‘Now who might that be?’ he demanded, stepping forward lightly.
‘A poacher?’ I asked, still not certain that I had seen anything. ‘He’s in danger from the mantraps whoever he is.’
‘You can rest easy there, Parson. Never liked the things myself. If Mr Davies asks, they’re still there, but between you and me you’ll find most of them at the bottom of his lordship’s lake. At the deepest part, moreover, where even the driest summer won’t expose them.’ He slipped the dog’s chain. ‘Go on, Gundy – go!’
‘Gundy?’ I asked.
He blushed. ‘Short for Salmagundy. Mrs Beckles saw what a mixture he was and gave him the name after the salad.’
Gundy ran off purposefully, and we ran after, keeping him in sight. But the figure, real or a figment of Matthew’s imagination, eluded us.
‘Perhaps he’s gone over the wall?’ I suggested, prompted by the few sharp barks Gundy delivered at the foot of it.
Matthew swarmed up it as easily as if he’d been my nephew’s monkey, but, having looked from left to right, dropped back.
‘The sun’s so low and with the road running due west I couldn’t see anything,’ he said, not even panting after the exertion. ‘But I’ll swear I saw someone. And any trespasser wants to be careful lest he end up like that rabbit.’
‘His lordship wouldn’t—’ I stopped, shocked.
‘There are ways and ways of killing,’ he said. ‘A crucifixion is one, a hanging another. Or a long slow passage to Australia. I’m not sure which I’d rather endure.’
We parted then on good terms and I set out whence I had come. He called me back, however. ‘You could break a leg out here in the dusk and no one’d know. If I let you out of this here a gate you can follow the lane. It’s not much better, God knows, but it should be safer.’
I had walked perhaps five hundred yards picking my way though the ruts when I was aware of a quick rush behind me. Stepping swiftly sideways, I prepared to accost whoever approached so roughly. Instead, I felt a blow to the back of my neck and knew no more.
It was pitch dark, the only light coming from the stars when I recovered my senses – I must have been lying unconscious for at least half an hour. The period seemed, in my fuddled state, a matter of importance, I know not why. I reached for my timepiece – to find it missing. Gone too were the few coins I always carried about me to bestow on any of my young parishioners prepared to open gates and give me a civil time of day. The robber had not stopped there, as I discovered when I forced myself to my feet. My boots had been taken!
It was a long and unpleasant walk back to my home – but I realised with a little lift of the heart that it was the first time I had thought of the parsonage in those terms. There would be warmth, light and comfort; there people who cared about my welfare.
I staggered on, longing only to lie down but aware that to succumb to the temptation on so cold a night might be fatal.
At last I reached the outskirts of the village. Should I stop at one of the cottages and ask for help? Or would that put them to more trouble than they could afford? Much as I feared the latter would be the case, I knew not how to persuade my legs to carry me further.
The matter was taken out of my hands. I tripped in a deep rut, and fell on my hands and knees, crying out like a vexed child at the pain.
‘Who’s that? Don’t move! Stay where you are!’
I raised my head a little, to see the muzzle of a gun in horribly close proximity. ‘It is I, Parson Campion,’ I croaked. ‘Do not shoot, I pray you!’
‘And what would a parson be doing out here at this time of night?’
‘A parson might be attending a deathbed,’ I said, nettled. ‘Or coming home from an afternoon with friends. Or any lawful pursuit. Pray, put that gun away and help me to my feet.’
He held his candle unpleasantly close to my face before, putting down both candle and gun, he complied. Once he had me vertical, he passed me my hat without a word, and stood back, patently expecting me to go on my way.
‘I have been robbed, my good man,’ I said tetchily. ‘And the thief has taken my boots.’
At Eton I had roared with laughter at boys whose predicament was no less than mine now, so I suppose I should not blame my rescuer for finding my loss amusing. His bellows of mirth brought out his wife, clattering across the frozen earth in pattens.
‘Joe, enough of your racket. Parson, if it would please you to step inside—’ She bobbed a curtsy. She was a regular member of my congregation, even if he was not.
‘Any stepping needs must be slow,’ I groaned, my head by now hurting badly. ‘Mrs Andrews, could you send young Henry to Jem, at the parsonage, and tell him what has befallen me? Tell Henry that tomorrow I will give reward him for his trouble, but not today. All my money has gone the way of my boots.’
‘I will not bleed you, for in my opinion you have lost enough blood already,’ Hansard declared, regarding me appraisingly.
Mrs Trent nodded with approval, stepping forward to adjust the bed sheets in the manner of one who has at last come into her own. ‘If you will give me your instructions, Dr Hansard,’ she said, ‘they will be obeyed to the letter.’
‘They will indeed,’ agreed Jem, who was clearly not to be ousted by a comparative newcomer to my little household.
I closed my eyes, too weary to be fought over. Dr Hansard, amusement in his voice, asked, ‘Which of you will take the first watch? Because the other must sleep while he or she can. I anticipate a high fever in the morning, and possibly an inflammation of the lung. At very least,’ he added, ‘Parson Campion will have a ringing headache, and must be fed a lowering diet for two or three days. I’m sure I can rely on you to provide some of your excellent broth, Mrs Trent, and on Jem to fend off unwelcome visitors.’
‘I always did tell Mr Campion he should employ a butler,’ Mrs Trent fussed.
‘I fancy Dr Hansard means visitors who may not come to the front door,’ Jem said. ‘I’ll guard him with my life, as you well know, sir.’
‘Why should I need guarding?’ I asked, sounding pettish even to my own ears.
‘Because someone did not expect you to survive this afternoon’s attack,’ Hansard said grimly. ‘By taking your boots, he made it less likely that, should you regain consciousness before the cold – which is deeper than ever tonight – took you, you would be able to reach help.’
I clapped a hand to my head. ‘My good friend – you must pay young Henry for his services.’
‘I’ve already done that,’ Jem said quickly.
I cursed inwardly. Jem could be so high in the instep that recompensing him was nigh on impossible. I meant to say something incisive. Instead, the words came out almost of their own volition: ‘I feel devilish sick.’ And I promptly cast up my accounts.
‘Aye, he’s done to a cow’s thumb,’ Jem opined. ‘Do you show the good doctor out, Mrs Trent. I’ll take the first watch.’
If there was any argument, I neither knew nor cared any more.
CHAPTER SEVEN
For several days I was as weak as a kitten, but at last I rebelled against all the kindness threatening to smother me and insisted that I was well enough to come downstairs, albeit in a frogged brocade dressing gown that clearly overawed the girl dusting the hall.
‘Beg pardon, sir,’ she said, dropping a low curtsy, and scrambling back out of sight.
Search my memory as I might, I could come to only one conclusion – I was certainly not acquainted with her. No doubt I would learn more of her when Mrs Trent came to report the day’s affairs, one of which, I was determined, should be the preparation of something other than chicken or mutton broth. It was not, however, Mrs Trent who presented herself in my study, in which a middling fire aspired to take the chill off the room, but Mrs Beckles, who immediately cajoled the logs into life.
‘Mrs Trent is an admirable woman,’ she declared, with no preamble, ‘but your illness was enough to tax her powers to the limit, and I took it upon myself to
send her a little assistant. No, don’t fly into the boughs.’
Humbly, I said, ‘I would not dare. But does the new maid meet with Mrs Trent’s approval?’
‘Mrs Trent was more exhausted than she cares to admit by her share of the nursing.’
‘But Jem bore his part. And more.’
‘Indeed. And do you not think that having to permit Jem to do that was more exhausting than doing it all herself? Come, Mr Campion, you must know how decent loyal servants must fight to serve their master when they fear he is dying!’
‘I was never dying.’
‘That is something you may discuss with Dr Hansard – whose idea it was to introduce Susan into the household. And mine,’ she conceded, her eyes twinkling as she allowed her dimples to show.
‘But who would want me to die?’
‘Who indeed? The menfolk have their theories, Mr Campion, and I was never one to spoil a good argument. So I will report that Lady Elham, who before she left for a week or so in Bath, sent her best love and a huge basket of fruit from her – from his lordship’s – succession houses.’
What I wanted to do was demand whether Lizzie had gone too. Instead, I asked mildly, ‘How was her ladyship?’
‘She kept her room much of the time. And, until it became so very cold, wandered about the grounds a great deal, as if seeking out places where she and her late husband enjoyed happy moments.’ Mrs Beckles spoke without emphasis, but still I sensed a great deal of irony. ‘She saw no visitors and of course paid no calls. I trust this visit to Bath will return her to health,’ she added punctiliously.
‘I wonder she does not move to the Dower House, if she wishes a retired life,’ I said, trying to keep my chagrin at losing Lizzie from my voice.
Whatever her intentions had been, Mrs Beckles pulled up a chair and sat opposite me. ‘Lady Elham still rules the roast at the Priory, that is why. The new Lord Elham, who you may remember about the time of your accident left us for the Lord knows where, has never shown an inclination to take a wife, despite the efforts of some of the mothers in the district, who perceive him as a very eligible parti. And the Priory must have a mistress.’
‘What of the daughters of these mothers?’
‘You must have seen, Mr Campion, better, than I.’ She raised her eyebrows to prompt me.
‘He is a regular guest at all the neighbouring houses,’ I said supinely.
‘And does that make him a welcome suitor?’
‘The young ladies appear loath to engage in more than the mildest flirtation.’
‘And with you, Mr Campion? Surely they would do more than flirt!’
‘I would never step beyond the line,’ I said, adding, ‘I do not see how I can, circumstanced as I am.’
She spread her hands, encompassing in a gesture the whole of the rectory and possibly the glebe lands too. ‘My dear sir, a parson needs a wife. But you look fagged to death – I tire you with my gabble-mongering. Let me ring for Susan to make up your fire and then I may make you known to each other.’
Susan was short and slightly built, with mouse-brown hair. Her complexion was brown, too, as were her eyes. She was not ill-favoured, but was as yet a mere dab of a girl who might blossom or not.
Mrs Beckles laid a kind hand on her shoulder. ‘Make your curtsy to Mr Campion, Susan. Mr Campion, you will know Susan’s sister, Lizzie.’
Lizzie’s sister. But there was no resemblance at all. I forced myself to say evenly, ‘Indeed I do, Susan. She is Lady Elham’s abigail.’ I stretched out my hand. ‘Welcome to the rectory, Susan – may I hope to teach you your letters, as I have taught Lizzie?’
When Dr Hansard visited me at about five o’clock on the day of Mrs Beckles’ call, I urged him to support my plea for a more varied diet.
‘A little boiled chicken would do you no harm, Tobias. Or some calves’ foot jelly would be very nourishing.’
‘As you are my friend, Hansard, enough. Unless you wish to share them with me? I am persuaded that Mrs Trent might easily lay covers for two.’
‘Touché! Now, let me feel your pulse. Excellent. It is no longer tumultuous. And your broken head mends well,’ he conceded, replacing the bandage with a new one. ‘You must have a sound constitution. I feared, as you must know, that you might suffer an inflammation of the lung, but I can detect nothing amiss.’
‘Of course you cannot. Just tell me when I may discard these confounded slippers.’
He inspected my feet. ‘Parson Campion, I declare you sound in mind, wind and limb. And I prescribe—’
‘Not more pap, I beg you!’
‘A glass of the burgundy Mrs Trent is even now decanting. Can you not detect the odours emanating from her kitchen? She is cooking you a fine dinner – on my orders,’ he chuckled.
‘And you will stay to sup with me?’ I fear I sounded overanxious. I was surprised that he had been so sparing of his visits while I was unwell, and felt quite ill-used to have been left so lonely.
‘With all my heart, since you clearly have a fit of the blue-devils. In fact,’ he added with a smile, ‘I intended to anyway. A man who has successfully delivered twins deserves no less.’
‘Twins!’ I thanked goodness that I had not openly carped.
‘A son and a daughter to Farmer Bulmer’s eldest son and his wife. The poor lady had to endure a very long labour.’ His smile slipped and I realised how knocked-up he looked. Face bleak, he continued, ‘At one point I feared the worst, that I should have to cut the babes out of her in the hope of saving her life, if not theirs. And even that might not have done the trick. But – just as I despaired – she managed to deliver the first, a lusty girl.’
‘Thank God!’
‘Amen. The boy is punier than I like, but with luck he may survive.’
‘Is there any doubt?’ My time here – indeed, my recent illness – had made me much more aware of human frailty.
‘I can hope – and you can pray.’ He made an obvious effort to sound more cheerful. ‘Now, childbed apart, I have not been idle. I have also endeavoured to discover what I could about your assailant.’ He sat down, in the manner of a man prepared to talk his talk.
‘You know who attacked me?’
‘I fear your auditory faculties must have been affected by that blow. No, I have failed signally to discover him. Matthew declares that he saw a shadowy figure escape from the woods of the Priory parkland, and that you both gave chase. His description was worth this much.’ Hansard snapped his fingers. ‘So what is your recollection of the event?’
I snapped my fingers in return. ‘And to my shame,’ I added, ‘I saw even less of the trespasser than Matthew did. In fact, had not the wretch hit my skull, I would have considered him to be a mere figment of Matthew’s imagination.’
‘Your injuries were real enough,’ Hansard observed mildly. ‘And your property stolen.’
‘What folly,’ I said, ‘to steal something like my timepiece, engraved with my name!’
Hansard’s eyes opened wide. ‘You had rather he had stolen something anonymous?’
‘If he was driven to such straits as to need to steal, and to go to such lengths to do it, then I would he had profited from it, not put a noose around his neck if he tried to sell the watch.’
Hansard shook his head firmly. ‘Come, my young friend, what a bag of moonshine that is! And you a parson, supposed to preach morality. Thou shalt not steal. You made it a text for your sermon only the other day.’
‘I am grateful that Dr Hansard was not asleep.’
‘I might have been resting my eyes, Parson Campion, but my ears were ever open.’
When our laughter died down, I leant forward seriously. ‘Edmund, had he asked, I would have given him the watch – or its monetary equivalent. You know that.’
‘I do. I wish he had done so. You would have been spared near death by drowning in broth. But to return to my point. I have found simply an invisible man. No one in the village or on any of the surrounding estates – Matthew and possibly
yourself excepted – saw hide or hair of him. But I have sent out messages to my fellow justices in Warwick and Leamington, asking them to tell me should it come to their notice that someone is trying to pawn or sell your watch. The boots and the money you must bid farewell to, I fear—’
I gestured impatiently. ‘They do not matter. The coins were meant to be given away, and boots can be replaced. The timepiece, alas, cannot. It was a gift from my grandfather when I came of age, and is engraved accordingly. So we have no reports of vagrants, tramps, deserters or soldiers invalided out of the army? I pray God it was no local man.’
‘Amen, for it would be a hanging offence, as you said.’ He spoke with the solemn voice of a man bound to carry out the demands of the law.
I thought of Matthew’s reflections on punishment, but said nothing. What if Matthew’s affability had been assumed, the better to lure me into a trap? What if the assailant was none other than Matthew himself, disposing of one he saw as a rival in love? Unwilling to share my fear with even such a good and discreet man as Edmund, I asked if it were permitted me to join him in a glass of sherry or Madeira before we supped.
‘Indeed. I will pour it myself, with your permission.’ As he passed me a mere half-glass, he asked, ‘Are there any of your acquaintance who might wish to harm – perhaps kill – you?’
‘Call me mutton-headed, but I cannot. I know – and regret – that my churchwardens do not hold me in high regard, but they are decent respectable men who would not sink to murder. I would consider the workhouse master neither decent nor respectable, but cannot think he would do me active harm, thwart me how he may in the matter of the children’s schooling.’
We sipped in silence for a few moments. Before he said, with a degree of hesitation unusual in one so blunt, ‘Has anyone threatened you? Anyone, Tobias? Come, don’t try to bamboozle me.’
The Keeper of Secrets Page 9
