“The murder? Ay, it was indeed. So the vehicle was all right and tight two days since, eh? Anyone else lookin’ it over since — one of the grooms, for instance?”
Webster shook his head. “Usually it’d be cleaned early t’next morning, ready for use. But what with t’poor gennelman bein’ done in and found by t’gardener’s lad, things was all anyhow, think on. No one went nigh it, not till maister came isself to t’stables this morning for it. Bain’t right, neither.” He shook his head. “Always sends for t’curricle to be brought up to t’house. Was in a hurry, seemingly.”
“Has anyone else been here during the past two days, other than the regular stable staff? Here in the stables, I mean?”
Webster shook his head. “Not to t’stables. Plenty of folk came to t’house, thee was one, as tha knows.” He paused a moment, then went on, “Come to think on’t, though, there was a lad from Firsdale Hall called in wi’ a message from Sir George this arternoon.”
“What time?”
“’Bout four, I reckon.”
“One of the grooms, eh? Which one?”
“Can’t rightly say — one o’ t’new lads.” He raised his voice. “Here, Jem — which o’ t’stable lads from Firsdale came here a while back?”
One of the grooms left off polishing a piece of tack and came forward, touching his cap respectfully to Watts.
“Ross, ’is name is, maister.”
Watt’s eye kindled. “Oh, yes? How long did he stay here, and exactly where did he go?”
The double question seemed too much for the groom’s intelligence. He looked doubtfully at his superior, who explained it, and related the answers.
“Seems he was here nobbut half an hour, Mr Watts. Went up to t’house to deliver his note, then come back to have another word wi’ this lad, friendly like. They tak’ a mug of ale together wi’ some o’ t’others in t’Black Horse now and then.”
“Not close friends, then — drinking companions?” summed up Watts. “Listen to me, cully, and answer me carefully. Did Ross spend any time alone in the coach house where Mr de Ryde’s curricle is kept? Did you leave him there for any reason? Think hard now — it’s only a few hours agone.”
The groom scratched his head, evidently giving the matter some thought, then produced a decided negative. Watts, disappointed, pressed him again, but received the same reply. It seemed that the two men were standing outside on the yard during their time together. This was confirmed by others.
“I take it he walked here?” asked Watts, at the end. “Wouldn’t have needed a horse for that distance.”
“Not he!” Webster guffawed. “Only tak’s less than twenty minutes if tha goes gentry road — down both carriage drives. But we allus uses back road — up t’lane past our stable, sithee, till tha comes to t’boundary wall o’ t’Hall. There’s a door no one but t’gardeners and stable lads mak’ use on, hard by their stables. Ten minutes’d do it easy.”
“I’ve a mind to try it myself. I’m due back at the Hall. Well, thankee, Webster, for your assistance. Good evening to ye.”
He found the way without difficulty, meeting no one, and headed for the kitchens, where already he was sure of a favourable reception. Cook had taken to him at once, while the maids cast sheep’s eyes in his direction whenever they could do so without calling down a reprimand upon their heads from their superiors. Even Oldroyd, the stately butler, pronounced him to be a very tolerable kind of man for a Bow Street Runner, a statement agreed by the footmen. There was no difficulty about accommodating him for dinner with them in the servants’ hall; in the meantime, if Mr Watts could fancy a tankard of home brewed, he was very welcome. Mr Watts could, and accepted gratefully.
While imbibing this beverage, he conveyed a message upstairs to Justin by way of a footman, who soon returned with the reply that Watts should go up to the library. This he did, and was joined there in a few minutes by Justin, who had hastily excused himself from the dinner table when the final course had been reached.
Watts soon put him in possession of the latest news.
“I put a constable on to watch Ross, guv’nor, when I left York myself. Seems he didn’t stay there long afterwards, since he was back here and visiting the Denby House stables at four o’clock. I’ll hear exactly what he did when I get the man’s report tomorrow — the constable wouldn’t go outside the city bounds, of course, to follow him back here.”
Justin nodded absently, rumpling his dark hair in the way he had when he was puzzling his way through a problem.
“It’s possible this groom Ross may be our man, Joe — he’s the right age, and fits the description we’ve got, such as it is. But several points don’t coincide. Take my brother-in-law’s accident, which is where the affair began, as we see now. We’ve already considered Ross as the culprit, and it won’t fadge. Next, the meeting with Healey in the temple on the night of the masquerade. Possible. Carr says Ross wasn’t on duty that evening, so he could have gone to Denby House, especially since you tell me there’s a quicker and more secluded route. Healey gave the time at about nine o’clock, and staff wouldn’t be active at that hour, so he’d be reasonably sure of not being observed. But then we come to de Ryde’s accident, and there’s no certainty about that, judging by the evidence. He was in the right place at the right time, but had no opportunity to tamper with the curricle.”
“Reckon he’s up to no good, all the same, sir, and if it’s not murder, what is it? His movements are suspicious, to say the least. And couldn’t he have got into the stables after dark to tamper with that axle? Most outdoor staff bed down for the night early, and I dare swear they sleep like hogs.”
“As you say, Joe, it might have happened like that. But so far, we’ve only one incident out of three where his complicity is completely possible, and no positive evidence whatsoever. I think we must extend our horizons a little farther to consider every newcomer to the neighbourhood. We will need to examine their origins to ascertain that each of them has an established background. It will be a delicate business, but I’m positive it’s the only way to flush out our quarry. Another useful move would be to question some of the servants — and perhaps the villagers — as to whether they’ve observed anything unusual at the times relevant to our inquiry. Let’s start work on it now by drawing up a list.”
“You know,” said Anthea in a low tone to Justin, when he joined the family party later in the evening over the usual tea drinking. “There’s one sure means of discovering whether or not that groom is the murderer, and that is to introduce him in some way to Healey! She said she could identify the man by his voice.” Justin nodded. True to his promise, he had been keeping her informed of developments.
“Don’t think we’ve overlooked that fact, Watts and I, my perspicacious niece,” he answered, with one of his quizzical grins. “But a confrontation won’t be too easy to arrange — I rather suppose that the maid will fight shy of it, for she’s scared to death of the rogue. We’re hoping to fix matters so that she’s not obliged to come face to face with him, but to be in a position to overhear his voice. It may take a little time, therefore. Were we more convinced by the scanty evidence we possess, we should of course crowd on all sail, in the words of the navy. But I believe we can’t afford to overlook other possibilities by pursuing Ross too hotly.”
He paused to lay down the cup from which he had been drinking, shaking his head to Julia’s offers of replenishment.
“One is quite enough, my dear sister. I’m persuaded that too much tea drinking can lead to developing a metallic lining in one’s interior.”
Julia opened her eyes wide. “No, truly, Justin? Did you get that advice from one of your smart London doctors?”
George Marton laughed outright, while the others smiled, not caring to bait their hostess.
“Don’t know any — don’t need to, I’m glad to say. But, Julia, my love,” he continued in a wheedling tone, “there is something I’d like you to do for me tomorrow, something far more important t
han may appear. George will support me in this, I know.”
He glanced at his brother-in-law, his eyes charged with meaning. Sir George interpreted the glance as intending an explanation later. He nodded.
“What is it?” asked Julia suspiciously. “I know when you take that tone to me, Justin, you wish me to do something I’ve no desire to perform!”
“You may think that at first, but George will persuade you otherwise, you’ll see. I want you to call upon Mrs Cholmondeley and invite her and her party to join us in a day’s pleasure excursion.”
CHAPTER 12
“My dear Lady Marton, so kind of you to call — so obliging!” gushed Lady Cholmondeley, as the Firsdale Hall ladies, accompanied by the Honourable Justin Rutherford and Mr Rogers were ushered into the morning parlour. “I was hoping you might take me up on my invitation to drop in upon us at any time! I said to Sir John and Mr Barnet — did I not, gentlemen?” she glanced for corroboration at these two, who had been seated beside her husband in the window “— that it would be so vastly enjoyable to have some of the neighbours calling today, since yesterday was the last day of the Races, you know, and we shall find ourselves quite desolate without something pleasurable to occupy ourselves — for my dear spouse has managed to prevail upon all our guests, excepting only Mr and Mrs Thrixen, whom we see frequently, you know — all our guests, as I say, have agreed to remain with us for a further period, so we shall be quite a merry party! I do think, do not you, Miss Rutherford, that nothing can be so pleasant as company when one lives in the depths of the country?”
Anthea gave her hostess a quizzical look.
“Not quite in the depths, ma’am, would you say? You are but a few miles from York, which anyone must allow is a considerable town.”
“Oh, yes, of course you are in the right of it, but even a few miles tend to isolate one from the hurly-burly of town life. We are vastly dependent upon our neighbours, you know. Fortunately, we have such pleasant neighbours, and you might not believe, coming from London as you do, that here we dine regularly with more than twenty families! But so it is, is it not, James, my love?”
Mr James Cholmondeley, thus appealed to, could not do other than give a brief assent, but he was still occupied in greeting his visitors, having risen from his chair as soon as they entered. The other men had come to their feet, too, and now a general bustle arose until everyone was seated again.
With his usual adroitness, Sir John Fulford had managed to secure a seat next to Louisa and Anthea, who had the plump, genial Mr Fellowes on their other side. Justin had deliberately seated himself so that he could converse easily with Cholmondeley’s two other guests, Mr Barnet and Mr Reade, while Rogers was beside the host.
“You have the reputation of being prodigiously hospitable, Mrs Cholmondeley,” said Julia, partly in response to the last remark.
“But then I’ve always been told that Yorkshire hospitality is famed,” said Anthea. “Do you all reside in the county? If so, modesty will prevent you from agreeing with the dictum.”
She looked around at the assembled company with a challenging smile. Justin repressed a frown, fearing that perhaps, in his own phrase, she was doing it too brown.
“That’s assuming, ma’am, that we any of us possess that virtue,” replied Barnet, with an answering smile. “I don’t think it likely, do you, Fulford?”
“Speak for yourself,” retorted the other. “But I believe, ma’am, that Fellowes here is the only Yorkshireman among the four of us. I trust it don’t place him too high in your favour — I assure you that just as good men come from other parts.”
“Assuredly,” replied Anthea, trying to ignore the ogling which accompanied this remark. “What part of the county do you reside in, Mr Fellowes?”
“Not far from Whitby, Miss Rutherford — the north Yorkshire moors, you know. Very salubrious, dear lady, indeed. A sad pity that it’s too far for you to visit on a day’s outing from here. But perhaps at some time, if your parents should ever be in that way — I collect that they are visiting the Lakes at present?”
Anthea answered that indeed they were, and a lively discussion on the beauties of the Lake District followed, in which everyone joined.
“Speaking of outings,” said Julia, responding to a sideways glance from her brother, “some of our young people are considering a day’s excursion to Helmsley, to see the castle, you know, and then go on to visit Rievaulx Abbey. They wondered if perhaps any of your guests would care to join them? You and your husband must often have been to Helmsley, as indeed so have Sir George and myself, but we have never yet visited Rievaulx Abbey. It is owned by the Duncombes, you know, and they have given permission to view it.”
Fulford at once declared it a splendid notion, and demanded that the other three men should support him. Justin noticed that their response, though civil, was somewhat lacking in enthusiasm. Nevertheless, he thought that he could count on all of them, if only because it was difficult to back out without infringing the accepted code of polite behaviour. And he particularly wished for all of them to be present.
“Well, we shall go too, shall we not, my dear?” Mrs Cholmondeley said to her husband. “Yes, of course we’ve been to Helmsley many times, but what of that? An excursion with a congenial party of friends is always a vastly pleasurable affair! And a visit to Rievaulx Abbey — that is something, indeed! Do you mean to go, Lady Marton? And Sir George also?”
“My husband begs to be excused, since travelling and sightseeing are a penance to him at present. I thought I might go, however, as chaperone, for my younger daughter Fanny will be quite wild to go, I know. And perhaps we might see if poor little Anne de Ryde would be permitted by her mama to make one of the party, for although she is in mourning, it will be hard if a child in the schoolroom may not have an occasional outing in a discreet kind of way. I don’t know,” she added, as Mrs Cholmondeley hastened to express agreement with this, “if you’ve heard the latest melancholy news from Denby House?”
“News from Denby House?” demanded Cholmondeley quickly. “What’s this, ma’am?”
The company had been chatting together in a desultory way about the proposed outing; but now a silence fell, as their attention was caught.
“Yes,” echoed his wife, “what can you mean, Lady Marton? Surely not — not another disaster? Oh, no, pray do not say so!”
Justin surreptitiously studied the faces of Cholmondeley’s four guests as Julia answered.
“I fear it’s very bad. Mr de Ryde had an accident in his curricle yesterday evening, and —”
“Not killed!” exclaimed Mrs Cholmondeley, in great distress. “No, not — not that!”
“No, ma’am,” put in Justin quickly. “It is not so bad as that, mercifully. He’s suffered a concussion and several broken bones, but there’s no fear for his life.”
It seemed to Justin that both Reade and Barnet had been holding their breath until he spoke. Now they let out deep sighs — of relief, he wondered?
“Thank God for that!” said Cholmondeley fervently. “But how did it occur? Where? Was it a collision?”
Fulford and Fellowes echoed these queries almost in the same breath. They, too, had been listening with strained attention.
“Pray ring for the servant, James,” implored Mrs Cholmondeley, for once in failing accents. “I need my vinaigrette — I feel quite faint!”
Julia produced the required article from her reticule, and passed it over to her hostess.
“I’m so sorry, my dear Mrs Cholmondeley — I didn’t mean to inflict such a shock upon you. I quite thought you might have already heard.”
“Some of us were out riding earlier this morning,” said James Cholmondeley, “but we didn’t go near the village, which is where one learns everything. And, for once, the servants don’t seem to be in the know — that is unusual, I grant you! The servants’ hall is a hotbed of gossip!”
“And why not?” asked Barnet, with an ironical smile. “What else is there to entertain th
em but the affairs of their betters?”
“Lucrative, too, on occasion,” added Fulford. “Quite a bit of hush money must change hands in most households.”
“I’m sure you would know about that,” put in Reade, giving him a sly glance.
“Gentlemen, pray don’t jest about such a serious matter!” implored Mrs Cholmondeley. “We can only be thankful that poor Mr de Ryde is not more seriously injured, and especially since the dreadful affair of his brother-in-law’s murder! Poor, dear Mary de Ryde will be in a melancholy way — already she has taken to her bed, and Dr Clent is in constant attendance! I must send round a sympathetic message — for, of course, it’s out of the question that she will wish to see anyone at present, though I shall say that if there’s anything at all I can do —”
Her husband echoed these neighbourly sentiments, and Julia explained what measures had been taken by the doctor to ensure the comfort of the household. Both Mr and Mrs Cholmondeley expressed their relief at this, for they were undeniably good-hearted people.
“But you haven’t told us precisely what occurred,” complained Fellowes.
Justin and his friend Rogers exchanged a brief, warning glance.
“It seems a wheel came off de Ryde’s curricle as he was setting out down the drive at Denby House,” said Justin. “The vehicle overturned, of course, and he was thrown heavily to the ground.”
“A wheel came off!” exclaimed Reade. “What kind of stable does the fellow keep, in God’s name? Don’t he have his vehicles properly cared for?”
“Naturally, in the normal course. But one must remember that there’s been a deal of commotion there of late, and routine may have been allowed to lapse a trifle.”
“Has anyone had a word with the head groom?” asked Cholmondeley. “I don’t know quite whose business it would be to do so, but I feel very strongly that such criminal negligence should not go unreproved! What has Sir George to say about it, Rutherford?”
Justin silently cursed the direct question, which he could see no way of avoiding. He had been trying to play down the accident as much as possible, in the hope that one of those present — among whom he thought there was a strong probability that the murderer might be found — should reveal himself by betraying some inside knowledge. Cholmondeley, in his usual voluble fashion, had more or less disposed of that hope. However, Justin’s quick mind foresaw that the visit of Watts to de Ryde’s stables would soon be a matter of local gossip, do what he might to prevent it; so he bowed to the inevitable.
Masquerade of Vengeance (The Rutherford Trilogy Book 3) Page 12
