Now Alf’s question replaced the hymn as the words echoing round my head. I suppose I was waiting for a chance to talk to her alone and uninterrupted. As it was, the after-supper discussion circled predictably round the missing lord and the all-too-present trophies, all of which remained in the locked room. The question, increasingly urgent, was what we should do with them.
Samuel made a credible suggestion about the specimen box of hair. ‘Provided you make a signed affidavit, Harriet, as to where you found it and when, I propose we move it to the safe in my pantry. Perhaps you, Matthew, would accompany me. I should imagine we might need something to carry it in? Do we have any suggestions?’
‘Oh, I’ll bundle it in with the sheets,’ Harriet said. ‘And I’ll lock those in the lean-to outside the laundry.’
‘Not now,’ Beatrice said. ‘Not with her ladyship in the dining room tonight.’ She looked meaningfully at the clock.
Suppressing what I’m sure was a genteel oath, Samuel excused himself and left.
‘I’ll do it during breakfast tomorrow, when we know all the servants are together. We can count heads. If anyone is missing, I will have to abandon the project, however. But even when we have the … the material … locked up safely, what on earth do we do with it?’
‘Pass it on to the police, I suppose,’ I said naively.
‘To Elias!’
‘Ah. Indeed. And diligent though Sergeant Burrows appears to be, I’m not sure he would know what to do with it either. Or even, come to think of it, with the information that we have something that … It clearly incriminates someone, and to my mind that can only be his lordship.’
‘And it would give one of us – someone from the House or the estate – a motive for killing him. Someone whose sweetheart had been seduced, or, worse still, taken by force,’ Beatrice said.
All the blood seemed to drain from Harriet’s face. Before I knew it, I was pressing her head between her knees, calling to Beatrice for smelling salts. She was back in a trice.
‘Now, you take yourself off, Matthew. A whiff of this and a drop of brandy and she’ll be as right as ninepence, I promise you.’ The expression on her face did not match the confidence of her words, however.
For answer, I gathered her up in my arms. ‘Open the door to her chamber and I’ll lay her on the bed,’ I said, suiting the deed to my words. I stroked back her hair, gently kissing her forehead as I left her to Beatrice’s care. ‘I’ll be in my office or with Samuel waiting for news of how she does.’ Certainly I would not leave the building till I knew she had recovered.
I encountered Samuel on his way back from serving her ladyship. Seeing my face he ushered me straight into his sitting room, and had a decanter and tumbler in his hand. Yes, a drink was what I wanted more than anything else. No. I put the glass down untouched. What if I had to ride for Dr Page?
As if I would ever have to ride on such an errand! A finger on the staff bell would bring someone running more quickly than I could scribble an explanatory note.
‘Speak to me, man. Has she turned you down?’
‘She is … she is unwell, that’s all. Faint. Beatrice is with her.’
He patted my shoulder as if he was my uncle. ‘No one better. I’m sure she’ll be well in a trice. Drat! Why is her ladyship ringing for me at this hour?’ He straightened his tie, checked his hair in the mirror, and set off, wiping the scowl from his face as he opened the door. I followed on his heels. ‘I’ll be in my office,’ I told him, ‘lest I drink all that brandy.’
Fifteen minutes of prayer did very little to calm me, I am ashamed to confess. My father would have reassured me that even without my incoherent pleas the Almighty would know what I wanted, the simple news of Harriet’s return to good health. But I also wanted something more subtle, guidance on what to do once she was better; I could not bear to contemplate the possibility that she might not recover. At last I felt a little stronger, and I was actually seated with some appearance of calm when Beatrice tapped at my door and entered. She shut the door carefully behind her.
‘She is doing well,’ she said immediately. ‘I have tucked her into bed and pressed some brandy on her. She will be asleep soon. I would tell you not to worry only I expect you would laugh in my face if I offered such impossible advice.’
‘Might I see her?’
She looked at me with more compassion than I liked. ‘I think she would prefer you not to.’ She turned to the door.
‘Beatrice! This thing in her past that so worries her – I can scarcely frame what I fear it must be. But she fainted tonight when we were talking about seduction and rape. As if she could scarcely bear to hear the words. Did something terrible happen to her when she was a young woman?’
To my surprise she came and sat opposite me. ‘If it did, and I’m not saying it did, mind, what would people think of her? Think of the language Mr Pounceman used about little Maggie! However pure and blameless she’s been since … whatever it was … happened, folk think that the woman is always the one that has brought the man low.’ She snorted. ‘All the time I have known Harriet, she has never looked at another man. Not the way she looks at you. But … Matthew, I don’t think she’ll have you, not in the end. And – no, I shouldn’t say, but I’m going to, I am … I’m really worried she’ll do something amiss.’
‘To harm herself? My God! Beatrice, it sounds as if she’d prefer my room to my company, as the saying goes. Yes? So I’m going to do something – tell anyone who asks I’ve been called away on family business. Could you spare a couple of maids of all work, without Harriet knowing, of course, to clean and tidy my house? I hope to be having visitors before the week is out. I shall leave very early tomorrow, but I should be back by suppertime. If not, I want you to give her a note for me. I’ll write it before I leave and then … shall I slide it under your door?’
‘And give rise to even more gossip? Indeed you will not. Write it now, man, with all the feeling still bubbling away, instead of making a meal of it, as if you were writing a great novel.’ She folded her arms and leant back in the chair.
I did as I was told.
My dearest Harriet
My heart bled to see you so unwell. I wish I could talk to you but Beatrice fears you are not yet ready for visitors. I am called away on very urgent business, but hope and pray you will be able to speak to me when I return.
Believe me when I tell you that I love you with all my heart and will do so till my dying day.
Your devoted
Matthew
To my amazement Beatrice opened the note and read it. ‘Good lad,’ she said, giving me a hug, as if she was my sister. ‘Godspeed, Matthew, whatever your business tomorrow.’
XXII
Carter Joe drives away. He was kind, and talked to me about his pretty granddaughter.
I must not cry, must I?
Carter Joe left me by the front door, with its grand steps, and I am afraid I must walk up them and lift that huge brass knocker. But a girl not much older than me comes crunching across the gravel, and summons me with a wave of her arm. I am to follow her.
The kitchen is smaller than Cook’s – but this is Cook, too, a tiny woman with a face all wrinkled up like an apple saved till spring. She takes my face between her hands and kisses me on the forehead. She calls: a tall thin lady appears.
This must be her ladyship. I curtsy.
The thin lady laughs. ‘I am Mrs Cox, the housekeeper, child. Ooh, your poor hands are so cold. Come to the fire and Cook will find you some hot milk.’ She wants me to sit down! ‘And you will need a box for those treasures.’ She points to the package. ‘What’s inside?’
I kept it clasped to my chest the whole journey. I can hardly uncurl my hands. At last I can take off the string and the brown paper. There are four things, more than I have ever had in my life. I show her: a Bible; a Prayer Book; a book with marbled covers and nothing inside; a bundle of pencils, tied with more string.
She nods solemnly, but her eyes are still kin
d. ‘Put everything in your rush basket so you can carry it upstairs to your room.’ My room? My own room. But I have learned not to hope. ‘But hot milk first. And yes, one of Cook’s special cakes. Now, I have promised Mrs Baird I will teach you everything I know about housekeeping,’ she says. ‘This is not as large an establishment as the one you are used to, but the same principles apply whatever the house.’
TWENTY-THREE
I embarked on my rail journey back from Lichfield almost fully satisfied with what I had achieved – though the visit I had sought would not happen immediately, it was promised. However, the evening newspaper that I bought was full of an account of a grievous murder. A young man had been slain out of hand by a woman – stabbed over twenty times as he lay with her. She was now rightly on trial. It seemed the whole train was tutting in disgust. I was myself. I read further. This vile, foul harlot’s victim, an Oxford student, had been walking with a group of fellow-undergraduates who had encouraged him to befriend her. They had adjourned to a back alley, and intercourse had taken place. When it was over, she had produced a knife from her pocket and attacked him, with fatal results. What a foul crime. But I had missed one salient detail, had I not? The fallen woman – was a girl of eleven. She swore she had never been with a man before. Prosecuting counsel mocked the notion, as if it was normal for a child of that age to make a living from prostitution. The editorial stigmatized her as a vile Jezebel – yes, Mr Pounceman’s language.
All I could imagine was a little girl, raped for a rich young man’s pleasure, retaliating in the only way she knew. And almost certainly, without the very best of defence lawyers, she would hang.
I had walked to the estate station for the early train, and now strode back to my house, in such a fury that I noticed nothing of my surroundings. I believe I even forgot about Harriet. Still wearing my hat, I believe, I wrote an urgent letter to my cousin, the lawyer with the eye for a good contract: he must know criminal lawyers. Could he mobilize help for the child on trial? I would pay for anything necessary. Will stared at the envelope, dumbfounded by my insistence that it must reach the post tonight: he must ride into the village if necessary. The last collection was at nine o’clock.
Still flooded with energy, what might I do now? All I wanted to do was rush to the House and beg to see Harriet, but I had to accept the counsel Beatrice had left me in a short – and not well-spelt – note: Harriet was much better, but had agreed to spend another day in bed. It would be best to partake in my own house of a meal Beatrice had sent there. If Harriet asked, Beatrice would say my business had no doubt detained me.
I hoped her advice was good. What if she were somehow trying to split us apart? I had imagined once that she was developing a tendresse for me.
Heavens! I was thinking like a lovelorn youth, an arrogant one to boot. I burned with shame for even thinking like a foolish cad. I only had to look around my house. Beatrice had been as good as her word: whoever she had sent had made the whole place gleam, from the back kitchen to the top corridor no one ever used. Clean linen graced all the beds, with fresh-cut lavender hung in bunches from the curtains and laid in pretty sprays on all the pillows. The windows, newly-cleaned, had been left ajar: since clouds were building, hinting at rain, I closed most of them, but spent some time in my own bedchamber, gazing out on the scene before me, elbows resting on the window sill, and my head in my hands.
My supper was laid on a table in the morning room. I lit the lamps, forgetting to draw the curtains. Soon a big moth – when I was a child my nurse had called it a bob-howler and I couldn’t recall ever having learnt the proper name – tried to immolate itself in the flame. I caught it, clasping it loosely in my cupped hands, and released it, closing the window firmly behind it and then drawing the curtains lest it start bringing reinforcements to try again.
It did not take me long to finish my supper; I could not recall afterwards what I had eaten. I found it impossible to concentrate on reading the latest novel by George Eliot – I was sure on another occasion I would be entranced by it, but not tonight. Would I be able to discuss it one day with Harriet? It was she who had recommended it after all.
It was much too early to retire for the night.
After a while staring at nothing, I headed for my study, reached for a sheaf of paper, and sharpened some pencils. There must be some way of collating the random pieces of information we had gathered and making coherent sense. But if there was, I could not find it, and retired to bed, seeking consolation, as my parents would have suggested, in the Bible and in prayer.
My heart was still heavy the following morning after an uneasy night’s sleep. How had Harriet fared? Probably worse than I. And I was not there to comfort her – had no right to be. But handwringing would get me nowhere. I had work to do and responsibilities to assume.
The overnight rain having cleared, I walked up to the House, knowing that even if my appeal to my cousin would not affect the Oxford child’s fate I had done something. Then I forced myself to start my working day, by simply looking around me. Yes, I was pleased with what I saw of the estate. The lake was almost ready for his lordship’s pleasure boats to row on – all the foul silt had now been tipped out of sight and, more important, out of smell. Where the grass had been damaged by the carts transporting the muck, it was now growing nicely again, with only the deeper ruts still showing. The storm-damaged trees were being cut back. Scaffolding on the roof showed that progress was being made there. Somewhere on the far edge of the estate someone was burning rubbish. Gardeners were trimming the edges of the beds; one was obviously gathering flowers for the House. Two trugs were already overburdened. Traditionally the lady of the house would arrange them; would her ladyship bestir herself? If she declined, would Harriet be well enough to add them to her other duties?
As I got within sight of the House a lad hurtled towards me, so out of breath from his exertion that it was a full minute before he could gabble words about gentlemen one of whom wasn’t a gentleman but he shouldn’t say that … Cut to its core, the message was that Sergeant Burrows and Elias were waiting for me in the entrance hall. At least they would be thoroughly intimidated by the time Thatcher escorted them to my office.
I took care to check my attire before dispatching Thatcher. Then I sent him off to fetch us tea. I was tempted to check that he had closed the door firmly but told myself that the time to ensure privacy was when I suspected that things other than polite preliminaries were being said.
At last, tea cups in their hands, the officers leant forward as if they too wanted to ensure confidentiality.
‘It’s about her ladyship, Mr Rowsley,’ Sergeant Burrows said in a stage whisper.
I raised a hand, and, treading quietly, opened the study door. ‘Thatcher, when I want you I will ring for you. There is no need for you to wait there.’
His back, as he imitated Samuel’s stately gait down the corridor, told me he was much offended.
I returned to the far side of my desk, a move which seemed to subdue my visitors, an effect which deepened as I put paper and pencil before me. ‘Her ladyship,’ I prompted.
‘Is she … all there?’ Burrows touched his forehead.
‘You would have to ask her medical man, Dr Page,’ I said. ‘I am so little acquainted with her ladyship I cannot offer an opinion either way.’
‘And where would we find this Dr Page?’
‘I’m sure Elias can help. It’s a pleasant stroll on a day like this. He’s had to treat a cricket injury or two, hasn’t he, Elias?’
‘Put my shoulder back in after I dislocated it,’ he said.
Burrows looked at me sharply. ‘You mix with the villagers?’
‘I am proud to call some of them teammates, and one or two my friends.’
‘What about your employees, here on the estate: how well would you say you know them?’
I should have seen this coming. ‘Some very well. Others less so.’
‘Would you know any of them well enough to think they m
ight have murdered his lordship?’
‘What?’ I was on my feet. ‘He is dead and you have not yet told me?’
‘I didn’t say he was, and I can’t say he isn’t. There’s still no sign of him, Mr Rowsley. And I can tell you, in confidence, that having left Nutsall Place he did not arrive at Kemberly House, where Lord Palfrey was expecting him.’
‘Neither is very close to where his vehicle was found,’ Elias pointed out.
‘But then, if one were minded,’ I mused, ‘one might kill – or kidnap! – his lordship and drive off in the vehicle before disposing of it. Kill or kidnap Luke too, of course.’
Burrows raised a finger. ‘Assuming Luke – that would be Luke Hargreaves? – assuming he wasn’t the killer or kidnapper.’
Considering that I had been floating the possibility only the previous day, I believe I simulated loyal anger quite well. ‘Luke? A good employee, with a very bright future.’ And a father with a prize sow capable of killing and eating a man. ‘And how would he dispose of not just his employer but a quantity of luggage, too?’ The irony of this conversation was not lost on me. I hoped Alf would not have to endure a similar one. ‘Surely this argues …’ I nearly said, collusion. After what dear Harriet had found, it might well be that others from the estate were involved. I thought of the neat beanrows flourishing in cottage gardens – a man’s body would fit neatly under the canes. Of the huge piles of sludge that might cover even four fine horses. ‘Surely this argues that his lordship and his valet were attacked by a gang – of horse thieves, perhaps, since his lordship always bought the very best team. Have the horses been traced?’
‘The horses – well, I suppose a gang of gypsies could make them vanish into thin air. Just like that!’ he snapped his fingers.
‘Exactly. And they’d turn up at a horse fair a different colour and no questions asked or answered.’ Should I float the idea of fences and valises? On the whole I thought not. But there were other things that in all conscience they ought to know – the trophies. Since Harriet was unwell, they were presumably exactly where she’d left them. Presumably. But what if, having made an undertaking, she insisted on keeping her word, illness or no? I must simply keep quiet until I had spoken to her, even if technically I was concealing evidence. Possible evidence. I would simply have to speak to her.
The Wages of Sin Page 18
