Down To The Abbey (A Jules Poiret Mystery Book 12)

by Frank Howell Evans

  This account, coupled with what he had heard from Willoughby seemed to make Berrick very thoughtful.

  “And what does his wife say?”

  The query made Carlton laugh.

  “Mrs. doesn’t bother herself about her lord and master, I can assure you. Sometimes they don’t meet for weeks. All she wants is plenty of money.”

  “But they are wealthy.”

  “Yes, but at times there is not a banknote of value in the house. Then Mrs. is like a tigress and borrows from all her friends.”

  “But she must feel humiliated?”

  “Not a bit! When she wants a big amount, she goes to the Count of Sissinghurst and he always gives in.”

  “Gives in? It would seem as if you had knowledge of her letters?” said Berrick with a smile.

  “Of course I have. I like to know what’s in the letters I carry around. It’s easy to see that there’s something between them.”

  “Then,” Berrick said, “Miss Felicia is the only nice one in the house?”

  “Yes, she’s always gentle and considerate.”

  “Do you think that Mr. Ingoldmells will be a happy man?”

  “Oh, yes, but…” Carlton interrupted himself and after looking carefully around, he lowered his voice and continued, “Miss Felicia has been left to herself so often that she acts just as she thinks fit.”

  “Do you mean,” asked Berrick, “that the young lady has a lover?”

  The young man nodded.

  “But that is nonsense. Let me tell you that you ought not to repeat such lies.”

  The young man grew agitated.

  “Lies?” he repeated. “I know what I know. If I spoke of a lover, it is because I’ve seen him with my own eyes.”

  From the manner in which Berrick received this information, Carlton understood that he was interested in the highest degree.

  “I’ll tell you all about it,” he continued. “The first time was when she went to Hyde Park, it came on to rain suddenly and Georgette, her maid, begged me to go for an umbrella. As soon as I came back I saw Miss Felicia standing by the water, talking to a young gentleman. Of course I hid behind a tree and kept a watch on the pair.”

  “What was he like?”

  “Very good looking. He was about my height, with an aristocratic air.”

  “That’s it?”

  “I went one day with Miss when she was going to see a friend in Soho. She waited at a corner of the street and beckoned me to her. “Carlton,” she said, “I forgot to post this letter, go and do so. I will wait here for you.”

  “Of course you read it?”

  “No. I thought there was something wrong. She wanted to get rid of me, so, instead of posting it, I hid behind a tree and waited. I had hardly done so, when the young gentleman I had seen in the park came around the corner. They talked for about ten minutes and Miss Felicia gave him what looked like a photograph.”

  By this time the bottle was empty and Carlton was about to call for another, when Berrick checked him, saying, “Not today. It’s growing late and I must tell you what I want you to do for me. Is the count at home?”

  “Of course he is! He hasn’t left his room for two days, owing to having slipped going downstairs.”

  “Well, my dear boy, I must see your master and if I sent up my card, the odds are he will not want to see me, so I rely on you to show me up without announcing me.”

  Carlton remained silent for a few moments.

  “It’s no easy job,” he said, “because the count does not like unexpected visitors. However, as I’m not staying anyway, I’ll take a tumble on it.”

  Berrick had been in so many strange situations from which he had extricated himself safely, that he had the fullest confidence, but as he ascended the wide staircase of the Burgh le Marsh mansion, he felt his heart beat quicker in anticipation of the struggle, which was before him. It was twilight outside. The library into which he was ushered was a vast room, sparsely furnished. At the sound of the unaristocratic name “Berrick,” uttered by his servant Carlton, Mr. Burgh le Marsh raised his head in sudden surprise. Carlton beat a hasty retreat. The count was seated at the other end of the room, reading. He threw down his newspaper and raising his glasses, looked with surprise at Berrick, who slowly crossed the room. He could make nothing of his visitor and said, “Whom do you wish to see, sir?”

  “Count Burgh le Marsh,” said Berrick, “I hope that you will forgive this intrusion.”

  The count cut his excuse short with a haughty wave of his hand. “Wait,” he said imperiously. With evident pain he stood up and crossed the room. He rang the bell violently and then reseated himself. Berrick, who remained standing in the center of the room, inwardly wondered if he was to be thrown out of the house. In another second the door opened and the figure of the faithful Carlton appeared.

  “Carlton,” said the Count angrily, “this is the first time that you’ve allowed anyone to enter this room without my permission. If this occurs again, you leave my service.”

  “I assure your lordship…” began the young man.

  “Enough!”

  During this short colloquy, Berrick studied the count with the deepest attention. The Count of Burgh le Marsh in no way resembled the man sketched by Carlton. The count looked seventy, though he was only sixty years of age. He looked shrunk and shriveled. He was nearly bald and his long whiskers were perfectly white. The cares of life had imprinted deep furrows on his brow and told too plainly the story of a man, who had drained the chalice of life to the bottom. As a shaken Carlton left the room the count turned to Berrick and in the same cold tone said, “And now, sir, explain this intrusion.”

  Berrick had often been rebuffed, but never so cruelly as this time. His vanity was clearly hurt, because he was vain, as are all blackmailers. He felt his temper giving way.

  “Pompous idiot!” he thought, “We will see how you look in a short time.” His face didn’t betray this and his manner remained the same. “You’ve heard my name, Milord. I’m a representative of sorts.”

  The count was deceived by the honest tone, which Berrick had learned after long practice.

  “A representative of sorts, are you?” he said majestically. “I presume you come on behalf of one of my creditors. Well, sir, as I have told them before, your errand is a futile one. Why do they harass me when I unhesitatingly pay the extravagant interest they are pleased to demand? I could raise a million tomorrow on my landholdings alone.”

  Berrick listened to his speech without a word, hoping to gain some information from it.

  “Excuse me, Milord…”

  “I don’t have anything more to say. All debts will be settled, as I promised, when I pay my daughter’s dowry. She will be united to Mr. Ingoldmells shortly.”

  There was no mistaking the order to leave contained in these words. Berrick didn’t offer to do so. He readjusted his glasses and said in a perfectly calm voice, “It is this marriage that has brought me here.”

  The count thought that his ears had deceived him. “What are you saying?” he said.

  “I say,” repeated Berrick, “that I’m sent to you in connection with the marriage.”

  Neither the doctor nor Carlton had exaggerated the violence of the count’s temper. On hearing his daughter’s name and marriage mentioned his face grew red and his eyes beamed with fire.

  “Get out of here!” he cried angrily.

  But this was an order, which Berrick had no intention of obeying.

  “I assure you that what I have to say is of the utmost importance,” he said.

  This speech put the finishing touch to the count’s fury.

  “You won’t go?” he said and in spite of the pain, he walked to the bell. Berrick stopped him however by saying in a warning voice, “If you ring that bell, you will regret it to the last day of your life.”

  This was too much for the count’s patience and letting go of the bell rope, he snatched up a walking cane, which was leaning against the fireplace and
rushed towards his visitor. But Berrick didn’t move or lift his hand, contenting himself only with saying calmly, “No violence, Count! Remember Lord Dulverton?”

  At hearing this name the count dropped the cane from his hand and staggered back a pace or two. Had a ghost suddenly appeared before him, he could not have been more horrified.

  “Lord Dulverton!” he murmured. “Lord Dulverton!”

  But Berrick, assured by the count’s reaction of the value of the secret, had resumed his humble demeanor.

  “Believe me, Milord,” he said, “that I only mentioned his name on account of the immediate danger that threatens you.”

  The count hardly seemed to pay attention to his visitor’s words.

  “It was not I,” Berrick continued, “who instigated the scheme. I’m only a spokesman for them.”

  “I really don’t understand what you’re saying,” the count said, out of breath. “My emotions are only too easily explained. One time I accidentally shot my neighbor, who bore the name you just now mentioned, but a court of law acquitted me of all blame in the matter.”

  The smile on Berrick’s face was so full of sarcasm that the count broke off.

  “Those, who sent me here,” said the blackmailer slowly, “are well acquainted with the evidence your solicitor produced in court, but unfortunately, they know the real facts.”

  Again the count started. Up to this time Berrick had remained standing, but now that he saw that his position was fully established, he sat down. The count grew livid at this insolent act, but remained silent and this removed any doubts left from the blackmailer’s mind.

  “The event to which I alluded has two eye-witnesses. One is your friend, the Earl of Reigate and a gamekeeper, named Cromer, now in the employ of Lord Tamworth.”

  “I didn’t know what had become of Cromer.”

  “Perhaps not, but my people do. When he swore to keep the matter secret, he was unmarried, but a few years later, having entered the bonds of matrimony, he told all to his young wife. This woman turned out badly. She had several lovers and through one of them the matter came to my employer’s ears.”

  “And it is on the word of a servant and the gossip of a debauched woman, that they dare to accuse me?”

  No word of direct accusation had been spoken and yet the count sought to defend himself.

  Berrick saw all this and smiled inwardly, as he replied, “We have other evidence than that of Cromer.”

  “But,” said the count, who was sure of the trustworthiness of his friend, “you don’t pretend that the Earl of Reigate has lied about me?”

  The state of mental anxiety into which this man of the world had been thrown must have been very intense for him not to understand that every word he said put a fresh weapon in his enemy’s hand.

  “He has not denounced you by word of mouth,” replied the blackmailer. “He has done more. He has written down his testimony.”

  “You, sir, lie,” screamed the count.

  Berrick was not disturbed by this insult. He continued, “He never thought that any eye except his own would read what he had written. As you’re aware, the Earl of Reigate is a most meticulous man.”

  “Scoundrel!” screamed the count. He stood up with so menacing a look, that Berrick pushed back his chair in anticipation of an immediate attack.

  “Proof!” gasped the count. “Give me proof.”

  Berrick produced three photographs. The count examined them with the utmost attention and then in a voice which trembled with emotion, he said, “It is his handwriting.”

  Not a line on Berrick’s face indicated the delight with which he received this admission.

  “Before continuing the subject,” he observed placidly, “I consider it necessary for you to understand what the Earl of Reigate wrote down in his journal. Do you want, Milord, to read these extracts, or will I do so for you?”

  “Read,” answered the count, adding in a lower voice, “I’m not able to do so.”

  Berrick took his chair nearer to the lights. He read, “Early this morning I went out shooting with Bernard Burgh le Marsh. We were accompanied by Cromer, a gamekeeper and by Lord Dulverton, Bernard’s brother-in-law. It was a good day. By twelve o’clock I had killed a brace of pheasants. Bernard was in excellent spirits and by one o’clock we were in a field not far from Swansea. I and Cromer were a few feet in front of the others, when angry voices behind us attracted our attention. Bernard and Lord Dulverton were arguing and suddenly the count struck his brother-in-law violently. In another moment Lord Dulverton came up to me. “What is the matter?” I asked. Instead of replying to my question, the unhappy young man turned back to his brother-in-law, saying a series of threats. Bernard had obviously been admonishing him for some affair he was engaged in. “At any rate,” cried Lord Dulverton, “she’s as virtuous as Countess Burgh le Marsh was before your marriage.”

  “As Bernard heard these words, he raised the loaded gun he held in his hand and fired. Lord Dulverton fell to the ground. We all ran to him, but he was dead. The shot had penetrated his heart. I was almost beside myself, but Bernard’s despair was terrible to witness. Cromer, however, maintained his calmness. “We must say that it was an accident,” he said.

  “This was agreed to and we carefully arranged what we would say. It was I, who went before the magistrate and made a deposition, which was unhesitatingly received. What a fearful day!”

  The count listened without showing any emotions to this revelation. He was crushed. He was searching for some means to exorcise the ghosts of the past, which had so suddenly confronted him. Berrick never took his eyes off him. Suddenly the count woke up from his lethargy, as a man awakes from a bad dream. “Not true,” he cried.

  Berrick shook his head sadly. “There is no use, Milord, in indulging in vain hopes. There is more in the journal,” he continued reading, “Today I feel pains in all my joints. My illness arises entirely from this matter of Bernard’s. I had to go before a second court and the judge’s eyes seemed to look through me.” Now, Milord,” added Berrick, “what do you say to this?”

  “Continue reading!”

  “The third allusion is short, but still very important. “Thank Heaven! All is over. Bernard has been acquitted. Cromer behaved wonderfully. He explained the reason of the misadventure in a way that was really surprising in an uneducated man and there was not an atom of suspicion among judge, jury or spectators. I have changed my mind. I will not have Cromer in my service. He is too intelligent.”

  After a few moments of silence the count stood up. As he paced up and down the library, many thoughts swept across his mind and he was undecided whether to submit to the blackmail or throw the blackmailer out of the window. His agitated demeanor and the occasional words that burst from his lips showed Berrick that the account of him was not exaggerated and that when led by passion he would as soon shoot a man as a rabbit. Still he sat there calmly twirling his fingers with the most unconcerned air imaginable. At last the count gave ear to prudence. He stopped in front of the blackmailer and taking no pains to hide his contempt, said, “That’s it?”

  “Yes, Milord.”

  The count appeared to have come to a decision.

  “How much do you want for these papers?”

  “Milord,” screamed Berrick, “we don’t want money.”

  “No money?” replied the count.

  “We want something that is of no importance to you. My clients desire that you break off the engagement between your daughter and Mr. Ingoldmells. The missing pages of the diary will be given to you when she marries anyone but Mr. Ingoldmells.”

  This demand was so unexpected, that the count could only exclaim, “Why, this is absolute madness!”

  “No, Milord, it’s an offer.”

  A thought suddenly flashed across the count’s mind. “Is it your intention,” he asked slyly, “to marry her yourself?”

  “Milord,” answered Berrick resolutely, “you would never sacrifice your daughter’s happiness ev
en if your life depended on it.”

  The count was surprised at these words. The tone of the conversation had changed. “Mr. Ingoldmells has my promise,” he said, more at ease, “but of course it is easy to find a pretext. The countess, however, is in favor of the match and the main opposition to any change will come from her.”

  Berrick didn’t think it wise to reply. The count continued, “My daughter may not view this break-up with satisfaction.”

  Thanks to the information he had received from Carlton, Berrick knew to attach little importance to this statement. “The young lady, at her age is not likely to have her heart seriously engaged.”

  The count still hesitated. He knew that he was entirely at the mercy of the miscreant in front of him, but his pride revolted at the idea of submission. Then at last he yielded.

  “I agree,” he said. “My daughter will not marry Mr. Ingoldmells.”

  Even in his moment of triumph, Berrick’s face didn’t change. He bowed deeply and left the room. As he descended the marble stairs outside, he smiled and said, “If the doctor did as good a job as I have, success is certain.”

  Doctor Willoughby didn’t find it necessary to resort to any of the measures, which Berrick had used in order to reach Countess Burgh le Marsh. As soon as he presented himself, after a short interval, he was introduced into the presence of the countess. He rather wondered at this, because Countess Burgh le Marsh was one of those restless spirits, who were seldom found at home. In fact she could be found anywhere and everywhere, except at home. The main thing she did was spend money. Husband and wife had long been estranged and led separate lives. Dr. Willoughby was well aware of this, as were all, who moved in high society. On the appearance of the doctor, the countess dropped the magazine she had been perusing and gave vent to an exclamation of delight. “Ah, doctor, this is really very kind of you,” and at the same time signed to a servant to bring a chair for the visitor.

  The countess was tall and slender and at forty-five had the figure of a young woman. She had an abundance of fair hair, the color of which hid the silver threads which plentifully interspersed it. A subtle perfume hung around her and her pale blue eyes were full of cold disdain.