A Case Most Peculiar

by Michael Moreau

  Most others might not have noticed such minute details but it was evident by the weather-wornness of the master’s grey wool coat, which had once been a fine and quite expensive one, and also by his surprisingly tanned skin that he did indeed spend most of his time out-of-doors. The worn circular spot in the marble next to the chair that Elizabeth had sat in when we had spoken in the library told me more. Her chair’s leather had also appeared more worn than the one in which I had sat. Those facts led me to surmise that the majority of the time he did enjoy indoors was spent sitting in that chair with his cane in his right hand; staring at the fire and rotating the walking stick’s handle back and forth in the palm of his hand.

  “I was told that you were aware of Mr. Wright’s relationship with your daughter.”

  He scoffed. “The very thought turns my stomach. To think that my little girl would associate with...” he trailed off. It was not hard to surmise what he was going to say anyway so I paid it no heed.

  “She tells me that you were rather upset by it.”

  “Of course I was. Who wouldn’t be? Year after year I’ve tried to marry that girl off into a good family and I get rewarded by her having affairs with bankers and stable-boys. I’ve no idea where she gets the notion to behave the way she does. She’ll be the death of me....or worse yet her mother.”

  “Is Mrs. Dunning still ill?”

  “Yes she is and I’ll warn you now Mr. Carson, if you disturb my wife’s rest I’ll have you tossed out of my home without delay. Threats or no.”

  I decided to heed his warning for the time being. Seeing as how she was primarily bed-ridden the likelihood of her having much information that would be useful to my investigation was negligible anyway. I would only question the lady of the house if the rest of my inquiries proved fruitless.

  “May I assume that despite your distaste for your daughter being involved with a young man in your employ that neither you nor your sons would engage in any form of malice toward him?”

  “Surely you cannot think me capable of such a thing? Wait, of course you can. You hail from a city where moral depravity has made men capable of any of a number of atrocities.” he walked for a moment in silence before continuing. “Mr. Carson I am many things but I am not a murderer. My anger was directed solely at my daughter’s poor decision making. I had no intention of harming that young man.”

  The first part of his statement had been the truth, I detected something disingenuous about the second. Most interesting.

  “Just one more thing Mr. Dunning and then I shall leave you in peace. Elizabeth has informed me that there was no funeral and that the boy’s body was quickly taken off and buried in a place she knows not where. That does seem most peculiar I must say.”

  “Mr. Carson, as you have already mentioned I was not pleased with whom she chose to bestow her affections upon. The last thing I wanted was for her to mourn him for the rest of her life and pass up yet more opportunities to be wed. Likewise I do not wish to surround my estate with the stigma of death. Mr. Wright was buried as quickly as possible and in a place that Elizabeth will never find because I wish this matter to be settled and for her life to go on.” he stopped and turned to me, his face appeared unshaven for several days as it was dotted with the beginnings of grey whiskers, “Believe it or not sir I do also care for my daughter’s feelings and I thought it to bring more harm to her to see the man she loved dead of such a gruesome ending. I spared her that anguish.”

  It was difficult for me to detect whether or not that last bit had been a lie or simply a half-truth. There was undoubtedly some piece of information which he intended to remain obfuscated from my prying.

  “Very well then. If you would be kind enough to tell me where the boy’s body is buried then I will be on my way.”

  “I most certainly will not.” he scoffed as he walked away.

  The Gambian Boy

  Tripti, the nanny and next in line for my questioning though she did not know it, did me the favor of rounding up the young African servant boy. She’d instructed Mrs. Kyle, who by then I’d surmised doubled as the cook in addition to her duties as maid, to warm a couple of left-over scones from breakfast for me to eat while I waited. She put them down in front of me on the large table in the dining hall that had been allocated for servants. The table was oak and quite large, looking as if it had been crafted with the intentions of seating at least twelve people. Some five or ten years previous the estate probably had at least that many in its employ. In recent years however, like with most of the wealthy houses of Britain, the number of those in service had plummeted dramatically. The world was a changing place and the idea of the wealthy few being served by those of lesser birth was slowly giving way to the pressures of those with more socialist attitudes. That suited me just fine.

  Having been born with nothing and having inherited nothing I had no love for the wealthy upper-class nor any particular concern for the longevity of their fortunes. So long as regular men had the funds with which to pay for my services and to keep me in a job I was content.

  I would not be content, however, to dine in the servants’ hall come evening. It was doubtful that Miss Elizabeth would treat a guest as such but should she have the nerve I would kindly inform her otherwise lest I be persuaded to take my leave and return to London after demanding a small dispensation for my time. The wealthy seldom understood that more often than not they were at the mercy of those who served them and not the other way-round. You see, the rich have a weakness that common men do not share, at least not in such abundance. They have secrets, secrets which could spell doom for all that they try so desperately to hold on to.

  Men such as myself have no such encumbrances. Were I to anger the family the most serious ramifications would be rumors and lies about me spread throughout the wealthier houses of London. Should they anger me too greatly I am privy to information that could mean ruin for their entire fortune.

  I sat at the table for several more minutes in deep thought. I’d not yet reached a point in my investigation where my mind would become consumed with unlocking the mystery so I allowed it to wonder a bit. A few moments later Mrs. Kyle sauntered back into the dining hall and began to pour hot tea into the cup placed before me.

  “Has the servant boy not been summoned?” I queried.

  Confirming my earlier suspicions that the maid was simply a crass woman as opposed to my having caught her at a bad time previously she responded in an impatient manner, “Tripti has gone to fetch him. He’ll be along momentarily. Now eat your scones.”

  Just as she’d finished pouring the sound of a bell signaled that the side door had been opened. “That’ll be him now Mr. Carson.”

  The boy, skin dark as pitch with heavily soiled clothing, barreled into the hall with all of the energy and callousness typical of youth. He bumped into a serving cart, causing its dirty silverware to clatter about noisily. Mrs. Kyle gave him a glare of irritation.

  “Tell me Mrs. Kyle. Is the attitude to which I have been greeted with since my arrival your usual disposition or do you reserve some extra disdain for me?”

  The lady’s face was one of utter surprise. She knew not what to say to such a quip, nor do I believe that she expected it from a stranger.

  “I’m simply trying to ascertain whether you are simply crass of nature, angry at me for something I have yet to discover or if I have merely caught you on a day in which you are not in the best of moods.”

  For a moment I did think her to slap me but finally she spoke, “I’ll have you know that I am perfectly amicable to those who employ me Mr. Carson. Those who have come simply to poke their noses into business that is none of theirs I have not the patience to oblige.”

  “Ah, so that’s it. You think I’m interfering in the affairs of the estate?”

  “To be quite blunt Mr. Carson, yes. That’s what you inspectors do isn’t it?”

  I smiled, a gesture which seemed to only further irritate the older lady. Her round face, framed by the g
rey locks which hung down from under her cap, pursed into a sour expression as her cheeks flushed. The dimness of her green eyes, the bags under them and the small indention upon her left ring finger between the knuckle and the palm where a wedding ring had until fairly recently been worn told me all that I needed to know. I stood from my chair to meet the lady’s gaze. She was nearly of the same height as myself so I required only the slightest downward tilt of my head to do so.

  “Allow me to make some suppositions Mrs. Kyle.” I paused, “What is your given name?”

  “Edith.” she scoffed, “Why does it matter?”

  “Very well Edith. I will call you that because I assume that your married name no longer carries with it the romance that it once did. From what I have observed of you and your overwhelmingly evident distaste for my vocation I shall venture to say that recently, but not too recently...perhaps in the last three months or so, you employed the services of an inspector yourself. I will further deduce that you retained his services for the purpose of discovering some secret about your husband, a secret that you now wished you had never uncovered. Am I close?”

  With no restraint she slapped me clear across the face. It was not the first time I’d been slapped by a lady and very likely not the last lest some tragedy befall me on my trip back to London.

  “How...how did you do that?” she asked, completely shaken.

  I grinned as I rubbed the cheek which she has just struck. “Very simple. Your appearance, though neat in dress, is that of someone who has recently spent many nights sleepless. Trust me when I say that it is a face that I recognize all too well Edith. What’s more, the finger on your left hand that would normally carry a wedding ring is suspiciously absent of one. Were I another man I may accept the explanation you have no-doubt given to your employers and friends, that it was lost and that you have yet been able to afford a replacement. The indentation left behind on the finger tells me that it was worn for many years but has in the last few months been removed. That fact coupled with your clear disdain for men of my profession clearly tells me that you regret having ever hired one to uncover your husband’s secret.”

  “But...how could you know I simply didn’t remove my ring to wash dishes?”

  I grabbed her left hand and lifted it to her face. “While the indentation from the ring remains the lightening of the skin under where it once sat has since vanished. It has been at least two weeks removed, likely more.”

  The maid stood there for a moment in awe, or at least that’s what my sometimes admittedly over-inflated ego chose to believe at the time. When finally she did speak she leaned in to me and did it with a hushed tone so that the boy, by then seated at the table and observing the whole interaction, could not hear.

  “Listen to me very carefully Inspector. While it would be apparent to even the most dull-witted individual that you are indeed talented you will not bring shame upon this house. Not so long as I draw breath.”

  “Then you care nothing for the truth, let alone the young Miss Elizabeth’s feelings?” I whispered in response.

  Edith’s stern expression quickly returned, “I care more for that young lady’s feelings than you could possibly image. I have been with her since she was a child. That in no way changes the facts of what happened here.”

  “Facts, my dear lady, are precisely what I seek. They are the unwavering, unchangeable truth of things..”

  “Then here is one for you. Young Mr. Wright died in an accident.”

  “Did you witness the scene yourself?”

  “Oh no Mr. Carson, you will not question me. Drink your tea and eat your scones and be kind enough to steer well clear of me.”

  With that she turned and walked quickly out of the dining hall. When I turned to face Kwame I saw his right hand come to touch the table, having previously been raised.

  “What is it boy?” I asked.

  “Nothing sir.” he spoke in a heavy accent but took the time to annunciate his words carefully.

  “Nonsense. Speak up.”

  “I was going to ask Mrs. Kyle for a cup of tea sir.” he said coyly with his eyes slightly averted from my own.

  “Lift your eyes from that table boy.” I commanded as I took my seat. “I am not your master nor do I wish to be treated as such.”

  He hesitated only momentarily before lifting his eyes. They were of a brown so dark I could hardly distinguish them from the black of his pupils. Still, there was a youthful brightness to them that made me envy him his vitality. Surely life as a servant on a well-appointed estate could be no worse than the back of my drunken father’s hand or the feculence of an orphanage.

  “So Kwame, as I understand it the master Dunning brought you back with him after a business trip to Gambia. Is that correct?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “You were an orphan?”

  “Yes...” he hesitated, “well, for what it matters sir.”

  “Care to explain what that means to me Kwame?” I was genuinely intrigued.

  “My father was still alive but he beat me terribly. It was Mr. Dunning that stayed his hand one day as he lashed me in the market.”

  “He was beating you in a marketplace?”

  “Yes sir. We were there to sell some fish my father had caught. I gave a small one to a boy younger than myself who was very hungry and my father became extremely angry at me. He began to beat me severely with a stick and it was Mr. Dunning who asked him to stop.”

  “And he did as requested?”

  “No.”

  “Then how did master Dunning bring the incident to a conclusion?”

  “He yelled at my father, told him that he would buy me if he would stop beating me.”

  “Your father sold you to him?”

  The boy nodded nervously. The entire subject seemed to be making him rather uncomfortable.

  “You went freely?”

  He looked up and locked eyes with me, “Of course. I was only six years old but I knew that I would rather be an Englishman’s slave than my father’s whipping boy.”

  “Had you no other family?”

  “My mother died when I was very young. I always thought, as did my aunt, that my father had beaten her to death.”

  “So you had an aunt. Did she not offer to take you in?”

  “Yes, many times. My father would not allow it. He needed someone to help him in his fishing boat and would not let me go.”

  “I suppose that Mr. Dunning’s offer was generous enough to change his mind.”

  “I do not know sir. I only know that I was glad to be free of him.”

  I leaned across the table so that I no longer towered over the boy but was closer to the level of his gaze. “I am terribly sorry to hear of your suffering young man. My father was very much the same. He had far too much affection for the bottle and after imbibing far too much affection for beating me senseless.”

  Suddenly the boy seemed less apprehensive. “How did you escape him?”

  “He dispatched of my mother, not by killing her but by sending her away, and then decided he had had enough of me as well. I was sent to live in an orphanage with all of the other unwanted children.”

  “Did...did anyone take you in?”

  “I’m afraid not.” I said as I sat back into my chair, “There I remained until I was old enough to be freed upon my own recognizance.

  To my utter surprise the boy’s eyes welled up as if he would cry, though he did not. “I’m sorry that no family wanted to take care of you sir. It must have been terrible.”

  “Indeed.” I said, choking down my own emotion at the thought of those years spent feeling utterly worthless. “Tell me about Mr. Dunning. He bought you from your father and then what?”

  The boy seemed to then perk up, “He brought me back to the hotel he was staying at and had one of the maids bathe me. She was an angry lady.” he laughed, “They gave me some simple but very clean clothes and Mr. Dunning had me follow him about for the three days that he remained in my country.”


  “As a servant.” I stated.

  “Somewhat...” he began, “he told me that when we returned to England that he’d not hold me as a slave as that was not allowed by law nor would he even want to do so but that if I wanted to work on his estate that he would feed and clothe me and give me an education. For most of the days before boarding the ship I simply followed him about doing small tasks as he requested and then on the third day helped to load his baggage onto the carriage.”

  “Has he kept his promise? Does he treat you well?”

  “Oh absolutely sir. I am tasked with a great many things but I am always well fed and I sleep in a warm and comfortable bed every night.”

  “What of the education he mentioned?”

  Kwame shook his head enthusiastically. “Miss Tripti gives me private lessons twice per week. I have even learned to read and the master allows me to borrow books from the library to read in the evenings after my chores are done.”

  “Then you are happy with your decision to leave your home?”

  “This is the only time I have ever had a home sir.” the boy, though not exceptionally well spoken, certainly was intelligent and knew how to convey his thoughts.

  “What of the Dunning children, how do they treat you?”

  “They ask me to do things for them but it is seldom a demand.”

  “And the other servants?”

  “Mrs. Kyle likes to tell me what to do, so does Mr. Findlay but neither has ever laid hand on me. The others are quite kind.”

  “What of Mr. Wright?”

  The very mention of the stable-tender seemed to evoke an immediate physiological response. His eyes began to dart about and his breathing became more shallow. He also removed his hands from the table and placed them in his lap, no-doubt an instinctual reaction to hide his sweating palms. Of course this told me little, after all he was the one who had discovered Colin’s body and simply the recollection of such a traumatic event could cause a fear response like the one he was exhibiting.