The Dead Songbird (The Northminster Mysteries) (33 page)

“I see. I suppose he would.”

“Of course! At least he has been straight with me.”

“You must be angry.”

“I am trying not to be,” he said. “I am trying to be rational and comprehend your behaviour, but it is not easy.”

“I will try and explain,” she said. “Please?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I needed to hide,” she said. “It was perhaps not the best hiding place, but you were there and I was desperate. My father had half-discovered that I had a lover, but I could not bear him to know it was Mr Watkins. He was not ready to hear that, and I knew that my mother thought you were suitable, and that generally you would be a far less objectionable candidate. So I used you. It was wicked of me, but I had to do it. My father is so, so –” She covered her face for a moment. “He never used to be like this. He has been so difficult these last months. Every since that awful business with Sophie’s fiancé, no, perhaps even before – something has come over him, some strangeness. I don’t know what it is. But the moment I met George and I knew – it was quickly I knew that I loved him, I knew at the same time my father would never be able to accept it. And so I decided that secrecy was the best course until such time –” She sighed and then glanced round at the sound of the door bell. “That will be Lord Rothborough.”

“Yes, and you must not go on pretending, Miss Pritchard, I beg you. If you are afraid of what he will do to you, come with me. I will make sure that no harm comes to you, though I am surprised that Mr Watkins has not taken you away already. How he can stand this, I don’t know!”

She did not answer, for at that moment Lord Rothborough was shown in by the servant. His glance took them both in rather caustically as she stood close to Felix, her head bowed. Felix quickly took a step away from her, and she suddenly sank in a pool of her skirts, sobbing violently, hiding her face from both of them.

“My dear, young woman,” Lord Rothborough began, going over to her. “Please.” He helped her to her feet and led her gently to the chairs ranged against the wall. Solicitously he sat down beside her and offered her his handkerchief. After a moment’s hesitation she took it, and then buried her face in it, twisting away from him, as if she could not bear his kindness any longer.

“She is engaged to Mr Watkins,” Felix said. “I was a decoy.”

“Aha,” said Lord Rothborough. “Mr Watkins, well...”

Felix wondered if he ought to contrive to hint to his Lordship that Major Vernon had further suspicions regarding Miss Pritchard and Barnes’ death.

Miss Pritchard seemed to wrench back her dignity then, and got to her feet, scraping her tear stained face dry.

“It is not as it sounds!” she exclaimed. “You will think it shabby, my Lord, no doubt, but, but –”

She broke off, for the Dean himself and Mrs Pritchard were now coming in.

To Felix’s surprise, Lord Rothborough went and took Miss Pritchard’s hand and patted it.

“Calm yourself,” he said. “We shall all proceed calmly,” he added, glancing at the Dean and Mrs Pritchard. “That will be the best way to go on, I think.”

The Dean looked as he were about to begin on a torrential speech of rebuttal, when the maidservant came scurrying in and said, “Major Vernon presents his compliments, sir. Says he must speak with you urgently.”

Miss Pritchard made a sharp intake of breath at the mention of his name, and aware she had betrayed herself, walked away a little, turning from them all. Was Major Vernon right in his suspicions, Felix thought, watching her. Could it be possible that she had strangled Barnes?

“He had better come in, had he not?” Mrs Pritchard said, glancing from her daughter to her husband.

“Oh, very well,” said the Dean as if he was granting a great favour.

“Good morning,” said Major Vernon. Having acknowledged the company, he turned to the Dean. “I had hoped, sir, we might speak alone for a moment?”

“About what?”

“I have been hearing your name mentioned in interesting quarters.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“In the course of my inquiries into the death of Mr Barnes, various individuals have been making allegations.”

“It sounds as if you have been listening to malicious tittle tattle, Major Vernon, in which there can be no truth.”

“Indeed, it is more than possible. I have come to get a refutation, which I am sure you will happily give me.”

“That sounds less like an opportunity than a threat, Major Vernon,” the Dean said.

“Forgive me, it was not intended so,” said the Major.

“Allegations?” said Mrs Pritchard. “What sort of allegations?”

“Nothing that you need concern yourself with, my dear,” said the Dean.

“But if people are insulting you – I cannot bear the thought of it. Who are these people, Major Vernon? Can they not be stopped? Should you not be stopping them? Why are you giving them credit?”

“A man has been murdered, ma’am. I must turn over every stone. It is not pleasant, of course, and that is why I am here, in order that your husband may put his side.”

“But what is it? What are they saying?” she went on.

“Do not disturb yourself, my dear, “ said the Dean. “Tittle tattle. You must not worry.”

“I will try,” she said.

“Mrs Pritchard, may I trouble you a moment?” Major Vernon asked. “Are those your household keys there on your belt?”

“Yes, Major.”

“Might I see them?”

“Really, Major Vernon, I must protest –” the Dean began, but she was already holding out the bunch of keys to him.

As she lifted the bunch of keys that hung from a chain on her belt, Felix saw why Major Vernon had asked to see them. Dangling down was a trail of inch wide white ribbon which stood out strongly against her dark brown skirts. Felix went a step closer to see better for himself.

“What is this key for?” Major Vernon said, pointing to the one suspended on white ribbon.

“To tell you the truth, I do not know,” she said. “I found it the other day. I think it maybe to a cupboard upstairs, but I am not sure. I meant to try it but I forgot.”

“Where did you find it?”

“In the – er –” she pointed at the window. “In the garden – well, in the necessity.”

“The privy, ma’am?” Major Vernon said gently. She nodded. “And that ribbon was on it when you found it?”

“Yes.” She turned to her husband. “I forgot about it. I was going to ask you about it, my dear – I thought it might be one of yours. I just put it on here for safekeeping.”

“Might I have it?” Major Vernon said. “With the ribbon, if you please.”

“I don’t see why not,” she said. “Perhaps you will solve the mystery of it.” She unfastened the key from the metal hoop and handed it to him. He looked at it for a moment.

“Mr Carswell?” he said, glancing round. Felix stepped to his side and examined it, then nodded, answering his unspoken question. The ribbon looked perfectly consistent with the ligature marks on Charles Barnes’ neck. Felix wondered if under his microscope he might detect some traces of skin on it. That would settle the matter.

“Thank you ma’am, you’ve been most helpful. I am afraid I shall have to keep it.”

“What is all this about?” said Dean Pritchard. “First you come here making most unpleasant suggestions, and then you are rifling through my wife’s keys –”

“This key is not one of your wife’s,” said Vernon. “I think we will find this is the missing key to St Anne’s Chapel. How it came to be in your privy is another matter. Do you have any thoughts on that, sir?”

“I do not like your tone!” said the Dean.

“You do not have to,” said Major Vernon. “You only have to answer my question.” The Dean said nothing, so Major Vernon went on, moving one of the chairs and putting it by the fire. “Perhaps the ladies might prefer to sit down. Because I think we will be a while. Ma’am, would you prefer to sit?”

“Thank you,” said Mrs Pritchard, taking a chair. “Miss Pritchard?” asked Vernon, moving her chair for her.

She shook her head.

“But I do have something to say,” she said. For a second or two she seemed to be trying to speak but failing. Major Vernon offered her chair again with an emphatic gesture and she did as she was bidden.

“Miss Pritchard?” he said, crouching down beside her so that their faces were level. “What is it you wish to say?”

There was a long silence and then her words emerged, in a tiny, dry whisper: “I wish to confess to the murder of Charlie Barnes.”

“You are sure?”

“Yes,” she said, looking Major Vernon directly in the face. “Yes. I killed him.”

Major Vernon stood up and shook his head.

“I’m afraid that won’t do. Commendable, but it won’t do.”

“What do you mean?” she said, jumping up. “I killed him! Isn’t that enough for you? I killed him. Arrest me. Do what you have to do! I don’t care. Just do it!” She thrust her hands out at him as if she meant him to clap the irons on her wrists.

“I cannot arrest someone who has done nothing,” said Major Vernon. “Please, Miss Pritchard, do sit down again. You can help me a great deal more by telling the truth. The whole truth. What exactly happened in the tower that day?”

She sat down and Major Vernon again crouched beside her.

“You see,” he said, rather quietly. “I think Charles Barnes was not dead when you found him. Perhaps he died in your arms.” She looked up at him, as if at an oracle.

“How did you know? How did you guess?” she said.

“I think he told you something that you could not forget – something that prompted your own strange behaviour. If you discovered your own father could murder Mr Barnes, in a fit of outrage, then what might he do to your own dear George? Therefore it became imperative to put him off the scent. Let your unpredictable, violent father take out his fury on a man that you did not care about. Let him think Mr Carswell was your lover. Is that not it, Miss Pritchard?”

She nodded and looked away.

“Major Vernon, are you sure about this?” Lord Rothborough said.

“Oh yes, very sure,” said Major Vernon, springing up again. He turned to face the the Dean. “John Pritchard, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Charles Barnes.”

Chapter Forty-three

Arresting the Dean of Northminster for murder was, of course, no small thing. He noted the surprise on Lord Rothborough’s face – Giles wondered if he were shocked by the actual facts of the case or the inevitable political ramifications. The scandal would be considerable. Questions would probably be asked in the House.

Even as the last pieces had begun to fall into place in his mind, Giles had wondered how it ought to be done. He had felt certain of the truth of it the moment he had seen the length of white ribbon dangling from Mrs Pritchard’s chatelaine. Fildyke’s letter, so pregnant with mystification, was mysterious no more. He was calling in a favour. “
As I have kept my promises, I ask you to help me now.”
Fildyke had guessed at the true meaning of the relationship between Barnes and the Dean.

However to arrest him there and then – he knew that was taking a risk. He only had circumstantial evidence and his instincts to go on but he wanted to shock Pritchard into a full confession. When Kate Pritchard stepped up to take the blame, unnecessarily, he knew it was a risk he had to take and the moment had to be seized.

Dean Pritchard at once began a great filibuster of protest.

“This is in an outrage, sir. I cannot conceive what you think you are doing –”

Giles reached into his pocket and brought out a pair of cuffs. He did not think he would have to use them. He wanted to scare Pritchard thoroughly.

“You can either leave this house like a gentleman in your own carriage, or I can have you taken away in the police van,” he said.

“On what grounds do you make this outrageous –”

“We will discuss that by and by,” said Giles. “Now you will send for your carriage, sir? Ring for the servant, would you, Mr Carswell?”

Carswell obediently went to pull the bell rope, and suddenly Dean went after him and pushed him away with so much force that Carswell stumbled. Pritchard stood there, looking as if he meant to take on all comers, all his clerical dignity fallen away from him, looking more like the common bully he undoubtedly was.

“My constables are outside,” Giles said to Carswell. “Will you fetch them in?” Carswell left the room.

“Do you imagine you will get away with this?” said Pritchard. “Do you know what you are doing?”

“Yes,” said Giles. “Your wrists, please.”

Needless to say Pritchard did not offer them, so Giles was forced to grab hold of him and do it by force. Pritchard put up lively resistance and it was only when Rollins came in and assisted him was the deed accomplished.

Rollins took him from the room. When the door had closed, Kate Pritchard, choking back her tears, said, “You were right. I came in and found him lying on the floor, he was writhing about – it was terrible. It was clear he was in agony, that he was... I knew George would be with me shortly – I was going to send him to get help, if it was not too late for help, because even then it seemed as though there was very little help. So I sat on the floor with him in my arms, and tried to give him what comfort I could – and he would insist on talking – although his voice was so faint. And he told me... he told me that...that Papa had attacked him. Of course I could scarcely believe it, but at the same time, what reason could he have for lying?”

Mrs Pritchard who was still sitting opposite her daughter gave a pained gasp and then covered her mouth with her hands. Miss Pritchard went across to her mother and knelt in front of her, taking her hands in hers.

“We knew, we all knew, he could be violent, unpredictable, that over time he has grown more difficult,” Miss Pritchard said. Mrs Pritchard looked away from them all as her daughter spoke on earnestly, quietly, “And then he died – the poor, poor boy – in my arms, exhausted by the telling of it, leaving me... well, you can imagine how I was by the time George did arrive. I was... oh, it was too dreadful. Too dreadful... I have had nothing but nightmares since then. The thought that my own father could take an innocent life...” She laid her head in her mother’s lap and began to cry. Mrs Pritchard made a few ineffectual gestures to smooth her daughter’s hair and then gave herself up to her own emotion, which was not pleasant to witness.