Letter from a Dead Man

by Dawn Harris

  Parker replied loftily, ‘I really couldn’t say, sir.’

  ‘Won’t, more like,’ Giles laughed. ‘Well, as you know so much, you won’t be surprised to hear Mr Vincent is to be incarcerated in the cellar until after the wedding.’

  ‘Very wise, if I may say so, sir.’

  ‘I’m glad you approve. Take a tray of food and drink to the cellar, if you please, and then we’ll lock him in.’

  Casting Vincent a look of disfavour, Parker answered with a dignified, ‘If that is your wish sir, I will see to it immediately.’

  As Parker shut the door behind him, Mr Reevers glanced at the clock. ‘I don’t want to rush you Giles, but if you mean to get married today shouldn’t you take a bath? You’re quite disgustingly grubby you know.’ A statement that started a buzz of comment, with Mr Arnold saying he must be going if he was to get to Cowes and back in time for the ceremony.

  After he’d left, Lucie came up to Giles, ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

  Taking her hands in his, he smiled down into her eyes. ‘Of course. Thanks to Drusilla. But for her, I would be in a French prison by now.’

  Lucie turned to me, but before she could speak, I reminded her affectionately, ‘It’s time you went back to Westfleet, if you’re to be ready for the wedding.’

  ‘Aren’t you coming with us?’

  ‘I’ll come when I’ve seen Vincent safely locked up.’

  When Parker returned to report, with more than a hint of disapproval, that he’d taken food and drink to the cellar, Giles locked Vincent in.

  Riding home across the Downs, accompanied by Mudd, I told him everything that had happened.

  Greatly relieved, he declared, ‘I can’t believe it’s all over, my lady.’

  ‘Nor I.’ And I said, with a smile, ‘I owe you a great deal, John.’

  His weather-beaten cheeks flushed a little. ‘My lady—’

  ‘But for you, I would not be here.’

  He said gruffly, ‘It was nothing, my lady. Besides I promised his lordship to make sure you didn’t come to any harm.’

  I arrived home to find everything being set out for the wedding breakfast, and much furious activity going on in the kitchen. Despite the appearance of chaos, Jeffel assured me he had it all under control. And, somehow, despite much shouting for servants, doors being banged and a great deal of rushing about, everyone managed to be ready in time.

  The sun shone, the bride was radiant, and my uncle proud. The carriage taking them to the church was as spotless as my aunt could possibly have wished. Even the parson was in good humour, and Giles greeted his bride with such joy Marguerite had to dab her eyes with her handkerchief. The wedding breakfast went off without a hitch, speeches were given, people laughed in all the right places, and a huge quantity of food and wine was consumed.

  Lucie had just gone to change her dress when I saw a groom riding up to the house. A moment later Jeffel brought in a note on a salver, presenting it to Giles. He read it, frowned, slipped the note into his pocket, and quietly made his way to my side. ‘Could we go into your library?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Giles brought Mr Reevers with him and having shut the door, took the note from his pocket and said, ‘I’m afraid Vincent has escaped.’

  ‘Escaped?’ I gasped in disbelief. ‘But how? The cellar door was locked.’

  ‘I know,’ Giles agreed ruefully. ‘Only as you discovered Drusilla, under that veil of charm lies an exceptionally cunning and resourceful man.’

  Mr Reevers asked curiously, ‘Who is the note from?’

  ‘From Vincent himself. He has been kind enough to explain how he means to escape justice.’ Unfolding the note, he read it to us.

  ‘My dear Giles,

  May I first congratulate you on your wedded state. I wish I could have been there, my dear boy, but by the time you receive this I shall be crossing the water to Lymington. When Lady Drusilla was so insistent that I should be locked in this ghastly cellar, she quite forgot I have a way with locks—’

  Giles looked up at me. ‘What does he mean?’

  I gave a heartfelt groan. ‘I’d quite forgotten, but the night before I was attacked at Hokewell Bay, someone picked the lock on my workroom door, broke in and looked at my wall charts. At the time, I didn’t know who it was. Later I decided it must have been Piers. I’m sorry, Giles.’

  Giles gave a wry grimace. ‘Well, it can’t be helped.’ And he read on:-

  ‘The lock on this door is simplicity itself. I have already picked it, and mean to leave the instant I have finished this note. When I reach Yarmouth, I will arrange for your horse to be returned to Ledstone, and this letter to be delivered to you.

  You need not worry about me any more, for I shall never return to the Island. I have been a gambler all my life, and I gambled everything on becoming Mr Saxborough of Ledstone Place. I shall not try again, nor ever return to England. I freely admit I persuaded Piers to murder Cuthbert and Thomas and Tom, and that Piers then died by my own hand. But I do not intend to end on the gallows.

  I shall return to my villa in Italy, which is quite out of the way. Frankly, I do not believe you would ever find it. In any case, I am sure you have no wish to drag the Saxborough name through the courts. Really, my boy, it will not do. For what would you gain? You already have everything you could ever want. So allow me to bid you a fond farewell.

  Yours etc.

  Vincent.’

  None of us spoke for a moment, then Giles muttered savagely, ‘So I have everything I could ever want, have I? Does he really believe I wanted to inherit Ledstone in such a way? I’d give it all up this instant if my father, brother and nephew could be restored to me.’ He looked at me with so much pain in his eyes I lowered my gaze. ‘It was my father he hated. Yet he had Thomas and Tom murdered too. Tom was just an innocent b-boy-------’ he stopped, his voice breaking, and he turned to look out the window, his hands on the sill, his knuckles white.

  After a minute or two, I said quietly, ‘I’m not making excuses for what he did, but his own son was just a boy when he died too. As Vincent saw it, his brother could have saved his wife and child, but chose not to. That doesn’t justify murder, but it may explain it.’

  Giles stood staring down at the note, then carefully folding it, he looked up at me, in control of himself again. ‘I’ll pass this on to the proper authorities. They can deal with it as they will.’

  Mr Reevers urged, ‘I should keep a copy, Giles. It’s the only admission of guilt you have.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll do that. Frankly though, I don’t think they’ll catch him.’

  I said with some regret, ‘I suppose the whole story will be in the newspapers.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Giles said. ‘And - er - perhaps not. I - er - do have some influence in high places.’

  I stared at him. ‘Whatever do you mean?’

  ‘Well, there is something Radleigh and I haven’t told you.’

  I eyed him with suspicion. ‘Why do I have the feeling I am not going to like this?’

  Which only made Giles laugh. ‘Do you remember asking me why I went to Paris after your uncle was safely on his way to the Island?’

  ‘Of course. You said you were curious.’

  ‘I’m afraid I lied, Drusilla. The thing is --- Radleigh and I, we - er - work for the government.’

  I looked at him, puzzled. ‘How do you mean? How can you possibly work for the government?’

  He fidgeted with the folded note, turning it in his fingers, before putting it into his pocket. ‘Well, Mr Pitt wanted a first hand account of the situation in Paris, and I could hardly ignore a request from the first minister in the land, now could I.’

  ‘Mr Pitt?’ I repeated in disbelief.

  ‘Yes, but I must ask you not to speak of this to anyone.’

  ‘Indeed not,’ murmured Mr Reevers feelingly. ‘Think of my skin, my dear fellow.’

  Giles chuckled. ‘Quite so. Now that I’m getting married, I have resigned. But Rad
leigh hasn’t retired. So you will be careful, won’t you.’

  Incredulous, I spluttered, ‘Are you telling me that you are a spy?’

  He lifted his shoulders. ‘Government agent, Drusilla.’ And he grinned at me sheepishly.

  ‘Don’t split hairs, Giles. How long has this been going on?’

  ‘Since I came down from Oxford.’

  I thought of the years he had spent supposedly travelling for pleasure. ‘And you never even gave me a hint.’

  ‘I couldn’t, could I. Be reasonable, Drusilla.’

  But I was in no mood to be rational. ‘Don’t you realise, I thought Mr Reevers might be involved with the murders at one time?’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ Giles began to look a little uncomfortable. ‘I told you he was innocent, but you obviously didn’t listen----’

  ‘Oh,’ exclaimed Mr Reevers acidly, ‘so you’re to blame for the frosty reception I have received from this lady on more than one occasion. Well, let me tell you Giles, next time you get stuck in France with a horde of sans-culottes yelling for your blood, I shall leave you to your fate.’

  I turned to Mr Reevers hardly able to believe my ears. ‘You went to France in Leatherbarrow’s place?’ I had been so sure no-one but Giles’s groom knew where to pick him up.

  It was Giles who answered. ‘Radleigh and I often work together. But as I explained to you Drusilla, I wasn’t able to wait for anyone.’

  ‘Being unaware of that,’ Mr Reevers told me sardonically. ‘I spent a whole day dodging the Frenchies, risking life and limb, waiting for him to turn up. Something,’ he reiterated, ‘I shan’t do again.’

  ‘You forget,’ Giles pointed out shamelessly, ‘there won’t be a next time.’

  ‘When you two have quite finished,’ I intervened, choking on a laugh. ‘There’s one thing you have both forgotten.’ Going to my writing desk, I unlocked the secret drawer, took out the French invasion plan and handed it to Giles. ‘You must get this to Mr Pitt.’ Giles looked at the document for a moment, then having glanced at me, lifted a questioning eyebrow at Mr Reevers. This gentleman’s lips twitched, and he gave a slight nod. Watching this meaningful exchange, I eyed the pair of them warily. ‘What are you two scheming now?’

  Giles said, ‘We think you should take it to Mr Pitt, Drusilla.’

  ‘Me?’ I gasped.

  He nodded. ‘You’ll find he’ll want to hear how it came into your hands. Tell him the whole story. How you unmasked Vincent and-----’

  Mr Reevers broke in, ‘And how you prevented one of his best agents from ending up on the guillotine.’

  ‘Yes,’ Giles agreed feelingly. ‘Make sure you tell him everything.’

  I stared at them, speechless, and Mr Reevers said, ‘I should be honoured ma’am, if you will allow me to escort you to Downing Street. Properly chaperoned, of course. Your aunt and uncle perhaps?’

  I did not answer at once, for until today I had feared Mr Reevers might be involved with the murders in some way, and that my feelings for him were affecting my judgement. To have those fears banished filled me with joy, and the thought of being in his company in London, without such worries, was infinitely appealing.

  Looking across at him, he smiled in a way that caused my heart to lurch alarmingly. Giles glanced from Mr Reevers to me, and having missed nothing, asked in his most matter-of-fact voice, ‘Well, what do you think, Drusilla? Would you like to meet Mr Pitt?’

  I didn’t stop to consider where such a decision might lead. I simply turned to Giles and said happily, ‘Yes, I do believe I would.’

  THE END

  About the Author

  Dawn Harris lives in North Yorkshire, and is married with three grown up children and two grandchildren.

  She was first published in the Yorkshire Post, writing humorous poems and articles. Later, turning to fiction she won two competitions run by national magazines. Since then her short stories have appeared in many magazines, including Woman’s Weekly, Best and People’s Friend.

  Humour has always been a vital part of Dawn’s writing, and she combines this with her life-long love of history in her first book, “Letter From A Dead Man,” a thriller set in 1793 on the Isle of Wight.