‘It’s your title,’ Silas said. ‘Can he do that? He’d have to be proved sane, wouldn’t he?’
‘Well, Quill is a doctor,’ Thomas reasoned. ‘It might be possible for such a man to arrange the release of a patient, but your brother is in the Netherlands, and we know Quill didn’t have enough time to visit, confer with the medical men there and get back to be seen boarding a train on the Wednesday evening.’
‘Which suggests advanced planning.’ Archer concluded. ‘Which in turn suggests this was orchestrated before, or during, his killing spree in the East End.’
‘A fall-back plan?’
‘Exactly, Tom. If he didn’t catch me there, he had something else in mind to lure, trap and kill me. The end is the same; to restore Crispin to the title of Lord Clearwater.’
‘Don’t know why he didn’t just murder you in your bed or poison you at one of your posh lunches,’ Silas joked.
‘Thank you for that, Mr Hawkins.’ Archer kicked him playfully under the table before brushing his leg with his own. ‘Either would have been too obvious. He doesn’t want to get caught, and I think we can assume he likes to play games. A cat with its prey.’
‘Shit-head games,’ Silas complained. ‘Can’t find any place near Barrenmoor he might have gone. Got a map with more on it?’
‘I can get one,’ Archer said.
A knock on the door brought Thomas to his feet, and he buttoned his tails.
‘Come!’ Archer called.
James appeared, stepping in and standing attentively as he had been shown. Thomas checked the time again and was pleased to see James had responded promptly to the bell. He arrived unhurriedly and with nothing out of place. Thomas was warmed by pride.
‘Ah, James.’ Archer rose and took the footman into the drawing room leaving Thomas and Silas to exchange quizzical glances.
‘He’s a good-looking lad, Tommy.’
‘And one who knows how to behave above stairs, Mr Hawkins,’ Thomas said with a gracious, but pointed bow of the head.
‘Point made, Payne.’
Archer returned a few minutes later and closed the doors.
‘I’ve asked James to run an errand,’ he explained. ‘He shouldn’t be long. He’s gone for a map. That should help. I interrupted you, Tom. Where were we?’
‘The telegram. Birthday refers to October twenty-fifth. The rest suggests Quill is working to have your brother released and reinstated. That’s a guess, but it gives him a motive. We know he wants you dead, Archer, but it looks like he is planning to do it with your brother’s knowledge. What about the postcard?’
‘Oh, bugger!’
Archer was on his feet again. Agitated, he hurried to the bell-pull and tugged it twice.
‘Now what?’ Silas grinned. ‘What’s in that handsome head of yours?’
‘A second opinion,’ Archer said, leaving the mysterious comment in the ether as he came back to join them. ‘So!’ He clapped his hands. ‘Moving on from the telegram for now, what’s this all about?’
He picked up the envelope and removed the postcard.
‘Postmark?’ Thomas inquired.
‘You’re one step ahead as usual. There are three, and they make no sense.’ Archer examined both sides of the envelope. ‘I can’t read one of them, it’s smudged, but it looks like it was either sent from here in the city, or a place called Inglestone, or a third place I can’t read. It’s Quill’s writing, so there’s no mystery as to who sent it, and it’s dated the day after he would have arrived at Barrenmoor.’
‘Hang on.’ Silas flipped pages in the Bradshaw’s guide. ‘Yeah, there it is. Inglestone is about five miles from Barrenmoor Ridge which, you will be fascinated to know, is one of the highest peaks in the country, according to geographers and, according to this chap, “Of outstanding natural beauty, but suffers from sever conditions in winter”.’
‘I think that’s severe,’ Thomas corrected.
‘Yeah, alright, professor.’
Another knock, another ‘Come!’ and James reappeared just as unflustered as before.
‘James,’ Archer said, beckoning him closer. ‘Before you go, could you answer me a question or two?’
‘If I am able, Sir.’
Thomas glanced at Silas as he covered his papers, concerned that Archer might draw James into the mystery.
His concern increased when Archer handed the footman the envelope. ‘What do you make of these postmarks?’
James read the stamps, inspected the back and opened the flap to peer inside. ‘They look standard to me, Sir.’
‘But what do they tell you?’
‘That this letter was dispatched from an office in Inglestone on…’ He raised his eyes, and his lips moved as he counted days. ‘Last Thursday.’ He examined the back. ‘It passed through the Essex-Road sorting office on Saturday and… Oh!’
‘What?’ Archer’s eyes were alive with excitement. ‘What is it?’
‘Just a coincidence,’ James said. ‘Sir, sorry. It passed through Mount Pleasant on Sunday morning. It might have been leaving the building as I arrived.’
‘You can read that smudge?’
‘You get used to it, Sir.’
‘It arrived here on Sunday, late,’ Archer said. ‘Is that unusual?’
‘Not particularly, Sir. Not with this amount of postage paid. From Yorkshire to the city should be no more than tuppence depending on the weight, but the sender has paid double, suggesting he considered the message urgent. It wouldn’t have made a difference. The tuppenny post is handled quickly no matter the postage paid.’
‘Do you know Yorkshire, James?’ the viscount asked.
‘No, Sir. But general geography was useful to know in my line of work.’
‘I thought you just delivered messages,’ Silas said.
‘Always keen to better my prospects, Mr Hawkins. The more a post boy knows, the faster he will be promoted.’
‘Well, I’m surprised you aren’t the Postmaster General by now, James.’ Archer was impressed. ‘Can you tell me anything else?’
James lifted the envelope to his nose and sniffed the back. ‘The envelope was made locally,’ he said. ‘As opposed to abroad.’
‘How the fu… How can you tell that?’ Silas’ face was a picture of disbelief.
‘Again, Sir, you become accustomed. It’s the smell of the paper, see? It’s a standard, cheap envelope, not of the quality someone such as Your Lordship might use, but it was wax sealed.’
‘Incredible,’ Archer beamed. ‘Wax sealed? There was no seal.’
‘It was stuck down before it was opened.’ James was confident. He showed the men the envelope flap. ‘Most of us would use glue if we didn’t have sealing wax, a stamp or a signet ring,’ he explained. ‘It’s the easiest way, but this was sealed with a thin veil of wax under the flap. It’s more secure, but not everyone goes to the trouble.’ He handed the envelope back.
‘Unbelievable,’ Archer said. ‘That you can tell so much from one piece of paper.’
‘One piece of folded paper, Sir. Made from pulped wood, cut in a short-arm cross, folded to be sturdier than the average, sealed with wax and available in any shop that sells them. A common thing that has travelled further in the past five days than I have in my life.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Silas said. ‘You need to get out more.’
‘I hope that was of use, Sir?’
‘I think so,’ Archer said, looking at Thomas. He asked a silent question with his eyebrows, and Thomas nodded. Archer’s eyes flicked to the postcard on the table and then to Silas, who drew in a short breath, clicked his tongue as he thought, and nodded.
‘James,’ Archer said. ‘Before you go, can you tell me what you make of this?’
He handed James the pos
tcard, and the footman gave it his full attention, first examining the front and then flipping it over to look at the back.
‘Not going to sniff it?’ Silas joked.
‘No need, Sir.’ James was unmoved by his tone. ‘Postal cards, as opposed to letters, have been in use for over forty years and have improved in quality. This one is not standard issue from the post office, though. There’s an image, and it was not pre-stamped. The picture, as I am sure you have seen, is a tourist one, showing some kind of ruined building and yet with no title plate. There is no information as to what that building may be. There is a recent trend to mark the backs with such detail, you see. It was inside the envelope I take it?’
‘Correct,’ Archer nodded. ‘There’s no stamp on the card.’
‘Quite, Sir. It’s a simple thing. The sender bought the card but didn’t trust the delivery service not to read it, so he enveloped it. It’s a common practice. Nothing remarkable.’
‘Have you seen the image before?’
‘My job was more the delivery of telegrams,’ James said. ‘A different department, but I was sent to work in the general office from time to time. Even then, however, there is little time to admire the artwork of such things. I don’t recognise it at all.’
‘And what about the writing?’ Thomas asked, and received a glare from Silas.
‘Yes,’ Archer agreed. ‘James may as well give us his thoughts on that, Silas. He appears to be an expert on the mail. How are you on handwriting, James?’
‘Anything but an expert, Sir,’ James admitted. ‘My own is school-taught enough and legible, but this, I would say, was written in a hurry. It’s not easy to read.’
‘But you can?’
James didn’t answer as he read the back of the card. As he concentrated, his brows came together and his mouth twisted at the corners in a way that Thomas found irresistibly attractive, but then, everything about the man was attractive. His pride burned brighter. He could tell Archer was rapt with admiration for the man too, but hopefully not for the same reason.
‘Ah,’ James said. ‘May I?’ He pointed to the window.
Archer waved his hand in the direction. ‘Do whatever you need.’
The men watched in various states of wonder and confusion as James took the card closer to daylight and pulled back the net curtains. The glass was rain-splattered and the view beyond dim in the drizzle, but apparently that was enough for his purpose. He held the card to the light and again examined both sides.
‘Don’t tell me you’re an ink expert as well,’ Silas said.
‘Sadly not, Sir,’ James replied, letting the curtain drop. ‘But this card was written with a narrow nib, you can tell from the letters of course, but also, it has pressed through to raise some letters on the front. It was resting on something soft when it was written as opposed to being on a desk or similar.’ He handed the card back to Archer. ‘As for the meaning of the message…’
‘Yes?’ Archer prompted when James didn’t continue. ‘What?’
James’ eyes fell on the atlas and travelled via Thomas to come to rest on the viscount. He bit his bottom lip before he took an audible breath.
‘Please excuse the impertinence, My Lord,’ he said. ‘But exactly what kind of trouble are you in?’
Seventeen
Archer’s heart landed in his stomach. How on earth could the man tell there was trouble just from reading some random words on a postcard? He heard Silas gasp, but kept his eyes firmly on James. The footman hadn’t been impertinent, he had been intuitive, and now he showed no expression other than patience as he waited for the viscount to speak.
‘My Lord?’ Thomas prompted, but Archer held up a finger for silence.
Thinking through his options, he found only two.
He could send the man about his duties and say no more about it, or he could use whatever resources he had to offer.
The problem was, he didn’t know James. Last night he spoke flatteringly enough of Clearwater House and his treatment, his trust and himself, but any man finding himself in a new job would be keen to say what he thought wanted to be heard.
Messenger boys had a reputation for being slippery characters when it was to their own advantage and Archer erred on the side of caution.
‘Before I answer you, James,’ he said. ‘I would like you to see to that other matter, but differently. I shall explain in a moment.’ Turning to Silas and Thomas, he added, ‘This won’t take long. Could I ask you gentlemen to leave us for a minute?’
Confused, they agreed.
‘Come here, James,’ Archer said, calling him to the desk when they were alone. ‘It’s an odd request, but would you look out of the front window while I do something?’
James did so without question, something Archer appreciated.
He rewrote his instructions and slipped the note into an envelope. At the fireside bookcase, he pulled back a volume of poetry which opened a panel made of fake spines revealing a combination safe. He withdrew fifty pounds, closed the safe and the panel, and returned to the desk.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Over here.’
James came and stood attentively on the other side.
‘Take this.’ Archer handed him the envelope. ‘Mr Andrej doesn’t know this part of town so well, therefore I suggest you ride up front with him to give directions.’
‘Very good, Sir.’
‘No need to look so worried. He’s quite tame. Take that letter, you know its contents, but instead of asking them to deliver, I want you to bring it back. They won’t keep you long.’
‘Are you sure, Sir?’
‘Perfectly sure. They have it ready.’
‘I mean, are you sure you want me to do this?’
‘Yes.’
‘And they will let me walk out with it?’
‘They will when you show them my revised instructions, and…’ He handed James the fifty pounds. ‘When you pay them.’
James gawped at the money.
‘Take it.’
The footman did as he was told and put the money into the envelope.
‘I’ll expect you back within the hour,’ Archer said, offering a supportive smile. ‘You’d better take a cloak. Lucy will find you an umbrella.’
‘Very good, Sir.’
‘And before you go, James, not a word to the others.’ He took a pound note from his pocket. ‘Andrej will need to know what you’re about, so give him this and tell him it’s for him to spend for the same purpose if he wants. Off you go.’
James bowed and left the room. A moment later, Silas and Thomas were back, Thomas shutting the doors firmly.
‘What are you up to now?’ he said, rubbing his hands and grinning. ‘And how did he know we’re in trouble?’
‘It’s not how he knew,’ Archer said. ‘It’s the fact that he used the word trouble. We don’t know if we are. Quill’s playing a mind game. For all we know, the message means nothing.’
‘Yeah, well that’s hardly likely is it?’ said Silas.
‘May we ask what that was about?’
‘No, Thomas,’ Archer replied. ‘You don’t need to. If my intuition is as sharp as I think it is, you will find out within the hour.’
‘And if it isn’t?’
‘Then I am a little lighter in the pocket. But enough of that. I felt we were getting somewhere, and I think it’s about time Thomas took a trip to the attic.’
‘For what purpose?’ Thomas asked as he stood.
‘The chalkboard from my old nursery. That’s stored up there isn’t it?’
‘As far as I know.’
When Thomas left, Silas sat back in his chair, eying Archer suspiciously.
‘I know I’ve not known you long,’ he said. ‘But I’ve not seen you be
so devious before. What’s going on?’
‘That, I can’t tell you, Silas,’ Archer said, reaching for his hand. ‘Not for another sixty minutes. Will you forgive me?’
‘Archie, you don’t need to ask. I’m intrigued, that’s all.’
‘Well, turn your enquiring mind to the clues, if that’s what they are.’
While Silas continued to search the map of the Yorkshire moors for a location that might relate to the image, Archer examined the words on the postcard. Only a few made sense.
They were still in silent contemplation when Thomas returned with a chalkboard. He propped it on the table beneath the map of the country.
‘I brought chalk,’ he said. ‘And took the liberty of asking Lucy to bring coffee.’
‘Good man,’ Archer mumbled, his head down over another guide book, also looking for images.
‘Have you found anything possibly relevant?’ Thomas took the notes and transferred them to the board.
‘Nothing,’ Silas said. ‘Except that it’s five miles from the Barrenmoor depot to Inglestone, and the card was posted from there on Thursday morning. So, we know he was there then.’
‘Meanwhile,’ Archer added, ‘he’s gone to lengths to ensure I know, while possibly arranging for Crispin to be discharged into his care.’
The mantle clock ticking its steady rhythm was the only sound in the study, apart from the scratch of chalk and the occasional sigh of frustration. Lucy brought a tray, and Thomas served coffee.
They worked for nearly an hour until Silas said, ‘Your man’s got another five minutes.’
Archer wondered if he had made a mistake.
Apparently not. James returned, his hair wet and his face flushed. He waited at the open door.
‘Here he is,’ Archer said, relieved. ‘Come in.’
James was holding a small box in one hand and a large bunch of roses in the other. Archer clocked Silas’ intrigue as he threw aside the book and sat up straight.
Twisted Tracks (The Clearwater Mysteries Book 2) Page 19
