The Dead Songbird (The Northminster Mysteries)

by Smart, Harriet

  “I tried to stop him,” he said. “I did, but he pushed me over. I was out for... for...”

  Lord Rothborough sat down beside him and put his arm gently about his shoulders. Felix, although he scarcely meant to, relaxed against him and accepted the embrace. He felt, for all his confusion, there was a sense of rightness in it, and it steadied him.

  “She nearly died,” he managed to say.

  “But she did not,” Rothborough said, squeezing his shoulder. “Because of you.”

  “She is not out of danger yet,” Felix said. “We ought not fool ourselves. There can always be complications in such cases. She might yet –”

  “Courage,” said Lord Rothborough. “And remember she has the will to live. She has a child, and well, other objects, it seems.”

  “Major Vernon, yes,” said Felix, hauling himself to his feet.

  Lord Rothborough stood up also. “It is a hard loss. But there are other prizes, my dear boy. Now, you must rest. Go and sit by the fire in the kitchen. I will be back directly.”

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Morgan sat on the floor of his cell hunched in the corner, as if he meant somehow to make himself invisible. He looked up at Giles with terror in his eyes, as though he were holding a noose in his hands. Perhaps he might have preferred that – a speedy end to his evident misery.

  Giles said, “I am Major Vernon, the Chief Constable. Do you understand why you are here?”

  “Yes,” said Morgan. “My wife... oh, Christ forgive me. Have you any news of her?”

  “She may live, she may not,” Giles said.

  “Christ forgive me,” Morgan said again, covering his face with his hands. “I did not mean... I did not...” He put down his hands and looked up at Giles again. “Vernon – that is the name that she told me – she said that you and Nancy...”

  “She?”

  “Lina.”

  “Paulina Ridolfi?”

  “Yes,” he said, “That evil little bitch. She said... and I believed her. I believed every fucking word. She knows how to play me. She has done these last ten years. She has had me wound about her wicked little finger and now... she... oh, Christ in Heaven...” He began to gasp and shake, racked with sobs.

  Giles crouched down opposite him.

  “Talk to me, it will be better if you talk,” Giles said. “Tell me what Paulina has said to you. I know she came to see you at the Greyhound. What happened then?”

  “What happened?” said Morgan, looking at him. “What always happens. She gives me everything but nothing. She is the devil, and now I will hang for her and Nancy will die, and she will get everything she wants. The thing she really wants.”

  “Which is?” Giles asked.

  “My poor bloody child. My poor little Harry.”

  ***

  “How long am I to be kept here?” Mrs Ridolfi asked, rising as he came into the room.

  “You may go for the present,” he said. “But you will still have to appear before the justices tomorrow. If you attempt to leave Northminster, the consequences will be serious.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I will not.”

  “Would you allow me to escort you home?”

  “You are very kind, Major Vernon,” she said.

  He arranged a carriage, and they drove in silence to the Treasurer’s House.

  “Why are we stopping here, sir?” she said.

  “I have some bad news for you, ma’am,” he said, opening the door. “It is better that I break it here. Besides, your nephew is here. I thought you might like to see him.”

  He handed her out of the carriage.

  “Yes, very much. How kind you are sir, so thoughtful. But what is this news?”

  “Let us go in, shall we?”

  He told the servant to fetch Sally and sat Mrs Ridolfi down in the large wing chair that stood by the fire in the hall.

  “Please tell me, what has happened.”

  “It is your sister-in-law,” he said. “I am afraid to say...”

  Mrs Ridolfi grasped at her throat.

  “What has happened? Tell me, for God’s sake!”

  “I am afraid she is dead.”

  “Oh, dear Lord, no. How? What happened?”

  “Morgan attacked her with a knife this afternoon. She died of her wounds. There was nothing that could be done to save her, though Mr Carswell tried all he could.”

  “No... oh but... Morgan? He did that? Dear God! Oh, but... but...” she jumped up and walked across the hall, in great agitation. Giles watched her, feeling again that he was watching a performance.

  At that moment, the schoolroom door opened and Sally came out. Through the open door Celia could be seen entertaining Harry with a game of skittles on the hearthrug. Mrs Ridolfi saw him and ran past them both, and fell down onto her knees beside the child, enfolding him in her arms, hugging him as if she meant to suffocate him. She kissed him with ecstatic pleasure but he struggled in her arms.

  “Auntie, no, I’m playing. We’re playing!”

  “Let him be, ma’am,” said Giles. “You and I must talk a little more.”

  “I must comfort Harry...”

  “Not now, ma’am,” he said, anxious that she would say too much to the boy. “This can wait.”

  He put his hand upon her shoulder and she looked up at him.

  “No, I will not come,” she said, clinging a little tighter. “I cannot. He needs me. My boy needs me. He cannot do without me now!”

  “Auntie, let go, you’re hurting!” said Harry. “And I’m not your boy. I’m Hannah’s boy and Mamma’s boy, but I’m not your boy!” and he burst free. “Am not! Am not!”

  “Harry!” she exclaimed and looked as if she were about to box his ears, but she clutched her hands together.

  “Celia,” said Sally, “why don’t you take Harry upstairs and show him the soldiers?”

  “We have a whole regiment of Grenadiers,” said Celia, putting out her hand to him. Mrs Ridolfi would have gone with them, but Giles caught her arm.

  “No, ma’am,” he said quietly. “You and I are going to the Constabulary Headquarters.”

  “Why?”

  He waited until Celia and the child had left the room, before he spoke: “Because, Paulina Ridolfi, I am arresting you for conspiracy to murder.”

  ***

  Felix found Major Vernon studying the fire in the drawing room. Since James Bodley and Lord Rothborough had taken command of the house, order had quickly been restored, the fires made up and the lamps lit. It looked as if nothing unpleasant had ever happened in the room.

  “How is she?” he asked, turning from the fire.

  “Comfortable. And awake again. You can go up to her if you like.”

  “I don’t think I should. I have to get back to the Unicorn. So long as she is out of danger...”

  “As much as she can be at this stage,” Felix said. “But the problem is always the healing process. You saw how extensive the damage was –” He broke off, seeing a flicker of pain cross the Major’s face. “You should go up to her. That would do her good.”

  “It would and it wouldn’t,” said Major Vernon after a moment. “I do not wish and neither... So long as she is out of danger. That is all I needed to know.”

  He went towards the door.

  “What is to prevent you, sir?” Felix could not help asking. “Morgan will hang and she will be free.”

  “I am not free,” said Major Vernon. Felix’s surprise must have shown. “Forgive, Mr Carswell, I should have told you earlier. It is a difficult subject with me. She is unwell in her mind and necessarily we live apart.”

  Felix could not think how to answer this.

  “That is why I must leave Mrs Morgan alone,” Major Vernon said. “I have done enough damage already. And my apologies, for any lectures on moral conduct, Mr Carswell. I am in no position to deliver such things, as you know. It is a bad habit of mine.”

  Felix would have spoken then, but the Major put his hand up to silence h
im, and left without another word.

  Felix went up to his patient. Berthe was sitting with her, holding her hand with a tenderness that made him regret thinking her sour.

  “I heard the door close,” said Mrs Morgan.

  “It was Major Vernon leaving,” Felix said. “I tried to make him come up.”

  “It is better he did not,” she said, after a moment. Her words were forced, full of quiet emotion. “Berthe, un moment, si te plait.”

  “Bien sur, Madame,” said Berthe, getting up. She made a little curtsey to Felix and left them alone. He went and sat in her place, but he did not venture to take Mrs Morgan’s hand. He was still struggling to understand what had happened between her and Major Vernon, wondering what it could be like to make such a profound connection with a woman and then have to renounce it utterly.

  “Lord Rothborough thinks I should go to Scarborough as soon as I am able. He has a house there,” she said.

  “I think the sea air would be a good idea,” said Felix. “As as soon as you are able.”

  She nodded and there were tears in her eyes.

  “My wounds will heal,” she said, after a moment.

  “All of them?” Felix found he must ask. She twisted up her mouth and reached out for his hand. He allowed her to take it.

  “Look after him, Mr Carswell,” she said. “And his wife.”

  Epilogue

  April 1840

  “I think it might be safer to put this up somewhere higher,” said Mrs Fforde once again tweaking a stem of apple blossom in the vase she had put on the table. As she did so, a little shower of petals fell onto the table. Quickly she gathered them up and looked about the room nervously. Felix did not think he had ever seen her at such a loss.

  “Is that the carriage I hear?” said Canon Fforde, who was sitting reading a newspaper.

  Mrs Fforde at once went to the window.

  “You may be right,” she said.

  She glanced back into the room and caught Felix’s eye. She gave him a brief smile, which he supposed she meant to be encouraging. He did not feel encouraged. Rather, he shared her unease. He had been cramming himself with what he hoped was the most up-to-date and useful information for the management of such cases, but did not feel confident. In truth there was often little that could be done.

  The carriage drew up and he joined Mrs Fforde in the window to see Major Vernon handing his wife out. She was a tall, extremely thin young woman, dressed plainly in dull colours. She appeared sallow and undernourished, with hollow eyes, and she looked suspiciously about her as she came up the path with her husband. He had her firmly by the arm as if he were afraid she might bolt.

  Mrs Fforde went out to the hall to greet them, and Felix stood on the threshold with Canon Fforde.

  “Laura, how good to see you again,” she said, with her hands outstretched. Mrs Vernon did not respond. “Let me help you with your bonnet,” ventured Mrs Fforde, and undid her bonnet strings. Mrs Vernon stood impassive, as if she was well accustomed to people doing things for her. Mrs Fforde lifted her bonnet from her head, revealing flaxen hair had been close-cropped. It did little to improve her cadaverous appearance. Mrs Fforde seemed shocked and glanced at her brother.

  “It was a matter of hygiene, I understand,” he said. “Now, Laura, will you come and see your new room? I hope you like it.” He steered her into the room across the hall into the bedchamber. “There is a good fire in there. You will be able to get a little warmer. Nurse, if you would?” he added, to the woman who had come with them.

  Felix watched as Laura Vernon went at once to the window, as if drawn by the light. There was a pattern of bars visible through the muslin glass cloth.

  “It might be best to let her get used to it alone, sir,” the nurse said. “Just to let her rest a little?”

  “Yes, I think so,”

  The nurse closed the door, and Major Vernon came up to his sister, took the bonnet from her hands, and kissed her forehead.

  “Oh Giles...” she began softly.

  “I would like something to eat,” Major Vernon said. “Where is Holt? You’ll join me, won’t you, Carswell? Lambert, yes?”

  He went down towards the kitchen.

  “Yes, that would be excellent,” said Canon Fforde, taking his wife’s hand and leading her back into the sitting room. She had been staring at the closed door to Mrs Vernon’s room.

  “What do you think, Mr Carswell?” she said.

  “Sally,” said Canon Fforde, “how can he have formed an opinion?”

  “No, I am afraid I cannot,” said Felix, “until I have examined her.”

  “All in good time,” said Canon Fforde. He made his wife sit down by the fire.

  “She is so thin,” said Mrs Fforde. “And dressed like something from the poorhouse. Poor Giles...”

  “Hush,” said Canon Fforde. “You will not be thanked for your pity, you know that.”

  “I know, but –” Mrs Fforde would have gone on but Holt came in with a tray of wine and some bread and cheese. Major Vernon followed him.

  “You’ll take some to Mrs Vernon, won’t you?” he said, as Holt laid the food out for them “And some broth?”

  “Yes, Mrs Connolly is heating some up for her, sir,” said Holt.

  “Has Mrs Vernon eaten today?” Felix asked.

  “They gave her something, but she is liable to refuse food. That is the chief difficulty of the moment.” Felix noticed that Mrs Fforde winced slightly at this revelation.

  “The change of air may stimulate her appetite,” Felix said. “Not to mention a change of cook. That looks good bread, by the way,” he added.

  “Mrs Connolly made it herself, Irish fashion,” said Holt. “And it is good, sir.”

  When he had left them, Lambert, much amused, said, “I think you have found yourself an indispensable fellow with Holt.”

  “Yes,” said the Major. “Not to mention Mrs Connolly,” he added, taking a small piece of bread and trying it. “This is excellent.”

  Canon and Mrs Fforde drank a scant glass of wine each, tasted the bread and then Canon Fforde proposed that they should walk home while the weather held. “Now we have seen the travellers are safe by their hearth,” he said, and so they took their leave, though not without an uneasy backward glance by Mrs Fforde.

  “My poor sister,” murmured Major Vernon as they went back into the house.

  “I shall just go and see her for a moment, if I may?” Felix said.

  “Thank you,” the Major said.

  “Oh, by the by, there is a parcel for you,” Felix said, just before he went in. “It’s on the piano.”

  ***

  Giles wondered what Mr Carswell would make of Laura, as he took the parcel from the piano and unwrapped it. She had been calm on the journey, if that state of withdrawal might be called calm. But she had not protested. Nurse Beddowes seemed to be able to manage her well, and the journey had passed without incident. Dr Fernham, her physician at the asylum, had told him that she had been quiet for some weeks now, and eating little. It made her tractable but it did not offer much hope for an improvement.

  He reached for his pocket knife and cut the string on the parcel, having noticed the Liverpool postmark. Inside the brown paper he discovered a Berlin work cushion depicting a parrot and two folios of piano music by Mendelssohn: “Songs without Words” which seemed painfully appropriate. There were also two letters addressed in a familiar hand, one to himself and one to Mr Carswell. He propped Carswell’s letter against the decanter and took his own to the window.

  It was a brief note, which both relieved and saddened him.

  “I promised you these small tokens. They are no comfort I know, but a promise is a promise. Harry and I sail for New York tomorrow – a great adventure – and he is so excited! I intend he will be a man before we return. It is for the best, just as we decided. But I will always dream of you clearing a forest for me. That, I am afraid, I cannot do without. N.”

  He folded the let
ter and put it away inside his coat. Then he sat down and ate some bread and cheese, and tried to concentrate his mind upon the work of the days ahead.

  Dean Pritchard’s trial was to take place in a week’s time, and he had retained Francis Edwardes QC as his counsel. It was not going to be straightforward. He had already manoeuvred significantly, retracting his confession and entering a non-guilty plea. Edwardes had a reputation for the brutal cross-examination of prosecution witnesses and Giles had been attempting to prepare himself for his appearance on the witness stand by anticipating all possible lines of attack.

  Carswell came in after five minutes or so.

  “She took half a cup of broth and now she’s sleeping,” he said. “I gave her a cursory examination. She’s weak, but not in a dangerous state. If we can persuade her to eat more, I think physically she will be improved. As to her mental state, I cannot yet say.”

  “No, of course not,” Giles said.

  “I am in correspondence with a friend who is studying in Paris. There is some interesting work going on there in this field, with some surprising results. I am hoping to pick his brains thoroughly.”

  “I know you will do all you can,” Giles said. “Will you have some wine?”

  Carswell nodded and then saw the letter propped against the decanter.

  “Was that in the parcel?”

  “Yes. It is from Mrs Morgan. She sent a parrot cushion.”

  Carswell snatched up the envelope and tore it open. Then he hesitated for a moment before pulling out the letter.

  “Did she...?”

  “A line or two,” he said, and forced himself to smile. He got up from the table and went to see to his sleeping wife.

  ***

  Felix was glad to be left alone with his letter.

  “My dear Mr Carswell,

  This is perhaps not the sort of gratitude you want from me. But I am conscious that you have saved my life, and you will always have a significant place in my affections because of it. My physician at Scarborough says I have made an excellent recovery and he admired your needlework very much.