The Sculthorpe Murder

by Karen Charlton

  Lavender nodded.

  ‘The daft sapheads!’

  ‘People have been murdered for a lot less,’ Lavender said darkly, ‘and don’t forget, Ned, the viciousness of the attack suggests the money wasn’t the only motive in this crime. I’m convinced if we can establish the real motive – or motives – behind this assault, we shall find our murderers.’

  Woods wiped the last flakes of pastry from his mouth with the sleeve of his coat and the two men returned to the items piled on the floor. They worked in companionable silence for the next half an hour. While Lavender frowned over Sculthorpe’s account books, Woods carefully stacked, counted and bagged up the hundreds of guineas they had recovered from the chest. Metal chinked softly on metal and dust motes danced playfully in the sunbeams streaming through the window. The piles of gold gleamed and flashed seductively in the sunlight.

  ‘Six hundred and thirty pounds,’ Woods said, as he dropped the last coin back into a pouch. He rocked back on his heels and looked across to Lavender, who had a pencil and a notebook in his hand. ‘You were right, sir.’

  ‘Good. We can assume Sculthorpe’s records were accurate and up to date,’ Lavender said. He snapped shut his notebook and replaced it in his pocket. ‘We now know exactly how much the thieves stole: thirty-nine pounds and eleven shillings. Captain Rushperry will need this information when the case comes to trial.’

  ‘What else were in those ledgers?’ Woods asked. ‘Does it give any hint about how the old man came to be so flush in the pocket?’

  ‘Well, there’s the bank interest on his savings at Down, Thornton and Gill, of course, and a regular payment from Lady Anne Fitzwilliam.’ One corner of Lavender’s mouth curled up wryly. ‘She has rewarded Sculthorpe well for his mysterious service. These books only go back five years but she has paid him a generous allowance of ten pounds a month for the last five years.’

  Woods whistled but Lavender hadn’t finished. ‘He records her payments each month from “Lady A”. He has also supplemented his income from various other sources over the years.’

  ‘What were those?’

  ‘He just used initials. But since Sculthorpe moved to Middleton he received regular payments from several other people: C.L., M.T.T., I.B., J.D. – and J.W.’

  ‘J.W.!’ Woods exclaimed. ‘So the note Clancy found in the money bag were for Sculthorpe after all!’

  Lavender smiled. ‘So it would seem.’

  ‘But were Sculthorpe a moneylender?’

  Lavender frowned. ‘It’s still not clear. We need to track down some of the owners of these initials and question them about their relationship with Sculthorpe. J.W. may have eluded us over the past two days but these others won’t. I’m convinced the answer to the mystery of Sculthorpe’s murder lies in that innocuous list of initials. I’m sure C.L. is the churchwarden Caleb Liquorish, with whom Sculthorpe argued the week before his death – and I.B. may be the landlord’s nephew, young Isaac Bunning. I.B. are unusual initials to own.’

  ‘Heaven and hell!’ Woods exclaimed. ‘So this is a great discovery, after all!’

  ‘Yes, the ledger says that C.L. paid Sculthorpe the greatest amount every month: one guinea.’

  Woods let out a spontaneous whistle. ‘A guinea every month?’

  Lavender nodded. ‘C.L. is rich.’

  ‘Constable Sawyer told us Liquorish had plenty of plate,’ Woods said. ‘Right, where shall we start, sir? Shall we round up Liquorish and young Bunnin’?’

  ‘Maybe tomorrow,’ Lavender said. ‘This afternoon we need to return to Market Harborough and report back to Captain Rushperry. We may need his help – and I have to catch the mail coach back to London.’

  ‘You’re returnin’ to London?’

  ‘Yes, what remains of the Catholic faith in England is centred in London. I should be able to find out more about the Sculthorpe family there, but I will need help from my contacts within the Catholic community. They’re notoriously suspicious of any of the establishment authorities and very distrustful of London police officers.’

  A cheeky grin lit up Woods’ face. ‘And would Doña Magdalena be one of these contacts, by any chance?’

  Lavender dropped his eyes and smiled. ‘Sadly, Magdalena will be no help in this instance at all. I need to find someone who may have known – or heard of – William Sculthorpe when he worked as a priest twenty-five years ago. Magdalena hasn’t been in England long enough.’

  They split the contents of the box between them. Using an old blanket from the bed, Lavender wrapped up Sculthorpe’s ceremonial garments into a parcel. Meanwhile, Woods found an old sack for the money bags. They left the empty box on the floor of Mrs Sculthorpe’s bedchamber and carried their haul back to the forge, where they retrieved their horses from the stable. Lavender attached his parcel to the back of his saddle, while Woods attempted to place the money into his saddlebag. It wouldn’t fit in, so the two men had to weigh down their coat pockets with the coins.

  Woods grinned as he swung himself up into the saddle of his restless horse. ‘Remind me to empty my pockets and hand it all over to Captain Rushperry,’ he said with a wink. ‘You know what a terrible memory I have and I would hate to accidentally walk away with a pocketful of Sculthorpe’s yellow boys.’

  Lavender grinned and started to reply but the smile fell from his face. Constable Sawyer walked across the cobbles towards them. He had now discarded his dirty sling and his right arm swung by his side. His sharp eyes fell on the parcel behind Lavender’s saddle. ‘What you got there, Detective?’

  Lavender reined in and felt a flash of irritation at the man’s impudence. ‘A few items pertaining to the case,’ he replied coldly.

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘Do you want something, Constable?’

  Sawyer’s eyes broke away from Lavender’s icy glare. ‘Are yer leavin’ Middleton?’

  ‘For the moment, but we will return soon.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad I’ve met you before you left, sir.’ A broad smile now spread across Sawyer’s craggy features and he tapped his arm. ‘This old rammer of mine has been much better today and – ’

  ‘I’m sure it has,’ Lavender said quickly.

  Sawyer blinked and the grin dropped from his face. ‘I’m thinkin’ it were time I returned to work,’ he continued. ‘I’m sure you need the help of a local man who knows the lay of the land, so to speak. So I’m here to tell you, I’m your man.’

  ‘That’s kind of you, Constable,’ Lavender said, ‘but we’re managing quite well on our own.’

  Sawyer took in a sharp breath and his bushy eyebrows knitted together as he scowled. ‘Well, if you’re sure . . .’

  Lavender dug his heels into the flank of his horse and urged it forward. Sawyer stepped back hastily as Woods followed Lavender’s lead.

  When they reached the base of the steep hill at the edge of the village, Lavender reined in and turned round to speak to Woods. ‘While I’m gone,’ he said, ‘trust only Captain Rushperry with details of any discoveries you make.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Saturday 3rd March, 1810

  Market Harborough, Leicestershire

  The pleasant weather had brought the inhabitants of Market Harborough out onto the streets. The marketplace bustled with shoppers and the narrow roads were crammed with farm wagons as the two men wove their way through the town towards the home of Captain Rushperry. Lavender glanced up at the clock face on the towering spire of St Dionysius’ as they rode past the church. There were still a couple of hours left before he needed to catch the bone-rattling mail coach back to London. He hated travelling by mail coach but this was the fastest mode of transport to London and speed was imperative in this case.

  The Elms, Captain Rushperry’s home on the northern edge of town, was a pleasant, stone-built house set in its own grounds. The maid led them into a spacious and comfortable sitting room where Rushperry, now resplendent in a red silk banyan with a matching tasselled hat, was reading the news-shee
t in front of the fire. He rose, extended his podgy hand and greeted them warmly. ‘Excuse my attire, Lavender.’ He gestured to his voluminous scarlet robe. ‘I hadn’t thought to see anyone else tonight and have removed my tailcoat. Mrs Rushperry is away and I have enjoyed the life of a bachelor these last two days.’ He asked the maid to fetch them refreshments and eyed the parcels they carried curiously. ‘Not more Catholic reliquaries, I hope?’

  ‘We found these in Sculthorpe’s cottage,’ Lavender said. Carefully, he and Woods laid out Sculthorpe’s money on the surface of an elegant curved sideboard beneath a large gilt mirror.

  ‘Good grief!’ Rushperry exclaimed as the money bags piled higher. His deep-set eyes opened wider when Woods pulled out yet more bulging leather pouches from his coat pockets.

  Finally, Woods patted himself down, turned out his empty coat pockets and grinned. ‘That’s the lot, I think, sir.’

  ‘Sculthorpe had six hundred and thirty pounds in guineas hidden beneath the floorboards in another part of his wife’s bedroom,’ Lavender said, ‘along with these.’ They sat down in front of the fire and Lavender showed Rushperry William Sculthorpe’s ceremonial garments and account books. He quickly explained what their inquiries had uncovered in Middleton.

  ‘So the old man was a Catholic priest,’ Rushperry said thoughtfully. ‘A married Catholic priest?’

  ‘We’re unsure about that,’ Lavender replied. ‘I hope to find out more about William Sculthorpe when I arrive in London.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope, for the sake of his son, the cretin, that you do,’ Rushperry said. ‘Billy Sculthorpe is either a very rich young man – or he’s an impoverished bastard. The local magistracy would like to know which as soon as possible, especially as we’re providing his care. If Billy is not Sculthorpe’s legitimate heir, then he will end up in the county asylum.’

  Lavender felt Woods shudder beside him. ‘I shall return to London on tonight’s mail coach and seek information from within the Catholic community about William Sculthorpe,’ he said. ‘There is still so much we don’t know about the man.’

  ‘Well, good luck, Detective.’ Rushperry grimaced. ‘Catholics are secretive beggars and their society is often closed to outsiders.’

  ‘This is why I thought it better to return to London and make my inquiries in person,’ Lavender said. ‘I doubt a letter would get much response.’

  Rushperry leant forward and prodded Sculthorpe’s cassock with distaste. ‘I can’t stand Catholics,’ he said. ‘They’re nothing but trouble, the lot of them. My grandfather was killed at Culloden, defending King George and our Protestant England.’

  Lavender nodded sympathetically. ‘Ah, I can understand your dislike, sir. But there will be a lot less trouble now the last of the Stuart claimants to the throne has died and the papacy has recognised the Hanoverian dynasty as lawful rulers of England, Wales, Scotland and Ireland.’ He took a sip of black coffee and relished its strong taste.

  ‘You’re well informed, Detective,’ the magistrate said. He sat back and eyed Lavender sternly. ‘However, they still agitate for Catholic emancipation – and continue to stir up trouble in Ireland.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s time for emancipation,’ Lavender suggested. ‘Catholics have been barred from public office and other areas of life for over a century. Lady Anne Fitzwilliam and her son, the earl, seem to think so.’

  ‘Hmmph,’ exclaimed Rushperry.

  ‘You did know, didn’t you, sir, that Lady Anne is a Catholic?’

  Rushperry waved a dismissive hand in the air. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I understand she converted to Catholicism when she was an impressionable young woman. She has always been discreet about her religion – and of course one always makes allowances for the eccentricities of her extreme age.’

  ‘Is she a bit of a meddler, sir?’ Woods asked. The same question had gone through Lavender’s own mind several times over the last few hours.

  ‘No, no, not at all.’ Rushperry shuffled his bulk on his seat and changed the subject. ‘So what about William Sculthorpe?’ he asked. ‘Why did he receive payment from others in the village? Do you think he was a moneylender? Had he made himself unpopular by charging usurious levels of interest on his loans?’

  ‘Actually, no,’ Lavender replied. ‘This was our first theory but I have now discarded it. The ride back to Market Harborough has cleared my mind. There are several things that don’t make any sense.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘For a start, there is no record in his accounts that he loaned money to other people.’

  Woods’ cup of tea paused midway from his saucer to his lips. ‘So why did those folks give him money?’

  ‘I suspect William Sculthorpe was a blackmailer.’

  Woods’ cup clattered back down into his saucer. ‘A blackmailer? How so?’

  ‘Well, it’s the inclusion of Caleb Liquorish’s initials on the list and the fact that Harry Goode’s initials are not there. We know Goode is in debt to most of the shopkeepers in the area – he would need a loan. But Liquorish is a wealthy farmer who doesn’t need money. It seems unlikely he borrowed money from William Sculthorpe – yet Liquorish paid him a regular sum every month. I think Sculthorpe was blackmailing Liquorish. This is why they argued in the street. Sculthorpe found out something about Liquorish which the farmer wanted kept quiet.’

  ‘Pete Jarman, Sculthorpe’s drinkin’ partner at The Woolpack, told me the old man liked watchin’ folks and listenin’ to their chatter,’ Woods said thoughtfully, ‘and of course, he were a priest and used to hearing all sorts of secrets in confession.’

  ‘We don’t have any evidence that Sculthorpe worked as a priest while he lived in Middleton,’ Lavender reminded him. ‘And Liquorish is a zealous Anglican who hates Catholicism.’

  Rushperry frowned. ‘I feel I need to remind you, Detective, that Caleb Liquorish has been a respected member of the community for as long as I can remember. Yes, the man is overzealous at times but there has never been a whiff of scandal attached to his name as far as I know.’

  ‘Perhaps somethin’ happened in his youth?’ Woods suggested.

  ‘Good thinking, Constable,’ Lavender said. ‘Most of us did something foolish and regrettable when we were young.’

  ‘In which case we may never learn the truth,’ Rushperry said.

  An idea flashed into Lavender’s mind. ‘Would it be possible for one of your clerks to go through the old court records and see if Caleb Liquorish was convicted of a crime in his youth?’ he asked. ‘I appreciate this is pure speculation but there are certain things we need to rule out, or to confirm, during our inquiry.’

  Rushperry looked surprised but he nodded. ‘I’ll set a man onto this on Monday,’ he said. ‘In the meantime, what do you two propose to do?’

  ‘Woods will remain in the area,’ Lavender said as he drained the last of his coffee. ‘He has a list of leads to follow through and he will also try to identify the other people in Middleton with those initials we found in Sculthorpe’s account books. We need to know why they gave money to Sculthorpe. I have never been wholly convinced the motive for this crime was simply theft. I think there is far more to it and that other motives such as revenge and hatred are at play here. Once we have established these motives, then I believe we will find our killers. Meanwhile, I shall return to London as we discussed and try to learn more about our mysterious priest.’

  ‘Well, as I said before, good luck with that, Detective,’ Rushperry said. ‘I hope it won’t be a wild goose chase for you.’

  Lavender smiled. ‘Never fear, Captain Rushperry. I have some excellent acquaintances amongst the Catholics in London.’

  Darkness had fallen when Lavender clambered aboard the mail coach and settled back in his seat for the return journey to London. The feeble oil lamp above his head flickered and smoked, causing one of the other passengers to cough frequently into her handkerchief. She and her husband were the only other passengers to board the carriage at Market Harb
orough.

  When the vehicle rolled through the marketplace Lavender saw a familiar figure standing in a pool of light beneath a wall lamp. It was Alby Kilby. For a split second, their eyes met through the glass window of the coach and Kilby’s face contorted into a glowering frown. In that split second, a shocking realisation seared into Lavender’s mind.

  ‘Good God!’ His stomach clenched in horror. Instinctively, he stood up and reached out for the handle of the coach door. His startled brain urged him to leap out of the vehicle and race back to Woods. But the coach jerked and threw him back into his seat as it gathered speed. Beneath the white muslin of his starched cravat, a vein throbbed in his throat. He gasped and tried to make sense of the dread that rose within him.

  ‘Are you all right, sir?’ The male passenger leant towards him in concern. ‘You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.’

  The image of Kilby’s glowering face burned onto the retinas at the back of Lavender’s eyes. ‘I may have,’ he croaked. The man looked shocked, tutted and turned to engage his wife in conversation.

  Lavender leant his head back against the wood panelling of the carriage, closed his eyes and tried to calm his heart and shake off the nauseating heaviness that gripped his gut like a vice. The coach plunged down the riverbank, streamed through the ford and picked up speed again as it raced off into the darkness of the Northamptonshire countryside. He glanced back through the window at the glimmering lights of the town as they faded and disappeared.

  It was too late. He couldn’t turn back. The best he could do was write an urgent note to Ned when they stopped at the next tavern and leave it to be sent back on the mail coach. He just hoped it would reach his constable before Kilby made his move. But for now, Ned would have to manage on his own. He’s an experienced police officer, he reminded himself. He’s negotiated the most dangerous streets in the capital for the last twenty years.

  Unfortunately, Kilby posed a different kind of a threat to those whom they encountered in the dark lanes of the Seven Dials. Kilby was a menace neither of them could have foreseen.