The Hanging Cage (The Northminster Mysteries Book 4)

by Harriet Smart

  “Very gallant,” she said. “But the world will not see it that way and I agree with them. The blame rests squarely at my feet. I had sole charge of him his whole life and what is the result? He lives in a dream-world and spends money like water, while never taking a moment’s notice of his responsibilities or duties. I thank God that his father is not here to see this, and then I wonder if his father were still with us, if this would have happened at all. It is not possible for a mere mother to...”

  She looked up from her study of the fire and looked at him.

  “Forgive me,” she said. “I talk too much. A great fault. I need a husband to tell me when to hold my tongue. I dare say you do not let your wife prattle on.”

  “My wife is dead,” Giles said. “And I am like you – I talk too much.”

  She turned away from the fire, and came and sat down again by the tea table.

  “Oh, I am sorry to hear that,” she said. “Children?”

  He shook his head.

  “I have done nothing as useful as you in that regard,” Giles said. “To bring up a boy alone to twenty is no small achievement. And though you may despair of him now, Mrs Maitland, I’m sure that given time, this madness will all be done with,” he said, tapping his finger on the pile of bills. “He will look back on this with mortification and wonder what on earth he was doing. Your work and your care will not be wasted. He will come straight again. Be patient and have courage.”

  She reached out and briefly squeezed his hand and he noticed she was on the verge of tears, although she smiled. His own heart gave a small lurch.

  “Good counsel, sir,” she said. “I shall try to heed it.”

  “And perhaps, when your son does appear, I might talk to him alone?”

  “Yes of course,” she said. “And please don’t hesitate to put the fear of God into him, Major Vernon. You may be exactly what is needed!”

  Chapter Nine

  When the butler, Imbray, returned with the news that his Lordship would receive his visitor in the riding school, Mrs Maitland was prepared to take up cudgels at this slight which she at once termed deliberate and provocative.

  “He does not know who I am,” Giles said, mildly.

  “That is beside the point!” she exclaimed. “It is hardly nice behaviour on the part of the master of the house. He ought to have come back at once. Excuse me, Major Vernon.”

  The riding school was some distance from the house and had been built from the same expensively-dressed stone as the main building and to the same vast scale. Giles began to suspect that Earls of Milburne had as much extravagance as they had nobility in their blood.

  The indoor riding school was an impressive space in its own right, but the walls had been hung with colourful banners depicting heraldic animals. In the centre of the manège, wearing a plumed helmet and mounted on a handsome brindled grey stallion, was Lord Milburne himself. He was holding a lance and charging at a tailor’s dummy that was dangling from a swinging pole. Giles admired his horsemanship but not his manners, for his Lordship showed no signs of stopping at the arrival of his caller.

  Giles, feeling his mother’s pain, decided to take matters into his own hands. He strode forward, caught the horse by the bridle and stopped him in his tracks, before Lord Milburne could begin another manoeuvre.

  “Sir?” said Lord Maitland, with great annoyance.

  “We need to talk, my Lord,” said Giles. “And I would prefer not to have to stare up at you.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Major Vernon, from the County Constabulary. I need to talk to you about your friend Gosforth. Would you please dismount?” The Earl frowned and seemed disinclined. “It would be far better if you did. This handsome fellow seems tired to me. He needs rubbing down,” Giles added, patting the neck of the horse.

  This could not be argued with, and Milburne got down and handed the horse to the care of his stable-boy. He pulled off his ridiculous helmet and now stood in front of Giles, ruddy-cheeked and heavily perspiring like his poor horse. He seemed young for his nineteen years, and still at that curious stage when manhood had not yet ruined his boyish beauty, nor diminished the petulant, somewhat childish, pout of his lips

  “Did my mother send you?” he said, when the stable boy had gone.

  Giles ignored this and said. “I am conducting an investigation. Mr Ampner’s ward, Miss Barker, has been found dead in suspicious circumstances and Mr Gosforth has gone missing. I need to talk to him.”

  “She’s d...dead?” Milburne said. “When did she...?”

  “She was found dead on Wednesday morning. The morning after the ball at the Falcon. I believe you were there?”

  “Yes, yes, I was. Oh dear God!” said Milburne. “She’s dead?” Giles nodded. “And George is missing?”

  “Yes. Can you help me with that?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t what to say. You said her death was suspicious?”

  “Yes.”

  Milburne nodded and sniffed audibly.

  “I can’t believe it,” he said. “Bel dead.” He shook his head again, then wrapped his arms about himself and shivered. “Oh God in Heaven...” He turned away from Giles, his emotion overcoming him. He began to sob and ended by fleeing the ring.

  Giles allowed him a few minutes to master himself and then followed.

  He found him sitting in a sort of dressing room full of shields, helmets and swords, and various costumes hanging from hooks – in short, he was surrounded by a mess of expensive medievalism.

  He started up as Giles came in, wiping his face hastily, and then turning away to attempt to pour a glass of wine. But his hands were shaking.

  “Brandy, sir?” he managed to say.

  “No, thank you, and I would go steady on that if I were you, my Lord,” Giles said. “You’d be better with the fire and some sweet tea.”

  The boy nodded, took only a sip and then set it down again, before staggering over to the fireside. He fell into the armchair and sat with his hands pressed to his face.

  “How is this possible?” he managed to say at last, addressing Giles who had sat down opposite him.

  “We don’t know yet. That is why I am here. It is unlikely that she died of natural causes, I regret to say. I take it from your reaction that you and Miss Barker were involved in some fashion – or that you admired her?”

  “No, no,” he said. “Well, yes, I did, but not in that way. George, though – George will be – this will break him!”

  “Mr Gosforth told you he loved her?”

  “Many times. We talked about her – well, we talked about love and which ladies we admired. Bel was George’s heart’s desire and she his. They were going to be married as soon as it could be contrived. But you said George is missing?”

  “Yes. Do you know where he might be?”

  “How is he missing?”

  “He has not been at home since Miss Barker was found dead. He was there when she was discovered but he has not been seen since. Have you seen him?”

  “I have not seen him since Tuesday evening, at the ball.”

  “And you spoke to him then?”

  “Yes, of course. It was the first time I’d seen him since my mother sent him packing.”

  “You are sure about that?” Giles said.

  “Do you doubt my word?” he said.

  “You are good friends. I would think you might have wanted to see him as soon as you could and perhaps mollify him. A public gathering which your mother might have attended as well would hardly be the place for that, would it?”

  “I may have seen him earlier in the week,” Milburne said after a moment.

  “You mean you did,” Giles said. “Yes?”

  “Yes,” Milburne conceded.

  “Where?” Giles asked.

  “There is an inn on the road into Whithorne, just before you get to the west gate into the town. The Black Cat. I saw him there on Monday.”

  “Have you met with him there often?”

 
“Yes. It’s not much of a place, but the landlord keeps hawks. He has promised to raise one for me.”

  Giles reached for his notebook and made a note of the name.

  “Are there any other places where you know he liked to go? Where he had other friends, perhaps?”

  “No, not really. He was like me, new to the district. Ampner and his sister have only been married three years. They are from the Midlands, I believe, but they were living at Bath. That was how they met Mr Ampner.”

  “And you are quite certain you have not seen him since the evening of the ball?”

  “No, no!” said Milburne with too much emphasis to be entirely credible.

  Giles wondered if a distressed Gosforth, full of remorse about what he had done to his sweetheart, had approached his friend for help, without telling him why he needed it. Perhaps Milburne had helped him, but had been uneasy at his friend’s condition. His reaction to the news of Miss Barker’s death had been extreme. Was it from fear that his friend may have had a hand in her death?

  “You are certain of that?” Giles said again, getting up from his chair and leaning over him a little.

  “No, sir, I have not seen him since then!” Milburne said, in some agitation and jumping up to face him. “Believe me!”

  Giles let it go and turned to another tack.

  “This plan to marry,” said Giles. “He had her consent?”

  “Oh, yes!”

  “You spoke about it being contrived. Did Gosforth confide any particular plan to you, or perhaps ask you if you had any ideas about such things?”

  “I can’t really say,” he said. “I suppose we did talk of it once or twice. We supposed it rather depended on finding a parson who could be trusted, and so forth.”

  “He did not ever think of asking Mr Ampner for his consent?”

  “No, because he knew he would never get it. Not even if Bel had asked him for it – and he would pretty do much anything for her. Except give her the one thing she really wanted.” He frowned. “I wish I could tell you where George was, for his sake. I can’t fathom why he should be missing. He cannot have anything to do with her death. I am sure of that.”

  “Unfortunately we do not always know everything about our friends. Sometimes they keep secrets from even those closest to them. Has there ever been anything about George’s behaviour that made you uneasy at all? You must have had some doubts about his intention to elope with Miss Barker. That is not a manner in which a gentleman would wish his friend to proceed.”

  “They had no choice about it!” said Milburne. “Ampner would never have allowed it. And she loved him just as much as he loved her. She told me so herself, sir, on the night of the ball, how happy she was and how she was looking forward to being his wife. When we were waltzing together...” He stopped, evidently distressed by the memory of this.

  Giles wondered how this fitted with Mr Earle’s account of their conversation. Either one of the men was lying or Miss Barker had been playing complicated games with her various suitors.

  “And you have no reason to think she was telling you anything but the truth?” Giles said.

  “Are you asking me to doubt a lady’s word?” said Milburne. “A dead lady at that?”

  “It is offensive, yes, but necessary,” Giles said. “So there was nothing about Miss Barker that disturbed you at all? What do you think about her friendship with Miss Rivers? I understand they were close.”

  “I don’t know anything about that! All I can tell you is that Miss Barker was the sweetest creature, and was happy to one day be George’s wife! And that George would never harm a hair on her head!”

  Giles reckoned this was about as much as he was going to get from him at that point. He suspected it was not the entire truth, but it was some sort of progress.

  Leaving the riding school, he was pleased to find that the rain had stopped and even more pleased to see that Mrs Maitland had ventured out again. She was standing in a rather strange attitude, leaning back and squinting up at the façade of the house, her head tilted back. As a result her shawl was about to fall to the ground, so he ran forward, caught it and restored it to her shoulders.

  “Oh, thank you!” she said. “I was studying the gutters. I am attempting to identify the source of a leak, but with little success. I hope your conversation with Charles was more constructive.”

  “It was useful,” he said.

  “And here is the man himself,” said Mrs Maitland. Giles turned and saw Lord Milburne striding along the terrace towards them.

  “Major Vernon, I am glad you have not left,” he said. “There was something else, I’ve just remembered it.” He glanced at his mother. “If I might have a word alone?”

  Mrs Maitland made an ironic curtsey and walked away out of earshot.

  “Yes?” Giles said.

  “George did say something about how he had been on a drive to Melthorpe with Mrs Ampner and Miss Barker. To look at an old church or something. It seemed the funniest thing to do at this time of year, and I wonder if he was not trying to tell me that, well, perhaps they had gone there to make the match. That they had contrived it.”

  “I’m glad you remembered that,” Giles said. Milburne looked away uneasily. “And you were certain Mrs Ampner was with them?”

  “Yes, he was definite about it. George has confided in her, I think.”

  Giles nodded and from the corner of his eye saw Mrs Maitland turn back towards them. She made an enquiring gesture.

  “Is that all?” he said to Milburne.

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Thank you,” he said, and began to walk back towards Mrs Maitland. “I also forgot to tell you something, my Lord: I had the honour to serve with your father in the Thirty-third.”

  “You did?” Milburne said.

  “And had the pleasure of your mother’s acquaintance as well. You haven’t thought of following your father’s profession at all? A commission in the Guards, perhaps? Or the Lancers? He would have been pleased by that, and I am sure you would enjoy the life.”

  Hearing this, Mrs Maitland smiled approvingly, and Giles found himself delighted by the effect. Rather pointedly, Lord Milburne did not answer, and neither did he smile. It was obviously a sore point.

  Chapter Ten

  Just as Lord Milburne had described, the Black Cat was not much of a place. It was a low, shabby building, squatting outside the ancient gate to the town like a cat crouching at a scullery door, waiting to be admitted.

  It began to rain heavily again as he rode back from Woodville Park, and Giles was glad of the excuse to take shelter. The yard at the back was orderly enough, and a competent boy took charge of his horse and directed him inside.

  The interior was cheerful, the tap room clean and warm, and a young, neatly-dressed landlady appeared glad to see him.

  “How can I help you, sir?”

  “I am looking for Mr Gosforth,” Giles said. “I am Major Vernon from the County Constabulary. I believe he comes here sometimes? Have you seen him lately?”

  She thought for a moment, then said, “Not for a day or two.”

  “Can you remember exactly when you last saw him, Mrs – I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

  “Patchett, sir,” she said. “And about Mr Gosforth, I’m not exactly sure. Well, perhaps it was on Wednesday evening – I didn’t speak to him, though; I just saw him sitting there, as he always does.”

  “So he comes here quite often?”

  “Yes. With his Lordship, Lord Milburne, that is,” Mrs Patchett added with a touch of pride.

  “They come here for the hawking, I understand?”

  “Yes, sir, my husband breeds them up and trains them. We have quite a few gentlemen coming here on that account. My husband takes them out, teaches them the sport. It’s a good business for us.”

  “And you think it was Wednesday evening that Mr Gosforth was here?”

  “I think so. I was only downstairs for a little while that night. I wasn’t feeli
ng well so I went up to my bed early, and left my husband in charge.”

  “Was Lord Milburne there?”

  “Not that night, I don’t think so. I suppose he stayed home because of the rain. That was the day this rain started, wasn’t it, on Wednesday? And it’s hardly stopped since, has it? Makes my husband jittery. He hates it as much as the birds do.”

  “Is Mr Patchett about?”

  “He will be with the birds. I’ll take you to him.”

  This involved a trip to the bottom of the long, rain-soaked garden, where a two-storey building apparently served as the hawk house. Mrs Patchett knocked tentatively at the door and called to her husband in a soft voice. At length he opened the door to them, and met Giles’ eyes with a wary expression.

  “He’s a policeman, Ned,” said Mrs Patchett. “Let him in, will you? It’s bucketing down again.”

  Patchett stood aside reluctantly and Mrs Patchett went scurrying back to the house.

  Giles went inside and found an airy space that had perhaps once been a carriage house. There was a pair of double doors, made with slats to admit fresh air, and a ladder led up to a second storey. Lining the walls were long baize-covered perches for the birds, with canvas screens hanging down from the perch rails. There were a dozen or so birds sitting there: magnificent creatures all of them, different sizes and colours and species, from a beautiful snowy-plumed owl to an elegant little falcon. In the centre of it all stood Patchett, a priest to his church of birds, in a leather waistcoat, a bright red kerchief about his neck. He stretched out one arm and the little falcon flew to him and alighted on his gloved hand, and he stood there gently caressing the eager bird’s head.

  “Police?” he said softly. “What is it you want, sir?”

  “I am looking for George Gosforth. I believe you know him, Mr Patchett?”

  Patchett nodded and raised his hand a touch so that the little falcon flew back to her perch.

  “Is he in trouble?” he asked.

  “I need to speak to him,” Giles said. “When did you last see him?”

  “Wouldn’t know,” he said.