He left Felix to continue his investigations. He had not begun to make much progress before there was a knock at the door. Felix opened it a crack, looked out and found himself grinning, not at all annoyed to be interrupted.
For it was Sukey standing in the passageway, looking neat and crisp in a print dress, as fresh as a newly-picked rose.
“I’m looking for Major Vernon,” she said.
He came out of the room and shut the door behind him.
“He’s already gone.”
He wanted to say, “I’d hoped you might have been looking for me.”
“You have the poor fellow in there?”
“Yes. He’s in quite a state.”
“Poor man,” she said.
He nodded. He could not think what to say. He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her, but standing there in his shirt sleeves, covered in blood and dust, it was not possible. Instead they were reduced to awkward silence. He had once been so easy in her presence, as if they had been strolling across a broad, sunlight plain, but now it was as if they were on a precarious mountain path. Every step had to be carefully considered – a single misstep might lead to disaster. A word out of place and all be could be ruined. If it is not already ruined, he thought. If I only I had not kissed her, if only I had left it where it was. Of course I have ruined everything between us.
“Did he say where he was going?”
“Major Vernon? The servants hall, I think.”
She nodded.
“I’ll go and have a look,” and without another word she departed back down the passageway, as if she were glad indeed to get away. What had he done? He was about to shout out “Sukey!” but the sight of Lord Rothborough turning the corner silenced him. Sukey stopped, made a low curtsey and carried on her way.
Felix had the feeling that attempting to capture her was like the childhood game of catching a dandelion seed and making a wish. It was hard enough to catch one, and if one did, the wish never came true. Was that to be the case with Sukey?
“A smart creature, that,” said Lord Rothborough. “Major Vernon seems very taken with her – which does not surprise me in the least.”
“What do you mean by that?” said Felix.
“Nothing,” said Lord Rothborough. “You look tired, my boy.”
“I am. I did not sleep last night. I have unexpected guests.”
“What?”
“My parents are here – well, they are at Stanegate. My mother is in somewhat of a state and I do not know what to do about it.”
“She’s ill? Oh dear Lord.”
“Yes. I was in two minds about coming here, to tell you the truth, although she claims there is nothing wrong with her, it is evident –” He broke off. “They should not have travelled! What on earth possessed them to do it?”
Lord Rothborough laid his hand on Felix’s shoulder and said, “Send them to Ardenthwaite. You will be able to better supervise her from there, and the air there is much healthier than Stanegate. You will need to be close at hand while we sort out this wretched business. Where could be better? It is perfectly habitable, and the housekeeper there can easily take on a few more servants. I will arrange it all.”
“But – but, my father will not – I think, you know as well as I that he –”
“If Mrs Carswell is ill then he will be glad to fall in with what is best for her. Besides Ardenthwaite will be far more to his taste. There is a fine library there to keep him occupied. He will be persuaded. I will persuade him.”
Felix had no doubt that he would. Neither could he disagree that it was a sound plan, even though it had implications that he disliked. He had been keeping Ardenthwaite at arm’s length. He had gone over the old house a couple of times now, in the company of Lord Rothborough, who had been making various small improvements, but had managed to remain detached from the place. But Lord Rothborough was right. It would suit his parents very well and it was an easy ride to Holbroke. He had met the housekeeper and she was a great deal more kind and willing than that impossible Bolland creature.
“So?” said Lord Rothborough.
“I suppose,” said Felix. “It is as good a plan as any.”
“I will see to it. In the meantime, I think you will have plenty to keep you from worrying too much about Mrs Carswell. Any progress?”
“A little. Major Vernon is talking to the menservants. How is Lady Rothborough, sir?” he said, remembering himself. “And your daughters – they must be distressed by all this.”
“Somewhat. But Charlotte is like you, Felix, made of steely stuff, and she has taken charge of the others. It is a marvel when one realises that one’s children are now old enough to share such burdens!”
“I ought to check on Mrs Vernon,” said Felix. “She is still somewhat fragile. If that might be managed without my giving any offence to Lady –”
“I dare say it might,” said Lord Rothborough. “Perhaps later. I believe she is with Maria at the moment. She is a charming woman, I must say. And to have brought her from such a grievous condition – well, Felix, you may count that as a great feather in your cap.”
“It was not all my doing. Mrs Connolly and Major Vernon, and Mrs Vernon herself – they have all worked very hard.”
“Yes, but you were the guiding hand, the chef d’affaires. You must not hold back your contribution from the world. It may unlock the door to great advances in your profession. You will publish, I trust?”
“In time, perhaps, if her condition does not deteriorate again. We are not out of the woods yet, by any means. And then of course, Major and Mrs Vernon might not like me to make it a great noise about it.”
“Major Vernon is a friend to reform,” said Lord Rothborough. “I cannot see that he would object if it were done discreetly. It would be of great interest to many people, not just the medical profession. For example, I know Lord Stambury has been looking at some of these questions. He wrote to me only the other day on the subject of the County Asylums Bill –”
“I must to get back to work,” Felix said bluntly, turning away.
“Yes, yes, I suppose you must,” said Lord Rothborough. “But Stambury, you must meet him, sooner or later, Felix, he could be useful to you. He likes his shooting, you know. We could have him here in the autumn, and you could let him have a few days with his guns at Ardenthwaite – that would be a pleasant treat for a sportsman.”
-0-
Giles found Holt sitting in the House Steward, Mr Grainger’s office, quite as if it were his own. He was interviewing one of the pages, a pale-faced boy of sixteen, who sat nervously fiddling with the buttons on his waistcoat. He jumped to attention when Giles came in.
“Just in time, sir,” said Holt, getting up. “Jacob here has something interesting for us. Tell the gentleman what you just told me – about the book.”
“But Mr Holt –” Jacob began, in some alarm.
“Come on, now lad,” said Holt.
“I didn’t make a bet, Mr Holt, I’m just saying,” Jacob said. “And they’ll kill me if they find out that I told you.”
“We will make sure they don’t,” said Giles, taking Holt’s place. “Sit down again, won’t you? Are we talking about a betting book?”
Jacob nodded.
“Walter – that’s the first footman, my Lady’s footman, he has this book, and you can make a wager with him, or if you want to make a wager with someone else, he puts it in the book. I’ve never made a wager, sir, I swear it. I know it’s a sin to gamble, but the others do.”
“The others being?”
Jacob thought for a moment.
“Most of the lads, and even old Tom, the clock man does it. Some of the women too. There was a right daft bet last week about Mrs Hope’s Sunday bonnet – whether she’d have green or blue ribbons on it. I guessed blue and I almost wish I had put tuppence on it, because I’d have made myself something, ’cos I was right, like, but I know it’s a sin, and Mr Bodley and Mr Grainger, they would have given me a right thu
mping if they’d found out I’d done it.”
“I see,” said Giles. “So why did you mention the book to Mr Holt just now?”
“He asked me when I last saw Mr Edgar. I told him I saw him with Walter and he was taking bets for the dog fight and putting them in his book. Walter wanted to go, but he couldn’t, but I know Mr Edgar was going, ’cos I heard him say so.”
“Where?”
“I have to sweep the servants’ hall, and they were sitting there, having a smoke and talking about which dogs they reckoned would win. And Jimmy Watson, from out the stables, he was there too, and he said he wanted five shillings on Lunn’s dogs. And he gave the money to Walter, and he put it in the book. And I thought – five shillings: where did he get that from? That was the last time I saw Mr Edgar. I went to my bed after that.”
“That’s useful,” said Giles. “Thank you, Jacob. You can go back to your work now.”
“Are you going to talk to Walter about this now, sir?”
“Yes,” Giles said.
“He’ll kill me if he finds out that it were me that blabbed. That book, it’s supposed to be a secret.”
“Don’t worry, I shan’t identify our source,” said Giles. “Mr Holt will you go and get Walter for me?”
Walter was a magnificent specimen, picked, no doubt, for his fine physique as much as his character. He was dressed in his full chocolate and gold livery with a powdered wig, his tricorn hat tucked under his arm. He carried himself with great pride, and had all the hauteur of a privileged position, taking on as much reflected lustre as he could from his noble employers. Being Lady Rothborough’s personal manservant was clearly something he relished.
“I can’t be long,” he said. “Her Ladyship has ordered the carriage.”
“In the circumstances her Ladyship may have to wait, or take another footman, Mr Walter,” said Giles, getting up. “Sit down, will you?”
“As you like, sir. How may I help you, sir?” he said, correctly deferential, but a touch insolent.
Giles studied him. It was easy to imagine one of those large white-gloved hands cracking poor Jacob about the head, but such rough treatment of underlings was unfortunately commonplace. It did not make him a murderer.
“I want to talk to you about Mr Edgar,” said Giles. “I am sure that does not surprise you, given the circumstances.”
“Of course not, sir,” said Walter. “Very unfortunate.”
“I understand you were seen sitting in the servants hall with him last night, smoking and talking. Around ten o’clock at night.”
“That is possible,” said Walter. “I don’t remember.”
“You were seen talking together. Well, rather more than talking. Doing business, I understand.”
“I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”
“I think you are sporting man,” said Giles, “and that you run a betting book.”
“A betting book?” said Walter as if he had been insulted. “I should not dare, sir, not in a house like this, where her Ladyship particularly hates gambling.”
“Enough flannel, Mr Walter. You will get yourself into far more trouble for lying about it in these circumstances. Would you rather lose your place or go to the gallows?”
“What do you mean by that, sir?”
“You were seen taking bets for the dog fight at Byrescough last night.”
“I did no such thing,” said Walter.
“I was at Byrescough,” Giles went on, leaning on his chair back. “Lunn’s dogs, yes, fine animals, and on tip-top form, but then that Irishman Coulter came in with a pair of brindled terriers and took everyone by surprise.” Walter frowned. “There was a lot of money lost last night. Some people thought that Lunn was a certain thing, but it turned out he wasn’t. Now I’ve been told Jimmy Watson put money on Lunn. Did you?”
“What if I did?” Walter said after a moment.
“How much did you lose, Mr Walter? I know it’s painful to revisit these details, but I am afraid you will have to tell me. You know what I think – you made a wager with John Edgar, on your own behalf, with all the money you had gathered from the others, and some of your own, for good measure, on Lunn’s invincible dogs. Edgar talked it up, told you he could get the best odds on a sure-fire thing. Irresistible, yes? You’d have been a fool not to give it a punt. ”
Walter made an uncomfortable grunt and looked away.
“How much money did you lose last night?” Giles said again.
“He bloody conned me – he knew about those Irish dogs.”
“And how do you know about the Irish dogs?”
“He told me.”
“When was this?”
“About two this morning. I met him on my way back from, well, I’d gone down to the laundry – to see my girl.”
“Where did you see him?”
“In the clock yard, that’s the big yard out the back. We’d arranged it, you see.”
“So you were standing there, waiting for your certain winnings, and he told you that he’d lost the lot, Mr Walter? Is that the substance of it?”
“Pretty much,” Walter said after a long pause.
“And then what happened?”
“Nothing, sir, I went to my bed.”
“Nothing?”
Another long silence.
“I wouldn’t have taken such news so meekly,” Giles said. “After all we are talking about quite a sum of money.” Walter shifted uneasily.
“We may have had a few words,” he said carefully, and glanced away.
“The full truth, Mr Walter,” Giles said softly, “It will not be so hard.”
“It’s not what you think, sir!” Walter said, jumping up. “I didn’t do away with him. We had words, and I didn’t hold back, and I may have cracked one on him, but I didn’t ... I didn’t... kill him! He was alive when I left him. He walked away, cursing me, that’s how it was, I will swear on the Bible that is how it happened! You have to believe me, sir!”
Giles was formulating his answer, not entirely taking this statement at face value. He decided he would ask Carswell to examine him for signs of a fight. Edgar might have been small and slight in comparison but he would have fought off his attacker. There might be bruises and scratches in evidence. He pulled up the green blind, and flooded the room with light, making Walter stagger back, blinking, in order to begin looking for such evidence. However, what he did see, which the dull light of the room had concealed, was that Walter’s handsome face bore signs, not of a fight, but of skilful painting. Was it vanity that had led him to the cosmetic box or a desire to conceal a battered face?
The door opened without a warning knock, and Lord Rothborough came in.
“Sir Arthur has arrived,” he said. “I never expected him to be so prompt. I hope that is not too inconvenient for you? Lady Rothborough is delaying him with small talk, but that cannot be managed indefinitely.”
“I will come at once,” said Giles. “Walter, you will stay here and take your paint off. We are not finished.”
“My paint, sir, what do you mean?” said Walter.
“Good God!” said Lord Rothborough looking at him. “Walter, what the devil have you got that stuff on for?”
“That is a question we will leave with him, my Lord,” said Giles. “Mr Carswell will come and speak to you presently, Walter. And if you think you have anything to add to what you have just told me, you must tell Mr Holt or Mr Carswell, and we will talk again.”
“I swear to you, sir,” said Walter, with a touch desperation in his voice. “And to you My Lord, on my mother’s grave –”
“Save your breath, Mr Walter. We will get a full written statement from you in good time.”
“Walter?” said Rothborough as they left the room. “Surely not. Walter has been a good servant. He’s been with us for years.”
“He was in a fight with Edgar, at two in the morning. Whether that is all remains to be seen. I wonder what scars are hiding under all that paint.”
“That is
a little out of character, certainly,” said Lord Rothborough.
They met Carswell coming along the passage way, in his shirt sleeves, and looking most annoyed.
“Major Vernon, two constables have barged in and commandeered my cadaver!” he exclaimed. “This is Sir Arthur at work, I take it, sir?” he said to Lord Rothborough.
“Yes, unfortunately,” said Rothborough.
“You got an hour’s work,” said Giles. “That is better than nothing. You have that sample?” Carswell nodded. “Will you go to the Steward’s room and examine the man there, Mr Carswell? I am looking for signs of a recent fight.”
Chapter Twenty-two
“Tell me, Lord Rothborough,” asked Giles, as they went upstairs to speak to Sir Arthur. “How did you come to hear about Edgar?”
“It was all Maria’s doing – she was at my sister’s house in Berkshire, at some neighbour’s party. He was the entertainment. After she had seen him, she never stopped talking about it. So I asked my sister to enquire of the neighbour. She gave me his address.”
“Which was?”
“Swalecliffe, of all places. He had a little shop there when he was not travelling about. Presumably his wife keeps it. The new wife – oh dear, I had forgotten about her.”
“I think I shall go and see her,” said Giles. “Edgar was at the dog fight last night, with a couple of whores in tow, and talking to Don Luiz Ramirez. I want to find out a little more about our shadowcutter before we clap poor Walter in irons for his murder. And if I go to Swalecliffe, Sir Arthur will be able to get on in his own way here, for the time being, and all will be peace.”
“A good plan,” said Rothborough. “He won’t make much progress, I don’t suppose.”
They found Sir Arthur waiting in the library outside Lord Rothborough’s study. With the air of a man who had prepared his words, he at once launched into a speech full of justifications and precedents, only to be swiftly disarmed by Lord Rothborough, who said, “Yes, of course, Sir Arthur, of course. It cannot be otherwise. It is your business and Major Vernon is entirely in agreement with me. Major Vernon is going away, I understand, yes?”
The Shadowcutter Page 18
