A Knife in Darkness

by Lexie Conyngham

  ‘Not seated, I’d have said, from the way he fell. But his assailant could have stood on the chair, perhaps.’

  An assailant standing on a chair? thought Hippolyta, as their voices faded. That sounded extremely unlikely. What excuse would you give for suddenly climbing on to a chair with a sharp blade, then asking your victim to come closer? And presumably Forman already knew that Colonel Verney had been attacked, so he would not have been likely to trust someone near him. A tall person, acting quickly, was much easier to picture. And, she thought, doing so, any blood would probably have flown forward and Forman’s body would have shielded the attacker from being covered in the stuff. Oh, dear: she blinked. That would be a hard image to shift from her head. She wished she had not overheard. She shut the door firmly, and returned to her window seat just before Patrick came back into the room.

  Patrick left not long afterwards, to go back to his work. Two hours or so later Mrs. Kynoch returned, with the village woman – Martha, her name was, though Hippolyta could get no surname from her – and urged Hippolyta to go home for the night, and take Miss Verney with her. Basilia was reluctant to leave her vigil, but as the sun gradually dimmed she lost her nerve, and followed Hippolyta reluctantly back to the house on the green. Mrs. Riach had broth waiting, a sensible touch, for Miss Verney was shivering despite wearing not only her own shawl and spencer, but Hippolyta’s shawl, too. Patrick, who had been sitting reading by the light of a single candle, hurried to light more and the parlour fire as Hippolyta settled Basilia on the sofa with the broth. He rose to take Basilia’s pulse and touched her forehead with the back of his hand.

  ‘Early to bed for you, Miss Verney, and Hippolyta, my dearest, if you would call her maid to fetch warm bricks before she goes up and make sure the fire is lit in that room.’

  ‘Of course, Patrick.’ She hurried off to issue instructions and Tabitha, looking concerned, became busy in the kitchen. Hippolyta returned more slowly to the parlour. Could it have been Tabitha who had hidden in the cupboard that morning? She had forgotten that the maid was in the house. But surely a cupboard would be the last place she would have hidden, after her recent experience. And why would she hide at all?

  ‘A message from Aberdeen,’ Patrick was saying as Hippolyta returned to the parlour. She eased a sleeping pair of kittens from a chair at the table, and sat down, arranging them on her lap. Basilia was reading a brief letter.

  ‘The Bishop says that Mr. Downes will arrive in the morning to take the funeral at noon, if all can be ready,’ she said, dazedly. Hippolyta and Patrick exchanged surprised glances, but Patrick was professionally calm.

  ‘I’m sure it can be ready, if you are ready for it,’ he said kindly. ‘If you like I can send to the beadle now so that he can have the graves prepared, and to the carpenter for the coffins.’

  ‘It seems so sudden,’ said Basilia. ‘It was only yesterday …’

  ‘In general I believe we are a little quicker at such things than is the practice in England,’ said Patrick. ‘It is simply the custom.’

  She looked up at him for reassurance, and he smiled. Uncertainly, Basilia smiled back.

  ‘It would probably be best, then,’ Hippolyta put in, eager to support her husband. ‘You will feel better when everything is properly arranged. Is there any relative you need to tell? Anyone living nearby?’

  Basilia blinked at her.

  ‘No, there is no one. No one at all.’

  ‘Then there is no reason to wait. We can write some cards now to some of the people in the village – spa town – and as Patrick says he can send to the beadle and the carpenter.’

  Patrick sat down at the table and sorted out cards and paper and pens and ink, and he and Hippolyta busied themselves constructing a list of things to do and people to contact. When the list was completed in consultation with her, Basilia retired to her warmed bed, and Hippolyta sat up writing until her hand ached and all the invitations and instructions were completed. The carpenter had been warned, the beadle instructed, Mrs. Riach consulted and food ordered, and even bearers had been selected and requested to attend. By the time it was all done, Hippolyta was drowsy and ready for her bed.

  At some point in the night, she woke to the sound of footsteps coming from somewhere on the first floor, to her left, she thought. What was there? Patrick was beside her, and Basilia’s room was to her right. She listened hard, but the sound had stopped. A trick of an old building, perhaps: she had no sooner come to this comforting conclusion, than she was already asleep again.

  Chapter Eight

  By the time the coffins departed the following day, all Hippolyta wanted to do was to flop on to a sofa and sleep.

  Organising the funeral seemed to have required a monumental effort, particularly at short notice. The parlour at Dinnet House had been cleaned and tidied by the mysterious Martha from the village as soon as it was light, and a troop of Mr. Strachan’s best messenger boys had arrived bearing trays of food from the shop, silently jostling each other in the kitchen to see if they could see the bloodstains. Hippolyta chased them out like hens, and began to arrange the food as elegantly as she could on the ashets from the press. It was one part of housekeeping at least at which she could rely on herself: Martha was acting pretty much without direction, except when Mrs. Kynoch arrived and made her do the window glass again with vinegar and brown paper. At ten the pony cart, retrieved from the inn, arrived with Basilia, Tabitha and Mrs. Riach’s contributions to the food: Hippolyta had to admit she had done a good and plentiful job, and her pastries were noticeably better than the village baker’s. Mourners began to arrive at eleven, and amongst the first of them was Mr. Downes, not the same clergyman as the one the previous Sunday but an older man, who explained that he was the incumbent of a church near Peterhead who had happened to be in Aberdeen, and had been directed by the bishop to come out for the funeral. Basilia thanked him very prettily, and he seemed at once ready to serve her to the very best of his abilities, treating her to a broad smile which he reined in to a sorrowful sympathy when he remembered the nature of the occasion.

  The villagers who made their way from the front door to the dining room to pay their respects, then into the parlour to settle for refreshments, seemed for the most part very sorry to have to lose both Colonel Verney and Mr. Forman, even if they had not been in the village for very long. Mr. Douglas, the minister of the established church, who had arrived alone, made some particularly generous remarks to Basilia along the lines of having valued Colonel Verney’s advice and counsel greatly. Hippolyta, who was sitting beside Miss Verney to support her, wondered what advice the minister had sought, but Basilia leaned over almost immediately to solve the little mystery.

  ‘Mr. Douglas had done my uncle the honour of asking him to become a trustee of the Burns Mortification – a dreadful sounding thing, is it not? But apparently it is a fund to help poor scholars in Ballater attend the university.’

  Hippolyta nodded, frowning a little. That was the mortification, then, that Patrick had told her about. She had been surprised, she remembered, that there had been only four trustees, and Patrick had thought that was about to change. Well, if Colonel Verney had been the only new prospective trustee, then they would be stuck with four for now. Who were the others? She tried to remember. Dr. Durward, and Mr. Strachan, that was it, and the minister, and of course Mr. Strong the man of law. She smiled at herself, as the Strongs had just that moment entered the room and come to greet them. It was really not a big village at all.

  It was the first time she had met Mr. Strong: her impression, having seen him before only from a distance, was that he was a very frail old man. Now, close to, she realised that he was far from frail, and was indeed endued with a wiry strength that made him appear much younger, though his face was still feathery with wrinkles. He had the same faded brown eyes that his sisters had, but despite their dim colour the expression in them was as sharp as one of Patrick’s scalpels. By the time Basilia had introduced her, Hippolyta felt she
had been gutted and turned inside out, all her secrets revealed to the world. It was not at all a pleasant feeling, and she was relieved to turn to the Misses Strong and have to deal only with Miss Ada’s curious remarks and Miss Strong’s constant reproofs of her sister.

  Hippolyta had not been to many funerals in her nineteen years, she was happy to say. She was not, therefore, sure how typical this one was. Conversation was awkward and stiff, and the little groups that formed about the room seemed rigid and unchanging. She was heartily relieved when Patrick arrived, for Miss Verney was of course not disposed to be chatty herself. Both ladies turned to him at once.

  ‘Miss Verney, I hope you are not over-taxing yourself,’ he said, examining her face over his glasses, then removing them absent-mindedly. Hippolyta was pleased: he was much more handsome without them. He tapped them on his hand.

  ‘I have done nothing but sit and be attended to, Dr. Napier, I assure you,’ said Basilia with a grateful smile. ‘Everybody has been so kind.’

  ‘And so they should be, on such a day,’ he replied. ‘You must not think to decline the least offer of assistance. You need to rest and recuperate from the shock, or you will not be strong enough to sustain yourself in the days to come. Grief can be a very powerful force.’

  ‘I’ll do all you say, Dr. Napier,’ Miss Verney assured him, her great dark blue eyes wide and serious. Hippolyta smiled, delighted that people treated her husband with such respect for his medical authority.

  The Strachans arrived, Mr. Strachan with a keen eye to see how well his groceries were being consumed. Once he had checked that, and greeted Basilia without noticeable warmth, he led his wife off to stand with the Strongs. The minister nodded to both of them as they passed, and Mrs. Strachan seemed to try to respond, but Hippolyta, watching her irresistibly, thought she was tugged on past by her husband. He seemed a hot-tempered man, Mr. Strachan: she remembered seeing him on Sunday, leaning over Colonel Verney in his pony cart, positively ranting.

  Ranting … Her blood stopped suddenly, and she tipped a little off balance. Patrick caught her elbow.

  ‘Are you all right, my dear? Too hot?’

  ‘No, no, not at all. Just a sudden – I think I must be a little tired.’ It was not the place to discuss what she had remembered. But surely she had remembered correctly, all the same: Mr. Strachan had been threatening Colonel Verney. She glanced over at the merchant, standing proudly over little Mr. Strong and his sisters, only occasionally deigning to stoop to catch some word or other. Mrs. Strachan, she thought, did not look so self-assured, bending her graceful head to talk with the Misses Strong – or at least, to listen to them, for Hippolyta did not see her speak at all. She looked weary, though it did not affect her beauty.

  ‘My wife sends her apologies.’ The minister, Mr. Douglas, interrupted her thoughts. ‘Her nerves, you know,’ he added, as if he were not quite sure himself. He stood there waiting uncertainly for a response, and it came to Hippolyta suddenly that he was not, unlike many clergy, much at home in drawing rooms and in the better sort of company. Mr. Downes, the Episcopal minister, held his delicate negus glass and conversed easily quite as if he had been trained from birth. Mr. Douglas, by contrast, clutched a pastry as if he expected it to crumble over him at any moment, and slurped uneasily at a glass of wine. She smiled at him.

  ‘I am very sorry to hear it: I hope she will be quite well soon. The duties of a parish minister’s wife are no doubt very taxing,’ she added, repeating something she had heard her mother say. It seemed to work. Mr. Douglas snatched gratefully at a familiar topic and talked at some length about parish work, and all Hippolyta had to do was to nod and shake her head every now and again.

  It seemed an age, though, until Mr. Downes set down his negus glass and touched a napkin to his lips, then called everyone’s attention. Basilia was by his side as they led the way across the hall to the dining room, gathered about the two coffins, and prayed. The carpenter who had made the coffins was at hand and slipped the lids into place at the end of the prayers, and then the bearers, hastily arranged, hoisted the coffins and tidied the mortcloths over them. Mr. Downes led the way outside, waited for the bearers and mourners to form up, and set off at a steady, respectful pace to walk to the kirkyard. Patrick gave Hippolyta’s hand a quick squeeze and joined in, along with Dr. Durward. Hippolyta found another handkerchief to offer Basilia, whose tears streamed endlessly down her pallid cheeks, then put an arm about her and led her back into the house with the other women, to wait for the men’s return. She cast a final glance down the drive at the retreating cortege, and noticed a movement in the trees at the bottom of the drive. A figure, waiting there, joined the mourners discreetly near the back of the line: as far as she could see, it was Dr. Durward’s patient, the shilpit Julian Brown. It was good of him to trouble to attend a stranger’s funeral, she thought, and followed Basilia through the front door.

  The women had all retired once again to the parlour, and at Mrs. Kynoch’s suggestion Basilia had just rung for fresh tea, when they heard the rattle of the risp at the front door.

  ‘Someone must have forgotten something,’ Basilia said dully.

  ‘But what?’ Hippolyta asked, and despite her fatigue she found herself back in the hallway. Tabitha, who looked a little unravelled herself, was just opening the door to a large, dark haired man with an inoffensive expression on his bespectacled face.

  ‘I’m looking for, er, Miss Verney?’ he began, with an expectant glance at Hippolyta, then he noticed her cap and her wedding ring.

  ‘Who shall I say, sir?’ Tabitha’s face was dubious: it was not quite clear whether this man should have been going to the back door. There was something slightly ambiguous about him. Hippolyta decided to intervene.

  ‘It’s not a very good time, I’m afraid,’ she said firmly. ‘Miss Verney is in mourning –indeed, you have arrived just after the departure of the coffins.’

  The man’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

  ‘The funerals are already taking place? So soon?’

  ‘Yes, this morning. May I ask who you are, sir, and the nature of your business?’

  ‘I’m – my name’s Durris, ma’am, and I’ve been sent by the sheriff to see what the business is here.’ He paused, thoughtful. There would be no men to talk to until the interments were over, but clearly he wished to waste no time. ‘Two murders, wasn’t it? And no obvious killer?’

  ‘That’s right: Colonel Verney and his man both had their throats cut while Miss Verney was alone upstairs asleep, and Tabitha here was locked in a press.’

  ‘Oh, aye?’ He regarded Tabitha with interested concern. ‘I take it you didna see the fellow’s face, then?’

  ‘He grabbed me from behind, in the dark,’ said Tabitha uneasily. ‘I din’t see nothing at all.’

  ‘I see.’ Durris contemplated the hallway, apparently waiting for them to make the next move.

  ‘Well, you’d better come in, then,’ said Hippolyta at last. ‘I can show you where the bodies were found, at the very least,’ she added briskly, ‘then there’s no need to disturb Miss Verney just yet.’

  ‘But I cannot see the bodies themselves, then?’ Durris confirmed, stepping carefully into the hallway. ‘They are kisted and away?’

  ‘Two doctors saw them, and will no doubt be able to tell you much. Well, one definitely saw them, and I think the other did,’ she corrected herself, wondering how much Dr. Durward had actually looked at them.

  ‘Was the one that looked properly at them Dr. Napier, by any chance?’ Durris asked. Hippolyta managed not to beam.

  ‘That’s right: my husband, Dr. Napier, examined both bodies.’

  ‘You’re Mrs. Napier! Oh, that’s splendid! Splendid indeed. I did hear the doctor was to go away to marry, but I hadn’t heard tell it had happened yet.’ He glanced shyly at Hippolyta again. ‘Dr. Napier has been kind enough to advise me on several medical matters in connexion with my work for the Sheriff. I’ve always been very grateful for his intervention,
ma’am.’

  ‘I’m very glad to hear it, Mr. Durris.’

  ‘I did wonder at your connexion with all this, ma’am.’

  ‘Well, I also found both the bodies,’ Hippolyta explained with perhaps misplaced pride.

  Durris’ broad face grew concerned again.

  ‘Did you, ma’am? That must have been very distressing for you.’

  ‘It was not pleasant,’ she agreed. ‘Tabitha, run along, will you, and see to the tea for the ladies in the parlour? And if Miss Verney asks – but not unless she asks, do not disturb her – I am giving some information to the sheriff’s man.’

  Tabitha, who had been showing some signs of agitation at the repeated mention of bodies, was glad enough to skip away. Hippolyta led Durris further into the hallway, indicated where Colonel Verney’s chair had been, and explained how she had found him.

  ‘And you say he was quite cold?’ Durris walked softly for a large man, paying attention to what she was saying while he subjected the hall to a detailed scrutiny.

  ‘That’s right. I – I touched him because he was sitting in the chair as if he had fallen asleep in it. I had to make sure …’

  ‘Of course. I’ll ask Miss Verney, too, but was there any sign that anything had been taken, at all?’

  ‘There was nothing that I saw, but I had only been in the house twice before.’

  ‘Oh, aye, that makes sense.’ He drew out a notebook and pencil, and began to make a few notes and, as far as Hippolyta could see, sketches. She was unexpectedly impressed. ‘Now, what about the manservant?’

  ‘Mr. Forman,’ Hippolyta acknowledged. She led him through the servants’ door and along the passage. He moved slowly, taking in the details, so that she had to wait for him at the kitchen door. Martha, the woman from the village, was helping Tabitha load trays to take to the parlour. Hippolyta waited until they had gone back past Durris and along the passage to the hall.