The Dead Songbird (The Northminster Mysteries) (28 page)

“Are you in earnest?” said Felix.

“You have admitted yourself that you need a wife, and you know that a suitable match for you has been in my mind for some time. The question is an important one and this is an opportunity that we cannot let slip. She is expecting to make your acquaintance.”

“Then she is a fool – a poor fool! I dread to think what her people may be saying to her, and what a puffed-up, false picture of me you have been peddling them out of your own sense of vanity. I will have nothing to do with such schemes. Tell your young lady that I will not play this idiotic game and that she had better take her chances in the season and find a husband whose rank matches her own! Marriage to me would be a debasement and she would be laughed at. You will be laughed at if you persist in this nonsense, and I have too much regard for you to allow you make such a fool of yourself. Leave me be, for God’s sake. Leave me be!”

“You must accept who you are, Felix,” said Lord Rothborough.

“I do accept who I am!” he exclaimed. “I am the son of a whore. It is you that are deluded!”

“Your birth was an accident.”

“An accident? That is putting it mildly.”

“An accident, and regrettable, but you are my child, my only son, and that means more to me than I can describe to you. You have no sense of it now, my boy, but you will feel it, and all the pain and pleasure of it, when you have a son of your own – though I hope he spares your feelings more than you spare mine! I pray to God each day, that he will grant you a son in wedlock, and that you may rejoice in him, as you ought, without having to shift and swivel and suffer as I have done!” He broke off and went to the fireside and looked down into the grate. “There are times I wish I did not feel as I do, but it is impossible for me not to feel as I do for you, Felix, and I must do all I can for you. It is not my vanity but feeling that drives me. Now you may think I am meddling when I put this young woman before you, but I think she and you would make a good match.”

Felix shook his head but that, of course, did nothing to silence him. He went on: “I have looked through the ranks of all the young noblemen of marriageable age, Felix, in respect of my daughters, and they are a pack of boobies compared to you. She is an intelligent young woman. She will see the same.”

“I do not think so,” Felix said.

“In her eyes you are a prize worth getting – a man of talent, of character, a man of this century. Look at the young Prince – he is a German, threadbare nobody, but the Queen utterly dotes on him because he is a man of talent, of intelligence. He is new blood – as you have new blood. You and this young woman could form a dynasty – imagine that, Felix, a dynasty. Think of the great men you might people the nation with from your own nursery!”

It was now as if he were addressing a public meeting and Felix, realising that it was futile to argue with him, let him continue, while thinking how he might actively resist this ridiculous plan.

“The country is changing,” Lord Rothborough went on, “and we must change with it. This young woman is intelligent enough to see the possibilities of marriage with you – now allow your intelligence to work upon the problem for yourself, Felix. It will prevent you getting into disagreeable scrapes for one thing, and you will have all the pleasures of the marital bed to keep you comfortable.”

Felix turned the picture which was lying on the writing table face-down, for her eyes were a little too well drawn and expressive for his comfort. There was a great deal of life in such simple sketch. Axelmann was indeed talented.

He decided it was time to go on the attack.

“I understand that you submitted to a marriage of this nature and I do not think you have been happy. I certainly do not think Lady Rothborough has been happy. I had a visitor this morning, a friend of Lady Rothborough’s, and she said things that –”

“She?” said Lord Rothborough.

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“She would not tell me. She would not put up her veil until I begged her to do it.”

“But it
was
a lady?”

“Yes, she had her maid with her. She was clearly a person of rank.”

“What was the maid called?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Felix a little astonished. “Well, perhaps it was Jenkinson or something like that.”

“Good grief,” said Rothborough. “Not Jenkins? A tall, stout woman?”

“The maid, you mean – yes, I think so. The lady was not.”

“Describe the lady to me.”

“Flaxen haired – with a touch of grey. About forty I would say. Very handsome – once a great beauty, probably.”

Lord Rothborough had pressed his folded fingers to his lips. He looked more alarmed than Felix had ever seen him. He reached into the drawer of the desk again, the drawer from which Lady Nina’s picture had been taken, and this time took out a little golden miniature case, which he flicked open and held out to Felix.

“Like this?” The miniature was of a lustrous young beauty, her hair dressed in the style of twenty years ago, but it was unmistakably the same woman.

“That is she,” Felix said.

“Lady Limpersleigh,” said Lord Rothborough, snapping shut the miniature and putting it away. “She is not a friend of my wife’s. Not by any stretch. She is my cousin though – and yours. So what did she want?”

“She wanted me to use my influence with you. I told her I had none.”

“About what?”

“Mrs Morgan, of course!” Felix exclaimed. “She told me that you are in danger of being driven mad by her wiles and that your poor, neglected wife cannot bear the thought of it.”

“And you believed her?”

“I don’t know! What was I supposed to think? When she told me what happened in Paris, about my mother – I had never heard before that you tried to kill yourself over that.”

“Oh, I see,” said Lord Rothborough. “I see.” He grimaced and rubbed his hand across his face. “She’s jealous, of course. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”

“Then that woman was your mistress?” Felix said. “Or one of them, I should say?” Rothborough shrugged. “And you think that marrying me off to this girl will turn me into some virtuous husband who is never tempted to stray, when you yourself have never had any qualms about pleasing yourself when and where you choose? Or am I to marry this poor girl and dabble where I like, is that it?” And he snatched up the picture of Lady Nina and waved at Lord Rothborough. “I should throw this in the fire! She would be far happier if she never has anything to do with us! You told me not to fall in love – to guard my heart. I thought that was out of sentiment when I heard you tried to kill yourself, that you were looking to protect me from that, but I see now it is out of convenience! No, poor girl, she does not deserve us, she does not!”

He would have thrown it in the fire, but Rothborough caught his hand and took the picture from him. It went back in the drawer with the discarded mistress.

“Us?” said Rothborough, rather quietly. “So, you did tup Miss Pritchard?”

“No, of course I did not! I am not your pattern in all things, my Lord! I have not laid a finger on her. How could you believe that of me?”

“The young lady was most convincing,” said Rothborough. “And given your conduct towards Mrs Morgan...”

“What has she said?”

“That she was the recipient of a most undignified mauling. Very intemperate behaviour, Felix – and you wonder why I recommend the safe harbour of marriage to you? Mrs Morgan agrees with me.”

Felix turned away. The thought of the pair of them discussing him was unbearable, and the fact she had told Lord Rothborough about his desperate kiss was a crowning humiliation.

“Though not to Miss Pritchard, of course,” Rothborough went on, “however inevitable a course the Dean seems to think that is. He is not a reasonable man at best of times and you have done an excellent job of riling him up.”

“He struck me!” exclaimed Felix. “He was insupportable.”

“At least we may agree about that,” said Rothborough. “And we will both go and call on him tomorrow and put an end to this ridiculous business.”

“If my patients permit,” he muttered. “I had better go.”

“Take this with you,” said Lord Rothborough, reaching into the drawer and taking out the sketch again. “It was intended for you.”

He held it out most insistently. Felix took it at last, just to silence him, and tucked it into his coat without looking at it. “I am not marrying to order, sir, and that is my final word!”

“We shall see about that,” said Rothborough, waving his hand to dismiss him.

Chapter Thirty-six

“Fildyke?” Giles said, looking at the custody register. “And Josiah Harrison?”

“Mr Carswell and Constable Jones brought them in, sir,” said Sargent Boyd.

“So I see,” he said, consulting the charge sheet. “Harbouring a fugitive and gross indecency? Is this correct, Boyd?”

“According to Mr Carswell.”

“Harrison is not technically a fugitive, only wanted for questioning,” said Giles. “Where is he?”

“In the infirmary cell. Alcohol poisoning, Mr Carswell said.”

“So not in a fit state to be interviewed tonight?”

“I would say not, sir; you would have to ask Mr Carswell about that, but he’s gone out.”

“With Lord Rothborough,” said Superintendent Rollins, joining them at the desk. “About an hour since.”

Giles went down to the cells and found Fildyke looking sullen and petulant.

“You’ve no right to keep me here, sir,” he said, jumping at the sight of Giles. “I demand to be released. I have friends, you know, who will not take kindly to my being treated like this.”

“These friends, who might they be?”

“The Dean.”

“Oh yes, the Dean. That’s interesting, Mr Fildyke. What
is
the Dean to you, precisely? He has mentioned you to me, as well.”

“A friend. Cannot two gentlemen be friends, sir?”

“You make quite a claim for yourself there, Mr Fildyke,” said Giles. “I would not imagine that Dean Pritchard would see it in that light. He might consider it degrading to be associated with you in any way, given the activity in which Mr Carswell found you engaged.”

“The Dean is my friend and will soon put this to rights. I must write to him. I demand that I may write to him. You cannot deny me that!”

“Very well, you may have the materials to write,” Giles said. “In the meantime, I suggest you spend the next few hours thinking straight about the situation you are in, and how you may best save your sorry skin by co-operating with us as fully as possible. We will talk again tomorrow, Mr Fildyke, and at length.”

He then looked in on Harrison who was fast asleep, like an innocent child. He decided that was another interview that could wait until morning; he was not yet clear enough in his mind what line to take to with him. This business with Fildyke had confused everything. A night of waiting might make both men more tractable and the threads more easy to untangle.

Giles went and ate his own dinner, with only Snow for company. When he was done, he stood staring at the papers he had pinned to his wall, trying to make sense of them. Snow pressed against him, demanding exercise and attention. It was developing into a foul night, but he decided that a cold walk in the rain was a good remedy for the fog of his mind. Besides, there was a call he needed to pay, in spite of his best efforts. He put on his mackintosh cloak and ventured out, with Snow trotting happily along side him.

***

The little house looked different in the dark. He had only seen it by day before, and now with a lamp sitting in the bow window of the sitting room to signal that it was occupied, it looked as charming as he had hoped. He stopped at the gate, looking up the brick path, for he could hear the sound of the piano, and the melody caught his attention. He felt a shiver of pleasant surprise when a woman’s voice began to sing with it. He stood there for some moments listening, despite the rain, wondering if what he heard was real or whether it was some strange dream of domestic bliss.

Snow did not care for the rain and barked with annoyance at being made to wait. So Giles opened the hand gate and went up to the door. The music continued and he had no wish for it to stop. Since he had the key in his pocket he unlocked it, opening the door quietly and only a little. But it was enough to fill his nostrils with the sweet scent of a wood fire.

“Mrs Morgan?” he called out, knowing he must break the spell and not wishing to alarm her unduly. “Good evening!”

She came out of the sitting room a moment later.

“Major Vernon, well, what a pleasant surprise! And you have walked all this way, in this weather. And you are drenched!”

“Not really,” he said. “And I needed to walk. I had a few things to think of – I needed to settle my mind on some points.”

“Have you dined?”

“Yes, thank you. Do you mind my dog? She is very tame, but I can shut her in the kitchen if you prefer.”

“No, no, not at all. How could I mind such a beautiful creature? What is her name?”

“Snow.”

Mrs Morgan came forward and gave Snow a generous embrace of welcome, to which the dog submitted for a moment before giving herself a violent shake to free herself of the rain, showering Mrs Morgan in the process. She laughed, not the least offended.

He took off his mackintosh cloak and cap and left them hanging on the large hooks in the vestibule.

“Are you sure you will not have some supper? I am well provisioned. Your man has thought of everything. There is an excellent cheese and some game pie. Oh, and curd tarts. I have made sure Mr Holt has eaten his fill, by the way.”

“Good. I am glad he looked after you.”

“He is reassuring, I have to say,” she said. “Where did you find him?”

“By happy accident,” he said.

“I am great believer in serendipity,” she said. “Now, there is a good fire in here. Come and get dry. Oh, after you, Madame Snow...” She laughed again, as the dog slipped past her skirts and into the sitting room. As was her custom, Snow at once prostrated herself on the hearth rug and proceeded to roast herself.

It
was
a good fire and Mrs Morgan had lit many candles as well as the lamp at the window. The sparsely furnished room looked inhabited and alive. The low chair had been brought up to the hearth and an Indian shawl lay thrown across the dull brown velvet of the sofa. On the round table the tea-tray sat with the silver pot, glittering a welcome.