drank his broth. She took up the book and settled on a chair by the bed. He was glad she chose to sit there and not next to him on the bed. Her presence was suffocating enough.
“Where had you got to?” she said. “Ah yes, Oxford. ‘He went up to Oxford in 18-dash’. Why do novelists do that? I always dislike it. And Blankshire and so forth. It is not even consistent. Why does he not say Blankford?”
“That would defeat his object entirely,” Felix said.
“But everyone would know that it was Oxford. Just as everyone will know which college he calls St Blank, just as everyone will know Breakbridge Hall is Hurrell Place, and Sir What’s-his-name is Sir Morten Hurrell. I don’t understand it all. Why did he write such a strange jumble of a book?”
“He is not sure himself,” said Felix. “Can you go back a chapter or so? To when his mother becomes an invalid. Can you find it?”
She began to leaf through the book. “The part where she is dying?”
“No, before that. When she is first taken ill. When she is still living with the family at Breakbridge. There was a description of her symptoms –”
“This part: ‘It was during that summer, that Lady B first became ill. It was some time after the confinement of her last child’?”
“Yes, that’s it. Go on from there.”
Hal had a vivid recollection of her fainting during a country walk. He and she had gone to visit, as was her constant habit, some cottage on a charitable errand (visits that were always welcomed, as her Ladyship had that rare gift of giving alms in a way that offended no one). She had collapsed in the shade of a tree and it took him a number of minutes to revive her. In fact, for so long a space that he believed her to have actually died, and his boyish imagination had been profoundly agitated by the fear that he would be blamed for it when he returned to the house with the awful news. She had revived, but it had been the start of a serious illness which none of the local medical men seemed able to diagnose, let alo
ne cure. He went back to his school, leaving her a convalescent, only to hear in his father’s letters that she had relapsed again, with a variety of troubling symptoms – that her fingers had become paralysed and that she could no longer play the piano, that her beautiful hair was thinning and she was constantly weak and in pain, and her voice was hoarse and she could barely speak. She could scarcely eat – whatever food she was served disagreed violently with her and she had begun to waste away, subsisting on spoonfuls of tea and a little bread and butter. When he returned that Christmas, she was somewhat recovered, to his great relief, only for her to relapse again when he had gone away.
“Don’t you think that’s rather strange?” he said. “It’s such a specific description of the symptoms.”
“But it isn’t supposed to be a novel, is it?” said Eleanor. “If it were nothing but a story why would Sir Morten have wanted to burn it? Isn’t that the whole point? It’s all true, in some way or another. Shall I go on?”
“No, not just yet. Read out those symptoms again. She faints dead away, and then?”
“Let me see. ‘Her fingers became paralysed... her hair was thinning and she was constantly weak and in pain. Her voice was hoarse... She could scarcely eat – whatever food she was served disagreed violently with her.’”
Felix laid down his soup spoon, turning over the possibilities in his mind.
“There is a section later when she tells the hero that she is being punished for her sins, is there not? Can you find that part?”
“Oh yes, I remember that bit. In the house with the echo.”
“Yes, that bit.”
“This?”
“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.”
“It’s curious,” said Felix. “When you put it with that list of symptoms, I can’t help thinking he is trying to say something rather specific – I need a book. It’s in my laboratory in Northminster. Will you ring for Jacob? He can go.”
“You may send for it if you finish your broth,” said Eleanor closing the book and coming to the bedside again.
“It is all but finished,” he said. “Please, will you not fuss so!”
He had said this rather more sharply than he had intended.
“I am only trying to help you,” she said.
“Yes I know, but –” He broke off, knowing he must not speak his mind. “I am grateful, truly I am.” He reached out and took her hand. “Thank you. Now, will you ring for Jacob?”
She detached her hand, went to ring the bell and then walked over to the window. She stood with her back to him, looking out at the parkland.
“Why don’t you go for a walk?” he said. “And I will sleep a little more, I promise.”
“Am I so objectionable to you, Felix?” she said after a moment, without turning to face him. “What did I do that I am suddenly so – dispensable?”
“It is not you, it’s just that I am a poor patient,” he said. “I’m sorry to be such a wretch. When I am well again –” He said this with some sincerity, for he was as disturbed by his own change in feeling as she clearly was.
She shook her head.
“I don’t think you like me any more,” she said.
“That’s nonsense.”
“Is it?” she said, turning back to him. “Do you think I’m so stupid that I can’t feel it?”
“It’s this –” he said, making a helpless gesture to indicate the sick-room and his condition. “When I’m better, I am sure –”
“No, that will not make a jot of difference. You are still angry with me because I could not agree with you! You think I am annoying and stupid! I can see it in your face. And even when you try to be nice to me it sounds false! Well, I shall not stay where I am not wanted. You can be as disagreeable as you like on your own!”
Chapter Thirty-four
Having Lord Rothborough’s carriage at his disposal, Giles told the coachman to drive him to Raythorpe Hall. He conjured up various excuses for why he was going there that did not involve interviewing Lord Wytton and his sister. In the end, he settled for calling upon Lady Wytton in consideration of her welfare. She was the innocent victim here, after all. There was nothing she had done or said to make him think otherwise.
He found her in the garden, playing with her children. She looked pleased to see him, and he was glad he had come. She showed him to a little summer house and they sat down to talk.
“You have come to speak to my husband, I suppose?” she said.
“No,” he said. “I came to see you. I’m not allowed to speak to your husband. I have been taken off the case.”
“Oh,” she said. “What do you want with me?”
“To see after your welfare. You have had an unpleasant time, I suspect.”
She looked at her fingers and said, “That is true. And now Edward has gone.”
“When did he go?”
“Almost as soon as he came back from Northminster. He went off in a terrible hurry. I suppose he has gone to France and that is that. Margaret said I was not to say a word about it to anyone, but I can speak to you. Indeed, I must – oh, I’m so glad you came, it has been wretched.” She choked back a tear. “But I’m taking the children to my brother’s tomorrow. Shropshire – my mother is there. We will be all right.” She reached out and squeezed his hand. “It’s all so strange. I have woken up. I think I woke up when Fred told me that I was in danger, and when he died – oh, I thought we were happy, I thought I was happy, but then you realise that there is nothing, nothing really to hold on to. I’m lucky, though – I have my children.” She gestured towards the garden. “It’s only sad to think what Edward has thrown away. If only he had thought to say something to me about the bank. Why did he talk to Margaret and not his wife? That is the question, is it not?”
“I suppose they have always been close?”
“Yes,” said Lady Wytton. “But they are always quarrelling. It was always strange how they went on together.”
“And Margaret is –?” Giles ventured.
She pointed towards one of the upper windows of the house.
“I think she’s packing and she will be gone soon as well. I was not supposed to say so, but it had to be said.”
“You have done the right thing,” said Giles. “And really, the information can mean nothing to me since I’m no longer in charge of the case.”
“Why?” she asked, with the appealing simplicity of a child. She covered her hand with her mouth, as if embarrassed by the bluntness. “Forgive me,” she said. “It seems strange when you have such a way of finding everything out.”
“I did something foolish in a crisis,” said Giles. “And now I must pay for it. But first, I wonder if Miss Wytton will see me,” he said, getting up. “Would you show me up to her room?”
“Yes,” said Lady Wytton. “But will she talk to you?”
“Perhaps,” said Giles.
So Lady Wytton took him upstairs.
“I have someone to see you,” said Lady Wytton, knocking on the door. “Major Vernon is here.”
The door opened a chink and Miss Wytton looked out warily. Giles reached out, caught the door and swung it open.
“I imagine you were told to remain quietly at home,” he said. “But I see you are packing – without the assistance of your maid.”
“You should leave,” said Miss Wytton. “I know that you have no business here. I know that Captain Lazenby has suspended you from your duties.”
“I came to see how your sister-in-law was. And Captain Lazenby notwithstanding, you are not going anywhere until we have talked a little more.”
He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him so that she could not leave. Then he turned the key in the door and went to the window, opened the case
ment and threw the key out onto the terrace below. One of the Wytton children, who was playing nearby, came running over.
“Take that to your mother,” Giles said, “with Major Vernon’s compliments.”
The child picked up the key and went running off.
“This is insupportable!” Miss Wytton pushed past him at the window and screamed: “Help! Help! MURDER!”
A moment later Lady Wytton came out onto the terrace. She held up the key.
“Lavinia, Lavinia, get Bryant and some of the other men!” Miss Wytton shouted. “He is going to kill me! Have them break down the door!”
“No, I don’t think so, Meg,” said Lady Wytton. “You should talk to him. It will be better for you if you do.”
“She will be quite safe,” Giles said.
“I will come up in a while with the key, Major Vernon.”
“Lavinia – no, no!” Miss Wytton howled. “Don’t go, I beg you!”
But she went, and Miss Wytton turned back into the room and looked as if she meant to attack him.
“This is outrageous. Utterly outrageous. When I tell Captain Lazenby –”
“So you will talk to him? And not flit, like your brother?” said Giles. “That is something. Perhaps that night in the cells had some effect on you.”
“I shall say nothing to you,” she said, taking a chair and turning it away from him. She sat down, and so Giles settled himself in a comfortable chair. “My solicitor told me to say nothing.”
“Yes, that is your right,” Giles said. “I will read, then, until you are ready.” He took Mark Hurrell’s novel from his coat and began to leaf through it.
There was silence for some minutes, and as he read, he was aware that this was beginning to unsettle her.
“What are you reading? Nothing improper, I hope,” she said.
“That’s a matter of opinion – Mark Hurrell’s novel.”
“That vile thing,” she said. “How dare you bring it here!”
The Echo at Rooke Court Page 26
