Anthea put a hand on her arm.
“Pray, my dear Anne, do pause for breath a moment!” she pleaded, smiling.
“There are one or two things I’d like to ask you. To begin with, when did this occur? I refer to your walk near the temple when you saw Healey.”
“Oh, that was quite early on this morning — about eleven o’clock, I think, well before luncheon, at all event.” Anthea glanced at the clock.
“And it’s now almost six hours later,” she said thoughtfully. “Do you know, Anne, I think it would be as well for me to see this note of Healey’s? Perhaps we may contrive for Fanny and myself to walk back home with you, and to shake off Miss Fawcett once we are at Denby House, so that the three of us can visit that temple alone.”
Like all girls of her age, Anne was intrigued at the thought of a conspiracy, and readily agreed. The affair turned out not too difficult to manage; Louisa decided not to accompany them to Denby House, and Miss Fawcett was intent upon a rest in her room before changing for dinner.
The three conspirators therefore set out for the temple in the grounds. As they approached it, some of the uneasiness which Anne had felt that morning once more came over her. She hung back, pulling at Anthea’s arm, reluctant to leave the shelter of the trees.
Anthea looked at her a shade impatiently.
“What is it?”
“Hush! Not so loud,” breathed Anne. “Suppose there should be someone inside — I’m scared!”
“Fustian!” exclaimed Anthea in rallying tones. “We’ve nothing to fear in broad daylight, surely! I tell you what, though, Anne, if you don’t care to enter, I’ll go myself.”
But this was quite against the code of honour of the two younger girls; whatever timorous feelings they might have, they could not bring themselves to allow a friend to ‘stand buff’, as Harry Harvey would have phrased it.
They at once shook their heads and bravely ranged themselves alongside her. Together they advanced towards the temple, paused a moment at the bottom of the short flight of steps, then entered boldly.
No one was within.
After hesitating for a few moments, Anne went over to the place where she had found the loose tile, and stooped to raise it. The others crowded round eagerly.
“It’s gone! There’s nothing there now!”
She turned a face of deep disappointment towards them.
“Are you quite sure that was the place?” asked Anthea. “Could you not be mistaken?”
Anne refuted this indignantly, and Anthea was inclined to believe her. From what she had seen of the girl, Anne appeared to be a sensible, reliable young female, by no means as scatter-brained as many girls still in the schoolroom.
Nevertheless, they all set themselves to examining the tiles under the circular bench in search of another loose one.
“It’s of no use,” said Anne at last, squatting on her haunches in a way that would have horrified Miss Fawcett. “I knew all along that was the place! Someone has taken it away! Do you think —” her voice trembled a little — “do you think it was taken by the person it was intended for? If so, he may not be far away at the moment — oh, Miss Rutherford, what should we do?”
Anthea indicated that they should sit down on the bench.
“I’ll try to advise you presently,” she replied calmly, “but first repeat to me that message, as nearly as possible, word for word.”
Learning by rote came high on Miss Fawcett’s educational list, so Anne was able to oblige.
“She’d have written that to some man, don’t you think, Miss Rutherford?” she asked, at the end. “It wouldn’t have been a female, surely?”
“No, I’m confident it was a man. There’s more in this affair than you know of, Anne — and it’s better that you should not at present,” she added quickly, seeing curiosity alive in the faces of both girls. “Oh, I know it’s odious to be kept out of secrets, for I, too, have suffered in my turn! But until my Uncle Justin Rutherford and Watts, the Bow Street Runner, have cleared up the dastardly business of your uncle’s murder, we must all guard our tongues.”
“Uncle Eustace’s murder?” echoed Anne, wide-eyed, while Fanny, too, stared. “Do you mean to say that Healey’s note has some bearing on that? But that must mean —”
She broke off, appalled at the thoughts leaping into her mind.
“Anne — Fanny — both of you!” Anthea’s voice was stern, most unlike her usual tone. “I charge you most solemnly not to breathe a word of all this to a soul until you have permission from my Uncle Justin! Do you promise?”
Fanny nodded, obviously not a little frightened.
“But — but — Papa!” gulped Anne. “Surely he has a right to know if Healey is involved in anything so serious?”
“Don’t worry, my dear, of course he will be told. But you can quite see that he won’t wish you to know, can you not? So you must keep it all to yourself. And now, I want to talk to Healey. Can you arrange for me to see her somewhere privately, without anyone else in the household being aware of it?”
Anne looked doubtful.
“She’s with Mama most of the time, and Mama has been confined to her bed since Uncle Eustace was murdered. She sees no one, and Dr Clent gives her sedatives. Poor Mama, she’s dreadfully distressed, for all that Uncle Eustace took advantage of her shamefully!”
Anthea nodded sympathetically. “Family affection takes no heed of a person’s faults, mercifully for most of us. But is there no way you can think of?”
“Perhaps if you were to come up to the schoolroom,” Anne said, brightening. “You can be quite private there, and at this time of day, none of the servants will be about. If I tell Healey that you require a few words with her, she won’t dare refuse.”
“You wished to see me, madam?” Healey entered the schoolroom in response to Anthea’s summons, closing the door behind her. She looked deathly pale and her hands were tightly clasped in front of her.
“Yes, Healey. Pray sit down. How is your mistress?”
The maid’s lips trembled as she obeyed.
“Not at all well, madam, I’m sorry to say.”
“You don’t look at all well yourself,” said Anthea gently. “No doubt this dreadful business is playing upon your nerves, too.”
The kind tone was too much for Healey. She burst into tears.
“Oh, ma’am, it do that — if only you knew — if only I could tell you —”
The words were punctuated by sobs. Anthea rose, putting a comforting arm briefly around the maid’s shoulders.
“There, there. But I do know, Healey.”
The sobbing checked abruptly as Healey raised a tear-stained face to Anthea’s.
“You do, ma’am? But how can you possibly?”
Anthea resumed her seat.
“No matter how,” she said calmly, “but, believe me, I am fully informed about events from the long distant past which have a bearing on Sir Eustace Knowle’s murder. I’ve also been told what was said in the interview between you and the Bow Street Runner Watts earlier today. It seems, Healey, that there was one question you failed to answer.”
“I — I — I feel queer, ma’am — I’m going to swoon —”
The maid swayed in her chair, but Anthea leapt forward and forced her head down between her knees.
“I dare say,” she said ruthlessly. “And I’m sure you’ve sufficient reason. But you are the only person who can give any guidance to the identity of Sir Eustace’s murderer, and you must speak. Otherwise there may be yet more murders — do you understand?”
Healey moaned, but sat upright, supporting her face in her hands. Anthea stood back from her, waiting. It was several moments before the maid spoke.
“All right, I’ll tell. But that Runner’ll need to keep an eye on me, for Gawd only knows what’ll become of me, else! He’s a fiend in human shape! Yes, I did see him.”
Anthea felt a surge of excitement, but she schooled herself to listen patiently and ask all the important quest
ions.
At the conclusion of Healey’s account, however, she had to admit to herself that she was disappointed. Apart from confirming that the ex-convict was in the neighbourhood, Healey could offer no positive help in identifying him.
“Is there nothing?” Anthea pressed her desperately. “You say his face was masked and he wore a cloak, so I can quite see that would be a sufficient disguise for one whom you hadn’t seen for close on fifteen years, especially as it was dark in the temple. But was there no mannerism — a trick of gesture or something of that kind — familiar to you from the past? It’s often by such small things that we truly recognise people.”
“Now that you mention it,” replied the maid thoughtfully, “there was — I don’t know — something in his voice. It had altered, I can’t tell how, maybe a trick of speaking in them outlandish parts where he’d been, but all the same, underneath I knew it, right enough.”
“Famous!” exclaimed Anthea enthusiastically. “I don’t quite know how this can be turned to advantage, but —”
She was interrupted abruptly by the door being pushed open roughly so that it slammed against the wall. Anne erupted into the room with a wild expression on her face.
“You must come!” she shouted at Anthea incoherently. “Pray come at once! Papa — we don’t know — oh, please God, he may not die! Dr Clent’s with him — you’re needed, Healey — come, come quickly!”
CHAPTER 11
It was close on dinner time when Anthea and Fanny returned to Firsdale Hall. The gentlemen of the party were already indulging in a pre-prandial glass of sherry; Julia and Louisa were expected downstairs at any moment.
“Where the deuce have you been until now?” demanded Justin. “We’d best send a message to the kitchen, George, for if I know anything, it will take these two at least an hour to get into evening rig.”
“Justin, never mind that,” said Anthea impatiently. “I must speak to you for a few moments alone. Fanny, you go and dress as expeditiously as possible, and tell my maid to lay out — oh, anything!”
Seeing the expression on her face, Justin at once took her arm and guided her into an ante-room. Sir George looked after them thoughtfully, but made no move to follow, having regard to his other guests. Whatever it was, no doubt he would learn about it in time.
“What’s amiss?” asked Justin, when he had closed the door upon them. “Something at de Ryde’s, I collect?”
She nodded. “Justin, I don’t know where to begin! I went to Denby House thinking to see Healey — Anne was here, you see, when we returned from the Knavesmire, so it was quite natural that Fanny and I should walk back with her —”
“Did you speak with Healey?”
“How you do take one up! Yes, and very much to the purpose! Justin, she has seen this man, and is frightened to death of him!”
“Is she able to identify him?” asked Justin, getting to the point at once.
“Yes — no — that is to say, only by his voice. For the rest, she saw him only once, and then it was by night and in disguise.”
She explained quickly about the meeting in the temple and the arrangements for messages, then went on to tell of the message found by Anne.
“And it had gone, Justin, by the time we reached the place about five o’clock, almost six hours later! That was before I went indoors to speak to Healey — and I never had an opportunity to ask her about that, for the most frightful thing occurred to interrupt us! Mr de Ryde had an accident in his curricle — the wheel came off and he was thrown to the ground!”
“Is he alive?” asked Justin quickly.
“Yes, thank Heavens, but he’s badly hurt. Concussed, says Dr Clent, with broken bones in his left leg and arm that will take some time to mend. It was fortunate that the doctor was in the house and could go to him at once. But, you know, Justin, it was no true accident, was it? It’s just the same as Uncle George’s — it was meant to kill, wasn’t it? Because of those monstrous threatening letters!”
“I fear so. Do you know if any of the stable hands have examined the curricle? If not, I must put Watts on to the business at once — in any event, I’ll send a message for him to the village inn. He’s quartered there at present.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know, Justin — everything was in such confusion, as you may well imagine! Poor Anne — it’s melancholy for her, with both her parents laid low! Dr Clent sent at once for her old nurse, who lives in a cottage in the village, to assist with the invalids, and he’s also despatched a message to Anne’s Aunt de Ryde, whom Anne likes amazingly considering she’s a confirmed old maid. She’ll take charge of the household very capably, I collect. Then, of course, Aunt Julia and Fanny will do all they can to support Anne, I know.”
Justin nodded. “I see the medico has it all arranged admirably. Well, I’m relieved you told me this privately, though naturally I’ll have to inform George and the others of de Ryde’s accident. Don’t forget, Anthea, that the females of our party as yet know of no connection between the murder and these other mishaps — no mention has been made of threatening letters, even between George and Julia. So the accident to de Ryde remains simply an accident, for the present.”
“Yes, yes, I’ll hold my tongue,” she promised. “And now I must make haste, Justin!”
They parted, she to her bedroom to change her dress and he to dash off a brief note for Watts requesting his presence immediately.
When he returned to the parlour, Julia and Louisa were there, the latter looking delightfully demure in a white muslin gown trimmed with pink ruching at neck and hem.
“But where in the world are Anthea and Fanny?” demanded Julia petulantly. “The gong struck these few minutes since! Really, it is a deal too bad —”
“Calm yourself, sister,” said Justin. “They’ll be here in a few minutes, and it’s not entirely their fault that they’re a trifle late.”
He explained the situation in his most matter of fact tones. Julia and Louisa expressed real concern; Harry said it was a wretched business, then moved over to take another glass of sherry, while Sir George and Rogers looked sharply at their informant.
“What the devil’s all this, eh?” asked Sir George presently, edging close to Justin and speaking sotto voce. “This accident anything like mine? You said de Ryde had received one of those damned letters.”
Rogers, too, closed in on him, effectively shutting out the others from overhearing.
“Looks very much like it,” replied Justin, quietly. “I’ve sent for Watts to go there — I’ll join him myself as soon as dinner’s over. There’s more, but I can’t tell you now.”
“Perhaps over the wine after we’ve dined,” suggested Sir George. “Though that young chap Harry ain’t in the secret so far. Still, dare say he’ll be discreet.”
“No, sorry, I’m not staying — must get over to Denby House. And I think better not say anything to Harry, by the way.”
“Not staying to drink a post-prandial glass?” repeated his brother-in-law, shocked. “Well, if that don’t beat all! But I suppose you’re right, and this business comes first. Glad it’s not my pigeon, that’s all, with the Runner here — not to mention you.”
“What art doin’ ’ere, do tha reckon?” demanded a groom truculently, planting himself squarely in the way of Joseph Watts when the Runner presented himself at the Denby House stables.
“Minding the King’s business,” Watts replied shortly, displaying the Crown stamp on his Runner’s baton. “Where’s your boss, cully?”
The groom’s face changed and he stepped back.
“I’ll fetch ’im,” he volunteered, running towards the tack room.
A moment later, he was back with a square built Yorkshireman whose keen eyes belied the fleshy face and unhurried manner.
“I’m Webster, head groom,” he announced. “Owt I can do for thee?”
Watts nodded. “I’m looking into the matter of Mr de Ryde’s accident. Anything ye can tell me? How did it occur?”
; “Hm, Bow Street Runner business, is it? Not surprised. Well, a wheel came off master’s curricle as he was bowlin’ down t’drive at a fair old rate. Vehicle tilted, of course, an’ he was tipped out. By God’s mercy, t’horses didn’t trample ’im, though they was fair crazed, poor beasts. Master’s bad enough, though, as doctor’ll tell ’ee.”
“I’ve seen the medico. Why aren’t ye surprised that it’s police business?”
“Got my reasons. That wheel, now. Took a good look, course, for anything in the way of negligence I won’t bear with, sithee? Send the cove packin’, that I would an’ no mistake. All our vehicles is examined regular, as tha might know — I’ve been in t’stables man and boy these thirty an’ more years. But t’axle that broke, sithee, that weren’t no accident, nor yet no negligence, neither. Been proper messed about with, I’ll tak’ me oath on’t! Part sawn through, ready to give way any minute — which it did.”
Watts emitted a low whistle. “Ye’ve kept the evidence?”
“Ay, reckon I thought it’d be needed. But tha can’t blame any o’ my lads,” he went on defensively. “I can vouch for every last one, sithee! Been here most o’ their lives, older lads, an’ young ’uns more’n a few years — every man Jack on ’em keen on t’job, and not so daft as to do owt to lose it! Why should they, tell me that? Good places bain’t so easy to come by, think on.”
“Right enough. But what about an outsider? Someone breaking in after dark, for instance.”
“Happen it’s possible,” said Webster doubtfully. “But I reckon he’d be heard by t’lads who sleep in t’loft.”
“When did Mr de Ryde have the curricle out last?”
“Tuesday,” was the prompt reply. “Drove Sir Eustace to t’Knavesmire — ee, that was a bad business an’ no mistake.”
Masquerade of Vengeance (The Rutherford Trilogy Book 3) Page 11
