In this fanciful, pleasure-driven place that their common ancestor had built, where painted birds cavorted above them, they stood in their doorways. It was as if as a physical force was pulling them together, yet they both advanced but half a step each.
“My Lady –” he began, and she at the same moment said, “Sir –” and then she made a gesture to say that he was to speak first. But his mouth was dry. He found he could only offer up his filthy, shirt-sleeved arms and hands in a gesture of apologetic supplication. He would have embraced her if he could. It was what his muscles and his heart were straining to do. She was a stranger and yet not at all a stranger.
“I –” he began but he could not find any words.
He stood there, looking at her, scouring every detail of her face, regretting he had never laid eyes on her before, feeling the loss of never having seen her as a child, never having had her as a companion in youthful adventures. It was a loss he had never known before but now it struck him, cold on his heart, just like the feel of that poor unborn child in the dead woman’s womb.
At length she spoke.
“I am sorry. I did not mean to come. I ought to have stopped myself but –” and she threw up her own hands just as he had done.
He nodded. She was like himself: impulsive, driven and confused.
“I am glad you did,” he said, and took a step towards her. “I am glad to see you at last.”
It was the truth. He had never felt as honest as he did in that moment. It was as if he had discovered something sacred, and there was no place there for lies. She nodded, and he felt certain that she felt the same.
“You should get back to your work,” she said. “Major Vernon...” Felix glanced behind him. Major Vernon was discreetly observing them. “We will have time enough in the future, but she has no time left.”
He nodded, and turned and went back in, closing the door behind him.
Major Vernon reached for his notebook.
“She’s right,” Felix said.
“So?” said Major Vernon glancing at the body.
“She’s with child,” he said.
“How many months?”
“Four to five, but that’s an approximation.”
“That adds to the puzzle. Suicide?”
“God forbid!” he exclaimed. Clinical detachment had deserted him. He could only see the tragedy. He swallowed and said, carefully, “Unlikely. That head injury. That is the key to this.”
“Then we must go and look at the site when you are done here.”
-0-
When he had finished his examination, Felix went with the Major to the scene of the discovery of the body. As they left the dairy, there was no sign of Lady Charlotte which both relieved and disappointed him.
“This way,” said Major Vernon, leading him through a fantastical garden of statues and billowing dark yew hedges, until they emerged to face a mass of water, overshadowed by a cliff that dripped with ferns and which was fissured to create the entrance to a cave.
“And you have to go over that bridge to get into the grotto?” he said.
“Yes,” said Major Vernon. “And that is where I saw the crushed shells.”
“Quite the spot for a tryst,” Felix said.
“Exactly,” said Major Vernon. “But there are any number of points in which she could have fallen, stumbled into the water, don’t you agree, meaning it was accidental?”
“Or she could have been pushed,” said Felix.
“Or held down under the water in the shallows. Drowned by the father of the child.”
“Is that what you are thinking?”
“Come and look at this cave. But mind your step as you go.”
Felix followed him round the narrow path and across the rattling bridge over the water.
“This is not my idea of a garden,” he remarked as they went into the cave and looking around him.
“No, nor mine,” said Major Vernon. “But it is well done, you must concede.”
“We are lucky to have those lights in the ceiling,” said Felix.
“And I have some candles,” said Major Vernon, producing two from his pocket, along with a box of lucifers. He handed one to Felix and struck a lucifer to light it. “Now, what are we looking for? Blood?”
“Blood,” Felix said and together they began to examine the walls of the cave.
“Mr Carswell,” called the Major, “Is this not ..?”
Felix took his hand lens from his trouser pocket and went to look at what the Major had discovered. A patch of dark, dried matter was staining the rubble wall, at about the height of the victim’s head.
“Yes, possibly blood,” said Felix, handing his candle to the Major. He needed his hands free to get a knife and take a sample, which he could examine under the microscope. “And do we have spatters?” he went on, glancing to the right and left of the stain. “Yes, we do. Look sir, there – that might be consistent with the back of the head cracking against the rock with some force.”
“Not a fall then,” said Major. “Someone, in a quarrel, accidentally pushing her back, so that she collided with the wall, or, more deliberately taking her by the shoulders and smashing her head. Which is quite a different matter. What we can establish is that, with reasonable certainty, she was not alone. She could not have sustained such an injury alone.”
“No,” said Felix. “There is too much force involved. I need to make a record of those spatter patterns and get this sample.”
“There is shell in the mortar here,” Major Vernon remarked. “Just like the white shell you found. You’d better get a sample of that too.”
Felix nodded and set to work. Although Major Vernon was ostensibly only holding the candles, Felix could tell his mind was deeply occupied with the possibilities of what might have happened in there.
Chapter Six
After Felix had recorded as much of the evidence in the cave as he could, they retraced their steps through the Italian maze to the dairy. He wanted to look again at the head injury in the light of what they had seen, but as they passed under the faux-Gothic arch, they were met by the sight of a covered stretcher being loaded into a hearse.
“What the –?” he said, turning to Major Vernon.
“That will be on Mr Haine’s, the coroner’s, instructions. How regrettably efficient of them.”
“I haven’t even begun –” Felix said. He would have sprinted over to stop them, but Major Vernon laid his hand on his arm.
“Let’s go and present our credentials civilly – that will help your cause. If I’m not mistaken, that is Mr Haines and Sir Arthur in the barouche.”
Felix nodded. Major Vernon had a way of getting what he wanted in the most unpromising circumstances – it was best to trust to his judgement on such occasions.
“It’s a shame we look so dusty,” Major Vernon said with a smile, putting his coat back on. They had been working in their shirtsleeves in the cave. “Holt will be ashamed of me.” Felix hauled his own coat on and they set out to tackle the two gentlemen in the barouche.
“Major Vernon,” said one of them, a gentleman with iron-coloured hair and the ruddy complexion of a countryman. “Thank you for your communications. It was fortunate that you were to hand in the first instance. I did not know that you were a guest at Holbrook.”
“I am not, sir. I am staying at Stanegate,” Major Vernon said.
“This is Mr Haines, the coroner,” Sir Arthur said.
Major Vernon made a respectful bow to the coroner, who looked to Felix like the sort of man who would quibble with his cook for putting too much butter on the bread.
“And this is?” Sir Arthur went on, with a gesture towards Felix. There was something in his voice which suggested he had guessed who he was, and Felix felt piqued by it.
“Forgive me, yes, of course; Sir Arthur, Mr Haines – may I present Mr Carswell? My colleague at Northminster.”
“Ah yes, your surgeon,” said Haines, in a raspy voice that one could grate cheese
on. “A Scotsman, yes?”
“Yes, sir, indeed he is.”
Felix made his bow and grinned like an idiot but held his tongue because he did not trust himself to speak.
“Don’t you have some connection to Lord Rothborough?” said Sir Arthur.
“My father has charge of a parish on Lord Rothborough’s Scottish Estate,” Felix said, with care.
“That isn’t what I had heard,” said Haines, with such insolence that Felix was tempted to snatch the whip from the coachman and strike him with it.
“About this business, if we may?” Major Vernon said, indicating the hearse.
“An accident, one must suppose,” Sir Arthur said.
“Drowning is, in the main,” said Mr Haines.
Felix could hold his tongue no longer.
“The circumstances and the condition of the corpse suggest otherwise. As the first medical man to see her, I would strongly recommend that the inquest be adjourned until a full post-mortem can be performed. Time is of the essence.”
“And you would like the job and the fee, I dare say?” Sir Arthur said.
“I do not care a whit for the fee,” said Felix. “I am only interested in getting to the truth.”
“I suppose you need not care,” said Haines. “After all, you have the rents from Ardenthwaite. A nice gift that is for the son of a poor Scots clergyman, I should say. That is the case, isn’t it, young man, that you have title to the place? No doubt, you’ll be putting up for parliament soon enough. This doctoring of yours is just a pastime. But don’t you think that we will let you have the seat for the say-so. Your ‘connection’ may think he can buy the votes of the Ardenthwaite tenants, but good Sir Robert will be out of his tomb and haunting them if they try and vote for a godless Whig, I can tell you that for a fact!” He punched a bony finger towards Felix.
“Mr Haines, if we might deal with the matter in hand,” Major Vernon said. “The inquest?”
“Tomorrow at ten, at the Golden Lion in Market Craven,” said Haines.
“We will be there, of course,” said Major Vernon. “As will Lord Rothborough.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Sir Arthur. “One of my men will give a report and that will be sufficient for a verdict of accidental death, which is the most likely case here. The only other sensible possibility is that she was a mad woman who drowned herself. Better we record accidental death, Mr Haines and let the poor creature have a decent burial.”
“And let her murderer think he can get away with it?” Felix burst out. “For if this isn’t murder, then –”
“The circumstances are ambiguous,” said Major Vernon. “This young woman may have been brutally attacked – that needs to be established, and if it is, then surely it is in the public interest that we discover who might be responsible?”
“We, Major Vernon?” said Sir Arthur. “I do not think this is your responsibility. This is not Northminster!”
“Forgive me – that was force of habit. However, may I at least offer my services as a neighbour? Mr Carswell and I have already begun to gather some useful evidence. Let me at least brief the officer you have put in charge of the investigation. That can do no harm, surely?”
“I really cannot see the need for it, unless you wish to set all my men on chasing about the district looking for phantoms? This is not Northminster, Major Vernon, my establishment does not run to such luxuries as yours. A silly woman, a servant, a nobody, has drowned herself. The kindest thing we can do is let it be recorded an accident so she may be buried before she rots.”
Felix glanced at Major Vernon, wondering how he would proceed.
There was a long pause.
Major Vernon scratched his temple and then said, rather quietly, but with a certain steel in his tone: “If your conscience is easy with that, sir, then so be it. But my conscience cannot be easy. This woman has had her life stolen from her in a brutal manner and there is nothing to say that other women in the district may not suffer the same fate. Imagine if you found your daughter in such a condition, gentlemen, and then think how you ought to act!”
“It is not for you to tell me how to act, sir!” said Sir Arthur. “This is not your business! You have already trespassed. You ought to have declined Lord Rothborough’s summons to come here in the first place – let your precious conscience think on that, rather than stand there telling me how to run my affairs. Drive on, Peter. We have wasted enough time here.”
The barouche pulled off, with the hearse, drawn by a miserable pony, going on behind at a much less smart pace. Major Vernon took off his hat to acknowledge its departure
“Poor creature,” he said. “We shall get to the bottom of this, by hook or by crook, we shall. I need to get back up to the house and you need to get back to Stanegate.”
“I’m not riding back in this heat,” Felix said. “At least not without something to eat and drink first. There is a reasonable-looking inn in the village at the gates.”
“The Peacock, I think it is called,” said Major Vernon. “I’ll come with you. I need to think a little tactically before I throw myself back into the gilded delights of Holbroke.”
“You see what I mean about it then, sir?” said Felix.
“Heavens, yes. At dinner last night we had a dessert that was the ruins of Palmyra in sponge cake. I would have preferred the stewards room with Holt. Speaking of whom –”
There, in the shade of a handsome Spanish chestnut, where their horses were tethered, Holt had made himself comfortable. He was stretched out on the grass, reading.
As they approached he hauled himself up to attention.
“What are you reading, Holt?” said Major Vernon.
“Nicholas Nickleby,” said Holt. “It’s the grandest thing. Far better than the Pickwick Papers, in my opinion, sir.”
“Don’t tell me the story,” said Major Vernon. “I’ve only just begun it.”
“No, sir, of course not. Shouldn’t dream of spoiling it for you.”
-0-
The Peacock was a comfortable, unpretentious and respectable establishment, cool and pleasant on a hot summer’s day. The front door opened directly onto the parlour and there Felix found James Bodley, Lord Rothborough’s man, sitting eating bread and cheese with a woman who looked like the landlady. On seeing him they stopped eating and stood up.
“Mr Bodley,” he said, slightly surprised at this show of respect.
“Master Felix,” Bodley said with a nod. “His Lordship did mention you would be hereabouts today. And you must be Major Vernon, sir?” The Major nodded.
The woman came over to inspect Felix.
“Goodness me!” she said. “I haven’t seen you, sir, since you were a tiny thing. That summer before you went up to Scotland it was. And look at you now! And the image of his Lordship! My, my!”
“This is Mrs Taylor,” said Bodley, “My sister. She and her husband keep the house here.”
“I used to work up at the big house, of course,” put in Mrs Taylor. “Now, what is it you gentleman wish? I’ve a lovely cold fowl pie if you’re hungry. It’s a favourite of his Lordship.”
“That sounds excellent,” said Major Vernon. “And if we might have a jug of beer and some water to wash in?”
“Certainly, sir,” she said. “The private parlour is just this way. It is is where Lord Rothborough always sits when he is so kind as to visit us. It is has a nice view of the garden.”
“Thank you,” said Major Vernon. “My servant Holt is outside with our horses, perhaps you could see he gets what he needs as well?”
“I’ll send the boy,” said Mrs Taylor.
“And if we might borrow Mr Bodley for a few minutes,” said Major Vernon. “Your master may have told you why we are here, Mr Bodley.”
“That poor dead woman, yes,” Bodley said.
“I have a few questions for you.”
“This way, if you please,” said Mrs Taylor, and she led them from the tap room, across a flagged passage way, into a ne
atly furnished room, with a large map of the Holbroke Estate hanging on the wall, which at once absorbed Major Vernon’s attention.
“So, sir, what was it you wanted to ask me?” asked Bodley.
“Forgive me,” said Major Vernon, turning from the map. “A map is always a great aid in such cases as this.” He took out his notebook. “I gather from Lady Charlotte that Lady Warde and her maid have been staying with the family since the beginning of June. First at Lady Rothborough’s house in Sussex, and then here.”
“Yes, sir, that is about it.”
“Now, I know you are often away with your master, but I imagine you have had a chance to see quite a lot of Miss Jones, at dinner with the other servants, and so on?”
“Yes, a fair bit, I suppose,” said Bodley.
“What was your impression of her?”
Bodley thought for a moment.
“Well, sir, that’s an interesting question. As ladies’ maids go, I should say she was not the usual type. Of course, she was not in the first rank, sir, if you get my meaning, not like her Ladyship’s maid, Miss Le Roche, and a person like Miss Le Roche is a clever, elegant woman, and interesting to talk to. Most of the other lady’s maids are in her pattern – a lady likes a servant who is cheerful and full of news but always knows her place. It’s a delicate position to hold, and it takes a particular type of person, and usually they are grand company for us downstairs. But Miss Jones was reserved. Quiet and kept herself to herself. But given her employer is a lady in reduced circumstances and not young, I suppose it seemed right enough. She wasn’t really one of us, if I can say that?”
“Do you know if she had any particular friendships? Or a suitor?”
“No,” he said shaking his head. “They all sit together, the ladies maids, and do their sewing, in Mrs Hope’s sitting room – she’s the housekeeper, and it’s quite a sight – for they are as pretty as they come and a lively bunch, and I sometimes stop there to get a cup of tea, and perhaps to ask them to do a bit of mending for me, for there are some jobs only a woman’s hands can do, and well, she’d be there, but she wouldn’t be in the heart of it. I never saw her exchanging confidences with any of them, or giving one of the men the eye, if you know what I mean.”
The Shadowcutter Page 6
