Letter from a Dead Man

by Dawn Harris

  What with Smith, the mystery of Mr Saxborough’s death, visiting my godmother, keeping an eye on my aunt, and dealing with household and estate matters, I had no time to think about the outing to Carisbrooke castle, but I looked forward to it and woke early on the day itself.

  The deep lilac full skirted driving dress I planned to wear, hung up ready, its matching wide brimmed hat on a chair close by. Julia had taken me to a new establishment in Newport, owned by a woman who had the sense not to frown at my height, or fuss over me because I was wealthy. A woman who quickly appreciated I simply wanted fashionable clothes that suited me, and would enjoy wearing. On this occasion she had excelled herself, for on showing me this material I had instantly fallen in love with the softness of it, and knew I would feel not only comfortable but rather dashing in it too.

  Springing out of bed, I ran my fingers along those delicate folds before going to draw back the curtains. At the sight of a cloudless blue sky, I eagerly threw open the casement window, savouring the delicious warming scents of this glorious morning. The servants were up and the kitchen door obviously open, as I could hear the clattering of pots and pans, and the occasional burst of laughter. Westfleet Manor had always been a happy house; for father and I believed in showing appreciation to those who looked after us well.

  Giles should have returned from visiting Mr Reevers yesterday, but as he hadn’t called to see Lucie last night, I assumed he’d arrived later than expected, and I had almost finished breakfast when Jeffel came to tell me Giles was here. ‘Oh good,’ I said. ‘Ask him to join me, would you.’ I was alone as usual, my aunt and cousin not having left their bedchambers yet. ‘And Jeffel, see Miss Lucie is informed.’ I smiled up at him. ‘She was a little worried when he didn’t call yesterday.’

  ‘That’s only natural, my lady,’ he responded warmly. Lucie was a favourite with Jeffel, for she loved listening to his fund of stories about the pranks Giles had got up to as a boy.

  Giles soon joined me, his dark coat enhancing his blond hair and intelligent blue eyes. He grinned boyishly. ‘I came early in case you thought I’d forgotten.’

  I rolled my eyes at him, for Giles never forgot a thing. ‘Would you like some coffee?’

  ‘Please.’ He eyed the breakfast fare with interest. ‘I must say that ham looks delicious.’

  Inviting him to help himself, I poured him some coffee. ‘Haven’t you eaten this morning?’

  ‘Yes, I had breakfast with Mama.’ Announcing it as if he did so every day.

  For a brief moment I was speechless. ‘Your Mama never leaves her bedchamber before ten.’

  ‘Ah - well, I’m afraid I caused her some anxiety last night.’ Explaining in between mouthfuls of ham, ‘I didn’t reach Ledstone until after six this morning.’

  I blinked in surprise. ‘Why was that? It was calm enough yesterday-----’

  ‘It wasn’t the weather. I had some business to attend to which took much longer than I’d expected, and when I got back to my yacht I’d missed the tide. I didn’t dare go to sleep in case I missed the next one too.’

  ‘No wonder you look tired. Would you rather we postponed the outing?’

  ‘Good heavens, no. I feel fine.’ Having finished the ham, he picked up his coffee cup. ‘The weather is perfect and I would hate to disappoint Lucie.’

  Drinking his coffee he said, in answer to my questions, that Thomas and young Tom were still away, but were expected back before he and Marguerite moved to Norton House in ten days time. And that Mr Reevers was resolving his difficulties in the only way possible, although he refused to say what those troubles were. When I spoke of Vincent’s letter, he broke in, his face faintly troubled, ‘Let’s discuss that later. There’s something I must tell you before the others come down to breakfast.’ He hesitated briefly, as if choosing his words with care, when the door opened and Lucie came in. Murmuring under his breath that he’d tell me later, he jumped up to greet the woman he adored.

  Leaving them alone, I longed to know what Giles had been going to tell me, but I didn’t get another chance to speak to him before we set off for Carisbrooke.

  Aunt Thirza, seating herself in the open carriage, happily squashed up her skirts to make room for Lucie and Giles, only protesting when I climbed up to take the reins. ‘Really Drusilla, you might let Mudd drive us. You always rattle on much too fast.’

  I counted to ten under my breath, found it wasn’t nearly enough, and tried to imagine instead what it would be like if she lost her voice for a whole week. Or even a day. This highly agreeable vision softened my mood almost at once, allowing me to concentrate entirely on keeping the horses at a steady pace. For I enjoyed driving, and as Giles was with us, we had no need of a groom.

  The journey was pleasant and uneventful, and despite her concerns over my driving, Aunt Thirza seemed happier than at any time since my uncle’s letters had stopped. The sunshine had clearly put her in a good mood, which pleased me as I wanted her to enjoy the day.

  Once the horses were stabled, we strolled up to the castle, which was looking its best in the bright sunlight. Lucie particularly wanted to see the building where Charles 1st had been imprisoned for nearly a year, before being taken to London to stand trial and eventual execution. Here she eagerly examined the window through which the King had meant to escape by squeezing through the bars. Then, after letting himself down to the courtyard using a rope, a gaoler had agreed to help him over the wall, where horses waited to take him to a ship.

  ‘A wise man,’ I said, ‘would have ensured he could squeeze through the bars before the attempt began. Especially as it was the only thing required of him.’

  Aunt Thirza instantly censured, ‘Drusilla, you are criticising a man who was our sovereign.’

  Even Lucie thought I judged him too harshly. ‘He checked his head would go through, and assumed his body would too.’

  ‘Not a wise assumption, when his life was at stake. Research should always be thorough.’

  Giles commented, ‘You would think that, Drusilla. That’s how you approach problems yourself. But a King is used to having things done for him.’

  ‘Yes, but surely he realised it was his head they would chop off if he failed?’ I said.

  Lucie said, ‘You know so much about it all, Drusilla, I feel quite ignorant.’

  Aunt Thirza instantly bristled and I said quickly, ‘I like history Lucie, just as you love sewing. I can tell you all about this castle, but I couldn’t sew a neat hem, not even if my life depended on it.’ That made Lucie smile, and Aunt Thirza nodded in approval.

  Lucie said, ‘If the King had escaped, would he ever have reached France?’

  ‘If smugglers can cross the channel,’ Aunt Thirza declared, ‘so can a King.’

  Giles pointed out, ‘Smugglers are inconspicuous, ma’am. A King is not.’ He seemed rather subdued, which wasn’t like him at all, and I put it down to tiredness.

  His betrothed asked, ‘Do you know any smugglers, Giles?’

  ‘Everyone on the Island knows people involved in the trade.’

  ‘I am thankful to say I do not,’ my aunt pronounced predictably. ‘Nor do I think it wise for you to do so either, Giles.’

  Giles, anxious to maintain the harmony of the day, suggested we take a walk around the ramparts. The seventy steps made for a strenuous climb, but when my aunt and cousin stood admiring the view, I was able, at long last, to ask Giles what he’d meant to tell me this morning. Drawing me further away from the others, he murmured softly, ‘I have news of your uncle.’

  The tone of his voice implied it was not good news, and fearing the worst, I turned to look at him, my heart hammering. ‘Is….is he….?’

  He shook his head. ‘He’s in prison. In Normandy.’ I closed my eyes in relief. For it meant there was some hope, when I had feared there might be none at all. ‘The friends I told you about have a contact at the prison. It seems your uncle is being moved to Paris soon.’

  ‘Paris?’ I repeated in alarm. Many of th
e worst atrocities occurred in Paris, and the thought of my dear uncle being in that violent city filled me with horror. ‘Can anything be done to get him out? I don’t care what it costs.’

  ‘I’ll do all I can, you know that,’ he said, but could not hide his unease. ‘Your uncle may not have a title but he owns an estate, and to the sans-culottes that makes him an enemy of the people. Anyone caught helping him escape would forfeit his own life.’

  Thinking of what a man of my uncle’s class would suffer in a prison run by the revolutionaries made me shudder. He wasn’t one of those hated aristocrats who treated their employees worse than their animals. Charles Frere behaved with decency and humanity in his dealings with those who worked for him. But, as in all revolutions, the good were tainted by their association with the bad, and had to be eliminated. And, as Giles was gently insinuating, it might not be possible to save him.

  ‘Do you realise Giles, we’ve been laughing and joking about King Charles’s attempts to escape, and how he lost his head, when my uncle is in prison and might---------’ Unable to go on, I turned away from my aunt and cousin, fearing they would realise something was wrong.

  The strain he’d felt today showed fleetingly on his face. ‘Yes – I found that — difficult.’

  ‘I thought you were rather quiet.’

  He glanced across at my aunt and cousin. ‘I should have told them this morning, but they were so looking forward to the outing, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It seemed so heartless.’ I understood, for I would have done the same thing myself. ‘I’ll ride over in the morning, as if I’ve only just heard. One day can’t make any difference.’ A decision I agreed with wholeheartedly.

  Giles had arranged for us to partake of light refreshments at an inn on the way home, and we drove off under a blazing sun, the air so still I could hear every word of the lively discussion that ensued on all we had seen. But none of it sank in; all I could think of was my uncle.

  Although I kept the horses to a sensible pace, the carriage swayed a little as we rounded a particularly sharp bend, bringing a severe scold from my aunt. ‘Do slow down Drusilla, or we shall all end up in a ditch.’

  Giles, ever the diplomat, assured her I had never overturned a carriage in my life. ‘We’ll be at the inn in five minutes, ma’am. I think some refreshment will …………’ His voice trailed away, and we all became aware of a horseman riding towards us at breakneck speed.

  Recognising the man, I brought the carriage to a halt at the side of the road and turned to Giles. ‘Were you expecting your groom?’

  Mystified, he shook his head, and jumped down from the carriage. ‘What the deuce is he doing on Merrydown?’ This horse, Giles’s favourite, had been ridden so hard steam rose from the sweat on its flanks.

  Leatherbarrow was head groom at Ledstone; a quiet, sensible man, who was not easily ruffled. To see him upset and agitated, which he plainly was now, filled me with foreboding. Hurriedly dismounting, he uttered a breathless, ‘Thank goodness I found you, sir.’

  Giles took a step towards him, asking fearfully, ‘My mother---’

  ‘No, sir. She is --- safe.’ Leatherbarrow’s voice was distinctly unsteady. The horse nudged his arm and he automatically settled the animal with a calming hand. Then, visibly taking a deep breath, he said, ‘There’s been a terrible accident, sir. Mr Thomas and young master Tom--’ He stopped, as if searching for the right words.

  ‘Go on,’ Giles urged. ‘What sort of accident? Are they badly hurt? For heaven’s sake, tell me.’

  ‘Sir ---’ Leatherbarrow lifted his shoulders in resignation, for there was no easy way to say what he must say. ‘I’m afraid they’re dead, sir.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘Wh-a-a-t?’ Giles uttered the word on a long disbelieving gasp, as if he must have misheard. And he stood, stupefied, his eyes fixed on Leatherbarrow. Waiting, as we all were, for the groom to retract his words. For, surely, such a terrible thing was not possible. When he remained silent, Giles hissed insistently, ‘They can’t be-----’

  His groom’s voice shook. ‘I’m afraid it’s true, sir.’ With a helpless gesture of his hands, he said quietly, ‘I’m very sorry, sir.’

  We knew then there was no mistake. Yet still we stared at the groom, all of us quite motionless, too stunned to take it in. Lucie gave a little sob, and my aunt, white-faced and shaking, clutched the side of the carriage.

  Giles demanded, his voice trembling, ‘What happened?’

  Leatherbarrow automatically moved his horse so that a cart could pass. ‘They drowned, sir.’

  I whispered, ‘What - both of them?’

  Leatherbarrow glanced up at me. ‘Yes, my lady.’ Another sob escaped Lucie, and my aunt took her hand in comforting fashion as Leatherbarrow went on, ‘The local Riding officer found Mr Thomas’s body at Hokewell Bay, close to the village. Master Tom was a few hundred yards further round the bay.’ Having delivered the terrible news, the groom awaited instructions. But, numbed with shock, not one of us moved, or spoke.

  Leatherbarrow urged, ‘Mrs Saxborough begs you to come at once, sir.’ Still no-one moved, and he said, his voice heavy with meaning, ‘She’s very - distraught, sir.’ Giles passed a hand across his forehead, as if by doing so he could somehow gather his wits together.

  I asked, in a strained voice I barely recognised as my own, ‘How did it happen Leatherbarrow? Was the yacht wrecked?’

  The groom raised his eyes to mine. ‘I think it must have been, my lady.’

  Giles demanded savagely, ‘What do you mean by that?’ I had never heard him speak so harshly before. ‘Is there no wreckage?’

  ‘None that I know of, sir.’ He went on quietly, ‘The Riding Officer found nothing else.’ Giles gripped the side of the carriage, his knuckles white. ‘Mrs Saxborough sent me to find you, sir.’ The urgency in the groom’s voice left us in no doubt as to the effect of this second tragedy on my godmother. ‘They are taking the -- the bodies-- up to Ledstone.’

  Giles looked up at me with so much pain in his eyes I caught my breath. After a moment, I managed to say, ‘You must go at once, Giles.’

  Lucie, who had been weeping silently, added her voice to mine. Giles looked round at us all, somehow remembering his manners, even at such a time. ‘But that will leave you unescorted.’

  Whereupon my aunt, who never went anywhere without an escort, said in a resolute voice, ‘Your concern does you credit Giles, but this is an emergency. We shall be quite safe.’

  Leatherbarrow suggested, ‘If you take Merrydown sir, then I can ---’

  I broke in, ‘Escort us home. That is very sensible, Leatherbarrow.’ And I indicated he should sit beside me.

  Giles climbed into the saddle, gathering the reins with hands that were visibly shaking. After glancing round at us all, he rode off, and I drove on towards Westfleet. Whereas the conversation had flowed easily before, now no-one spoke, once I had made sure Leatherbarrow had told us everything he knew. The inn where we were to have partaken of refreshments soon came into sight, and I sent Leatherbarrow in to explain we couldn’t stop. After which, I hurried on, determined to reach home as soon as possible.

  My aunt no longer complained at being shaken up by the speed at which we were travelling, nor did she comment when I asked Leatherbarrow to tell Giles I’d come to Ledstone as soon as I had changed my clothes. Or when Lucie said she would accompany me, except to insist that Mudd went with us.

  Two thoughts came unbidden into my mind then. That Giles was now Mr Saxborough of Ledstone Place, and a very rich man. And that my godmother would not have to leave her home after all.

  To own Ledstone and marry Lucie would give Giles everything he could ever want, not that he would have admitted it. Being certain, as I had been, that it would never happen.

  After all, if Thomas succumbed to some disease, there was always young Tom, full of youthful vigour, who would marry in a few years and produce a family. Now that wouldn’t happen. I thought of the polite, kind-hearted Tom a
nd his great zest for life. A boy everyone liked. I recalled the party Julia had organised for his birthday, and his delight in the penknife I’d given him. Tears misted my eyes, and I quickly blinked them away, aware I must get my passengers home safely. Afterwards I remembered very little of that drive, thinking only of what was happening to the Saxborough family.

  Leatherbarrow had said the tragedy was ‘a terrible accident.’ That was how Cuthbert Saxborough’s demise had been described too. And Thomas was as expert on a boat as his father had been on a horse. A parallel I found profoundly disturbing.

  I brought the carriage to a halt in front of the house, where my aunt and cousin alighted. Driving round to the stable yard, one look at Mudd’s face told me the appalling news had already reached Westfleet. Leatherbarrow returned to Ledstone on the horse Giles had ridden over on this morning, and I told Mudd to saddle Orlando and Lucie’s horse, and to be ready to accompany us in fifteen minutes

  Up at the house, Jeffel’s countenance mirrored the shock that was on all our faces. ‘Miss Lucie says you are going to Ledstone, my lady.’

  ‘As soon as we have changed. I can’t tell you when we’ll be back, I’m afraid.’

  For once his usual composure had deserted him, and he couldn’t quite control the emotion in his voice. ‘Please tell Mr Giles how sorry all the Westfleet servants are, my lady.’ Many of them had known Giles all his life, and he was a popular visitor. For he wasn’t above stopping to chat with even the lowliest scullery maid, and he always rewarded any little service done for him with a warm smile.

  Promising to pass on their condolences, I caught a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror, ashen-faced and tense. With an effort, I remembered the house still had to be run and said, ‘Mrs Frere will be staying here, Jeffel. I don’t know if she will want dinner. She might prefer…..’

  ‘Don’t you go fretting about Mrs Frere, my lady. We’ll look after her.’