by Evans, Tony
‘You are right, and I am pleased to say that the matter is in hand. Last week, as soon as I agreed to investigate Sir Owen, I contacted a very good friend of mine, late of Amsterdam and now resident in London. His name is Professor Van Helsing. The professor has promised to look into Sir Owen’s career prior to his inheritance of the baronetcy and to send his report to me care of the George Hotel, St Ives. I expect to receive it very shortly.’
‘I seem to have heard the professor’s name before,’ Edith said. ‘Tell me, was he not one of the gentlemen who helped you dispose of the notorious Count?’
‘He was indeed,’ I replied. ‘But for Van Helsing’s invaluable knowledge and assistance, it is unlikely that I would have survived the experience.’
‘Then we are all in his debt,’ Edith said. ‘Now, Charles, are you to tell our guests what we know about the mysterious baronet, or am I?’
‘I am happy to begin,’ her husband said. ‘I am sure you will add anything I omit to mention. The fact is, Jonathan, we really know very little about Sir Owen Velland which is not already a matter of public record and which Mr Haywood will no doubt be able to confirm when you meet with him tomorrow. I see Sir Owen when he is at Sunday service at St Elwyn Church – his attendance is irregular at best – but we rarely exchange more than a few words. Sir Owen succeeded to the baronetcy when his father died in September 1890, just over five years ago. His mother died when he was an infant. Owen left home when he was thirteen and went to Harrow, followed by Cambridge University. After that he lived in London, where I understand he occupied himself with scientific and philosophical pursuits without practising a profession. I believe he returned to Cornwall to visit his father once or twice a year.’
Mina interrupted our friend. ‘Mr Velland – as he then was – must have enjoyed a private income,’ she said.
‘I really couldn’t say. Certainly his father was far from wealthy,’ Charles said.
Edith looked at her husband. ‘It is said that Mr Arnold Paxton is the real source of Sir Owen’s money.’
Charles nodded. ‘Let me explain. Arnold Paxton is Sir Owen’s cousin, somewhat older than the baronet, and he moved back to Carrick Manor with Sir Owen. Paxton is an invalid and is even less inclined to leave Carrick Manor than his cousin. It is indeed rumoured that Arnold Paxton is a very wealthy man – he is a bachelor – but neither he nor the baronet live with any undue ostentation. Sir Owen is rarely seen in St Ives.’
‘And how does the baronet occupy his time?’ I asked.
Charles frowned. ‘He continues his scientific pursuits, and the Reverend Trewellard tells me that Sir Owen has equipped a small chemical laboratory at Carrick Manor. I have not myself seen it, as the baronet is disinclined for company – Trewellard excepted.’
Mina helped herself to an apple from the fruit bowl in the centre of the table. ‘Is it correct that Sir Owen has quite recently suffered a sad bereavement?’
Charles looked across the table at his wife, and reading his subtle signal she took it upon herself to reply.
‘Yes indeed. It was a very tragic case and it received wide publicity. Afterwards Sir Owen became even more reclusive, which is hardly surprising. The facts are these. After the baronet had been back in Cornwall for a year, he married a young woman from West Cornwall, Ruth Lethbridge. She was only twenty two years old – considerably younger than Sir Owen. She came from a good Penzance family – the Lethbridges have been landowners in the area since the seventeenth century – but it is not thought that she brought a substantial sum of money to the marriage. Then eighteen months later, in March 1893, her body was found one morning at the foot of the cliffs on the edge of the Carrick Estate. Sir Owen confirmed that Lady Velland had been discovered sleepwalking on a number of occasions: indeed, she was normally locked in her room at night for her own safety. On that occasion the housekeeper forgot to do so, with the tragic result that I have described.’
‘How did Sir Owen and Ruth Lethbridge first meet?’ I asked. ‘They sound an ill-matched couple.’
Edith thought for a moment. ‘Let me see. I recall hearing that on one of his rare excursions Sir Owen Velland had attended a public lecture in Penzance and was introduced to Mr and Mrs Lethbridge and their daughter, who were also present.’
‘I take it there was some ill-feeling in the neighbourhood towards Sir Owen after his young wife died in such tragic circumstances?’ I asked.
Charles snorted. ‘Some ill-informed feeling, certainly,’ he said. ‘After all, Ruth chose to become Lady Velland of her own free will. I’m afraid that in a rural community such as ours, the baronet’s combination of reserve, arcane interests and domestic tragedy was always likely to give rise to a popular prejudice against him. Shortly after he returned to Cornwall he was involved in a dispute over a piece of land with a local farmer. The poor fellow lost his wits over the business – and a good deal of nonsense was talked about Sir Owen’s part in the matter.’
‘I suppose his recent engagement to Flora Haywood has not been generally welcomed?’ Mina said.
‘No indeed,’ Charles replied. ‘It has not helped that until recently she was known to have had an understanding with Dr Goodwin, a very popular young doctor in St Ives. Still, the friendship between Sir Owen Velland and the Reverend Trewellard must count in the baronet’s favour.’
Edith stood up and walked to the fireplace, adding a log from the pile stacked on the hearth. She took up the poker and stirred the fire into a blaze. ‘No doubt. However, the Reverend Trewellard can afford to think the best of everyone, since he commands a position which all must respect. As for me, I will reserve judgment on Sir Owen and would advise Jonathan to do likewise. Now, if we have all had enough of baronets and mysteries, perhaps we could try a hand or two of whist before the evening ends?’
*
That night, while I lay in bed gazing at the gnarled oak beams that snaked across the ceiling, I thought back to the letter that Nathanial Haywood had sent to my senior partner, Mr Joplin. I reminded myself that in the morning I had an appointment with Mr Haywood in St Ives, during which he would no doubt tell me more about his concerns regarding Sir Owen Velland. As I turned over to compose myself for sleep, the distant hooting of a solitary owl felt strangely comforting. That and the soft breathing of Mina next to my pillow eased me gently into slumber.
Chapter Three
Mina and I arrived downstairs at nine o’clock the next morning to find that Charles Ashby had already left the house on parish business. After an excellent breakfast of eggs and bacon I was about to leave for my appointment, having resolved to walk the mile or so to Hayle station and complete my short journey to St Ives by train. I was standing in the hall taking my leave of Mina when there was a knock at the door.
Edith stepped past us and answered it herself. There on the threshold stood a cheerful, ruddy faced man of about fifty years of age, holding the reins of a dapple grey horse in one hand. He was wearing the moleskin trousers, collarless shirt and corduroy jacket which usually denoted a labourer, but he spoke in the cultivated tones of a gentleman.
‘My dear Mrs Ashby! My apologies for my unannounced visit, but I would like a brief word with your husband, if that is convenient.’
‘Good morning, Reverend,’ Edith said. ‘I am afraid that Charles has just left. He’s taken the horse and trap to call on poor Mrs Wilson, who’s not expected to last the day. But I am forgetting my manners. Let me introduce you to my old school friend Mina Harker and her husband Jonathan. This is the Reverend Trewellard, Vicar of St Elwyn.’
The vicar shook hands. ‘You have politely refrained from commenting on my appearance,’ he said with a smile. ‘I will let you into my secret. I am a dedicated fossil hunter and some excellent specimens are to be found in the rock formations uncovered at low tide.’ He pointed to a small canvas saddlebag. ‘I have just returned from Black Cliff Cove with some fine examples of asteroceras – ammonites, that is.’
Edith persuaded the Reverend Trewellard to tet
her his horse and take tea before he returned to his vicarage in Hayle, although he insisted on removing his muddy boots before entering the hallway. As I had arranged to call on Nathanial Haywood and his wife between ten and eleven thirty that morning my departure was not urgent and I therefore agreed to join Edith, the vicar and Mina in the drawing room before leaving.
‘The reason for my visit is not in the least a private one,’ Trewellard said to Edith, passing her a packet of dog-eared papers which he had taken from his jacket pocket. ‘Charles has very kindly agreed to transcribe these parish accounts into a comprehensible form and to forward them to the bishop on my behalf. He has a far better head for figures than I.’
I noticed Mina’s raised eyebrows and could guess what she was thinking. The Reverend Trewellard was clearly one of those parsons who were more than happy to delegate most of their work to a curate.
Trewellard looked towards me. ‘Of course paperwork will hold no terrors for you, Mr Harker. I am a friend of Sir Owen Velland and he tells me that you have come all the way from Exeter to assist with his marriage settlement.’
I nodded. ‘Indeed. In fact I have an appointment to see Sir Owen tomorrow morning at his family seat. His solicitor will be with him and I am hopeful that all can be arranged very quickly. However, I dare say that Mina and I will remain in Cornwall for a few days longer, as the Reverend Ashby and his wife have kindly offered us their hospitality.’
‘I have heard that the baronet shares your scientific interests, Reverend,’ Mina said. ‘Is he also a naturalist, or does he confine himself to his laboratory?’
Trewellard chuckled. ‘You are very well informed, Mrs Harker. The baronet does direct his efforts to the investigation of chemical phenomena. Unfortunately my friend is considered suspect by some in our little community, simply because he possesses a laboratory and carries out mundane researches. Of course the world of sensational literature has much to answer for. Our parents were excited by the horrors of Dr Frankenstein’s experiments and thanks to Mr Stevenson the current generation believes that anyone spending their time over a steaming flask or titration apparatus must be a budding Dr Jekyll! I have myself suffered from a similar prejudice. There are those in the parish who feel that a clergyman should have no time for fossils, geology or the works of the late Mr Darwin.’
‘And how would you respond to that criticism, sir?’ Mina asked.
The clergyman waved his hands dismissively. ‘Sheer ignorance, Mrs Harker, sheer ignorance. As Bishop Lessing had so eloquently stated, there is no contradiction between Christian belief and scientific understanding. A deeper understanding of the means of creation is not the same as a disavowal of the creator Himself. However, I must let you and your husband go about your business and confine my sermons to church! I’m afraid that as a bachelor I often fail to have that sense of urgency found in my married friends.’
We all smiled and Reverend Trewellard stood up to take his leave.
‘You have an amiable vicar at any rate,’ I said to Edith. ‘Has he had the living of St Elwyn for many years?’
‘Indeed not,’ she replied. ‘As you know Charles has been curate here for just over three years, and Trewellard took over the parish only four years before that in the summer of 1888. Until that time I believe he worked at an Anglican mission in Calcutta. But I see that it is nearly time for your train – don’t let me make you late for your appointment.’
*
I soon completed the train journey between St Erth station and St Ives and shortly afterwards found myself approaching Mr and Mrs Haywood’s house. Chevin Villa was a pleasant detached residence in Albert Street on the western edge of the town. I had opened the gate and was just about to walk down the gravel path which led from the road to their entrance porch when the front door opened and a gentleman was shown out by a maid. He was no more than thirty years old, formally attired in a black frock coat and clutching a Gladstone bag. I hoped that my visit would not find the Haywoods or their daughter unwell. It did not require great powers of intellect to deduce that the gentleman now walking towards me was a medical man.
When he saw me he looked quickly over his shoulder, then hurried down the path. To my surprise he led me to one side of the gate, so that we were out of sight of the house.
‘Forgive me,’ he said urgently, ‘but I must speak to you. Please hear me out – I will be brief. I assume you are Mr Jonathan Harker? Mr Haywood told me that you would be visiting him this morning regarding Flora’s marriage settlement. It was my plan to intercept you if I could. My name is Dr Goodwin. I have been treating Mrs Haywood for a mild attack of lumbago – nothing to cause any concern.’
He reached out and gripped my upper arm violently. He spoke in an intense whisper.
‘Mr Harker – I beg you – for G-d’s sake prevent this marriage! I can tell you no more and it is imperative that you say nothing of our conversation to anyone.’
Before I could speak the doctor looked round one more time and hurried off down the road which led towards the centre of St Ives. For a moment I contemplated following him, then turned away and walked slowly up to the front door. If Dr Goodwin thought that his words to me were the end of the matter, he was mistaken. I resolved that I would speak to him again at a time of my own choosing.
*
Mr and Mrs Haywood were a couple much as I had imagined. Nathanial Haywood was powerfully built with a spade-like beard and tanned features. It was evident that he was what is commonly termed a “self-made man”, and none the worse for it. His rise from the position of grocer’s assistant to the ownership of a large and successful fish canning business had given him a brisk and confident air, but had not diminished his natural good humour. Likewise his wife Nellie, although now married to one of the foremost businessmen of the town, had none of the pretentiousness sometimes associated with a rapid climb in society. Rather younger than her husband, her bright eyes and keen gaze denoted a natural intelligence.
Once the three of us had exchanged greetings and were settled around the tea things, with the parlour maid given permission to leave, Mr Haywood passed me a slim manila envelope.
‘Here are my ideas for Flora’s marriage settlement for you to put into the usual legal jargon. I’m intending to give Flora ten thousand pounds, which I consider generous. Five thousand is to be put in trust to be invested for her own use and the capital inherited by any children she may have. The date of the marriage hasn’t been fixed, but it will certainly not be before the New Year. Flora is not yet of age and cannot marry without our permission before 15th January 1896. On that day she is twenty one and will be able to do as she wishes.’
‘If you will bear with me I will quickly look through this to see if I have any immediate queries,’ I said. I scanned the document, which had been very clearly written out in everyday language by Mr Haywood. Then I read the final clause – and re-read it to ensure that I had not made a mistake. I held the page out, pointing to the relevant section.
‘This part is somewhat – shall we say unusual?’ I said. ‘Are you sure you wish to include it?’
Haywood nodded. ‘Yes, it’s most important. I dare say Velland won’t like it, but that’s a matter for him. Was there anything else?’
‘The rest seems very straightforward,’ I said.
‘Good. My wife and daughter and I are leaving for Falmouth tomorrow to visit Edith’s sister. We will return this coming Saturday, so perhaps you could call upon us then regarding your progress with the settlement.’
He continued with a lowered voice. ‘There is of course the other matter: your investigation into the baronet’s suitability as a husband. You arrived in Cornwall yesterday – I wonder if you have discovered anything yet?’
Mrs Haywood placed her hand on her husband’s arm and smiled. ‘Really my dear, you expect rather a lot from Mr Harker.’
‘Not at all, Mrs Haywood,’ I said. ‘Your husband is correct: I have already had some opportunity to discuss Sir Owen’s situation, discreetl
y of course. Perhaps if I tell you what I already know, you will be able to add your own perceptions to mine.’
The Haywoods agreed with my suggestion and I took out my pocket book in which I had noted all that I had learned so far about Sir Owen Velland. I summarised my discoveries and also explained that I hoped soon to receive a report concerning the years that he spent in London before moving to Cornwall five years ago.
I put down my notes. ‘In short,’ I concluded, ‘I have been given the impression of a reclusive man, concerned with his scientific researches, who is seen as something of an oddity by his neighbours. However, I have heard nothing specific against him, and he appears to have a good friend in the Reverend Trewellard. I am to meet Sir Owen tomorrow morning. Before I do so, it would be a great help if you could expand on the matters that you hinted at in your letter to Mr Joplin.’
For a few moments Haywood stared silently at the wall opposite him, avoiding my gaze. His wife put her hand on his and turned towards me.
‘Mr Harker, perhaps my husband will let me explain our concerns.’
Haywood nodded almost imperceptibly and she continued. ‘Nathanial is a clever and successful man of business, who is not given to fancies. Neither indeed am I. There are however many in this part of the world who consider the baronet to be an evil man, who exercises a malevolent influence. Let me give you one example. When he succeeded to the baronetcy and returned to Carrick Manor in September 1890, Sir Owen found that a stretch of land on the western edge of his property was in dispute. It had been cultivated by a local farmer for many years, but the previous baronet – who was disinclined to go to law over the dispute – believed it to be part of the Carrick estate. Sir Owen determined that it should revert to his ownership and six months after his return he commenced legal proceedings against Silas Fraddam, the farmer who had it under cultivation. As it turned out the matter never went to court. Silas was not able to defend his case.’
‘What happened?’ I asked.
