Shadow of the Past

by Judith Cutler

  ‘At which point the girls discovered they had power over her,’ Edmund ruminated. ‘And did you discover, my love, how Miss Southey came to be up to her waist in water when she came upon the corpse?’

  ‘Lady Bramhall was careful to gloss over that. But my conversation with Miss Georgiana was not unfruitful. It was clear that they considered it amusing to cast poor Miss Southey’s bonnet into the water and order her to fetch it – on pain of dismissal.’

  ‘It was a bonnet hardly worth losing your position for,’ I recalled. ‘But why should she have been dismissed for abandoning her own property? Did they in fact threaten to betray another, different confidence if she did not do it? I remember such “dares” at Eton.’

  ‘It would be useful to open the trunk, then,’ Hansard mused. He shot a sudden smile at me. ‘Usually I criticise your want of logic, Tobias, but tonight I applaud it.’

  ‘Open the trunk, Edmund? How will you do that?’ Mrs Hansard objected.

  ‘In my capacity of Justice of the Peace. I should have thought of it earlier, should I not?’ Slamming a fist into his palm, he sprang to his feet and paced the room with ill-suppressed rage. But at the far end he turned, a smile softening his features. He looked around, and, spreading his hands, declared out of the blue, ‘You have made this such a welcoming room, Maria. Welcoming, yet elegant. Occasionally, as tonight, when I am tempted to play cards, I think of losing all, as I so nearly did before. But what I have gained…’

  Tears stood in his eyes. His wife rose and joined her hands with his.

  Suddenly I realised the lateness of the hour. They did not attempt to detain me from my bed any longer.

  It was a very formal pair that presented itself at Moreton Hall the following morning, asking for Sir Marcus and declining to accept the butler’s information that his master could not see us until after noon.

  ‘It is not a mere morning call, Timmins,’ Hansard snapped. ‘We need information of him, urgently.’

  ‘Do not tell me that you wish to speak about this damned governess again?’ Sir Marcus demanded, resplendent in a brocade dressing gown as he joined us some ten minutes later in the library. ‘What is it now?’

  ‘Sir Marcus, I might equally wish to speak of the man who inconveniently blocked your stream. Miss Southey was merely the person who discovered him. She will, however, be needed at the inquest that must undoubtedly be held. Unless you wish your two daughters to take the witness stand?’

  As far as I understood the matter they might well have to anyway, but I remained silent.

  Dr Hansard continued, ‘Lady Bramhall has very kindly undertaken to obtain information from your London steward.’ I could have sworn I detected a flicker of some emotion cross Sir Marcus’s face. ‘However, we cannot wait until his response arrives. We must inspect Miss Southey’s trunk for information about her possible whereabouts. You made it clear last night you had no knowledge of her actions when she left you. So we must seek other means.’

  Sir Marcus spread his hands in exasperation, but summoned Timmins again. He appeared with such alacrity I might have suspected him of attempting to eavesdrop.

  With considerable – and possibly well-feigned – surprise, Timmins personally showed us up to the attics where Miss Southey’s trunk might be expected to be stored. Other servants’ boxes and the great pile of travel equipment that Sir Marcus and his family required were clearly visible. But of Miss Southey’s poor trunk, there was no sign.

  Hansard turned to Timmins. ‘That trunk must be located. Do you hear? And before we quit the Hall.’

  The butler bowed, removing imaginary dust from his gloves with finicking gestures. Such an expedition was clearly beneath him, but his loyalty to Lady Chase prevented him raising even so much as an eyebrow when he ushered us from the attic as if the steep steps we had to descend were the grandest of staircases.

  ‘If you would be kind enough to wait in the morning room, gentlemen, I will set further enquiries in train.’

  ‘And if he finds nothing?’ I asked, impatient at kicking my heels for ten minutes.

  ‘That in itself would be significant. I understand your frustration, Tobias – if only we could obtain all this information instantly. But a few minutes’ wait may save us hours of jauntering around the countryside.’

  I shook my head, taking an irritated turn about the room. ‘We are allowing ourselves to get sidetracked, Edmund. Miss Southey may be an important witness but to the best of our knowledge she is no more than a witness. It is the dead man’s identity that we should be seeking!’

  ‘And do you not think I have had poor George careering about the village asking anyone who may have seen him – to have seen any stranger – to come forward?’

  ‘I am sure you have – and sure that Jem would have been sharing his task, had he been well. But no one has given us any information at all. Unless—?’

  ‘Unless I have been concealing an exciting development from you?’ he asked, kind in the face of my anger. ‘Nay, Tobias, you know me better than that.’

  Dropping my eyes, I nodded apologetically.

  ‘But I do have an idea to propose. You hold his funeral late this afternoon, do you not?’

  I nodded. ‘I decided to hold it so late in the day because it meant the men who attended would not have to lose any of their pitiful wages.’

  He nodded. ‘You have taught them to be compassionate, and those who are not may simply be nosy. I would like you to make an appeal at the graveside for information. You may even promise a reward – which would be gratefully received, in these unhappy times.’

  ‘With all my heart. Edmund, I ask your pardon for my hasty words.’

  He shook my outstretched hand, clapping me kindly on the shoulder. ‘Too much of Sir Marcus’s port, my boy – that is what made you hasty. And with a sore head and sick stomach, I make no doubt. No wonder Bramhall was ill.’

  ‘I hardly drank, Edmund. What Timmins served with dinner was such sour stuff I avoided it. It is not Lady Chase’s way to serve inferior wine.’

  ‘But possibly Sir Marcus’s way of countering what he sees as her extravagance in offering vintage champagne to her guests. But one may imagine what Timmins must have thought.’

  ‘Of course. And when it came to the port, I followed your lead and applied it to the plants.’

  Edmund went to remove his wig the better to scratch his head, but recalled that on their marriage Mrs Hansard had insisted that in future he present himself to the world with his own hair. He looked at his hand in surprise, then applied a finger to a sensitive spot anyway. ‘How strange. I have been feeling bilious, too – and dear Maria, the most abstemious of creatures, admits to the headache this morning.’ He said no more.

  The door opened very quietly, as if Timmins were trying to catch us exchanging shameful secrets. But he too might have been scratching his head in puzzlement.

  ‘With regret, Dr Hansard, Mr Campion, I have to confess that I cannot locate Miss Southey’s luggage. I have, of course, enquired in the servants’ hall.’

  ‘Excellent. As a matter of fact, Timmins, it would be helpful to speak to those of the servants who helped her carry it downstairs and waved her on her way.’

  Never could I accuse such a perfect butler as Timmins of blushing, but it was clear that he was sadly distressed.

  ‘I fear that I have been unable to identify anyone who might have assisted her, Dr Hansard. It seems she had a poor farewell, from folk who should have known better,’ he admitted, leaning forward confidentially.

  I was unable to imagine him thawing enough to shake the lady by the hand to wish her well, but preferred to nod encouragingly to illicit further information. ‘Did she leave on foot? Or was a carrier called?’

  ‘On foot, I understand. In the hope, no doubt, of catching a coach at the crossroads outside the village.’

  ‘A three-mile walk in the dark. No wonder she was unable to take her few belongings with her.’

  ‘She had a bandbox and a cl
oak bag with her,’ Timmins corrected me, adding belatedly, ‘or so I am given to understand.’

  ‘Not being a countrywoman used to making long journeys on foot, she would not have been able to make swift progress. And she was, after all, shocked and exhausted by the events of the afternoon. I wonder she was not compelled to take instantly to her bed – even Jem, my groom, has been suffering from a feverish cold.’

  ‘Indeed, sir. I am very sorry to hear it.’ Timmins clearly thought it best to bow himself out. ‘I will send a message to you immediately I have located Miss Southey’s remaining luggage, Mr Campion.’

  Dr Hansard coughed. ‘I think that despite what you have told us we will call again on Mrs Sandys. Would you be kind enough to announce us, Timmins?’

  * * *

  Mrs Sandys, whom we disturbed at her window pouring over swatches of fabric, was no more welcoming than she had been the previous time we had exchanged words, but in the presence of Timmins and Dr Hansard she could scarcely keep me standing in the corridor. She admitted us with subdued courtesy.

  In Lady Chase she had found a generous employer, at least if her room were anything to judge by. In Mrs Hansard’s days as a housekeeper to a noble family, her quarters had been mean and poorly furnished. Mrs Sandys, however, enjoyed a spacious and recently decorated sitting room, according her the dignity due to her position. It seemed that she even had her own serving-maid. At the ring of a bell, a child scarce old enough to leave home scuttled in, bobbing a curtsy. She was sent out to bring us tea and cake.

  We waited until her errand was complete before we broached the matter of Miss Southey.

  ‘We understand that you did your very best to make her comfortable,’ I began, my smile meant to acknowledge her response to my request, ‘but that your efforts were frustrated by people who should have known better – that your orders for a fire, for instance, were countermanded. Please tell us everything you know about Miss Southey, her life here and the manner of her dismissal and departure.’

  Mrs Sandys opened her mouth, apparently to bridle.

  ‘You may speak as freely as you wish,’ Dr Hansard added quietly, ‘knowing that nothing you say will reach other ears.’

  In one swift movement she rose to her feet, opened her door, and closed it again, leaning against it for a moment. ‘I need this position, gentlemen.’

  ‘And someone has suggested they can persuade Lady Chase to dismiss you?’ Hansard asked. ‘I am sure they could not, unless she herself had reason to be displeased with you.’

  I nodded my agreement. ‘And rest assured that should any attempt be made to get rid of you, Mr Campion and I would intercede. After all, you have been in her household for many years.’

  ‘No, that I have not,’ she said, blurting it out as if it were a confession to be quickly made. ‘I have only been employed by her for the last few months. And I do not come from the village either, as most of the servants do – having lost their posts when Moreton Priory was left empty.’

  So why had she, an outsider, been less than kind to another outsider? But I said nothing, not wishing to interrupt her flow.

  ‘Servants take their lead from the top, sir. And when they could see that Lady Honoria and Miss Georgiana were making mock of her, others took it into their head to tease Miss Southey too.’

  ‘The servants?’ Hansard prompted. ‘All the servants? From the very top?’

  She managed the briefest of nods, but looked around in panic, as if the very pictures on the wall might betray her.

  ‘Was there anyone in particular?’

  She wrung her hands in something like agony, but declined absolutely to answer. Ours was not a clandestine visit, after all. Timmins had accompanied us down here – a very senior member of staff indeed.

  At last we gave up the attempt. There was after all another member of Lady Chase’s household who merited further questions – Furnival, the steward. I deemed it better not to mention to Mrs Sandys that I wished to speak to him, merely quitting her in her room with my thanks and my assurance that Mrs Trent, my housekeeper, would more than welcome a visit from her should she have time to spare.

  ‘Very neatly done,’ Dr Hansard complimented me when we had bowed our way out. ‘And now to our rounds, yours to cure souls, mine to cure bodies.’

  I raised a finger to interrupt him. Then in the manner of a schoolboy, I indicated with a jerk of my thumb that we were to head not for the outside world but back within the Hall – to Mr Furnival’s office.

  Furnival was seated at a huge rent desk facing the half-open door. Busy with a ledger and quill, he clearly did not wish for visitors. However, he stood and gave a formal bow, not forgetting, presumably, the last time we saw him, humiliated before her ladyship.

  ‘Good morning, Furnival,’ Hansard said, taking the straight-backed chair opposite, ‘we come to talk about the enquiries that you were making on her ladyship’s behalf about her missing son.’

  I leant casually against the door jamb. Only as I loosely folded my arms, did I realise how threatening I must appear. However, I wanted no interruption to any narrative he might offer and there was no other chair unoccupied by papers, so I stayed where I was.

  ‘Her late son. Gentlemen,’ he continued, spreading arthritic hands, ‘how can he be alive after all this time? It is three years since the skirmish in which he lost his life. Every officer has been questioned, even Sir Arthur Wellesley himself. Advertisements have appeared in every respectable journal in every respectable city. They have even appeared in Lisbon. But there has never been any response. I have tried times out of number to suggest that any further enquiries are a waste of time and money – her ladyship’s pockets are deep but not bottomless,’ he added.

  Hansard’s nod epitomised understanding and commiseration. ‘But she will not let this go?’

  ‘You saw,’ Furnival said bitterly. ‘But even assuming that the deceased man did indeed journey here with an advertisement in his shoe, I cannot see how that gets us any closer to finding Lord Wombourn – Lord Chase, I should say. The advertisement, after all, solicits information of his whereabouts – in fact, it could equally elicit confirmation that he is in fact dead.’

  ‘But would anyone journey so far from London simply to bring bad news?’

  ‘With the promise of a handsome reward, yes,’ Furnival averred. ‘You will recall that that was what the advertisement promised.’

  ‘But an unspecified amount, as I recall,’ Hansard reflected. He gathered himself together and half-rose. ‘An estate like this must need a great deal of attention, Furnival.’

  ‘It does indeed. And it is of course only one of the Chase properties. There are estates in Devonshire and Yorkshire, besides the Grosvenor Square house. I have deputies in each, of course, but I remain in overall control.’ He straightened; his back gave an audible click.

  ‘I can give you something for your aches and pains at least,’ Hansard said. ‘I’ll get my groom to bring a bottle of linament over. And some drops. Do not mistake one for the other, Furnival, or we shall have another body on our hands. Now, pray, will you be attending the funeral this afternoon? In the absence of the poor fellow’s family?’

  For the first time in the interview, Furnival looked less than composed. Nonetheless, he smiled. ‘I will do my best,’ he promised.

  Furnival’s best was, however, not good enough, and he failed to join the thirty or so kind-hearted men from the village and the Moreton Hall estate who, as the day merged with the dusk, stood bare-headed in the light drizzle to bid their anonymous brother farewell. In my brief address, I invited them to attend the Inquest, due to be held in the great entrance hall of Moreton Hall at the same time the following day, a time chosen by our new coroner, Mr Vernon, lately of Nuneaton. I explained that any evidence at all was vital in establishing the identity of the poor man over whom Dr Toone had scattered the first handful of earth, and there was a general, if subdued, murmur of agreement that the man’s family must be found and notified of it
s loss. The mention of a reward brought a brighter murmur.

  The final words and deeds accomplished, Toone – invited to stay overnight with the Hansards – Hansard himself and I repaired to the rectory, where Mrs Hansard and Mrs Trent awaited us. The latter would be on her mettle, no doubt keen to prove as much to herself as to anyone else that the reason I took so many meals elsewhere was nothing to do with her cooking. We were equally keen to prove we meant no disrespect to her skills. She had refused point-blank to join us in the repast however, and Jem, who despite his lingering snuffles had insisted on attending the funeral, retired to join her and George, the Hansards’ groom.

  Truly Mrs Trent might have been catering for the Prince Regent himself, the meal was so gargantuan and so excellent in the quality as well as the quantity of its dishes. Dr Toone made more inroads into the wine than the food, a fact I suspect did not go unnoticed by Hansard.

  ‘What next?’ he demanded after his third glass.

  ‘Wait patiently for the inquest,’ I said. ‘Much as I would love to leap on to Titus and gallop off in search of the missing Lord Chase, I fear my presence will be demanded on the witness stand.’

  ‘Not in search of the missing Miss Southey?’ he asked, with a meaningful lift of the eyebrow.

  ‘It’s an unfortunate truth, my dear Toone, that a man cannot be in two places at once,’ Hansard said with some forbearance.

  But it seemed I might have to be – indeed, that all three of us might. The front doorbell was rung with vigour. Susan was so struck by the untoward event that she bobbed a curtsy and left to answer it, leaving Maria clutching a tureen in mid-air.

  She returned in a second. ‘’Tis Matthew, sir, wants an urgent word, he says.’

  Matthew was a gamekeeper on an estate bordering Lady Chase’s. Nodding apologetically to my friends, I dropped my napkin on the table and followed her into the hallway. Matthew, taller and broader than ever, filled the open doorway.

  ‘Nay, Parson, I won’t come in, not in all my dirt. But I think you should come and see what I’ve found, and come and see it now.’