The Hanging Cage (The Northminster Mysteries Book 4)

by Harriet Smart

  “That must be quite a labour,” Felix said, and found himself laughing. “Excuse me, I am just remembering my nurse Annie quarrelling with old Jeanie in the kitchen about the ending of some story she had begun to tell. They could not agree which was right. It got quite heated.”

  “Yes, yes?” said Professor Holzknecht. “What was the tale?”

  “That I can’t remember,” said Felix. “I just remember the quarrel.”

  “Try and recall it,” he said. “It would be a great favour to me if you could.”

  “I will try,” Felix said. The old man put out his hand and touched Felix on the forearm for a moment.

  “When I was a young man,” he said, “I went about my country trying to find the best storytellers. I would sit and write down their tales. I wish I could do that now, but...” he sighed.

  “There is nothing to prevent you doing that again, surely?” Felix said. “If you are careful, you will recover your health. And that would be an incentive to recovery. I am a great believer in that – a good purpose is half the cure.”

  “It is not my health that prevents me,” said the Professor. “I have other responsibilities now. And when I will be home again, I wonder?” He gave a shrug and looked away towards the window.

  -o-

  The headquarters of the Northern Counties Investigation and Intelligence Office were by no means impressive. The building was of recent construction, and set at the end of an undistinguished alley. From Felix’s point of view the best feature was the large, well-lit basement, its windows overlooking a yard at the back. It had been made for a tailor’s workshop, but Felix found it suited him well as a dissection room and laboratory. There was a scullery adjoining with running water and the lighting was provided by gas, a vast improvement, especially on a gloomy, wintry afternoon such as this one.

  The bodies of Mr and Mrs Gosforth had now been removed for burial, but whether they would be buried together, and whether in consecrated ground, seemed difficult questions. Felix was glad it was not his task to answer them. His responsibility was the incomplete skeleton of the woman from the culvert that now lay on his table. What other clues about her identity and her death could such dry bones yield?

  “What is it, Frewen?” he called, hearing footsteps coming downstairs. He assumed it was the young constable whom Major Vernon kept as a clerk and door-keeper.

  “Not Frewen,” said a voice behind him. Felix gave a slight start, and turned to see Lord Rothborough standing in the doorway.

  “My Lord, I did not know you were –”

  “I am passing through, only,” Lord Rothborough said. “I am leaving for town again at seven.”

  “How is Lady Rothborough?”

  “I don’t know. That’s the truth of it. One hears so many opinions. All these eminent men and none of them talk straight. Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to criticize your profession, Felix, but...” He exhaled and looked about him, and then at the bones. “You have your usual quiet company, I see.”

  “Quieter than usual,” said Felix. “I am sorry about Lady Rothborough. Was not Sir Joseph going to see her?”

  “He did, and it was inconclusive.” He rubbed his face.

  “You look tired, sir,” said Felix.

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” he said, reaching out and patting Felix on the forearm. “The girls I do worry about. Their devotion is beyond that of saints, and it makes them so pale.”

  “Sir Joseph didn’t have any constructive suggestions?”

  “Yes, we are to go abroad forthwith – Italy – for the rest of the winter. Florence, in fact, which I am not fond of, to tell you the truth, but she likes it, so that is something, and fortunately, Sir Richard Arnforth has a suitable house for us.”

  “Will business not keep you in London?”

  “I have disentangled myself from a great deal, at least for the present.”

  This was a notable sacrifice. Lord Rothborough lived for the rise and fall of governments, for Blue Books and Royal Commissions, and all his schemes and projects. Whatever it was those eminent physicians had failed to say in plain language, their manner had obviously implied: the situation was so grave that all business must be cast aside.

  “I’m sorry,” Felix said.

  “The post is faster than it was. That’s some consolation. I shall expect a Northminster digest, mind!”

  “I will do my best,” said Felix.

  “What’s this business, then?” he said, indicating the bones.

  “A woman, found in a culvert near Whithorne. On Lord Milburne’s land.”

  “She died some time ago?”

  “That’s what I am trying to establish. It’s a little strange to find human remains in such a place. Major Vernon is still there scouring for missing persons and settling some other matters – a rash of suicides.”

  Lord Rothborough gave a shudder.

  “I never liked that town. It is set all wrong in the country somehow, if you know what I mean?”

  Felix nodded, and said, “Did you ever have any dealings with Briggs Yardley?”

  “I knew his father slightly. A mighty strange fellow. You have come across the son?”

  “Yes,” said Felix. “I helped to deliver his heir. A rather dangerous birth, all in all.”

  “Then he will be obliged to us, then,” said Rothborough.

  “I doubt it. It’s not his way. He’s also mighty strange, I should say.”

  “One must pity the child, then,” said Lord Rothborough. “Though I did know the grand-sire, Mrs Yardley’s father, Lord de Warke, before he died. And he was not strange, but it was rather talked about, that marriage. She was his only child and very young when the match was made. A lot of money on that side, not to mention the property, which is not inconsiderable. She might have at least got a title for her trouble. What is she like?”

  “Very happy to be the mother of a son,” Felix said, feeling rather uncomfortable about not yet having fulfilled her last request to him. He was going back to Whithorne next morning to complete his search of the culvert, and he would rather spend the entire day up to his waist in freezing water than have that conversation with Yardley. But a visit to the castle was unavoidable. He had given her his word.

  “I wonder if the old barony could be revived for the little boy,” said Lord Rothborough. “It went extinct with de Warke’s death, I understand.” He came and looked at the bones again. “However will you puzzle this one out?” he said. “Those bones may have been there for years, surely?”

  “Yes and no,” said Felix. “Major Vernon did establish from the estate records that the culvert was only constructed fifteen years ago. That makes his task a little easier.”

  “A small mercy,” said Lord Rothborough. “Poor woman.”

  “I am coming to the opinion,” Felix said, “that even knowing that the culvert has only been there since 1825, that there might be some other indication that the bones are of recent rather than ancient origin. If one considers old skeletons that are preserved in museums, or exhumed when graveyards are dug over, the surface of the bone bears a certain texture and coloration, which these do not. Just as seasoned and unseasoned wood are different. It is certainly a subject for further study. I was thinking if I took cross sections of both and compared them under the microscope...”

  He felt Lord Rothborough’s hand on his shoulder, a warm, encouraging squeeze.

  “I’d better leave you to it,” he said. “I have other errands to run. There are some packages for you upstairs – the long one is for Mrs Connolly. If she doesn’t like the colour she can take it back to Fairfax’s and change it. But I thought it would suit her complexion.” Fairfax’s was the most fashionable and expensive lady’s outfitter in Northminster.

  “That wasn’t necessary,” Felix said, embarrassed.

  “What woman does not like a new dress?” said Lord Rothborough. “Especially with Christmas coming.”

  As he said this, there was the sound of more steps on the stairs and Fre
wen came in.

  “Mr O’Brien would like a word, sir,” he said. “Is it convenient?”

  “The famous O’Brien?” said Lord Rothborough. “The proprietor of the Bugle? How interesting. I should very much like to meet him.”

  “Yes, send him down, Frewen,” said Felix, realising he could not avoid this.

  O’Brien was Sukey’s brother-in-law, and made Felix nervous at the best of times. He felt he was only a few steps away from guessing the true nature of his relationship with Sukey and that when the penny did drop, the consequences would be unpleasant. Now he quailed a little as he heard O’Brien’s heavy tread on the stairs, and soon his large frame, augmented further by a bulky overcoat, appeared in the gloomy hall. His expression was lost in the shadows for a moment and in his hand he held what looked like a club.

  But a moment later, when he stepped into the bright gaslight, he saw O’Brien was looking his usual, mild, cheerful self, and the club was in fact a roll of papers tied up with tape.

  “Good afternoon, Mr Carswell!” he said, taking off his hat. “Sir,” he added to Lord Rothborough.

  Felix made the introduction and Rothborough shook O’Brien’s hand most enthusiastically.

  “I was just leaving,” said Lord Rothborough. “But I could not pass up the opportunity to meet such a prominent local personage.”

  “The honour is all mine, my Lord,” said O’Brien.

  “Major Vernon told me that you have plans to add another title to your stable – a serious paper for the middling classes in the county.”

  “I do, my Lord,” said O’Brien. “But it has proved a little difficult to get the money together. I can’t stretch to it at present.”

  Rothborough nodded sympathetically.

  “You must not give up,” he said. “It’s a necessary project. And you are not without friends, sir, please remember that. I think there is a gentleman to whom you should speak at Marshall’s Bank – Mr Edwardes. Be sure to mention I sent you. He manages certain matters for me, and this is a matter I am interested in. He understands my intentions.”

  O’Brien looked slightly bewildered, as those unused to Lord Rothborough’s manner – that of a conjurer pulling rabbits from a hat – were wont to do.

  “I would involve myself more personally,” Lord Rothborough went on. “But unfortunately I have to go abroad at present. My wife’s health...”

  “I am sorry to hear that, my Lord,” said O’Brien.

  “Italy,” said Rothborough, with a shake of his head. “Where perforce one must live among the faded glories of the past, and not in the future as we do in Northminster!” He looked at his watch. “Mr Edwardes, Mr O’Brien. That is the name.”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  “I must go. I have to see the Bishop. I do not think he will last the winter, to tell you the truth. Ah well, he has a stall in Heaven waiting for him without a doubt, the dear fellow!” Rothborough shook O’Brien’s hand again and then turned to Felix. They made a clumsy embrace, during which Lord Rothborough murmured, “Take care of yourself, my boy. A letter now and then would be a great amusement for us all.”

  “I will try,” Felix said, knowing he was a poor correspondent in Lord Rothborough’s eyes. “And Godspeed to you all.”

  Lord Rothborough kissed his forehead, turned and left without another word, running up the stairs with his customary energy. Felix turned away, feeling an unexpected sense of depression.

  “Is the bishop really that ill?” O’Brien asked.

  “That’s the first I’ve heard of it,” Felix said.

  “And this Mr Edwardes,” O’Brien went on. “You’ve had some dealings with him, I suppose?”

  “I bank at Marshalls,” Felix said. “I’ve never met him though.”

  O’Brien rubbed his face.

  “Does he mean it, when he says things like that?” O’Brien said.

  “Yes, generally,” said Felix.

  “I’m forgetting why I came,” O’Brien said. “I had a letter from the Major. He asked me to have these printed up.” He handed Felix the roll of papers. “He said you are going back tomorrow so you can take them with you.”

  Felix unfastened the tape and looked at papers. They were posters asking for information about any women who had gone missing from the Whithorne area in the last twenty years.

  “Is that she?” O’Brien said, indicating the bones.

  “Yes,” Felix said.

  “I’m putting a piece in this week’s Bugle,” he said. “Major Vernon asked me to see if you had anything else to add.”

  “No, not so far,” said Felix, rolling up the bills again. “I will see he gets these.”

  “There was something else, since I am here,” O’Brien began. There was a hesitant tone in his voice which made Felix feel nervous. “Now, you’re not to take this amiss, Mr Carswell, but I thought I’d mention, since I have the chance. It’s just that Mrs O’Brien has been worried about it and I wanted to put her mind at rest.”

  “Worried about what?” Felix said, as unconcernedly as he could.

  “About Sukey,” O’Brien said. “She has got this notion in her head that you and she are...”

  “Yes?”

  “Courting,” said O’Brien.

  “Courting,” said Felix carefully, though his heart was pounding with relief at the innocence of O’Brien’s reading of the situation. He had expected something much more cynical. “And if we were?”

  “I don’t know,” said O’Brien. “For my part, I wouldn’t have any objections, if your intentions were as they should be, which I am sure they would be – don’t mistake me on that – but Bridey, she sees herself as head of her family. She has ideas on the matter, is what I mean to say.”

  “What sort of ideas might those be?” Felix said.

  “So there is something in it?” O’Brien said. “She’s been wondering. After all, you spent a lot of time together in the summer, didn’t you, and before? And being under the same roof. These things happen, we all know that and I’m not passing judgement, it’s just we need to know what’s going on. For Sukey’s sake, as much as anything. She had such a time with Connolly. Bridget doesn’t want her getting hurt. Being led on, or any of that sort of nonsense.” Felix was about to object to this, but he did not get a chance. “Now, I know you wouldn’t, and I’ve tried to tell her that, but if you could just give me a hint that could set her mind at rest.”

  “I don’t know what I ought to say,” Felix said, with rather more honesty that he intended. He wondered if he should have just issued a flat denial, but O’Brien’s manner was too warm, too earnest.

  “So are you courting?” O’Brien said. “Yes or no?”

  “It’s...” Felix began. “I do admire her, yes, very much.”

  “Ah,” said O’Brien, nodding. “That is what we thought.”

  “But I have not,” Felix began as steadily as he could, “spoken of it to her.”

  This was despicable and Felix was ashamed, but O’Brien was smiling now.

  “Of course you haven’t!” he said. “Lord in Heaven, it took me more than a year to get the courage up to speak to Bridey,” he said, and then added in a more grave tone, “but maybe it isn’t just that stopping your tongue. I don’t suppose his Lordship there would...” He gestured towards the door as if Lord Rothborough was still there.

  “Nor Mrs Connolly’s parents, I think,” Felix countered.

  “No. Though you’ve deep enough pockets. The old man would like that. He didn’t like me. He still doesn’t, to tell you the truth. I’ve never had enough money. But money isn’t everything, even to him.”

  “Would he accept it if I converted?” Felix said. “That is, if she were to accept me,” he added.

  “You’d convert?” said O’Brien. “You’ve been thinking of that?”

  “A little,” said Felix.

  O’Brien whistled.

  “Isn’t your father a clergyman?” he said. Felix nodded. “Then you are serious.”

&nb
sp; “I told you, I admire her, more than anything,” Felix said. “She is –”

  O’Brien held up his hand to silence him.

  “I will tell Bridey,” he said. “This will put her mind at rest.”

  “I haven’t said anything to Mrs Connolly,” Felix said, deciding he must shore up his untruth. “You must make that clear.”

  “But you will, soon enough?” said O’Brien. “Or that German boy will beat you to it. Bridey thinks he is mad for her.”

  “She does?” said Felix.

  “And she thinks Sukey likes him. I’m supposed to go and have a word with him too. Oh saint’s above, man, don’t look so miserable! I don’t think Sukey likes him, whatever my wife may say. I’ve seen the way she looks at you, and if I were you I should strike while the iron is hot! If you ask me, she’s making sheep’s eyes at him to encourage you.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Felix arrived back at Silver Street with some trepidation. He hoped Sukey had been kept busy with her housekeeping and looking after Louisa. But a picture had formed in his head of her sitting by the fire having an intimate conversation with Holzknecht. He knew he ought not to doubt her, but he felt overtaken by angry mistrust, no matter how hard he tried to be rational or objective about her or her intentions.

  He had read of jealousy before and never understood it. He had read a ‘A Winter’s Tale’ and thought the king’s sudden descent into envy ridiculous. Othello had succumbed likewise, and he had thought them both improbable monsters. But here he was coming into the hall of his own house, which was not his own house, afraid of his own feelings.

  He found her in her sitting room at the writing desk, her ledger open in front of her. She held her hand up to silence him while she completed the column of figures. He was happy to stand there for a moment and watch her silently telling the numbers, happy in the realisation that she knew it was him, because he was the only person who entered that room without knocking first.