The Butchered Man

by Harriet Smart

  Giles followed the waiter upstairs to a vast room which looked more like a ballroom. Hung with yellow silk of a startling shade, it had a commanding view of the street through three great plate-glass windows, and there were carved French-style marble fireplaces at both ends of the room, each with a blazing heap of coals in their polished steel grates. The room was deserted except for three men playing cards, and in attendance on them, but looking very bored, was a young woman, tricked out elaborately.

  Two of the men Giles recognised. One, Jerry Stimson, was the son of a prosperous farmer who had been educated somewhat beyond his position and now affected what he considered a gentlemanly lifestyle: namely, hard drinking, hunting and running up monstrous debts. The other, Ben Abbott, was Stimson’s cousin and apparently learning his bad habits, having come unexpectedly into money. Neither of them were of age but they had cultivated the languor of elderly roués. It irritated Giles profoundly to see them there with their curled hair and brocade waistcoats. He had had them in the cells less than a month ago after a drunken brawl on Twelfth Night, and it had only been after a great deal of pleading from Stimson senior that he had spared them an appearance before the Justices. He now regretted his leniency. This scene had a very sinister appearance to it, given it was three in the afternoon. The girl, the cigar smoke, the brandy and water might have been excusable if Stimson and Abbott had been playing cards alone, just to pass the time. But in Giles’ experience, young men of that sort never played cards for matchsticks, and the man with them, Mr Rhodes – well, it was easy to see he was not the sort to play for matchsticks either.

  He had come into the room quietly, and they were all so absorbed in their play he was not noticed except by the girl, who looked him over as if he were a potential client. A man in a uniform would always present an opportunity to a girl like that. In his soldiering days, Giles had come across whores with such detailed knowledge of rank and regiment that it seemed they must bed down with the Army List on the nights they were not bedding down with an actual officer. There had been women who made a speciality of relieving ensigns of their virginity and others who would not touch anything below the rank of captain.

  This girl stood fiddling with her bonnet ribbons, seemingly puzzled by him, when he returned her bold stare with a cool inquiring glance. Perhaps she could not place him as he had placed her.

  He turned his attention to Mr Rhodes and saw he was cutting and shuffling cards with all the dash and verve of a professional sharp.

  “Mr Rhodes?”

  “Yes?”

  Stimson turned at the sound of Giles’ voice and Abbott even started a little, perhaps remembering the dressing down that he had been given when they last met.

  “Shouldn’t you be in your places, gentlemen?” Giles said, strolling over. One of the conditions of the deal that Giles had made with old Stimson was that they should be set to work. Jerry was found a stool at Ludlow’s Bank while Abbott had been apprenticed to an attorney. “Or is this business? It doesn’t look like it.”

  Abbott was already half off his chair but Stimson puffed on his cigar.

  “Ain’t no law against a hand of cards in the afternoon amongst gentlemen, is there?” he said.

  “No, there isn’t, Mr Stimson, but given you risk losing your position and a great deal of tin, I’d say the stakes are far too high.”

  “Matter of fact I’ve been winning,” said Stimson.

  “Of course you have,” said Giles. “Three or four straight hands, yes? A quite wonderful run of luck. Goodness me, and I thought you were more intelligent than that, Mr Stimson. How disappointing. How much did you just put down? Not more than your winnings, I hope.”

  Abbott looked uncomfortable, Stimson merely petulant. Giles suppressed the urge to slap him.

  “Because you know what happens next, don’t you?” Giles said, turning up the cards and showing the very poor cards that had so magically replaced that astonishing run of luck. “Oh well, good things never last.”

  “I’ll win it back,” said Stimson.

  “No, sir, you won’t,” said Giles. “This card party is now over. I have business with Mr Rhodes and you are going back to work,” and with that he upset the rest of the cards. “Settle your debts and get out of my sight!”

  There followed a few painful minutes of digging in pockets. It was soon apparent that Stimson could not settle and as he scratched out an IOU he did at least begin to look embarrassed and angry at himself. Rhodes by contrast remained quite unperturbed, the professional cardsharp par excellence, a very good specimen of the type. He sat bending the Queen of Hearts between his forefinger and thumb.

  “You’ll have the money for Mr Rhodes tomorrow, I trust?” Giles said. “A gentleman always settles promptly.”

  Stimson muttered something about doing his best and then he and Abbott scuttled off looking a great deal more humbled than after the Twelfth Night brawl.

  “You have done them a favour, though I hate to admit it,” Giles said to Rhodes. Stimson’s IOU lay on the table – a matter of fifty guineas. He picked it up and put it in his pocket. “But I am sure you appreciate I cannot let you profit by it, no matter how elegantly it was done. The trick’s a very old one, even if they were very raw.”

  “Who the devil are you?” said Rhodes refilling his glass.

  “Vernon, Chief Constable of the Northminster Police. You and I must talk.”

  Rhodes gave a shrug and indicated an empty chair. He beckoned to the girl. “Go and amuse yourself, my dear,” he said, pressing a few shillings into her hand. She looked less than pleased by this and went off, flouncing her flounces.

  “Did she come with you?” Giles asked.

  “No, she’s one of yours. Prettier than London girls. The advantages of travel, eh?”

  “Ah yes, Mr Rhodes – exactly why are you here?”

  “For my health,” he said with a smile.

  “Not visiting relatives at all? Your cousin, the Rev Stephen Rhodes. I understand that you have visited him twice since you came to Northminster?”

  “Yes, what’s that to you, sir?” said Rhodes with a slight narrowing of the eyes. “May a man not visit his cousin without the police spying on him? Or is this France and not England? It was England when I last looked.”

  “Your cousin’s landlady and her servant report that on both occasions you quarrelled with him.”

  “Have you never quarrelled with a cousin?” said Rhodes. “Cousins are there for quarrelling with, don’t you think? That’s the business of families, quarrelling.”

  “So you don’t deny it?”

  “What else would we do? Play gin rummy? You know my cousin, perhaps?”

  “I know of him.”

  “Well, there you have it,” said Rhodes. “So what of it? What about our little tiff merits you interrupting my business here in a frankly insolent fashion?”

  “What you were doing to do those boys wasn’t pretty,” Giles pointed out. “And barely legal. The Justices here don’t care much for gambling or cards, especially when it involves the exploitation of their own. Fools though they may be, given who those lads are, you would not be well received by their Honours – should I choose to introduce you to them. So help me here, Mr Rhodes, won’t you? Why did you quarrel?”

  “I scarcely know,” said Rhodes. “I was in my cups and Stephen has a way of provoking me over the slightest trifle. He has a way of looking at one – all moral superiority and cant. A little like you, sir.”

  “According to the servant you gave him a bloody nose.”

  “Mere horseplay,” said Rhodes with a wave of the hand.

  “Did he say something particular to provoke you to it?”

  “As I say, I can scarcely remember.”

  “How convenient,” said Giles, getting up. “So have you seen him since that night? Last Tuesday week, I believe it was?”

  “No. He’s left town. Gone to see his godmother, Lady Elkington, I believe. To sit smug in her bower and look to his expec
tations there.”

  “He is this lady’s heir?”

  “Hopes to be. The old darling is coy about her will. Probably a good thing.”

  “You know Lady Elkington?”

  “Barely.”

  “But you know he has expectations of her?”

  “Yes, I believe so.”

  “A large amount?”

  “A nice little estate somewhere in Lincolnshire – though how nice and how little, I’m not entirely sure. Lady E. was an heiress in her own right. Her daughters will be spitting if any unsettled land goes out of the family, but Stephen may be persuading her to a generous codicil even as we speak. Men of the cloth can be fiercely acquisitive. For that reason I never play them at cards. I always lose.” He furrowed his brow for a moment and then looked at Giles. “Now, what is all this about? What’s my cousin been up to that you are so interested in him?”

  Giles scratched his temple and decided that this was the moment to show his hand.

  “I regret to have to tell you, but I believe your cousin is dead. I’d like you to come with me and identify his body.”

  “Dead?” said Rhodes staggering to his feet. “But... but you said you believe he is dead – you’re not sure, then? You’ve got a body and you’re not sure who it is? Is that what you are saying?”

  “I have one positive identification,” said Giles. “But I would like you to see him.”

  “Dead of what? He can’t be dead. He was always in perfect health. Was there an accident?” He broke off. “This isn’t an accident,” he said, after a moment’s thought. “You wouldn’t be here if it was just an accident and you weren’t sure who it was. All your questions – good God in Heaven – someone’s done away with him, haven’t they?” Giles did not answer. “Is that it? Has he been murdered?”

  Rhodes looked away quickly, as if aware that he had over-interpreted the silence and laid himself open.

  “We have yet to establish exactly what happened,” Giles said. “If we could go and see him now?”

  “Yes, yes, of course, sir, anything to oblige,” muttered Rhodes, cramming on his hat.

  Chapter Ten

  Felix was sitting in the tin bath smoking a cheroot, and vaguely contemplating committing the sin of Onan, when he heard Major Vernon’s voice in the outer room.

  “Mr Carswell? Are you there?”

  “I’m in here, sir,” said Felix, stubbing out the cheroot and reaching for a towel. “I won’t be a moment.”

  Although the water had not been exactly hot, the room felt icy by contrast and he hastily rubbed himself dry, before throwing on his ancient and disreputable dressing gown.

  He emerged into the consulting room to find the Major peering at the sealed glass jar where he had put the contents of the stomach.

  “I’m going to do more tests,” Felix said. “There weren’t any obvious signs of the common poisons. No signs of irritation on the larynx, or any obvious inflammation of the internal organs which is what you would expect to see. It’s all quite puzzling.”

  “You are still of the opinion that he was poisoned in some way? He didn’t die naturally?”

  “No, I’m pretty sure there was something that caused an extensive respiratory failure. I shall be interested to see what it was. All the signs are there – I can give you them in detail when I’ve got my notes in order, but I can’t quite put my finger on the cause as yet,” he said. “But we can say those wounds were inflicted post-mortem.”

  “And the body’s in a decent state?”

  “He’s all sewn up. Not quite as good as new, of course,” he said. “And Sergeant Tompkins has the key.”

  “I’ve found his cousin, Mr John Rhodes. He’s downstairs and I want him to see the body. Come down directly you’re dressed. I want you to be there. I want you to watch his reactions.”

  “Do you think he may be involved?”

  “They’ve been seen quarrelling. But that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. We shall see.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Vernon was on his way to the door but he stopped and turned.

  “Damned strange time to take a bath, Carswell,” he said.

  “Yes, I know, sir. It’s just after a dissection a man can feel a little... soiled.” He was a little loath to admit to such fastidiousness.

  “I quite understand. Glad to see you’re not invincible,” said the Major with a brief smile and departed.

  Felix hurried into his clothes, collected the key from Sergeant Tompkins and went downstairs to the public waiting office.

  Mr John Rhodes looked like a gentleman prize fighter. It was clear that a towering muscular physique was a feature of the Rhodes family and in Mr John Rhodes it overwhelmed the flashy elegance of his clothes. He was pacing up and down the room in an impatient manner.

  “Who are you?” he said, seeing Felix.

  “Carswell, sir, the surgeon. If you’d come this way, please.”

  As they passed out into the courtyard, Felix glimpsed the Major in the mess room, giving orders to one of the inspectors.

  “It’s rather shocking, sir, you’d better prepare yourself for that,” he said. “I’ll light a few candles.”

  Mr Rhodes already looked pained by the stench.

  “What do you know about this? Was he murdered?” he asked.

  Felix did not answer because at this point Major Vernon came in and stood by the door.

  “Carry on, won’t you, Carswell?” he said.

  Felix went to the head, and held up a candle. “If you’d come over here, please...”

  He folded back the sheet.

  “Christ almighty,” murmured Mr Rhodes and sank onto the floor in a dead faint.

  Fortunately Felix had brought some ammonia salts with him and was soon on his knees bringing him round.

  “Just let me check for contusions, sir, your head took a nasty crack there,” Felix said but Rhodes, barely conscious, was determined to struggle free of any attention and get back onto his feet. Swaying noticeably, he staggered towards the door and then lurched out of the temporary mortuary and into the courtyard, where he could be heard vomiting.

  ***

  “Yes, that was my cousin Stephen,” said John Rhodes. Ashen-faced, he sat by the fire in the public waiting office, while Felix put a poultice on the now egg-shaped swelling on his head.

  “Is there anything you can tell us that might be useful?” Vernon said, taking a chair, turning it back to front and sitting astride it.

  “Useful?”

  “Useful,” repeated Vernon, quietly but firmly. “For example, the nature of this quarrel you had?”

  “I told before, it was over a trifle.”

  “Which you don’t recall. Very strange. Let me help you. Was it about a woman, perhaps?”

  “No.”

  “Politics? Religion? Your manner of life? Was he reproaching you?”

  “No,” said Rhodes. “Well, yes. We did not see eye to eye on anything. I told you that. We could quarrel about the weather.”

  “Yet you took the time to visit him twice. To come to Northminster, indeed, even though you seem to have no legitimate business here. It makes me wonder why. To come and see your cousin, with whom you admit you do not see eye to eye. To make a special journey at this time of the year to see a man you dislike. Why?”

  “The railway makes nothing of the journey. I’m a free man and I can go where I please when I please.”

  “So you had no special reason to visit your cousin, Mr Rhodes? Do you expect me to believe that, especially when you are being so defensive about it?”

  “I am defensive because your are offensive, sir,” said Rhodes, hauling himself up. “You have no right to question me in this manner.”

  “I have every right to do so. Your cousin has met his death in a foul manner and I must find whoever is responsible for it. If you will not assist me by answering even these paltry questions, then I can only suppose that you had something to do with it. So perhaps, sir, you will sit down
again, and tell me exactly what was the nature of the quarrel you had with your cousin?”

  “No, I will not,” said Rhodes.

  “Then you leave me no choice,” said Vernon, signalling to the constable. “John Rhodes, I am arresting you for obtaining money by cheating at cards. Take him away, Constable Davies, and charge him. We’ll talk tomorrow, sir, perhaps before the Justices see you?”

  ***

  “I forgot to ask just now, sir. Was Mrs Fforde all right?” Felix said, as he came into the Major’s office where he had been bidden for dinner.

  Vernon, who was standing with his back to him contemplating various pieces of paper pinned like pieces of patchwork to the far wall, turned slightly with an amused look on his face as if Felix was quite transparent to him.

  “Thank you, yes, she was,” he said, and went back to studying the papers. “Pour yourself a glass of wine and come and look at this.”

  Felix took a glass of wine and went to stand by the Major.

  “What we know so far,” said the Major. “I find it helps to lay it all out, when there is a problem to be solved.” He tapped the first piece of paper, which was in the centre. “Here we have our dead man – the Rev Stephen James Rhodes, MA Cantab. According to Crockfords he was ordained in 1834, and was curate of St Mark’s, Langbury, before coming to Northminster eight months ago, in June 1839, as librarian and assistant chaplain to the Archbishop. Recently appointed, thanks to the patronage of Sir Oswald Camperleigh, to the valuable living of St Gabriel’s Without. Last residing at 8 College Street, where he was visited twice by his cousin John Rhodes and appeared to have quarrelled with him. He left there Monday last to visit Lady Elkington in Lincolnshire, a lady from whom he has expectations. He left with a clear intention to return this Thursday. But he seems never to have got there, having been discovered yesterday afternoon, in the ditch in Eastgate, stripped of all clothing and possessions, dead – deliberately killed, we think, but by means unknown, by person or persons unknown and then extensively and furiously mutilated also by person or persons unknown. Time and place of death? Also unknown. Perhaps you can help me with the time?”