by Jack Murray
‘I see. You’re thinking because I’m Irish…’
Miller held his hands up and said, ‘Hang on, I have to do this. You’re not accused of anything. The police will ask you all this anyway.’
‘Why should I tell you then?’
‘Lord Aston has been asked by the ladies to make initial inquiries. He’s done this before.’
Devlin told him in more detail about his life leading up to his employment by Cavendish after the war. He had arrived in England in the late 1916 with the intention of volunteering for the army upon arrival. In the aftermath of the Somme offensive, the army was desperate for new recruits and they had readily accepted Devlin. Miller would like to have understood more about his reasons for joining but he knew, from experience, that many Irishmen had volunteered and fought with great bravery.
His first action was not until early 1917 as the British pushed forward following the German withdrawal from the Somme. Within a few weeks he had received the first of several decorations for his actions. By the summer of 1917, he’d been promoted to Lance Corporal. He was a Corporal by the time of Cambrai.
He did not go through the War entirely unscathed and received minor shrapnel wounds on two occasions. Neither were serious enough to remove him from the conflict. As a soldier in the Irish Guards, he had not come into contact with either Robert or Lord Cavendish. In fact, he claimed not to have heard of either of them until towards the end of the War.
Devlin’s demobilisation took place in early 1919. He joined thousands of former soldiers looking for a job. Following demobilization, he kept an eye on any newspaper articles about ranking military personnel returning to the country. He sent letters offering his services as a chauffeur. There had been only one reply. Miller nodded sympathetically. He also had returned to civilian life in early nineteen. He went to jail.
Miller ended the interview soon after. Devlin had provided a detailed account of his War record. All of this could be verified without difficulty and Miller had no doubts that Devlin had performed his duty in the War with courage. They chatted for a while about the War, something Miller rarely did, but Devlin’s experience was similar to his own and he identified with the Irishman.
The War and his employment with Cavendish did not point to any motive. If anything, as with the other domestic staff, his death went very much against their interests. However, as comprehensive as his story of the War had been, his recounting of his time before 1916 had not been very detailed. Specifically, it was unclear to Miller what role, if any, Devlin had in the conflict in Ireland. However, as Lord Cavendish had not been involved with Ireland, there was no obvious connection. This meant Devlin had no obvious motive to kill his benefactor.
Miller went to the library but found no sign of Kit. He returned to the hallway and went upstairs and found Kit coming out of Lady Emily’s room. Although he could not see her, it was clear she was crying. Kit shook his head at Miller and led him down to the library to update him on his conversation with Lady Emily.
‘She confessed to killing him,’ said Kit as they both sat down.
-
‘…I’m confessing,’ said Lady Emily to Kit.
‘Go on, Lady Emily,’ responded Kit. It was difficult to hide his surprise and the scepticism was easily readable on his face.
‘It’s no secret, I suppose. We disliked one another. They have treated Henry and me like pariahs. Henry will be the next Lord Cavendish and yet that man has never had any time for him nor those two girls.’
‘So, you killed him?’
‘Correct. With poison.’
‘I see, Lady Emily. What type of poison did you use?’
Lady Emily was taken aback. Why should any further questions be required? ‘What do you mean? Does it matter? One poison is like any other I imagine.’
‘Lady Emily,’ said Kit patiently, ‘there will be an inquest. Part of this inquest will be evidence from the doctor who performs the post-mortem. Clearly, this will establish the cause of death beyond doubt. If, as you say, it was poison then you will be expected to answer certain questions regarding the selection of the poison, how you sourced it and how you went about giving it to Lord Cavendish to consume, when you did so, etcetera.’
This was unexpected news to Lady Emily. Her assumption that an admission of guilt from her would prompt no further investigation was proving to be somewhat wide of the mark. In fact, Lady Emily’s career in murder was singularly devoid of any actual, real life, experience. This meant she could not call upon any prior knowledge on poisoning to disguise her obvious innocence of the crime.
In such situations, where she lacked either competence or knowledge to deal with human obstructions, her default approach was high-handedness. With social inferiors, this approach was devastatingly effective and had emboldened her over the years. Facing Lord Kit Aston, war hero, scholar and, well, a genuine blue-blooded lord, was another matter. In Lady Emily’s favour, however, she had genuine courage and no small reservoir of righteous indignation that could be called upon when required. She chose to attack.
‘Forgive me Lord Aston, but are you insinuating that I’m not telling the truth?’ In any other situation, Kit would have found her hauteur at not being appreciated for the murderer she was, amusing.
‘I’m implying nothing, but you would need to prove to the satisfaction of the law officers if you did, indeed, execute this crime.’
‘But my word is…’
‘Not enough Lady Emily,’ interjected Kit. ‘The law requires proof of guilt in cases of murder. As it stands at the moment, we have no proof a murder has taken place and, if you’ll forgive me, you have not convinced me that you’re guilty of anything other than lying to protect Henry.’
‘This is outrageous!’ Lady Emily leapt to her feet. ‘Are you questioning my integrity?’
‘You’ve just admitted to a murder, Lady Emily. You would agree a murderer is likely to be somewhat deficient in this area.’
Lady Emily stared down at Kit, speechless. This was not going as she had planned and if anything, she was beginning to look foolish. Then she remembered what Kit had said and found new reserves of energy.
‘How dare you bring my son in to this!’
She was in a rage now and Kit genuinely wondered if she would attack him.
‘I saw the book he took from the library.’
This silenced Lady Emily immediately. She collapsed into the chair and began to cry. Kit immediately went to her side and comforted her. He waited for the first wave of tears to subside and then he returned to the seat opposite her. She wiped the corner of her eyes with a handkerchief and looked at Kit. Resignation and fear were etched on her face.
‘What do you intend doing?’
‘I wish to speak to him, in private. The book means nothing unless a crime has been committed. Even if a crime has been committed then we need more evidence before any case can be made against Henry. I’d like to understand why he chose this book. You have to admit, it’s a somewhat strange choice.’
‘I can see how this will be perceived, Henry killing his uncle in order to inherit this ghastly title. He didn’t do it. He’s just a boy.’
‘I am inclined to agree with you, but it is imperative he and I speak. In private.’
‘He’s just a boy,’ she replied pleadingly before breaking down again, seemingly beyond comfort. Kit left soon afterwards promising to send Agnes up to the room. As he shut the door, he saw Miller outside in the corridor.
-
After Miller and Kit had finished updating one another on the latest developments, Miller went downstairs to send Agnes up to Lady Emily. Then he returned to his room to get his overcoat. His next interview was with Bill Edmunds and this meant a walk in the cold weather to the cottage.
Kit, meanwhile, went to see the girls in Lord Cavendish’s room. As he entered, he was struck by how cold the room was. This made sense, of course, as it was unclear, at this point, when the body would be taken to a mortuary. All of the windows
had been opened. Mary and Esther were sitting by the window, dressed in overcoats. He walked over and joined them.
For the next ten minutes he brought them up to date on the interviews and what he would do next. Both of the girls were more composed now and Kit felt it was appropriate to ask them some questions. Both understood and answered freely, desperate to help. Their answers helped fill in some of the gaps as well as verify other stories. It confirmed, in Kit’s mind, how it would have been very difficult for one of the guests to poison Cavendish without someone witnessing the moment when they had done so.
Finally, he asked the same question he had asked all the other interviewees, ‘After yesterday morning, were either of you in the library at all?’
Both answered no. ‘Why do you ask?’ said Esther.
Kit did not answer her question immediately, asking instead, ‘Did you ask anyone to tidy the library yesterday?’
Again, the response was no. Mary looked at Kit directly and raised her eyebrows. This was his cue to reveal the disappearance of the threatening notes. The implications were not lost on Mary.
‘Gone!’ exclaimed Mary. ‘But this means…’ she left the sentence unfinished.
‘Yes, it was someone or some people in this house who sent the notes,’ finished Kit.
‘But this is extraordinary, who would do such a thing?’ said Esther.
‘The same person who may have killed grandpapa, Essie,’ pointed out Mary.
Kit stayed quiet. What Mary said was undeniable. He mentioned some of his other observations including how the photograph of the battalion, which had been sitting on the desk, had been replaced on the wall.
‘This is very strange,’ observed Mary. ‘I glanced at it the other day to look for Mr Strangerson. It was probably the first time I have looked at it in years. It’s always just been there, in the same place.’
‘Yes, he’s sitting front row,’ said Kit. ‘I was looking for him, too. I wonder how many of them came back. Not many I suspect, poor blighters.’
Mary held Esther’s hand and then looked at Kit. ‘Who’re you going to speak to now?’
‘Henry. Harry’s off to see Bill Edmunds.’ Kit thought for a moment then asked, ‘Can you tell me a little about Mr Edmunds?’
Esther answered, ‘He’s been with us for years. He’s of a somewhat taciturn disposition, to put it mildly. Not the nicest person but not the worst either. The family has changed a lot since they lost Ben. Can’t blame them, I suppose.’
‘Does he have a key to the house?’
‘Yes, I imagine he does,’ said Esther, ‘You don’t really think he would do anything?’
Kit looked at Esther and Mary. He could tell how much they were putting all their hopes on him coming up with answers. Yet he found himself groping in the dark. If Cavendish had been murdered, then finding the killer would not alter the fact: he was gone. Any comfort would be momentary. At the moment, far from providing comfort and reassurance, he sensed he was adding to their unease and fear. Yet lying to them was indefensible and short sighted.
‘We can’t jump to any conclusions yet, Esther. I’ll continue to speak to people and see if something emerges.’ He stood up, indicating he would talk to Henry. Mary rolled her eyes, but Esther looked tearful. He desperately wanted to hold and console her.
Chapter 19
Kit walked along the corridor to Henry’s room. Several portraits, variable in quality, adorned the walls featuring descendants of the Cavendish family. Interestingly it was possible to see, in the more recent portraits, the family resemblance to the later Cavendish men, including the Roman nose. The sisters were very different.
The house was unusually quiet, his footsteps echoed on the parquet. Henry’s room was at the end of the corridor. He gave a couple of sharp knocks without identifying himself. Inside he could hear the sound of a drawer opening and closing. Finally, after knocking again he heard disdainful, ‘Yes? Who is it?’
‘Henry, it’s Kit, may I enter?’ Kit waited to hear if Henry did anything else. There was no sound apart from his answer.
‘Yes.’
The room was also very cold. Henry had left the window open. Kit remarked on how cold the room was. Without replying, Henry stood up and closed the window. He turned around to Kit and asked, ‘Better?’
Kit merely nodded in response. Give him a little of his own medicine, he thought, and sat down. Henry also sat down. They regarded one another for a few moments. Deciding to unsettle him, Kit went straight to the matter in hand.
‘Your mother just confessed to murdering your grandfather.’
‘What?’ exploded Henry. ‘Never. I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in my life. It’s inconceivable.’
‘Do you mean confessing or murder?’
‘You know perfectly well what I mean.’
Kit remained silent for a few moments waiting to see if Henry would add anything. Henry said nothing, so Kit added, ‘She says she poisoned him.’
‘Preposterous.’ snorted Henry.
‘Why would she confess then, or do you not believe me?’
Henry regarded Kit silently then said, ‘I don’t know what to believe apart from one thing, my mother is not a murderer.’
‘As it happens Henry, I agree with you. Yet here we are. Your mother has confessed and whether it is true or not, if Lord Cavendish was murdered and she persists in this claim, she will hang. I ask you again: why do you think she would confess?’
‘You tell me,’ said Henry sulkily.
‘I shall. She did it to protect you. She thinks you killed him.’
‘My mother would never say something so absurd,’ exclaimed Henry.
‘She didn’t have to,’ replied Kit. ‘For the third time of asking, why do you think she’s saying she killed him?’
‘This is getting boring. Why don’t you tell me as you’re so smart?’
‘Don’t patronize me you fool,’ responded Kit. Indicating the drawer, he continued, ‘What did you put in the drawer before I came in?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I’m not an idiot Henry, nor is your mother. We both saw the book you took from the library. It’s in the drawer.’
Henry face turned red. Sullenly he opened the drawer and took out the book, “A Treatise on Poisons” and put it on the table. He no longer seemed so defiant and rather than look at Kit, stared out of the window instead. Turning the book over in his hand, Kit spent a few minutes flicking through before placing it back on the table. The book was not for the layman. One look confirmed in Kit’s mind - this was written with an expert reader in mind. If Henry was able to read and understand such a work, it revealed how the young man had much greater intellectual capacity than he had previously thought.
‘Just because I was reading this book doesn’t make me a murderer.’
This was a fair point, accepted Kit, but not one that would go well with everyone.
‘Why are you so interested in this subject?’ asked Kit. His tone was softer. He hoped it would encourage the young man to open up. It was important he understand how seriously this would go for him if it turned out Cavendish had been poisoned. More silence save for the sound of the clock ticking. Finally, Henry looked at Kit.
‘I’m interested in toxicology, but not with a view to killing my grandfather. The last thing on my mind is being the future Lord Cavendish. I would happily pass on inheriting, thank you.’
‘Then why, Henry? This is serious.’
‘Believe it or not, I have grasped this point. The truth is, I‘m interested in this subject because my grandfather has a problem.’ It took Kit a moment to register that Henry was referring to Lady Emily’s father. Henry continued, ‘We’ve lost some of our workers at the factory through illness. I’m sure it’s related to airborne poisons. I was researching this. My mother, you may have noticed, is somewhat antagonistic towards my interest in science, generally and my grandfather’s business, specifically. I didn’t want her to know.’
Kit believed him. However, even if he was telling the truth, the appearance created a problem not easily be ignored. At best it was a circumstantial point in terms of evidence, but in a public inquest, it would portray Henry in a bad light. Looking at the boy, it was clear he was angry and fearful. Rather than scare the young man senseless, Kit adopted a different tack.
‘There’s no certainty your grandfather had been murdered. Furthermore, there is another factor that might discount you being involved but I cannot go into this at the moment.’
‘Really?’ said Henry scornfully, ‘I mean, it’s absurd, the whole idea.’
‘One more question. Do you have a typewriter?’ said Kit ignoring the derisive tone Henry had adopted.
This bemused Henry, but he answered, ‘At the house, no. My grandfather’s business no doubt has one. In fact, many.’
There was a knock at the door, Lady Emily entered. Henry looked up at his mother, he could see the eyes still red from the tears. For the first time in ages, he looked at her with tenderness. How could he have forgotten that she loved him? The shame burst over him like a flood. There was anger also, the feeling that her response was driven by the belief he was a child rather than an adult. He wanted to hug her and scold her simultaneously. However, he stopped himself, partly because Kit was there but also because he was not sure how to console her.
‘How could you be so silly mama?’ said Henry, perhaps more angrily than he had intended. He softened his tone a little and said, ‘I would never do such a foul deed.’
‘I’m sorry Henry, it was when I saw that frightful book.’
This was an opportune moment for Kit to leave the room and he bid them goodbye. The interviews proved nothing one way or another about the possible guilt of Lady Emily and Henry in Kit’s view. There was much yet to ascertain. One thing was now certain: he was hungry. He went down to the kitchen to steal some food.
