The Shadowcutter

by Harriet Smart

  “Eliza Jones,” said Felix.

  “Innocently sewing linen bags to stash her takings in and listening to the gossip about the ladies upstairs,” said Major Vernon. “One of the maids at Holbroke may even have seen her making them. Of course, taking a whole parure is a daring enterprise, even to a practised hand. Mrs Connolly observed that it was perhaps out of desperation, given Miss Jones was pregnant. One last, big job before she runs away with her lover.”

  “Edgar, you mean?”

  “Perhaps. And perhaps he killed her. They meet by arrangement – he comes to Holbroke a day or two earlier than he has been asked. She gives him part of the parure – that missing bracelet, perhaps, and tells him there is more to follow. Perhaps it doesn’t go well. Perhaps he decides he has had enough of her and cuts his losses. That the parure is too risky even for him. Perhaps he never thought she would do it? Maybe he is bored with her and she is too demanding and difficult, even though she has been supplying him so faithfully. He loses his temper with her and smashes her against the cave wall, dumps her in the pool and departs with the bracelet.”

  “But the bracelet was not in his things. There was nothing on him,” Felix pointed out.

  “No – unfortunately. Already sold on? But there was no sign of any cash.”

  “So why is he dead?”

  “I have no idea, as yet,” said Major Vernon. “Was it simply for the money he had on him? Perhaps he sold it at the dog fight and came back to Holbroke with bulging pockets which tempted someone.”

  “That attack was extremely violent,” Felix said. “It was sustained – it continued after he was unconscious. And it would have been messy. It is hard to know how anyone could have concealed the evidence that would have left on their clothes. I cannot imagine that if it had been one of the servants, for example, that it would not have been noticed.”

  “That’s true,” said Major Vernon slipping the pearls back into the bag. “And if you were just after the money, wouldn’t you be content with knocking the man unconscious, robbing him and then making off as soon as you could? Such an attack involves taking a great risk, which suggests that the destruction of Edgar was important to this person. That it was necessary rather than incidental.”

  “Revenge?” Felix said. “If he did kill Eliza Jones then perhaps someone decided to teach him a lesson for it. Another lover? A relation?”

  “Perhaps,” said Major Vernon. “It’s a good line of enquiry, certainly. Come, let’s finish our search here and then we will go and find out what Holt has turned up.”

  The search yielded no more pearls – either in the form of necklaces or paperwork.

  “I had hoped for a day-book giving me his movements for the shadow-cutting business,” said Major Vernon, “But perhaps he was too canny to keep obvious records of where he had been and when. I shall take those little boxes and these pearls with us. If I leave them, I fear that Mrs Edgar, who knows that their origins are dubious, will whisk them away.”

  When it came to it, Mrs Edgar was a little loath to let them take away her trinkets, but the aunt sensibly intervened.

  “And if we discovered they have been lawfully purchased, we will of course return them to you at once,” Major Vernon said. “I will give you a receipt in the meantime.”

  She accepted it with a sigh and poured herself another glass of gin.

  “Oh, and one more question, and then we will leave you in peace,” said Major Vernon. “Do either of you know a young woman called Eliza Jones? Edgar never brought anyone answering to that name here?”

  The women shook their heads and their ignorance seemed genuine enough.

  “That may not have been her real name, of course,” Major Vernon said as they walked away from the house. “It is a cipher of a name. Now I know people do have plain names, but anyone in that trade will be liable to have several identities if they are sensible.”

  -0-

  Holt’s enquiries in the public houses and shops in the old town had turned up little that was new about Edgar. He was known as a local character, and some even reckoned him to be tainted with something dubious, but no one had been a fountain of incriminating information. Edgar remained elusive.

  Holt had also found rooms for them in a comfortable lodging house on the West Bay. After a well-cooked dinner with an agreeable bottle of claret, Felix and Major Vernon went to walk on the beach. There was a band playing and because it was a balmy evening at the height of the season, the promenade was thronged.

  “This is a fine beach,” said Major Vernon, as they headed down the beach to the water’s edge, where it was much quieter. “It is not quite as fine as the sands at Bamburgh, of course.”

  He stood gazing out to sea for a moment and then turned north, and began to stride along as if he meant to walk all the way up the coast to the beach he had just mentioned.

  Ahead of them, a smartly dressed man and woman were going along, arm-in-arm, heads bent together. She was leaning in on him, and they stopped to exchange a passionate kiss, thinking they were not observed. Or perhaps they simply did not care, Felix thought.

  “Wedding journey?” remarked Major Vernon, stooping to pick up a piece of driftwood that resembled a shepherd’s crook. He leant on it and gazed out to the sea.

  “Perhaps,” Felix said, watching them turn back and head up the beach. No doubt they were eager to be back at their lodgings, he thought, not without a touch of envy. In his fancy for a moment he saw himself with Sukey, walking on the same beach, arm in arm, with the prospect of various intimate pleasures to follow. It made him dry-throated with desire and he had to stuff the idea away.

  “Has your father always carried that staff of his?” Major Vernon said.

  “For as long as I can remember. I have been falling over it for as long as that. He leaves it about on the floor.”

  Vernon smiled at that and began to write in the damp sand. He wrote ‘Eliza’ and ‘Edgar’ and then made a dotted a line to join the names.

  “This connection is, at the moment, pure supposition,” he said, “but we have to start somewhere.”

  Then he drew a question mark below and added two lines to make a triangle. “Who or what might link Miss Jones to Mr Edgar?”

  “Lord Rothborough,” said Felix, and expecting a reproof, added, “I am being facetious.”

  “You are to the point,” said Major Vernon. “Lord Rothborough brought them both to Holbroke. Edgar would not have come if Lord Rothborough had not wanted to surprise Lady Maria. And if he were not wealthy and generous, Lady Warde and her maid would not be there. But if my theory is correct, and Edgar knew Eliza from some previous association, then Lord Rothborough summoning him is irrelevant. He would have been there anyway, to collect whatever Eliza had stolen for him. Or part of it.”

  “We ought to be able to find where he stayed before he came to Holbroke,” pointed out Felix.

  “Exactly. And once we have his movements, then all will be a little clearer, I hope.” Major Vernon looked down at his diagram. “You brought up revenge, Mr Carswell,” he went on. “It is worth considering. What if Eliza Jones was not acting alone? That she had a colleague in her enterprise who was –”

  “Someone closely connected with her?” Felix said. “But there was nobody, you said so yourself; the woman kept herself resolutely to herself.”

  “Not entirely – she managed to seduce Syme. There maybe someone else, someone I have overlooked entirely. We must go back and look over everything again. But first we will pay a call on the government in exile of Santa Magdalena. I still want to know what Edgar was talking to the ex-chancellor about.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  They rode back to Stanegate the following day. It was a long, tiresome journey, with the weather turning unpleasantly humid from noon onwards. The end of the journey brought a little relief as the weather finally broke, and the last few miles were accompanied by a thunderstorm. They arrived, soaking wet, to take their shelter in the house in Park Street. Predictabl
y enough, Mrs Bolland was not pleased to see them.

  She lost no time telling Giles that she felt he was thoroughly abusing his position and that she would tell the gentleman who owned the house that he should never let the place again to such inconsiderate people. Giles, who had just pulled off his boots and was standing dripping in the hall, was wondering if her tongue had been unleashed by the storm and was for a long moment quite at a loss to know what to do about her. He was formulating some vague put-down, when Holt came upstairs, having dealt with the horses and said, bluntly, “Stop your ruddy grumbling, woman! You should be glad you have a place at all, the way you carry on! Now, will you go and make up the fire in the kitchen! I have these gentlemen’s coats to dry.”

  This had a salutary effect and she went bustling off. Yielding up his soaking coat to Holt, Giles felt grateful to him for his energy and loyalty. It had been a punishing ride, and as Carswell had pointed out rather too acidly, quite unnecessary given the new railway service.

  Ahead of him, Carswell was carefully and cautiously climbing upstairs as if every step hurt him.

  Noticing this, Holt said, “I’ve a liniment, Mr Carswell, that you might find useful.” Carswell stopped and turned. He looked somewhat grey-faced.

  “Oh?” he said.

  “Works a treat, sir,” said Holt. “The Surgeon of 33rds swore by it. Lard and oil of cloves.”

  “Sounds excellent, “ said Giles.

  “I will try anything,”Carswell said. “I don’t suppose that gorgon would draw me a bath, not even for fifty guineas, so yes, Holt, I will try your liniment.”

  “And some brandy and hot water,” said Giles.

  “Yes,” Carswell said, starting up the stairs again, “Exactly.” But he stopped again. “Oh Holt, those papers –”

  “The Spanish ones, sir?”

  “Yes, I put them in my pack. Where is it? I am worried they got wet.”

  “They didn’t, sir. I took the liberty of redoing your pack. Well, it was a bit... sloppy, sir. Wouldn’t pass inspection. They will be have been safe as houses in there.”

  “Oh, thank you,” said Carswell, rather astonished.

  “How did I ever manage without you, Holt?” said Giles digging in his pocket. “Here.”

  “There’s no need for that, sir,” said Holt. “But thank you.”

  They made their way upstairs and sat in their stockinged feet and damp shirts, drinking brandy in silence while the storm rattled the sashes. There were letters waiting for Giles from Northminster – nothing to alarm, he was thankful to find. After a while, Carswell hauled himself out of his chair and went hobbling off to his bed, and Giles continued to sit alone, with only a guttering candle for company. He was bone-tired, it was true, but his mind would not let go of the problem of Edgar and Eliza and he sat turning the facts over and over in his mind, weighing the possibilities and probabilities.

  Then, finally, he went up to his own bed, and, coming into the room, remembered Laura lying there in her embroidered shawl, and felt a stab of longing. It was soon assuaged by the knowledge he would see her again tomorrow evening.

  -0-

  “There they are,” said Carswell.

  They were sitting on a rustic seat, with white roses trained over it. Both of them were wearing black, but one woman wore the sort of mourning that had nothing to do with grief, and everything to do with display. As a result she presented a highly picturesque appearance, in a complex lace bonnet and holding a black lace fan, all set off by her dark Spanish colouring.

  “That is Mrs Ramirez, Dona Clara, on the right,” murmured Carswell, “and the other lady, with the book, is Dona Blanca, Martinez’s widow.”

  If Dona Clara was the showier of the two women, Dona Blanca in her way, was equally striking, and far more to Giles’ taste. Her attire was quiet but elegant, and she had a beautiful, clear complexion. She was studying her book with great concentration.

  Dona Clara looked straight at them and alerted her companion with a touch on her shoulder and a few words. For a moment Dona Blanca was startled, but then she smiled warmly towards them.

  “Oh, Mr Carswell,” she said, getting up and walking up to them. She had a soft Irish accent that was pleasant on the ear. “How delightful to see you. You remember Dona Clara, I think?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Carswell said, bowing to Dona Clara who had not risen. “This is Major Vernon, my employer.”

  Giles made his bows and said, “We were hoping to speak to Don Luiz – do you know where he might be?”

  “I believe he is doing some business,” said Dona Blanca. “He will be here presently. Will you wait?”

  “Yes – if you do not mind?” said Carswell.

  “Not at all,” said Dona Blanca. “It is so pleasant here. I had forgotten how beautiful English roses are!” She reached out and touched one of the blossoms.

  At this moment they were interrupted by a boy of about four, his face red with fury and stained with tears. He pushed past Giles and Carswell and hurled himself at Dona Clara, howling. A moment later, his nurse appeared and three other children. All were in a state of uproar, all expressed in loud, rapid Spanish. Dona Clara threw herself into this fray. As she hugged her little boy, her long loose cuff fell back and revealed, for a moment, a most sumptuous and distinctive bracelet set with rubies and pearls which Giles could not help think he had seen somewhere else.

  “Oh dear,” exclaimed Dona Blanca. “You must excuse us! Perhaps we should take a little stroll, yes?” She turned and said something in Spanish to Dona Clara who waved them away.

  So they began to walk with Dona Blanca, back along the path they had come. Giles wanted to go back and examine the bracelet but could not think of a way of achieving that.

  “They are wild children, I’m afraid,” said Dona Blanca. “But I think they are missing their home and friends there. It is hard for them, this exile.”

  “It cannot be easy for any of you,” Giles said.

  “Necessity demands great sacrifices of us at times,” she said. “Let us sit here. Red roses instead of white.”

  “Lancastrians instead of Yorkists,” Giles said.

  So they installed themselves in another rustic, rose-bedecked bower, this time on some scattered basket chairs.

  “Yes, quite,” said Dona Blanca. “Which are you, sir?”

  “In my profession it is best not take sides. But one might say that of life in general.”

  “Oh yes, exactly, but sometimes one finds oneself in strange places,” she remarked.

  “Like your poor brother-in-law,” Giles said.

  “Yes. That he should have come here is still a mystery. But I must thank Our Lord that he sent you gentlemen to him in his last hours. What you both did was so kind. And now he will always be here, in this place.” She gestured about her. “He can have English flowers on his grave. I will have to make sure that he does.” She gave a sigh. “May I ask, why did you wish to see Don Luiz? Was it something to do with Xavier?”

  “You may be able to supply the information we are after, in fact, ma’am,” said Giles. “Did Don Luis to your knowledge go to a dog fight at Byrescough on Wednesday, three nights ago – the night of the full moon?”

  “The day of Don Xavier’s funeral,” Carswell added.

  “That is an odd question, Major Vernon,” said Dona Blanca. “But he may well have done. I did not see him after dinner, and we dined early because of the funeral. He does often go out in the evening. It is the custom of Santa Magdalena, really – our gentlemen are not particularly domesticated.”

  “So you would not be shocked to know he was seen at an illegal dog fight?” Carswell said.

  “Not really. It is a cruel sport but, it is a great passion among the people of the island – that and cock-fighting. It would not be possible, as it has been here, to suppress it. I remember discussing this with my late husband, when the legislation was passed here. We always had an English newspaper – in fact we wondered at it being passed! It was quite im
possible to think of such a thing happening in Santa Magdalena.”

  “Lord Rothborough was one of the men who pushed it through,” Carswell said, and Giles was aware that he was studying Dona Blanca’s face. “I think you may know him, ma’am?”

  Dona Blanca frowned slightly and said, “Why do you say that?”

  “Because,” Carswell went on, “and I hope you do not mind me saying this, and forgive me if I am mistaken, but I think we have met before, when I was a child in Paris. I have a distinct memory of you, ma’am, from somewhere.”

  “You do?”

  “Perhaps my memory is playing tricks. But just sitting here these last minutes – and thinking about it, a great deal, since we last met – it seems to me, that I do know you.”

  “You remember that you were a child in Paris?” she said.

  “I have fragments of memories, that is all. I left just after my second birthday, I believe.”

  “You were just two and two weeks,” she said, and then put her hand over her mouth. She was breathing hard, and looking down. “Oh.”

  “So we have met!” exclaimed Carswell “I was sure we had. And you must know Lord Rothborough then. Perhaps you helped him, when my mother abandoned me. I think I remember you telling me the English for squirrel.”

  She got up and walked away a little, and stood with her back to them. Her shoulders were rising and falling, as if she were struggling with some great emotion.

  “It is rather more than that,” she said, in a quiet voice “It is...” She shook her head. “And she did not abandon you. If he told you that –”

  Carswell jumped up from his seat, saying, “She did not? Then what did happen?”

  She turned and came over to Carswell, her face now riven with misery, her eyes full of tears. Giles saw her reach out and touch Carswell’s cheek with her finger tips, her lips parted as if about to to speak, but no words came. The gesture was eloquent in itself and he was moved without quite knowing why. But then, as he looked at them both in profile and began to read that there were similarities there and despite Carswell’s striking resemblance to Lord Rothborough, there was another face that had added to his physiognomy. Carswell himself was staring at her, as if he too were reading the same signs.