A voice cried out above the hubbub and, with much pushing and shoving and elbowing, Dr Samuel Mouldered managed to enter the room.
‘Thank the ’eavens above yore ’ere,’ said Elias Sourdough. ‘Ratchet’s kicked the bucket at last.’
The room quietened in anticipation of Mouldered’s assessment of the case. Few of the villagers were acquainted with the fad of self-diagnosis (with the aid of Dr Moriarti’s Simplified Medical Dictionary for the Common Man, available at a small discount from Perigoe Leafbinder’s bookshop). They preferred to hear it from the horse’s mouth.
Mouldered walked around the chair several times stroking his sparsely whiskered chin. It was not often he got to hold centre stage in this way and his nerves, tightly wound these past few days, were getting the better of him. Sweat squeezed out of the furrows of his brow and he licked his dry lips with a pale pink tongue. Finally he cleared his throat and announced hoarsely, ‘I believe that Jeremiah Ratchet has suffered some sort of fit, or apoplexy, of the heart which has caused his untimely death.’
The crowd sighed and an air of disappointment was quite apparent. They had been expecting foul play. Certainly it would not have been undeserved.
‘’E looks sort of smothered to me. And ’is ’ands don’t look right. Are you sure?’
That Jeremiah might have been smothered was little more than wishful thinking but, upon closer inspection, Mouldered could not deny that his palms were quite red and blistered, as if they had been severely burned.
‘I’m sure,’ he said, with all the conviction of a man who isn’t. ‘Sometimes heart attacks make people’s hands, er –’ he fumbled in his pockets as if searching for the correct medical term, but gave up and finished lamely – ‘look like this.’
Eyebrows were raised, sniggers were barely suppressed and heads were shaken, but Mouldered refused to say any more and, the excitement over, the villagers shuffled out, jingling and jangling with their hidden spoils. In the silence they left behind them Mouldered closed Jeremiah’s eyes with quivering fingers. He took the sheet of paper from his hand, glanced at it briefly, then folded it and was about to pocket it when Perigoe appeared.
‘That belongs to Joe,’ she said. ‘It’s from a book of mine he bought about amphibians.’
‘Ah, Perigoe,’ said Mouldered, handing it to her, ‘perhaps you could see to it that he gets it.’
She nodded and left quickly, clutching a single tatty maroon book under her arm.
‘Just one?’ thought Mouldered. ‘How very restrained.’
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Fragment from
The Memoirs of Ludlow Fitch
As soon as the crowd heard that Ratchet was dead they had turned tail, one and all, and run down the hill. Joe went straight through to the shop and began to beat out the flames with an old coat from the window. To be honest, it was more smoke than fire and it didn’t take long to put it out. Despite that, the damage was extensive. Everything was charred or blackened with smoke and the acrid smell made breathing quite unpleasant. There was little worth saving. Gradually the air was clearing with the biting wind that now blew through the broken window and the shattered door. I helped him without knowing why. Eventually Joe stamped out one last stubborn flame and rested, panting from the effort.
‘What a dreadful shame, so unnecessary,’ he murmured. ‘But I suppose it could have been worse. At least I still have this.’ He bent down and pulled the wooden leg, miraculously unharmed, from the rubble and went to the back room. When I looked in he was dressed in cloak and scarf and struggling to force the leg into the satchel.
Suddenly everything was happening far too quickly. I was angry with Joe for the way he behaved, for the murder I was so sure he had committed, but I was frightened too, because he was leaving.
‘Is that it? You’re just going to go?’
‘There’s not much more I can do now,’ he said. ‘I have no reason to stay.’
‘What about the shop?’
‘The shop is finished. We can start again somewhere else.’ He slung the bag over his shoulder and came through, stepping carefully over the wreckage on his way to the door. ‘You are coming with me?’
How could he be so calm? My heart was racing.
I hesitated. ‘I don’t know if I can.’
‘Oh.’ He sounded as if he hadn’t considered this and frowned. ‘I thought you knew we couldn’t stay here forever. Perhaps I should have said something before. My work compels me to move on.’
‘It’s not that,’ I said. ‘I would have gone anywhere with you but –’ I couldn’t say it. I felt as if I was choking. We faced each other wordlessly until the silence was gently broken by a soft voice that made us both look up. It was Perigoe.
‘Mr Zabbidou,’ she said. ‘Mr Zabbidou.’ She came through the remains of the door and when she saw the destruction she looked distraught. ‘I want to say sorry,’ she whispered. ‘Everyone wants to say sorry. We know we were wrong to treat you the way we did. We should have trusted you. It was the letter that frightened us all.’
‘Ah,’ said Joe, ‘the letter.’
Perigoe looked as if she was about to burst into tears. ‘It was the oldest Sourdough boy who wrote the letter, blackmailing his own father to line his pockets. He found out that Elias had been to see you and he knew we would blame you. Ruby found another letter he was going to send to Dr Mouldered. Everyone feels terrible, Mr Zabbidou. You were right: all we had to do was wait a little longer. Are you a doctor too? Did you know about his heart?’
I could have laughed out loud. Now they thought Joe was a hero again. What was it then that bothered me so much? Jeremiah had so many enemies he was always going to meet a sticky end one way or the other; did it really matter how? But I couldn’t bear the thought that Joe was involved in such a wretched business. All those times I had worried about having sneaked a look in the Black Book. There were far greater sins being committed than that!
‘His heart?’ repeated Joe. ‘Yes, I suspected something was amiss with the fellow.’
Perigoe’s eyes went to the bag on his shoulder. Her eyelid flickered rapidly and she blushed.
‘Are you leaving?’
‘Indeed I am. I think Pagus Parvus can do without me now.’
A tear squeezed out of the corner of her eye, but she wiped it away quickly and sniffed. ‘Then I am glad I caught you. I want to give you something.’ She handed over a small book. ‘It doesn’t matter any more, now that Jeremiah’s gone. Too many bad memories. I mean, who cares about sheep?’
Joe hesitated. ‘You do realize what this is worth, don’t you?’
Perigoe nodded. ‘I couldn’t take the money. You deserve it, after all you’ve given us.’
‘If it is your wish, I accept.’ Joe tucked the book into his cloak but not before I managed to catch the title: The Loneliness of the High Mountain Shepherd.
‘And there’s this too. I nearly forgot. Dr Mouldered found it. I thought it might be important.’
She gave him a piece of paper and he kissed her hand. Then she whispered goodbye and hurried away.
‘You see,’ said Joe as he pocketed the folded page, ‘inheritance. When I sell the book, the money will keep us going for many months.’
‘Inheritance?’ I scoffed. ‘You mean you get your money from dead people.’
Joe smiled. ‘I suppose that is close enough to the truth.’
‘People you have killed.’
‘I have never killed anyone for money, Ludlow. It is not in my nature.’
‘You’ll be telling me next it’s against the rules.’
Joe sighed and put down his satchel. ‘All these weeks you have been such a help to me, Ludlow, and I am immensely grateful. You have been honest and loyal and I know it wasn’t easy for you. But more than that, I had thought I saw something in you, something I have been seeking for years. That first night when I found you outside in the snow, you reminded me of myself when I was a young man and I could see a future for you
. That is why I want you to come with me. I have such hopes for your talent. I want us to continue to work together. I can show you the world. Tell me, why won’t you come?’
Why not, indeed? Of course I wanted to go, desperately. If he had asked a day ago, even hours ago, I would have had no hesitation. But now things were different. I wasn’t sure he was the person I had thought him to be. I wasn’t even sure who I was any more.
‘You could have a marvellous future, Ludlow. There is so much I could teach you.’
‘Like murder?’ At last I said it, and the relief was indescribable – as was the fear that came with it.
‘Ah,’ he said and his face lit up knowingly, ‘I wondered when you would come out with it. Presumably you believe I murdered Jeremiah?’
I nodded slowly. ‘Can you prove to me that you didn’t?’
‘I . . .’ began Joe but then another voice hailed us from the shop door. It was Horatio, breathless and sweating from running up the hill.
‘I had to come,’ he said as he crashed through the debris. ‘I have to tell you, Joe, before you go, I’ve done something terrible. It wasn’t his heart. It was me that did it. I killed him.’
Joe took him by the arm and sat him down.
‘What is it, Horatio? What do you think you have done?’
‘I killed Jeremiah Ratchet. I poisoned his pie and had Polly give it to him. I know I swore I’d never cook up such a dish again but I just had to do something. Dr Mouldered said you weren’t going to help us. I couldn’t stand it any more.’
‘Listen to me,’ said Joe, ‘you mustn’t blame yourself. What’s done is done. Dr Mouldered said he had a heart attack and it is best to accept that. Don’t say anything about this to anyone, but make sure the remains of the pie are taken away in case someone else eats it. There are plenty who are hungry enough.’
‘Are you sure, Mr Zabbidou?’ Horatio looked up with red-rimmed eyes.
‘Certain. Just get rid of the pie before someone innocent comes to harm.’
‘I don’t know how to thank you, Mr Zabbidou,’ said Horatio. ‘I don’t deserve your help.’
‘The pie,’ repeated Joe. ‘Fetch the pie.’
As soon as Horatio was gone Joe put his hands on my shoulders and looked me straight in the eye. ‘So, Ludlow, now do you trust me?’
I was speechless. I had been so certain. ‘S-so you d-didn’t do it?’ I stammered. I could hardly look at him. ‘Can you forgive me?’ Then a terrible thought struck me. ‘Do you still want me to come with you?’
Joe laughed. ‘Ludlow, my dear fellow, of course I do. How could you possibly think otherwise? Come with me now and I promise if you don’t like what you see, and think you cannot live with what you know, then you and I can go our separate ways and our paths need never cross again.’
My heart swelled to bursting point with excitement and I grinned so widely I could feel my skin stretching. I wasted no more time. I collected my purse from the fireplace and pulled my cloak tightly around me. But there was still something I had to say.
‘I haven’t always been honest with you,’ I began, but Joe shook his head.
‘It’ll keep,’ he said. ‘Now we must go.’
We slipped out through the shattered door, carrying no more than we had when we arrived in the village all those weeks ago. I looked over my shoulder, but the street was empty. A single light shone in Jeremiah’s window, but other than that the houses were dark and we left as we came, unseen.
Chapter Forty
Fragment from
The Memoirs of Ludlow Fitch
We journeyed on foot for two days and two nights. All the time we were climbing and all the time it was snowing. We had no chance to talk. Our efforts were concentrated on ploughing through the drifts and fighting against the wind. It was vital that we stayed together. If we had become separated I had no doubt we would have been lost to each other forever. I did not know if we were going north or south, east or west. There was no sun to guide us and no moon at night.
As we travelled I had a chance to think, to mull over the recent past. Although I was elated that Joe had not murdered Jeremiah (and ashamed that I could have accused him of such a thing), I still felt that had Joe not arrived in Pagus Parvus when he did, Jeremiah would probably still be alive. There was also the matter of Joe’s ‘inheritance’ as he liked to call it. Joe had said, and I believed him, that he never killed for money. But money and death seemed inextricably linked when he was around.
There were other unanswered questions of course, and I had come on this trip for those answers, but as the temperature dropped and the snow became thicker, I wondered if I had been so wise. But there was nothing left for me in Pagus Parvus and I soldiered on, trying to stay cheerful. Towards the end of the journey I was so tired I could hardly lift my feet and Joe carried me on his back, tucked under his cloak, for the last few miles. I could still hear the storm howling but the steady rhythm of his footfall, even with the limp, sent me into a delicious slumber. I remember very little after that until I woke up again to find that I was stretched out on the ground.
I was lying under my own cloak on a bed of leafy branches on a hard floor. There was no snow, no wind, no chill in the air. I lay for a few minutes unmoving, enjoying the warmth and comfort. I stared up at a ceiling of rock and when I put my hand out I could feel that the floor was sandy. I sat up and looked around cautiously. I was in a low-roofed cave lit by orange-flamed torches jutting out from the walls. The last time I had seen such burning brands, the night Jeremiah died, they had not cast such a comforting light. If I concentrated I could just hear the wind crying outside, but it sounded very far away. There was a fire at my feet, over which hung a blackened kettle. I could smell something familiar bubbling within. Joe was sitting cross-legged on the other side holding out a bowl.
‘Soup?’
After we ate it was time to talk. For once Joe seemed happy to answer my questions. He looked different somehow, relaxed, as if he was in a familiar place.
‘It is time for the truth,’ he said. ‘If we are to continue our journey together you must trust me. If there is anything you wish to know, now is the time to ask.’
Where to begin! I was so nervous I was shaking, but I knew what I wanted to say. I had rehearsed this moment for days. ‘Tell me your rules.’
Joe nodded and began,
‘There are only two, both simple, but it is their simplicity that makes them so difficult to follow. I think you know the first.’
I did. ‘You must not change the course of things.’
‘Exactly. That is not to say I have no influence. The very fact that I arrive in a place affects the future in some way but, wherever I go, each person is responsible for his own actions. Of the two rules, I think this is the harder to obey. I have seen some terrible things, Ludlow, and it makes it so difficult not to interfere. Nigh on every day in Pagus Parvus I was tempted to ignore the rule. The villagers needed my help so badly but I had to be deaf to their pleas. I don’t really know what they wanted me to do – perhaps they wished me to murder Jeremiah (here he smiled wryly) – but I could only carry on as normal and hope they could wait. To behave in any other way would have led to disaster. “Dura Lex Sed Lex. The law is hard but it is the law.”’
‘And the other rule?’
‘You are familiar with that one too. Everyone, no matter who they are, deserves a chance to redeem themselves, to say sorry, to ask for mercy. Even people like Jeremiah Ratchet. You will remember I gave him that opportunity when he came for the book.’
I remembered the sight of Jeremiah pleading for help and I shuddered.
‘Of course, he didn’t really want my help,’ continued Joe, ‘but still I had to offer it to him. You were afraid that if he confessed I would use his secret against him. It broke my heart to see your faith in me waver, although I was immensely pleased that you were so concerned for the fate of the villagers. I knew then I hadn’t misjudged you. Your loyalty to them is a quality to be admire
d. We act for the people, Ludlow. Never forget that.
‘I will not deny that Jeremiah’s own fate was sealed one way or the other when I came to Pagus Parvus, but he killed himself long before I ever turned up: by his selfishness, his avarice, his cruel nature.
‘These are the rules, Ludlow, and I live by them regardless.’
He looked at me expectantly and I was ready. ‘The money you used in Pagus Parvus, where did it come from?’
‘A dead person, as you suggested, but before you accuse me of foul play let me assure you it was all perfectly legitimate. Before I came to the village I spent some time in a small town near the border. Business was good. In fact, you will find some of their secrets at the beginning of the Black Book. There is an interesting one about a coffin maker . . .’
My heart sank and I flushed bright red and covered my face with my hands. ‘You knew.’
Joe grinned. ‘Of course I knew. It was written all over your face when I came back.’
‘Aren’t you angry?’
‘I was, I suppose, at the time. More with you than with Polly. But at least you started at the beginning.’
‘We wouldn’t have read any more,’ I said. ‘We both felt terrible afterwards.’
‘I’m glad,’ replied Joe, laughing. ‘So you should. It would have been easy enough to make you confess, but I thought I should let you live with your guilt. And the book under your cushion – I’m sure to feel that every night was punishment enough. As I said, “Quae nocent docent.”’
The Latin words at the end of the story.
‘It means, “Things that hurt also teach.”’
Now I felt even worse. ‘So what happened in that small town,’ I said, anxious to know everything.
The Black Book of Secrets Page 15
