by Jack Murray
‘Not so tough, now, are you?’ said the prisoner.
The guard said nothing. This made the prisoner laugh and he began to walk again. It was almost funny. He was leading the way but was not sure where he was supposed to be going exactly. They rounded a corner and then the destination became all too apparent. He saw for the first time, the wall where it would happen. Bullet holes pockmarked a section in the middle. The thought of some soldiers deliberately missing also amused him, for some reason. There were some signs of blood on the ground, badly cleaned. They couldn’t even do this properly.
At this point they began to lead him to the wall. It irritated him because he hadn’t intended making a scene of it. His stomach rumbled. No breakfast even for the condemned man. Are they so hard up? Execution on an empty stomach seemed positively barbaric.
Behind him he could sense the army men filing in to do their ghastly duty. A quick glance confirmed this. There were other onlookers also, all army, clearly more senior. One or two of them looked familiar. In truth it was difficult to see, without his glasses. The clergyman who had come to him the night before was there also, he was not difficult to recognize. The prisoner nodded to him. But the clergyman looked away, taking refuge in his prayer book.
At the wall, he was brusquely turned around. He refused the offer of a cigarette but thanked the guard anyway. Manners are so important. There was no choice regarding the blindfold and he did not bother to argue. Perhaps because he had displayed good manners or possibly out of a hitherto unrevealed sympathy, the guard put his blindfold on less roughly than he was expecting. Gently the guard made sure he was unable to see the firing squad, or perhaps they, him.
The sound of their footsteps walking away told him it would be over soon. As they crunched through the gravel, the sound grew fainter. In the last few moments, he examined his own feelings: to his surprise, he felt calm. His fate was decided. There would be no last-minute reprieve. But what did it matter anyway? Since he began to witness the slaughter of war, a part of him had never expected to survive. Perhaps there was a relief that the end would be quick, not the slow lingering agony he had always feared, gargling blood or drowning in gas.
A voice he did not recognize called the firing squad to make ready. There was a collective clacking sound as the weapons were loaded. He wondered how many of the bullets were blank. They were ordered to aim.
They shot him as he made a silent prayer to a God.
Chapter 15
Boxing Day 1919: Cavendish Hall
Curtis awoke slowly. As his eyes cleared he realized a number of things rapidly. His head felt like it contained a fifty-piece orchestra, comprised solely of energetic child percussionists. In addition, he became conscious that he was still dressed in his livery. Also, the kitchen table had, somewhat surprisingly, been his pillow last night. Finally, and perhaps most seriously, the rest of the domestic staff were having their breakfast around him.
There are times in life when one should lose it. Properly and irrevocably lose it. People need to understand when you’re not only displeased but actually pretty miffed. Looking around the table at everyone suppressing smirks, Curtis felt his temperature gauge rise to dangerous levels. Everyone, that is, except Miss Buchan. When he finally caught her eye, the true nature of anger was revealed unto him, although she spoke not.
There are also times in life when it is important to recognize, both privately and publicly, when you have erred. One look at Miss Buchan was enough to confirm to Curtis, this time had arrived. Rising with great care, he straightened his coat. Regarding each member of the staff in turn he said, with as much dignity as was possible to fashion in such disadvantageous circumstances, ‘I believe that I was somewhat inebriated last night.’ A final realization began to dawn on him as he spoke. He felt ill, very ill. His mea culpa would, of necessity, have to combine sincerity with brevity.
‘I recognize I have let everyone down. Forgive me.’ He bowed his head at the end more by instinct than calculation.
This was greeted with assurances from everyone that this was not the case and they were glad he had enjoyed himself.
‘If you’ll excuse me, I shall make myself ready for the day. Please continue.’ This speech ended with Curtis leaving the kitchen slowly before sprinting to his room as quietly as he possibly could.
The suppressed smiles were on the point of erupting into outright hilarity, but it was clear as Miss Buchan rose with what could only be described as having a face on her, this would not be appreciated.
This is how Boxing Day started at Cavendish Hall. A day none would ever forget.
-
The flare. He was being given a piggyback ride. An explosion nearby, the man carrying him collapsed to the ground. He collapsed on top of the man. Ahead he saw the British trench. It was so close. He could see some men climbing out of the trench. The fools! Gunfire.
This isn’t right. Why isn’t it right? Kit was no longer lying on top of the man as they tried to pull them into the trench. He was an observer now. Something was wrong, and yet this is what had happened. Now he was floating around the scene. Nobody was moving, only he. It was all clear, but nothing made sense. He knew he was going to wake up any second. One more moment, I need a little more time, please.
Then he woke.
This time he was not sweating nor screaming. He was thinking about the question that had woken him. Why was the scene wrong? The dream had not changed in substance. The dream was just how it happened. He remained sitting up in the bed for a few more minutes repeating the word ‘think’ over and over again. It would not become apparent for some time, but the fear had diminished. Replacing it was sorrow, anger and frustration. Not about what had happened to him. Sorrow for those who had died; anger and frustration at himself for not understanding what was wrong about his memory.
Rolling out of bed he rubbed his eyes and looked for his pocket watch. Another day ahead with the sisters to look forward to but now with a complicating factor in the shape of Doctor Bright. He dismissed the thought quickly and set about getting ready for breakfast.
-
All of the guests were in the dining room breakfasting, when the Cavendish girls arrived. They served themselves some tea and toast and sat down. Esther turned to Polly who was waiting at table, ‘Where is grandpapa? Is he having breakfast in his room?’
‘He’s not come down yet ma’am,’ said Polly
‘Has Curtis not been to him yet?’ continued Esther.
‘Mr Curtis is a feeling a little indisposed this morning,’ responded Polly.
This brought a snort from Lady Emily. ‘I think we can guess why.’ Polly made no comment, but she could not disguise the hint of a smile. This caused grins around the table with all except Lady Emily and Henry, who was not listening.
‘All the same, I think someone should get him up,’ said Lady Emily somewhat sniffily. ‘He has guests to entertain.’
‘I think we can manage for a morning, Lady Emily,’ spoke up Kit. ‘If he wishes to rest, I would feel much happier if we let him.’
‘I’m inclined to agree, Lady Emily,’ added Strangerson.
Nothing more was said on the subject and soon the guests went outside to see how much snow had fallen overnight. It had been extensive.
‘I’m not sure you will be moving too far today, Bright old fellow,’ said Strangerson.
‘Looks like it,’ agreed Bright. Kit could not help but notice how Bright seemed far from disappointed at this prospect. ‘Is this normal for the time of year?’
‘I’ve never seen it so bad,’ admitted Esther. ‘I hope the people in the village aren’t too inconvenienced.’
‘I’m sure they are used to it Essie, don’t worry,’ reassured Mary. ‘It’s still freezing, though, I’m not sure it will melt any time soon. You could be here for a day or two yet Doctor Bright.’ The smile on her face when she said this also wounded Kit enough to make him smile at his own discomfort. These girls certainly know how to twist a man’s senses h
ither and thither, he thought.
Kit went back inside to look for Miller and Sam. It was time the little terrier had a walk, although how practicable it would be for him in the deep snow remained to be seen.
He heard Miller before he saw him. He was having his daily argument with Sam. Upon seeing Kit, the dog ran happily to his master. Kit knelt, and Sam pounced, giving Kit’s face one almighty licking. Miller laughed, ‘I think we’re definitely getting on better.’
‘So, I heard,’ grinned Kit. ‘Shall we go for a walk? Come on boy.’
The three of them walked out via the kitchen. The back yard had been relatively shielded from the snow. However, as they reached the main gardens they had to wade through the drifts and Sam was being ferried by Kit. They took the same route from two days previously. It was the same and yet so different. A blanket of snow clung to the house and the land. The air made their faces numb. Smoke still came from Edmund’s cottage, but it was now enveloped up to the windows by a drift.
At the head of the rise they were able to survey the grounds. Fresh tracks had been made in the snow from the cottage to the stables and from the stables to the house, so someone had been out earlier. There was no sign of life anywhere now, however. All was still.
Kit turned to Miller, ‘I hope Lord Cavendish is up. He’s had quite a sleep in.’
‘That’s funny, he was down in the kitchen last night,’ replied Miller.
‘Really, must have been after he left us,’ said Kit. ‘Did he speak to you?’
‘It was late, not sure when. I think he was a bit surprised to see me. He was still looking at me a bit strangely. Anyway, he came down and wished Curtis and myself a happy Christmas. Then he did a strange thing. He went over to where the room keys hang on the wall and took a key with him. I supposed it was his bedroom key. He didn’t explain what he was doing and naturally I wasn’t about to ask him.’
‘How odd.’
‘Nothing else to report. Soon after Curtis passed out. He’s not really a drinker that one.’
Kit laughed, ‘We noticed.’ They were picking their way back, retracing their footsteps from the hall. As they neared the house Sam decided it was time to resume his walk.
‘Lazy little beggar,’ said Miller.
Inside the house, chaos reigned.
Chapter 16
‘Lord Cavendish is dead,’ said Miss Buchan.
These were the words that greeted Kit and Miller as they entered from the back. They could see Miss Buchan comforting a tearful Polly. Elsie was sitting with her head in her hands. The water on the stove was boiling over but nobody seemed interested. Miller walked over and reduced the heat.
Recovering from the shock of this announcement, Kit asked Miss Buchan, ‘Where are Lady Esther and Mary?’
‘Upstairs in Lord Cavendish’s room with Doctor Bright.’
Kit said nothing more but went upstairs to the room. Arriving outside the room, he could see the door had recently been forced open. Curtis was sitting outside the room. Seeing Kit, he immediately got to his feet but could not say anything. His eyes were red. ‘The ladies are in with Lord Cavendish, Mr Strangerson and Doctor Bright.’
He knocked the door and went in. On the bed lay Cavendish, only his head was showing. It was pale but very peaceful. Both girls were crying, face down by the bed. Only Bright was aware of Kit’s arrival.
‘I can’t believe it,’ said Kit, ‘Esther, Mary, I’m so terribly sorry.’
Both looked up, but neither could say anything. Bright motioned for Kit to join him outside the room so that he could fill him in the about the events of the morning. Speaking in a low voice he said, ‘I know it’s such a shock. He seemed in fine fettle last night. As far as I can tell he seems to have passed away peacefully in his sleep. It’s difficult to establish an exact time but I think, given the progression of rigor it couldn’t have been more than a few hours ago.’
‘Are you sure he died from natural causes?’ asked Kit
‘Good Lord, Kit. What an extraordinary thing to ask.’ said Strangerson.
‘I have my reasons,’ said Kit but added nothing more.
Bright responded, ‘We can’t assume anything of course without a post mortem. But I should add, the room was locked from the inside. As far as we can tell nobody, except Lord Cavendish could have entered the room last night.’
‘I saw the door had been forced,’ said Kit.
‘We did that when there was no answer from the room,’ added Strangerson, who had joined them also. ‘The ladies were becoming concerned for him,’ he added by way of explanation.
‘Do you believe there was foul play?’ asked Bright.
‘Possibly, but I accept this is something that must wait for a post mortem. Have the Police been informed?’
‘No, there is no telephone line at the moment, perhaps the weather. I understand Devlin has gone into the village to see if there’s a way of getting in contact with the Police in Lincoln,’ confirmed Bright.
‘Obvious question perhaps, but Esther and Mary, how are they?’
‘Distraught as you may imagine,’ answered Bright.
‘Where is Lady Emily?
‘She retired to her room. The old girl looked fairly cut up to be fair. I haven’t seen the youngster,’ said Strangerson.
The three men spoke for another few minutes and then Kit went in to see the girls. Bright went to the kitchen with Curtis to update them on what had happened and what to expect over the next few days.
Esther and Mary were holding one another as Kit returned to the room. He told them again how sorry he was. Then Mary spoke, ‘What do you think happened? It’s inconceivable he could just pass away like that. I don’t believe it.’
The emphasis she put on the word ‘believe’ and the way she looked at Kit told him that Lord Cavendish had shared the strange Christmas cards with them.
Mary continued, ‘You saw those vile notes?’
‘Yes, Lord Cavendish showed them to me. I agree they were despicable.’
‘And now he’s dead.’ Mary began to cry again, hugging Esther even harder.
‘Yes, we can’t rule out foul play,’ admitted Kit reluctantly.
‘We should tell Richard about the notes,’ said Mary.
Kit noted Mary’s familiarity with the Doctor but refocused on the death of Cavendish. ‘Forgive me Mary, I’m not sure that’s a good idea just yet. I spoke with him just now and alluded to circumstances that suggest we are dealing with a murder here, but I didn’t go into detail.’
Mary seemed to see the sense of this, but Kit could also recognize her unwillingness to accept he could be involved. ‘I understand. We need to get the Police.’
‘I gather Devlin has gone into the village, to see if there is a telephone line working.’
‘Is this wise?’ asked Mary.
There was a steely look in Mary’s eyes as she said this. Kit understood what she was thinking because he had felt the same when first told of Devlin’s mission. ‘If your grandfather was murdered then you’re right, Mary. We’re all suspects.’
-
In the silence of the kitchen, the dripping of the tap was deafening. Miller felt uncomfortable in an atmosphere as heavy as it was cold. Not the sharp cold of outdoors but rather a damp intense sensation. Around him sat Miss Buchan, Elsie and Polly impassively. All were shocked beyond tears, most probably fearful of the future, concluded Miller.
To move from his seat, it seemed to Miller, would be to intrude on the grief around him. Therefore, he remained seated, unable to say anything, to console or to reassure. It was unbearable. He prayed Kit would come down soon and release him from the torment of inaction. Cavendish’s death was suspicious. The threatening notes sent to Cavendish, had been brought up by Kit the previous evening and he was under instructions to keep an eye out for suspicious activity. It seemed implausible there was not a connection between the sudden death of Cavendish and these notes. For the time being he waited. The tap continued to drip.
&nbs
p; The door of the kitchen opened and in walked Curtis with Doctor Bright. Everyone looked up, thankful for something to break the oppressive atmosphere. Curtis sat down but Bright remained standing. For the next few minutes he briefed them on what had happened and what to expect next. Following this, Miller used Bright’s arrival as an excuse to escape the kitchen.
-
Mary walked over to the window of Cavendish’s room with Kit and looked out. The whiteness of the snow was unbroken save for some distant hedges and trees. She turned to Kit, ‘We must assume he was killed.’ Tears welled in her eyes as she said this. Kit moved towards her, she shook her head and regained control quickly. ‘It may be another day before the Police are able to come. You’ve done this before. We all saw the newspapers. Can you make some inquiries, Kit?’
‘This means questioning everybody. The key is to understand, where everyone was last night. Who could have gained access to the room? Did anyone hear anything suspicious during the night? We also need to understand possible motives. Mary, you must understand how this places everyone under a degree of suspicion and your staff, never mind Strangerson and Bright may be offended by being even the lightest of investigations.’
‘I realize this. Will you help us?’ asked Mary.
‘Of course, I‘ll try to help.’
‘I want to help also. I want to catch this person.’ A thought struck her, ‘Do you think they might attempt to kill someone else?’
‘Once I start to interview people, it will put them on their guard. The first thing we need to do is understand motive. Why would someone do this?’
Mary looked troubled but could offer no ideas. Then a thought occurred to her, ‘When you spoke to grandpapa, did he have a view on who had sent those Christmas cards?’
‘No,’ replied Kit, ‘he was mystified although he wondered if it could be someone who had a family member who died during the War.’
‘Why wait until now?’ said Mary.
‘My thought also. I asked if it could be someone closer to home.’
