He noticed she had clenched up the fingers of one hand. Driven by instinct, he grabbed her wrist and then gently unfolded her fingers to reveal the harsh red stripes laid across her palm. At the sight of them Felix had an involuntary memory of the sting of the schoolmaster’s tawse on his own hand.
“Did she do this to you?” he said.
“It’s nothing,” she said, snatching her hand away.
“I’ve a good mind to go back up there and –” Felix broke off, incensed.
“No, no, don’t. Don’t, please. You’ll just make it worse. Just go please, sir, and don’t say anything about what I said. Please. Do you promise?”
He was not sure he should, but her expression was piteous. So he nodded, as if that counted for a promise, and she looked relieved. But that was not much of a comfort to him as he rode back towards Northminster.
He returned at six to find Major Vernon addressing the night constables prior to their going on duty. They were lined up in the yard, all with their lanterns lit and fastened to the belts. He dismissed the parade and they went off, very solemn and steady. Then seeing Felix dismounting, he came over to him.
“Do you have any results for me yet, Mr Carswell?”
“No, sorry, sir, I was distracted. The girl at Brinklow...”
“Of course. But you will be attending to it presently?”
“Yes, sir, I am about to make a start on it.”
“Good.”
He stumbled along to his quarters, depressed and exhausted, scarcely equal to the prospect of a dead man’s stomach. He was not as hardened as he thought.
Chapter Sixteen
Carswell was crouched over the fire in his shirtsleeves, holding a spherical flask with a pair of tongs in the heart of the flames. The room was hot and it reeked of a powerful mixture of coal fumes, excrement, urine and chemicals. Giles felt he had strayed into an alchemist’s chamber.
“That’s a magnificent fire you’ve got there,” he said. In fact the size of the blaze was alarming. Giles was worried the chimney might catch fire.
“It’s not nearly hot enough,” said Carswell. “I cannot get this to etherize... damn!” He pulled back suddenly, his arm apparently sliced by the flames. “Damn it.” He peered at the contents of the flask, scowled and then winced in pain. Clumsily he set the flask down on a tripod and then plunged his hand into a pail of water, grimacing as he did. “This may take longer than I thought,” he said after a moment, his hand still in the bucket, “since I’m having to improvise.”
“You seem to be doing your best in difficult circumstances,” Giles said. “Will your arm be all right?”
“I think so. Stupid of me, of course,” he said. “One thing I have managed to find which may be of interest, are those.” He pointed towards a saucer containing a mass of little black seeds.
“Do you know what these are?”
“No, but there were a lot of them. Almost an eighth of a ounce. Some of them cracked, where he’d chewed on them, as you can see, but most of them are whole. I’ve never come across them before. They have a very bitter taste.”
“You tried one?”
“Yes. I don’t know how he managed to eat so many.”
“Perhaps they were disguised,” said Giles. He peered down at the saucer. The seeds were flat and kidney shaped. “When I was in India I heard stories about sleep-inducing seeds being disguised in highly spiced dishes. The native food is very pungent there. You wouldn’t always notice something bitter. Apparently robbers would drug their victims that way. Did it have any effect on you?”
“I don’t think so. Unless it’s made me slow and clumsy,” he said, taking his arm from the water and rubbing it. “I’d better make up a poultice for this or I shall be in more trouble. Do you know what the name of the seeds were?”
“No, unfortunately not.”
“I should try and catch a mouse and feed them to it. That and try to find a good botanical reference book. Or perhaps we should ask your niece’s botany tutor, Mrs What’s-her-name.”
“Lepaige,” said Giles. “Of course. How interesting. Remember, Rhodes got his preferment – St Gabriel’s Without. Lepaige has been waiting to get that living for years. It’s a motive, but of course whether Lepaige is the kind of man to kill, is another matter. I shall have to talk to him.”
Giles was on his way to the door.
“Are you going to him now?” said Carswell.
“No, first I am going to catch you a mouse,” said Giles.
***
Major Vernon returned in less than an hour with an entire nest of mice. He had extracted them from behind some loose wainscot in his office, having suspected an infestation for some time.
“This isn’t the kindest manner of extermination,” he said, tipping the mice into one of Felix’s empty boxes for safekeeping. “But it is in a good cause.”
Felix crushed up a few of the seeds in his mortar and then took up a likely specimen and, not without a little difficulty, used a pair of tweezers to force a grain into its tiny mouth. He then tied a piece of twine round its tail to identify it and put it back with its fellows.
“Quarter past nine,” he said consulting his watch, and then noting the time in his notebook. “Let’s see how long this takes.”
“You should send down for some supper,” the Major said. “I don’t believe you dined?”
“No, no, I didn’t. I wasn’t hungry.”
“You should eat now.”
Felix nodded, suddenly aware his stomach was aching with hunger which equalled the throb of his singed forearm under its poultice. He looked into the box. The mouse with the twine on his tail was already unconscious
“Look,” he said.
“They must be very strong,” said the Major. “Is it actually dead?”
Felix picked it up. It felt perfectly lifeless. He shook it and it did not twitch. There was no sign of a heart beat.
“I’ll speak to Lepaige in the morning,” said Major Vernon. “See if he or his wife can identify these things. Come and eat your supper in my rooms, Carswell. You need to get the windows open in here.”
***
The Major sat at his writing table, working though a prodigious pile of paperwork, while the Major’s servant, Woods, brought Felix in a supper consisting of cold boiled pigeon and a jam tart. Yet when it came to it, Felix found he had little appetite. The forced inactivity suddenly made him think of the afternoon’s events, and all his anger returned, distilled by time and confinement. He forced himself to eat but found the contents of the claret jug more to his taste.
He pushed away his plate, refilled and drained another glass and wandered over to the fire. He rested his hands on the mantelshelf and found himself staring at the bare breasts of a mermaid in the carving above it. He closed his eyes and saw Abigail’s face, gaunt and grey with pain. How much had he increased the burden of suffering on her by trying to be clever? Perhaps it was a guilty conscience that made him feel so solicitous towards her, and so angry with Miss Hilliard. But that Fulwood creature had been a neglectful hag, there was no doubt about that, and if what Lizzy said was true…
The Major’s pen ceased its industrious scratching. Felix looked towards him, aware of Vernon’s eyes upon him.
If the abortion had been brought on by mechanical means, then it was a police matter and he was duty-bound to mention it. But he had promised Lizzy not to say anything, and perhaps she had been mistaken.
“How was the girl?” Vernon asked after a moment. “Any improvement?”
“A little. I shall have to go over first thing.”
Felix decided there and then he would go, despite Miss Hilliard, and then he could perhaps quiz Abigail about the circumstances of her miscarriage. If she had survived the night.
Chapter Seventeen
The Lepaiges lived just within the walls of Northminster but not within the Minster Precincts, in a narrow, elderly house at the far end of a slightly shabby street. One wall of the house was formed from
part of the city walls and it looked as if it were lurking in the shadows, as if ashamed of itself.
Giles came down the street and found the master of the house standing on the door-step being berated by a tradesman.
“Your lady said, sir, that you’d pay me by Wednesday, and it’s Wednesday. So here I shall stay until I get my money. I shan’t take no excuses, sir, I’m afraid I shall not. It’s beyond excuses.”
Lepaige was digging in his pockets for coins when he glanced up and saw Vernon coming down towards them. He went quickly back to the task in hand.
“There, that’s all I have for now, Mr Trendall,” Lepaige said, pouring the coins into his hand.
“Are you sure, sir?” said Trendall, making a move as if to get in through the open door. “Perhaps if we were to have a look inside?”
“You can take that or leave it!” said Lepaige. “And I will give you the balance by next week, you have my word on it.”
“Ah well, that’s the problem I have,” said Trendall. “Your word don’t count for anything!” And he made another attempt to get into the house, yanking Lepaige aside as he did so. Lepaige stumbled from the step and Trendall would have got in through the door, had Giles not caught him by the shoulder and restrained him.
“You ought not doubt a gentleman’s word, Mr Trendall,” said Giles.
“Get off me.”
“Take your money and go,” said Giles.
“Not until I get the balance of it.”
“How much is that?”
“Matter of forty shillings. It may be a trifle to the likes of you, sir, but I’ve a business to run.”
“You’ll have no business at all if this is the way you treat your customers. Have a little patience, sir. I am sure you will get your money in good time.”
“He’s had his good time,” said Trendall, “and plenty of it. I’ve given him patience and all he gives me is farthings and promises, like pie crusts! I’ve had enough of it.”
“Then put your complaint through the proper channels,” said Giles. “And let the law take its course. Forcing your way into a man’s house is not the way to solve this.”
“If I do that, I shall never see my money. I shall be only throwing good money after bad,” Trendall said, starting again towards the front door. “I shall get in there, and I shall have that money!”
“If you go in there, I shall arrest you for trespass,” Giles said, catching her shoulder again. “For forty shillings, is that worth it?”
“Yes, to me it is.” He tried to get in again, but this time Giles blocked him.
“It is generally considered a civil custom to extend a clergyman a measure of credit. Especially a man like Mr Lepaige, who does so much good about the town. And you will get your money, Mr Trendall. The gentleman gave you his word.”
Trendall stared at Giles, and shook his head.
“And you are living in cloud cuckoo land! Well, I will go, but I tell you something, sir, this won’t do, it won’t do at all. I shall have my money, and something for the trouble of it, too! You can be sure of that!”
And he stomped off down the street.
“Thank you, Major Vernon,” said Lepaige. He was leaning against the wall of his house, as if he needed the crumbling stone to support him. Very tall and very thin, he was like a sapling that had bolted upwards but failed to grow outwards. He even towered above Giles, but there was no strength in his height. He looked as if he might snap at any moment, and when he walked, he stooped.
“Let’s go inside, shall we?” he said, indicating the door. “I suppose you have come to talk to me about Mr Rhodes,” he said, as Giles went past him and into the house.
“Yes, I have.”
“It occurred to me that you would wish to do so,” said Lepaige, shutting the door behind him. “First door on the left, Major Vernon, if you will. I’m afraid I can’t offer you so much as a glass of sherry.”
The room appeared to be the family dining room, but also served as a greenhouse and study. Lepaige had a clerk’s desk in one corner where presumably he stood and worked, with his books to hand on high rickety shelves above it. In the deep window were three Wardian cases packed full of plants. The table was littered with papers and books.
“It’s a little disorderly in here, but we do have a good fire,” said Lepaige, going at once to the fireside. “For the plants, of course,” he said, reaching for the coal tongs. “Those are very tender specimens indeed,” he said, arranging a piece of coal very precisely in the fire. “Although my lady is inclined to say that of me, that I am too tender. But I do like a good fire. A great indulgence I know, but on a morning like this, how is a man to think when he’s cold? Ah, you don’t know what I am speaking about, do you, Major? You are like Mrs Lepaige, a lover of keen wind and cold air. You were reared in the North, like she was, I think.”
“Yes, I was.”
“We came here because of her connections here, of course. Not that it has done us a great deal of good, but who is to say we should have done any better anywhere else?”
“You are very philosophical, sir,” Giles remarked.
“What else am I to be?” said Lepaige, straightening up and hooking his arm onto the mantle shelf as if he wanted the support of it. “You are expecting me to be angry about Rhodes, or perhaps a trifle gleeful that he’s dead, I suppose? When we heard it was a case of murder, we thought you would call,” Lepaige went on. “After all, in the eyes of the world that was a great wrong that he did us – or rather Sir Oswald did us. Therefore I should be hot for revenge, should I not? And a likely suspect.”
“I cannot comment on that, sir, you will understand.”
“Yes, of course. But let me tell you, Major, I am philosophical. I do not think it would have been a good thing for me to get that living. I should not have managed a great parish like that. Sometimes I feel I cannot manage my own pocket book. And I’m not young and energetic as Mr Rhodes was. I don’t go for spouting fire from the pulpit, for that’s what is wanted these days. If I had wanted it I suppose I could have got it, courted Sir Oswald, you know the sort of thing that other men seem to find easy enough, but really I consider it very distasteful. Of course my family will suffer for that, as they always suffer for my shortcomings, but what can I do? And now we have a dead man. I do not imagine Sir Oswald will give me the living by default. He’s a very stubborn man. Have you met him?” Giles nodded. “Then you know what he is like and how little good it has done me that Mr Rhodes is dead. But if you must ask your questions, you must.”
“When did you last see Mr Rhodes?”
“I shall have to look at my diary,” said Lepaige and began to search about his papers. “Which I seem not to have to hand in here. I shall go and find it.”
Left alone, Giles glanced about him and noticed a small chest with many drawers in it, the sort of object one usually saw in an apothecary’s shop. He could not resist the temptation to pull open the drawer and examine the contents. It was full of brown paper packets and glass vials, all carefully labelled with Latin names in meticulous handwriting. They all contained seeds.
Quickly he began to examine them and after a moment or two, he came across a sealed glass jar containing seeds that very closely resembled those he carried in his pocket. He took the enamel box out to make a comparison but it was a little difficult because the jar was of green glass and he did not wish to break the seal. The jar also contained a slip of paper, presumably to identify the contents, but he could not read what it said. And then Lepaige’s voice rang out suddenly in the hallway.
“Heavens, no, not again!”
Giles put the jar back in the drawer, uncertain if he had a match. He left the dining room only to see Mr Lepaige vanishing out of the back door. Giles followed and saw that he was chasing a large old spot pig back across a minute patch of lawn.
“She likes to escape and forage,” said Lepaige, chivvying her back into the sty. He then began fumbling with a piece of rope in order to fasten the gate.
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“That knot will slip,” Giles said, “if you don’t mind me saying, sir, and she’ll be out again.” He stepped forward and fixed the knot more firmly.
“It seems I am in your debt again, Major,” said Lepaige.
“That’s a fine specimen,” Giles said regarding the pig. “You’ll be sending her for slaughter soon, I imagine.”
“Yes,” said Lepaige with a sigh, “I always hate that. Pigs are such intelligent, companionable creatures. I would never kill them if I had the choice to do otherwise. But how else do I put meat upon the table for my children?”
“Where does that gate lead, sir?” Giles said, looking about him and noticing the door in the garden wall.
“Into the Causeway. It’s most convenient,” said Lepaige. He was scratching the pig’s head.
“Yes, very,” Giles could not help saying, for in his mind he was picturing where the gate must come out onto the Causeway. Rhodes’ body had been found no more than ten minutes’ walk away. With a handcart like the one propped up against the wall, it would have been an easy matter to transport it from here.
“About Mr Rhodes,” Giles said. “You were looking in your diary?”
“I cannot find it for the life of me,” said Lepaige. “Forgive me, Major Vernon.”
“And you cannot recall the last time you saw Mr Rhodes alive?”
“No, no, I cannot.” He shrugged and looked down at the pig. “Do you think Mr Trendall would be pacified by a hind quarter of pork?”
***
Unlike Dean Pritchard, Mrs Cley was happy to let him speak to her daughter about Rhodes, and she left them alone to talk, in the same chilly drawing room.
Miss Cley was stunning to look at, beautifully regular in all her features, with lustrous gold hair, and the severity of her black watered silk dress did nothing to diminish the powerful effect of her personal attractions. Giles was glad he was not one and twenty and impressionable when he saw her.
She did not sit down for the interview, but stood with her hands neatly folded in front of her. She held herself with great style, making a virtue of the height which many women would have disliked. In that abstracted, unquiet part of himself, Giles admired her as a man must admire such a beauty, and then got down to business.
The Butchered Man Page 13
