A Rustle of Silk: A new forensic mystery series set in Stuart England (A Gabriel Taverner Mystery)

by Alys Clare

  As I sat there in Judyth’s small, quiet, serene room, my mind fighting to deny what she’d just told me yet knowing it was the truth, I thought of something: I remembered the day Celia had arrived unexpectedly at Rosewyke, fresh from her visit to our parents. I remembered how she’d winced as I helped her down from her grey mare, and how I’d assumed she’d turned her ankle as she landed. I remembered that I’d thought she looked plump from our mother’s good cooking and generous portions.

  I’d been wrong; as wrong as it was possible to be.

  She had winced because I was holding her round the upper body, where recently her cowardly bastard of a husband had been hitting her. Punching her where the bruises wouldn’t show.

  And she was plump because she’d been in the early stages of pregnancy.

  I dropped my head in my hands. I felt like weeping.

  ‘Will she conceive again if she remarries?’ I asked.

  There was a long pause. ‘You’re the doctor,’ Judyth said, not unkindly. ‘What do you reckon?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ I snapped. ‘For years I was a surgeon in the navy and all my patients were male. I am a novice when it comes to women. To ministering to them as a doctor, I mean.’ For some reason I was blushing. Once again, I buried my face in my hands.

  I sensed her move, and then she was right in front of me, her hands on mine, gently lowering them. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘You think my remark cruel, and that wasn’t my intention.’

  ‘Not cruel.’ I managed a very faint smile. ‘But you’re a midwife, Judyth, and Celia was your patient. Why did she miscarry?’

  But Judyth merely stared at me, her light-filled eyes unblinking. ‘What goes on between my patients and me is not for sharing, under any circumstances. You, I am quite sure, apply the same rigid rule.’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, of course. But did …’ I hesitated, for the question was hard. ‘Did she suffer badly?’

  She sat back on her heels. ‘She did, and I can’t pretend otherwise, but Celia is young, she is otherwise healthy, and bodies, as I’m sure you have observed yourself, always try to repair themselves whenever they can.’

  Presently she got up and returned to her chair. As if the terrible revelations had lowered the temperature, she wrapped herself in her shawl.

  After what seemed a long time, she said, ‘I really did see the mysterious foreigner, and he was exactly as I described.’

  I raised my head and stared at her. ‘And you’ll testify to that? You’ll confirm you saw this man, very close to where Jeromy was found and on the night he died?’

  I realized then that nobody actually knew the time, or even the day, of his death.

  Even then, I think I knew it was important.

  Judyth said softly, ‘When you tell a lie, it is always best, I believe, to keep the fiction as close to the truth as possible.’ Now her gaze bored into me, as if she was demanding something of me … ‘As I just said, I did see such a figure, but it wasn’t at that time and it wasn’t on the track above Old Ferry Quay.’

  For an instant, the courage and resolve in her strong face wavered. Then she raised her chin, squared her shoulders and said firmly, ‘I said I’d seen the foreigner there because I wanted to protect Celia.’

  I shook my head, trying to order my wild thoughts. ‘To protect her? But why? Because—?’

  She made a small sound of impatience. ‘You’re forgetting what I knew!’ she said vehemently. ‘You came to me today wanting me to testify to the existence of a likely perpetrator of the murder of Jeromy Palfrey, and to swear that he was present at the murder scene at the appropriate time, because your sister is afraid suspicion will fall upon her because she and Jeromy quarrelled about money. Dear God above, don’t you see, doctor? Knowing what I did about their life, I was terrified that suspicion would fall on her for a very different reason, one which, you must surely agree, is far more powerful a motive for her wanting to be rid of him!’

  ‘She didn’t do it!’ I cried. ‘As you said before, how on earth would Celia set about hiring a murderer? It’s quite impossible even to contemplate it, and—’

  ‘Of course it is.’ Her voice, calm now, broke across my fury. ‘But, just in case anyone should suggest it, I thought it best to be prepared. To have our defences in place, on the off chance they might be required.’

  Our defences.

  I could have kissed her for that.

  Hal picked up my urgency and took off for Rosewyke as if he were a young and excitable colt once more. Both of us were hot and sweaty by the time we clattered into the yard and Samuel gave me one of his looks as I handed him the reins and told him to rub Hal down.

  I paused only to splash my face and hands at the yard pump before hurrying inside.

  I strode through the hall and took the stairs in giant leaps. I raced along the gallery and, after only a cursory tap, opened the door and went into her anteroom.

  She was sitting with her sewing in her lap, but I had the strongest impression she had sewn barely a stitch. She looked up and I saw a flash of something – apprehension? anxiety? – cross her face before she adopted an expression of distaste.

  ‘You stink of horse sweat,’ she said.

  Ah. She’d gone on the offensive. Interesting.

  ‘I’ve been riding hard.’ I paused. Affecting an aloof disinterest, she had returned to her sewing.

  ‘I’ve been to see someone who, I’ve just discovered, knows you rather better than I’ve been led to believe.’

  She gave an obviously false, forced laugh. ‘You’re going to have to narrow it down, Gabe,’ she said lightly. ‘I do have quite a lot of friends and acquaintances.’

  I went to stand over her as she sat in the prettily cushioned chair beside the window.

  ‘I’m not speaking of a friend or acquaintance,’ I said quietly. ‘I’m speaking of the woman who attended you when you lost the baby.’

  Her face went white. ‘How did you know …’ she hissed. Then, taking a moment to recover from the shock, she said more calmly, ‘I do not wish to speak of that.’

  I didn’t blame her. From the little Judyth had said, it was surely something Celia would be trying her utmost to forget. I was sorry I couldn’t let her. ‘Judyth is on your side,’ I said. ‘She is a compassionate and brave woman, and she’s …’ But it wasn’t the moment to say, She’s prepared to lie for you in order to provide a credible suspect for Jeromy’s murder. ‘She told me some dreadful things,’ I said instead, crouching down and softening my tone, ‘and I want – it would be helpful if you could tell me about them yourself.’

  She stared at me. Her eyes were hard. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’m trying to help you!’ I cried. ‘Dear God, Celia, do you think I can’t see how terrible all this is for you? For reasons of your own, you seem to have been pretending that you were very happily married to a man who I now know was a spendthrift and a gambler, and who, if what I’ve just learned is anywhere near accurate, was a great deal more than that. I understand that it’s partly pride, because having insisted on marrying Jeromy it must be very hard to admit he’s not what you thought he was, even to yourself and never mind to anyone else. But—’

  ‘I can’t tell Father,’ she whispered. ‘He’ll despise me, he’ll say, I told you so, I told you not to marry him, and he’ll tell me I brought it all on myself.’

  I took hold of her hands. Her accusations against our poor father were so unjust, so patently wrong, that I didn’t know where to begin in denouncing them. So I just held her hands for a while in the hope that she’d hear what she’d just said and see for herself.

  ‘Well,’ she said eventually, ‘perhaps he won’t despise me.’

  ‘He loves you, Celia,’ I said gently. ‘All he’ll feel, if and when he ever hears the full truth, is a full heart and a huge sympathy.’ He’d also want to kill Jeromy, but fortunately that wouldn’t be necessary as someone had already done it.

  After a while she disentangled her hands – smilin
g at me as if to make sure I didn’t take the action as any sort of rejection – and stood up. She walked across to the window, staring out at the gently rising land over to the east, and said, ‘All right. You’d better tell me what you want to know.’

  ‘I want to know the truth,’ I said. I went over to the fireplace, opposite her. It seemed best to put a little distance between us. ‘You told me earlier that you were very afraid Jeromy’s friends might accuse you of wanting to get rid of him, but the only reason you gave was because they thought you were too demanding and forced him to spend too much on you and get into debt.’

  Very slowly she nodded. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

  ‘Now,’ I said firmly, ‘tell me the rest.’

  She bowed her head, and I couldn’t see her face. She didn’t speak for a long time. Then, in a tiny voice, she said, ‘He wasn’t an easy man to live with.’

  I leaned my shoulder against the fireplace. I had the feeling this would take time, and it seemed wise to make myself comfortable. ‘Go on.’

  ‘He was – volatile, almost from the start of our marriage,’ Celia said. ‘I hadn’t appreciated that he drank, because he was very careful that I shouldn’t find out. Not before the wedding, anyway.’ She gave a harsh laugh. ‘Afterwards, once I was his wife, it didn’t matter. And anyway, he’d have found it impossible to conceal from me the extent of his dependence on alcohol.’ She paused, staring past me into the hearth. ‘Once he was drunk, you just couldn’t reason with him or even talk to him. He would just shout, and then shout louder, and turn everything I tried to say so that I was the one in the wrong, even when it was he who had just fallen into the house with his garments awry, his face flushed and a big patch of urine on the front of his hose where he’d been unable to contain himself, and …’ Her voice had risen and she was all but ranting. With a very obvious effort she managed to take hold of herself. When she resumed, her voice was calmer. ‘Then he would begin to flail around, his actions wild and uncontrolled so that things got broken and that was my fault too, and he’d say, “Now look at what you’ve made me do!” and he’d accuse me of being a shrew of a wife who was both penny-pinching and wildly extravagant.’ Before I could protest she waved a hand and said wearily, ‘I know, Gabe. It’s impossible to be both, but according to Jeromy I was extravagant when it came to my own needs and penny-pinching when it came to his.’

  I tried not to let my fury sound in my voice. I took a couple of breaths, and then said, ‘What caused him to behave like that? The drink, yes, I realize that would make him lose all sense, but why did he drink so much?’

  ‘Because he had come to the conclusion that he could never be happy.’ She thought for a while. ‘Jeromy loved nice things. He craved luxury and a life that others envied, and his aim was a gorgeous, colourful, flamboyant house and a wife whom other men would covet for her looks, her breeding and her wealth.’ A harsh note had entered her voice, and she paused. When she resumed, she sounded blandly calm and emotionless once more.

  It was, I guessed, the only way she could tell her terrible tale.

  ‘Jeromy wanted the life of a very wealthy man and he drank because he couldn’t have it,’ she said. ‘Sadly for him, he wasn’t very bright and he wasn’t keen on hard work. Not a good combination.’ She turned to me. ‘There was nothing inside him, Gabe. There was a lot of surface – he was handsome, affable, he was a good host and a friend whom others were always glad to see – but, if you looked hard, you suddenly saw that there was nothing but emptiness behind the blue eyes.’

  Abruptly she spun away from the window and began a slow pacing to and fro across the room. ‘He decided he wanted to marry me as, apparently, I fulfilled his requirements in a wife,’ she said after a moment. ‘He went to see Father and, when Father was less than enthusiastic, Jeromy became all the more determined. He made up his mind that he would impress that upstart Benedict Taverner and his haughty family, and he’d have done virtually anything to persuade them he was good enough to wed their precious Celia. He bought clothes, a house—’ She broke off. ‘No, he didn’t buy it, did he?’ She smiled grimly. ‘He rented it, whilst allowing it to be generally believed that he’d bought the best because only that would do for his prize bride.’ Slowly she shook her head. ‘He furnished it to the highest level of luxury and comfort, and filled it with hangings and draperies of the finest Venetian silk, and heaven only knows what it all cost.’

  ‘Did he have no money from his father when he married?’ I asked. I was pretty sure his family didn’t want anything to do with him, but I felt I should check.

  She shook her head. ‘His father paid him a modest allowance provided he kept well away from the family’s ancestral home. But, given the way Jeromy spent money, it was so small as to be irrelevant.’

  ‘So he borrowed.’

  ‘Yes. He borrowed. He cadged from everybody, but quite soon his friends and acquaintances grew wise to the fact that he never paid them back, so he had to look elsewhere. Besides, the sums he now needed were far beyond what you could ask of a friend.’ She had resumed her pacing. ‘It was some three or four months before the wedding that he first approached Nicolaus Quinlie. To his amazement, Quinlie was only too willing to comply, and Jeromy was too stupid ask himself why.’ Again she gave that brief, harsh laugh. ‘Before he realized what was happening, Nicolaus Quinlie had ensnared him. Oh, dear sweet Lord, Gabe,’ she cried wildly, ‘Jeromy didn’t even understand that he’d be charged a fee! He told me that the first time Quinlie explained, telling him he didn’t owe a hundred pounds or whatever it was but a hundred plus a fee amounting to twenty per cent, making it a hundred and twenty, he thought he was joking!’

  I almost felt sorry for the poor fool. Almost.

  ‘So what did he do?’

  ‘When the moment came that Quinlie finally ran out of patience and demanded the first repayment of the debt, Jeromy of course couldn’t produce it. A couple of Quinlie’s heavies grabbed him off the street when he was staggering home drunk from the tavern one night and took him before their master. They beat him up a bit on the way, to get his attention and let him know this was serious. They were careful not to hit him on his face but on his torso, so he managed to hide the bruises,’ she said, adding in a soft voice, ‘and when I did spot one and ask about it, he said he’d fallen off his horse and forgotten to tell me. He—’ But whatever she’d been about to say she bit back.

  Firmly crushing my instinct to pity Jeromy, I said, ‘And what did Quinlie suggest?’

  ‘He offered him a way out. He proposed an entry into his criminal and vicious secret world and, because Jeromy had absolutely no hope of repaying the debt, he accepted.’

  ‘What did Quinlie get him to do?’

  She considered her answer for a few moments. ‘Jeromy was potentially very useful to him because his background gave him access to the homes and the social lives of the wealthy aristocracy of the area: the old money. Jeromy might have been cast out by his own family’ – like Nicolaus Quinlie before him, I thought, although for less reason – ‘but his kin were – are – old money personified, so of course Jeromy was free to come and go within that exclusive clan.’ She glanced at me, anticipating what I was about to say. ‘His stiff-necked family didn’t advertise the fact that Jeromy was no longer one of them. They’d put the word about that Jeromy was a fine, courageous young man intent on proving he could make his way in the world independently, with no help from his family, and it was in both his and his father’s interests to keep the truth quiet.’

  She came up close to me to pause on the other side of the fireplace, looking down at the ashes of the last fire. ‘Jeromy’s job was to find out people’s vulnerable spots. Younger sons with gambling debts; a haughty lord’s lady who had caught the pox thanks to her husband’s frequenting of the dockside brothels; a flamboyant local character who rode a Plymouth whore too hard and killed her; a man of the church who buggered little boys. The nature of the work, as you might expect, brought out Jeromy’s wor
st side, and his enthusiasm grew as he and Nicolaus Quinlie discovered he had a real talent for it.’ Slowly she shook her head. ‘He could sniff out vice and guilt and misery at ten paces, and he truly thought that was something to be proud of.’

  She didn’t seem to be able to meet my eyes.

  ‘He led a clandestine life,’ she resumed. ‘Ferrars, situated as it was – is – on the high ground above the river and close to the old, largely disused Old Ferry Quay, was most conveniently suited to what he’d become. It’s not far out of Plymouth and Jeromy visited the town a lot, on Quinlie’s secret business, as well as travelling to other towns and ports on both honest business and to meet those from whom he was extracting money. All the time spent in lowly sinks and taverns, of course, was just perfect for a drinker like him. His work seeking out targets for extortion on Nicolaus Quinlie’s behalf took him to low dives, taverns, brothels and gambling dens. And those were only the ones he admitted,’ she said with a laugh. ‘God only knows what other filth he sullied himself with. Until the—’ She stopped abruptly. ‘He had to make absolutely sure I didn’t find out, which was why I became virtually a prisoner at Ferrars, only going out when he was with me. He also had to make sure I didn’t accidentally let slip anything revealing to outsiders. But I didn’t know anything,’ she protested, as if I’d accused her, ‘not for sure, although, dear Lord, I was beginning to suspect. And, of course, once the suspicions were there, I had to find out.’ She laughed shortly, but there wasn’t a vestige of humour in it. ‘Isn’t there some old tale about a wife who’s perfectly happy until she disobeys her husband and peeps into the one room in his castle he’s forbidden her to enter?’

  ‘Yes, several.’

  ‘Well, that was me. Not that I was perfectly happy – far from it. But my desire to know just drove me, and I found out things, awful things, and after I knew I almost wished I didn’t.’ She risked a quick look in my direction, as rapidly turning away again. ‘I think he realized I was asking questions where I shouldn’t, and he made up his mind to keep me scared of him; so scared that I wouldn’t dare talk, even if I did find out anything.’