A Death at Fountains Abbey (34 page)

I nodded to Mrs Fairwood to continue. She had left the fireside, drawn to a study of Byzantine coins left open on a table. She traced her fingers down the page. ‘We could not stay in London after the trial. My father brought me up to Lincoln in the hope of arranging a favourable marriage, as if I were some piece of livestock at a country fair. He wanted to secure my future, but I was terrified. Surely no decent gentleman would marry me, not now.

‘The months passed and we fell deeper into debt. My father was in despair. My mother had not recovered from her nervous collapse: she lay in her bed at home unable to speak. A living ghost.’ She shivered at the memory.

‘And then Mr Fairwood proposed.’

‘Mr
Fairwood.
’ She turned a page on to a new display of coins. Grimaced. ‘An
old
friend of my father. I will say this in his favour. He was very rich, and he never once touched me. We married on the third of October, 1721.’ She slammed the book closed. ‘The next day, my father hanged himself.’

Mr Aislabie turned in his seat, and looked at her. She stood with her knuckles pressed into the table, breathing heavily. Then she pushed back upon her fists, standing straight again. ‘My father blamed himself for the family’s ruin. He believed he should have ordered Francis back from London and forced him to sell his shares. He took his life out of shame. I pray for him every day. But I know that he is beyond the reach of mercy.’

‘No one knows that, Mrs Fairwood,’ I said.

She took a deep breath. ‘For seven years I lived for one purpose: to see my brother come home. My mother could not travel, so we mourned and suffered alone. Her great wish was to live long enough to see Francis again, but she died two months before he landed at Portsmouth. Perhaps it was for the best.’ She hesitated. ‘The truth is, my brother never came home. He died the day they branded him. He died on the ship to Virginia. He died in the tobacco fields, when they whipped him like an animal. The man who returned, who wears those fine clothes you admire – he is a stranger to me. The brother I loved is dead, like my parents.’ She lifted her dark eyes to Aislabie. ‘Because of you.’

‘You are afraid of him,’ I said, pulling out my pipe. ‘This stranger.’

She clutched her arms. ‘Yes.’

‘But you agreed to help him.’

She looked down, her black lashes masking her eyes. ‘Yes.’

I fixed my pipe, waiting for her to continue.

‘Do you believe in Fate, sir?’ she asked, at last.

I did not, but said nothing, breathing out a long trail of smoke.

‘My brother sailed home last November. On the second day, he met a lady travelling alone. She wore this at her throat.’ She touched the diamond and ruby brooch pinned to her gown. And then, pulling off her gloves, she unfastened it, and placed it upon the table. ‘They fell into close conversation, the way strangers sometimes do on a long voyage. She told him that she had fled England when she was a young woman. Now she was dying. She had decided to come home and settle certain matters. She said she had done something terrible, many years ago, to a man named John Aislabie. She wanted to see him one more time, and beg his forgiveness.’

‘Molly Gaining.’ Aislabie’s voice cracked as he spoke the name – for the first time in years, most likely.

Lady Judith reached across and plucked the brooch from the table. She handed it to her husband.

‘I knew,’ he said, long fingers tracing the diamond petals. ‘I knew this was Anne’s brooch.’

Mrs Fairwood watched him, unmoved. ‘Molly died the night before the ship reached England. Francis believed that God had brought them together for a divine purpose: so that he might serve justice upon John Aislabie. The man who had destroyed our family.’

‘You dare call this God’s work,’ Lady Judith breathed.

‘Your brother forged Molly’s confession?’ I asked.

Mrs Fairwood hesitated, then nodded. ‘He took some of her papers so he might copy her hand. By the time he reached London he had formed a plan: that I should pretend to be Elizabeth Aislabie, saved from the fire. I refused at first. I could not imagine doing something so bold. Francis swore he would never find peace otherwise. He spoke of nothing else, day after day: I thought I should go mad. In the end he said that if I did not help him, he would disappear and I would never see him again.’ She pressed her hands to her chest at the thought.

‘I insisted upon one thing: that he would first visit Studley Hall and effect some meeting with the family. I wanted him to be
sure
of the path he was taking. He did as I asked. He secured an invitation to Fountains Hall and he rode up from London. He saw the grand designs for your stables, and the scores of men working on your estate. He sat at your dining table while you spoke of your cruel treatment, and your determination to return to public office. He saw how you closed off the moors and pursued the men who had farmed there for generations. He saw all this, and then he wrote to me. And Mr Aislabie, after I received his letter, I decided that my brother was right. You deserved to be punished.’

Aislabie rose from his chair. ‘Enough. I will listen no longer.’

Mrs Fairwood gave a thin smile. ‘The truth is a bitter medicine.’

‘Insufferable,’ Lady Judith muttered.

Aislabie beckoned me to the terrace door. ‘I shall ride to Ripon, bring the magistrate and his sergeants back to arrest Forster. Wait here for Metcalfe.’ He gripped my arm. ‘I want that
woman
guarded at all times, Hawkins.’ He strode off towards the stable, boots stamping on the cobbles.

‘Oh, what a relief!’ Mrs Fairwood sighed, stretching out her arms. ‘To be myself again.’

‘You have no heart, madam,’ Lady Judith said, softly.

Mrs Fairwood tweaked a dark, perfect brow. ‘I pity you, Mrs Aislabie. It must be exhausting, defending your indefensible husband. But wives must be loyal, I suppose.’ She crossed to the hearth. ‘You are very quiet, Mrs Hawkins.’

She was – unnaturally so. Kitty was sitting in a green silk armchair by the fire, her chin propped in her hand. She had not spoken one word since Mrs Fairwood had returned to her confession.

Mrs Fairwood frowned at her. ‘D’you know, I am sure I sprained my wrist in my fall.’

Lady Judith had no patience left. Leaving us to stand guard over Mrs Fairwood, she returned to the stables. Perhaps, like Gulliver, she expected to find more reasoned conversation among the horses.

And still, Kitty said nothing. Having finished my pipe, I had nothing to do but pace the room. There were still elements of Mrs Fairwood’s tale that did not quite make sense to me. The fire, the threatening notes. I poured myself a fresh glass of brandy.

‘
Another
glass,’ Mrs Fairwood observed. ‘Are you ever sober, Mr Hawkins?’ She sat down opposite Kitty. ‘Well, madam? What do you think of my story? Has it not stirred your sympathy?’

Kitty lifted her chin from her hand. ‘Oh, no. I have just been wondering to myself how you will die.’

Mrs Fairwood gave a little start.

‘There’s a good chance you will hang, of course. Accessory to murder, that’s the phrase is it not? Then there’s theft,’ Kitty counted this off on a second finger, ‘as the deer were stolen. Or would that be termed poaching? The notes threatening murder, well, they are a hanging offence upon their own. And arson, of course,’ she held up a fourth finger. ‘You would have let poor Sally take the blame for that.’

‘The chambermaid?’ Mrs Fairwood shrugged.

Kitty glared at her. ‘Sally Shutt. Fifteen years old, with no fortune and no family. You would have ruined her to save yourself. Doesn’t that
stir your sympathies
, Mrs Fairwood? No, of course not – because
your
tragedy is the only one that matters. As if no one else has ever suffered as you have. I could tell you stories . . .’

‘I—’

‘What – you would have me weep for your brother? An arrogant prick who gambled away his family’s fortune? And
you.
I should feel sorry for
poor little you
?
You’ve preyed upon a father’s grief for weeks! Oh! I could stamp on your head I’m so cross.’

Mrs Fairwood was confounded into silence. I doubt she’d been spoken to in such a raging fashion in all her life.

‘Why did you start the fire?’ I asked, once she had recovered. ‘As a distraction?’

‘Francis wanted Aislabie to know that he could not protect me – not even here in the house. He wanted to torment him. And he had promised a fire.’

‘So you obliged him? You take your sisterly duty a little too seriously, I think.’

‘You refuse to understand,’ she muttered bitterly. ‘Francis has kept me a prisoner here for weeks. He said that if I left Studley, he would tell the world what we had done. He would be hanged and I would be transported. He told me about the ships – how the guards would use my body. He described the vilest
things. When I begged him to stop, he laughed at me. He said, begging does not make them stop, sister . . .’ She clamped a hand to her mouth, rocking silently in her chair.

‘He has lost his reason,’ I said.

She nodded. ‘I didn’t realise at first. Before we came here, he would talk of the future. He said he would come home with me to Lincoln and build me a new house. He talked of Palladio, and Lord Burlington . . . But it was all a pose, a deception. He wanted me to believe he was still the brother I had loved, so that I would help him. But how could he be? The man you have met isn’t real. The clothes he wears are a costume. The real Francis is cruel. The light is gone from him – and he cannot bear to see it in others. Worse – he takes pleasure in their suffering. It’s the only pleasure he has, now. He feeds upon fear.’

‘You’re afraid of him.’

‘Yes, very afraid. He was fascinated with how swiftly Mr Aislabie accepted me as his daughter. The boundless love of a father. He said, “Imagine if he found you dead. He would be sent mad with grief to lose you again in such a way. Think if I laid your corpse out on the coffin lawn, marked with flaming torches. How I should love to watch him discover you like that.” ’ She gave a shudder. ‘You
took away my only chance to escape him, sir.’

‘Don’t you dare blame Tom,’ Kitty snapped, still furious. ‘You chose to come here and play the part of a dead girl. If you had stayed in Lincoln, we would be safe at home in London, and Mr Sneaton would still be alive. Sam would not be lying upstairs with a broken skull.’ She rose and stood over Mrs Fairwood. ‘You knew what he planned to do last night, didn’t you? You argued with him, while we were playing cards.’

Mrs Fairwood shrank back in her chair. ‘I begged him to leave before Sam gave up his name. He refused. He was so angry about the ledger. He said he would take it from Mr Sneaton, and then he would visit everyone on the list. Everyone who had cheated and escaped punishment. I didn’t know what to do . . . I stayed up all night, praying to God.’

‘Why not
speak
to
us
? We might have protected Sam if we’d known.’

‘I thought he was safe with you! You were locked in your chambers.’

‘And Mr Sneaton?’ I asked.

She tilted her head, defiant. ‘He should have told the truth about the ledger, instead of keeping it secret all these years. I’m sure I am sorry that he’s dead, but I could not risk warning him. Francis could have killed me.’ She drew herself up, discovering again her regal pose. ‘I believe that God will understand my actions, and forgive me.’

Kitty raised an eyebrow. ‘He might surprise you, Mrs Fairwood.’

There was a tap at the door. Two footmen entered the library, sent by Lady Judith. They looked excited and uncomfortable in equal measure. ‘Begging your pardon, madam,’ one of them addressed Mrs Fairwood. ‘Her ladyship has ordered us to escort you to the cellar. For your protection,’ he added.

‘I see.’ Mrs Fairwood gathered herself. ‘I should like to take one last walk about the yard, if I may? Under escort, of course.’ She gestured to Kitty and me.

In the courtyard, Mrs Fairwood clasped her hands together as if in prayer, walking slowly across the cobbles. Kitty and I followed close behind.

‘She imagines she is Anne Boleyn, bravely facing death,’ I muttered.

Kitty snorted. ‘And we are her ladies-in-waiting.’

‘Mrs Fairwood!’ I called out.

She paused, graciously.

‘Who aids your brother? He has an accomplice, does he not?’

Her gaze flickered to the back of the house. ‘He told me it was one of Aislabie’s men, but he wouldn’t say which one. If I didn’t know, I could never be certain when I was being watched. A footman, a groom . . . I must play my part to perfection, at every moment. I cannot express to you the intolerable strain of being spied upon. Of suspecting everyone.’ She continued her parade of the yard, chickens squawking at her neat little feet. ‘Of course, he
might
be watching us even now.’

‘And all he would see is a woman strolling through a yard.’

‘Yes . . .’ She smiled, faintly. ‘But if I am locked away in a
cellar . . .
He might decide to warn my brother.’