A Fever of the Blood

by Oscar de Muriel

  I thought of the tidy cottage we’d visited, where Joel had accosted us and where I had drunk the poisoned tea. Oakley had told us she rented a room from Miss Greenwood.

  ‘She nearly took that plan to its conclusion,’ I said. ‘I wonder why she went as far as Edinburgh.’

  Mr Greenwood shrugged. ‘Even in Lancaster people suspected the truth about the pregnancy, and apparently this Redfern woman had some connections with the Scots, so I assume that’s how Lizzy ended up there. Not a bad deal, I assumed; she didn’t write or reply to our letters, but she always sent enough money to pay for the child. I bet the thug that fathered her couldn’t have done no better.’

  There was a hint of pride in that sentence, but it came with as much guilt.

  ‘From what you tell us,’ I said, ‘you knew who the father was.’

  ‘Yes. Just a womanizing lowlife from the village, a good fifteen years older than Lizzy. He had left when his mother, a seamstress, died. He was still rather young and there was no one to take care of him. One day, years later, he came back, all grown up, with shiny new boots and full pockets. We all suspected he’d got into dodgy dealings, but even though we all distrusted him he did catch the eyes of our silly girls. He came, he got them in trouble and he left again!

  ‘We did hear of him working somewhere in Edinburgh, and I suspected that might be the reason our Lizzy went there. I thought at some point he’d marry her, but a year or so ago my wife heard the bastard was in jail.’ He laughed scornfully. ‘Serve him right.’

  McGray tilted his head, surely thinking the same as me. ‘Was this man, by any chance, called Harry Pimblett?’

  The man’s eyes opened wide. ‘Lord, you two seem to know even more about it than me!’

  McGray and I looked at each other. So the father of Greenwood’s child was the very man we’d found dead in the Lancaster prison; the man who had served Lord Ardglass for years and whose former master had then travelled hundreds of miles specifically to murder him.

  Greenwood and Pimblett, so deeply connected to each other as well as to Redfern and Oakley. And somewhere into this mysterious network, somehow, fitted the Ardglass family.

  ‘You should probably know that he is also dead,’ I said. ‘Murdered … by the same man who took your daughter’s life.’

  Mr Greenwood shuddered, and despite the dim light from the fire I saw all colour disappear from his face.

  ‘How did you find us?’ he spluttered, and I could tell he too was beginning to understand.

  ‘We’ve been following the tracks of the murderer,’ said McGray, ‘and, well … we heard from a very good source that he’d be in this village.’

  ‘Oh dear Lord …’ Mr Greenwood burst out as he covered his mouth, rose to his feet and turned his back to us, resting both hands on the mantelpiece.

  McGray stood up and went over to him. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked softly. ‘Is it what I think?’

  Mr Greenwood nodded vehemently, and then spat out the words as if they’d been burning him. ‘It’s no coincidence that you gentlemen appear the night after Lizzy’s child went missing …’

  ‘So it was her child!’ McGray cried.

  ‘We were told the child had passed on,’ I said, remembering Oakley’s statement. The poor creature died were her very words.

  ‘You were told lies,’ Mr Greenwood said. ‘The girl, Daisy, was living happy and well here with us, until …’ his voice trembled and the poor man bit his knuckles, ‘until last night …’

  I caught a glimpse of Mrs Greenwood, gazing at us from the kitchen doorway, shedding copious tears and squeezing her apron so hard the cloth was turning to shreds. She’d heard it all.

  Our eyes met and she jumped back, letting out a piercing, anguished wail. From the kitchen we heard the clatter of pans and shattering glass.

  Mr Greenwood ran to her and we followed, only to find the woman kneeling on the floor, dangerously close to the burning stoves, anxiously rocking a small wicker cradle. A few pink ribbons swung in the air, as well as a tulle rose that was about to come off. There was a frightened young maid at the back of the room, her back pressed against the wall, her hands clasping a ladle.

  Mr Greenwood hastily kneeled by his wife’s side. The woman whimpered and cowered as if she expected him to slap her, but instead he put his arms around her, with a tenderness I would not have expected from him, and murmured soothingly in her ear.

  McGray came to me and also whispered, ‘I thought the lil’ girl was a good few years auld.’

  ‘So did I … Then again … she did say children.’

  The shaking woman managed to stand, and McGray helped Mr Greenwood to bring her back to the table in the main room.

  ‘You shouldn’t have listened,’ he was telling her as they passed in front of me. ‘You shouldn’t, you silly bird.’

  I looked at the scared maid. ‘Girl, bring her a glass of any spirit you have.’

  She nodded clumsily, but still managed to put a small glass on the table just as I joined them.

  ‘It was that horrible man,’ Mrs Greenwood was saying, slowly rocking backwards and forwards. ‘He came last night asking for a room. We didn’t know any of this would happen; he was a very elegant gentleman, although his clothes did look all mucky.’

  ‘Did he give his name?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, sir. He said his name was Ardglass.’

  ‘He gave his real name,’ McGray whispered. ‘Just like in Lancaster Castle. He didnae want to hide away …’ I saw his eyes flickering with anxiety. ‘Go on, hen.’

  ‘Well, sir, we gave him a room and served him dinner. He was very polite all the time – until he saw our girls. Daisy was running around with her toys and Hannah here was feeding the little one. The man asked if – if one of them was called Daisy! It gave me the creeps when he said that, I’m telling you! My God, the way he looked at them …’ the woman shivered. ‘He knew everything about them, everything about our Lizzy! How can that be?’

  She was falling apart, so McGray encouraged her to take some drink.

  I had a disturbing image of Joel squeezing all this information out of Oakley, and perhaps Nurse Greenwood too … the young women telling him everything through agonizing pain.

  ‘That we can explain to youse,’ McGray said sombrely, perhaps with the same image in his head, ‘but first I need ye to go on. Tell me, who was this other girl?’

  ‘Primrose. An orphan baby, sir,’ she said, clearing her throat after a short sip. ‘We care for her too. This man asked me which one was Daisy … I wouldn’t tell him, of course, not for all the gold in the world. I told him in those very words, and he jumped on me’ – Mrs Greenwood gulped, placing a hand on her belly – ‘and he punched me right in the stomach; he threw me aside and took them both!’

  She covered her mouth and cried miserably on her husband’s shoulder.

  ‘I was out,’ Mr Greenwood said. ‘Tending to the bastard’s horse. I heard the screams and ran in here, but Ardglass used those moments to run away through the back door. All we heard was his horse galloping down the main road –’

  ‘And the girls screamed,’ Mrs Greenwood moaned. ‘They were screaming!’

  The maid looked away, wiping tears with her apron. Even Nine-Nails shuddered, thinking of the scene.

  ‘What do you think he’ll do to the children?’ Mrs Greenwood wondered.

  Even McGray, cold-blooded as he could be, turned away.

  I had to take a deep breath. ‘I honestly cannot say.’

  31

  ‘We might be able to help,’ said McGray.

  Mr Greenwood was helping his wife upstairs. ‘Almost all the men of the village are out there, looking for them. I don’t think much more can be done.’ He looked at the maid. ‘Hannah, give the gentlemen something to eat. Then I want them out.’

  ‘Out!’ I squealed. ‘Are you mad? It is snowing hard!’

  The couple went up without responding, and young Hannah curtsied and ran to the kitchen.

/>   McGray sat back down at the table, took off his boots and stretched his legs, massaging the bandaged one. ‘Well, drinks and a free dinner are better than nothing at all.’

  I paced around. ‘We could call for reinforcements. This is still within the Lancashire jurisdiction. We could send word to Lancaster and Massey might send officers from the nearby towns.’

  McGray raised an eyebrow. ‘Och, I thought ye’d had it! What happened to being sick o’ chasing Joel?’

  ‘I did not say I would help you chase Joel. I said I would help these people look for their girls.’

  ‘Same thing, Pythagor-arse. Joel took them.’

  I sat down. ‘Indeed, and I begin to see his pattern.’

  ‘Och, aye! I thought ye were quicker than that.’

  ‘Let me bloody finish. We have had barely any time to speculate.’ I looked into the fire, my mind going back to the very start. ‘Insane as he is, Joel is after all those witches, that is a given. I remember how nervous Oakley was when we questioned her … she must have known Joel would come after her.’

  ‘Aye, that’s why the lass ran to Lancaster. Redfern sent her that telegram we found … She has to be some sort of elder witch. Both Oakley and Greenwood must have been her novices. Pimblett too.’

  ‘Indeed. Now, why would a crazy man set off on such a witch hunt? They must have wronged him – or his kin.’

  ‘It must have been something really bad! See how he got rid o’ Greenwood and Pimblett. Cannae think of a worse way to kill a person. And that raven he left at Redfern’s house with the warning – even I felt revolted.’

  I assented. ‘That would explain why Oakley did not ask us to protect her. She would have had to explain the witches’ doings to us. That is why she poisoned us with the tea … and then, since she was staying in the room adjacent to ours, she most likely bribed or coerced that young maid to hide the hummingbird charm in your clothes. Still …’

  McGray finished my sentence. ‘That doesn’t quite explain why she warned Joel on the train to Lancaster … or why she stole his photograph from our room. She doesn’t want us to find him.’

  ‘Most likely because he would tell us things about them,’ I said. ‘Details about their black market or their sisterhood?’

  McGray pondered. ‘Aye, that has to be it. These witches seem to really fear him. Oakley went to Redfern looking for protection, yet for some reason Redfern thought all they could do was run away. Joel must know something terrible about them.’ McGray massaged his eyelids, frustration taking over. ‘Damn him! He’s been the bloody pacesetter all along. He took these children before we even found out they existed.’

  ‘And nothing guarantees this will be the end of it,’ I muttered. ‘He might want revenge against all the witches in the land.’ I thought of the handful of peas on the map and felt a wave of fear. ‘In that case, we – I mean, you could spend months on this hunt.’

  ‘Nae … he’s been ahead of us all along but not any more. At last we have some forewarning. We ken he’s going to Pendle Hill: according to Nettle that’s his final destination. And d’ye remember the judge’s note? Cobden Hall, in Pendle!’

  I sighed, not believing what I was about to say.

  ‘I hate to admit that both statements make sense now – but you are not as ahead as you think. If Joel took the children last night, he might be in Pendle as we speak. And you are in no state to run there right now; your leg is still recovering and you would not want to be worn out and famished when you face him … or whatever you might find in Pendle Hill.’

  As if to support my point, McGray’s stomach growled violently.

  ‘All right, we’ll eat and try to rest a wee bit, but then we’re setting off to the nearest town. We’ll definitely need reinforcements.’

  ‘Stop saying we. I might help you find those reinforcements, but I am not following you any more.’

  Hannah came back with a tray laden with steaming food, and McGray did not even register what I’d just said.

  ‘Is there a telegraph round here?’ he asked the girl.

  ‘No, sir. For that you need to go to Whalley or Clitheroe. I can see that someone in the village gives you directions if it’s urgent.’

  Our eyes were fixed on the bowls of hot stew she was placing before us.

  ‘It’s not as urgent as this,’ he said, grabbing a spoon and gorging himself like a hog in fattening season. My own manners were not any better; Nettle’s potatoes had barely taken the edge off our hunger, and I had not appreciated how thirsty I was until I had a first taste of thin ale. I’d always thought of it as a vulgar, positively medieval drink, but I must have emptied two pints in less than seven gulps.

  We indulged in bread, tender meat and potatoes, and the girl kept refilling our bowls and glasses quite diligently.

  McGray finally let out the loudest, longest and most pleased of belches, his mouth and cheeks reverberating.

  I fanned a hand before my nose. ‘You are about to bring the plaster off the ceilings …’

  Mr Greenwood came back then and sat next to us. He looked as if someone had beaten him with a truncheon.

  ‘Ye all right, lad?’ McGray asked. The man nodded, but his voice said otherwise.

  ‘Gentlemen, I’m afraid I can …’ He gulped. ‘I can only allow you to stay here for tonight, and all you can have are the sofas in the smoking room.’ He drew out a handkerchief and mopped sweat off his temples. ‘You – you have to understand. Our rooms upstairs are in no state to receive anyone.’

  I was about to say that even the most poorly made bed would be heavenly, but Greenwood seemed too affected to be questioned.

  McGray thought the same. ‘All right,’ he said softly, ‘we won’t disturb youse. Tomorrow we’ll rise very early and see if we can bring officers from Clitheroe.’ He threw me a recriminating stare. ‘I can assure ye that at least I will see we find that bastard and yer girls.’

  One would have expected those words to be reassuring, but it was as if he’d threatened Mr Greenwood with a gun. He covered his mouth with the handkerchief, his eyes terrified.

  ‘I appreciate your intentions …’ Again a difficult gulp. ‘But we’re fine.’

  He rose immediately, hitting the table with his thighs and knocking over the glasses, to rush to the main staircase by the entrance hall. We followed him, dumbfounded by the sudden change in his mood, but did not have a chance to speak. Mr Greenwood roared when he saw the young manservant. He had been waiting by the door since our arrival, next to the copper bath and three buckets brimming with still-hot water.

  ‘So where do you want the bath, boss?’

  ‘Sod the bath!’ he shouted, his face flushed with rage, and ran upstairs before anyone could say a word.

  I must have been desperate, for I raised a hand swiftly. ‘Oh, boy, in fact, I – I could really use a good soak …’

  What a delight it was to scrub away all that caked dirt, grime and sweat.

  Since Mr Greenwood wanted no one to disturb the upper level, Hannah and the manservant installed the bath in the pantry, and I had to wash myself surrounded by beer barrels and hanging joints of salted meat.

  As soon as I stepped in I realized the bath must have been meant to ease Mrs Greenwood’s nerves; the water had been boiled with lavender and rosemary, and their sweet scents rolled up in a heavenly wave of calmness.

  Hannah kindly offered to wash my clothes and claimed she could dry them quickly with the hot iron. I initially thought of refusing – I could not trust anyone after what had happened to McGray’s coat – but then I remembered how long it had been since I’d worn anything clean. Quite frankly, I’d rather confront a deadly, possibly poisonous amulet than put on those underpants in their current state.

  Off she went, and I surrendered to the delights of hot water and soap. For a few minutes, at least. Then the door burst open and McGray came in to help himself to a bottle of wine and some jars of pickled fruits.

  ‘Get out!’ I howled, automatically pulli
ng up a towel to cover myself.

  ‘Aye, everybody wants to see ye wrapping yer bosom.’

  He went away but left the door ajar, a nasty draught hitting me straight in the face. I called Hannah three times, but she must have been taking care of my clothes. I had to get awkwardly out of the bath to shut the door and made sure that this time the latch clicked. I left nothing to chance and blocked the door with a big sack of flour. A wise choice it was, for five blasted minutes later they tried to break in again. There was a broomstick resting against the wall. I grabbed it and banged on the door.

  ‘Do you bloody mind?’

  I tossed the broomstick aside and tried to relax, only to be interrupted again by a shy knocking on the door.

  ‘What now?’

  Hannah’s nervous voice came from the other side. ‘I brought your clothes, sir. Shall I leave them by the door?’

  I grunted something that must have sounded affirmative, and I heard her pull up a chair, where I later found my clothes carefully folded and still warm from the ironing. The girl had not managed to remove all the stains, but I could not have felt more grateful. I told her so once I was dressed; she came with a cup of tea and showed me the way to the smoking room, where she’d improvised two beds from the tattered sofas.

  I found McGray there, fishing the last chunks from a jar of pickled pears. The wine bottle was uncorked but he had barely touched it. He’d been given a change of clothes, including a pair of plain baggy trousers that had probably belonged to Mr Greenwood in slimmer days.

  Far from looking relieved, there was something rather odd in his expression. His jaw was slightly tensed, and his frown was a touch more deeply wrinkled than usual. I am surprised I noticed at all.

  As I walked in he looked sideways, as if straining to hear something.

  ‘What is –’

  He raised a hand, now looking at Hannah as she unfolded a clean sheet. I said no more and waited patiently until the girl was finished. She made sure we did not need anything else, curtsied and left. I was going to speak but McGray raised his hand again.

  I mouthed ‘What is it?’ but McGray kept looking sideways, not blinking. The room was so silent I could hear the rustle of my clothes as I breathed.