The Dead Songbird (The Northminster Mysteries)

by Smart, Harriet

  “If you cannot find your token you cannot trade here,” he said.

  “No, sir, of course not. I would not dream of it. I wouldn’t have set up here today if I hadn’t a token, would I?” he added with such an insolent grin that Giles was tempted to change his mind and arrest him. But he reflected it would only be a matter of time before the man was caught at it again, and then he would not have the excuse of not having been warned. He would send a constable up to Tanner Lane to look him out. It was a little shoddy to leave it as it stood, but the problem was endemic, like an outbreak of cockroaches – insoluble unless the root cause was tackled: the iniquitous token system. It was the de facto criminalisation of the many for the benefit of the few, and for all his dishonesty and obvious guilt, Giles could not help having some sympathy for the print seller.

  “So pack up and be on your way,” he said.

  “Yes, sir, at once, sir.”

  “Major Vernon!” Carswell calling was out.

  He turned and saw Carswell running across the green. Mrs Fildyke appeared to be collapsing.

  Chapter Three

  “I want Dr Joyce!” said Mrs Fildyke, her arms flailing, as Felix tried to take her pulse. “Get off me!”

  “I’m a surgeon, Mrs Fildyke.”

  “No, no, you’re nothing but a boy. Where’s Dr Joyce? Edwin, go and get Dr Joyce. I don’t want no ’prentice surgeon. And get me my pills... Oh God, my poor heart... I’m going to die, I swear it.”

  They had got her back to her house with some difficulty. She was not unconscious but her bulk was considerable and she was complaining of severe pain, and every move had seemed to only increase her distress. The three of them – her son, the Major and Felix – managed to manoeuvre her through the tiny shop and into a back room which contained a large sofa and a great quantity of bird cages, all filled with frenzied little creatures, who set up a din at their interruption.

  It was soon clear that this noxious apartment was where she spent most of her time. Her excursion onto the Green had been an exceptional one, and she was so unused to exercise that it had brought on a violent attack of dyspepsia.

  “You insolent beggar!” she said, as Felix again tried to examined her, albeit cursorily. “Edwin, get him out of here. I must see Dr Joyce.”

  “He’s trying to help you, Mother. You might have died out there.”

  “I don’t think it’s as grave as that. What did you have for breakfast, Mrs Fildyke?” Felix said, noticing the dish of sugar plums and the port bottle on the table.

  “Just a little gruel. That’s all I can bear first thing. I don’t eat a great deal.”

  “You ought to loose your stays,” he said.

  “How dare you!” she screamed. “Edwin, get him out of here!”

  “Very well, ma’am,” said Felix, stepping back from the couch. “If you will not take my help –”

  “No I will not!” she said. “Get out!”

  “I must apologise for my mother,” said Mr Fildyke as they went back into the shop. Major Vernon was waiting there, apparently absorbed in studying the cluttered shelves. “She takes on so and that rascal has been here every day this week.”

  “Dyspepsia, I should say. She should observe a stricter diet,” said Felix. “And take more exercise. Tell her that, won’t you?”

  “Yes, yes, I shall try. I shall try. Thank you, sir – thank you both,” he added, turning to Major Vernon who had picked up a print and was examining it closely by what scanty light came through the glazed panes of the door. “Do you like that, sir? Lots of gentlemen have been in enquiring for Mrs Morgan’s picture since we heard she was coming to sing. That’s the last one I have in stock.”

  “That’s just as well, for I’m not sure this is legitimate, Mr Fildyke,” said Major Vernon.

  “What do you mean, sir?” said Fildyke, all apparent innocence

  “That this is a pirate copy of a Hill & Co engraving. You should be a little more wary about who you buy your stock from if you do not want to get yourself into trouble.”

  “I don’t know about that, sir,” said Fildyke, a little flustered now. “No-one else has remarked on it. All our customers have been satisfied.”

  “They would be for that price if it were genuine,” said the Major. “Who is your supplier?”

  “I don’t know, sir, off-hand. I should have to ask my mother, and I don’t like to disturb her now.”

  “Perhaps in the near future you will remember,” said the Major rolling up the print. “I would advise you to do so.”

  “Yes, sir, I will, of course.”

  “I will take this with me, if you don’t mind, Mr Fildyke? You don’t want to sell it by accident, I’m sure.”

  Fildyke looked as though he were about to protest and then thought better of it.

  “A very dubious establishment,” said Major Vernon, as they walked away. “Half the stock was counterfeit or adulterated, and all sold at vastly inflated prices.” He handed Felix the rolled-up print. “Pirate copy, or not, I wonder if that is a good likeness?”

  Felix unrolled the paper to reveal the figure of woman, leaning on a pillar with a bland, sweet and abstracted gaze. She had large spaniel eyes and glossy ringlets.

  “I doubt it. No woman ever looked like that. Why do people waste their money on such things?”

  “We like to have our idols, our great men and our beautiful women. It is in our nature. Well, at least we weak mortals do. Obviously not you, Carswell.”

  “I could see the point of a portrait which did a person justice, which had some honesty in it. It is the utter falsity of that that offends me. That is not a woman. That is a doll.” He handed it back to the Major.

  “We shall make a scientific comparison,” said the Major, tucking the print inside his great coat, “when we see the lady for ourselves. A great many would envy us the opportunity. After you,” he said, indicating a narrow flight of steps twisted away behind a crumbling old wall.

  “Where does this go?”

  “Up to the far side of the Minster Precincts. This is Jacob’s ladder,” said the Major.

  Some thirty steps later they were following a narrow lane that led to a wooden hand-gate.

  “Avonside Row?” said Felix, glancing up at the cast iron sign fixed to a high brick wall.

  They had emerged into a short but handsome street in a secluded corner of the Precincts. He not taken in the address at the top of Mrs Morgan’s letter, but was now surprised he had not. The name Avonside was always one to make him uneasy. “Is this part –?”

  “Of the Rothborough estates? I believe so.”

  “What is Mrs Morgan to do with that?”

  “It is a good address,” said Major Vernon, his hand on the elaborate wrought iron gate that led to a generous front garden. “I should live here if I could afford it. She clearly can – at least for the time of her engagement here. Very pleasant indeed. A fine house – especially that large garden at the side. No common lodgings for the great diva.”

  Felix followed the Major up the flagged path, with its trimming of clipped box to the immaculately proportioned front door, topped with a fanlight. It was, he supposed, a desirable house, but he could not dissociate the property from its owner. It had too much of the stamp of Lord Rothborough about it – glossy and aristocratic. Above the door was the Rothborough coat of arms, the three diamonds set in an oval, topped by a raven’s head. Felix knew the pattern well from the watch-chain seal that Lord Rothborough had given to him when he turned one-and-twenty.

  A maid of striking looks opened the door to them and enquired, haughtily, in a strong foreign accent, “Yes, what is it?”

  “Your mistress is expecting me,” the Major said. “Tell her the Chief Constable presents his compliments.” He held out his card to her, which she took and examined dubiously.

  “You are sure, Monsieur?”

  “Yes,” said Major Vernon crisply. “Take that up to your mistress and you will see that I am expected.”

&nbs
p; “Wait here,” she said, gesturing to the row of hall chairs that skulked against the wall. “I will see for you.”

  “She’s clearly used to weeding out the riff-raff,” said Major Vernon, when she had gone.

  “That doesn’t excuse her insolence.”

  “Swiss,” the Major went on, “if I am not mistaken. Extremely smart indeed.”

  “What is?”

  “To have a Swiss maid. So I am informed. And for a married woman to keep a maid that beautiful – well, the mistress must be sure of her own charms, don’t you think? A girl that handsome would be a serious provocation to a husband.”

  “About as provocative as a quart of vinegar,” Felix said, turning quickly away from the painting he had found himself facing: a perspective view of the park at Holbroke, with a large coat of arms in the corner, supported by flying angels.

  Upstairs someone began to play the piano – the introduction to a song which Felix vaguely recognised. Then someone began to sing; not, as might have been expected, a woman, but a man. He sounded ordinary enough, neither good nor bad – a respectable drawing room tenor, and Felix recognised it at once.

  “What the devil?” he muttered, and pushed his hands through his hair. “That’s –”

  The Major, who had been looking at the other paintings, turned to him. “Yes?”

  “My Lord Rothborough.”

  “The solicitous landlord, of course,” said the Major, with an amused but sympathetic smile.

  “Collecting his rent, I suppose,” said Felix, taking up his hat. “We won’t be allowed to intrude on this.”

  “We owe the lady a little more than that,” said Major Vernon, going to the stairs. “It would be better for her if we were to intrude, I think. After all, she did ask to see me.”

  “To save her from Lord Rothborough?” Felix said. “I think not.”

  “Do not judge her until you know the facts,” said Vernon, climbing up. “Come along.”

  “She wrote to you,” Felix said, going towards the door, “not me.”

  “Mr Carswell,” insisted the Major, with an emphatic gesture to follow him.

  Felix did so, but with great reluctance. The Major was now striding upstairs with jaunty confidence, like a sportsman with his gun crossing a field in search of a bird. Felix felt his own steps were leaden, especially when on the half landing he noticed a man’s great-coat lined with cherry-coloured tossed carelessly across a cane settee. He began to dread what it was that Major Vernon was so determined to burst in upon.

  The icily beautiful maid was standing on the landing, her ear turned to the half-open door. She spun round with a guilty start when Major Vernon tapped her on the shoulder.

  “Announce me, won’t you?” he said, and propelled gently her through the door.

  The piano continued for a moment, the singer for a note or two more.

  “Yes, Berthe, what is it?” said a woman’s voice.

  “This gentleman, he insists...” responded the maid.

  “What gentleman?” said Lord Rothborough.

  “Forgive me my Lord,” said Major Vernon, taking his cue and going in. “Mrs Morgan, I am Major Vernon, the Chief Constable. I have come about your letter.”

  “Oh yes, I see,” she said. “How prompt you are, sir.”

  Felix remained on the landing, hoping he might not be seen, but the Major pulled the door open.

  “How could we not respond promptly to such a request, ma’am?” said the Major. “We could not ignore it, could we, Mr Carswell?”

  Felix could not now avoid going in, and not wanting to look at Lord Rothborough, found himself staring instead straight into the lustrous blue eyes of Mrs Morgan.

  Chapter Four

  She smiled at him across an expanse of shining rosewood – for she stood on the far side of a large piano. He sensed a constriction to the vessels of his heart, which was of course nonsensical. At the same time he felt his mouth go dry and he could do nothing but stare back, aware that he must look like a slack-jawed fool, but he was unable for a moment to do anything about it. Her appearance struck him as something beyond remarkable. He felt he might faint if he continued to look directly at her, but neither was there any question of his looking away.

  She was too ravishing for that. She was tall, slender and crowned with pale golden hair, braided and wound about her head. There was a becoming pink flush on her high, finely-sculpted cheeks and long, dark lashes framed extraordinary eyes that seemed to know him in a glance. He felt scorched and yet comforted in the same moment. It was like being in the presence of a goddess.

  “Mr Carswell?” she repeated. “Lord Rothborough has mentioned you.”

  Damn him, thought Felix, reddening.

  “How delightful!” said Lord Rothborough, rubbing his hands. “Felix, my boy, and Major Vernon! How excellent to see you both. But, my dear, what letter is this?”

  Felix’s heart sank at that careless endearment. How close were they, he wondered, and at what point in this story had they blundered in? The thought of the two together made him faintly nauseous. For Lord Rothborough’s reputation in these matters was by no means unblemished, and their situation could not be anything but suspicious.

  “Just a trifling business,” said Mrs Morgan.

  “With the police?”

  “It is nothing, I assure you. Nothing of any concern. I wanted a professional opinion, that is all.”

  “You could not have summoned a better man,” said Rothborough. “Though I wish you had asked me first. Major Vernon and I are well acquainted.”

  “I did not like to bother you. You have so many calls on your time already, such important business to attend to. Indeed I think I must be keeping you from –”

  “Not at all, not at all. What could be more important than seeing you are comfortably settled, Mrs Morgan?”

  “More than comfortably,” said Mrs Morgan. “I am honoured to have such a house put at my disposal.”

  “We could not have a national treasure putting up in ordinary lodgings. Such places are full of drafts and are most insanitary. If you had caught cold and lost your voice in Northminster, it would be a disaster. And this time of the year is dangerous. I have known so many people drop dead in March. One can never be too careful.”

  “Please be assured, Lord Rothborough,” she said, with a laugh that made Felix want to sit down and luxuriate in it, “I have no intention of dying in Northminster, especially not in your beautiful house. Your generosity has sustained my will to live. And now that you have seen for yourself that I am completely comfortable, I really cannot take up any more of your valuable time.”

  It was a dismissal; clear enough, though sweetly done. But Rothborough seemed disinclined to leave.

  “My time is at your disposal, Mrs Morgan.”

  “No, no, I will not believe that, my Lord,” she went on.

  “It must be. How can it not be?” he said. “And this police business. You cannot think I will not help you?”

  “I know you would move continents for me. But I do not think that continents will need to be moved. It is a trifle, as I said. I do not want you to trouble yourself, truly. And remember, I shall expect you at the rehearsal this afternoon. If you are not there I shall be disappointed. I need your opinion on which arias I should sing.”

  “You know I shall be.”

  “And if Mrs Morgan’s business turns out to be anything but trifling,” Major Vernon said, “we will at once enlist your assistance, my Lord.”

  “Very well, very well. I shall hold you to that, Vernon,” said Lord Rothborough. He turned to Mrs Morgan and took her hand. “A bientôt, ma chére Madame.”

  He bent to kiss her hand, and seemed to take such a devil of a long time at it that Felix wanted to manhandle him away for his presumption.

  When Rothborough had at last gone, there was a moment of awkward silence and then she turned to Major Vernon and said, in a quiet, grave tone, “I hope you didn’t mind my writing. I couldn’t think what e
lse to do.”

  “Then it is not entirely a trifle?” said Major Vernon.

  She shook her head and walked away, down the room.

  “No,” she said, with her back to them. “I was not sure to whom I should speak. It’s such a strange matter and I thought of going to Bow Street, but...”

  “Perhaps we should sit down,” said Major Vernon, reaching for his notebook.

  She turned back to them.

  “Yes, of course, gentlemen, do sit. I’m sorry, I have forgotten myself. Shall I ring for tea?”

  “No, we have everything we need. But you, ma’am, you are not at your ease. Please won’t you sit down? Carswell, get a chair for Mrs Morgan.”

  Felix moved a chair and set it opposite the Major.

  “Now, please, ma’am, sit, and you can begin from the beginning.”

  Felix positioned himself on a sofa next to the wall, where he could observe her completely. He saw her folding her pale hands neatly in her lap, but then after a moment she began to play with one of her rings. She did not need such decorations, he thought; her hands were perfection already.

  “I have never spoken of this to anyone before,” she said, after a brief silence. “I thought if I did not, then it would go away, but it did not.” She glanced from Major Vernon to Felix with a half smile. “Oh dear.”

  “Think of me like a Roman Cleric in a box, hidden behind a grille,” said Vernon. “Anything you say is quite safe.”

  “So long as I do not get a penance for my sins,” she said, with a sort of nervous levity.

  “So?” prompted the Major.

  “Yes, yes, of course,” she said, and reached in a pocket in the folds of her skirt and took out a folded piece of paper. She fingered it for a moment then held it out to him. “This is why I called you. It is probably nonsense.”

  Vernon took the paper, unfolded it and looked it over.

  “That is not nonsense,” he said after a moment. “May I show this to Mr Carswell?”

  “Yes.”

  Felix crossed the room and took the paper. It read:

  “Death is too good for a whore like you.