The Sudbury School Murders clrm-4

by Ashley Gardner

  "

  I held up my hand. "I will let you know. You must trust me and say nothing."

  She nodded. I thought I understood some of Rutledge's exasperation. Belinda was not stupid, but she was young and romantic. Her father's secretary sending her secret correspondence via a maid would be the height of foolishness. I could be dismissed, or worse, and I hated to think what Rutledge would do to Belinda.

  I would not like to see her hurt, but I hoped that when the infatuation between her and Sebastian ended, it would bring her back down to earth.

  I said good-bye, touched my hat, and went to fetch a horse to take me to Sudbury.

  Chapter Three

  The village of Sudbury lay on a stretch of the canal between Hungerford and Froxfield. The canal and the school had made tiny Sudbury important. Bargemen and parents of Sudbury boys frequented its public houses and inns, and tutors and pupils walked its lanes. The High Street retained much charm of the Tudor age. The half-timbered and stone houses were rather crumbling, but for historians, it was a fine place to stroll and contemplate old England.

  I left my horse in the yard at the tavern and approached the constable's house at the end of the High Street. A cat sat square in the middle of the cobbles before the house, washing its face. I bade it a polite good morning.

  My knock was answered by a large woman in, of all things, a fine lawn dress with short sleeves. The sleeves cut into the folds of her plump arms, ballooning her skin. She wore a stiff white cap with tapes that were soiled and worn. She regarded me with a wary eye, her lips pursed. She was an unbecoming woman, and I do not mean she was plain. I could see a prettiness that time had marred only a little, but her demeanor had been soured by belligerence.

  "What is it?" she snapped.

  I removed my rain-drenched hat and made her a polite bow. "Good morning. I am Captain Lacey. I would like to speak to the Romany, Sebastian, if I may."

  She folded her arms. "And why would you be wanting to do that?"

  "Sebastian was employed by the school, as am I," I said. "Naturally, I am interested in his well-being."

  She cast me a questioning gaze, as though wondering why I should bother. "A filthy Romany woman already tried to see him. I sent her on her way."

  I wondered who the Romany woman might be-mother, sister, lover? I said nothing, only waited while the woman assessed that I was not Romany but a gentleman.

  "You come from the school?" she asked, still doubtful.

  "I am secretary to the headmaster."

  This seemed to impress her. She opened the door wider. "Mr. Rutledge is a fine gentleman."

  I had my own opinion about that.

  The woman led me through a low-ceilinged, flagstone hall and out into a courtyard. At the back of this lay a low stone building. It might have been a cheese house were this the abode of a dairy farmer. At one time it probably had been. Now it was used as a makeshift jail.

  The plump woman unlocked and opened the door. Sebastian sat on a stone bench in the back of a tiny room lit only by a small, high-set window. I had to stoop to enter, and once inside, I could not straighten to my full six-foot height. Sebastian was as tall as I. He started to stand up, but I gestured him to remain seated.

  The young man did not look well. His face was pasty, his breathing shallow. There was plenty of air in the room, if a bit musty; the window was propped open to let in a breeze and hint of spring rain.

  The woman did not close the door. She stood in the yard, arms folded, as though she were a sentry. The prisoner would have to go through her, her stance said, if he wanted to escape.

  Sebastian may have wanted to escape, but he looked in no condition to do so. He hunkered on the bench, hugging himself.

  I looked pointedly at the woman, and she looked back at me, hands on hips. I pulled the door shut, closing it in her face.

  She never moved. I imagined her outside facing the closed door, hands on hips, waiting for me to open it again.

  I turned to Sebastian. "Are you well?"

  "Captain." Sebastian spoke in a low voice, his Romany vowels slurring, "I cannot stay here."

  "Well, you will have to at least until after the inquest," I said. "I warn you, you might have to face the magistrate after that. Rutledge has taken against you."

  He looked up at me, his face gray. "I will see the magistrate, I will face him, I am not afraid. But I cannot stay here. I cannot breathe. The walls… " He gestured with a shaking hand.

  I thought I understood. This was more than a Romany man's dislike of being indoors. Sebastian must have an unnatural fear of enclosed places. I had met a man in the army with such a malady, a lieutenant. The man was brave-hearted in battle and could rally his troops like the best general, but put him in a cellar and he developed cold sweats and clawed his way to the door.

  "I am willing to help you get out," I said. Sebastian looked up at me with dark-eyed hope, like a seasick man who believes shore might be near. "But you must tell me exactly what you did last night. I need the entire truth."

  Hope receded. "I cannot."

  I sat on the bench beside him, tired of bending my head. I rested my hands on my walking stick. "Did you meet with Miss Rutledge?"

  He looked alarmed. He avoided my eye, bowed his head. "I will not speak."

  "Do not be so pig headed," I said. "Dying nobly on the gallows to spare your lady's name would be foolish and help no one."

  Sebastian stared at me in amazement. Suffering for love was noble-at least that was fashion these days-especially when that love was forbidden.

  I softened. "I know, Sebastian. When I was young, I too fell in love where I should not have."

  He looked skeptical, but I spoke the truth. My father had expected me to marry a rich man's daughter. I instead had fallen in love with a young woman of little fortune. What's more, I'd eloped with her, with the help of my friend and mentor, Aloysius Brandon.

  Carlotta had regretted marrying me almost right away. One day, three years into our marriage, she'd left me. I had not seen her since. James Denis knew where she was. Last summer, he had offered the information of her whereabouts to me. I had refused, knowing that he had only offered to make me obligated to him. He'd told me once that he would win the enmity between us by making me owe him too many favors to oppose him.

  Often in the night when I lay awake, fighting off melancholia, I was very tempted to go to Denis and beg for the information. I wanted to find her. I wanted to look into Carlotta's pretty eyes and demand, Why did you leave me?

  If I found my wife, I'd also discover what had become of my daughter. Was Gabriella still alive? Was she happy? Would she remember me?

  I had not yet succumbed to the temptation to sell myself to Denis, but I was coming close.

  "Tell me," I said to Sebastian, my tone severe, "everything you did from the time I saw you yesterday afternoon until now. The entire truth. The sooner you tell me, the sooner you can leave this room."

  Sebastian shuddered. His face shone with perspiration. "Very well." He wet his lips. "I did my duties in the stable as usual. I cleaned the tack and brushed the horses, then helped feed and bed them down for the night. No different from any other day."

  "And Middleton? What did he do?"

  "He asked about you."

  I stopped. "Did he?"

  "Asked about you and why you were here. Did you know him?"

  "I'd met him once," I said carefully. "In London. What was he like?"

  Sebastian shrugged. "Kept to himself. Came to Sudbury to enjoy the country life, he said. But he didn't much like dirtying his hands. He left the messy work to us. I didn't mind because I like moving among the beasts. He knew that I could handle a horse, no matter what, better than any of his other lads."

  "Did Middleton speak much to anyone else at Sudbury?" I asked. "Rutledge? The pupils?"

  Sebastian shook his head. "He watched me and the other stable hands whenever we saddled horses for the students. Sometimes he'd talk to the boys while they wa
ited, but not much. Only one of the tutors rides much, Tunbridge, I think his name is. And Miss Rutledge rides."

  His eyes took on a soft look. I imagined that was how he and Belinda had met, Sebastian saddling her mount and her looking on, young and pretty in her riding habit.

  "What happened last night after you finished your duties?" I persisted.

  Sebastian took a breath. "Mr. Middleton said he was going into Sudbury to the pub, and not to look for him until late. I was glad, because Miss Rutledge sent word that she wanted to see me. I went to her."

  So Belinda had indicated. "You are a pair of brave fools," I said. "What time was this?"

  He thought. Sebastian would probably not own a watch and likely could not read the time anyway. "The clock at the school struck ten, I think. I walked to the canal and down the towpath. Miss Rutledge had told me to meet her around the first bend past Lower Sudbury Lock. There is a stand of trees there that would screen us from the school."

  "How did she send the message? Did she write you?"

  He shook his head. "I cannot read. She sent her maidservant."

  "Unfortunate," I said.

  He looked indignant. "Bridgett loves Miss Rutledge."

  "Perhaps, but even if Bridgett would die for her mistress, tongues slip. But go on. Did Miss Rutledge meet you as planned?"

  He nodded. "She came late. The clock had struck the half hour before I saw her. Bridgett came with her. I was glad. I would not have liked her out in the dark, alone."

  "In that case, you should have sent word for her to stay home."

  His eyes were anguished. "But I craved to see her. Her father guards her well."

  In a school filled with boys and a handsome young Romany in the stables I could hardly blame Rutledge. I reflected, though, that in this instance, he'd not guarded her sternly enough.

  "So, she arrived, and you met her. What did you speak about?"

  He smiled. His smile was dark and roguish, and had my daughter lived with me, I'd certainly set a guard on her day and night. "In truth, sir, little. My heart was full, I couldn't think of what to say."

  I would have accused him of reading too much poetry had he been able to read at all. "I must ask you directly, are you and she lovers?"

  He looked almost shocked. "No, sir. She is an innocent. I would never touch her, never."

  The pair seemed too romantic to be true. I had been a bit romantic about Carlotta, but my craving for her had not been merely in my heart. I'd proposed to her in a Norfolk meadow; when she'd said yes, I'd laid her down and made sweet love to her then and there.

  But then I'd married her right away. Our families had been furious, but society had accepted the marriage-we'd been of similar background and class, and our alliance was no worse than any other. Sebastian and Belinda, on the other hand, would be thoroughly condemned. Belinda would be ruined, received nowhere, her family could shun her-living death in a world that valued honor and social standing above all else. Sebastian's own family would likewise not be pleased.

  "Well, at least you were sensible in that regard," I said. "How long did you stand and gaze at each other?"

  His face darkened. "Not long. We were together twenty minutes, I think. She was gone before the clock struck the hour again."

  That took us up to eleven o'clock. "What did you do then?"

  "I stayed near the canal. I did not want her reappearance at the school to be connected to mine, if someone should see her return from her late walk."

  "Very sensible of you. How long did you stay?"

  "I do not know. I was deep in thought. Then I decided not to return to the stables, but to visit my family." He gave me a defiant look, as though I would not believe him. "I knew they were moored down the canal near Great Bedwyn, so I walked that way. I boarded their boat, and we shared food and wine and conversation. It was good to see them."

  Some Roma traveled up and down the canals in boats with all their worldly goods, much like other Roma traveled overland in caravans. They would take odd jobs and buy food and wine from any that would sell it to them.

  I sometimes envied the gypsies their freedom, although I knew it was not true freedom-they lived hand to mouth and could not give it up when they liked.

  "Did you stay with them all night?"

  "A good part of it," Sebastian said. "I argued with my uncles-they do not believe I should work for the… English." He paused before he said English, and I knew he'd suppressed a more derogatory, Romany term. "But I want to have maybe a better life. Not hungry, not stealing."

  "I understand," I said. "What then?"

  "We argued for a while, then I left the boat and walked back to the stables."

  "What time did you arrive?"

  He bowed his head, stared at his fingers. "I think the clocks had struck two."

  "Did you see Middleton?"

  He looked at me, shrugged. "No. I thought he'd gone to bed. It was very quiet. I went to sleep."

  He'd have had no reason to check that Middleton had actually returned. I let that go.

  Sebastian went on. In the morning, he'd began his duties as usual, turning the horses out to the yard while he mucked out stalls. At about dawn, one of the stable hands had dashed in, looking horrified, and said that Middleton had been found dead in the lock.

  Sebastian's story sounded plausible and was probably true. Unfortunately, however, the story provided ample gaps of time in which Sebastian could have met Middleton, killed him, and disposed of his body in the lock.

  Even if Belinda dared admit that Sebastian talked with her between ten-thirty and eleven o'clock, there was still the time he waited on the canal bank, the time it took him to walk to his family's boat, the time he'd spoken with them, and the time he'd walked back to the stables. He had stood right next to the lock in question, lost in thought, which was not good. A canny magistrate could poke plenty of holes in his story.

  On the other hand, his very vagueness spoke of his innocence. If Sebastian were guilty, would he not come up with a story that accounted for his whereabouts every minute?

  His family would no doubt confirm that Sebastian had visited them, but would a magistrate believe them? Would a jury?

  I sighed. "Did you see anyone, anyone at all in your journey up and down the canal? Hear anything?"

  Sebastian shook his head. "I heard only noises of the night. I saw no other person."

  Most helpful.

  I rose, remembering in time to duck my head in the low-ceilinged room. "I will do what I can to help you, Sebastian. I cannot promise it will be easy, but I will help."

  "Do not tell the magistrate about Belinda," Sebastian pleaded quickly.

  He was a handsome lad. A girl constantly bullied and sheltered by her father would seek solace in the smiles of an attractive man who admired her. But theirs was a doomed love.

  "I hope we do not have to." I paused. "Who was the Romany woman who tried to visit you?"

  Sebastian started. "Woman?"

  "The constable's housekeeper told me that a Romany woman came to visit you, but the housekeeper would not let her see you."

  Sebastian's mouth was open. He looked pale, but that might still be his fear of the enclosed room. "My mother, most like," he whispered.

  I could always ask her. Questioning the Roma would be my next task.

  "A piece of advice, Sebastian," I said. "When you face the magistrate, tell the truth. Stick to the truth, do not try to embellish and do not avoid answering a question. If you stay with the truth, the person lying will eventually be revealed. Do you understand?"

  I do not think he did, but he nodded.

  I gave him a few more reassuring phrases, then I departed.

  The door opened for me easily enough. The woman had not locked us in. She was waiting, though, in the yard, ample arms folded. As soon as I emerged, she slammed the door and shot home the bolt, as though fearing that poor Sebastian would leap from his den and murder us both.

  Chapter Four

  I retur
ned to the tavern to collect my horse, intending to ride down the canal from here to Bedwyn to look for Sebastian's family.

  The tavern, called the Boar, was the tavern to which Middleton apparently had been making his way last night. I inquired of the hostler whether he had seen Middleton the night before. The man shrugged. I decided to discover what the landlord knew and ducked my head to enter the warm, dark interior of the taproom.

  Despite the excitement of the murder, the tavern was quiet, the people of Sudbury having gone about their business. They had not forgotten, however. When the landlord approached me, he expressed his views.

  "Gave me a turn, hearing we had such a brutal murder so close to home. The lads hereabouts are all looking out for the murderer, I can tell you."

  I asked him if Middleton had come to the tavern the previous night, and he shook his head. "Never saw him. Not last night. Came in here from time to time, he did, but didn't talk much with us. Kept to himself. Looked on in kind of a quiet way. But last night, no. Didn't darken the doorway."

  I wondered why Middleton had set off for the tavern and never reached it. Had the killer lain in wait for him and dispatched him at once, or taken him somewhere?

  Someone waved to me from a dark corner. I recognized Simon Fletcher, the Classics tutor. I moved across the room to him, and he grinned and gestured to the chair beside him.

  "Sit down, Lacey, and share a pint. Poor old Middleton," he said jovially as I took a chair facing him. "One day saddling your horse, the next dead in a canal. You never know what the world will send your way, do you?"

  "Did you know him?" I asked.

  Fletcher shook his head. He had lank brown hair that was wearing thin and rather flat brown eyes. His face was long, horse-like, but his mouth curved into ready smiles that made his otherwise dull eyes twinkle. "I never went to the stables much. Not a horse man. I trust my own shanks or ride a coach if I need to go farther afield. Don't much understand the beasts."

  The landlord's wife brought me an ale. I much wanted to be on my way scouring the canal for Sebastian's kin, but Fletcher could possibly tell me much. I took a fortifying sip of ale and found it spicy and warm, pleasant after the chill rain outside.