“You stay there, ma’am,” said Giles and went down to the kitchen.
The kitchen boy confirmed that Morgan, alias Jones, had left about half an hour ago. “And in a black fury,” the boy said.
He went back upstairs and found Mrs Ridolfi seated on a stool in the window, watched over by Sergeant Baines.
Giles glanced about the room, noting the disordered bedclothes, the flush of her cheeks and the fact that she had taken off her cloak, bonnet and gloves.
“You must have known I would have had you followed, ma’am,” he said.
She shrugged, and adjusted her collar. The primness of her attitude now seemed assumed and he noted her hair was arranged differently from how it had been a few hours ago. There was something clumsy about it now, as if she had put it back up without any assistance.
“Did Berthe do you hair this morning, Mrs Ridolfi?”
“What has my hair to do with anything?”
“Men notice these things more than you think,” Giles said. “It looks different from how it was earlier, as if you have had to take it down and put it up again. Why might that be, I wonder?”
“What an extraordinary thing to say,” she said.
“You must expect me to be a little insolent, Mrs Ridolfi, since I find you here, in these compromising circumstances. When you have lied to me about his whereabouts.”
“I do not know know where he is,” she said. “I told you so, this morning.”
“That is feeble,” he said. “He has been here with you – that is clear enough. You told me that you had not the least idea where he is, and yet here you are, having consorted with him.”
“Consorted, what do you mean by that?”
“What do you think I mean?”
“I do not like to say what you are thinking, sir,” she said. “And I am very shocked that you could think such a thing.”
“This little performance will have to stop, Mrs Ridolfi. It will get tiresome very quickly. You told me yourself you had feelings for Mr Morgan. Everything about this room indicates you have acted upon them. And the fact that you are protecting him still only confirms it.”
“Do you mean to imply –?”
“Yes,” he said. “You and Morgan are lovers and together you have conspired to send those letters to your sister-in-law. Your hand is all over them and you shall not shift the blame easily from yourself, not now you have proved yourself such a liar. If you had been straight with me, Mrs Ridolfi, and told me he was your lover, and not led me this foolish dance, then things might stand a little better for you but now... well...”
She glanced up at him.
“Yes, yes, all right, yes, I did make some of them!” she said after a minute. “But he made me do it. I had no choice about it. I told you he was wicked, did I not? He made me do it. I could not say no. That is what he is like. That is what he has become!”
“And that is why you came here today?” he said. “He forced you?”
“Yes, yes!” she said.
Giles nodded but he still had a nagging doubt in the back of his mind. He wondered who was really at the root of the plot. She was happy to claim to be Morgan’s puppet, but it was it not equally possible that she might be pulling his strings?
“So why do you think Morgan has come to Northminster?” he said, sitting down again. “Did he tell you what his intentions were?”
“No.”
“Did you expect him?”
“No.”
“But presumably you told him that you were all coming here? He knew just where to send the letters and where to find you.”
“Yes, I told him that.”
“It was part of your scheme, yes, of course.”
“His scheme. He made me, I told you that, Major Vernon!”
“How?”
“I am sorry?”
“How did he make you do it? Did he threaten you? Or hurt you? There must have been some coercion, I think, to make you do something so out of character. It takes something considerable to drive a good woman to a criminal act.”
“I told you – he made me do it. That is how he is.”
“How precisely?”
“Is it important?”
“Yes, I wish to establish the degree of his culpability – and how responsible you are. So it is important. Vagueness will not help you at all, Mrs Ridolfi, and you are going to need all the help you can get. What you have done is no small thing, I hope you understand that and are ready to co-operate fully with me. Yes?” She nodded. “So this scheme, let us begin with the scheme – when and how did that come about?”
“I cannot honestly remember,” she said with a little shrug. He very much doubted her honesty in that moment.
“Come now,” he said. “You must remember something. Perhaps you will remember better if we were to have this conversation at the constabulary headquarters, ma’am.”
“Do you mean to arrest me?”
“Yes. But the more you co-operate the better it will be for you. I wish to save you some pain and humiliation by getting the full story. If you please, ma’am?”
He hoped this flourish might nudge her into more revelations, but at the same time he took out his notebook to show her that whatever she said would be on record.
Now she nodded and sat, every inch the submissive woman, her hands folded in her lap, her head slightly bowed.
“So tell me about this scheme of Morgan’s, that you were apparently forced into. Did he tell you what he intended by it?”
“To give her a good scare,” she said.
“For what reason?”
“I told you – she humiliated him. He wanted her to feel something of the pain she had caused him.”
“And so he hit on this idea?”
“Yes.”
“It is rather a strange business. Vicious threats – which are threats – or are they not? Does he intend to act on them, do you know?”
“Of course not!”
“But you say he is a monster of wickedness and depravity. Why are you so certain he will not act on them? If he has taken so much trouble and recruited you, by whatever means, to do this thing, how do you know that?”
“Because he... he is not so far gone as that. He means only to scare her. That is all. Is that not bad enough that he has been driven to it?”
He got up and walked up the room a little, and then turned back to her.
“You are so protective of him, even now,” he said. “I begin to worry that... well, it is often the case that a woman who is so protective of a man is often his greatest victim. I see a great deal of this. Has he ever been violent towards you?”
“No, never!” she said, and with such firmness that this time he did believe her. She was not a beaten wife desperately hiding the truth of her husband’s violence from herself with endless denials – he had seen that enough times to recognise the symptoms. There was something far more complicated and unusual going on.
“Yet you claim he forced you into all this? How?”
“He has a power over people,” she said after a moment. “That is it. That is how it happened. I cannot explain. I wish I could.”
“And you will not tell me where he is?”
“I swear it, I do not know. I will swear on the Bible I do not know where he has gone!”
Giles wondered if he would be better spending his time now looking for Morgan than listening to Mrs Ridolfi’s misdirections.
“Sergeant Baines, escort Mrs Ridolfi back to HQ, and charge her. Tomorrow you can see what the Justices think of your stories, ma’am.”
He held out her bonnet to her.
“They will see a woman who has been forced against her will,” she said, getting up and taking it from her. “They will have more gallantry and pity than you, sir, as God is my witness!”
After they had gone, Giles went back down to the kitchen, where he found the boy scouring the pots in the scullery.
“When you said he was in a black fury – what made you think that?” he asked.
<
br /> “He was all riled up, like a mad dog,” said the boy. “And he was full of liquor. I could smell the brandy on him. He knocked over that bench on his way out. I only saw his face for a minute, but it was like you’d cross the street to avoid him, if you know what I mean, sir. I’ve seen my old man like that and know to get out of his way.”
Giles left by the kitchen door, making his way along the dank court which lay behind the Greyhound, through a regular nest of rookeries, of the sort that were becoming depressingly common in Northminster. There was only one way out, through a narrow passage way which gave into Fishmonger Street, one of the ancient streets that led up the steep hill up to the Minster Precincts. He glanced at his watch as he emerged. Morgan could be anywhere by now.
He caught sight of a clutch of bills, glued to a wall. One read “Under the patronage of the Handel Festival at the Minster: the celebrated Mrs Morgan.”
He ripped one of the bills from the wall, and stuffed it into his pocket. She was in the wretch’s plain sight – with a place and time helpfully given.
***
Giles found her alone in his sister’s little drawing room, her half-finished needlepoint parrot lying on her lap and her needle in her hand, but her attention seemed fixed on the fire. He stopped at the threshold, partly because he was moved by the charm of what he saw, and partly in order to hold himself in check. It would have been so easy, despite all they had said, to go and kiss the nape of her neck.
“Good afternoon,” he said, gently.
She turned her head and smiled at him. It was enough. It implied everything and nothing else needed to be said.
He went and sat on the other chair by the fire and rested his elbows on his knees, his chin on his knotted hands.
“I have come to ask a favour,” he said.
“Ask away,” she said, fixing her needle into the canvas.
“You will not like it, I think,” he said.
“Ask,” she said.
“I want you to cancel your performance.”
“Oh.”
“I knew you would not like it.”
She nodded. “You are right.”
“I have failed. I cannot lay my hands on Morgan, and until I have got him where I can see him I do not want to risk it.”
“I cannot cancel,” she said.
“You must.”
“No,” she said. “I never cancel.”
“Even when your husband sends you death threats?”
“A threat is not a promise. He won’t act on it. He is too much of a coward – and too lazy.”
“And you are too brave. I sincerely advise you to cancel. We cannot guarantee your safety.”
She got up and stood looking down at the fire. Then she turned to him, and took his hand, squeezed and said, quietly, “You are gallant, and loving, my dear, but I cannot cancel. You understand that, I think, or you would not be asking with such trepidation in your voice.”
“Is that how it sounds?”
“Yes. You are afraid I will not obey.”
“I am not asking you for obedience,” he said. “You know that. I am asking you to consider your own safety.”
“Yes, I know. I am sorry, that was harsh of me. But I must be plain with you, Giles, I think you are being too careful – you are letting your heart rule your head, for which I am both happy and sad. I know what it means. But then again, I had thought you might think more of me than to put me in a gilded cage, like all the others.” He could not prevent himself wincing. “It is unworthy of you to make me cancel,” she said.
He got up and stood next to her, also looking down at the fire.
“I cannot help my fear,” he said. “I can’t help wanting to protect you. And don’t be so cruel, for God’s sake, Nan.”
“I am teaching you not to care so much. It is necessary. I want you to feel very little for me. Carelessness – that is what we agreed, did we not?”
“Yes,” he said. “We did.”
“We have no alternative.”
He might have pulled her into his arms that moment, such was the fragility of his resolution, but instead he forced himself to walk away from her.
“At least, though, I can put some men to watch over you,” he said after a moment. “If you are so determined to do it.”
“You should not divert so much of your force to protect such an unworthy object.”
“I can never think of you as that.”
“Oh dear God, but you must, you must! We agreed – we agreed, did we not?”
“Yes,” he said, his throat drying.
“Then will you let me perform?” She stood with her hands stretched out to him, in an attitude of such elegant solicitation that he felt like a piece of melted wax.
“I can’t stop you, can I?” he said.
“I am glad you see it.”
“The pity of it is, most likely I shall not be able to be there. I would feel easier if I could be, but I suspect that...” He could not prevent a sigh. “I have a man who will not talk and I must make him. When I all I want is to –” He gazed at her, ashamed to the degree that he was allowing himself to give into his feelings. “Forgive me. I am forgetting our bargain. I had better go. The sight of you does me no good. I did not mean to come. I have disturbed you. Forgive me.”
He snatched her hand, kissed it briefly and departed the room.
He met Sally in the hall.
“Giles, what is the matter?” she said.
“Nothing,” he said carefully and left.
***
“So, Mr Johnson, what does your client say?”
“He wishes to sue you for wrongful arrest, Major Vernon.”
“You have made it clear to him that there is enough evidence to hang him?”
“I am not sure about that, Major Vernon. Miss Pritchard’s testimony and her peculiar circumstances will be viewed sceptically by a jury. She has shown herself to be capable of considerable deceit, whereas my client’s reputation remains intact.”
“What do you think, Mr Johnson, personally?”
“I cannot give you my opinion on that, Major Vernon. I am surprised you asked me. Can it be that you are not too sure about the circumstances that have caused you to arrest him? If you are uncertain at all, you ought to release him. You will save yourself a great deal of embarrassment and a costly law suit.”
“I have nothing to be embarrassed about,” said Giles. “I am perfectly satisfied with Miss Pritchard’s testimony, and I am sure an able prosecution advocate will be able to show the jury that her conduct does not discredit her word. And she is not my sole witness.” He gestured at the wall where all his papers and notes were pinned. “There is a strong case against him that the Crown can and will make. Tell him that, Mr Johnson, and advise him in the strongest terms to come clean.”
“That is for you to do, Major Vernon,” said Mr Johnson.
Giles nodded, realising he had no alternative than to wear the man down with questioning. He went along to the room where they were holding him, and looked through the window cut in the door. Pritchard was sitting at the table, looking not the least like a guilty man, but stiff-necked and self-righteous. Giles wondered how he would begin with him.
Find the weak point, he told himself. What was the thing that made the Dean so angry? What had Charles Barnes done or said to make the Dean so incandescent with anger that he strangled him?
The Dean realised he was being observed and turned his gaze towards the hatch. Giles retreated a little so he should not be seen, and went quietly back to his office. There he took out the marquetry box that had so vexed Harrison. It was a handsome, expensive object, a lover’s gift. It was not the gift of some man who wished to steer a young man from a dangerous path, or save his soul. It was a great deal more personal.
He opened it again and studied it with more care than he had previously done. Before he had been distracted by its contents. Now he was looking more carefully at the box itself. There was a piece of baize in the base whic
h slid out of place revealing a slip of folded paper hiding beneath. Giles unfolded it and saw, written out in a careful hand quite different from Harrison’s very distinctive scrawl, a single sentence in Latin: “O crudelis Alexi, nihil mea carmina curas?”
***
“How is your Latin, Mr Carswell?” Major Vernon asked, coming into his consulting room. “They never managed to knock more than the rudiments of it into me at school, and I have forgotten that much. As a university man you will have the edge on me.”
He handed a long thin paper to Felix, who scowled at it.
“It was not my strongest point either,” he said. “I think it is something like, cruel Alexi, don’t you care for my songs? Virgil, perhaps, but do not quote me on that.”
“That’s interesting, to say the least,” said Major Vernon. “I need a sample of Dean Pritchard’s handwriting. He may have written this. Virgil, you think?”
“Are you certain that it was the Dean?”
“Yes, but I want a confession – no, I need one. Otherwise I shall never get it to stick. The moment the news gets abroad that I am trying to get him for this, all the forces of reaction will be against us, and he will be allowed to wriggle out of my grasp. I need this signed and sealed in the next twenty-four hours before his powerful friends come here and make havoc. But this is excellent, Mr Carswell,” he said tapping the paper. “A great help. Oh, and I have a special charge for you: Mrs Morgan.”
“Mrs Morgan?” Felix said, unable to keep a note of suspicion out of his voice.
“Yes, I would like you to keep an eye on her. I am worried about Morgan and what he might be planning.”
“You might well be,” said Felix, “given that he seemed certain you had gone off on an assignation with her.”
Major Vernon gave him a warning glance which made him wonder more than ever if he was lying. What had really passed between them?
“I have instructed a couple of constables to stay close to her, of course,” the Major continued, “but I would like you to assist in this, since you of all of us actually know what Morgan looks like. If you spot him in the crowd, I want you to tell the constables at once.”
Felix nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
“You will have the pleasure of hearing her sing when I shall not,” Major Vernon said.
The Dead Songbird (The Northminster Mysteries) Page 28
