A voice hailing her broke her concentration. “What an excellent idea!” Captain Edgerton said, striding up to where Sheffield lay. “You are a splendid fellow, Sheffield, to do such a thing.”
“Happy to oblige, sir.”
“Why, Captain Edgerton!” Annie said, pleased. “I had thought you out for the day.”
“The major was not at home. Gone away to London,” he said glumly. “I daresay he would not have given us anything new but I should have liked to talk to him anyway. I impressed upon his wife the importance of the case. Having no other business in Salisbury, I hired a horse and returned here directly. The helpful Master Jerome told me where you had gone. But how ashamed I am not to have thought of this! Was it your idea, Mrs Huntly? I thought so. What an admirable woman you are!” He walked all around the prone Sheffield, just as Annie had done. “And this was exactly how he was found? Hmm… interesting. Mrs Huntly, now that we both have this information safe in our minds, might I suggest that Sheffield be released back to his duties? Wait a moment, my good fellow. There.” He placed a large stone just where Sheffield’s head had lain, and two more to mark the position of his feet, before pushing a coin into the footman’s hand and sending him on his way.
“You can see, no doubt, why Sir Leonard supposed that Adam might have done this?”
“Indeed,” Annie said. “Rupert would have been walking away from Wickstead… which is directly behind those trees. I can see the smoke rising, so it must be no more than half a mile away. The murderer walked out from the village, hid in these bushes here, waited until Rupert had gone by and then hailed him. He turned around so that he was facing towards his assailant and… bang.”
“Well… bang bang, if we are being precise. Two shots. The fellow was very well prepared.”
“Yes, we must certainly be precise,” Annie said seriously. “What are those chimneys over there? Oh! It must be Wickstead Manor. So close!”
“The loop of the river brings it very close, it is true. This section of the river bank is Manor land, and look here…” He walked a little way further towards Wickstead. “Do you see this cross path? It leads from the Manor directly to the river bank, where there is a small jetty. Apparently it was used in years past for fishing, but has fallen into disuse. The family currently prefers to fish near to the bridge in Wickstead. I have wondered if perhaps the murderer arrived here by boat. It would be more discreet than walking through the village. Float downstream from Wickstead, tie up at the jetty, which is quite hidden from the path, and await Mr Huntly in the middle of those bushes. Then afterwards row back to Wickstead, where no doubt a horse was discreetly tied up somewhere.”
“I would come the other way,” Annie said thoughtfully. “Row upstream first, then afterwards the current would carry the boat swiftly away to safety.”
“Excellent point. There is a bridge downstream, where the lane to Durran House crosses the river. It is a very secluded spot, so a waiting horse, or even a carriage, would not be noticed. Yes… row upstream from there, and then use the current to escape afterwards. Or the boat house!” he said excitedly. “He was hiding in the boat house, the boat discreetly hidden. For days, he must have watched and waited for his opportunity. On the day, he has only to row to this point, kill Mr Huntly, then allow the river to sweep him back to the bridge.”
“Or all the way to Salisbury, where he would be just another stranger catching one of the stages or the mail,” Annie said sombrely. “It will be very hard to track down such a person. Even if he were remembered, who would know him, if he is not from around here? And I think Mr Willerton-Forbes is correct in thinking the origins of this matter lie in Grantham.” She turned again to face the chimneys of Wickstead Manor, smoke rising gently in the autumn sunshine. “Adam went home after the meeting, but went out again immediately. I wonder why?”
“Well…” Captain Edgerton looked awkwardly at the ground. “I did not wish to say anything in front of the young Huntlys, and it is not something that Adam would ever reveal in court, but in fact he walked along the other side of the river.”
“Why is that such a secret?”
“Because he hoped to see you. There is a spot where you were accustomed to sit with Mr Huntly at a certain hour of the day, and there are some bushes on Lady Charlotte’s land from which he could see you and remain unobserved. Naturally, he cannot say so in public.”
“So he would go to the gallows rather than mention me? That is foolishness indeed, and I trust you will tell him so, Captain.”
“I will ensure that he knows your sentiments, Mrs Huntly, but he is a gentleman and will never drag a lady’s name into a public hearing. It would be reported in the newspapers, and consider how unpleasant that would be!”
“It would be far more unpleasant if he were to be hanged,” she said acidly. “Well, if he will do nothing to help himself, we must get him released by our efforts alone. We must find my husband’s murderer, Captain Edgerton. However impossible it seems, there must be a way. There must be.”
25: Cutting Reeds
The rest of the day was filled with callers and bustle, so that Annie had not a moment to herself. Mr and Mrs Popham called in early response to her note, shocked and distressed.
“Sir Leonard has always been sure that the murderer was a member of the family, Mrs Huntly, and now that he has settled on Mr Adam, no argument will change his mind,” Mr Popham said sadly. “I have remonstrated with him, and so has Squire Thornton, but he is quite immovable on the point. I am sure it was merely a footpad, some ruffian who just happened to be passing. No one at Wickstead would ever turn to murder, of that I am convinced, and I hope I know my flock well by now. There are one or two who are not as regular in their habits as one might wish, or are somewhat lax in the matter of tithes, but they are all honest, God-fearing folk at heart, every last one of them, and the Huntlys have always set the highest standards for their neighbours to follow. A shining example.”
“Oh yes, a shining example,” Mrs Popham said, her round face full of distress.
They trooped off to see Annie’s mother, the one to recite prayers over her, and the other to read to her, and Annie hoped rather than believed that such kindness would do her some good.
Mr Grey came as well, but was reassuring in his conviction that Mrs Dresden would emerge from her immobility in due course.
“It is a not unnatural response to a situation too overwhelming for a lady of your mother’s delicate sensibilities,” he said. “Do not alarm yourself unduly, Mrs Huntly. Your mother will be entirely herself again before too long. I will return this evening to see her settled for the night.”
“To dose her with laudanum, I suppose,” Annie said.
“It is a useful restorative,” he said mildly. “At least she will sleep well.”
“Except that when she wakes, she asks for her dead husband, and someone called Martha, of whom I have never heard.”
“Hmm. I shall reduce her dosage a little, perhaps, but it is still the best general remedy for illnesses of this nature, given her strong aversion to bleeding.”
“Have you much experience with illnesses of this nature, Mr Grey?”
He had the grace to look a touch chagrined. “It is a most unusual case. Do you wish to obtain the services of a different physician, Mrs Huntly? I can recommend a colleague who—”
“No, no. I meant no aspersion on your skill, I assure you. At least she is not suffering, but if only there were something one could do! ”
“Indeed, but time will cure her, of that you may be certain.”
Annie smiled and nodded and let him leave convinced of her faith in him. In a day or two, she would have a reply from Uncle Tom, and then she would have a better idea of how to proceed.
Cecilia arrived in a welter of bombazine and black feathers, for she seemed to feel that only full mourning adequately addressed the situation. In all the flurry of tears and hugs and rapid questions, she was somehow got upstairs and divested of cloak and bonnet, and
then back down again to the peacock chamber, still talking, where Sheffield was already laying out tea and macaroons.
She had brought her husband with her this time, and the vicar of Bursham St John turned out to be rather a surprise. Annie had grown up surrounded by clergymen who were uniformly gentle, spiritual souls, like her father. Even if not actually elderly, they had an old-fashioned air about them. Mr Elkington was not in the least old-fashioned or spiritual, being a large young man with a handsome countenance and a pleasingly proportioned figure. He had a decidedly fashionable air and the sort of panache that would not be out of place in London or Bath. The room seemed a little smaller when he was in it. When he spoke, which was not often, for his wife talked enough for both of them, his voice was well-modulated. Her mother would have responded to such a man at once, Annie realised, with a burst of sadness.
The rest of the day passed in masculine planning and legal discussions, and feminine tears, in neither of which Annie felt herself able to participate. As soon as she could after dinner, she escaped to her mother’s room, to read to her from one of her many books of sermons until Mr Grey came and administered her laudanum. Once her mother was asleep and the physician had departed, Annie made up her informal bed, settled down to watch her mother and promptly fell asleep herself.
~~~~~
The next day, her guests scattered on various undertakings. Captain Edgerton disappeared to investigate the river at various points downstream of the murder spot. The Elkingtons went off in the carriage with Benedict and Mr Willerton-Forbes to see Adam in Salisbury gaol, laden with various comestibles from Mrs Hewitt and several bottles of claret. He had very comfortable accommodation, Benedict had assured her, and was not at all downhearted. Even Edwin and Jerome were out, having obtained permission to examine Willow Place more thoroughly from the outside. Annie was not quite sure what they might learn from that, but she was rather glad to have the hunting room to herself for a while.
After dealing with a few letters, she began a record of all that had occurred before and after her husband’s death. She did not truly expect to discover some previously unsuspected clue to the murderer’s identity by this exercise, but Uncle Tom had always encouraged her to record her findings, and so it seemed natural to do so now, even for something as different from her usual reporting of simples and syrups, of quantities made up and improvements detected. However, she was constantly interrupted by one thing or another, by Mr Grey, or callers from the neighbourhood, and once by Squire Thornton to assure her that he had no thought of Adam’s guilt at all, but Sir Leonard was adamant it could be no other, and what could he do?
“You could tell him he is mistaken, Squire,” she said robustly. “I shall count it very much against you if you allow my poor cousin to appear at the Assizes for a murder he did not commit. Very much against you.”
And the Squire twisted his hat and stammered and mumbled, like a kitchen boy caught raiding the larder.
In the middle of the afternoon, Mrs Cumber came in.
“Beg pardon for interrupting you, madam, but Davy has permission from Mr Dewey to cut reeds at the river. He thought if you wished to go for your usual walk, he could accompany you, since the captain is so insistent on you not going out alone.”
“That is very thoughtful of Davy,” Annie said, surprised and pleased. After a whole day spent at her desk, with only brief interludes given over to visitors or looking in on her mother, the prospect of a walk in the fresh air was appealing. “Please tell him I will meet him at the garden door just as soon as I have fetched my bonnet.”
There was a cool breeze blowing, but not enough to deter Annie from her walk. She set off with determination, Davy loping along behind her with his basket. He was a fine, tall lad and his work in the garden had given him a well-muscled figure. It was no wonder he was already attracting the notice of girls from the village.
“How old are you now, Davy?” she said as they strode along the path through the pleasure grounds.
“Sixteen last month, madam,” he said.
“You would look well in livery. Would you like to help Sheffield and Billy in the dining room sometimes?”
“That’d be grand, madam! I’d like that, if you think I could do it right.”
She smiled encouragingly. “You are quick to learn, and keen to better yourself, I make no doubt. I will speak to Sheffield about it.”
“Thank you, madam. You’re very kind to me.” But he seemed almost embarrassed, as if unused to attention from the mistress of the house.
When they reached the park, Annie stopped. “Where do you want to cut your reeds, Davy? Do you have a particular spot in mind? I can find a place to sit anywhere nearby.”
“There’s a good patch just near that new seat, madam.”
“That would work very well, then. I can sit and contemplate the river, and you can cut your reeds. She must be a charming young lady, I think.”
Davy stumbled momentarily and dropped his basket. When he had picked it up, his face was bright red. How sensitive he was about his young lady! Annie was smitten with guilt.
“I should not tease you about her, Davy. I beg your pardon.”
“Who, madam?”
“Why, the young lady you mentioned, the one in the village who weaves baskets. Is that not the reason for all this reed-cutting?”
“Oh… oh, yes, madam. I’d forgot I told you about her.” He gave a sudden laugh, but she thought he was still uncomfortable with the subject, so she said no more.
When they came to the river, he said, “There! That’s a good patch, just there. I’ll get plenty from that.”
Annie stopped uncertainly. “The seat is out of sight from here. Perhaps I should just stay here with you. Captain Edgerton is most insistent that none of us should be alone.”
“It’s not far, madam, and you only need call me and I’ll come running.”
She hesitated. It was true that the seat was not far away, only around the next patch of bushes, in fact. It was absurd to imagine that a murderer would return a month later and be wandering the grounds at that precise moment. And yet… she could not afford to take risks, not now that she had a child to consider.
“Come with me to the seat,” she said impulsively to Davy. “Then you may leave me there while you cut your reeds.”
Obediently he rose, and walked beside her the short distance along the riverbank until the seat came into view. There was no one in sight and nothing at all untoward about the place, and Annie was immediately ashamed of her groundless fears. Sending Davy off to his task, she sat down on the seat and watched the river. The water was lower today, the current less obvious. A party of ducks floated past, and across the river two moorhens bobbed about. It was such a tranquil scene, yet she could not enjoy it, not when Adam was locked away in Salisbury gaol. Only two days ago, they had sat on that very seat talking of the future, kissing… Did the memory of that kiss warm his heart in his miserable cell, or did it make his confinement even harder to bear? She could not—
A sudden movement caught her eye, a flash of burgundy. Annie’s heart raced, and she jumped to her feet in sudden terror. But it was only a woman, expensively dressed in velvets and furs, walking along the riverside path. The stranger stopped abruptly, raising kid gloves to her throat.
“Oh, I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to startle you. Sit down again, won’t you?”
Her voice was neither well modulated nor educated, but she was as pretty a creature as Annie had ever seen, as small and dainty as a doll. She was not dressed in the first stare of fashion like Lavinia, but her clothes were well made, if unusual, her coat fitted with many pockets, just like a man’s redingote. The practical side of Annie’s nature thought it ingenious, and much more use than the tiny little reticule that women were supposed to carry. But there was nothing threatening about her, so Annie smiled.
“Have you walked out from Wickstead? I am afraid you have gone astray, for this is private land.”
“Oh, I know,
” she said, with a dimpled smile. “This is Willow Place, isn’t it? I’ve heard so much about it.” She came a little further along the path, so that she was only a few paces from the seat, then she turned to face the river. “It’s even prettier than I’d imagined. How lucky you are to live here.”
“I am,” Annie said cautiously. “Do you live in Wickstead?”
“No, no. I live a long way from here. A long way.” She laughed, a merry tinkle like a stream burbling over rocks. “I have a small garden, but nothing like this. I have chickens, too. Do you have chickens?”
“The gardener’s wife keeps chickens and ducks, I believe.”
“Oh, ducks too? Then you will have plenty of eggs, and meat as well, no doubt. How fortunate you are. I like a duck egg myself, lightly poached, although I am not over fond of the meat. Too much fat on a duck for my taste. And there is a gamekeeper here, too, I understand? So you will never be short of pheasant or partridge. I get some game occasionally from my neighbours, but it must be a fine thing to have your own.”
Annie was bemused by this artless chatter. Her mother, she knew, would have had a delicate way of depressing the pretensions of such a woman, who, despite her expensive clothes, was not gentry, but Annie had never acquired the knack of it. She had so recently risen to the ranks of landed gentry herself that she had not the heart to snub the stranger. Besides, it would be an amusing tale to tell Adam when he returned.
So when the woman in velvet turned and smiled at Annie and said, in her charming way, “May I sit for a while? I’d like to rest for a few minutes before I leave,” Annie smiled in return and sat down herself, gesturing to her unexpected visitor to sit too.
The woman sat beside her, a little nearer than was polite, but Annie said nothing. Close up, she was tiny, truly a doll-like woman, and a head shorter than Annie, at least.
“I see why you enjoy this view,” the woman said, for all the world as if she knew Annie intimately. “It’s very restful, isn’t it? The willows, the river flowing past, and that big house across the other side. Who lives there?”
The Apothecary (Silver Linings Mysteries Book 3) Page 25
