The Dead Songbird (The Northminster Mysteries) (39 page)

Mrs Fforde went out to the hall to greet them, and Felix stood on the threshold with Canon Fforde.

“Laura, how good to see you again,” she said, with her hands outstretched. Mrs Vernon did not respond. “Let me help you with your bonnet,” ventured Mrs Fforde, and undid her bonnet strings. Mrs Vernon stood impassive, as if she was well accustomed to people doing things for her. Mrs Fforde lifted her bonnet from her head, revealing flaxen hair had been close-cropped. It did little to improve her cadaverous appearance. Mrs Fforde seemed shocked and glanced at her brother.

“It was a matter of hygiene, I understand,” he said. “Now, Laura, will you come and see your new room? I hope you like it.” He steered her into the room across the hall into the bedchamber. “There is a good fire in there. You will be able to get a little warmer. Nurse, if you would?” he added, to the woman who had come with them.

Felix watched as Laura Vernon went at once to the window, as if drawn by the light. There was a pattern of bars visible through the muslin glass cloth.

“It might be best to let her get used to it alone, sir,” the nurse said. “Just to let her rest a little?”

“Yes, I think so,”

The nurse closed the door, and Major Vernon came up to his sister, took the bonnet from her hands, and kissed her forehead.

“Oh Giles...” she began softly.

“I would like something to eat,” Major Vernon said. “Where is Holt? You’ll join me, won’t you, Carswell? Lambert, yes?”

He went down towards the kitchen.

“Yes, that would be excellent,” said Canon Fforde, taking his wife’s hand and leading her back into the sitting room. She had been staring at the closed door to Mrs Vernon’s room.

“What do you think, Mr Carswell?” she said.

“Sally,” said Canon Fforde, “how can he have formed an opinion?”

“No, I am afraid I cannot,” said Felix, “until I have examined her.”

“All in good time,” said Canon Fforde. He made his wife sit down by the fire.

“She is so thin,” said Mrs Fforde. “And dressed like something from the poorhouse. Poor Giles...”

“Hush,” said Canon Fforde. “You will not be thanked for your pity, you know that.”

“I know, but –” Mrs Fforde would have gone on but Holt came in with a tray of wine and some bread and cheese. Major Vernon followed him.

“You’ll take some to Mrs Vernon, won’t you?” he said, as Holt laid the food out for them “And some broth?”

“Yes, Mrs Connolly is heating some up for her, sir,” said Holt.

“Has Mrs Vernon eaten today?” Felix asked.

“They gave her something, but she is liable to refuse food. That is the chief difficulty of the moment.” Felix noticed that Mrs Fforde winced slightly at this revelation.

“The change of air may stimulate her appetite,” Felix said. “Not to mention a change of cook. That looks good bread, by the way,” he added.

“Mrs Connolly made it herself, Irish fashion,” said Holt. “And it is good, sir.”

When he had left them, Lambert, much amused, said, “I think you have found yourself an indispensable fellow with Holt.”

“Yes,” said the Major. “Not to mention Mrs Connolly,” he added, taking a small piece of bread and trying it. “This is excellent.”

Canon and Mrs Fforde drank a scant glass of wine each, tasted the bread and then Canon Fforde proposed that they should walk home while the weather held. “Now we have seen the travellers are safe by their hearth,” he said, and so they took their leave, though not without an uneasy backward glance by Mrs Fforde.

“My poor sister,” murmured Major Vernon as they went back into the house.

“I shall just go and see her for a moment, if I may?” Felix said.

“Thank you,” the Major said.

“Oh, by the by, there is a parcel for you,” Felix said, just before he went in. “It’s on the piano.”

***

Giles wondered what Mr Carswell would make of Laura, as he took the parcel from the piano and unwrapped it. She had been calm on the journey, if that state of withdrawal might be called calm. But she had not protested. Nurse Beddowes seemed to be able to manage her well, and the journey had passed without incident. Dr Fernham, her physician at the asylum, had told him that she had been quiet for some weeks now, and eating little. It made her tractable but it did not offer much hope for an improvement.

He reached for his pocket knife and cut the string on the parcel, having noticed the Liverpool postmark. Inside the brown paper he discovered a Berlin work cushion depicting a parrot and two folios of piano music by Mendelssohn: “Songs without Words” which seemed painfully appropriate. There were also two letters addressed in a familiar hand, one to himself and one to Mr Carswell. He propped Carswell’s letter against the decanter and took his own to the window.

It was a brief note, which both relieved and saddened him.

“
I promised you these small tokens. They are no comfort I know, but a promise is a promise. Harry and I sail for New York tomorrow – a great adventure – and he is so excited! I intend he will be a man before we return. It is for the best, just as we decided. But I will always dream of you clearing a forest for me. That, I am afraid, I cannot do without. N.”

He folded the letter and put it away inside his coat. Then he sat down and ate some bread and cheese, and tried to concentrate his mind upon the work of the days ahead.

Dean Pritchard’s trial was to take place in a week’s time, and he had retained Francis Edwardes QC as his counsel. It was not going to be straightforward. He had already manoeuvred significantly, retracting his confession and entering a non-guilty plea. Edwardes had a reputation for the brutal cross-examination of prosecution witnesses and Giles had been attempting to prepare himself for his appearance on the witness stand by anticipating all possible lines of attack.

Carswell came in after five minutes or so.

“She took half a cup of broth and now she’s sleeping,” he said. “I gave her a cursory examination. She’s weak, but not in a dangerous state. If we can persuade her to eat more, I think physically she will be improved. As to her mental state, I cannot yet say.”

“No, of course not,” Giles said.

“I am in correspondence with a friend who is studying in Paris. There is some interesting work going on there in this field, with some surprising results. I am hoping to pick his brains thoroughly.”

“I know you will do all you can,” Giles said. “Will you have some wine?”

Carswell nodded and then saw the letter propped against the decanter.

“Was that in the parcel?”

“Yes. It is from Mrs Morgan. She sent a parrot cushion.”

Carswell snatched up the envelope and tore it open. Then he hesitated for a moment before pulling out the letter.

“Did she...?”

“A line or two,” he said, and forced himself to smile. He got up from the table and went to see to his sleeping wife.

***

Felix was glad to be left alone with his letter.

“
My dear Mr Carswell,

This is perhaps not the sort of gratitude you want from me. But I am conscious that you have saved my life, and you will always have a significant place in my affections because of it. My physician at Scarborough says I have made an excellent recovery and he admired your needlework very much.

Lord R. writes from town that he has met a certain young woman – I believe he has spoken to you about her. Whatever you may think, I know he will not make you do anything against your will. He simply wants you to be happy. Forgive my advocacy – he did not ask me to do it – it is simply that I also wish you well and happy. It is as much as you deserve.

Tomorrow Harry and I sail for New York. Perhaps in many years time we may meet again, DV.

In the mean time, I am your most humble and always grateful servant,

Anna Morgan”

He stuffed the letter into his pocket and left the room. The door to Mrs Vernon’s room was open and Major Vernon could be seen sitting by his wife on the the bed. The Major saw him standing there and got up, kissed his wife on the forehead and came out into the hall, closing the door behind him.

“We should get back to our work, Mr Carswell,” he said.

They walked back across the fields in a spring dusk that promised much sweetness to come, although the air was still cool.

“Which way is Ardenthwaite?” Felix asked, as they paused to climb over a stile.

Major Vernon gestured, from the top of the stone steps.

“North East of here,” he said. “Is that all in hand, then?”

Felix nodded.

“I should go and look the place over, I suppose,” he said, climbing up the stile and looking over in the direction towards which the Major had flung his hand. “Though what I am to do with it, I don’t know. I cannot live there – but I have no wish to be an absent landlord – and I do not want to give up my post here.”

“Look it over and then make a decision,” said Major Vernon. “The sight of the place may answer your questions. You may find it agreeable – and there may be plenty of work for you there. Of course, that would be somewhat of a loss to me, and the men.”

“You think I should turn farmer?”

“I think you should go and see the place,” Major Vernon said. “See how your land lies.”

“My land,” Felix said, shaking his head. “It is not really mine. It is absurd –”

“Land is never absurd,” said Major Vernon. “You are a lucky man. You will get a good income from it, whatever you decide, and you will have the consequence of it. Most men would count themselves extremely fortunate.”

“Yes, I am grateful – I think,” Felix said. “But I feel my hand has been forced. I do not want to desert you, or all this, and become something I am not. I have only just begun to make sense of this profession – and I am beginning to feel that will be a life’s work to master it, and not to try, well –”

“Then get a good man to manage the place for you. They can be found. I can help you find one, if you like. I have a little knowledge of these things.”

“Thank you. I would be grateful for your advice.”

“I’m glad to hear you have no wish to leave us,” Major Vernon said. He whistled to bring Snow (who had gone skittering off in search of an interesting scent) back to their side. “You would be hard to replace, Mr Carswell.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Felix. “You could get some straightforward, virtuous fellow who reads his Bible and never gets drunk.”

“That sounds extremely dull,” said Major Vernon, “and I would look shabby in such company, don’t you think?” He stopped to put Snow back on her leash, caressing her head extravagantly as he did so. “About Mrs Morgan. I’m sorry I could not be entirely straight with you. The situation was an exceptional one. I do not expect it will happen again. I must keep myself better tethered,” he finished, caressing the dog’s head again.

“She is exceptional,” Felix could not help saying. “I don’t think that I –” but then he broke off, realising it was, for both of them, too painful a subject to proceed with.

“Come,” Major Vernon said. “Tell me again about your ligature evidence. You will need to be word-perfect in court or we will be routed by that demon counsel, and after all we have gone through I am determined not to let that happen!”

***

About the Author

Harriet Smart was born and brought up in Birmingham. She attended the University of St Andrews, where she read History of Art, and then married a fellow student. She now lives with her family in Edinburgh.

Harriet has published seven historical novels and one contemporary novel as well as co-designing the innovative creative writing software
Writer’s Café
.

She is presently working on
The Northminster Mysteries
, a series of crime novels set in early Victorian England. Her research for the books included wearing stays and hand-sewing a man’s shirt.

Harriet blogs at
www.harrietsmart.com
and can be found on
Twitter
@fictionwitch.

Also by Harriet Smart

I hope you enjoyed this book. If so, you may also enjoy my other books, including:

The Butchered Man

Northminster, 1840: a once-picturesque cathedral city, where dirty smoke stacks now rival ancient spires. When workmen make the shocking discovery of a mutilated corpse in a ditch outside the ancient walls, Giles Vernon and Felix Carswell are charged with solving the case.

Intelligent and practical, Chief Constable Major Vernon has transformed the old city watch into a modern police force, and he throws himself into the investigation with the same energy. But as he probes a murky world of professional gamblers and jilted lovers, he is drawn into a dangerous emotional game that threatens to undermine his authority.

Newly-qualified police surgeon Felix Carswell is determined to make his way in the world on his own terms despite being the bastard son of prominent local grandee Lord Rothborough. Called to treat a girl in an asylum for reformed prostitutes, what he uncovers there brings him into conflict with his new employer, Vernon, and throws the case into disarray.

Together they must overcome their differences and find the brutal truth behind the mystery of
The Butchered Man
.

The Butchered Man
is the first Northminster Mystery featuring intrepid early-Victorian detectives Vernon and Carswell.

The Daughters of Blane

Three young ladies with more beauty and charm than Isobel, Leonora and Vivien Buchanan, daughters of the laird of Blane, would be hard to find; their marriage prospects are exceptional. Indeed, in the summer of 1890, Isobel is already engaged to a duke. But Isobel is secretly uncertain about the man she is to marry. When another, utterly unsuitable candidate presents himself, she is stunned by the strength of her feelings. Suddenly she must make a decision that could have devastating consequences. Younger and more independent, Vivien has always resisted the destiny allotted to women of her class. Marriage to a radical politician seems to offer her the deep and close relationship she seeks; but time and changing ideals can temper the deepest passion. Only Leonora, spoiled and extravagant, is ready to settle for a conventional marriage. But a rich and titled husband is no guarantee of happiness, especially against the pull of true but illicit love.