Masquerade of Vengeance (The Rutherford Trilogy Book 3)

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  “My God!”

  de Ryde was silent for several moments.

  “But how — when?”

  “Who’s to say? The Runner’s guess is that someone broke into the carriage house overnight on Wednesday and did the mischief. Watts did have his eye on a groom from my stable who came over here with a message on Thursday afternoon, but it seems that fellow was ruled out. There was corroborative evidence.”

  “A message, eh? That reminds me — what did you want of me in such a hurry on Thursday evening? If I hadn’t been rushing off in answer to your mysterious message, I shouldn’t have been in this mess, I may tell you! And why did you particularly require me to bring the curricle? What was it all about, eh? Whatever it was, it’s damn well gone by the board, now, I suppose.”

  Sir George started. “Message — what message?”

  “The message you sent asking me to come immediately to your place, without loss of time, and to bring my curricle — come, man, you can’t have forgotten!”

  “You’re sure,” said his friend carefully, “that this isn’t a figment of your imagination brought on by the concussion you’ve suffered?”

  “Dammit all, no! Figment of the imagination, indeed! If you don’t believe me, ask m’wife’s maid, Healey.”

  Sir George’s eyes sharpened. “Healey? What’s she to do with this?”

  “She came into the bookroom to me with the message. George, d’you mean to say you never sent it?”

  “That’s precisely what I do mean to say. When did you receive this summons — at what hour?”

  Philip de Ryde’s face had not been in the pink of health when Sir George entered the room; now it was ghastly pale.

  “I don’t like this, old fellow, damned if I do! I can’t be precise about the time, because I’d been reading, and y’know how it is — didn’t notice. But I can tell you that I dashed off to the stables as soon as I was told, without troubling a groom to bring round the curricle, because I thought it would save time if I went myself. I’d not gone more than twenty yards or so down the drive before I was pitched out of the vehicle. That’s the last I remember. But doubtless some of the staff — Healey, my head groom or one of the others — might have noticed what o’clock it was. Does it signify?”

  The other man’s expression was grim.

  “It may signify a vast deal. If you don’t mind, Philip, we’ll have Healey in and question her about this.”

  “Of course, if you wish. Would you be good enough to ring for me? I hate being a damned cripple like this!”

  Sir George hesitated for a moment, then appeared to make up his mind.

  “Something I want to tell you first, old man. I know I can rely on you to keep this quiet — last thing we want is to make a stir in the neighbourhood. But there’s more confirmation now of our belief that this evil business is the work of that villain Pringle who was transported for theft fourteen or more years since. You mentioned Healey. She’s been threatened, too, and confessed to my niece on the day of your accident that she’d actually seen him once, briefly, on the night of the Lord Mayor’s ball.”

  For a moment, de Ryde was struck speechless.

  “Y’know, George,” he said, at length, “I couldn’t help feeling that we might have conjured up all this out of our imagination — even after Eustace’s murder, it seemed too fantastic for belief. But if Healey —”

  He stopped, struck by a sudden thought.

  “If she’s seen the villain in person, then she must be able to identify him, for she knew him well enough in the past by all accounts.”

  Sir George explained, shaking his head. “And don’t think she wasn’t pressed hard on that point by my niece, who’s alive on every suit, b’God! But the woman was quite firm that she wouldn’t recognise him if she saw him again. Anthea said she was scared out of her wits at the mere thought of a further encounter — in a dreadful state.”

  “So that’s what’s been wrong with her lately. Mary’s complained of the maid’s fits of nerves, and said she might have to consider turning her off if she don’t improve. Most likely will, now, in any event.”

  “Mayhap, but for the moment say nothing to your wife. As for Healey, d’you mind letting me deal with her? Know she’s your servant, and all that, but I think we should have the interview on an official footing — that’s if you’ve no objection, of course?”

  “Only too relieved to be quit of it. Don’t feel quite the thing yet — not equal to all this.”

  Accordingly Healey was summoned.

  She came into the room with faltering steps, looking ready to swoon. After one glance at her, de Ryde ordered her to be seated. She collapsed thankfully on to an upright chair facing the two gentlemen.

  “Sir George wishes to ask you a few questions, Healey,” said her master. “Recollect that he is a Justice, and answer truthfully.”

  She inclined her head in acquiescence. Her hands were tightly gripped together in her lap.

  “Nothing to be afraid of,” began Sir George reassuringly. “Your master tells me that you brought him a message on Thursday afternoon, a message purporting to have come from me. At what time was this?”

  “It — it was not long before the accident.” Her voice was tremulous, and so weak they could scarcely hear.

  “According to my niece, Miss Rutherford, the accident occurred at about a quarter to six. She was in conversation with you in the schoolroom at that time, and you’d been together for no more than ten minutes. Did you deliver the message to Mr de Ryde quite soon before being summoned to the schoolroom? Or was it earlier?”

  “It — yes, quite soon. I’d — I’d just come from master when Miss Rutherford s-sent for me.”

  “I see. How did you receive this message?”

  She gave a gulp, and lowered her eyes.

  “One of your servants gave it me, y’r honour.”

  “A verbal message, I take it? Not written?”

  She nodded.

  “And the exact words — would you repeat them?”

  “Mr de Ryde must come immediately to Firsdale Hall without delay, and be sure to bring his curricle.”

  She spoke without any hesitation this time, as if by rote.

  “Hm.” Sir George looked at de Ryde. “That’s correct?”

  The other man nodded, his eyes fixed on Healey.

  “Who brought this message?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know, y’r honour.”

  “You’ve been here at Denby House a good many years, Healey, and during that time there’s been a deal of intercourse between the two households. You must be acquainted with many of my servants.”

  “It w-wasn’t one I knew,” she whispered.

  “A new groom, perhaps? Did he give his name?”

  “No, y’r honour.”

  “How long an interval did you allow to elapse between receiving the message and delivering it?”

  “Straight away — I brought it straight away!”

  There was a note of hysteria in her voice now.

  “It seems unusual,” mused Sir George, “that a message brought for the master of the house should have been delivered to the lady’s maid rather than the butler or a footman. Can you explain why that was?”

  She gave a moan and seemed about to swoon, but by a supreme effort pulled herself together.

  “Because I wasn’t indoors — I met him walking up the drive. I’d gone outdoors for a breath of air — oh, dear Lord, what can I do — what can I do?”

  She broke down altogether, sobbing violently.

  Sir George swore under his breath. He was a reasonably compassionate man, but this was a matter of murder and attempted murder. He must get at the truth; if he allowed the maid time to recover, it might be impossible to do so.

  “D’you chance to have a vinaigrette in that apron pocket of yours? Use it, my good woman.”

  She obeyed him, groping blindly for the smelling bottle and holding it under her nose with a trembling hand. After sev
eral minutes, during which they surveyed her in silence, not unsympathetically, she seemed somewhat recovered.

  “Now,” said Sir George firmly. “Let’s make an end of this charade. We know that you have been threatened by the convict who was known here as Pringle fourteen years since. We know that messages have been passed between the two of you hidden in the temple in the grounds here. I believe that this story of yours concerning a servant from my staff bringing a message is nothing but a farrago of lies! The real truth is that you received one of these written instructions to convey that message to Mr de Ryde, pretending that it had come from me. Is that not true? Come, must I commit you to gaol before you confess?”

  The scene which followed was painful. Healey, completely broken now, at length admitted that Sir George’s assumption was correct. She had collected the instruction from the temple on the morning of Thursday, when Anne had chanced to see her; but she had delayed delivering it, fearing that it boded no good for her employer. Then, too scared for her own safety to disobey outright, she had been forced into doing the bidding of her tormentor.

  “But I wouldn’t have done it — no, I wouldn’t, not if I’d known as it would cause master to have an accident! I’m feared — frit to death o’ Pringle — I daresn’t do other than what he says, for fear — oh, Gawd ’elp me! What’ll ye do to me, y’r honour?”

  “Nothing at present. On that other occasion, years ago, I judged you to be this villain’s dupe rather than a criminal yourself. Now I see that you’ve been acting under duress, going in fear of your own life. One thing only I insist upon, in default of which you’ll surely face criminal proceedings. You must give us all the assistance you can to uncover this murderer.”

  She promised eagerly, unable to believe that she had been fortunate enough to escape immediate punishment.

  “I need to take this woman back with me to Firsdale Hall,” Sir George said to his friend, “so that Justin and the Runner can interview her. Also, there’s something they require her to do. It won’t take more than an hour or so. Can it be managed without arousing curiosity, either on your wife’s part or that of the other servants?”

  This difficulty was resolved when Healey spoke up to say that Sunday afternoon was part of her off-duty time, and therefore she could absent herself without question. She was dismissed, therefore, with instructions to don her bonnet and meet the Martons’ carriage at the end of the drive in twenty minutes.

  “The poor wench is between the devil and the deep blue sea,” remarked Sir George, when she had gone. “I tell you, Philip, the more I see of crime, the more I wonder how great a part circumstance plays in it. But I’m no philosopher, and my duty is clear, at all events. We must catch this murderer by any means at our disposal.”

  CHAPTER 15

  When the Martons returned home, they found Giles Crispin sitting with Anthea and Louisa. It seemed that he had called in the hope of taking Louisa out for a drive; but in spite of her cousin’s strong encouragement, she had not ventured to accept without her aunt’s permission.

  This Julia gave, though somewhat reluctantly; and after a few moments of polite interchanges, the pair departed.

  “Really, I don’t at all know what I ought to do about Louisa,” complained Julia in a worried tone. “My sister Harvey is quite set on a match between her and the Thirkells’ eldest son, whom they’ve known this age. Indeed, Celia tells me that they are as good as affianced, only that for some reason the young man hasn’t yet come up to scratch.”

  Anthea laughed. “I wondered why you seemed so unwilling to consent to the outing, as the gentleman appears to be quite unexceptionable and is well known to you. But matches made by mamas don’t always suit the notions of their offspring, Aunt! If the Thirkell gentleman seems reluctant — and anyone may see that Louisa isn’t breaking her heart over that! — then why not leave be? I dare wager that it will all turn out for the best in the long run.”

  “That’s all very well, Anthea, but I feel in some sort responsible. A fine thing it will be if Celia suspects me of interference, promoting the interests of Mr Crispin against those of her chosen parti! She may think that I should prevent Louisa from seeing too much of him.”

  “Nonsense, m’dear,” put in Sir George. “The Crispins are our neighbours, so you can’t prevent the chit from meeting the boy whenever they call on us. As for their driving out together on a fine summer afternoon — well, young men like to be seen out with a pretty girl, and where’s the harm?”

  “Where, indeed?” put in Rogers, an unexpected ally. “I was about to suggest the very same thing to Miss Anthea, but with what success I can’t say.”

  Julia smiled, having no possible objection to this scheme.

  “Were you indeed?” said Anthea, lifting her eyebrows at him.

  “Would you care for a spin?” he repeated, in a much humbler tone.

  “Thank you,” she replied graciously, “that would be most pleasant.” She rose from her chair. “I’ll be ready in just a few minutes.”

  “A likely tale!” scoffed Justin, as Rogers rose to open the door for her.

  She wrinkled her nose at her offending relative, but rewarded his friend with a bright smile that set his pulses racing.

  “By the way,” Justin said to Rogers when she had gone, “see that you don’t take that groom Ross with you. Watts and I have other plans for the remainder of his afternoon.”

  In spite of Justin’s scepticism, Anthea returned in a very short time, as promised, having donned what Rogers considered a bewitching bonnet of yellow corded silk trimmed with white flowers. Its wide brim made a frame for her piquant face and mop of black curls, while the yellow ribbons tied under her left ear added to the saucy look.

  Justin pursed up his lips in silent, mocking appreciation, and she only just managed to repress a schoolgirl impulse to put out her tongue at him.

  “Very pretty, m’dear,” approved Sir George.

  Rogers shepherded her out to the waiting curricle, handing her up solicitously before mounting into the vehicle himself and taking up the reins. The groom who had been holding the horses, a matched pair of chestnuts, released them and swung himself up into the dickey behind.

  “I can’t tell you how glad I am to be out of doors,” said Anthea, as they went down the drive and turned into the narrow lane which led to the highway. “Louisa and I were about to go for a stroll when Mr Crispin called, but after that we had to sit about in the parlour while I tried to persuade Louisa that there could be no possible objection to her going for a drive with him. She is a dear, but vastly over timid, to my way of thinking.”

  “An accusation that couldn’t be levelled at you, I think?” he ventured, smiling down at her.

  “Well, I should hope not. One misses a vast deal of fun if one is — but, of course, one would not wish to exceed the bounds of propriety,” she added demurely.

  “Dear me, no. That would never do.”

  She glanced at him suspiciously, but he returned her look with one of bland innocence.

  “I sometimes think,” she said severely, “that you’re trying to roast me, Mr Rogers! Do you take anything I say seriously, I wonder! Oh, how will we manage now?”

  This exclamation was caused by the appearance of a horseman coming towards them. As the lane was barely wide enough to accommodate the curricle and pair, it was not an unreasonable question, and was echoed in the groom’s mind.

  “Quite adequately, I believe,” Rogers replied calmly.

  She sat perfectly still, watching as he guided the horses expertly into the nearside of the lane so that his equipage missed the hedge by only a few inches.

  This allowed the horseman comfortable room to pass, which he did with a bow of thanks, doffing his hat.

  “Oh, splendid!” she said impulsively. “I wish you might teach me to drive like that!”

  “With the greatest pleasure in the world,” he answered, as he turned into the high road. “Would you care for a lesson now?”

  �
�Would you trust me with your horses? I don’t think Justin would, though I am quite a good whip, he says. It’s illogical of him, isn’t it, if he truly does think so? But of course men are monstrous touchy about their horses, are they not?”

  He nodded. “Yes to all three questions,” he said, laughing. “But do you wish to try your hand at the chestnuts? They may be a trifle fresh.”

  “Oh, I take no heed of that! Yes, perhaps I will tool them along a little — they’re such splendid animals, it would be quite a feather in my cap to tell Justin I had driven them!”

  He looked at her bonnet, smiling. “A feather would quite spoil the effect. But by all means let us change over.”

  He reined in, signalling to the groom to come to the horses’ heads. In a few moments, Anthea was seated in his place, the reins in her hands, while he took the passenger side.

  He set his mouth a little as she gave the horses the office to start, for he had never previously seen her driving, although he knew she was an excellent horsewoman. There was a vast difference, however, between riding a horse and managing a pair harnessed to a vehicle. He told himself that he must appear relaxed, while being ready for any emergency.

  In ten minutes, he had relaxed completely. Anthea was handling the chestnuts confidently, and they appeared to recognise the fact.

  “I suppose I dare not utter a word of praise,” he remarked, after they had travelled several miles, “or you’ll think I’m patronising you.”

  She shook her head, guiding the equipage neatly past a farm wagon.

  “I’m not so mean-spirited, I hope. Yes, pray do tell me how pleased you are with my driving! You know how I dote on flattery!”

  “I know how you pretend to do so,” he countered. “If you think to gammon me, I must warn you that you’re mistaken.”

  At that moment, a curricle came towards them, steering an uncertain course which seemed sure to bring the two vehicles into collision.

  At once, Rogers placed firm hands over Anthea’s on the reins, forcing his horses well over to the left. They tossed their heads rebelliously, but responded to his guidance until they had safely passed the other curricle.