Danger at Thatcham Hall

by Frances Evesham

  Was that a flicker of humour on the butler’s face? “I know you are busy, clearing after the ball.”

  Mayhew inclined his head an inch. “You’re most kind sir. However, I believe arrangements are proceeding as planned. I can be spared for a short while if I may assist you in any way?”

  Nelson remembered just such an expression on his batman’s face, as they prepared for battle. The alert watchfulness, the narrowed eyes, and the pursed lips told of an inner kindness that the butler would express through service and under no circumstances allow to be mentioned. Mayhew was a man to be trusted. Nelson would take him fully into his confidence. “Mayhew, I need you to be frank with me.”

  The butler raised one eyebrow a fraction of an inch. “Of course, sir.”

  “There’s no of course about it. Do you think I don’t know your loyalties are all with the Hall? As they should be. And that you’ll conceal anything that may not reflect well upon either the family or the servants.”

  Mayhew took a moment to reply. “I believe, sir, you are acting in the best interests of my master and his family. I will tell you what you wish to know.”

  “Very well. Then I’ll trust what you say. I need you to tell me how Grandmother Caxton and Theodore are connected to the Hall. It’s very clear to me that the relationship is an unusual one. Theodore’s often seen around the servants’ quarters but doesn’t appear to carry out any particular function.”

  Mayhew’s lips pressed together in a straight line, as though he wanted to hold back speech.

  Nelson leaned forward. “Remember, you’ve promised to be frank.”

  The butler sighed. “It is a sad story, sir. A very sad tale. Theodore, you know, had a brother and sister, twins, several years older than Theodore, and unusually fond of one another. Some six years ago, while Lady Thatcham—that is, Beatrice, Lord Thatcham’s first wife—was still alive, several balls were held here at the Hall. Lady Thatcham, or Lady Beatrice, perhaps I may call her?” He raised his eyebrows in a question.

  “Good heavens, man, don’t stand on ceremony. Tell the story.”

  “Very well, then. Lady Beatrice was fond of gaiety and dancing. Lord Thatcham allowed, er…he allowed her to—” Mayhew looked as though he were about to weep with the effort of avoiding any hint of criticism. “In short, sir, some of the visitors to the Hall were not quite as one would wish. Several, er…officers and gentlemen behaved in rather inappropriate ways.

  “One dance, in particular, comes to mind. The officers had taken a little too much wine. Lord Thatcham was ensuring the ladies at the dance weren’t to be troubled and asked the officers to leave.”

  Nelson imagined the scene. He would have liked to be there to witness it. Lord Thatcham was not a man to be crossed in his own household.

  Mayhew continued, eyes narrowed at Nelson’s barely suppressed amusement. “It was a difficult evening, sir, as you can imagine. However, the officers left in their carriages, having first caused a great deal of trouble for the coachman and stable hands who’d settled the horses for the night. So far as the Hall was concerned, that was the end of the story, although the atmosphere was not pleasant for a while.”

  “I can well imagine. Lord and Lady Thatcham had words, did they?”

  Mayhew coughed but didn’t answer the question. “Well, sir, the next day Theodore’s sister arrived at the servants quarters, crying and babbling that the officers had arrived at their cottage and carried her twin brother away with them to become a soldier.”

  “Do you mean he was kidnapped?”

  “Not so much kidnapped, sir, I believe, as persuaded that his fortune lay in the military.”

  Nelson muttered, almost under his breath, “I can understand that. Easy mistake to make.”

  “Indeed, sir, so I gather, although I have very little experience of the military, myself.”

  “You’re well out of it, man, believe me. Anyway, continue the story, please. What became of Theodore’s brother? Does he have a name, by the way?”

  “He did, sir. Benjamin.”

  Nelson noticed the change of tense. “Do I take it Benjamin lost his life in active service?”

  “I am sorry to say, yes, sir. He was part of the contingent at Kabul.”

  Nelson half rose. “Kabul?”

  “I believe so, sir.”

  “Good God.” There was a lump in Nelson’s throat. The poor boy was one of the hundreds slaughtered in the ignominious retreat in Afghanistan. Nelson had narrowly escaped becoming one of their number. He’d been injured, but able to escape. He might have even seen Benjamin among the ranks of the fallen before he was cut down himself. The thought made bile rise in the back of his throat.

  Mayhew reached behind, unlocked his cupboard, and extracted a glass and a bottle of brandy. “I believe this may be of use, sir.” He poured an inch of liquid into the glass and handed it to Nelson.

  “Thank you.” Nelson swallowed the spirits in one gulp. The heat hit his stomach. “I pity the boy.”

  Mayhew was silent, but his silence seemed to wait, as though he hadn’t finished what he had to say. “Go on.” Nelson heard resignation in his voice.

  “Unfortunately, there was another outcome to the tale. Benjamin’s sister—”

  “His twin? Her name?”

  “Elinor, sir. A dear girl. She was the apple of Grandmother Caxton’s eye, for her own daughter, the mother of the twins and of Theodore, had died in childbirth. The father died soon after, from congested lungs.”

  Mayhew shook his head. “Luck had long deserted this family, I’m sorry to say. Within a few weeks, it became clear that Elinor was with child. She would not name the father. Lord and Lady Thatcham did not speak of it, but Lord Thatcham made certain the girl was provided with every comfort. She was to bring the baby up at the cottage along with Theodore.”

  Mayhew cleared his throat. Were his eyes a little misty? “I’m sorry to say Elinor left the cottage one night, in secret, and was never heard of again. We believe she followed one of the officers, the father of the child, to London. Lord Thatcham attempted to trace her, but all to no avail. No trace of her, or of the child, was ever found.”

  Nelson placed the empty glass on the table, picturing the story. It was a common enough tale. Drunken gentry out for pleasure with a pair of simple village people who believed their lies and promises, only for one to die in battle and the other to sink into anonymous tragedy in London, that bottomless pit of misery and desperation for the poor and deserted.

  “That’s why Grandmother Caxton lives in her cottage, supported by the master, and why Theodore receives special privileges.”

  “The family is making amends for the wrong done by their guests?”

  “Indeed, just so, sir. Lord Thatcham has ensured that Theodore goes to school, although the child runs away whenever possible and returns to the fields and woods. I believe a place will be found for him in the stables when he is older. There is, however, another part of the tale that I should share with you.”

  Now, Mayhew’s hands were twisting together, round and round. “There was talk, sir, of Grandmother Caxton’s skill with herbs. Some in the village whispered that she had caused the death of Elinor and the child out of shame.”

  Nelson pictured the old woman, her bright black eyes twinkling at him. “Surely not. She wouldn’t do such a thing.”

  Mayhew shrugged. “Lord Thatcham did not, I believe, hear the rumours. The servants took care to prevent those in the village from spreading such nonsense.” The butler leaned forward, glancing to right and left, even though the two were alone in the room. He lowered his voice until it was almost a whisper. “Nevertheless, there are those who accuse the woman of witchcraft.”

  The words hung in the air between them. Nelson laughed. “Surely, no one believes in witchcraft, these days.”

  “These are village people, sir. Their ways are different from those in London.” Mayhew shook his head. “The old woman is safe so long as Lord and Lady Thatcham are here to prot
ect her. What will become of her when they’re away, no one can be sure.”

  Nelson hurried back to the Hall, brain whirling with questions, to find Olivia about to step into the carriage, dressed against the downpour in hat, gloves and galoshes, carrying an umbrella. Violet, the ladies maid was arguing with the coachman.

  “I need to speak to you, Miss Martin.”

  “Mr. Roberts.” She stepped closer. Deep blue shadows under her eyes suggested a sleepless night.

  “I’m glad to find you. You’re going to London?”

  She glanced behind. “Visiting ‘friends.’” She managed a weak smile and spoke rapidly, her voice low “I wish I could help you—I know you’re innocent. Is there anything I can do? Should I stay?” Nelson tried to laugh, but the attempt failed. She held out a hand. “If I can help…”

  “No, I wish you safe, away from the Hall.”

  She took her lower lip between white teeth. “Are you angry?”

  “No, no. Not with you, dear Miss Martin.”

  A sudden blush lit the pale face. She offered a hand, the touch of her fingers warm through the gloves. “When I return, tonight, we must meet. I am sure we can discover the truth. If only I had not chosen today for my appointment.”

  “You must go. I am afraid if you remain here. I had thought you safe, not really believing your fall to be more than an accident.”

  “So, you were trying to frighten me, when we were in the music room?”

  “A little, perhaps.” He was ashamed of the selfish attempt to scare her into joining his investigations. “You’re a stranger here, as am I, so I thought us immune from the troubles at the Hall, but I’ve found something—part of a uniform, where you fell—that tells me I was wrong. I fear someone might harm you in order to make my guilt more certain. They seek to make sure the blame falls on me.”

  “On you? But you were nowhere near when I fell.” One hand went to her mouth. “Oh, but you were. You were the first to arrive afterwards.”

  “Please believe me. I had nothing to do with it.”

  She laughed. “Of course not. I must admit, for a moment or two, I wondered… You succeeded in scaring me.”

  Nelson gripped both her hands. “Luckily, I found the uniform badge myself, but who knows what the villain behind this wickedness will try next? If only I understood more. Why kill Lovell? The man was a blackguard, but even I did not know the full depth of his villainy until today.”

  The maid coughed. Olivia pulled away. “I must go if I’m to catch the London train. Be careful, dear Mr. Roberts.”

  “And you. Do not let the maid leave you alone for a second.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The journey to London passed in a flash as Olivia, stomach churning, struggled to collect her thoughts. For days, until the dreadful events at the ball, she’d managed to keep a growing excitement at the forthcoming visit to Mr. Mellow under control. She’d slept with his letter underneath her pillow, fingering it in disbelief.

  She had one, single chance to play for a music publisher, convince him to put the manuscripts on sale, and begin earning a living from her passion. How could she refuse? It had been wrong to deceive such a kind hostess as Lady Thatcham, but Mama had forbidden the meeting. Olivia had hated being forced to fabricate the visit to a fictitious old school friend, but could see no alternative.

  Since the dance, though, her world had turned upside down. Mr. Roberts had been accused of murder. Eyes dark, almost black, jaunty smile ghostly, his face filled her waking moments. He was innocent, but declared Major Lovell’s death welcome. Why had Mr. Roberts hated the man? What did he mean by “the depth of his villainy”?

  Some answers might lie in the city of London, where Mr. Roberts was a barrister. Olivia could make inquiries at the Old Bailey and possibly discover something of the man’s past. There was plenty of time before her appointment with Mr. Mellow.

  The train slowed, heavy rain in Reading giving way to a dense mist that hung in the air, hiding every tree and house behind a white veil. As London approached, the mist turned yellower, thicker, until the train slowed to a snail’s pace, finally rattling, well past the expected time, into the station at Bishop’s Bridge Road, the starting point for Lady Thatcham’s adventures. Olivia swallowed. Would her own activities lead to success or disaster?

  Violet peered around, mouth open, squinting through the gloom at a bustling crowd of travellers that hurried from the station. “Oh, miss, what can be wrong? I can’t see further than a foot ahead.”

  “A London particular, Violet.” The chill, greasy swirl of city fog shrouded the capital in the dank clutch Olivia had forgotten. The clatter of hooves, street trader bellows and rumbles from the wheels of carriages, familiar and mercifully muffled by the haze, nevertheless made her head reel.

  Finding a cab, Olivia and Violet clambered aboard, ducking to save their hats from the reins stretching above, arriving at last, jolted and shaken, at the Old Bailey.

  Olivia, later than she’d hoped, still hesitated, unnerved by the current of supplicants, journalists and onlookers whisking in and out of London’s Central Criminal Court. Would such an important person as Sir Thomas Tanqueray, the eminent Queen’s Counsel, even deign to speak to her? She shuddered at the proximity of Newgate, the gaol where criminals were hanged in public. That could be Mr. Roberts’ fate.

  “We can’t stand here, miss. Everyone’s looking at us.” Violet was right. She was wasting time. Head up, features composed into an expression of calm that belied the nervous churning in her stomach, Olivia marched inside to address a clerk seated in the entrance. “Is Sir Thomas Tanqueray here?”

  At least the weary, gloomy clerk didn’t throw Olivia out of the building. Instead, he sighed, pushed a pair of spectacles up a pointed nose, dragged a battered brown ledger close to his face and ran an inky finger down the columns of copperplate, muttering “Tanqueray, Tanqueray.”

  He snapped the ledger closed. “Not in court, today, Miss.”

  “Oh.” Deflated, Olivia turned to leave.

  The clerk called her back. “You’ll find ’im in chambers just up the street there until two o’clock.”

  The august man’s name, engraved on a prominent brass plate by the door, told Olivia she’d found the right place. A junior clerk, consulting his own appointment book, explained that, as there was no appointment in the book, she must return another day. Olivia, determined not to be turned away, glared. “I can assure you, Sir Thomas will want to hear what I have to say concerning a member of his chambers, a Mr. Roberts.”

  The clerk frowned and stroked his chin. “Mr. Roberts is away, miss, but Sir Thomas discussed a new case with him yesterday. Is that what you were meaning?”

  Olivia crossed two fingers behind her back. “Exactly.”

  “Well, then you’re in luck because he’s free for five minutes and he might manage to fit you in. Just you take a seat, and we’ll see what we can do.”

  The great man’s horsehair wig sat on the corner of a wide oak desk. He rubbed the dome of a bald head, as though it itched, and adjusted a pair of pince-nez, cheeks as round as red billiard balls lending the appearance less of a fiery lawyer than someone’s kind uncle. Olivia decided truth was the best option.

  When she finished her account of events at Thatcham Hall, Sir Thomas called for a jug of coffee, steepled the fingers of both hands, and raised his eyes heavenward. Olivia bit her lips and folded sticky hands together, maintaining a respectful silence while the great man thought.

  At last, his eyes, bright, blue, and twinkling, met hers. The round cheeks quivered as he gave a sudden, high-pitched giggle. “Mr. Roberts is a mystery to us all. His past is a matter of which he rarely speaks. However, I found him to be the brightest and most successful of my pupils. May I ask whether you have a particular reason for wishing to help?”

  Olivia, unable to answer, shifted in the hard chair.

  “No matter, my dear. The best and the worst of life pass by me here and at the Bailey. I f
latter myself I can tell a rogue from an innocent man, and a young lady on a mission of mercy from a lady of…ahem, how shall I put this—the lower classes. I have every faith in your man and will help if I can. However, the law is the law, and if Roberts has broken it, he must give himself up and allow it to take its course.”

  “Can you not help at all?”

  Sir Thomas considered, head tilted to one side, while Olivia held her breath. Time was ticking past, but she dare not hurry the great lawyer.

  At last, he picked up a pen. “Present this to General Mason. He’s a friend of mine and an officer of Mr. Roberts’ regiment. He may be able to help. Now, I must get on. I wish you well. I have a most interesting case to attend to…” Still talking, he ushered Olivia out of the door, clutching the letter of introduction.

  Violet was waiting. “Miss, we need to get to Bond Street for your appointment.”

  “Wait. Just a moment. Let me think.” Olivia calculated how fast a cab could cross fog-stricken London. The time of her appointment with Mr. Mellow was fast approaching. She could not get to the regimental headquarters without missing her meeting.

  Perhaps she could see Mr. Mellow first and play for him, then visit General Mason. Desperate, she chewed the tip of her glove. She could hardly think for the noise. Cabs sloshed through black mud, splashing her coat. Street vendors bawled at the tops of their voices, and a nearby match girl tried to sell her wares.

  Tears of frustration sprang to Olivia’s eyes, but her mind was made up. “Violet, make haste and take an omnibus to Bond Street. Explain that Mr. Martin is unable to keep his appointment today. I will take a cab and visit General Mason.”

  So, this was the end of her ambition. Mama was right after all; she would never make a living from music. She’d been fooling herself all the time. Anyway, her silly deception would be found out. As soon as Mr. Mellow discovered she was a woman, he would show her the door. Why had she imagined otherwise?

  “Mr. Martin? I don’t understand.” Violet’s face was crumpled in confusion.

  “You don’t need to understand. Just do it, please.”