The Lawrence Harpham Boxset

by Jacqueline Beard

  With an overwhelming feeling of resignation, he returned to the basement and cradled Violet in his arms. She leaned into him shivering, gazing fearfully as the fire raged above. He watched the flames with her, no longer afraid. It was his destiny, and he should have been prepared. Lawrence observed the flames with quiet acceptance, as thick plumes of smoke descended into the basement. They started choking, gasping for air, and he held onto Violet as she succumbed to the smoke. An image seemed to step from the flames, and Catherine appeared. As the darkness descended, Lawrence reached for her.

  Chapter 37

  Arrest

  He was choking again, coughing, retching - the smell of ammonia permeating his nostrils. He coughed one more time, opened his eyes and looked around, to find that he was in his bedroom at The Vicarage. Doctor Taylor stood nearby, screwing the lid onto a bottle.

  "Sorry, old man," he said. "Smelling salts. I would have preferred you to come around naturally, but you were taking your time about it."

  "The fire, Violet…" said Lawrence.

  "Violet is well," said Doctor Taylor. "They found you in time."

  "Thank goodness," said Lawrence. "I thought she was dead."

  "She wasn't far off. Any longer and she'd have succumbed to smoke inhalation," said the Doctor, "as you almost did."

  "How did we get out of there?" asked Lawrence.

  "All in good time," said Andrew Taylor.

  "Tell me," Lawrence demanded. "We are still in danger. I must speak to Violet."

  "She is still fragile," said Doctor Taylor.

  "Please," begged Lawrence. "I must see her."

  "Very well," Taylor conceded. "But no more than five minutes. Before you do, the hero of the hour is keen to check whether you are still alive."

  "Hero? Who?" asked Lawrence.

  "Michael," replied the Doctor. "Luckily, he was in the garden and saw flames coming from the storeroom. He managed to force the door open in the nick of time. I dread to think what would have happened, if he hadn't shown the presence of mind to tip the water barrel over and extinguish the fire."

  Doctor Taylor opened Lawrence's door and beckoned Michael in.

  "I owe you my life, it seems," said Lawrence. "Thanking you doesn't seem enough."

  The tips of Michael's ears turned pink. "It was nothing," he said.

  "Have you seen Violet?"

  "Yes, she is in good shape, considering how close she came to not being here at all."

  "It wasn't an accident, Michael. Do you know who tried to kill us?"

  "I'll let Violet tell you that," said Michael, "but there is nothing to fear. Inspector Draper has made an arrest."

  The door swung open, and Doctor Taylor reappeared, pushing Violet in a bath chair which looked suspiciously like the one belonging to Mrs Harris.

  "Ten minutes and not a moment longer," he commanded.

  Violet was pale and much thinner than he remembered. Her eyes were red-rimmed and filled with unshed tears.

  "Are you up to this?" asked Lawrence gently.

  "I want to talk about it," she said, "but it is difficult. There has been another victim, unintended I am sure, but another sad and unsettling death."

  "Who?" asked Lawrence.

  Violet bit her lip trying to control herself as a tear tracked down her cheek. "Mrs Harris died alone in the drawing-room, while they were rescuing us," she said. "Doctor Taylor thinks she suffered a heart attack."

  Lawrence took her hand. "I am so very sorry," he said. "Here." He produced a handkerchief which Violet used to dab her eyes.

  He waited while she composed herself, and eventually, she looked up and spoke. "I suppose you are wondering where I went?" she asked.

  "I think I know," said Lawrence. "You returned the shawl."

  She nodded. "I knew I couldn't help with any of the research, but I could find a few minutes to run the shawl back, so that's what I did. Hannah wasn’t in her parlour, so I took the shawl to her room, and I saw the parish register lying open on her dressing table. I didn't know it was missing at that stage and couldn't understand why it would be there it at all. Then, when I went back downstairs, I saw an embroidered family tree hanging on the wall, and all became clear."

  "I saw it too," said Lawrence, "but I hardly noticed it and only read the names, Charles and Christian. It wasn't until I left that I realised I'd seen the names before. That's why I ended up in the basement. I was looking for the old Parish Register because I couldn't find your notes."

  Violet nodded. "I examined the picture because the embroidery was beautiful, and I admired it. In doing so, I had a close look at the entire tree. We were only missing one tiny piece of information, in the end, which you may have known by then, but I didn't. Sarah Fayers married John Chittock, and they had a daughter who had an illegitimate daughter of her own. She was Hannah Chittock and became Hannah Roper by marriage. Faith Mills was at the top of the tree and Hannah at the bottom. There was a direct line of descent between the Fressingfield Witch and Hannah through Faith's daughter Honor."

  "I should have known," exclaimed Lawrence. "I call myself a detective, then miss the obvious. I saw Hannah laying flowers in the churchyard and noticed the inscription on the gravestone. Even then, I had the strangest feeling that the Chittock surname was familiar, and of course, it was."

  "At least you are both safe," Michael interjected.

  "Thanks to you," said Violet. "We have both made silly mistakes. Lawrence should have known better than to visit the basement alone, and I shouldn't have gone to Hannah's room without telling somebody. I expect I would have been safe if I'd stayed in the parlour, but Hannah returned unexpectedly and caught me examining the tree. She must have hit me on the head, and I can't remember anything until much later. I have a vague recollection of walking the streets of Fressingfield with Hannah clutching my arm and telling me I was cursed. I couldn't stand up straight, and my head was woolly. I couldn't get away from her."

  "She must have drugged you," said Lawrence. "It sounds far worse than a concussion."

  "She worked in the right place to do it," Violet replied.

  The door opened. "Your ten minutes are up," said Doctor Taylor.

  "But we've hardly started," Lawrence complained.

  "Too bad. That is the end of it for today. You both need bed rest. Besides, Inspector Draper is here to see you, which takes up another ten minutes of your time. Violet, please return to your room and rest."

  Michael wheeled Violet away, and Inspector Draper took her place, sitting on the chair next to Lawrence's bed.

  "I thought I told you to stay out of trouble," he said amiably.

  "I tried to," said Lawrence. "I was only looking for Violet."

  "You should have come to me," said the Inspector. "I could have helped."

  "In hindsight, I wish I had," Lawrence admitted. "A fire very nearly killed me for the second time in my life."

  "Well, you're safe now," said the Inspector. "But I would appreciate some help in understanding what happened here, and why. Would you care to fill me in?"

  "I can help with some of it," said Lawrence, "it is a matter of lineage, but why it has all come to a head now, escapes me too."

  "I was afraid you would say that," said the Inspector. "I can't get anything out of Mrs Roper. Her mind has gone. She's been raving about witches and crows and rapes and murders. It is all very nasty. Doctor Taylor has examined her and will recommend committal to an asylum, at least in the short term. He wants to act quickly, and I need to tie up this case which could be tricky if her condition prevents further questioning."

  "Let me speak to her," said Lawrence. "I know her ancestry. Her state of mind has something to do with her forebears, and I may be able to get her to talk about them."

  "It’s a somewhat irregular approach," said the Inspector, "but I've never been one for playing by the rules. Can we do it now?"

  "I'm not supposed to leave this room by doctor's orders," said Lawrence, "but I'm not one for playing by the rules eit
her. Watch the door, and I'll get dressed."

  Inspector Draper loitered outside, watching for signs of the Doctor. He gave Lawrence five minutes to dress then tapped at the door to indicate that the coast was clear. The two men descended the stairs and slipped into the hallway. Michael watched them from the morning room, standing in full view. Inspector Draper raised his finger to his lips and winked, and Michael smiled and turned away.

  Lawrence accompanied the Inspector to the Police House where Hannah was in the custody of Police Constable Allen Chapman. He greeted Lawrence warmly and shook his hand, noting the clammy grip. Lawrence did not feel well. His head was pounding, and he hoped he wouldn't pass out. Constable Chapman noticed his pallor and offered a glass of water which Lawrence readily accepted.

  "Ready, then?" asked the Inspector. Lawrence nodded and followed Chapman towards a securely padlocked room. The policeman inserted the key and drew the bolt. When the door opened, he saw Hannah perched on the edge of an unmade bed muttering to herself.

  Lawrence pulled up a wooden chair beside her. "Hello, Hannah," he said.

  "Hello, my dear," she replied. "You have made them angry."

  "Who?" he asked gently.

  "The ancestors," she replied.

  Chapter 38

  All Becomes Clear

  Half an hour with Hannah was all that it took for Lawrence to understand what had happened in her tortured mind. He returned to the house invigorated, but Doctor Taylor rebuked him and refused access to Violet. It was not until the following day that the Doctor relented and allowed them to meet again. Violet was still immobile, and Doctor Taylor helped her down the stairs and wheeled her into the morning room where Lawrence was waiting.

  "No escaping today," he said sternly, as he left the room.

  "How are you?" asked Lawrence.

  "Much better," said Violet. "If only I could walk."

  "I wondered why you were in the bath chair," said Lawrence.

  "It is only temporary. I sprained my ankle when Hannah pushed me down the stairs."

  "It could have been so much worse." Lawrence shuddered. He was about to continue when the door opened, and Loveday walked in.

  "Oh, you are not alone," she said, scowling towards Violet. "I came to say goodbye."

  "Where are you going?" asked Lawrence.

  "Back to India, to see my people," she replied. "I told you that weeks ago."

  "I thought you had an understanding with Doctor Taylor," said Lawrence.

  "I never said any such thing," said Loveday. "I don't know where you got that idea from."

  Lawrence remembered the passionate kiss that she'd shared with Doctor Taylor in the Churchyard. He had assumed that they were courting. Perhaps that wasn't the way romance happened these days. The age difference between himself and Loveday suddenly seemed insurmountable.

  He stood up and kissed her hand. "Have a pleasant journey," he said.

  Violet smiled. "Bon voyage."

  Lawrence glanced at her. He could be imagining it, but she looked self-satisfied, almost smug.

  Loveday blew a kiss towards Lawrence, waved, and left the room.

  As Lawrence watched the door swing shut, he wondered whether he would miss her, but knew that any sadness he felt today would have vanished by tomorrow. He had no attachment to Loveday, real or imagined.

  He turned towards Violet. She seemed smaller, frailer since the accident, but her eyes sparkled with curiosity, and she was eager for information.

  "I still don't know why Hannah Roper did it, Lawrence. It makes no sense."

  "It does in a way," said Lawrence. "There is a curious logic to it, once you realise that Hannah Roper is a direct descendant of Faith Mills."

  "Then I suppose it is about vengeance."

  "Yes, when they hung Faith as a witch, her daughter vowed that she would find a way to punish those who had betrayed her mother. It so happened that the hanging occurred in the middle of a storm. A crow was struck by lightning, fell from the sky, and landed by the executioner. Honor Mills took it for a sign, and it became her unofficial family crest. Her illegitimate son married and had children of his own. She lived for many years and was influential over her grandchildren and their children even though she despised her son. She passed the story on, encouraging them to seek their revenge on anyone connected to the Witch Trials."

  "Not an easy task," said Violet. "How did they know who to punish."

  "That is the point," said Lawrence, "they didn't. There is no evidence that the descendants of Honor Mills avenged anyone. After all this time, it would be difficult to find those responsible even with the help of written records. In any case, who would they choose? The descendants of the vicar? The villagers who stood by and did nothing? The executioner? There were so many people involved in Faith Mill's hanging that punishing one individual would be almost impossible. Hannah decided instead that she would take vengeance against those who had wronged her personally."

  "Had she been wronged?" asked Violet. "If she was, I never heard it."

  "She thought she was," replied Lawrence, "though others would see it as an unfortunate accident."

  "By whom?"

  "By Jonathan Carter and George Corbyn," Lawrence replied.

  "I can't imagine how."

  "Neither could I until I spoke to Hannah yesterday," said Lawrence. "She was surprisingly lucid considering her mind has gone, and she will soon be admitted to the asylum. You may know that her husband, Harry Roper, died the same year as Harriet Corbyn. He fell out of a cart. A less well-known fact is who was held responsible. The horse that pulled the cart was young and skittish. Harry asked Jonathan Carter to hold it still while he dismounted. George Corbyn happened to be passing on his way back from the Swan, somewhat the worse for wear. He started an argument with Jonathan Carter, who was momentarily distracted and let go of the reins. The horse was spooked, reared up and threw Harry Roper to the ground. He hit his head on a rock and died. Hannah was distraught, as you can imagine. She had no children and Harry was her life. She seemed to recover in time, but it destroyed her sanity. She began hearing voices and plotting her revenge."

  "Did Hannah kill Jonathan Carter?" asked Violet.

  "Yes, she did. Not only did she kill him, but she killed his sister too. Then, she had an enormous stroke of luck. Henry Riches died a natural death, and George Corbyn asked Hannah's friend, Mary Riches, to marry him. Back then, Mary was not unpopular with the villagers. She was the unofficial wise woman, well-versed in country lore. She was trusted to cure minor ailments for those who could not afford the services of a doctor."

  "Not a witch?"

  "Never a witch, at least not at the beginning. Hannah put those ideas in her head, and it was Hannah who encouraged her to keep the pet crow. Hannah Roper was persuasive, and Mary hung on her every word, but Hannah was careful to keep her manipulation well-hidden. If she concealed her influence, she could make Mary appear to be something she was not. It worked. As Hannah's standing increased, so Mary's diminished."

  "But surely Mary hurt the baby?"

  "No, it was Hannah. She killed Jonathan by frightening him to death, but she wanted worse for George. In her opinion, he committed the greater crime. She decided to punish him by hurting those for whom he cared. That way, his punishment would last longer. She poisoned Harriet and considered it a particular triumph as Harriet was both George's wife and Jonathan's sister. Then, when Mary was already dying through a long-standing heart condition, she convinced her that both she and the baby would die the same day. Mary publicly repeated the prediction and Hannah poisoned her soon after. Then she applied an irritant substance to the poultice that Mary had prepared for the baby earlier that day."

  "But Mary was her friend."

  "It did not matter, in the end. The lure of being able to hurt George Corbyn was too strong. Unfortunately, the scheme only partly worked. She made Mary so convincing as a witch that George was glad to see the back of her and wasn't upset when she died."

  "Then
why did she poison Eliza Clay?"

  "That's a good question, and exactly what I asked her. It was quite simple. Eliza had heard Hannah trying to persuade Mary to keep the crow. She was one of very few witnesses to Hannah's influence over Mary. It wouldn't have mattered if she'd forgotten about the incident, but she talked about it. Only once or twice, but it came to Hannah's attention. Eliza enjoyed the occasional beer, but she was poor and could not afford it very often. So, Hannah took a jug of ale laced with taxine and left it on Eliza's windowsill. Eliza didn't question where it had come from and she drank it."

  "There's one thing I still don't understand," said Violet.

  "What?" asked Lawrence.

  "Hannah worked at the Post Counter opposite the Chemist. Why did she go to the trouble of gathering yew berries, which is not without risk, when she had a ready supply of poison within easy reach?"

  "Two reasons," said Lawrence. "Though Mr Lait can be somewhat cavalier in his approach, he locks the dangerous poisons and drugs away. It would have been difficult for her to reach them."

  "And the second?"

  "Even if she had got her hands on them, it would be obvious that they came from the Chemist. Everyone in the household would be under immediate suspicion, including Hannah."

  "Ah, but it didn't stop her doctoring your powders," said Violet. "It couldn't have taken much effort to slip the poison into an envelope marked with your name."

  "It didn't, said Lawrence. "But in this instance, it didn't matter. You dropped the prescription off because I was unwell and unlikely to collect it myself. Someone could have doctored the powders at any point between leaving the Chemist and arriving in my room. Suspicion would not fall on the occupants of the Chemist alone."