The Hanging Cage (The Northminster Mysteries Book 4)

by Harriet Smart

  “Were the Professor and his son staying at the vicarage?”

  “No, they were living in a little house in Bull Street. Then they left. I don’t know why. Didn’t you know?”

  “No,” said Giles.

  “It is horrible, then,” said Louisa, pulling her shawl round her. “That it was him.”

  “And the son, did you have anything to do with him?”

  “No,” said Louisa.

  “And you never heard anyone mention what brought them there?”

  “No,” she said.

  “Did you know if they associated with Mr Yardley?” The girl shook her head.

  “Well, that is very interesting, Miss Rivers. Thank you,” he said, then looked through the open door to the adjoining bedroom. “Forget the papers for a moment,” he said. “I’m looking for a straw top hat and a light-coloured frock coat. Could you...? – I need to go and talk to someone urgently.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” said Mrs Maitland. “We are quite capable of finding those, are we not, Miss Rivers?”

  -o-

  With the pistol pressed hard into his ribs, and a firm hand on his collar, Yardley proceeded to force Felix into a covered gig. Felix contemplated for a moment hurling himself into the street, but in a moment Yardley was on the seat beside him and had the gun in his face.

  “Put your hands out!”

  Felix did so, feeling he had little choice.

  “Now, just a small precaution,” Yardley said, and clapped one half of a handcuff on him, and then fastened the other to the rail of the gig so he could not escape. “Never worn those before, I dare say. If you were a gentleman I might trust you without such precautions, but since half of you is such poor stock... A French whore, I understand? I’ve had a few of those,” Yardley went on, picking up the reins and cracking his whip. “Deuced expensive, though. Why pay through the nose when you can get a pretty bit of English flesh for nothing? Not to mention Irish flesh.”

  Had he? Felix thought, nausea rising in his throat. Was Sukey even still alive? Had he...

  “I hope that you did not do this to Mrs Connolly,” Felix managed to say.

  “Of course not,” said Yardley. “I spun her a tale instead. I know how fond she is of her sister. She came willingly. It was easy. Women are so gullible, don’t you think? Possibly she was attracted to me. Perhaps she is looking for a new arrangement, though it looked as if she was comfortable. A nice set-up all round, paid for by your illustrious sire, no doubt.”

  Although his spirit was in active revolt at this barbaric treatment, Felix knew he must hold himself in check, stay silent and save his energy and wits for whatever battle lay ahead. So he sat there, feeling the weight of the iron on his wrist, and tried to ignore Yardley’s poisonous chatter. It was not easy.

  He peered out, trying to work out where he was being taken. They were driving fast – Yardley did not spare the poor pony his whip – and taking a circuitous route of which Felix could make no sense. The quantity of rain falling was prodigious and masked any familiar landmarks in grey sheets of cascading water. The streets were deserted, and if Felix had wanted to cry out and get some help, there was no-one to hear. It was as if Yardley, with diabolic powers, had hidden the ordinary Northminster away. It felt more like a nightmare than reality, and Felix prayed he might wake up and find himself dozing in Sukey’s sitting room and her laughing at him for snoring.

  At length they turned into a narrow lane that was terminated with a pair of half-open gates. They passed through them into what appeared to be an overgrown garden of some sort, but a garden on quite a grand scale. He glimpsed a row of crumbling statues dripping with ivy and brambles and, he sensed, despite the ingress of undergrowth and seeded trees, that there were carefully constructed rambles, made long ago to amuse ladies in hoops and men in tricorns. Certainly the path they went along, the brambles slapping at the side of the gig, twisted and turned in a fashion that was not the least bit straightforward, and he was quite surprised when it terminated abruptly in a commonplace stable yard.

  Yardley jumped down and went to see to the horse. Given how badly he had just treated it, Felix was surprised to see how tenderly he took it out of the harness, and led it away. He took the chance to attempt to loosen the cuff from his hand from the gig rail, but with no success, and wondered where we would go if he did, in those few moments, manage to get free. How long would it take to get back through the undergrowth?

  At the same time he became aware of a most miserable sound emanating from the direction of the stables: a low animal howl of profound distress, the like of which he had never heard before. It touched him with a cold fear that seemed to set his limbs rigid. What creature could make such a noise?

  Yardley reappeared.

  “Oh, are you still there?” he said, leaning into the gig and releasing the cuff from the rail. “I thought you would be trying to make a bolt for it. But maybe you don’t have that sort of fire in you. What a disappointment. You are nothing but a milksop. I should have taken your master instead.”

  “My master?”

  “Vernon. A more worthy opponent than you,” Yardley said, grabbing his hand and fastening the other cuff to Felix’s wrist. “More of a challenge. I like a challenge of course, and it would be such a pleasure to lay such a one low. But perhaps he will come calling and then we will see who has more steel in his soul. In the meantime I shall have to make what amusement I can with you, Carswell. Out you get! Mrs Connolly will be wondering where you have got to.”

  With which he flicked the gig whip across Felix’s face with some force.

  Getting out of the gig with his hands fixed was not easy and ended in his sprawling in a great puddle, which caused Yardley much amusement, and he cracked the whip again across Felix’s shoulders as he struggled to stand upright.

  Felix would have lunged at him then and there, such was his mounting fury, but Yardley had produced the gun again.

  “Let’s go inside, shall we?” he said.

  They went into the business area of what seemed to be a substantial house and then up the backstairs. They reached the landing, and Yardley pressed the pistol to his temple and forced him to walk along a passageway. Still with the gun to Felix’s head, he took a key from his pocket and unlocked the door in front of them. He pushed it open a chink, and called out, “Now, madam Vixen, if you were thinking of trying anything, I should tell you I have your lover here, with a gun to his head, so think before you act. I’m not a fool, you know!”

  With which he kicked the door violently open. Felix heard Sukey cry out. He realised she had been waiting behind the door to attempt an escape and he had probably just slammed the door into her face.

  “In you go,” Yardley said. “She’ll be glad to see you, I dare say. A lover’s reunion. Very touching,” he added and shoved Felix through the open door.

  The room was dark and Felix could see nothing, but he could hear Sukey breathing hard. Then Yardley lit a lucifer and he saw her, standing with her back to the wall, her hands pressed flat against it. She was a little distance from the door which had swung wide open. She did not smile and there was no relief in her eyes. He held up his chained hands by way of explanation, and she gave a tiny nod of acknowledgement, before turning her attention to Yardley who was now lighting the candles on the mantlepiece.

  As the candles were lit, he saw that they were in a large room with two shuttered windows. It was scantily furnished, but the walls were hung with pier glasses and sconces, the whole encrusted with elaborate plasterwork in the Chinese grotesque style, fashionable a hundred years ago. There was a canopy bed in the centre of the room made in the same fashion, but lacking all its hangings: it was a skeleton bed, with a sack of straw for a mattress.

  Yardley lit four candles and then stood rubbing his hands, looking at the reflection in the glass above the mantelpiece.

  He turned and made a courtly mocking bow.

  “I’m so glad you both managed to come. I was feeling very dull. S
ince I have lost my dear companion in such irritating circumstances... well, something had to be done.”

  “Your companion?” said Felix.

  Yardley did not answer but walked over to Sukey and put out his hand to her. She declined to take it and he grabbed it instead and pulled her towards him.

  “You know who I’m talking about, don’t you?” he said to her. “You had him at your beck and call. I tried to tell him you were not worth the trouble, but would he listen?” He reached out and stroked Sukey’s cheek, and she flinched. “No, but Georg would have his notions.” He gave a great sigh. “And now the poor fellow has gone and I do not where I shall find as good a friend.”

  “You and Holzknecht!” Felix said. “So it was him at the farm with you.”

  “Did you see our work?” said Yardley.

  Felix grimaced. Yardley now had his hands on Sukey’s shoulders and had pinned her against the wall.

  “You were very unkind to my friend,” he said to her. “Very unkind. I hope you are sorry for it. I suppose he didn’t have enough money for you. After all, you have negotiated yourself a good position, considering Mr Carswell is only Lord Rothborough’s bastard. His Lordship must be quite taken with you. Did you negotiate directly with his Lordship, ma’am? Is that the secret of all this?” Yardley laughed. “But then the on dit is that the noble Marquess is a fool when it comes to Mr Carswell. But perhaps you should consider your future. He was making love to my wife, you know. I had to throw him out of my house. No, stay where you are, sir!” he said, as Felix moved to intervene. “Or I will shoot her!”

  With that he produced the pistol and held it to Sukey’s chest.

  “I might well do so, anyway,” he said, looking at Sukey. “I have to say I don’t really want her, though I should have no difficulty having her. I should be more interested in seeing you attempt to save her life. How does one get the bullets out, and so forth? I have always wanted to see a first-rate surgeon at work, and I do hear that of you, Mr Carswell, that you are accomplished at that, at least. And then if you don’t save her, you can show me how to do a post-mortem – and this time you will let me assist you. You owe me that much, sir, you must admit it.”

  Felix could see Sukey’s eyes were closed. Was she praying for deliverance?

  He found that he was too, but had no idea what form that might take.

  Then he saw her put out her hand and lay it over Yardley’s, where he was gripping the pistol. He wanted to cry out to stop her taking such a risk, but some instinct told him to hold his tongue.

  “You might say you don’t want me, sir,” she said, in a soft, sweet voice. “But you know, I might want you. I like a bold man.” Then she trailed her finger along the muzzle. “I am sure it might be interesting. And an honour.”

  Yardley glanced over his shoulder, and grinned at Felix.

  “Interesting, yes, certainly it might be,” he said, “wouldn’t it be, Carswell?” He began to laugh. “Oh yes, ma’am, interesting.”

  “It would be good for him,” Sukey went on. “Instructive.”

  “Oh, you are quite something, madam, are you not?” Yardley said, and stroked her cheek. Sukey smiled, her lips parted. “What a splendid idea.”

  There was a part of his disordered brain that was almost convinced by this piece of play-acting. Felix knew it was play-acting, but her tone cut through him like a knife. It hurt him more than anything Yardley had yet said or done. He stared down at his helpless hands and heard again in the distance the horrible roar of pain that he had heard earlier coming from the stable. He wondered if it was his tortured imagination conjuring it up, for it was exactly the noise he would have made to express his misery at that moment.

  However, Yardley seemed to hear it too, and was distracted from the prospect of Sukey’s charms. He went to the window frowning, and then in another moment left the room entirely, locking the door behind him.

  “What the devil is that noise?” Felix said.

  “I don’t care,” said Sukey, coming over to him, her gait still clumsy from her earlier injury. “Oh God, will you look at your face...”

  “What?”

  “You’re bleeding,” she said. He went to the pier glass between the windows and saw that Yardley’s horsewhip had left an impressive weal across his cheek. She began to dab it with her handkerchief.

  “What you just suggested...” he began.

  “Yes?”

  “Were you in earnest?”

  “Any other ideas?” she said, matter of factly. “What else can we do? It’s his weakest point. We know that. And nothing disarms a man like a woman’s attention.”

  “But –”

  “If that’s what it takes, then so be it. And you can give him a good whack on the head when he’s at it.”

  “Unless he anticipates that,” said Felix. “There is no way out of here, is there?”

  “I have been thinking about that,” Sukey said. “And now we have a bit a of light. Look at this – the lath and plaster in that corner is half-gone with damp. I was pulling away a bit of it when I heard you coming up, but I couldn’t really see what I was doing. If we both worked at it, we might be able to get into the room next door. It’s just a partition wall.”

  He stared at her, lost in admiration at her suggestion. She was already crouched down in the corner, attempting to prise loose a lump of loose plaster. He could do little to help her with his hand, so he began to kick at the rotten wood that was already exposed, imagining with each blow that it was Yardley’s head.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  “I wondered when you’d show your face again, sir!” exclaimed Mrs Gale as Giles walked into the shop. “Or if you’d have the nerve!”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am?” Giles began, as she bustled forward from behind the counter to confront him.

  “You said you knew him – the German scoundrel!”

  “Mr Holzknecht?” Giles said.

  “Aye, him!” she said and gave Giles a poke in the chest. “And any friend of his is not welcome here, even if you are a high and mighty Colonel. If you are even that. I told my friend Mr Bickley about you, and he said, well –”

  “What did Mr Bickley say?”

  “That you sounded an unlikely fellow, and I think he is right. He usually is.”

  “Unlikely?”

  “Untrustworthy,” said Mrs Gale. “And given you came in here using that filthy Holzknecht as your calling card, I’m inclined to believe him. So, away with you. I shan’t be helping you, sir, not for all your talk about Lord Rothborough’s spaniels!” With which she made an emphatic gesture towards the door.

  “Ma’am, I am very sorry Holzknecht has offended you – he has only ever been the slightest acquaintance of mine. Perhaps, though, I might be able to help you find some redress? What has he done?”

  She looked at him long and hard.

  “Mr Bickley told me not to trust you,” she said.

  “And I would advise you not to trust Mr Bickley,” said Giles.

  “Who are you?” she said.

  “I’m surprised at Mr Bickley being so discreet,” said Giles. “I am a police officer, Mrs Gale. Now please tell me how Holzknecht has offended you.”

  She hesitated a moment and said, “What’s it to you? Are you after him?”

  “Very much so. And his associate, whom I believe you also know.”

  Mrs Gale nodded.

  “Mr Bickley did mention...” she began. Then she darted forward, turned the shop door sign to ‘Closed’ and fastened the bolt. “We’ll go into the back and talk.”

  He followed her into the back of the shop where Miss Gale was sitting in the spaniels’ favourite chair, staring moodily at the fire. She looked as if she had been crying, and when she saw her mother in the doorway she gave her a furious look.

  “What now?” she said.

  “This little trollop,” said Mrs Gale, folding her arms, “was all prepared to elope with Holzknecht. If it hadn’t been for the creak on the stair, she
’d have been off out and away goodness knows where. Left in the gutter, I dare say! It’s as much as you deserve.”

  “We’re going to get married!” said Miss Gale. “How many times do I have to tell you that, Ma? Georg has it all arranged. Don’t you think you can stop it! Mr Yardley is going to help us set up house.”

  “A likely tale,” said Mrs Gale.

  “I’m afraid I have bad news for you, Miss Gale,” said Giles sitting down opposite. “Georg Holzknecht is dead. And we need to know everything you can tell us about his association with Yardley.”

  “Dead?” said Miss Gale. “No...”

  “Oh my Lord,” said Mrs Gale.

  “You’re lying,” said Miss Gale, shaking her head.

  “No, he died in a fire in Silver Street in the early hours of this morning. With his father.”

  The girl began to sob bitterly, and her mother at once forgot all her anger and went to comfort her.

  “How?” the girl said.

  “We aren’t sure yet. Could you tell me what you know about Mr Yardley?”

  “Other than he’s been my ma’s lodger?”

  “When was he last here?”

  “He hasn’t stayed here this year,” said Mrs Gale. “I wasn’t having him again. All that coming back at any hour of the day or night, and in such a state. And his nasty books and pictures.” She gave a little shudder. “I only had him here because I needed the ready. I don’t usually have lodgers, especially ones my dogs don’t like.”

  “But he has been here recently?”

  “Yes,” she said with a sigh. “He brought that wretch Holzknecht here, and he spent a lot of money too, so I didn’t like to be too unkind to him. I was afraid he was going to ask me if he could stay again, but he only wanted to have a few things sent here. He said he had a place of his own now but it wasn’t ready.”

  “He’s bought the Resort, Ma, I told you that,” put in Miss Gale. “And he’s going to have it fixed up nicely, and put Georg in as tenant, except that...” She began to cry again. “Except now he’s dead!” She struggled up from her chair and fled towards the door.