by G. M. Best
Trollope smiled. ‘My dear Miss Bold, it takes but a few minutes in Miss Harding’s presence to see that there’s a growing bond between her and your brother. And I am sure it would flourish more were Dr Grantly not so opposed to your brother being seen anywhere near the warden’s house.’
The arrival of John Bold abruptly terminated their conversation. He greeted his sister with natural affection and then shook Trollope’s hand warmly. His manner was open and friendly. ‘Delighted to see you, sir. To what do I owe this pleasure? I hope there’s no more trouble at the hospital?’
‘Not at present but I fear there may be more unless the person responsible for two murders is found. For that reason, Mr Bold, I desire a word with you in private.’
‘I’ll leave you two men to discuss whatever you think necessary,’ interjected Mary Bold graciously and she immediately left the study.
Once she had gone, Trollope explained to Bold what Eleanor Harding had told him and how he had promised to try and discover the truth about her ancestry. The doctor listened without interruption and then moved across to a desk. Taking out a key from his pocket, he unlocked one of its drawers and withdrew a bulky envelope, which he proceeded to hand over to Trollope. ‘This contains the letters,’ he said, ‘and I wish they’d never been written for they’ve done nothing but awaken questions that are better left unanswered.’
Trollope glanced at what the envelope contained but resisted the temptation to instantly read the letters within it. Instead he asked, ‘Did your perusal of these provide you with any clues to follow?’
Bold sat down on the chair opposite to him. Trollope could see the anxiety in his eyes as he debated within his mind how to answer. ‘I’ll be honest with you, sir,’ he finally replied. ‘Two of the letters did provide something because they each contained a reference to Catherine Farrell possessing a brother. In the first of them the doctor questioned Mr Harding’s judgement in not seeking out the child’s uncle.’
‘And why did Mr Harding not do that?’
‘That’s answered in the subsequent letter. Mr Harding apparently judged the brother to be unfit to care for the child because he’d failed to support his sister during her trial and imprisonment.’
‘That’s a not unreasonable assumption.’
‘Agreed,’ said Bold, nodding, ‘but it was a belief that I thought worth testing. I determined to see if I could find this brother, despite the passage of so many years. The doctor’s letters gave no indication of where he might be found. All it provided was his name – Richard. Armed with that, I visited Newgate and made some enquiries, but elicited no information on the man’s current whereabouts. I next went to the offices of some of the leading newspapers and asked to see copies of the articles that had appeared on the trial and execution of Catherine Farrell all those years ago. They gave a lurid picture of her crimes but they made no reference to her having any brother. At that point I almost gave up. Then I decided to take a gamble. I paid for an advertisement to go into the Jupiter.’ Bold paused and, getting up, delved again into the drawer in his desk. This time he pulled out a page torn from a newspaper and passed it to Trollope. ‘Read it for yourself.’
Trollope saw that a circle had been drawn around the relevant advertisement. It was short but to the point. In large bold print was the name ‘Richard Farrell’. Below that were two short sentences, which stated, ‘Please will you contact Mr J. Bold, surgeon. He has a matter of great import to discuss with you about your sister.’ Then were details of a hotel address in London.
‘You’ll see I took the precaution of not mentioning Barchester. For all I knew Richard Farrell was a criminal. The last thing I wanted was to give any clue that might lead him to this place.’
‘And was there a response?’
‘No. I waited a few days and then returned to Barchester. I told Eleanor – Miss Harding – that I’d been unable to discover anything.’
‘Then I must take up the search,’ Trollope said, rising to his feet.
‘That will be unnecessary,’ said Bold firmly.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘About a week after I’d reported my lack of success, the hotel in London forwarded me a letter in a handwriting I did not recognize. You can imagine my excitement when I opened it and found it was from Richard Farrell. It asked me to pardon his delay in replying to the advertisement. He had been unsure whether to respond or not. Time had served to increase his curiosity and so he now requested a meeting. Because his health was frail he asked me to come to his home. The letter provided me with his address.’
‘But you said nothing of this to Miss Harding?’
‘No. I feared to rekindle Miss Harding’s hopes. In fact I contemplated simply burning the letter. However, my own curiosity eventually led me to return to London to see him.’
‘Was that not dangerous?’ asked Trollope, frowning.
A look of amusement flashed across Bold’s face. ‘I think not. His house was in a very respectable area.’
‘But that does not necessarily indicate that those who live there are respectable.’
‘Agreed, but the brother’s letter was signed “the Reverend Richard Farrell”. I think you will agree that visiting a clergyman is not usually deemed a dangerous activity!’
For a moment Trollope was rendered speechless by this totally unexpected revelation. Then he laughed. ‘So why have you told neither the warden or Miss Harding about him?’ he asked, his interest truly aroused.
‘For reasons that I’ll make clear in a moment. But first let me tell you about Richard Farrell. I can assure you that he is a delightful man, though much worn down by the hard life that he’s lived. He’s physically very frail. Most of his ministry was spent undertaking missionary work in Africa. Indeed, he was working in Kuruman, a missionary outpost in South Africa, at the time of his sister’s trial. Unbeknown to him, mistaken reports of his death from a severe bout of malaria had circulated in London. That’s why his sister made no attempt to contact him or seek his help to look after her child. By the time the newspaper accounts of her trial and execution reached him, she had been dead several months. He came back to England at once but there was nothing he could do except mourn.’
‘But surely he would have sought to find her child!’
Bold’s eyes flickered. ‘He was told the child had died.’
‘By whom?’
‘John Gaunt.’
Trollope was nonplussed. ‘But why should the gaoler have lied to him?’
‘I’ve no idea but he did and, if I’m honest, I don’t much care to know why. I now regret even going to see Farrell. The last thing we want is him seeking to find his niece and stirring up the whole story of Mr Harding’s actions.’
‘So what reason did you give him for your advertisement?’
‘I pretended that I was a nephew of the doctor who attended the birth of Catherine Farrell’s baby. I told him that my uncle had recently died and in reading through his papers I had discovered that he did not believe the convicted murderess was anything like the evil monster portrayed by the press. I said that I was considering writing an article about her case, but I required firmer evidence before I could do so. Hence my advertisement. I felt he, more than anyone, would know what Catherine Farrell was truly like and would welcome a chance of having her evil reputation diminished.’
‘You’ve a resourceful imagination, Mr Bold! And what was his response?’
‘He was immensely grateful. He said that the reason for his sister’s crime was much misunderstood and he proceeded to tell me about her upbringing and the events that had led to her unfortunate marriage.’
‘And his account was very different from what we have been told about her?’
‘Completely different,’ replied Bold gravely. ‘According to him, he and Catherine were made to attend church from an early age, not because of any religious conviction on the part of their parents but rather because it was deemed socially important. His father encouraged him to
become a clergyman in the expectation that he would rise to become a bishop and so enable the family to mix with high society. He went to study at Oxford but after completing his studies he declined to take up the very profitable parish that was offered to him. Instead he opted to undertake missionary work abroad. You can imagine the furore that created. His parents described his religious conviction as unworldly nonsense and virtually disowned him. Their anger had unfortunate consequences for Catherine, who was ten younger than him and still little more than a girl.’
‘I fail to see the connection.’
‘It was quite simple. If their son was not going to bring them the wealth and position they desired, then that task had to fall to their daughter. According to Richard Farrell, they deliberately did everything they could from that moment on to turn her into a coquette. All that mattered was to make her a rich man’s wife. She was brought up to believe that there was nothing as important as appearance. Clothes, however fine, were mere rags unless they were the latest fashion. Music, however beautiful, was mere noise unless it was a song sung to attract a man or a piano played to make her appear a desirable wife. Conversation had only one purpose – to make men want her – and its content was judged by its wit and not by its truthfulness. Her parents did all they could to make her cold and calculating.’
Trollope recalled his conversation with John Gaunt and the former gaoler’s description of her as a woman with an angel’s face and a devil’s heart. He voiced his thoughts almost without realizing. ‘Then they succeeded.’
‘Not according to Richard Farrell. Despite all her parents’ efforts to indoctrinate her into looking only for a profitable husband, Catherine fell in love with a young man who had no fortune. All he possessed was a handsome figure, a kind heart and a modest income. The latter would’ve been sufficient for him and Catherine to live happily and comfortably but, when he proposed and Catherine accepted, her parents vehemently refused their permission. They said such harsh things to the young man that any hopes of immediate marriage were crushed and, in his despair, the unfortunate suitor decided to seek his fortune in America in the hope he might make himself rich and so prove his worth. Catherine promised that she would marry no one else and her furious parents locked her in her room. They told everyone that she was ill and permitted no one to see her. This went on for some weeks yet Catherine remained faithful to her chosen love despite all the pressures placed on her. Then came a fateful day when her parents took delight in showing her a newspaper article. The ship on which her lover had embarked had sunk and all on board were presumed dead.’
‘How tragic!’
‘Yes, and at that moment Catherine cared no more what might happen to her. She wrote to her brother about all that happened and told him she’d agreed to marry whomever her parents wanted. It was they who selected William Courtenay, knowing that he was likely to inherit vast lands and a title from his uncle, Lord Hazleworth. Courtenay was easily seduced by Catherine’s beauty but it was an ill day when she married him.’
‘Not as ill a day as it was for him. After all, she drove him into debauchery, bankrupted him and then seduced his uncle before murdering him.’
‘No, that’s only the version given to and accepted by the court. According to Richard Farrell, it was far from the truth. Until she thought him dead, Catherine wrote to him about her terrible marriage. Unfortunately her letters didn’t reach him until it was far too late for him to do anything.’
‘So what’s his version of events?’
‘He told me that Willam Courtenay required no encouragement to live a life of excess. He was a habitual philanderer, gambler and drinker. Once he had gained possession of Catherine he quickly tired of her and took delight in tormenting her by boasting of his affairs with other women. Drink makes some men turn aggressive and that was the impact it had on Courtenay. As a result he often hit her when he came home from his debaucheries, though he was always careful to ensure he didn’t mark her face. He did not want others to know of his behaviour. One evening he returned home with his uncle, Lord Hazleworth. Both men had been drinking very heavily. They subjected Catherine to the most appalling treatment and then both men raped her. That’s how she became with child. Which of them was the father it would be impossible to say.’
Trollope was horrified. If Farrell was speaking the truth, his sister had been ill represented in court. ‘But why did this not come out in the trial?’ he asked.
‘Richard Farrell says that Lord Hazleworth had stories about her alleged scandalous behaviour leaked to the press and, to make doubly sure her version wasn’t heard, he paid a handsome sum not only to Catherine’s defence lawyer but also to her parents to ensure they did nothing to promote her cause.’
‘Surely no parent, however bad, would agree to let their child hang?’
‘They’d no desire to see their role in the marriage uncovered and, as far as they were concerned, their daughter had let them down by murdering the man who would one day have inherited his uncle’s title and wealth.’
‘So she did murder her husband?’
‘Yes, she did. The day after she’d been raped she hoped that her husband would show some remorse at what he and his uncle had done. In fact he treated the whole thing as a lark and told her to expect more of the same because his uncle had particularly enjoyed the evening. She informed her parents of what had happened but they told her to bear whatever her husband did rather than face a divorce. She had no one else to turn to for help. She believed her brother was dead. A week or so later her husband and his uncle again came home after a heavy drinking session. This time she was prepared. She had armed herself with a knife to defend herself and she threatened to kill them both if they assaulted her again. In their drunken state they were not deterred and her defiance, if anything, aroused them more. They attacked her and, in the struggle, Courtenay was mortally stabbed. Her uncle had her arrested and covered up his and his nephew’s behaviour by making her out to be a monstrous wife.’
Trollope’s heart went out to the unfortunate woman. Catherine Farrell might have appeared hard and unfeeling to John Gaunt but the poor woman had undoubtedly been traumatized by all that had happened to her. ‘It’s hard to believe that both her husband and her parents could both be so monstrous!’
‘Richard Farrell told me that, although he’d given his whole life to spreading the gospel of Christ, he could not forgive his parents for their failure to defend his sister once they had finally confessed to him what had happened.’
‘I’m amazed that Catherine Farrell showed such concern for a baby conceived in such circumstances.’
‘It doesn’t surprise me, Mr Trollope. I’m a doctor and, although I’ve not come across any case as bad as this one, I’ve seen many women give birth in situations where you would think they would hate the child. Most do not. They see the child for what it is – innocent of any of the events that have led to its birth.’
‘Why have you told none of this to the Hardings?’
Bold suddenly looked very abashed and for a moment Trollope thought he was not going to answer the question. However, the young surgeon drew breath and blurted out, ‘Because I feared that what Farrell had told me would simply cause unnecessary pain.’
‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘If I told Eleanor what I’ve told you, I know what her response would be – she’d immediately want to set the record straight, and, to do that, she’d make known the family’s connection with Catherine Farrell. I firmly believe that the outcome of such a disclosure would not be the murderess’s vindication but the destruction of the Hardings and Grantlys. Think about it, Mr Trollope! Why should the courts and the media take up the case of Catherine Farrell when it would compromise their own handling of the trial all those years ago? They’ll simply say that Richard Farrell has invented all this in the hope of restoring his sister’s reputation. He’s no proof of what he says. His parents are dead and he destroyed the letters that Catherine wrote to him. They were too pa
inful a reminder of his failure to protect her. The other key player, Lord Hazleworth, is also dead – not that he would condemn himself and his nephew by telling the truth if he were alive. Can’t you see that it’s better that the Harding family remain in ignorance of what Richard Farrell told me?’
‘But surely if Catherine Farrell’s reputation could be restored it would help the situation in which the family find themselves. To be her child would be far less a source of scandal for either Eleanor or Susan if their potential mother was not the cold-hearted murderess that she was thought to be.’
Bold shook his head. ‘It’s not as simple as that. If by some miracle we persuaded people to believe the story of Richard Farrell, we would do so by making them see that the child’s father was one of two men, both of whom were monstrously evil. Catherine Farrell’s child would still be judged tainted. Moreover, there would be some who would still condemn Catherine as a murderess, whatever provocation she faced. Whether we like it or not, tongues would wag just as maliciously if the truth about what happened all those years ago was known.’
Trollope stiffened but he knew that Bold’s assumption was correct. ‘The Bible says the sins of parents will fall upon their children,’ he said sadly. ‘This is one occasion when I wish that were not so. I can see why you’ve not informed the Hardings about what Richard Farrell told you, but what did you say to him?’
‘That I believed him but that as he had no evidence I could do nothing with his story to restore his sister’s reputation.’
‘And he accepted that?’
‘Why should he not? He’d come to the same conclusion years ago.’
‘Better let sleeping dogs lie?’
Bold nodded.
9
THE DEVIL’S SIGN
Trollope returned to his room within the warden’s house. There he carefully read twice through the letters Bold had given him but to no purpose; they did not provide anything else worth following up. However, the more he thought about what he had just been told by Bold, the more he wondered why John Gaunt had informed Richard Farrell that his sister’s child was dead. Was it simply that he had judged she would be better off with Mr Harding? If so, why? Surely he had not judged Richard Farrell tainted by his relationship with the murderess? The man was a respectable cleric. Could there be some other reason for Gaunt’s lie? And, if so, did it shed any light on which of Mr Harding’s daughters was Catherine Farrell’s child? Trollope decided that he would have to clarify the matter with the former gaoler.
