The Hanging Cage (The Northminster Mysteries Book 4)

by Harriet Smart

  “I do know, yes,” Mrs Rivers said, in a calm, careful voice. “In fact, you have this gentleman to thank that this situation is not a hundredfold worse. Major Vernon broke up their fight, and brought John home.”

  “Their fight?” said Latimer. “Ned was pinned to the ground, with a knife to his throat, absolutely unable to defend himself. I hardly call that a fight!” He turned to Giles. “He did mention you, sir, that you pulled John off him, and he was able to get away. For which I’m grateful. And I’m sure you will agree, it was not a fight but an out-and-out attack upon my son’s person!”

  “At that point, yes, that was how it seemed,” Giles said, “but unfortunately I do not know what preceded it. John said that there had been a strong insult, to which he was responding.”

  “You only have his word on that,” said Latimer.

  “Yes, of course. But it seemed to me that he might be speaking the truth. The insult was an extremely specific and unpleasant one, and I suspect John would have to be a quick-witted liar to come up with such a line to defend himself to me and his mother. It had the ring of truth about it. Of course, I don’t know the boy or his previous character but I have some experience in these matters professionally.”

  “Which is?” said Latimer.

  “Forgive me, I should present myself, sir,” Giles said. “I am Major Vernon, superintendent of the Northern Counties Criminal Investigation Office. I was formerly Chief Constable of Northminster.”

  Latimer digested this information,

  “Of course,” he said. “Earle mentioned you were about. Well, professional considerations aside, I would like to assure you that my son is not in the habit of bandying about such insults that make other boys leap upon him and put a knife to his throat. He is a gentleman’s son and I have raised him accordingly!”

  “And of course you cannot entertain for a moment that he might have lied to you!” burst out Mrs Rivers. “No, it all has to be John’s fault! Of course!”

  “Don’t seek to excuse him,” said Latimer. “I knew this would be the case. I knew it!”

  “I do not!” said Mrs Rivers. “What he did was very bad, and I have made that clear to him. But what Ned said – it was utterly foul, and one would need a strong character to let such a remark pass. You would have horsewhipped anyone who said such a thing to you, I’m certain.”

  “So what was it, then?” Latimer said.

  “I can hardly bear to repeat it,” said Mrs Rivers, walking across the room to avoid Latimer’s fierce regard. “It was so unpleasant –”

  “Just say it, for the Lord’s sake!” exclaimed Latimer.

  Mrs Rivers closed the kitchen door, then swallowed hard and said, “He called Louisa and me whores and said that he would have Louisa for money just as you had had me.”

  Latimer shook his head.

  “I cannot believe that. I cannot believe that he would say such a thing.”

  “John swears that he did. He was scared half to death that Major Vernon would carry him off to the Bridewell if he did not tell the truth. He was defending my honour and that of his sister, and that is the truth of it, even if he went about it in entirely the wrong way. I cannot ignore that,” Mrs Rivers said. “Can I?” she added, with a look of appeal at Giles.

  Giles wondered how much honour Mrs Rivers had left to defend. Ned Latimer’s insult, ugly though it was, possibly revealed an important truth about the nature of the relationship between his father and Mrs Rivers. They were certainly far more than acquaintances. Latimer had betrayed himself with his use of Mrs Rivers’ Christian name. Was she his mistress? But then why was her situation so wretched? Latimer looked extremely prosperous and could have easily have made her life a great deal more comfortable.

  He glanced again at Mrs Rivers, who was standing, in all her glorious beauty, in a patch of sunlight on the floor, her back straight, her features formed into a mask of fierce dignity. Perhaps she had chosen to resist him and take the consequences. That was a brave choice given the circumstances, and perhaps a heartbreaking one, for there had been a great deal of passion in their angry exchanges. Was he looking here at the wreckage of an illicit love affair, which had wounded their children as much as themselves? Ned Latimer’s insult sounded as if it were born of shame and disgust at his father’s actions, as much as from youthful lust and profound confusion about how he was supposed to behave.

  “I cannot accept that,” said Latimer. “He would not have said that.”

  “Perhaps you might speak with their schoolmaster?” Giles said. “Or, better still some of the other boys, who may have seen the whole thing develop. Then you will be able to get to the truth of the matter. If that is what you want, of course.”

  “What do you mean by that, sir?” said Latimer. “That I might not hear what I want to hear?”

  “That is always a possibility,” Giles said. “And Mrs Rivers has every right to investigate further. She admits her son’s conduct was not what it ought to be. It would help her to know exactly how it came to pass so that he can be correctly steered in future.”

  “Yes, exactly, sir!” said Mrs Rivers.

  Giles knew he was putting the cat squarely amongst the pigeons, but it struck him that Latimer needed at least to acknowledge the possibility that his son could be just as unruly as Johnny Rivers.

  The threat of questioning others would seem as good a way to accomplish this as any, for any investigation of this nature would be likely to lay Mr Latimer’s own conduct squarely in the line of judgement. His scowl showed that he understood that well. He could not defend his own son without admitting his own fault.

  “I will speak to him,” said Latimer, after a long, uncomfortable moment. “Though what good it will do any of us...” He gave a sigh. “If he has lied to me and said this thing, then...” He shook his head and put out his hand vaguely in the direction of Mrs Rivers, as if attempting to make a conciliatory gesture.

  Giles decided this was the moment to take his leave. They were, no doubt, glad to see him go.

  He walked away, ruminating on the problem of Louisa Rivers’ reluctance to speak. Perhaps, once she was beyond the first shock of her friend’s death, she might be more willing to talk. He felt certain that her reticence was significant – but he wondered if he were the right person to gain her confidence. A woman might be better suited to such a task. Someone like Sukey Connolly, perhaps.

  He turned into the main square and saw the Northminster Mail Coach heading towards the Falcon. The road must be clear again, he thought with some relief, and letters could be sent.

  Chapter Seven

  “Mr Yardley has taken the body?” Felix asked again, scarcely understanding what Hawkins the undertaker had just told him.

  “Yes, sir,” said Mr Hawkins. “He said he’d spoken to Mr Earle about it, and that they’d decided the best thing was that she was to go up to the castle and you could do your business there.”

  “But he did not have a letter of authorisation or some such?”

  “No, sir. But he is on the bench with Mr Earle. And he is the Squire. I wasn’t going to argue with him. He’s not the sort of gentleman that you can argue with. It doesn’t do for a fellow like me to get on the wrong side of a gentleman like that, sir.”

  “He will find the same applies to me!” exclaimed Felix. “He had no right to do this, no right at all.”

  Felix made his way up to the castle, wondering how he was going to deal with Yardley’s actions. He supposed he would have to accept the situation, for it was more important to get the post-mortem done quickly. There could be no progress until they had a cause of death.

  When he had paid his call on Mrs Yardley after dinner last night, the Squire had not been in attendance on his wife. Miss Yardley had been there, and had apologised for her brother’s absence. He was, she said, casting horoscopes; Felix had wondered if this was not some kind of euphemism for being in his cups. If yesterday’s punchbowl had been in any way characteristic of his drinking habits, this see
med likely.

  Proudfoot the butler opened the door to him, and he asked to be taken straight up again to Mrs Yardley.

  “Yes, sir, of course, but the master asked me to bring you to him as soon as you called.”

  “I will go to your mistress first,” Felix said. “Will you show me up?”

  “I must take you to the master first,” Proudfoot said. “I have my orders, sir.”

  Felix hesitated for a moment. He was annoyed at this but he decided he must acquiesce. He did not want to cause any difficulty for the man, who was only trying to do as he was bid.

  “Very well.”

  He imagined they would go up to his library, but instead Proudfoot took him outside again and across a court, into what seemed to be the most ancient part of the castle. A heavy door opened onto a flagged passage, which led in turn to a pillared chamber, well-lit but noticeably chilly. Here the coffin had been set on trestles. This was presumably the old kitchen that Yardley had spoken of. It was in many respects suitable for the purpose. There was even a pump set above a stone sink.

  But despite these advantages Felix’s heart sank. For, at the far end, sitting in a X-frame chair, wearing a black, fur-trimmed velvet gown, was Yardley.

  “Well, Doctor, do you like my arrangements?” Yardley said, leaping up. “It should suit you well. I have had them put out basins and towels, and so forth. Basins are necessary, I understand, for placing the removed organs, yes?” Felix could not answer for a moment. Yardley’s excitement was worrying. “And here, we have a fine bottle of serçial,” Yardley went on, “in case we require a stirrup cup.”

  That ‘we’ confirmed Felix’s fears. How on earth was he going to dismiss Yardley without causing offence? The thought of reproaching him for commandeering the body seemed ridiculous now. The important thing was to get rid of him. He glanced around, wondering if he could secure the doors from the inside.

  “Thank you, sir,” he said. “It all looks much in order. I would like to begin as soon as I may – if you would be so kind as to take your leave now.”

  “Take my leave?” Yardley said.

  “Yes, sir,” said Felix. “This is no sight for a layman.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” said Yardley. “Indeed. But I am an avid student of the sciences. You cannot object to having a witness to this important process, surely?”

  “I am afraid I must,” Felix said, wondering if Yardley was so deluded that he believed the study of astrology made him a student of science.

  “That is hardly what I would have expected of you, Carswell. Surely all progress in your profession comes from the sharing of knowledge in an open and generous manner.”

  “That may be so, but this is not a place for a layman,” Felix said. “This is a police investigation.”

  “Then it is surely a place for a Justice of the Peace? We justices are still your masters, Doctor, if I understand the legislation correctly. You cannot act at all without our say-so. And I say it is entirely proper for me to remain and watch you conduct this procedure.”

  “I might make an exception for the coroner,” Felix said, “but I am afraid I must ask you to leave. Your assistance is much appreciated but I cannot let you stay here.” He walked towards the door as if to show him out, hoping he would at last concede.

  Instead, Yardley said, “But I could assist you. And it would be such a privilege.”

  “It would really not be proper, sir,” said Felix, feeling more and more exasperated. “You have already bent the law to your own will, so to speak, by bringing the body here without adequate authorisation, albeit in an attempt to assist me, and I must take care not to do anything else that might prejudice the case in hand.”

  “And how, pray, might my being here do that?” said Yardley.

  “I cannot say. We know so little at this stage. For all I know, you may have some connection with this poor woman’s death and want to know what I discover to see how safe your position might be.”

  “Well, well, there is a suggestion,” Yardley said with a smile, which made Felix wonder if his argument might not be so ridiculous. “Am I a suspect? How fascinating.”

  “No, sir, of course not. But you might be. My point is that at this early stage one never can tell. And that is why you must leave, or I shall be obliged to leave myself, and come back with two constables and Mr Earle and insist that she is taken away from here, which would cause a regrettable delay. If you have any interest in justice, which I am sure you do, then you will let me work in peace.”

  A moment passed, and Yardley laughed and made a low, rather theatrical bow.

  “Very well, very well, Master Sawbones, I shall let you to your grisly work. Your oratory does you credit. I cannot resist such arguments!”

  “Your assistance in providing this place is much appreciated,” Felix said, relief pounding in his chest. Yardley swept past him and out of the door. Felix hoped he was not the sort of man given to the long nursing of grudges, but he rather feared he was.

  The door had a bolt. It looked both heavy and noisy and Felix thought it politic not to lock it until Yardley had got some distance away from the door. He did not wish it to look as if he had immediately locked out his host.

  My host, he thought, turning back into the room and the covered coffin. It was strange hospitality indeed.

  -o-

  After nearly two hours of work, the cold of the room had begun to gnaw at him. His fingers were working less nimbly, and he covered up his work and decided to take a brief respite, before moving to the next stage. He ran about the room a few times to get warm and then took a small glass of the serçial that Yardley had provided. He was a little loath to take any of it, but he was shivering.

  He had just taken a first, warming sip when there was a knock at the door. With some trepidation, he went to the door, telling himself that it was a servant, for surely Yardley would never knock in his own house – he would have tried the handle first.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  “Mr Carswell?” It was Major Vernon.

  “Are you alone, sir?” said Felix.

  “Yes.”

  With some relief Felix drew the bolt and admitted the Major.

  “How did you manage that?” said Felix in some astonishment. “I practically had to push that wretch Yardley out of the door. He would not leave me alone. He was relentless. Did you bribe the butler?”

  “Not quite. The two constables I had with me had a salutatory effect on him and I think Mr Yardley has gone out.”

  “You spoke to Hawkins, then?”

  “Yes. How far have you got on? The road is clear again. Mr Hawkins has his hearse ready. You can travel back with them, if you like. It won’t be comfortable, but needs must.”

  “I will do that. I’m not inclined to let her out of my sight. Fortunately, I’m only at the preliminary stages – but what we have so far is interesting.”

  “So?”

  “Cause of death was mostly likely poison,” Felix said. “Fellowes was right about that, if nothing else. Cyanide in some form or other – prussic acid, perhaps.” He drew back the sheet that covered her. “You will observe the lividity has a pinkish tinge,” he went on. “That is a well-established indication of the presence of cyanide. Now look at the blood – how bright the colour is, cherry-red – and the organs all have a similar, reddish tinge. Those are strong indications.” Major Vernon nodded. “In addition, on first opening the body, I smelled bitter almonds. It was faint, as you would expect, for it is over forty-eight hours since she died, and cyanide is extremely volatile, but it was there, clear enough. Of course, there is much more work to be done, testing the organs for the presence of cyanide, especially the liver and the stomach. But that cyanide is the agent behind this seems more than likely.”

  “And these?” Major Vernon said, pointing to the curious pattern of marks on her thighs. “They look like burns.”

  “They are,” Felix said. “And they are puzzling.”

  “Did she drop ho
t wax on herself?”

  “The burns are too deep and regular. And they are in different stages of healing. They look to me deliberate, as if someone has pressed a heated metal object, perhaps the handle of a fork or some such against her bare skin. Do you see what I mean?”

  “Yes. That is odd, to say the least. Some of these look quite fresh.” Major Vernon winced as he spoke. “Some kind of unpleasant punishment? If she was being treated cruelly then it makes an impulse to self-murder understandable.”

  “Quite,” said Felix. “Which brings us to the next question. How and why did she take the stuff? Did she mistake it for something else, or was it deliberate?”

  “Accidental poisoning is common enough,” said Major Vernon. “How much would she need to have taken?”

  “Very little. Two or three grains dissolved in a solution is enough to cause a fatal asphyxia.”

  “And apart from the scent of almonds, does it taste of anything?”

  “It also tastes of almonds. In fact it can be used, in a weak solution, as almond flavouring – if you are foolhardy, that is. I have read of deaths caused by a cook being too heavy-handed and the original distillate being unexpectedly strong. A stupid thing to have in a kitchen!”

  “So that is a possible source? Perhaps that tonic which she is supposed to have drunk was flavoured with it?”

  “I didn’t smell almonds there,” said Felix. “But it is volatile – it may have dispersed. There may be some residue in the bottle, though.”

  “I shall have to find out the source of those bottles, and give the Ampner’s kitchen a search,” said Major Vernon. “Another thing that concerns me is that they all swear that no-one went into her room between midnight and eleven the next morning. I find that too convenient. I wonder if some evidence has not been removed. Perhaps the poison was in another bottle altogether which has now been spirited away, for some reason or other. Mrs Ampner is certainly not telling me the whole truth. She is unnaturally concerned about the unexplained absence of her brother.”