Gosforth may then have believed one of several things about his financial position as a result of his marriage, at least up to the point of Bel’s death. He may have thought that he stood to gain a fortune when she came of age and that telling his creditors that he had a wealthy wife, and it was just a matter of time, would have been enough to solve his difficulties. If money had been his principal motive and if she had killed herself, leaving him no better off, then desperation may had driven him to self-destruction.
Perhaps there was some truth in Dr Fellowes’ cynical remark about the extent of Bel’s fortune being greatly exaggerated by Ampner to improve her marriage prospects. Would such a discovery have driven Bel to kill herself, Giles wondered? It would certainly be a harsh blow. And then for her new husband to discover that the prospect on which they had plighted their troths was nothing but an illusion – would that be enough to make him poison himself?
Puzzling over this, he took the opportunity to make another search of Bel’s room. There was nothing fresh to strike his eye until he found a tarnished silver spoon, wrapped in a handkerchief and tucked away in a drawer.
It was a strange object, the presence of which he could not at once account for. If this had been a sparsely furnished room in a common lodging house, where a spoon was a treasured possession, it would not have surprised him. Perhaps it had some sentimental value. He put it with the other evidence and went downstairs, wondering when it would be best to tackle Mr and Mrs Ampner again.
He had still to visit the various apothecaries of Whithorne, in the hope of finding where Bel or Gosforth had obtained the prussic acid. He also wanted to buy some laudanum. He had not packed any, attempting to do as Carswell had suggested and do without it, but in the last hour, his headache had come back with raging intensity. He knew he would not be able to read Gosforth’s crabby handwriting without a small dose to dampen the pain. So he let the Ampners be for the meantime, and went back into the town.
Whithorne had only two apothecaries. One was a very mean place and the owner said he never even kept such dangerous stuff as there was no call for it. When Giles asked about toilet preparations and cosmetics with fancy labels and ribbons, the man was nonplussed. His customers would never want such things and so he never stocked them.
Carr’s in Market Street was a much more prosperous establishment, boasting brilliant gas lighting which was efficient but hardly what Giles’ throbbing head wanted. Mr Carr was adamant that he would not have sold such a thing to anyone without recording it, even though he was quite certain he had not sold any prussic acid to either Gosforth or Miss Barker. He produced a meticulously-kept poison register and together they determined that he had not sold any prussic acid since June the previous year and that was to Dr Fellowes himself for a patient.
“There is so little call for such a thing,” Mr Carr said. “I only have – well, see you for yourself, sir,” he added taking down the bottle from the shelf. “Scarcely a pint.”
“What strength is that?” Giles asked. “The surgeon says that the concentration of the cyanide was very high – something like sixty five percent.”
“Goodness, this is nothing as strong as that,” said Mr Carr. “That would be most unusual. This is only ten percent.”
Giles nodded and turned his attention to the display of beauty creams and perfumes. However, there was nothing that resembled the extravagant ribbons and labels, nor the fanciful names of the bottles on Bel’s dressing table. But the bottles were the same shape.
“Where do you get the bottles for your beauty preparations, Mr Carr?” Giles asked, turning one of the little bottles in his hand.
“Oh, I get them from a man in Northminster – a wholesaler.”
“And do you sell the empty bottles on, as well as selling them filled?”
“Yes, certainly. Ladies often buy them for their home-made remedies.”
“Mrs Ampner?” Giles asked. “Or perhaps Miss Barker?”
“No, not those ladies. Mrs Ampner always buys my own preparations which she says are better than anything she could make,” he said with a touch of pride. “Can I help you with anything else today?”
“I need some laudanum. What is the smallest size you do?”
“This one, sir,” said Mr Carr, unlocking a glazed cabinet and taking out a little green flask. “This is a fluid ounce. Forty-five grains of opium, in forty percent pure alcohol, and best West Indian cane sugar to sweeten. I mix my own so you can be certain there is no adulteration.”
“That will do,” said Giles, digging into his pocket for some change. As he did the bell jangled and another customer came into the shop.
“Oh, good afternoon, ma’am,” said Mr Carr respectfully.
Giles turned a little and saw Mrs Maitland, a basket on her arm. Despite his headache, he could not help smiling.
“Good afternoon, Mr Carr,” she said. “And Major Vernon! I am glad to see you,” she added.
“Will that be all today, sir?” said Mr Carr, as Giles laid his shillings on the counter.
“Yes,” said Giles taking up the bottle of laudanum and putting it in his pocket. “Thank you.” He turned to Mrs Maitland and drawing her aside a little, said, quietly, “How is your son? He has heard the news about Gosforth, I take it?”
“He has,” she said. “And he is somewhat... I hoped I might see you. I should very much like you to talk to him. We heard that you were there and – oh, I am so sorry that you were – it sounds a most distressing business.” She laid her hand on his arm for a moment.
“I need to speak to him,” Giles said.
“Perhaps you could come and dine with us tonight?” she said. “Would that be convenient?”
“Perfectly.”
“Will you stay the night? It would be no trouble and since rain is forecast...”
“Then I will, gladly.”
“Good, good. We dine, most provincially, at six-thirty,” she said, touching his arm again for a moment. “I am so glad to see you. Poor Charles is quite distraught.” She shook her head. “Oh, but what dreadful circumstances for us to meet again!” she added. “How strange all this is.” She reached into her basket and took out a list and studied it. “And now, tediously, I must get on with my errands, mustn’t I? And I certainly must not keep you from yours.”
There was something about the way she said this that suggested she would like to do nothing but talk to him all afternoon, and Giles could have readily fallen in with such a suggestion. It would have been most agreeable to sit with her, drink tea and remember the days of the Thirty-third.
“Quite – I need to go and meet the mail,” Giles said, glancing at his watch. “Until this evening, then?”
Chapter Thirteen
“I can’t say that I don’t need the help,” said Mrs Rivers, watching from the doorway as Sukey disappeared into the scullery with a tray full of dirty crockery. “Margaret is ill today, and Louisa is still being so... difficult. And in any other circumstances I would be grateful, but I can’t help feeling you have set a spy in my house, sir, just by the nature of your business.”
“Of course,” Giles said. “That is natural enough. But please be assured that it’s not my intention to incriminate your daughter. I simply want her to give us her perspective on events. She may know something important.”
“Everyone is saying that she killed herself,” said Mrs Rivers. “If that is the case, then I don’t quite understand what you think Louisa might know.”
“What everyone says is often not the case at all,” said Major Vernon. “We have a great many unanswered questions. Mrs Connolly will be gentle and unobtrusive.”
“You are very thorough, sir – and very novel,” she said. “To use a woman in such a business.”
“The dead and those who loved them deserve truth and justice,” he said. “And I use what means I must.”
At this moment Miss Rivers herself came downstairs and into the kitchen. She was carrying some dirty linen and looked as grey-faced and
wrecked as she had the other day. She stood clutching the bundle to her, as if it were precious, eyeing Giles with some suspicion.
“Ah, there you are Louisa,” said Mrs Rivers, taking the linen from her. “Thank you for doing that. You will be glad to know Major Vernon has brought us some help – most providential given that Margaret is ill!”
“I thought,” Giles said, “that it might help for you to be relieved from your work for a while. It will give you time to get things straight in your mind.”
She did not answer for a long moment and then burst out: “You were there, weren’t you, when he...?”
“Mr Gosforth? Yes, regrettably. Where did you hear that?”
“My brother Johnny.”
“They have been talking of nothing else at school, I fear,” said Mrs Rivers. “Now sit down by the fire, my dear, you look cold.”
“I am not,” said Miss Rivers, drawing herself up a little, and in that moment, it was possible to see that in a year or two she would become as formidable a beauty as her mother. “I am quite well. And what is this help? We do not need your charity, sir.”
“That is for me to decide, Louisa dear,” said Mrs Rivers. “And that is not gracious.”
“Let me put you at your ease, Miss Rivers; I will go and fetch her,” Giles said, and went into the scullery, closing the door behind him.
“Is that she?” said Sukey quietly.
“You will have your work cut out, I’m afraid.”
“What here, or there?” she said indicating the chaotic scullery.
“Do your best. But I know you will. It doesn’t need to be said. But she is hostile and suspicious.”
“All the more reason to be doing it, then,” she said. “She must know something.”
“I think so,” Giles said.
They went back into the kitchen.
“This is Sukey Connolly, Miss Rivers,” said Giles. “She has been in my family’s service and has given us great satisfaction.”
Sukey made a respectful curtsey, giving Louisa Rivers all her due as the young lady of the house. In her drab brown print dress and check apron, her head plainly-capped and modestly-bonneted, the Mrs Connolly who was the confident proprietor of a handsome lodging house in Northminster was well hidden away.
“I was just wondering, ma’am,” she said, turning to Mrs Rivers. “What order you would like the rooms upstairs turned out in? Since it looks as if it will hold dry for a few hours, it’s a good chance to get everything aired and put right.”
“Oh, just as you see fit,” said Mrs Rivers, looking faintly ecstatic at such a show of initiative.
“I will just get on, then, ma’am. Sir,” Sukey added with a nod at Giles.
“The boys’ room is a disgusting bear pit,” said Louisa. “She should start in there.”
“Yes, miss, certainly,” said Sukey. “Would you show me where, miss, if it’s not too much trouble?”
“This way,” said Louisa and took her away upstairs.
-o-
“What will you call him, ma’am?” said Felix, taking the wriggling, squalling child from Mrs Yardley’s fur-blanketed lap.
She was sitting up in her great Gothic bed, with another fur wrap about her shoulders, and her pale, crinkled hair was down and combed out, with a scrap of a lace cap fixed on top of her head. A small crown would have looked better, he thought.
“I haven’t decided,” she said, smiling as Felix laid the baby down at the end of the bed and began to examine him. “My husband says he must be Briggs, but I think that is an ugly name. What is your Christian name, Mr Carswell?”
Felix glanced up from examining the boy, feeling his tiny fist gripping his finger.
“Felix,” he said.
“Oh, that is a handsome name!” she said. The baby began to scream, not at all liking Felix’s examination. “And most appropriate given the circumstances! Felix – yes, I like the sound of that.”
“Steady now, little man,” Felix said, turning his attention to the baby, rather hoping that she did not appropriate his name. It implied a long-standing sense of obligation, or at least a silver cup at the christening. “He’s wonderfully strong, Mrs Yardley. I cannot see anything wrong with him either.”
“He is perfect!” she said, stretching out her hands to take him back. “I knew it. And he is feeding very well.”
“You are nursing him yourself?”
“I shall do the best for my boy and no-one shall judge me for it!” she said, with an unexpected tone of defiance. “After all, it does not matter. I shall not go out in society for at least six months. This little one,” she went on, touching his tiny head, “is, after all, the product of two important bloodlines. He must be my first thought. My husband may boast of his lineage and his acres, but I can match them, and this little darling is heir to it all and will be a great man, you may be sure of it! Look at him, Mr Carswell, does he not have the look of greatness about him?”
The birth of a son and heir had clearly given her confidence and Felix did not like to disagree, but he could hardly read the child’s destiny in his features. Fortunately, it seemed to be a rhetorical question and he had no need to answer, for Grace then bustled up to carry off the boy and wrap him up more warmly.
“You shouldn’t leave off his bonnet, ma’am,” she said.
“Yes, yes, Grace,” said Mrs Yardley. “I shall not!” She then added when Grace and the child had left the room, with a great smile, “She does so enjoy scolding me!”
“You seem in good spirits ma’am,” Felix said, taking her pulse.
“Yes, I could not be better,” she said. “I feel quite giddy.”
“And how are you feeling physically? Are you still bleeding?”
“Only a little now.”
“And any pain or discomfort?”
“I am still rather stiff, but I believe I am doing very well.”
“You do seem to be,” he said. “But perhaps I should examine you, just to see that all is as it should be? Would you mind?”
“No, not at all.”
“Shall I ring for your maid?”
“There is no need,” she said. “I feel quite safe with you, sir. How could I not, when you have done such a great service for me and my boy? Felix!” she said, smiling. “What a happy name!”
Felix got on with the examination as quickly as he could. Fortunately, she was healing well. There were no complications and her bodily strength was returning despite the loss of blood.
He went to wash his hands, while she adjusted her clothes, and then turned back to find her sitting up as formerly, her fur wrap about her shoulders.
“You are doing excellently,” he said.
“Good,” she said. “However, there is something else, Mr Carswell, something I wish you to convey to my husband,” she said. “I would like you tell him that I am not yet well, at least not well enough for...” She paused for a moment and then said in a whisper, “relations.”
“Surely he must understand that already,” Felix said. “At least in the short term. Any gentleman would...” He broke off, for she was shaking her head.
“I know I am already completely in your debt, sir,” she said, reaching out and taking his hand, “but I would be more than grateful if you could tell him how necessary it is to my health that he desists for at least six months. If not a year?” She squeezed his hand, looking at him imploringly with her large blue eyes. “I’m sure you could contrive some clever reason. He will listen to you.”
Felix was not at all sure he would, but how could he not attempt it? It was not pleasant to imagine what she might have suffered at Yardley’s hands. What he had seen of the man made him uneasy. To ask a husband to desist from his rights for six months without a compelling medical reason was not entirely ethical, but he did not doubt she had a good reason for asking such a thing of him. He decided that the difficulty of her labour was reason enough not to risk another confinement for some time.
“Of course, ma’am,” he said.
She smiled and squeezed his hand again before releasing it again.
At this moment there was a knock at the door and the sound of a screaming child. Grace came in with the hungry baby, accompanied by Miss Yardley.
“Someone is hungry!” said Mrs Yardley taking the boy into her arms.
“I will take my leave, then,” said Felix.
“Will you come and take a dish of tea, Mr Carswell?” asked Miss Yardley. “Or a glass of sherry?”
“Thank you,” Felix said. He was glad of the invitation. Before he had carried Sukey off on her mission, Major Vernon had asked him to enquire about Miss Barker and Miss Rivers’ visits to the castle. It was a much more agreeable task to tackle in the short term than speaking to Squire Yardley about his conjugal relations.
Miss Yardley took him into her sitting room, which did not much resemble a lady’s private room, but seemed more like an estate office or a counting house, the walls hung with maps and charts, and the bookcases crammed with books on land management and accountancy. A large writing desk showed evidence of hard work in progress, with only a magnificent black and brown striped tiger of a cat to keep her company. With the cat lying at her feet by the fire, eyeing Felix carefully, she dispensed tea, sherry and cake.
“Mrs Yardley has made a remarkable recovery,” he said.
“Indeed,” she said, handing him the tea. “And we must thank providence you were here to assist her, Mr Carswell.”
“You know that the reason I was here in the first place is because we are investigating the death of Miss Barker and now Mr Gosforth?”
“Yes – but it puzzles me. I understood it was self-murder in both cases. What is there to investigate?”
The Hanging Cage (The Northminster Mysteries Book 4) Page 11
