The Glass of Time

by Michael Cox

  ‘While his mother – widowed at an early age – was alive,’ continued Mr Wraxall, ‘Mr Barley took exceptional care to shield her from all distress or discomfort, of mind as well as body, as a good son ought. Unfortunately, some few years ago, he found himself, through no fault of his own, I am assured, caught up—’

  ‘Enmeshed,’ corrected Mr Barley.

  ‘Enmeshed, I should say, in an incident, of a rather delicate – not to say dangerous – character, which, had it become known publicly, would have brought contumely, and much worse, upon both himself and his family. This dreadful possibility had to be kept from Mrs Barley at all costs.’

  Mr Wraxall cocked his head on one side and looked at Mr Barley with inquisitively raised eye-brows, receiving another nod by way of his guest’s consent for him to continue.

  ‘I do not intend to elaborate on the nature of the – ahem – incident. Suffice to say that it came to the knowledge of Mr Vyse, through one of his many London informers.

  ‘Now Mr Barley, as I have said, is a man of the utmost discretion and probity. I have also suggested that, in the course of his employment, he had become aware of certain irregularities in the conduct of Mr Vyse’s affairs. Being a thoroughgoing professional man, and the most loyal of employees, he could not at first bring himself to unmask these to the world; but, as time passed, and the iniquities grew in scope and seriousness, he began to overcome his scruples. Finally, he went to Mr Vyse to say that he could no longer, in conscience, continue in his employment, and that he wished to tender his notice forthwith and go immediately to the proper authorities, to inform them of the various criminal schemes in which he knew Mr Vyse had been involved. Right so far, Mr Barley?’

  ‘Right enough,’ replied that gentleman. Then, looking down at his empty plate: ‘Is there more cake?’

  Mrs Wapshott was duly called up from the back regions of the Lodge, and a second cake was soon produced, from which Mr Barley cut himself a mighty slice.

  ‘Pray continue, sir,’ he said to Mr Wraxall, with a sniff of majestic condescension.

  MR VYSE’S REACTION to his clerk’s announcement was perhaps not unexpected. He sat Mr Barley down and told him, no doubt in his sinisterly smiling way, that he ought perhaps to reconsider his position, for the sake of his dear mother.

  Mr Barley then realized that his employer knew of the ‘incident’ to which Mr Wraxall had just alluded, and that he was fully prepared to bring it to the attention of both Mrs Barley and the world at large – a thing the former’s son simply could not countenance – should the clerk carry out his threat.

  Following a little further discussion on the subject, Mr Barley was persuaded to withdraw his decision to quit Mr Vyse’s employment; and so, with the utmost reluctance, he continued in his duties for several more years, until the passage of time, and the death of his mother, gave him the opportunity to liberate himself from his employer’s power over him.

  Free now to follow his long-suppressed conscience, Mr Barley accordingly put in motion a plan that he had been harbouring for some time.

  He secretly gathered together the copies that Mr Vyse had made of the letters sent by the then Miss Emily Carteret to Lord Tansor during her time on the Continent in the years 1855 and 1856, together with the photographs of the originals. These, with some other items, he put in a black tin box – the same box that he had brought with him to North Lodge, and which he had placed on the floor beside him while he took his tea and cake.

  ‘I’d thought to relate, in précis, the contents of those letters,’ said Mr Wraxall to me. ‘On reflection, however, perhaps the best thing would be for you to read them through for yourself – if you have no objection, Mr Barley? Good.

  ‘Well now, before you do, and to bring things quickly up to the present, after removing the box to a safe place, away from Old Square, Mr Barley then removed himself, both from the employment of Mr Armitage Vyse and from his former home in Somers Town, to an equally safe place: to wit, a small, but comfortable, attic room above my chambers in King’s Bench Walk.

  ‘What next? Ah, yes. Master Yapp. He has now been taken, and has spoken out against Mr Vyse. We were sure that Yapp had killed Mrs Kraus – Gully had two costers ready to swear that she’d met Yapp in the Antigallican. No doubt Vyse had sent him to obtain the letter she’d found in Conrad’s room and made a show of paying the woman off. The costers had then seen Yapp follow her down Dark House Lane towards the river. We don’t need to conjecture what happened next.

  ‘All this, however, was circumstantial. We needed solid proof of Yapp’s guilt. And now we have it.

  ‘Gully had put a man on Yapp; but then, it seems, Yapp left London, and for a time nothing was heard of him. A week or so ago, however, Gully received word that Yapp had been seen again in one of his old London haunts, and so the inspector put the business of keeping him in sight in the capable hands of your friend, Sergeant Swann.

  ‘Last Thursday afternoon, Swann followed Yapp to Deptford, where he attempted to pawn a watch inscribed with the name of Mrs Kraus’s father, and which both our witnesses will swear that she took out on the day she met Yapp in the Antigallican. It was her one precious possession, of which the poor unfortunate seems to have been inordinately proud.

  ‘As Yapp left the pawnbroker’s shop, Swann immediately apprehended him – and not a moment too soon. He’d been about to make his way to Liverpool, and from there to take ship to America. It seems that he’d come back to London to settle his few affairs, and to demand money for his passage – as well as for his continuing silence regarding the killing of Mrs Kraus – from Mr Vyse. It takes a brave man to face down Billy Yapp; but Mr Vyse, not taking kindly to Yapp’s threats, had turned him down flat, and there had been an unpleasant falling out. The consequence was that Yapp had no hesitation in telling the police all they needed to know concerning his former employer’s part in the murder of Mrs K. With Yapp’s confession in his pocket, so to speak, Inspector Gully now intends to call on Mr Vyse, to pay his compliments, and to request him to step round to the Detective Department. Well now, my dear, do you have any questions?’

  ‘Just one,’ I replied. ‘You identified Mr Barley as the anonymous correspondent who supplied you with information concerning Mr Vyse; but was he also the person who signed himself “Well-Wisher”?’

  ‘Excellent!’ Mr Wraxall cried. ‘The answer is that he was not. We appear to have another, invisible, assistant on the case. Whether we shall receive further information from this person, we cannot say; but we now have in our hands sufficient evidence to bring charges against Billy Yapp, Mr Armitage Vyse – and, of course, Lady Tansor – for the murder of Mrs Barbarina Kraus.’

  The starkness of Mr Wraxall’s assertion shocked me. I cared nothing for Mr Vyse or for Billy Yapp; but to hear Emily’s name in such wicked company distressed me terribly. I berated myself for my weakness in feeling sympathy for her, and hesitated for a moment before revealing what I had been about to tell Mr Wraxall. But at last I did speak, reaching into my pocket as I did so to take out the letter from Mrs Kraus that Sukie had given to me.

  ‘Well, well,’ said Mr Wraxall after reading it. ‘This, I think, clinches it. The whole business is now crystal clear. Blackmail and murder. Blackmail and murder. Just as we thought.’

  ‘And do you have other evidence against Mr Vyse for his part in the murder, as well as Yapp’s confession?’

  ‘Assuredly,’ replied Mr Wraxall.

  ‘Assuredly,’ repeated Mr Barley, rather crossly; and then, suddenly roused to volubility: ‘I have eyes to see, and ears to hear. I heard what I heard, one rainy afternoon, when a certain noble lady kept her appointment in Old Square. Mr V sent me away to Blackett, our law stationer, but I didn’t go immediately, as he thought. I lingered.’

  He looked first at me, then at Mr Wraxall; and then, with a kind of belligerent emphasis, he leaned forward and said:

  ‘I used my ears. I wrote it all down, in shorthand. Word for word. Transcribed instantly, signed, and dated. Then straight off round the corner to Blackett’s – ink hardly dry – for it t
o be witnessed. It may, or may not, be admissible; but it all adds weight, you know, and weight’s the thing with a jury.’

  And with this oracular pronouncement, he cut himself yet another slice of spice-cake.

  ‘And Lady Tansor?’ I next asked Mr Wraxall. ‘You have the evidence you need to – to—’

  ‘Implicate? Certainly. Convict? I believe so. Shall I run through the main points?

  ‘Item. A letter, found in one of Lady Tansor’s gowns by Sukie Prout, housemaid, from the victim to Lady Tansor, demanding money for the return of a letter, written by her Ladyship twenty years ago, in which certain matters were set out that were, and remain, inimical to her Ladyship’s interests, and requesting an immediate interview, at which the aforesaid demand for money was no doubt to be pressed home.

  ‘Item. The testimony of Miss Esperanza Gorst, then maid to Lady Tansor, that, on 6th September last, she was instructed by her Ladyship to take a letter to the Duport Arms in Easton for the attention of “B.K.”, who could have been no other person than Barbarina Kraus, come to Northamptonshire by prior arrangement with Lady Tansor – vide the previous point.

  ‘Item. The signed and witnessed statement of T. Barley, Esq., legal clerk, of Old Square, Lincoln’s Inn, to the effect that, on the same day, 6th September last, he overheard, and concurrently committed to paper in shorthand, a conversation between Lady Tansor and his employer, Mr Armitage Vyse, during the course of which it was explicitly agreed that Mrs Barbarina Kraus would be a perpetual threat to her Ladyship’s interests if she was allowed to live. The meeting concluded with Lady Tansor’s consenting to “any means necessary” (her exact words) to remove what she then called “this appalling shadow that has fallen over my life”. Mr Vyse’s last words were: “You will leave the matter with me, then?” To which her Ladyship replied: “Yes. Gladly.” Mr Barley will further swear that he distinctly heard the name “Yapp” mentioned by Mr Vyse as a person “suitable for the job”.

  ‘Mr Barley will also testify that Lady Tansor paid a further visit to Old Square soon after the murder of Mrs Kraus. Although he was unable to inform himself fully on the particulars of her conversation with Mr Vyse, he did hear a sarcastically expressed reference by the latter to “the late-lamented Mrs K”, to which her Ladyship replied, “Thank God!”

  ‘Item. The testimony of Mrs Jessie Turripper, landlady, of Chalmers Street, Borough, that a gentleman answering Mr Armitage Vyse’s description had called to see Mrs Kraus on the morning of 15th September last, and that, happening to pass by the door of her lodger’s room ten minutes later, she distinctly heard the words “on behalf of Lady Tansor” uttered by the gentleman.

  ‘These, together with Yapp’s confession, constitute the principal evidential pegs on which Inspector Gully will hang his case against Lady Tansor. I believe they are more than sufficient for his purpose.’

  ‘What will happen to her?’ I asked, breaking the grim silence that had fallen over the room.

  ‘The jury will decide,’ came the barrister’s stern reply. He then fell silent again.

  ‘And who will act for the Crown?’ I asked.

  ‘Sir Patrick Davenport. A most accomplished prosecutor. No man better. He’ll see that justice is done.’

  I knew then that there was no hope for her, and I shuddered to think of the terrible price that she would be required to pay for her desperate folly.

  ‘But, my dear,’ said Mr Wraxall presently, his grey eyes now twinkling genially, ‘you still don’t know what it was that Lady Tansor wished so much to conceal – the very reason why Mrs Kraus was killed. Are you not just a little bit curious?’

  It was true. My imagination had been so seized by a dreadful vision of the judgment that must now fall on Emily that I had altogether forgotten to ask what had impelled her tragic actions.

  ‘Mr Barley, if you please,’ said the barrister, nodding to the elfin clerk, who was sitting in his chair blithely licking cake crumbs from the tips of his fingers.

  Setting his plate on the table, Mr Barley bent down to pick up the tin box, and handed it to his host.

  ‘I suggest, my dear,’ said Mr Wraxall, ‘that the back parlour would be a good place for you to peruse the contents of Mr Barley’s box. You won’t be disturbed, and you have a fine view of the house from there.’

  31

  A Fatal Correspondence

  I

  Letters from Miss Emily Carteret to the Late Lord Tansor JANUARY–MARCH 1855

  I PLACE Mr Barley’s black box on a table by the window of the back parlour, and open it.

  Inside are two bundles of folded letters, both tied with a piece of frayed and dirty string. With every copied letter is a photograph of the original each one written in Emily’s graceful hand; and, in the bottom of the box, lie three separate documents.

  The letters in the first bundle contain little of significance – mostly brief résumés of journeys undertaken, places seen, persons met along the way, the conditions and amenities of hotels, et cetera. Setting these aside, I turn my attention to the second, smaller bundle.

  Here, on these dozen or so sheets of paper, must lie the final fate of the woman under whose roof I have lived for the past months; who, despite her mercurial temper, has shown me genuine kindness and consideration, and who had implored me – with such touching earnestness – to be her friend. Yet I had been sent to destroy her, for my dead father’s sake.

  For some minutes, I sit looking out, across the tree-studded Park, glistening under a patina of thin rain, towards the needle spires and battlemented turrets of the great house. At last, drawing up a chair, I take a deep breath, smooth out the first letter, and begin to read.

  Here, then, are the ten letters, written from the Continent, by Miss Emily Carteret to her second cousin, patron, and protector, Lord Tansor, during the years 1855 and 1856. In them lurk the dark and dangerous secret that she has sought so desperately to conceal, and which is now about to be brought forth into the light at last, with consequences for my own life that I could never have imagined.

  Words on paper, Mr Vyse had warned her, could be fatal. He was right. If only she had heeded his advice, how different things might have been – for her, and for me.

  So sit with me now and read these letters, as I read them, and learn what I learned, on that dull, grey afternoon, with rain pattering against the window, in the back parlour of North Lodge.

  LETTER 1

  Grillon’s Hotel

  Albemarle Street

  London

  18 th January 1855

  MY LORD,—

  Since coming here from Evenwood yesterday, I have not ceased to think of the great kindness & sympathetic understanding yr Ldship has shown me – yes, & to weep, too, for joy! I feared – oh so greatly feared! – that you would condemn me, as a lesser man might have done, when I confessed all to you. But you did not! You saw how necessary it was, under the terrible circumstances of those last days, to put aside petty convention for a far greater cause. This I did – & most willingly, expecting no favour or recompense from you, only stern censure. Yet yr compassion was as wonderful to me as it was yearned for, & I cannot conceive how I can ever repay you. An eternal love – for my dear lost Phoebus, yr Ldship’s shining hope – and a duty, no less than sacred in my eyes, to the noble line, amongst which I am proud & honoured to be numbered, now bind me indissolubly to yr Ldship’s interests, and to those of our family.

  The Kraus woman came to see me this afternoon, with her son. She will do very well, I think, & her thorough knowledge of German will be of great service. The son I am less sure of, I admit, but his doting mamma swears that she will not go without him. He said not a word, & never looks me in the eye; but, although simple, he is a tall, well-muscled fellow, & that is the main thing as far as my protection on the journey is concerned.

  The tidal-train leaves at eleven tomorrow. I shall send a note – through the arranged channel – of our safe arrival in France, and with directions for our onward journey.

  I am, my Lord – & I pray that you will accept the heartfelt designatio
n I give myself – your most loving daughter in gratitude and trust,—

  E. CARTERET

  LETTER 2

  Hotel Baltazar

  Carlsbad

  3 rd February 1855

  MY LORD,—

  We arrived here last evening, & I am now comfortably settled in respectable accommodation, obtained by Herr Kraus, a most obliging man who appears to cherish a great regard for his daughter-in-law.

  The latter, I regret to report, has been a mixed blessing. Her ability to speak fluent German has certainly been useful at times (my own facility in the language being somewhat limited); and she performs her duties creditably enough. But she often over-reaches herself in point of manners, seeming to believe that she has a claim to consider herself well bred! This, although she has acquired some superficial accomplishments, she most certainly is not, being in truth ill-educated and often uncouth. As she is small of stature, and darkly complexioned, with a low, simian hairline, I have come to think of her as a kind of monkey in fine clothes (my fine clothes, I should add, although cut down to fit her).

  To give you an instance of her presumption, in Baden-Baden I overheard her describe herself to the maid of a Russian lady as my companion! For this most unwarranted piece of audacity I was obliged to reprimand her severely, which brought forth an immediate, and rather threatening, scowl. Such a thing I cannot & will not tolerate in a servant. And so more warm words were said, on my part, to the effect that she must immediately mend her ways or be sent back home. All this time, Master K stood in the shadows, silent as usual. If he has said a dozen words on the whole journey here from Baden, I shall be amazed.