‘And I honour you for it,’ Beatrice declared. ‘Kicking a hedgehog, indeed … I think we could all do with another cup of tea, don’t you?’ She bustled off.
‘Can we shake hands and remain the friends we are?’ I asked Samuel.
He hesitated – a moment too long, I feared. But Harriet stepped forward and put our hands together.
I knew that something of immense importance was happening, and that anything that followed would be bathos. If only I could be alone with her, for even a few minutes.
Beatrice opened the door, holding it for the maid carrying the tea tray, which she set on the table. She bobbed her way out.
‘Would you all excuse me for a moment?’ I was about to retrieve the little gifts from my office in the hope that they would lighten the mood. But even as I stood, we heard raised voices outside.
The door flew open.
XXVI
I am running and jumping and throwing – no, bowling! – a ball. Master Augustus is laughing too. He is very serious when he bats and I bowl. It is very important he learns to bat well, which means I have to bowl well. Sometimes he hits the ball a long way away. Twice I catch it. Twice I hit the pieces of wood called wickets.
The sun shines in the bluest of skies. The grass we crush as we run and jump smells sweet. I am laughing.
Is this what they call happiness?
TWENTY-SEVEN
‘We have found Luke Hargreaves!’ Sergeant Burrows declared.
‘At least we think we have,’ Elias added quietly.
‘And we’d like someone to come and identify him,’ Burrows continued, as if ignoring the chirp of a bird.
‘Now? On the wettest Saturday afternoon you’re likely to see?’ Beatrice asked. ‘If the poor man’s dead, won’t Monday do?’
‘This is a murder enquiry,’ Burrows said, adding, insultingly, ‘in case you hadn’t realized it, miss. Mr Bowman?’
Samuel and I exchanged a glance. ‘Mr Bowman will soon be tied up with his duties here,’ I said. ‘If Alf, Luke’s father, can’t do it, which I think he would want to do, I can take Mr Bowman’s place.’
‘But you’ve only been working here five minutes, haven’t you, sir? You’re hardly the man to do it.’ The news seemed truly to have gone to Burrows’s head.
‘If it’s length of acquaintance you need, I have known Luke since he was as a boy,’ Harriet said, getting to her feet.
Burrows recoiled. ‘It’s not woman’s work. Look, we’ll take his father and you, Mr Rowsley, if that’s all right. Get your hat, then: we’re off to Wellington.’
The journey was long, uncomfortable and pointless: the corpse laid out before us was not Luke. It was nothing even like Luke – twenty years older and by the length of his hair and fingernails a gentleman of the road.
Alf was more emotional after the examination than before. He had managed a truly heroic stoicism on our outward journey, but spent the jolting cold gloom of our return alternately fulminating about the policemen’s folly and bemoaning the fact that his son was still missing. I could only agree with both sentiments, and wished we had been able to express them to Burrows – clearly Elias had never wanted us to embark on such a fool’s errand. But the policemen had remained in Wellington.
Though it was after ten when the cab dropped us back at my house, I made Alf wait a moment or two – the cab too. I knew I would have a more than adequate collation waiting for me on my dining table: Beatrice and Will between them would have seen to that. Protocol – and Alf’s own need to tell his wife the news – meant I could not ask him to join me as I ate, but I could provide him with a basket of food for his own late supper.
I waved him off, travelling, as he said with a wry smile, like royalty.
I didn’t feel like smiling. I felt soiled by the whole experience. Soiled – and enraged to the point where I knew only one remedy for my fury. Scribbling a note to bring my friends up to date, I ran up to the House to leave it with the night-duty footman and then ran back again, by then soaked to the skin. Why not get wetter still and wash away my anger? I stripped in the scullery and dowsed myself under the pump in the yard.
What a vile end to such an interesting day. It didn’t end there, of course: my sleep was riven with nightmares of Maggie’s face atop the mortal remains of the poor tramp, time and time again. And then it got worse. It was Harriet’s face I saw.
At least dawn was now breaking, and the birds were in full voice. Throwing open my window I breathed deeply. With Mr Pounceman still safely on his sick-bed, perhaps I could persuade Harriet to walk to church with me – or perhaps, simply, to walk, though clinging, penetrating drizzle had replaced the rain.
It was only as I went down to my study that I found a note on the salver Will liked to use, part of his aspiration to higher things, no doubt. It was from Marty, enclosing another, this one from Ianto. The news, said the minister, was bad. None of his fellow pastors had seen Maggie except one, a fellow Welshman as it happened, whose ministry was in a nearby village. He had tried to speak to a country girl obviously near her time but when he started to question her she had slipped into an alley and he had lost her. Ianto would keep me informed.
It was too early to go up to the House. Even assuming my friends were up and about, the servants’ hall would be full of purposeful chaos. The servants whom Harriet had granted days off – most of them, with only her ladyship in residence – would be desperate to have their breakfast and leave. The others, knowing it was their turn the next week, were buzzing round preparing the food betimes. So I sat down to write to my parents, telling them, belatedly, of my unofficial and still secret engagement and asking their blessing. Since I had already asked them to support and comfort Harriet in whatever her secret trouble might be, I had no doubt of their delight and enthusiasm. I walked down to the village myself to post the letter, and another to Mark, thanking him and urging him on.
On my way back I was accosted by Dr Page, who slowed the trap to a halt and offered me a lift to Thorncroft House.
‘The House?’ I repeated in panic, thinking of only one person.
‘Yes, her ladyship has had one of her turns.’
‘It sounds as if these are a regular event. But I don’t recall her having any illness beyond extreme bad temper – we are speaking confidentially here, aren’t we, Page? – since I arrived.’
‘You sum it up very succinctly. In a child I would call them tantrums, and prescribe a day of bread and water to cool the patient. In her – she used to have them when his late lordship wouldn’t accede to one of her demands. After his death, she found their son malleable – as I am sure you have. But now I see I must keep an eye on her – perhaps daily – as something seems to have triggered another attack.’
‘The word you use is interesting. Attack. Think about Hortense – my God!’
He raised a warning finger. ‘Who declined to say who had hurt her, of course.’
‘Of course. Has her ladyship hurt anyone?’
‘Don’t worry: your Mrs Faulkner was not involved. Not at the start, at least. Bowman was the victim. A crystal vase to the face. He looks as if he’s taken part in a prize-fight.’
I was desperate to blurt out an enquiry about Harriet – not involved at the start, at least – could mean anything. But I managed to ask, ‘How serious are his injuries? On a level with Hortense’s?’
‘No fractures, I think. But he’s not a young man, and he will heal more slowly. Fortunately other servants were at hand to rescue him. Mrs Faulkner sent for me straight away; she’d already procured steak and applied it to the worst of the swelling.’
‘And – you said she was involved with her ladyship too?’ I could not keep the anxiety from my voice.
‘She insisted that she should keep an eye on things when young Florrie put her ladyship to bed, on my instructions. I believe her presence was not welcome, and even from the corridor where I waited I could hear harsh words being said. I have to say that your name was mentioned. And I underst
and that congratulations are in order.’
‘Page – could you stop just one moment? What did you say just then?’
‘Whoa! To both of you, man and horse. Her ladyship was making a great song and dance about seeing the two of you walking together; Mrs Faulkner retorted that there was a lot to talk about in the running of an estate and house like this, so it was natural for the two of you to converse whenever you ran into each other. “Well, I forbid it!” her ladyship says. “You are not to speak to him at all. It’s a bad example to the other ser-vants.” “With due respect,” says Mrs Faulkner, “Mr Rowsley is not a servant. And if even a servant woman may not speak to her affianced husband I do not know to whom she may speak!” Do you know, I applauded – from the safety of the corridor. To make such a statement and in such grammatically correct form, too. And, I confess, for I hope you are not a jealous man, Rowsley, I offered her my felicitations with a fraternal kiss as she emerged, quite magnificent in her anger.’
I was so overcome I could barely speak. ‘All I ask,’ I said, with a shaky laugh, ‘is a congratulatory handshake, my friend. I am the happiest man on earth.’
He obliged, with great warmth and vigour. ‘But you are one in a quandary. How can Mrs Faulkner possibly stay on at the House? I should imagine a woman in her position must be given notice, or payment in lieu.’
I laughed. ‘And I have to be the one to authorize it! But I suspect she will want to work on, to hand over to her replacement. In a building as big as the House, it is quite possible to avoid running into someone you wish to avoid. I’ve not seen hide or hair of her ladyship for a few days now, and not because I was skulking in the shadows. On the other hand, Samuel is in an even trickier position, as is Mrs Arden. I’m sorry: I shouldn’t—’
‘Don’t worry: I gather their futures are linked, one might say. Mrs Arden was very much in evidence last night, though it was officially Mrs Faulkner who sat with him through the night, for propriety’s sake. Where were you, by the way? I quite expected to see you there, talking control.’
‘With my dear Harriet there, there was no need for anyone else to take the reins. No, I was on a wild-goose chase with Alf Hargreaves, making it plain to the police that a five-foot-six elderly tramp was never going to be confused with Luke, six foot in his socks if he’s an inch. Page, you have your finger on the village pulse in more than one way: what is the consensus about Luke and his lordship amongst your patients?’
He set the reluctant horse slowly in motion. ‘There isn’t one. Theories abound, as I’m sure you know. And some people are more than happy to point an accusing finger at a neighbour they’ve fallen out with. Oh, they all think both men are dead – or that his lordship, thinking Luke knew too much about his goings on, has killed Luke. Or that Luke, disgusted by his employer’s goings on, has killed him to prevent more harm being done. One man has fled abroad. Or both have. Or both have been kidnapped and are being held to ransom by a murderous gang of gypsies. And you must have a theory too?’
‘You’ve summed up mine. Most of them. Actually, I wouldn’t rule out ordinary robbery as a motive, and maybe murder, if the two men fought back, as I’d expect them to.’ The less said about all the possible burial sites on the estate the better, not to mention all the reasons for local men and women alike to want to get rid of their landlord. ‘Now, as to her ladyship – is she fit to stay where she is, or does she need … more specialized facilities?’
‘She’s not ready to be carted off to a lunatic asylum, if that’s what you’re asking. But I have told Mrs Faulkner I think a nurse or two should be discreetly added to the staff.’
‘And poor Samuel? He is the most loyal, most devoted man!’
‘He is undoubtedly safe in the hands of those most capable women. I have removed the steak from his face, and asked instead for pure clean ice – and bother any fancy ice cream desserts that that puts at risk. He declines any laudanum, by the way: all three blame her ladyship’s troubles on it, though I have assured them that the drug calms and does not excite.’
Even so early a stable boy was at hand to deal with the horse and trap, and for no more than a shilling or so a week. I flipped him a sixpence as I walked with Page through the servants’ entrance. We were greeted by a group of pale kitchen- and housemaids; some tears had obviously been shed. But Page breezed through them, entering Samuel’s room with the most cursory of nods. Beatrice was now sitting with Samuel, bathing his poor swollen face with a bowl of iced water.
‘I can’t stop him talking, doctor,’ she said, getting up to curtsy. I took her hand, gathering her to me as if she were my sister. ‘Giving instructions about the day’s tasks.’
‘Lucid instructions?’ Page asked softly.
She nodded. I felt a rush of relief.
Page took her place on the chair by the bed, taking Samuel’s pulse, and gently touching the bruises. ‘Excellent – better out than in,’ he declared breezily, ‘and your pulse is much calmer and more regular. But I’ll not have you worrying about what you should be doing, my old friend: a day of calm, lying in the dark for you. Sips of tea, a nibble of toast dipped in the tea if you get hungry. I’m sure your friends will keep you company by reading the Bible to you. Or some particularly soporific sermons. Yes, sleep is the best healer. And I will see if it’s doing its job this evening.’ He turned to Beatrice. ‘But you nurses must get your sleep too. Watch in turns. Rowsley here can take a turn too, if he’s minded. Now, I have a baby on its way, so I’ll wish you all good day.’
Beatrice took her place again immediately. I escorted Page out into the corridor. He touched his finger to his lips.
Harriet intercepted us: we could step into the Room if we wanted privacy. I ushered her in too, before closing the door. ‘Well?’
‘As I told you, Rowsley, age is against him. But I believe if you tell someone they will get better, they will believe you. So no hushed tones, no creeping around with funereal faces.’
‘I quite understand. But what I don’t understand, Page, is how her ladyship can get away with doing that to one of her most devoted retainers.’
‘Assuming we summon the police in the form of that hayseed Elias – what would he do? What could he do? Would Bowman ever testify against her?’
Harriet snorted with laughter. ‘And her ladyship would make mincemeat of poor Elias if he even tried to speak to her. In any case, Matthew, even assuming there was a chance of justice, wouldn’t it have to be at the hands of her peers? In the House of Lords?’
Page laughed. ‘I’ll leave you two lovers to discuss the finer points of law, shall I? Summon me if there’s any sign of change in my patient. I shall be with Mrs Rivers down by the church – but I can’t imagine I’ll be there long. Pods quickly, she does.’
My fiancée and I found something other than the law to discuss.
XXVII
Six short days we have, laughing, playing with the bat and ball. But then Master Augustus’ sister is well enough to travel, and I must go back to my feather duster. Mrs Cox says it will not do for me to cry when he goes; I think someone has told him the same thing. But I can see tears in his eyes, as I curtsy my farewell. Awkwardly he shakes my hand, folding my fingers over my palm. ‘When I am grown up, you … you must come and be my housekeeper,’ he says in a rush. ‘Please.’ Quickly he taps my clasped hand. ‘Buy some books!’
I know I mustn’t call him Gussie in front of his mama. ‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’ I curtsy again and back away from the barouche in which he is to travel. I stand with the other servants to wave. The barouche is already moving when he calls, ‘And this is for you too! One-handed, Harry!’
So I obey. With my left hand. The ball is mine. Mine. I smile and wave even harder. ‘Goodbye, Gussie!’
The two golden guineas Gussie put into my right hand will go into my box. And so will what I will treasure even more: the ball I caught.
TWENTY-EIGHT
With much reluctance, Harriet and Beatrice went to Morning Service, acceptin
g that it would be good for them to get some fresh air, while I sat with Samuel as he dozed, reading to him from his Prayer Book. From time to time I would check his pulse, and apply more iced water to his poor bruises. When he roused, he sipped a little tea from an invalid feeding cup, and managed a painful smile. Suddenly he put a finger and thumb into his mouth, grimaced, and flourished a tooth, its root still bloody. ‘Like Dr Page said, better out than in,’ he mouthed. I found a rag for him to bite on to stem the blood, not that there was much. On impulse I poured a tot of brandy, telling him on pain of death – mine, at the hands of Beatrice – if he drank any. It was merely mouthwash, and must be spat out. ‘Seems a waste – but I’m sure you’re right.’
His docility alarmed me. But I could scarcely consider it grounds for summoning Page.
He was asleep when Harriet and Beatrice returned, flushed after their brisk walk in what was now watery sunshine, but opened his eyes and raised a hand – even that was bruised – in greeting.
‘I fancy his breathing is more even,’ I said quietly. ‘But he is not the man he was, are you, my friend?’ I showed them the tooth, wrapped in a beautifully laundered handkerchief. Beatrice seized the little bundle, as if it was a gift.
‘Give me your bonnet, Beatrice, and I will bring you your tea in here,’ Harriet said, with quiet authority. She nodded quietly when I offered to assist.
There was no need, of course, for either of us to do such a mundane task as boiling a kettle and pouring water on to tea leaves. But in the quiet of the kitchen – the young men and women were still dawdling back from church – it was good to feel the ease of each other’s company.
‘How is he?’ she asked quietly. ‘Really?’
The Wages of Sin Page 21
