He went downstairs and found Mrs Morgan dressed and sitting in the large drawing room, a score open on her lap, pencil in her hand. He was glad to find her alone.
“I am going to conduct a little experiment,” said Giles. “If you do not mind. I am going to make you vanish.”
“Vanish? What do you mean?”
“I am going to hide you and see what sort of reaction that provokes. Your husband is in town and he knows where you are – therefore I think we had best remove you to a safer place, at least for the time being.”
“And Harry?”
“Hannah will take him to my sister’s house. That is the best place for him. I do not think your husband is interested in harming him.”
“And where I am to go?”
“I have another idea about that. Can you contrive to go out for a walk alone, in about half an hour?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Go through the Minster Gate and into the Blue Boar. It is a perfectly respectable establishment, and I will leave instructions for you there.”
She put down the score and stood up, scrutinising him.
“I do not like this grave tone in you at all. What have you found out?”
“We will talk later. You must trust me.”
“Yes, of course, of course. How could I not?” and she reached out with both hands and briefly, and warmly squeezed one of his hands.
Chapter Thirty
“So, Mr Carswell, what is all this about you and Miss Pritchard?” Giles asked, coming into his consulting room.
“How did you hear of that?” said Carswell, jumping up form his desk.
“From Lord Rothborough.”
“Oh, dear Lord,” muttered Carswell.
“What has been going on – if you don’t mind me asking?” Giles asked.
“I wish I knew!” exclaimed Carswell. “I have been embroiled into something I cannot begin to understand. She is... I do not know what she is or what she is about!”
“The young woman – the other night, outside the Treasurer’s House – was that Miss Pritchard?”
“Yes. I should have liked to have told you. You must believe me.”
His distress was apparent. “Of course.”
“I do not know what she is up to. I asked her – well, it was not in earnest, and –”
“What did you ask her?”
“To marry me. Yes. Ridiculous though that sounds – and I was being ridiculous. I was not in my right mind, and she saw that and said no, just as any decent girl would, thank goodness, and then her father and my Lord arrived. It looked a trifle compromising but it need not have been had she –” Breathless in his agitation, he paused for a moment. “Had she not decided to announce to them the fact she accepted to me. In flat contradiction to what she had just said to me in private. A public declaration of intent. It could not have been worse, or at least so I thought!”
Giles reached into his coat pocket and felt for the the key decorated with the plaid ribbon and the matching rosette.
“I went to the Deanery this morning in an attempt to sort it out, only to find she has now made an accusation against me,” Carswell continued. “An extraordinary accusation. I cannot think why, unless she is a fool or something, which I do not think for a minute she is.”
“What did she say?”
“She has told him – her father, that is – that I have ruined her. And now Lord Rothborough will hear that and he will – well, God knows what he will do.”
“He will doubtless disbelieve it, as I do.”
“You believe me?”
“Of course.”
“Oh, thank God! But why on earth would she say a thing like that? Why would she take it into her head to slander me? Lord Rothborough will not believe me. He will take her part.”
“I doubt it. He knows you would not do such an dishonourable thing.”
“You do not know him as I do, sir. He will be ready to believe the slightest thing against me.”
“I do not think so,” said Giles. “And although it is distasteful to have to conclude a respectable young woman is lying, I think anyone who knows you will give you the benefit of the doubt.”
“So what on earth is she doing? Is she trying to trap me? But that makes no sense because she could easily have got me when I was a fool enough to ask her. But she was clear as anything on that point. And then –”
“I think there’s a great deal Miss Pritchard is not telling us,” said Giles, taking the ribbon rosette from his pocket and studying it. “And hopefully she will be prevailed upon to come clean sooner rather than later.”
“Or I shall be forced to the altar by Dean Pritchard,” said Carswell. “He has a vile temper – you would never know it to look at him. One of those people who is too mild for their own good and then: soudain!”
“Did he strike you?”
“Yes. That’s the worst of it – I worry for her. There was such a look of desperation about her this morning, as if he’d threatened her with the Lord only knows what. She can’t be doing this lightly – I must say that for her.”
“I will talk to them both,” said Giles.
“You will? If anyone can make sense of this it will be you, sir!”
Giles went back to his office and found Holt sitting patiently on the bench in the passageway.
“I am glad you took me at my word, Mr Holt,” said Giles, showing him into his office. “I have a particular job for you to undertake, if you are interested. I have to ensure the safety of a lady.”
Having briefed Holt and made his arrangements for Mrs Morgan at the Blue Boar, Giles made his way back to the Minster Precincts, thinking he might go directly to the Deanery in search of Miss Pritchard. But as he passed the front of the Song School, he suddenly remembered George Watkins shuffling the music on his grand piano, and casually, yet carefully, putting aside a named portfolio. K. Pritchard.
He had heard Kate Pritchard play at his sister’s house. She did not play like a young lady. She had played like a professional musician. Who in Northminster would a young woman of such talent find attractive? Perhaps a man of equal talent and the same passion for music. Someone young, energetic, handsome and talented who was at the same time completely unsuitable.
He decided he ought to talk to George Watkins again.
There was no answer when he rang the bell to the Master of Music’s house, so Giles tried the door. It opened, and he called out “Mr Watkins? Are you at home?”
There was still no answer. Giles decided to seize on the opportunity presented by an empty house. He went into the music room where they had previously spoken. There were still great piles of music on the piano. He soon found what he wanted: a unbound volume of nocturnes by Field, marked “K Pritchard” in a woman’s hand.
Just as he had laid his hands on the folio, he heard the bang of a door somewhere in the house.
He went back into the hall, and down a passageway which lead to the kitchen, where the fire was burning and a kettle sat on the hob. There was also a dressy bonnet lying on the table and a coloured shawl draped over the back of a chair – neither item looked like the property of a servant.
He could hear that someone was moving about in what he assumed was the scullery beyond.
“Hello!” he called again.
There was a long silence, then Miss Kate Pritchard walked out, wearing an apron, with a cloth and a tea cup in her hands.
“Major Vernon,” she said.
“Miss Pritchard,” he said. “I am glad to find you.”
“Are you?” she said, with a shake in her voice.
“I think it will do you good to talk to me,” he said, pulling out a chair for her.
“I was making tea. Would you like some?”
“If you like,” he said.
She made tea and did it slowly. She had something of the air of a bride entertaining a guest for the first time, laying out the cups on the kitchen table with some ceremony, however incongruous that might be. She
was certainly not in the position to be acting as the mistress of this house, and yet it was entirely as if she was.
“So,” he said, when she had poured a cup for them both. “Where shall we begin?”
She took her time to answer, avoiding his gaze. He had long enough to observe her red-rimmed eyes.
“You have spoken to Mr Carswell?” she said quietly.
“Yes.”
She nodded. “Of course you have. Is he... very distressed?”
“He is certainly confused. He does not like to malign you, Miss Pritchard, but he feels you have maligned him.”
“I have,” she said. “It’s true.” She pressed her finger tips to her mouth and closed her eyes. “Oh, it is all so... so...” She sighed.
“Perhaps we should start at the beginning,” said Giles, taking out the key and the rosette from his pocket and laying them on the table. She flinched at the sight of them. “Do you recognise these things?” She nodded. “Perhaps you could explain to me what they are.”
“That is the key to the gatehouse chapel,” she said. “And that is a rosette from one of my dresses.”
“And the ribbon?”
“It is the same ribbon, yes, Major Vernon.”
“So the key, which was given to me by Mr Watkins has a piece of ribbon on it that matches the ribbon on your dress – that is even finished in exactly the same manner.”
“Yes, it is the same.”
“And is that because you put it there?” he asked. She nodded. “You put a piece of ribbon on a key belonging to Mr Watkins?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Why?”
“To mark it.”
“So he would remember which it was?” Giles asked.
“No,” she said and then went on after a pause. “It was so that I should.”
“Because you had the key in your possession?”
“Yes.”
“And why was that?”
“So that... so that I could go and wait there for Mr Watkins. Because – well, you have guessed, surely sir, that he and I...”
“Are lovers?”
“We are engaged to marry, yes.” She looked away.
“And the chapel tower was your trysting place?”
“Yes.”
“And you met there often?”
“Yes, often. As often as we could.” She looked away. “You must understand sir, we were desperate. I would not have done this had not my father – he is impossible! Quite impossible!”
“I am not here to judge you, Miss Pritchard. I only want the facts.”
“But you will judge me. You already have.” She covered her face with her hands again. “I know what you must be thinking. How can you not think it?”
“Let us concentrate on the facts,” Giles said. “Tell me when you last went to St Anne’s Chapel to wait for Mr Watkins.”
“A day or two ago.”
“Can you be more precise?”
“Yes.”
He gave her an enquiring, prompting glance. She twisted up her mouth.
“Yes,” she said again. “It was on Wednesday morning.”
“And did you find anything unusual there?”
She looked across at him.
“Yes, yes I did.”
Giles picked up the key and turned it in his fingers.
“What was that?”
“I... I... found Mr Barnes. Or rather I found his body,” she spoke quietly, avoiding looking at him directly.
“What time was this? Can you remember when you got there?”
“It was some time after eleven. We had arranged to meet at half past eleven, but I left earlier, because my father had gone out and my mother was busy. I had the opportunity to get away.”
“Did you see anyone at all on your way to the tower?”
“I don’t remember seeing anyone. The precincts are quiet that time of day.”
“So you found the door locked?”
“Yes. Just as it always is.”
“And you went straight upstairs?” She nodded. “Describe what you saw.”
“He was stretched on the floor. For a moment I didn’t know what to think. I thought he was asleep – well, I don’t know what I thought.”
“Did you touch Mr Barnes?”
“Yes, yes, I suppose I did. I wanted to see if he was dead. I shook him a little.”
“And was he warm when you touched him?”
“Yes, he was. But it was obvious he was dead.”
“And you did not think of raising the alarm?”
“No,” she said, after a long moment. “I knew that if I did that, then... No, I went and waited at the bottom of the stairs for Geor – for Mr Watkins to come in. And then we decided...”
“You decided you would tell a slightly different story?”
She got up from the table and walked away, her arms wrapped about her.
“What was I to do?” she said. “It seemed the only thing to do at the time.”
He watched her as she stood over the fire. A lover’s tryst interrupted by a dead body. Was it really as simple as that?
“How well did you know Mr Barnes, Miss Pritchard?”
“I knew him a little. We both studied with Mr Watkins – at least we did before my father stopped me going for lessons with him.”
“Did Mr Barnes know about you and Mr Watkins?”
“No,” she said. “No-one knew.”
“Are you sure?”
“As far as I know: no-one.”
“These things have a habit of becoming known. You would be surprised. Perhaps Mr Barnes saw something.”
“What are you implying?”
“That he was trying to make trouble for you and Mr Watkins. That he was not dead when you found him. That he made accusations to you and when Mr Watkins arrived, there was an argument.”
“No, no, no. He was dead, please Major Vernon, believe me, he was dead. That is not what happened. He was dead!”
“Your word is a little unreliable, Miss Pritchard,” he said. “I must test it.”
“What has Mr Carswell said to you?” she said.
“That your father thinks you are a ruined woman because of him. Did you imply that to him?”
There was a long silence and then she said, “Sometimes when a person is angry it is better to give them the answer they want to hear. And I wanted to put him off the scent. I wanted him to think that it was someone else. If he was to be angry with someone else then... Mr Carswell has friends and position, and I thought that...”
“Kate!” Watkins’ voice echoed out through the empty house. “Kate, are you there?”
“I am here,” she called back.
A moment later Watkins came in. He stopped in his tracks at the sight of Major Vernon.
“He knows everything,” Kate Pritchard said simply.
Chapter Thirty-one
“But I’ve told you all this before,” said Watkins.
Giles had taken him into his music room. He wanted to speak to him alone before Miss Pritchard did.
“Hardly,” Giles said.
“Does it honestly matter which of us found the body?” said Watkins.
“It matters a great deal,” Giles said. “Now tell me, what state was Miss Pritchard in when you arrived?”
“She was upset! Of course she was. She’d just found a dead body.”
“Where was she?”
“Upstairs. I went upstairs and there she was – with Barnes on the floor. Kneeling over him.”
“You are certain of this?” Giles said.
“Pretty certain. Why?” said Watkins with some hostility.
“That needn’t concern you.”
“Why – what are you implying sir? Has Miss Pritchard said something different? If she has it means nothing, I’m sure of if it. She may have forgotten what she did. She was distressed.”
“Describe it to me, won’t you? Was she hysterical?”
“No, not exactly. But she was in a state of shock. She w
as shaking and agitated, naturally enough.”
Giles nodded. “About Mr Barnes – do you think he might have been aware of your meetings with Miss Pritchard? He hadn’t come upon you together at some point? I understand at one time you were giving lessons to Miss Pritchard – that they were not so much lessons as courtship.”
“I do not like your implication, sir.”
“It is true, surely, Mr Watkins? You are engaged to her.”
“Yes, well, I suppose...” There was a long pause, then Watkins spoke again. “He may, perhaps, have seen us once.”
“Perhaps? Did he or did he not know about you and Miss Pritchard?”
“He did see us once – together – as it were.”
“And the upshot of that was?”
“I told him to hold his tongue about it, of course! And he said he would.”
“How did you ask him?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you ask him humbly as a favour, as a fellow musician, asking for his discretion or did you speak to him as you might speak to a servant?”
“He was practically spying on us!” exclaimed Watkins. “How was I supposed to speak to him?”
“Spying on you? Then you were angry with him.”
“Of course I was! Any man would have been angry at such impertinence!” Watkins exclaimed.
“Especially a man conducting an illicit courtship with a young woman of superior rank,” Giles said. “A man who felt he was on dangerous ground in the first place.”
“What do you mean by that, sir?”
The Dead Songbird (The Northminster Mysteries) Page 19
