The Ghosts of Ardenthwaite (The Northminster Mysteries Book 5)

by Harriet Smart

  “Knock his brother from the top of the tree?”

  “Something like that. But Bickley isn’t going to stand for it. So he has one of his men brutally assault one of Hickman’s men. Ergo, Horatio Baxter murders our first victim. But –”

  “Yes?”

  “The swallow tattoo. What does that mean? Enemies marked with the same mark? Shouldn’t they be different? Why kill a comrade?”

  “Because he proves not to be one,” Felix said.

  “A false friend, yes,” said Major Vernon. “Perhaps our nameless man was attempting to infiltrate Bickley’s operation, and that was why he had to die. But why does Baxter have to hang as well? He is being punished by Bickley for something, that is clear enough.”

  “You think Bickley ordered Baxter to kill him, and then confess to it?”

  “Yes, it’s possible. Whatever, it has been done to send a clear message that traitors will not be tolerated. It also suggests that Bickley is unnerved by Hickman’s encroachment. Bickley has not resorted to such naked brutality before. It’s a show of weakness in some respects. He is under threat. And given the way he dealt with Kate –” Major Vernon sighed and rubbed his face. “That was brutal.”

  He took the notebook back and looked down again at his family tree. Felix glanced out of the window again and said, “Sir, look – that’s interesting. Isn’t that –?”

  Major Vernon looked up.

  “Grace Ellis, with her bag. We had better ask her where she is going.”

  Swiftly, they made their way out of the inn, crossed the road, and reached the gates of the Hall, just as Grace had come out onto the village street. At the same time, a covered gig, coming from the direction of Northminster came trotting smartly along. The driver, it soon became clear, was none other than Mostyn.

  Major Vernon ventured out, at some danger to himself, and grabbed the bridle of the gig, forcing the pony to stop. Mostyn jumped down and began to run in the opposite direction.

  Felix went after him. Somewhat to his amazement, he managed to catch up and hurled himself upon him, bringing him down on one of the broad grass verges that lined the street, a refinement for which he was heartily glad as they went crashing down with some force.

  Mostyn put up a struggle, but it was in vain. The village constable had fortunately not been far off, and he was a marvellously burly individual, who on being told by Major Vernon in no uncertain terms that Mostyn was under arrest, finished the job nicely and took Mostyn off to the village lock-up.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  “A strange way of passing your leave, Major Vernon,” said Captain Lazenby. “Still, I can’t say it isn’t a good thing to have the fellow under lock and key.”

  “As long as we can keep him here,” said Giles. “All he will admit to so far is stealing a few books from the library after Parham was murdered.”

  “And he says nothing about the murder?”

  “He claims he was unconscious the whole time. That they came through the front door and knocked him out, and after that he observed nothing. I don’t find that entirely credible. For one thing, there is no sign of any contusion – Mr Carswell feels that even after this elapse of time there would be some bruising – and it is far too convenient. And there remains the question of why he was seen taking money from Hickman in Swalecliffe. All he will say about that is that it was money that Hickman owed him – a long-standing debt.”

  “Do you think he will admit to more in time?”

  “I hope so. We will work on him.”

  “And your leave?” Lazenby said.

  “I have put Inspector Holland and Sergeant Coxe in charge of interviewing him,” said Giles. “They are more than capable.”

  “I am glad to hear that.”

  Having brought Mostyn back to Northminster, Giles had been unwilling at first to make this concession. He had intended to work on Mostyn himself, and then realising it was going to be a tortuous business, decided it was better to fully brief the Inspector and Sergeant and leave them to it. Holland had an austere demeanour and a steely manner which had seen some recent success in extracting confessions in unpromising situations, while Coxe was astonishingly quick-witted, and one of those recruits who had profited greatly from Giles’ insistence on employing a schoolmaster for the men. He had an appetite for learning and self-improvement that had earned him rapid promotion.

  “I am going back to the country today,” he added.

  Lazenby was satisfied with that, and Giles took his leave.

  What he had not told Lazenby, of course, was that he had Ann Waites at Holbroke and that it was his intention to see if he could get her to explain to him in useful detail the nature of her peculiar family connections. Perhaps Emma Maitland had already got her confidence.

  He met Carswell in the carriage by the Infirmary, as arranged. He arrived, a few minutes later than he had said, carrying a parcel which he threw down on the seat opposite as if it disgusted him.

  “May I ask?” Giles ventured.

  “It is a book. For Miss Blanchfort. But I shall probably not give it to her. I am not sure why I bought it, to be honest. I saw it and I thought of her, but now I think it would be more than foolish to give it to her. What do you think?”

  “Perhaps it depends on the book,” said Giles. “And also on the lady.”

  “That is my problem in a nutshell,” said Carswell, reaching for the parcel and untying the string. “I do not think – well, what do you think? She has probably read it.”

  It was a nicely bound copy of ‘The Bride of Lammermoor.’

  “An excellent choice for a convalescent. And even if she has read it, it stands reading again. I am sure she will be delighted,” he said.

  “That is exactly the problem. I can’t give it to her without implying something, can I? So why did I think I could?”

  “Because you wished to imply something?” Giles said.

  “I shall not give it to her,” he said. “I will not allow myself to be put in this position again.”

  “What is the objection, if I might ask?” Giles said. “She is certainly not objectionable. She is young and rather contrary, of course, but that’s nothing. She will grow out of that, and she is intelligent and charming.”

  “Her money, her position, her mother – everything!”

  “But not the girl herself? If she had nothing and no connections, would you hesitate?”

  “I can’t believe you are encouraging me,” said Carswell. “What do you mean? Surely I should hesitate? Surely you should be telling me to steel myself against such temptation.”

  “I don’t think she will lead you to hell. She might save you.”

  “And also,” Carswell went on, “you said, I remember distinctly, that you considered this profession of ours to be incompatible with marriage. Yes?”

  “I was consoling myself,” Giles said. “And you, if you recall.”

  “Has something happened?” Carswell said.

  Giles hesitated for a moment, wondering how much he dare confide.

  “It is early days, and this is to go no further, I beg you, Carswell, but Mrs Maitland and I did have a frank conversation the night before last, and –”

  “She’s going to break with him?” Carswell said.

  “It is not going to be pleasant. My sister and brother-in-law are –”

  “But you and she!” Carswell said. “Well, you may depend on my backing, no matter what. She is perfect for you – congratulations are in order, no matter what the circumstances throw up!” And he grabbed Giles’ hand and shook it. “May I tell her that I know, or would you prefer I say nothing? I should like to tell her what an excellent choice she has made.”

  “Perhaps not just yet,” said Giles smiling, “but I appreciate the sentiment – and the support.”

  “I could not do otherwise,” said Carswell, reaching out for the book again and turning it in his hands. “And what shall I do with this?”

  “Give it to her. Treat it as an experim
ent for your feelings and her own. It cannot harm you to get to know her a little better. You might, as a result, find something out about her that quite cures you.”

  “Or else –” Carswell began. “I shall just have to risk it, shan’t I?”

  “It seems so,” said Giles, and glanced out of the carriage window.

  The conversation turned to other matters until they approached Holbroke.

  As Giles climbed the great steps up to the portico, he had a sudden memory of the previous summer, and Lord Rothborough handing Laura out of the carriage and leading her up the same steps. She had glanced back at him with a nervous smile, wishing to be reassured, but now in his recollection he saw a look of reproach, as if she knew everything that he had done and that it had hurt her.

  Death, her expression seemed to say, had not dissolved the vows they had made, and he felt all that comfortable certainty dissipate. He tried to recover it, especially as he came into the house, and saw Emma, standing arm-in-arm with his sister, a perfect picture of how he wished his life to be arranged.

  He was glad that the circumstances demanded a certain formality between them. He felt he could not have greeted her with an uninhibited embrace, a kiss on the lips even, no matter how he might have wanted to, without feeling that he had no business doing so. Shame convulsed him, and made him avoid her glance, even as they shook hands.

  It was fortunate that Celia demanded his attention almost at once, and he was dragged away to look at the tiny book she had been constructing. His signature was wanted on an article, devised by Tom, called, ‘The Annals of Crime by One who Knows, by Major V. of the Blankshire Constabulary.’

  “How did you manage this?” he said peering at it.

  “With a magnifying glass on a stand. Lord Rothborough has lent us this one,” said Celia. “It takes a little practice. You can practice here,” she added sitting him down at a table, where the glass, paper and ink were set up.

  “A good idea. I would hate to ruin it. In fact, might it be better if you forged my signature, Celia?”

  “Oh no! I could never do that. Isn’t that very wicked?”

  “Then I will have to do my best,” he said picking up the pen and attempting to scratch out his name in miniature, aware at the same time that Emma had followed them into the room and was watching, with her usual genial expression. He glanced up and now their eyes met, and he could not manage to return her comfortable smile.

  At once she was at his side and murmured, “Is something wrong –?”

  He had no opportunity to answer. It was time to go into dinner.

  -o-

  “I have scarcely done anything but sleep and eat since I came back,” Miss Blanchfort said.

  Coming into the drawing room after dinner, Felix had found she was sitting apart from the others, or rather lying, on a couch by the fire.

  “You are going to be quite tired for a while, so that is a good regime you have hit upon,” he said, drawing a chair near, and making some pretence of examining her hand.

  “I nearly did not come down for dinner, but I did not want to miss the Ffordes’ last night. I wish they were not going tomorrow. They are such – oh, I don’t know how to put it – I have never met people quite like them before. So kind and so warm. And interesting.”

  “Perhaps they will ask you to stay with them in Northminster.”

  “I have been asked and I shall go,” she said. “If it is allowed, of course!” She gave a sigh. “Will I ever be able to make such decisions for myself, I wonder?”

  “I’m sure Lord Rothborough will let you go to the Ffordes,” said Felix.

  “Yes, but I cannot count on being allowed to remain here. My mother will have her way, I am sure of it, sooner or later, and I shall have to go back.”

  “Lord Rothborough does not like to be prevailed over,” said Felix. “He will fight your corner.”

  “Yes, and she will win. It is always the way.”

  “I saw your mother today,” Felix said.

  “How disagreeable for you. I expect she was unpleasant.”

  “A little.”

  “She insulted you, I suppose?”

  “Yes, and then – well, it was a little peculiar; she started asking me about my parents and so forth. She wanted to know that I was not a Presbyterian.”

  “That is interesting,” said Miss Blanchfort, leaning back on her cushions and looking at the ceiling.

  “That I am not a Presbyterian?”

  “Yes, perhaps, but mostly that she asked. How did she ask it?”

  “As if she were interviewing me for a place as second footman.”

  Miss Blanchfort laughed.

  “Don’t you think I would make a very good footman?” Felix went on.

  “Not up to her standards,” said Miss Blanchfort, still laughing. “I can imagine it perfectly. Oh, I am so sorry, she is quite –” She broke off, suddenly quite grave again, and said quietly, “I cannot go back to her. I will not.”

  “I am sure Lord Rothborough will not let you be unhappy.”

  “That is not certain, although I know he means well. But there is only one way I can be free of her, and I must be free of her. You must understand that.”

  “Surely in time –”

  She shook her head.

  “You told me it was wrong to call it slavery, and perhaps you were right. But it is – she is so cruel to me.”

  “Physically cruel? Does she hit you?”

  “No – well, sometimes she has slapped me and I probably deserved that. No, it is the constant regulation of every aspect of my life. It is intolerable to be controlled to such an extent. You can have no idea of it. To be sitting here, just idling, and talking, that is such a novelty to me. I cannot believe it will last unless I make some drastic change to my state, because now I have had a small taste of freedom, I cannot go back to my prison, I cannot!”

  She had grabbed his hand with her unbroken hand and was looking earnestly at him, with tears in her eyes.

  “That dream I told you about –” she went on.

  “Was a dream,” he cut in.

  “Yes, yes, I quite take your point. But you are not without pity. You are, I think, feeling something of what I am feeling, Mr Carswell. I know I should not say such a thing, but I truly think that destiny has brought us to this strange place. Ever since I saw you in the woods that morning –”

  “Destiny?” he said, swallowing hard. “Is that – it is true, I cannot stop thinking about you.” Her eyes widened at that. “But I do not want to be in love, Miss Blanchfort,” he managed to say. “It is a dangerous state for me.”

  “Yes, yes it is – for all of us,” she said. “It is a lake of fire to be crossed barefoot. My feet are already scorched, my hem is singed, and yet –”

  Her words seemed to touch him like fingers. Her lips were parted in expectation, but there was of course no way in which he could kiss her there, no matter how much he might have liked to. Her hand was still clutching at his and he could scarcely bring himself to detach himself, but he knew he must. Gently he laid it back in her lap and got up.

  “I should let you rest,” he said. “Perhaps you should go up to bed?”

  “There will be no rest for either of us, I think,” she said looking up at him, ostensibly so vulnerable with her wounded hand in its bandages and sling, but in reality he saw and felt the power of her magic over him. She was the Queen of the Fae again, determined to drag him away to her kingdom underground.

  And in a heartbeat, I would go, he thought as he walked away across the drawing room.

  -o-

  “Is there something wrong?” Emma said. “Giles, did I do something...?”

  He had spent the evening avoiding being alone with her, but she had contrived it, and now they were standing together in the great drawing room.

  He sat down on the chaise by the dwindling fire, feeling utterly tongue-tied and unable to find a ready answer. Now, Emma perched beside him.

  “No, no, it�
��s nothing you have done,” he managed to say at last. He leant back a little and massaged his temple.

  “Is it your head?” she said.

  “A little, perhaps,” he said. She reached out with her hand to touch his brow, but knowing he could not resist her touch, he caught her hand, and as gently as he could pushed it away.

  “Giles –?” she said. He had been more forceful than he meant to be. The tremble in her voice was evident.

  He pressed his hands to his face and his elbows on his knees, he bent forward and away from her. “What is going on?” she said.

  “It’s Laura,” he managed to say. “I cannot, dear God, as much as I would like to, but she is... she is haunting me.”

  “Haunting?” said Emma after a moment. “What do you mean?”

  “I wish I knew,” he said. “But she is – here, somehow, or other. I can’t explain. It will sound as if I succumbing to madness, which perhaps I am.”

  “No, no, I am sure that is not the case. My dearest...”

  Her hands were on his shoulders, turning him towards her, but he would not allow it.

  “Please!” he said, as if that would make rejection less painful to her. “We cannot. We should not. We are not in a position to marry.”

  Emma straightened beside him on the sofa and for a moment they sat in silence.

  “Listen to me,” she said, in a quiet, calm voice. “You are tired and ill and overworked. My situation, which is difficult enough, is making things worse. It is no surprise that you should feel guilt about the manner of Laura’s death. I have heard the details. It was a shocking business, and that will have scarred you, of course it will! You have more capacity for feeling than a hundred men, my dear, and such tragedies cannot be put aside lightly. You are not done with your mourning.”

  Now he fumbled to take her hand. She wrapped both of hers about his instead and went on, “You are under no obligation to me,” she said. “I wish to be clear on that. I have enough entanglements of my own. We were a little foolish the other night, perhaps.”