The Hanging Cage (The Northminster Mysteries Book 4)

by Harriet Smart

  “I thought Mr Carswell was coming with you,” said Mrs Latimer.

  “He will be here shortly,” said Giles. “As will Mr Porter and Mr Wakefield. I have already had a preliminary meeting with them. It should not take long.”

  Now Louisa got up from her place and went to the window.

  “She is nervous,” said Mrs Latimer, softly. “She is still not sleeping. I was hoping to consult with Mr Carswell about that, if there is time. She talks of him constantly.”

  “He got her confidence.”

  She nodded.

  “It has been hard for her to understand – all this,” Mrs Latimer went on, making a little gesture to indicate her new found state. “But with time, she will know it is for the best.”

  “It was a little surprising,” Giles could not help saying. “And your son and Master Latimer?”

  “They have declared a truce,” she said. “For my sake and Louisa’s, for which I am deeply grateful. It was an effort for them but it shows they both have reserves of character, do you not think?”

  “Yes,” said Giles. “I hope it holds.”

  “It will, you may be sure of that,” said Mrs Latimer. “My husband and I are both determined,” she added with a touch of steel, which suggested a sort of martial law had been imposed on the boys.

  Giles had been surprised by Latimer’s determination to marry Mrs Rivers. Her power over him must have been considerable, and his feelings profoundly engaged. He had struck Giles as a pragmatic, worldly man who would think long and hard before marrying a woman in such a complicated situation, with a host of troublesome dependants. He wondered what Emma Maitland would say of the case. Her piquant opinion on it would have been worth hearing and in that moment, he wished that he might go to her after this business and sit and talk it all through with her. However, that final passage between them and her subsequent emphatic withdrawal had made it quite clear that it would not be possible. There were of course many good and sensible reasons why he should accept her actions, but they did nothing to remove the desire to see her again, which at times was acute.

  “Here is Mr Carswell,” Louisa said from the window, “and the others.”

  “We had better go downstairs, then,” said Mrs Rivers.

  “Must I?” Louisa said to Giles. “Must I really? Cannot I write a letter or something for them?”

  “It is better that you face them. They feel that justice must be served with this. Remember what you might be facing, Miss Rivers. This is merciful of them.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment, and nodded. Then she kissed the doll on the forehead and put it down on the stool.

  -o-

  “And in your opinion there was no way that a poison of this strength could have been created unwittingly, Mr Carswell?” asked Mr Wakefield, one of the magistrates.

  The Latimers’ dining room had been pressed into service as a temporary magistrates’ court, with green baize spread on the long table, and the three justices sitting, cabinet-room fashion, with their backs to the fire.

  “No, it required skill and determination,” said Felix.

  Louisa was sitting at the far end of the room, her head bowed.

  “But I would add,” he went on, “that since Miss Rivers became my patient, I was able to see that she did not act out of mischief or malice in brewing the prussic acid.”

  “It is not mischievous or malicious to brew such a concoction with the express intent of extinguishing a fellow human’s life?” said Wakefield.

  “Not if you consider Miss Rivers’ distressed state of mind. Miss Rivers was acting to help her friend. They had both been raped on several occasions by the late Yardley and John Earle –”

  “That is only your opinion, Mr Carswell. Mr Earle denies any wrong-doing. He is adamant that there was consent,” Mr Wakefield said.

  “You will have to excuse me a moment, Mr Carswell,” said Mr Porter. “I am new to the facts of this case. I fail to understand how Miss Rivers could, in a state of – as you put it – extreme distress, behave so calmly and rationally? Those things seem to be entirely contradictory to me.”

  It was supposed to be a settled thing, a mere formality. He had not expected such a thorough examination.

  “She is an intelligent young woman,” Felix said. “We all deal with the buffets of fortune in our different ways. Miss Rivers, having suffered multiple rapes, chose to help her friend by giving her a merciful death. It was an act of mercy.” Porter frowned. “Literature is full of cases where women who have been violated, destroy themselves out of shame. Miss Barker – I am sorry, Mrs Gosforth – did that very thing, and asked her friend to assist her.”

  “That a thing is glorified in literature does not make it justifiable, Mr Carswell.”

  “No, but it says a great deal about how we regard woman who have had to undergo such trials. We prefer them dead and silent from shame. We think them spoilt, though the fault is not theirs. Miss Rivers and Mrs Gosforth were used like the commonest whores – indeed worse, because not a penny was put on the table at the end. Earle and the late Yardley raped them both, on more than one occasion. That we are sitting here quibbling over the rights and wrongs of Miss Rivers’ behaviour strikes me as outrageous when John Earle has not yet been charged!”

  “We are not here to consider that matter,” said Wakefield.

  “Then why are we here?” said Felix, growing impatient. “To pillory a young woman who will never do anything outside the law again and who is perfectly aware that she made a grave mistake? Miss Rivers has a conscience, gentlemen, I have seen that for myself. I see no such evidence in the case of John Earle.”

  “You are passionate, Mr Carswell,” said Wakefield. “I think we ought to hear from the young woman herself. Come here, Miss Rivers.”

  She came slowly across the room and stood next to Felix. He could see she was shaking.

  “You have a gallant champion, Miss,” said Mr Porter. “I hope you are grateful.”

  “I am,” she said.

  “Will you take the oath?”

  “Yes.”

  She did so, and Mr Porter offered her a chair. She refused it, and continued standing by Felix.

  “So, Miss Rivers, do you have something to say to the court?”

  “I do, sir. I admit that I made a poisonous distillation of cherry laurel and supplied it to my friend Annabella Gosforth, so that she could destroy herself.”

  “Which she duly did.”

  “Yes, sir. And I wish I had not. I wish I had advised her to some other course, but I could not think of anything. We were...” Now her voice broke. “She was in so much pain. We both were. I know it was wrong, but...” She took a step forward and steadied herself on the table, with the outstretched fingertips of one hand. “Imagine she was your daughter, please, gentlemen, imagine if you knew what had been done to her, again and again, and that she did not even dare tell her husband, in case he thought her responsible...” There was a little silence while she gathered her strength again. “Yes, my poison killed her, but she was half dead already, and Yardley and Earle are to blame for that.” Then with a burst of vehemence, she added, “And as for me, you may do what you like. I am half dead as well!”

  Silence fell in the room again. The magistrates glanced at each other. Mr Porter, the chair said, “We shall withdraw and deliberate.”

  With which they filed out of the room.

  “Well done,” murmured Felix.

  “I said too much,” she said. She was breathing hard.

  “No, no, not at all,” he said.

  “I told you they would hang me,” she said and went back to her seat. Felix, in his turn, went to stand by Major Vernon, who was glancing through his notebook.

  “I cannot think why they need to deliberate,” said Felix. “I thought it was all agreed.”

  “Apparently not,” said Major Vernon. “I hope good sense prevails with them. And Miss Rivers was impressive.”

  “Do you think you will be able to get s
omething to stick to Earle?” Felix said.

  “It will be a shocking injustice if we do not,” said Major Vernon. “But it was good to get his name aired in court. The more embarrassment he feels, the better.”

  The door opened and the magistrates came back in. Miss Rivers was summoned back to stand in front of them, and Felix found himself twitching with anxiety on her behalf.

  At last Mr Porter spoke: “This has not been an easy matter to decide upon. We do not like to dismiss such serious charges but in the light of somewhat exceptional circumstances, the tender age of the accused, and her clear show of contrition, we have decided that Louisa Rivers be bound over to keep the peace and no further action be taken.”

  Epilogue

  Sitting by the fire at the Falcon Hotel, Felix gazed into the depths of his empty wine glass. He had drunk it down like water.

  “Compliments of the management,” said Major Vernon.

  “For getting rid of their landlord?” Felix said.

  “Apparently,” said Major Vernon. He sipped his wine and made an appreciative noise.

  “It becomes more and more like one of the Professor’s tales,” said Felix.

  “I am surprised they did not ring the church bells for us, for saving the town from a demon,” said Major Vernon.

  “One hardly expects to run across one, even in this line of work. The complete absence of conscience – when conscience is what makes us human, after all.”

  “It’s not so uncommon,” said Major Vernon, with a sigh. “When one starts to looks at the literature. There was a case in Southern France some thirty years ago – it’s well documented. A man who had killed almost half a dozen girls after brutally raping them. He had absolutely no qualms about it. When he was caught he told the investigative magistrate that it had been just like trapping rabbits for the pot. He was hungry and so he acted. He did not consider the women as anything but his prey. The doctors declared him to be suffering from moral insanity, but I do not like that term. To call it insanity is to cover such actions with a cloak of disguise. The man in France was rational and deliberate, just as Yardley was.”

  “What is required,” Felix said, getting up and refilling his glass, “is a system to identify such types before they can do any real damage.”

  “A phrenologist would say that he could read such tendencies in the shape of the head. In fact, I had a letter from one asking if he could measure Yardley’s skull. I did not pass it on to you, knowing your feeling on that subject.”

  “Thank you,” said Felix. “Though it might have been amusing to write a thorough rebuttal.”

  “You probably would not have have changed the man’s mind,” Major Vernon pointed out.

  “True,” said Felix. “I don’t seem to have adequate powers of persuasion.”

  “You were persuasive this afternoon.”

  “I only said what needed to be said. If they had not bound her over, then...” He took a long drink of wine. “Thank God they did. It would be unbearable otherwise.”

  “Quite,” Major Vernon said. “Her life will be difficult enough. She has too quick a mind for such a narrow place as this.”

  “I should ask Mrs and Miss Yardley to take her with them to Italy,” Felix said. “They would do that for me. I am quite in favour there.”

  “I don’t advise it,” Major Vernon said. “Although it might be excellent for Miss Rivers, I don’t think Mrs Yardley, if she has a tendre for you, would be pleased at having to take your protégée under her wing, when the girl is so handsome and clever.”

  “Oh Lord, I suppose not,” Felix said.

  “And I think you have extended your patronage quite far enough where Miss Rivers is concerned. She is best left alone, Carswell. No more chemistry books, certainly.”

  “Did you think I was making love to her?” said Felix. “She’s a child.”

  “She is not any more – she’s a vulnerable woman who has been through a dreadful trial. Of course, you were not making love to her, but she may not see it that way. You need to take care.”

  Felix took another glass of wine and flung himself into his chair. The Major had a point. There had been an earnestness in Miss Rivers’ level gaze that equalled Mrs Yardley’s fluttering eyelashes. How it was that he could be admired by women who meant nothing to him, and yet the woman he wanted above all others cast him aside?

  “You haven’t had a letter from Ireland, I suppose?” he ventured to ask. “Lord Rothborough had one, and burnt it, and told me...” He stopped, and then saw Major Vernon reaching into his coat.

  “I probably shouldn’t let you see this,” he said. “It is probably not what was intended.”

  He held it out. Felix for a moment hesitated to take it. He wished he had not asked for it now. He felt that the sight of her handwriting alone would be unbearable. But then temptation overcame him.

  The letter was brief, polite in tone and mostly informative. But the final paragraph read, in her neat, round hand, read:

  Re Mr C. He has probably scorched your ear on the subject of my cruelty and cold heart. Do not trouble yourself to defend me – I have no defence, only the pain of knowing what could never be.

  He read it several times and then handed it back to Major Vernon.

  “Thank you,” he said. He found himself surprised at how he was able to bear it. He had even derived some vague comfort from it, almost as if she had come into the room, kissed him on the forehead and then left again. He stared at the fire feeling the same pain of which she had written, but knowing at the same time that it had grown a shade or two duller.

  He glanced at Major Vernon, who was also making a study of the fire, the letter still in his hand.

  “Tell me, what did you think of Mrs Maitland?” he said, breaking the silence.

  “Sir?” queried Felix, wondering for a moment if the Major was dreaming aloud.

  “It strikes me I give you far too much unprovoked advice on such matters,” Major Vernon went on. “And on what authority? I am as in the dark as you are.”

  “Do you admire her?” Felix said.

  “I wish it were that simple. It does not feel as it has with other women. Not with my wife or...” He rubbed his hand across his face. “If I could label it admiration or affection or mere attraction then it might be a great deal easier. I could file it away and continue as I am. But she is...” He paused. “Not to be ignored. Tell me what you made of her.”

  Felix considered for a moment.

  “Energetic, sensible, good-humoured, a good manager, a good nurse, very amusing. Oh, and an excellent shot.”

  “Yes,” said Major Vernon, and smiled briefly. “A very good shot.”

  “Intelligent and well-read,” Felix added. “A good mother, too, and I suppose one would say, she would make a good wife, now one thinks about it.”

  “Do you think marriage is even compatible with this profession of ours?” Major Vernon said. “Given what happened to my wife? And what happened with Mrs Connolly, and then Mrs Maitland – although she admitted she was reckless.”

  “Thank God she was!” said Felix. “We should have been lost without her. You did not chide her for that, sir, I hope.” Major Vernon did not answer. “Is that why she went away? I must say I was quite surprised to find her gone when I got back to the Moon and Sixpence.”

  “I did. I suppose I shouldn’t have, but dear God, it was foolish of her!”

  “If you did, then you need not worry about her acting so rashly again,” Felix said. “She will not dare.”

  Major Vernon got up and walked across the room, drew back the curtain and stared out into the frosty night.

  “Am I such a tyrant?” he said.

  “No, I only meant that you have a way of putting things so that sensible folk take heed.”

  “Very tactful. I was a brute. And now...” he gave a shrug and pulled back the curtain. “Is there any of the wine left?”

  “Yes,” Felix said, refilling his glass and taking it over to him. “
Here. And you asked me what I thought of her; well, she and you seem to be cut from the same cloth. And perhaps, in time...?”

  Major Vernon took the wine but did not answer. He was looking out into the street.

  “It’s started snowing,” he said at length. “We shall have cold work of it tomorrow.”

  -o-

  The burial of Mary Taylor and her unborn child took place the next morning a little before noon, in the churchyard of the parish church which had witnessed her baptism and confirmation. The snow had continued to fall and settle overnight, and Felix and Major Vernon had some difficulty gettting there, but were in time for the final committal.

  An ancient pair of yews, dressed in unaccustomed white, formed the backdrop to the black-clad figures of the Taylor family and their neighbours around the open grave. The snow eased off a little as if out of respect, just as the clergyman read the final prayers.

  There was silence after that, as the mourners moved away, their footsteps muffled in the snow. Mr and Mrs Taylor remained alone there, looking down into the grave.

  Farmer Taylor was openly weeping, perhaps for the reconciliation which could never come, while Mrs Taylor had her arms about him, as if she meant to hold him up. She looked across and saw them.

  Felix remembered her standing in the kitchen, denying the very existence of her child. Now she beckoned them over.

  “Thank you for bringing her back to us,” she said, in a voice dry from crying. “And the baby.”

  “Yes,” muttered Mr Taylor, drying his tears as best as he could. “Yes. But it’s a wicked shame those evil buggers couldn’t have gone to the gallows.”