His Father's Ghost (Mina Scarletti Mystery Book 5)

by Linda Stratmann

  ‘The solicitor is on his way,’ said the constable, ‘and once the doctor has finished you can tell everything to the Chief Constable.’

  I cleaned and dressed the wound on Mr Cobbe’s head and was able to satisfy myself that it was unlikely to prove dangerous. ‘You have been fortunate. There will be a great deal of swelling and bruising, but no serious damage. Now then, where are your other injuries? Your back or your limbs? Or elsewhere?’

  Mr Cobbe went even redder in the face. ‘Never mind about that!’ he barked.

  ‘Come on then, sir,’ said the constable, ‘the Chief Constable will see you now.’

  ‘Are you sure this is necessary?’

  ‘This way, sir.’

  Mr Cobbe, still protesting loudly was conducted from the cells and led upstairs to the offices. ‘You’ll see!’ he exclaimed, turning and shaking a fist at Mr Eve, ‘I’ll be out of here within the hour! I know things! I know things that they’ll be very pleased to hear! I know all about the Maritime Queen! And then I’ll come after you all!’

  ‘I hope they didn’t set him free,’ said Mina.

  ‘No. He’ll be appearing before the magistrates first thing tomorrow morning. I have no details of the charges, but Mr Eve told me that Mr Cobbe behaved in a most outrageous manner and cannot hope to escape a conviction. He also told me that your friend Mr Merridew was there and had some means of throwing light on a situation which had previously been hidden in darkness. But Cobbe claims to have secret information which he will try to make use of to reduce his punishment or escape it altogether. The name Maritime Queen was mentioned quite often. Mr Cobbe seemed to think that the police would be very interested in that.’

  A letter from Mr Phipps was delivered to Mina that afternoon.

  Dear Miss Scarletti,

  You will be interested to know that I called on Captain Bulstrode recently and showed him the photograph of the members of the Brighton Yacht Club. His memory was very sharp indeed and his eyesight no less so. It was not a period in his life that he wished to recall but he was able to identify all the men in the picture, including the club secretary Mr Sutherland, and a Mr Vardy who was at the time employed by Mr Westbury senior as his confidential clerk. As we know Mr Westbury senior resigned from the club over concerns about the Maritime Queen Insurance Company, but Mr Vardy did appear there from time to time, and was friendly with Mr Taylor who it is believed is a distant cousin.

  Incidentally, Captain Bulstrode expressed a considerable dislike of Mr Cobbe. According to him Cobbe has always professed to be a virtuous and charitable individual, but Bulstrode had a strong impression that the opposite was the case. There was some scandal in the past about his patronage of an orphanage. No details ever emerged, and nothing was ever proved, and it seems that the matter was regarded as settled when Cobbe resigned. Bulstrode speculated at the time whether funds had been embezzled, but he had no information to share,

  Yours faithfully

  R Phipps

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Mrs Charlotte Holt, the lady formerly known as Mrs Vardy, sat with Mina Scarletti, holding a handkerchief over her eyes, the tea and cake that had been Rose’s best efforts at consoling the visitor’s distress, remaining on the table at her side, untouched. She had arrived barely holding back her tears, and once in Mina’s company had finally allowed herself to sob lengthily and without restraint.

  Slowly, she recovered her composure. A small glass of sherry was offered and accepted, and after a while Mina’s patience was rewarded and Charlotte began her story.

  All was damp and grey and cold in Seabourne churchyard as I stood at the foot of my husband’s grave. Mrs Wandle had shown me to the place. She had not entered the graveyard, but stood at the gate, maintaining a respectful distance. At that moment I could not bring herself to look at or address my erstwhile friend. My mind was reeling from the things I had been told, my husband’s second life, and the gross betrayal by a woman for whom I had once felt such a sisterly affection.

  There were no longer any doubts in my mind. The pain of not knowing was gone, but only to be replaced by the pain of knowing the truth, and I realised that this could be just as great if not more.

  I had read the letter Jasper had written to me on his deathbed, in which the writing although weakened by illness was certainly his, the contents an additional confirmation. He had asked forgiveness not only for himself but for Mrs Wandle, who, he said had only kept his secret because he had begged her to; Mrs Wandle, whom I had come to call Emily, the woman who had befriended me under false pretences, spied upon me, harboured my missing husband in secret, and failed even to bring me to his bedside when he lay dying. Could any of those acts truly be forgiven? Mrs Wandle had pleaded with me, even as I touched the very garments Jasper had worn the last time I saw him, and which had been carefully preserved, and the crumpled photograph he had once held against his breast. She had asked me to believe that although our friendship had not begun as such things ought to have done, it had become in time as genuine as any friendship could be. There was another thing that I could not bring myself to speak of, the sense that this woman who spoke of Jasper with such gentleness and affection, had during the seven years and more that they had lived together, become as a second wife.

  And so there I stood, friendless, and newly widowed, and a single woman, since the date on the death certificate clearly proved that my marriage to Silas Vardy had been a sham. And as that thought crossed my mind another thought followed. It had always been a sham.

  To think how I had looked forward to this visit! I had even set aside a whole day for it, but now all I wanted was to do was get away. Hard as it was, I would have to break the news to Silas and the children without any delay. There was a pony-trap at the cemetery gate which would take me to the railway station, and I would be home within the hour.

  I had a small posy of spring flowers gathered from the garden at the Ship Inn, and now I placed them on the grave, turned and walked back to the cemetery gate. I passed Mrs Wandle with neither a word nor a glance, boarded the small vehicle and gave orders to be taken to the station. Mrs Wandle climbed in, asking to be taken back to the Inn. We travelled in silence.

  All the way home, I felt impelled to weep without stopping, but I knew that there would have to be another time for that. All that mattered to me now was my children, and I had to be calm for them. Matthew was at his new school where he had been sent to protect him from the attention of the press and the taunts of boys who knew the family’s history, but Franklin was still at home being cared for by my sister. My intention was to take him aside and very gently reveal what I knew, then I would speak to Matthew that afternoon and finally break the news to Silas on his return home from the office. I hoped I was equal to the task. But there was no alternative. I had to be.

  When I returned, the house was very quiet. Franklin, I knew, burdened by exhaustion, often took a long nap after luncheon, although one could never predict how he would be on his drowsy awakenings. He was less afraid to sleep during the hours of daylight, less afraid of dreaming. I decided not to disturb him until he was ready for his tea, and instead, went the parlour to sit for a while and think of what words I could best use to tell him about his father. The most important words were those of the letter in which Jasper had expressed his great affection for his children and his wishes for their future. That, I hoped, would heal many wounds.

  As I pushed open the parlour door —

  Here, Mrs Holt stopped, and almost gave way to tears again, but her face was not crumpled with grief but distorted by anger. Another glass of sherry was offered, but she shook her head.

  ‘I do not wish to shock you, Miss Scarletti, but you should understand me and the course my life has taken. When I opened the door I was met by a sight I could never have imagined. It was a tableau, a picture of depravity, like a scandalous painting that had been banned from public view, but it was real. There was Silas seated in the armchair by the fire, and my sister Marion was sitt
ing on his lap. For a moment I tried to delude myself that her sister was ill or distressed and that Mr Vardy was only comforting her, and all would be easily explained, but that was only while my shocked mind sought to reject the truth. No innocent explanation was possible ¬— their arms were about each other, their lips pressed together in an exercise of mutual affection.

  My cry of horror alerted them, and my sister, not nearly as embarrassed as she ought to have been, slowly rose to her feet and smoothed her skirts. Silas, looking unrepentant, remained seated. Neither made any attempt to comment on the discovery.

  For a moment I felt lightheaded, on the verge of fainting but then I clasped the door jamb firmly and steadied myself. I thought of Franklin and Matthew and that gave me the courage and strength I needed. ‘Marion,’ I said, ‘you cannot remain in this house a moment longer. I only hope my poor children have not been subjected to scenes such as this.’ I stepped aside from the open doorway for her to exit.

  Marion appeared to be considering her options, but I stood firm, and hardened myself against any pleading. Above all, I knew that if I remained strong, I had the upper hand. Had Marion’s poor deluded husband, Mr Norbert, suspected infidelity, he would have put her aside in shame and poverty. We stared at each other for a while, then Marion actually gave a smile. ‘I’ll go,’ she said. ‘I have had all I can stomach of your insane son. He should be beaten until he comes to his senses, that’s what I would do, but no, you won’t allow it. Him and his ghosts and demons! He will end up in a madhouse, that’s for sure!’ Uncowed and unashamed, she left the room and I closed the door on her without regret.

  Silas stayed where he was and calmly lit a cigar. ‘I suppose you want to know how far this has gone,’ he said.

  With an effort I held on to both my courage and my dignity. ‘I do not. I have no interest in the subject. You may do as you please.’

  We heard the voice of Mrs Norbert in the hallway loudly ordering the servants to pack her box and arrange for a carriage to the railway station. I sat down facing the man I had once called husband. ‘There is something I must tell you, but I will wait until Marion has left the house, then I will fetch Franklin and we will talk.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Silas. He continued to smoke, in a slow and untroubled manner. I gazed at him. He was a stranger to me now, a man I had never really known. We remained in silence for a few minutes, and then the parlour door was pushed open and Franklin appeared, his clothes rumpled, his eyes dusty with sleep. ‘I heard a noise,’ he said. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Your aunt is going away,’ I said, and there was no mistaking the relief in my dear boy’s reaction to this news. ‘But come and sit by me, Franklin, I have something to tell you both.’

  Franklin edged forward, glancing nervously at Silas, who took no notice of him, and sat down near to me. I was moved almost to tears at how thin he looked, how much younger than his fourteen years. What had I missed? What had I been blind to? Whatever happened I would not allow anyone other than myself to care for him now.

  Silas casually took out his pocket watch and examined it. ‘So what is this about?’

  ‘As you know,’ I said, ‘I paid a visit to my — ‘ the word ‘friend’ the one I might once have used stuck so deeply in my throat that I could hardly breathe — ‘my acquaintance Mrs Wandle in Seabourne this morning, and I have learned something of great importance. It concerns Jasper. I have a letter, one which he wrote to me shortly before his death.’

  ‘And this has only just appeared? After all these years?’ demanded Silas, incredulously.

  ‘Not years, weeks.’

  ‘I — don’t understand.’

  I spoke as clearly and as steadily as she could. ‘Jasper did not die when he fell from the yacht. He was able to reach the shore, where he found a home in Seabourne. He did not come back because of the scandal over the insurance fraud. But he wanted to come back, he wrote in his letter about his great affection for me and his beloved children, and how desperately he wished to be with us again, but he knew that if he did return, he would be put in prison and bring shame to us. So he lived out a humble life at an inn. He died in January of a weak heart.’

  Silas grunted and pulled at his cigar. ‘Flim-flam!’ he said.

  ‘It is true. The letter is in his handwriting, I have no doubt of it, and there is other proof, a family portrait he always carried with him, and the clothes he wore on the day he disappeared.’

  Franklin gazed up at me and his eyes, the lids swollen with fatigue, were open wide like caverns filled with wonder. ‘So — father didn’t drown?’ he whispered.

  ‘No, Franklin, he didn’t,’ I said gently. ‘You remember what a good swimmer he was? He won prizes for it when he was younger.’

  ‘But — the ghost told me — it showed me —’ murmured Franklin, confused.

  ‘My dear, the ghost was not real, it was made up out of your fears. It was your fears that spoke to you and made you have all those dreams. We can read the letter together if you like. Your father speaks to you in it. He loved us all.’

  ‘What has this Mrs Wandle got to do with it?’ Silas interrupted.

  ‘She is the landlady of the Inn at Seabourne where Jasper lodged. It was she who sent Franklin the watch. When Jasper knew he was dying he asked her to pass it to him.’

  Silas grunted again, but this time expressing a grudging acceptance. ‘Well if it’s true it’s about time it all came out. Once all the excitement dies down it’ll be a good thing. There are too many of those idlers and newspaper types outside the house, but that should stop soon. We’ll have a solicitor make a statement, and if they don’t go, we’ll call the police again and this time there’ll be charges.’

  I rang for my maid. Franklin gazed at me, then tentatively extended his hands towards me and gratefully I clasped them. ‘My dear,’ I said, ‘I would like you to leave us alone for a while as I have to speak to Mr Vardy. But I promise that I will come and see you in a few minutes and then we will look at the letter and talk about your father.’

  He nodded. Little Maggie appeared, looking brighter and more content than she had during her time with Mrs Barnham, and took Franklin back to his room with the promise of milk and biscuits.

  Soon afterwards, there was the sound of a box being taken downstairs and a carriage drew up outside the house for the conveyance of Mrs Norbert. We heard her depart, slamming the door defiantly behind her.

  ‘So what is this all about now?’ said Silas.

  ‘I mentioned that Jasper died a few weeks ago. I have seen the death certificate in which it is noted that he passed away on 25 January. That was the day after our wedding.’

  I was briefly surprised, although when I think about it now, perhaps I ought not to have been surprised, when Silas laughed. ‘Well, there’s a thing!’ he said.

  ‘Indeed it is a thing,’ I said, ‘a thing which means that we are not legally husband and wife. Of course, we married in good faith so there can be no blame attached to either of us, but still, that is the position.’

  He shrugged. ‘Well, I shouldn’t trouble yourself about it, that is soon mended. You are now both legally and in fact a widow and therefore free to remarry. We will have a quiet ceremony and set things straight. We can call it a re-dedication if you like. No-one but ourselves needs to know the real reason. Your reputation will remain intact, and the business will come to no harm. That Mrs Wandle, she can be paid off if necessary, to keep her mouth closed. And even if someone was to find out, it would be a nine-days wonder, soon forgotten, and we would be properly married by then. I’ll see about a licence this afternoon.’

  A shiver of distaste ran down my spine. Pressed close to my breast I held the last letter my dear Jasper had written, a letter full of longing and affection, deeply felt. He had been a flawed man, but fundamentally a good man, and he had done what he thought was best out of love, and I had loved him. And now this creature, this reptile, had the effrontery to dally with my own sister behind my back and th
en assume that I would be willing to marry him.

  I should have been angry but instead a cold calm settled upon me. ‘There will be no wedding,’ I said.

  ‘What do you mean?’ he exclaimed. ‘We have been living together as husband and wife. Do you want the world to know the true state of affairs?’

  ‘I care nothing for the world, not now,’ I said. ‘The world has thrown at me all it can, and yet I am still here. I care only for my boys, and it would be best for them not to have such a stepfather as you.’

  ‘Oh, that little peccadillo, that was nothing!’ he said dismissively.

  ‘The mere fact that you treat it as nothing says everything about you.’

  His brow furrowed in annoyance and he leaned forward earnestly. ‘Now you listen to me, Charlotte. When we met you had been abandoned by your husband and were dependant on the charity of your brother. I have given you and your sons a home, respectability and a position in society. Have you no gratitude?’

  ‘It is hard to have gratitude when I know that this supposed marriage was in effect a business arrangement, with you as the main beneficiary, and myself just an inconvenience that you were obliged to endure.’

  ‘There are many worse marriages than this one!’ he snapped.

  ‘This is not a marriage,’ I said. ‘It never was and never will be. The only question is, since we can no longer respectably live together, which of us will leave the house? I have my two boys to care for, and you have no responsibility towards them, therefore it would be more convenient for you to depart.’

  ‘Convenient!’ he shouted, stubbing out the remains of his cigar in an ashtray. ‘You have the temerity to demand that I leave a house which is rented in my name, with my money? I will not do so!’