“Better now the rain has stopped,” Giles said. “Wharf Street and St Martin’s got a good soaking, but nothing worse than that, thank God.”
Holt nodded.
“Shall I get you some breakfast, sir?”
“No, I am going to bed for a couple of hours, and you should too. There is nothing else we can do at this stage.”
“Right you are, sir. I shall be glad of some kip, to tell you the truth.”
The idea might have been a good one in principle, but Giles found it impossible to settle. After an hour or so, he dressed again and then made a careful study of the large plan of Northminster that hung on his sitting room wall. He could no longer delay his fears.
It was a little before six when he left the house and made his way up to Walmersgate. Here he found himself standing in a muddy lane just beyond the city walls, facing an eight-foot boundary wall. This was topped with formidable spikes, presumably to deter those who may have thought of entering the pleasure gardens without paying.
It was his plan to walk around the boundaries of the property and see how many entrances there were. From his study of the map, he had estimated the property extended to at least seven acres, which in its present heavily wooded and abandoned state would represent to a certain kind of Northminster mind a prime opportunity to make money. He could see why Bickley would have been so annoyed at losing such a parcel of land to Yardley.
He began his progress and came across two gates, made in elaborate wrought iron, but now entirely grown over with rampant ivy. Peering through them he saw what once might have been broad walks, completely covered in brambles and thorns.
He carried on for some minutes, keeping the wall on his left, and found a plain set of gates left wide open. This surprised him. Why was Yardley so careless in defending this citadel? Did he think that the reputation of the place would deter all but the most foolish visitor? Or, perhaps not he, nor anything of any significance was there.
As he stood and tried to make sense of what he saw, holding up his lantern and marvelling a little at the relentless conquests that nature could make on unmanaged land, he became aware of a low, deeply disturbing sound, the origin of which he could not at once pinpoint. It sounded like a creature in profound distress. Was that an animal being tortured? The hungry bear – the phrase came into his mind, and he reached for his pistol, thinking of the realism of the sketch in Holzknecht’s journal.
There had been a recent atrocity involving a bear at a pleasure ground in Leeds, where the bear had escaped from his pit and killed both the owner and his wife before being shot. It had been written about at some length in the newspapers, and Giles wondered if Yardley had read it and taken pleasure in the story.
Had he acquired a bear and let it roam in his abandoned wilderness? It was a wilderness from which the beast could easily escape and cause who knew what kind of chaos.
Giles weighed his options, then put out his lantern. There was just enough light to find his way along the lane. He had no wish to draw attention to himself. Before he went in, he transferred his other pistol to his overcoat pocket for more easy access, and wished at the same time he had his favourite fowling piece to hand. That was surely a better weapon for hunting a bear.
He made a tentative progress along the path, noting as he did that there were deep marks in the mud, suggesting that a horse and vehicle had been along it recently. The path had been constructed to wind and twist, presumably to increase the element of surprise and delight of the original visitors to the gardens. Now the complexity had a distinctly sinister feel to it, perfectly suited to the character of Yardley.
He turned a sharp bend and came to a little crossing of paths, and looked around him, attempting to read the muddy track and determine which way to proceed. The animal cry had ceased for the moment. Yet, as he turned, he thought he saw in the shadows some movement suggestive of another presence and he heard the cracking of twigs underfoot, and the squeak of wet vegetation.
He peered into the undergrowth. Was that a flash of a red cloak he had seen? Surely not – it must be his mind playing tricks from lack of sleep.
He hastened on, as quietly as he could, and then heard another swish of sodden branches. Then a woman’s cry of suprise rang out.
“Oh, ma’am, did I startle you?” a man’s voice said. Yardley, Giles thought, crouching down in the bushes. He went on: “In fact, you rather startled me! What an interesting encounter! To find you here, of all places!”
“Yes, Squire, it is,” she said.
That was Emma Maitland. What the Devil was she doing there? Giles wanted to get a clearer view but he had no wish to advertise his presence. He began to inch his way forward as quietly he could, practically on his hands and knees.
“To what do I owe this considerable pleasure, Mrs Maitland?” Yardley said.
“I heard a curious sound, from the lane,” Mrs Maitland said, rather as if she stood in a drawing room and this was an ordinary social call. Her bravado was both impressive and terrifying. “A most distressing sound, to tell you the truth. I thought I might be of some assistance.”
She had heard the bear, of course, as he had.
“A distressing sound?” said Yardley. “How curious.”
“I thought it might be a bear,” she said.
“A bear! Goodness, why would you think that? What a fancy you have!”
“Not really,” she said. “I had heard there might be a bear hereabouts. I thought it sounded dangerous, especially as the gates were unlocked. It was very easy for me to get in here, sir, so it might be as easy for a bear to get out, don’t you think?”
“But a bear, ma’am, really?”
“I am sure there is one,” she said.
Giles could now see the hem of her red cloak, but where exactly Yardley stood he could not be sure. He could, however, make out a little clearing edged by a low wall. Was that perhaps a bear pit?
Then, as if on cue, the animal began its piteous song again.
“And that noise, sir?” Mrs Maitland said.
“I see you have found me out, ma’am!” said Yardley. “That is indeed a bear, my bear. Would you like to see him? He is just here, quite safely lodged in his pit.”
Now Giles could see Yardley. He had his hand outstretched.
“He’s a most magnificent specimen, ma’am,” Yardley went on. “Do come and see. Would you like to feed him, perhaps?”
“I don’t think I would,” she said.
“No, of course you wouldn’t, but I regret to say you will have no choice about it,” Yardley said, moving towards her. He began to laugh as he did. “It is quite fortuitous that you have appeared, Mrs Maitland. He is very hungry and you will make him an excellent bonne bouche!” Then suddenly he made a swift movement and produced a pistol, which he aimed squarely at her.
Giles sprang out of his hiding place, intending that the element of surprise would allow him to tackle Yardley and disarm him. But Yardley was too fast for that. He spun round and aimed the gun at Giles. He responded with his own weapon, and attempted to fire, but as he squeezed on the trigger, he realised that the rain had dampened the powder rendering his pistol useless. He reached for the other, but Yardley had his measure. He advanced on him, thrusting the pistol into his face.
“Hands up, sir!” he said, and Giles, feeling the cold metal of the muzzle touch on his forehead, had no choice but to comply.
“Oh, this is most interesting,” said Yardley. “Shall I shoot him, ma’am? Would you like to see that?” Mrs Maitland did not answer. “Ma’am?” Yardley said.
There was a loud bang, which Giles knew to be a pistol shot. He assumed that Yardley had shot him but for some strange reason he could not yet feel the bullet.
He saw Yardley stagger back, his hand clapped to the side of his face. It took Giles a moment to understand that it was Yardley who had been shot. He glanced to his side and saw that Mrs Maitland was standing with her arm outstretched, a small travelling pistol in her hand.
> Yardley exclaimed in fury and turned towards his assailant. now aiming his pistol towards her. Giles lunged at her to push her out of the range of fire, and another shot rang out. Giles hit the ground, a white-hot searing pain passing through his thigh and then his whole leg. He struggled to right himself but could not. He managed at last to drag his other pistol from his overcoat, but the gun slithered from his fingers. He closed his eyes, for the pain had become unbearable.
The bear was howling again, no doubt roused by the sound of the shots.
“Well, ma’am,” he heard Yardley say, in a strangulated voice. “You may have winged me, but that shan’t stop me feeding my bear. I have two bullets left, you know, and you have none.”
Giles made one last effort to reach his gun. He was floundering in a muddy puddle, while Yardley, blood cascading from his open wound, now had hold of Emma, the gun at her temple. He attempted to manhandle her towards the edge of the pit but she was putting up a fierce show of resistance, and he was weakening. At the same time Giles hauled himself across the ground towards them. He grabbed hold of one of Yardley’s ankles, and got kicked in the face for his trouble, but it was enough to allow Mrs Maitland to get free. Instead of taking flight, she gave him a violent shove and Yardley toppled backwards into the pit, bellowing as he did.
Only then, peering over the side of the pit, did Giles see the beast. Its mangy fur was matted with blood from a liberal application of the whip and its eyes were mad with hunger. It reared up, its claws extended, and attacked Yardley with a ferocity that was sickening to witness.
Mrs Maitland snatched up Giles’ pistol and took aim. This time the powder did not fail. She shot the bear square in the head and it collapsed on top of Yardley, trapping him. He shrieked and fell silent.
-o-
“Did you hear that?” Sukey said.
“Gunshot,” said Felix.
They were standing in the courtyard behind the house in the cold, dank morning air. They were covered with plaster dust and looked, he suspected, like a pair of ghosts.
It had taken hours to make a hole large enough to crawl through, and they had battered, bleeding hands to show for it. When at last they had finished, Sukey had slithered through first, with great efficiency, like an adder through wet grass. But it had been far harder for Felix with his cuffed hands. The effort had been ridiculous. He had felt like an old man as he lay sprawled on the floor of the adjoining room, attempting to catch his breath and find some strength.
They had allowed themselves as much time as they dared to recover, lying in each others’ arms on the bare boards and feeling extraordinarily thankful that Yardley had not yet interrupted them. Felix’s theory was that he had been in company with his punchbowl and had drunk himself to a stupor.
But even stupors did not last for ever, and they had got to their feet and crept out of the room and then downstairs, finding their way as best they could in the gloom. The back door to the yard made a noise to wake the dead, and they pressed themselves against the wall and into the shadows, feeling sure that at any minute they would be discovered.
It was at this moment they heard another pistol shot.
“Over there,” Felix and began to run along one of the paths opening from the court. In a matter of moments he found himself stumbling to a halt, about to fall over the man and woman who were crouching on the ground. A second later he realised that it was Major Vernon and Mrs Maitland.
-o-
“I want to see him hang,” Major Vernon said, as Felix inspected his wound. “Go and see what you can do.”
“Yardley can wait,” Felix said. “And you must save your breath. By the look of it, it is just a flesh wound, but as there is not much flesh on you these days, sir, it might be a little dangerous. Do you have your skeleton keys on you?”
“In my waistcoat pocket.”
Sukey drew out the keys. Major Vernon, propped up against her, and with shaking hands managed to unpick the lock that secured the cuffs. Felix’s hands were free again to make a proper examination of the Major’s wound.
“As far as I can see it just grazed you, sir,” he said. “But we will strap it up.”
“If anyone has a pocket knife,” said Mrs Maitland, “I can provide a bandage.”
“There is one in my coat,” said Major Vernon. Sukey passed it to Mrs Maitland, who calmly proceeded to rip a five inch strip from one of her petticoats.
“It is the least I can do,” she said.
“What were you doing here?” Major Vernon asked through gritted teeth as Felix fastened a tourniquet. “Did Yardley entice you by some means or other?”
“This can wait,” said Felix. “Silence now, sir, if you please.”
“I will go and find help,” said Mrs Maitland and went running off, her red cloak streaming behind her.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Giles woke from an opium-induced sleep in a narrow bed. The room was comfortably warm, with a good fire going. It was just as well, for the rain and wind had begun again, rattling at the lattice window that was set high in the wall.
He became aware that Carswell and Captain Lazenby were there, talking quietly in the corner by the fire, and then more aware of the burning pain in his right thigh.
He tried to sit up but he could not, and his general weakness caused him to exclaim in frustration.
In a moment, Carswell was at the bedside arranging pillows and assisting him.
“How long have I been out?” Giles asked, now recalling being carried on a hurdle out of the Resort.
“A few hours – it’s a little after one,” said Lazenby. “Very glad to see you with us again, Major.”
“You had better go,” Giles managed to say. “My fate is hardly as significant as the bridges. How long has it been raining like that?”
“It just started up again,” said Lazenby, taking up his hat. “And you are right, Major. You are in good hands here. I hope your mending will be speedy!”
“So do I,” Giles managed to say, grimacing as another wave of intense pain passed through him.
“Keep me informed of his progress, Mr Carswell,” said Lazenby as he left.
“Where are we?” Giles said.
“The Moon and Sixpence Tavern,” said Carswell. “It was the nearest decent place.”
“And Yardley?”
Carswell shook his head.
“Damnation,” Giles could not help saying.
“He would have enjoyed being on trial too much,” said Carswell. “He would probably have conducted his own defence and made a mockery of it all.”
“You may be right,” said Giles, closing his eyes as another wave of pain came over him. “Am I permitted any more laudanum?”
“Yes,” said Carswell. “And you should eat if you can. I believe Mrs Maitland has that in hand.”
Giles saw her red cloak hanging on the hook on the back of the door.
“What was she doing there?” Giles said. Carswell gave a shrug and pulled back the covers to examine the dressing. “What were any of you doing there, for that matter? I know I am foggy with laudanum but I want to make sense of it.”
“He told Sukey her sister been taken ill, and prevailed on her to come and help her. And as for me, well, he got me at gun-point. I didn’t have any choice. Yes, I know it is pretty raw just now, sir,” Carswell went on, having lifted the dressing and caused Giles to exclaim fiercely. “But it is just a flesh wound, thank God. If you rest properly and are sensible you will be back to full strength soon enough.”
The door opened and Emma Maitland came in, carrying a tray. She had put on an apron patterned with faded checks, and in her plain, dark dress, could have been mistaken for the landlady of an establishment such as the Moon and Sixpence rather than the chatelaine of Woodville Park. But perhaps that was due to the careworn expression on her face and the bowing of her shoulders from fatigue.
“I have some good thick soup, Mr Carswell, which I think you should have as well as our patient,” she said, and Gil
es wondered if he heard a note of forced cheer in her voice. “There is a message for you from the Infirmary. Mr Harper –”
“Then I will have some and go,” said Carswell, taking the bowl she offered him and standing by the fire to eat it. “You are in good hands, Major Vernon. Mrs Maitland knows exactly what needs to be done. Four grains in some brandy, every three hours, yes, ma’am?” She nodded.
Carswell made quick work of his soup, and shortly afterwards left.
“I wish I had his appetite,” said Giles, who had managed only a few spoonfuls. “I must find it again.”
“Certainly you must,” she said.
He stirred his spoon about for a moment and took another mouthful. He watched her cross the room and stand at the table with her back to him. From the sound of it she was rearranging the dishes on the tray.
“Why were you there?” he asked. “I know he prevailed on Mrs Connolly, and threatened Carswell, but I cannot quite see how – he cannot have known of your connection to any of it.”
There was a pause and then she said, still with her back to him, “It was nothing to do with him. I was there because – because I chose to be.”
“I’m sorry?” he said.
She turned and came to the bedside.
“It was the sound of the bear,” she said. “That awful moaning. I swear I would never have crossed the threshold if I had not heard it.”
“The threshold of the Resort, you mean?” he said. She nodded. “But what were you doing there in the first place? You were at my brother-in-law’s, surely?”
“Yes, yes, I was,” she said, glancing away from him. “But I could not sleep. It struck me that I must go there. I know it was foolish but – ”
“You went there of your own free will?” he said.
“I was concerned. I was stirred up. What I had read in Holzknecht’s journals was so alarming. I was worried for you.”
“But what on earth were you thinking?”
“That I wanted to help. That I could help you.”
The Hanging Cage (The Northminster Mysteries Book 4) Page 35
