“You have no evidence for this, though,” Giles said.
“Evidence is your business, sir,” said Harrison. “Not mine.” And he folded his hands behind his head and lay back down on the bed.
***
“So will you speak to Fildyke now, sir?” said Rollins. “I have his letter for you, by the by.”
“To the Dean, just as he said,” said Giles taking the folded paper from Rollins. He glanced it over. He had a florid, cramped hand that was not pleasant to look at. But the contents were better than Giles could have hoped for.
“The powers that be have me falsely held. I am helpless. If promises mean anything, sir, I ask you to help me now. I have kept my promises to you. You must keep your side of the bargain, and help a poor Christian in distress. I do not know if they will give you this letter, but if they do, come at once, I beg you, or I shall be forced to take matters into my own hands. As I have kept my promises, I ask you to help me now.”
“He can wait a while longer. I have a few calls to pay first.” Giles said, tucking the letter into his coat pocket.
***
Mr Lockley was disappointed that Giles had not come to order a new coat but merely ask for information. He had launched into a paean of praise for a bolt of fine Melton cloth almost as soon as Giles had come into the shop. Giles stated his business and the tailor frowned, puzzled by the question.
“Barnes, sir? Would that be old Mr Barnes at Shilton Hall?”
“No, Charles Barnes. A young man.”
“Oh, yes – that Mr Barnes” said Mr Lockley. “Yes, I have made one or two coats for him.”
“Do you have his account to hand?”
“ I think I have it somewhere, sir.”
“I understand that the bill on one occasion had been settled by another person?”
“Yes, perhaps...”
“Might I see the ledger?”
The tailor went and fetched it. He found the page, and then turned it reluctantly towards Giles.
“That is a hefty sum,” Giles said. “And settled on last quarter day, I see. By whom?”
“I’m afraid I cannot say. I promised I would not. It was an act of private charity.”
“Strange sort of charity to pay for such fine clothes,” said Giles.
“I suppose,” said Lockley with a slight shrug.
“Who was it, Mr Lockley? Mr Barnes has been murdered, as I am sure you know.”
There was a little pause and then Lockley turned a page in the ledger and revealed the name to Giles.
“What did he say to you?”
“He said that the young man had got himself into debt – that he was helping him as any Christian would and that I was not to say a word to a soul.”
“And that is all you know about this, Mr Lockley?” said Giles tapping the open ledger.
“Yes, Major Vernon, all, I swear it.”
Giles glanced about him for a moment, his mind suddenly alert to various possibilities, a picture forming in his mind of what might have happened to Charlie Barnes.
“Thank you, Mr Lockley, that will be all for now.”
Chapter Forty-one
Berthe opened the door to Giles. She looked pleased to see him – a look of relief crossed her beautiful face.
“I am glad you sent Madame away,” she murmured as they went into the hall. She shut the door behind them quietly, glancing about her fearfully. “He has been here, sir – your young doctor, he came last night and he saw him. Did he tell you?”
“Mr Morgan, you mean?” Berthe nodded. “Is he here now?”
“Non!” said Berthe. “I saw him leave last night at about one. May I go to Madame now? I have her things all ready.”
“Yes, she is at the Treasurer’s House, across the Precincts. Do you know which house that is?”
“Yes, Monsieur, it has a little cour, in front.”
“That’s the one. My sister is expecting you. Now where is Mrs Ridolfi?”
Berthe indicated that she was upstairs, and Giles was about to go up when suddenly she appeared, alerted no doubt by the sound of his arrival.
“Major Vernon,” she said. “I am glad to see you indeed!” She had her hand laid on her breast, in a slightly theatrical gesture. “I have been so worried. My nephew and my sister-in-law, where are they? What is going on?”
“Sometimes actions have to be taken decisively, without consultation. I apologise if you were disturbed, but these letters are a serious threat, and cannot be taken lightly.”
“Oh, surely they are not? A few most unpleasant phrases, yes, I will admit, but in essence they are just paper threats, with no real force behind them. Of course, you are most gallant, Major, but –”
“You were upset by that dead bird.”
“Yes, well, that was unfortunate, but I do think you are making a great deal about nothing at all. I hate to say it, but I think she has talked it up rather. She admires you – I suppose you have guessed that? A woman will shape her words and her actions to plead her cause, and you must not forget my sister-in-law is celebrated for her histrionic skills.”
Feeling the smart of that, Giles wondered how on earth Nancy could have stood to have this woman live with her. He marvelled at her reserves of tolerance. She had been most unwilling to lay any blame on Paulina. But perhaps Paulina was such a fine actress that she could not suspect her.
She was certainly good at smoothing the surface of her extensive resentment, and presenting only smiles. This was not uncommon, especially among women. He remembered the wife of a fellow officer lauding another woman to her face, only to turn on her with alarming savagery in her absence. Paulina Ridolfi had taken a nasty habit and turned it into a way of life. Those letters were a way of realising the considerable force of her anger – and Giles sensed her anger now, as cold and and sharp as the steel of her scissors snipping away at the words and letters.
“Perhaps,” he said. “But I do not like to take chances. Even a paper threat against a child is something I must take seriously. I am sure you appreciate that.”
“Where is my nephew?”
“Safe and in good hands, Mrs Ridolfi. I will not let him come to any harm. And if there is no danger, and I, like you, fervently hope there is none, then we will be able to comfort ourselves with the old maxim ‘better safe than sorry.’ And given that Mr Morgan does indeed seem to be in Northminster...”
He watched carefully to see how she reacted.
“He is?” she said, placing her hand on her breast again. “Are you sure? Oh dear.”
There it was: the blatant contradiction. How many other lies might she have told him, he wondered, and how long would it take him to wear her down into an admission that she had sent at least some of those letters?
“That is a pretty performance, because you are lying. Come now, ma’am,” he said, “if you please!”
“I do know know what you mean. I told you yesterday that I thought it more than unlikely that Mr Morgan would come to Northminster.”
“Mr Carswell tells me he was here last night.”
“Mr Carswell must be mistaken.”
“Come now. Mrs Morgan’s maid has told me he was here last night and your husband will no doubt confirm it, though from Mr Carswell’s account he is probably our least reliable witness, being somewhat in his cups. I know he was here. Why deny it?”
“He may have been here,” she said after a moment.
“Thank you, Mrs Ridolfi, for your candour,” Giles said. “Perhaps he told you not to tell,” he went on. “I understand that he can be intimidating. Did he intimidate you?”
She frowned slightly.
“Let us go and sit down,” he said, indicating the drawing room door. “Shall we?”
They went into the room, and she sat down and began knotting her fingers nervously in her lap.
“You see,” he said, placing a chair in front of her, and speaking gently, “you have spoken kindly of him when others have not. But you must not be afraid to tell me
the truth. I can and will protect you from him.”
There was a long silence and then she said in a small voice,
“It was not always so. When I first knew him. Before... before she...”
“You mean Mrs Morgan?”
“Sometimes people are very bad for each other,” she said. “You have perhaps seen that.”
“Yes, I have.”
“And people always fall in love with the wrong people,” she went on.
“You mean, I suppose, and I hope you don’t mind my being so frank, that he did not fall in love with you?”
“She turned his head,” she said. “There was nothing anyone could have done about it, well, not without behaving like a hoyden. That I would not, could not do. Perhaps I should have done. What do you think? Should I have thrown my cap at him, to use that dreadful phrase? I might have saved him then – from her and from himself!”
“When a man has set himself on a particular course, it is hard to divert him,” Giles said.
“Yes!” she exclaimed. “It was a lost cause, and I have had to sit by all this time and watch him suffer at her hands. She has ruined him in every possible aspect, driven him to wickedness with her caprices. If she had only attempted a little to be a good wife then I might be able to forgive her for it, but she has not even tried. Poor Edward – he is such a sorry creature now – he is angry, miserable and depraved. He is wicked because of what she has done to him and she has no sense of it!”
She must have loved him very much, Giles thought, to absolve him of everything. Perhaps she loved him still. It was an interesting possibility.
“And what form does this wickedness take, Mrs Ridolfi?” he asked. “Is there anything specific you would like to tell me about? You must not be afraid now.”
“I am not sure what you can be talking about,” she said.
“You know what I mean,” he said, standing up. “I have two sets of letters in my possession, both couched in the same deeply offensive and terrifying language, but clearly constructed by two different people. There is one set that is made of torn scraps of paper – a clumsy job – whereas the other is as neatly made as the lace of your collar and cuffs. Did you make those, by the way?”
“What if I did?” she said.
“Lay it open to me, Mrs Ridolfi,” he said. “You will feel better for it. Tell me all about those letters you so carefully made and placed about the house to scare your poor sister-in-law!”
She leapt up from her chair.
“I had nothing to do with them! How dare you, sir, even suggest that I could...”
“Then Morgan made them all? That does surprise me.” Significantly, she turned away from him so he could not read her face. “Do you know what I think happened, Mrs Ridolfi,” he went on. “I think he asked you do it. He asked you to make some of the letters and leave them here to scare Mrs Morgan, and you all too willingly agreed because of what you feel for him – and more importantly what you do not feel for her, which you have not concealed in the least from me. You wanted to make her suffer, to punish her, I think, for taking the man you loved!”
“What utter nonsense!” she exclaimed, turning back to him. “How dare you even suggest such a thing?”
He was not convinced by this denial. It seemed shrill. He contemplated what to do. He was tempted to take her back to the Unicorn with him at once and scare a full confession out of her. He was sure she was close enough to it – a little judicious pressure would see to it – and yet he decided that he would delay a little while. He wanted to know where Morgan was and what his intentions were – and she was the person most likely to know the answers. Besides, her confession would not necessarily be the whole truth of the matter. It would still be the version of events that she imagined would best suit her purposes at that moment. She was manipulative – that was clear enough.
“I suggest it because I think it is the truth,” he said. “And you may sure that we will be returning to this conversation, soon enough, Mrs Ridolfi. Just one last time – perhaps you might consider telling me where I might find Mr Morgan?”
“No,” she said, “because I do not know where he is! And why you think I would – well, I don’t know!”
He decided he would leave her be for the present. If she had a conscience it might now trouble her into further honesty – that was often the case – or, equally if she had none, it might be that she would be provoked into a different sort of alarm. She would no doubt want to speak to Morgan and tell him they were rumbled. He would have a constable keep a close eye on her movements.
Besides, he wanted get to the Deanery.
Chapter Forty-two
“Miss Pritchard,” Felix said, getting up as she came into the room. He had been put to wait in the same room as before, without even a fire in the grate to give any semblance of cheerfulness. He felt chilled to the bone. It was a cold morning, for all the first glimmering of spring sunshine and his mood matched his temperature. He was still tired and shocked by what had transpired with Mrs Jackson and he was in no mood for games. He certainly could not manage to smile at her as she came up to him.
“Mr Carswell,” she said, and she did not smile either.
“I am glad for a moment alone with you.”
“It will only be a moment,” she said. “I think my father –”
“Yes, of course. And Lord Rothborough will be here as well. So I will get to the point. Major Vernon has told me about you and Mr Watkins.”
“I see. I suppose he would.”
“Of course! At least he has been straight with me.”
“You must be angry.”
“I am trying not to be,” he said. “I am trying to be rational and comprehend your behaviour, but it is not easy.”
“I will try and explain,” she said. “Please?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I needed to hide,” she said. “It was perhaps not the best hiding place, but you were there and I was desperate. My father had half-discovered that I had a lover, but I could not bear him to know it was Mr Watkins. He was not ready to hear that, and I knew that my mother thought you were suitable, and that generally you would be a far less objectionable candidate. So I used you. It was wicked of me, but I had to do it. My father is so, so –” She covered her face for a moment. “He never used to be like this. He has been so difficult these last months. Every since that awful business with Sophie’s fiancé, no, perhaps even before – something has come over him, some strangeness. I don’t know what it is. But the moment I met George and I knew – it was quickly I knew that I loved him, I knew at the same time my father would never be able to accept it. And so I decided that secrecy was the best course until such time –” She sighed and then glanced round at the sound of the door bell. “That will be Lord Rothborough.”
“Yes, and you must not go on pretending, Miss Pritchard, I beg you. If you are afraid of what he will do to you, come with me. I will make sure that no harm comes to you, though I am surprised that Mr Watkins has not taken you away already. How he can stand this, I don’t know!”
She did not answer, for at that moment Lord Rothborough was shown in by the servant. His glance took them both in rather caustically as she stood close to Felix, her head bowed. Felix quickly took a step away from her, and she suddenly sank in a pool of her skirts, sobbing violently, hiding her face from both of them.
“My dear, young woman,” Lord Rothborough began, going over to her. “Please.” He helped her to her feet and led her gently to the chairs ranged against the wall. Solicitously he sat down beside her and offered her his handkerchief. After a moment’s hesitation she took it, and then buried her face in it, twisting away from him, as if she could not bear his kindness any longer.
“She is engaged to Mr Watkins,” Felix said. “I was a decoy.”
“Aha,” said Lord Rothborough. “Mr Watkins, well...”
Felix wondered if he ought to contrive to hint to his Lordship that Major Vernon had further suspicions regarding Mi
ss Pritchard and Barnes’ death.
Miss Pritchard seemed to wrench back her dignity then, and got to her feet, scraping her tear stained face dry.
“It is not as it sounds!” she exclaimed. “You will think it shabby, my Lord, no doubt, but, but –”
She broke off, for the Dean himself and Mrs Pritchard were now coming in.
To Felix’s surprise, Lord Rothborough went and took Miss Pritchard’s hand and patted it.
“Calm yourself,” he said. “We shall all proceed calmly,” he added, glancing at the Dean and Mrs Pritchard. “That will be the best way to go on, I think.”
The Dean looked as he were about to begin on a torrential speech of rebuttal, when the maidservant came scurrying in and said, “Major Vernon presents his compliments, sir. Says he must speak with you urgently.”
Miss Pritchard made a sharp intake of breath at the mention of his name, and aware she had betrayed herself, walked away a little, turning from them all. Was Major Vernon right in his suspicions, Felix thought, watching her. Could it be possible that she had strangled Barnes?
“He had better come in, had he not?” Mrs Pritchard said, glancing from her daughter to her husband.
“Oh, very well,” said the Dean as if he was granting a great favour.
“Good morning,” said Major Vernon. Having acknowledged the company, he turned to the Dean. “I had hoped, sir, we might speak alone for a moment?”
“About what?”
“I have been hearing your name mentioned in interesting quarters.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“In the course of my inquiries into the death of Mr Barnes, various individuals have been making allegations.”
“It sounds as if you have been listening to malicious tittle tattle, Major Vernon, in which there can be no truth.”
“Indeed, it is more than possible. I have come to get a refutation, which I am sure you will happily give me.”
“That sounds less like an opportunity than a threat, Major Vernon,” the Dean said.
“Forgive me, it was not intended so,” said the Major.
The Dead Songbird (The Northminster Mysteries) Page 26
