The Keeper of Secrets (13 page)

It was March, and the most beautiful early spring morning. All of my young pupils had been drafted, without so much as a by-your-leave, into the fields, and my lesson was
ipso
facto
cancelled. So, with the delightful feeling that I too was wagging, I donned my hat and boots and set forth on one of the walks I had come to love. My path took me through fields and meadows, all coming to life, under the clear blue skies that had allowed an overnight frost and promised another. Becoming over-warm, I strayed into the woodlands of the Priory estate, for no other reason than that was where my feet took me. Perhaps at the back of my mind was the knowledge that Mrs Beckles would assuredly offer me a welcoming nuncheon whatever time I presented myself, while at home Mrs Trent and Susan had decided that every mote of dust should be driven from my study.

Sitting on a fallen branch at the edge of the woods, my eye was caught by a bird, flitting to and fro through the woodland to her unseen nesting place. It was as one of the
genus
Sylviidae
, the warblers. I could not tell in the dim light that was all the noble trees permitted whether she was a
sedge-warbler
or a whitethroat. I resolved to tread softly in the hope of seeing her more closely – perhaps even finding her nest.

There! I was almost upon her! A whitethroat, surely, with the building material of her nest in her beak – soft, delicate threads, blowing in the breeze as she darted with purpose into a rowan tree. The thread was red.

Dared I tiptoe closer?

A rank, sweetish smell permeated the otherwise perfect sylvan scene – no doubt one of the briefly returned Lord Elham’s illicit kills, left to rot and poison the pure air. If I saw it, I would ask Matthew to bury it. I pressed on.

Now, while the bird was on another foray, I reached my target, her nest. A miracle of workmanship, it was even lined to protect the eggs and then the young. That much I had expected. Now I saw what I feared, that the lining was not grey-green dried grass, but that it was all a soft red. I reached to touch. Alas, yes – it was as soft and fine as hair. It was hair.

Whence had it come? I reached and plucked a single fibre. Surely I could not fail to recognise that glow, that lustre? Did that mean—?

It could not, must not be Lizzie’s hair.

Cursing my morbid imaginings for such a foolish fancy, I stumbled blindly away, only to disturb a vile fevered cloud of flies, buzzing about a sinister mound, the source of the evil, pungent sickly smell. A wash of hair tumbling from it confirmed what in my heart I knew—

I fell in what I hoped would be eternal oblivion.

‘It is indeed she, my poor friend,’ Dr Hansard whispered, pressing a draught of something bitter between my lips. I had swooned again when I had returned with him to this terrible place. Dr Hansard knelt solemnly beside me. I must
have run to fetch him, but I could recall nothing of my journey to Langley House, or our return together, on horseback. I must have borrowed his spare mount. Yes, the animals were tethered over there, quietly eating the fresh grass.

Kneeling, he and I regarded the poor rotting mortal remains, from which with infinite gentleness he dusted the earth that had covered them in the shallowest of graves.

Intellectually, spiritually, indeed, I apprehended the facts of our last end. Since we had no need of our earthly body, why should it not return, ashes to ashes, dust to dust? I recalled a bishop’s tomb cover, I knew not in which cathedral, with the good man depicted in a state of advanced decay. I had even laughed at Hamlet’s savage quips about Polonius being at supper, where a convocation of worms ate him.

But nothing had prepared me, even remotely, for the sight of my Lizzie’s half decayed, eyeless face, for the stench of her dear body. I turned again to vomit once more. Dr Hansard took the opportunity to cover her with a sheet he must have brought for the purpose.

‘The poor child. I will see that she is prepared for a decent burial. Will you wish to see her again before you read the service? To see how she died?’ He regarded me from beneath his thick brows, and resumed his gentle brushing of the earth away from the shallow grave.

‘Of course,’ I whispered, steeling myself for the ordeal. ‘And what better place than in this vernal setting?’

Waves and waves of nausea again induced me to the weakness of a child, but I forced myself to observe what the
good doctor indicated – the long slice that had almost severed poor Lizzie’s head. There was another gash.

‘The killer plucked out her womb,’ Hansard breathed, as ashen as myself.

As justice of the peace, Hansard had another function – to determine the identity of the killer. To this end, he insisted that no one but ourselves should know the details of Lizzie’s fate. He sent me back for his curricle and a device he had used before for conveying sad corpses, which he kept, he said, in his stables. George would know where he kept it, but George was not to be allowed to accompany me. I knew that he wished to keep me occupied, suspected that he wished to keep me away from Lizzie while he made further, unspeakable investigations. Before, when I had helped him look at the place where his late lordship had died, I had blundered about, irritating him. This time I resolved to be as calm and efficient as any man.

‘As you can see,’ Hansard said, without preamble, ‘that is an old table top, flat and thin.’ As he spoke, he slid it deftly under the pitiful remains. ‘And these leather straps to fasten the poor child in place.’ He had done all this without removing her temporary shroud. ‘Now, let us lift together, as pall-bearers do. And now, softly, softly, on to the back of the gig: there. You are doing very well, Tobias. I am proud of you.’

Eyes awash, I essayed a smile. ‘I understand you are doing this to assist in discovering her killer, though I know not how it will.’

He gave a bark of grim laughter. ‘To be frank, neither do I,
as yet. But I promise you most solemnly, my dear young friend, that I will find whoever did this and that justice will be done.’ I think he spoke to Lizzie, rather than to me.

So solemn was his promise, I found myself adding a stern ‘Amen’.

The poor body decently stowed in the cool of his cellar, he pressed me to join him for dinner to assist him, as he kindly put it, in his cogitations. Before he would admit us to the house, however, he insisted that we strip and douse ourselves under the pump, lending me clothes some ten years out of fashion to replace those of mine he solemnly burnt.

As we watched the bonfire from the window of his dressing room, he said, ‘One day we will know how disease comes about and how to prevent it. I know there are far better doctors than I who will insist that such measures are unnecessary, men who will not wash their hands even after handling the dead. But it always seems to me a matter of manners, to oneself and to others. If I crush a stem of lavender between my fingers as I walk down the garden path, I enjoy pressing my fingertips to my nose to remind myself of it later during the day. If I do not enjoy touching and smelling something, why should I inflict the memory of that experience on my senses? And we should extend that courtesy to other people, too – in my case, to my patients. Why touch something pure, like a newborn babe, with hands that last handled an old man’s leg covered with running sores?’ He looked at me sagely. ‘Aye, I know you think me a
gabble-monger
, but what else should we speak of? And, let me tell you, it is not often I lose a mother to puerperal fever, so
perhaps I have right on my side. Now, I think we deserve the warmth of a fire, and a glass of my finest sherry. Come this way. Ah, now, employ that sense of smell again. Is not Cook doing us proud?’

We drank deeply first of sherry, then, with the two courses set before us, of claret, or I swear no morsel of the excellent rib of beef, with a fricassee of turnips and mutton pie, and an even better cheese could have passed my lips. But when he offered port and brandy, I waved the decanters away. We needed our wits, I said, to be unfuddled.

‘We do indeed. Let us go into my study, so I can record any useful ideas either of us may have.’ All the same, as he gestured me before him, he picked up the decanters and carried them through.

He took his place behind his desk, suddenly removing his wig and hanging it, in a gesture I found endearing, on the back of his chair, and scratching his scalp with vigour.

‘Who might have wanted Lizzie dead?’ he demanded, with brutal directness. He donned his spectacles, trimmed a pen and reached for a clean sheet of paper, as if to make note of our ideas. To my knowledge, however, he did not put pen to paper. ‘Her death was no accident,’ he added dryly.

I tried to match his manner with a short laugh. ‘I would have thought any rivals to her hand would rather the others were dead, rather than the object of their affections.’

‘So if you or Jem or Matthew had been found thus you would have pointed the finger at the surviving lover.’

‘Assuming I was alive to point the finger,’ I said. I stopped short – how much wine had I drunk? Lying only feet from me was the desecrated corpse of the most beautiful woman it had
ever been my privilege to meet, and here I was making jokes.

As if he read my mind, Edmund said, ‘In my experience, laughter – especially angry, sardonic laughter – is one way of acknowledging that while we grieve, we still have to go on living. Consider Dean Swift’s impotent rage at the plight of the starving Irish peasantry and his response,
A Modest Proposal
.’ He might have ruminated thus for longer, but visibly straightened his shoulders. ‘Very well, you wish to exonerate both Matthew and Jem.’

‘I do. Surely I do. Jem is more than my friend, Edmund, he is my mentor. He taught me everything an elder brother would teach – the decencies of life in practical affairs. To my governess, my school and my university I owe my intellectual education, but it was from him I had my moral one. And yet he is now my servant, dependent on me for his food and clothes. I often think that he should be the clergyman, I the groom.’

‘Your generosity—’

‘My honesty!’

‘—does you credit, Tobias. But – as I believe my friend Mrs Beckles pointed out to you – you did not even realise that there was a
tendresse
between Jem and poor Lizzie. How well does any man know another, when the passions are involved?’

‘As soon say that I killed her!’ I declared.

‘Very well. Did you? You had motive and possibly opportunity.’

‘Motive? I?’

‘You loved a woman promised to another. You could not have her – perhaps you pressed your suit and she rejected you – and so you decided that no one else should have her.’

I buried my head in my hands. I had not felt such fury, but that did not mean that another – perhaps someone I knew – had not. ‘I tell you truly, that I would have conducted her marriage ceremony and baptised her children with so much spiritual love that no one would have suspected me of carnality.’

He came to lay his hands on my shoulders. ‘I believe you, my young friend. Or,’ he added, straightening, ‘we would not be having this conversation.’ He returned to his desk. ‘Now, you do not wish Jem to be a suspect, though I think we must at least question him, and I believe that you are innocent. What about the third young man, Matthew?’

I stared into the fire. Matthew certainly felt animosity towards me, holding me responsible for depriving him of Lizzie’s affections. He missed her when she went away with Lady Elham. But he had now found another love. Did that have a bearing on the case?

‘Does your silence imply that you think him guilty?’

I shook my head. ‘I came across him…in the most compromising of circumstances. I think you might say he has found solace with another.’

‘Yes, young Annie Barton. I wondered if you had heard.’

‘Oh, I heard! And I fear I also saw. I did not know that that was the young lady in the case, however.’

‘You decently averted your gaze.’

‘Let us say that I did not recognise her footwear. Lady! She is—’

He shook his head, lest I damn her without ever having met her. ‘She is a young woman with strong appetites. I am glad she is not my daughter, and I would not employ her as a
servant, but I would not judge her any more than I would judge a young animal.’

I swallowed hard. ‘She does not come to church, and I have never had a conversation with her.’

‘Certainly not a criminal conversation!’ he laughed. ‘Though in fact it would be fornication, I suppose, not adultery. Very well, I think we must question Matthew. It may be he had turned to Annie Barton without apprising Lizzie of the matter. Let us say, for sake of argument, that she found out and remonstrated with him. He, irritated, lost his temper and strangled her to silence her. How do you like that theory?’

‘You omit one fact,’ I said. ‘Poor Lizzie had her throat slit. And whoever did that hated her enough to tear out her womb. Matthew abhors physical cruelty – many a time I have heard him rail against the new Lord Elham’s proclivities.’ I fell silent, trying to suppress a fearsome accusation.

Edmund looked me straight in the eye. ‘I wonder if his lordship’s proclivities extend to torturing innocent serving maids.’

‘We must question him!’ I said, ready to seize my hat and dash off instanter.

‘We must indeed. But we must also question the other young men. Unless there is very good cause to suspect Elham, even I would hesitate thus to enrage the family. And we have to think of a reason why he should want her dead.’

I pointed an accusing finger in the direction of the Priory. ‘He saw her as a plaything! He and his friends!’ I recounted the story of my first evening in the village.

‘You want to preserve a plaything for future use,’ he said.

‘His own mother’s abigail! Surely Lady Elham would not permit – no, she took Lizzie under her wing that she might the better protect her. In any case,’ I said, trying to be rational, ‘if it were he, why wait for her to make her way back to the Priory before killing her? It would be much easier to dispose of your unwanted inamorata in London, in those hideous anonymous stews of poverty. God knows how many bodies end up in the Thames.’

‘But in London they have the Bow Street Runners to detect such crimes. Here in Moreton St Jude we have not so much as a village constable to turn to – which is a matter I propose to raise at the inquest.’

‘But what can we do? We cannot let such a vicious death go uninvestigated and unpunished. So let us speak to Jem and to Matthew now. Then we may make similar demands of Elham,’ I added, challenging him to argue.

‘Of course. Though I would suggest we wait till tomorrow. There is in any case an impediment. Only the murderer knows that Lizzie has died. We need to break the news.’

I quailed at the thought. ‘Would it…would it be possible…for us to do the task together? Matthew… Jem…’

‘I never thought of anything else, my dear friend. As parson the lot must inevitably fall to you, but I will be at hand not merely to support you but also to observe. I trust we will see nothing but grief, but if there is guilt to be detected, I will be there to record it.’

‘And if – as I hope and pray – we find nothing to raise our suspicions?’

‘Then we have to speak to Lord Elham. In any case, we should admit Mrs Beckles to our counsels. As housekeeper, she has a pretty good idea of her underlings’ welfare. In any case, can you imagine, once we have spoken to the young men, that the news will not be all round the village?’

‘
All
the news?’ I demanded.

‘As much as we care to reveal of it. If anyone knows anything it will be round the parish the instant I reveal what has happened. Possibly all we have to do is sit here and wait for the information to come to us.’

I struck one fist in the palm of the other in my frustration.

‘It may be quicker in the end,’ he cautioned me. ‘There is nothing like a home question to silence gossipers. Now, although I usually rely on old Mrs Smith’s help with lyings in
and layings out, I will prepare Lizzie for burial myself, with that terrible throat injury as an excuse. I cannot imagine that even her own mother will wish to do more than kiss a square inch of her forehead in farewell.’

I shuddered at the thought of those empty eye sockets. ‘If that.’ I swallowed hard, forcing back bile. ‘Why, when I last spoke, Mrs Woodman was ready to disown her for her folly in leaving Lady Templemead’s protection. I expected anger, indeed, resentment, for I am sure that Lizzie sent home as much as she could afford, but not
such
bitterness.’

‘And that is the first call we have to make tomorrow,’ he reflected. ‘In my care for the young men, I had forgotten the other sister and even the mother.’ He looked at the clock. ‘Will you be riding home tonight or would you care to accept my hospitality?’

I gave a rueful smile. ‘If I did what I wished, and accepted, I should have to send your groom out into the cold with a message for my household, lest Jem or Mrs Trent worry that I am fallen into some mantrap. Ten to one Jem would speed to the Priory and disturb everyone there by demanding a search party.’

‘You underrate Jem. Assuredly he would look for you here. But you are right. And at least under cover of darkness you may make your way home with no one questioning your borrowed finery!’

We agreed that I would join him at first light the following morning to call upon Mrs Woodman. He and I often set off on such errands together, and this one would excite no comment.

‘You are to play a parson grieving for a parishioner he found in quite normal circumstances,’ Dr Hansard declared. ‘As if the poor child was caught on her journey by inclement weather and simply collapsed with exhaustion seeking the shelter of a hedgerow.’

‘A stout countrywoman? Never!’ In any case, all feelings would be offended by such an untruth, especially when the facts became generally known.

‘In my experience, a criminal can best be unmasked if he believes that he has not been found out. Trust me, Tobias. We both have our parts to play.’

Mrs Woodman was plucking a chicken when we arrived. No doubt the sight of our grim, unsmiling faces hinted at what we had to tell her, but even her anxiety did not stop her polishing with her apron the seats she offered. The cottage was somewhat larger than the average, although it had never had to house more than Mr and Mrs Woodman and their two daughters. Mr Woodman had died soon after Susan was born – at least the child presumed so, not having a single memory of him. The little family had been left a tiny amount by a very distant relative, according to Farmer Bulmer, which kept them out of the workhouse. Perhaps it had been enough to buy a better quality of furniture than I was accustomed to see in cottages; some would not have been out of place in a yeoman farmer’s house.

‘I am so very sorry, Mrs Woodman,’ I began, ‘but I come with the very worst of news. Lizzie is dead.’

‘She was dead to me, as soon as I heard what she had done,’ the woman said obdurately.

‘I think she was coming back here to see you,’ I pursued,
that being the theory Dr Hansard and I had agreed to propound.

‘And now she is dead? How should that be?’

Dr Hansard gave a vague and evidently unsatisfactory response.

Mrs Woodman fixed him with a cold stare. ‘What should she expect, leaving her post and traipsing round the countryside like a hoyden?’

Dr Hansard stood up. ‘Madam, I think you fail to understand. Your daughter is dead.’

And then she repeated what she had once said to me. ‘She is no daughter of mine.’

Before either of us could remonstrate, there was a frantic banging at the door.

I stepped forward to answer it.

A child stood before me, white to the lips. ‘They said in the village that you and Dr Hansard were here. Parson, my father’s had a fall!’

‘Tom, is it not? Tom Broom? Wait, I will summon the doctor.’

He got to his feet at once, begging Mrs Woodman’s pardon, and promising to call later. ‘Let the dead bury the dead,’ he growled, as we set off after an already speeding Tom. ‘And though Mrs Woodman herself is alive, her feelings seem long dead.’

When it transpired that Thomas Broom senior had broken a leg, and had no immediate need of my services, I set off for home.

I found Matthew waiting for me, taller and broader than ever, in the bright spring sunshine.

‘They say in the village that you’ve found her, Rector.’

I had expected the news to travel fast. This had positively flown. What did his demeanour suggest? Guilt? Or simple pain?

‘Might I be permitted to say one last goodbye?’ he asked.

Without speaking, and desperately wishing I could postpone what I suspected would be a very unpleasant conversation until Dr Hansard might be present, I led him round to the back garden, out of Jem’s line of vision, to my favourite bench. Although he withdrew his tobacco pouch, he made no effort to fill a pipe.

‘Why do you want to bid her farewell, Matthew?’

His face worked, but at last he straightened and spoke like a man. ‘Because I am walking out with another young maid, Mr Campion. And I want to do the decent thing by everyone.’

What better philosophy could that be? I was torn between two desires – either to show him the poor corpse and revolt him into a confession, or to let him think of the girl as she once was, so that he might take his new sweetheart without care. Patting him gently on the shoulder, I left him there while I repaired for a moment’s silent prayer.

I returned with my smaller Bible in my hand.

‘I want you to swear on this, with as much solemnity as if you were in a court of law, that you had nothing to do with her death.’

Without hesitation he laid his rough hand on the Book. ‘I take God as my witness that I loved sweet Lizzie Woodman and harmed not a hair on her head. Nor did her any other
harm neither,’ he added, as if wishing to cover all points. ‘And I swear that had I had her by my side now, my thoughts would never have strayed to any other maiden, be she never so beautiful.’ His voice shook.

It seemed to me a good oath. Would it satisfy Doctor Hansard?

‘I believe you, Matthew. But as for saying your farewells to Lizzie, let me think on it a little longer.’

He reflected for a few moments, swallowing hard from time to time. ‘Why do you hesitate, Parson? Is she…how long…she is…?’

‘I do no know how long she lay there, Matthew. Her face is…damaged.’ I thought of the decomposing rabbit I had watched him bury, the day I myself was assaulted.

So perhaps did he. ‘It’s a crying shame! Why can’t God take us to Him as we are?’

‘I think, my friend, He does exactly that,’ I said, laying a hand on his shoulder. ‘He takes our lovely souls and dresses them in brighter raiment that we can imagine.’

‘If anyone deserves to be in heaven, it is my Lizzie,’ he agreed, breaking from me and running from the garden.