The Shadowcutter (16 page)

She made no sign that she would.

“When did you last pay Eliza Jones?”

“Of what interest can that be to you?”

“I am trying to find out as much about her as I can.”

“Surely that will not find her murderer?”

“The more I learn about a victim, the more I find I know about their killer. The one reflects another. There are always connections between them.”

“Always? When a footpad sets upon a stranger walking home and slits their throat? How are they connected?”

“To return to my question – ”

“Not until you have answered mine.”

“Very well – the stranger may have been observed by the footpad for some hours previously. Perhaps he saw him selling his horse and putting a fat purse into his pocket. Or he observed the good cut of his coat and saw the glint of his seal fob. A hunter always observes its prey, even if it is only for a few moments. There is strategy in even the most opportunistic crime – indeed, one might say that opportunism is a form of strategy in itself. Does that answer your question?”

“I do not know,” she said. “I still find yours offensive.”

“I regret that you do, but it must remain on the table, so to speak. It would be useful to know. How much did you pay her? Does that make it easier?”

“Six pounds a year,” she said. “And gifts, of course. As one does. We must always help those less fortunate than ourselves.”

“So at such a wage, you would feel that she had nothing to complain about?”

“No, nothing at all, given how pleasant her life was. Her duties were light. Necessarily I do not have an extensive wardrobe. Compared with the work that Lady Rothborough’s maid does, I think she was fortunate in her post.”

Giles wondered how much Lady Rothborough’s maid got paid – a visit to the steward’s room and the account books would be in order.

“You said she came from an orphanage.”

“Yes.”

“It was charitable of you to take the risk of taking on an untrained girl as your personal attendant.”

“I trained her myself – which was not difficult, because, as I have said before, my needs are simple. I did not need her to be skilled. Just a strong, sensible girl to mend my things, run errands, pack my box and help with my hair, and so forth. I did not wish for an expensive French girl with airs and problems.”

“I see. Perhaps you could have done without a maid entirely, given the expense?”

“It did occur to me, but a clergyman friend told me about this poor girl. He asked if I might help find her a post through my connections, and in the end I took her on myself.”

“And she came to you when?”

“About ten years ago. She was fifteen I think.”

“And you cannot recall anything more about her family background? Please try, Lady Warde, it may be important.”

“I am afraid I know nothing about it.”

“That is a pity,” he said. He turned a page of his notebook. “Now about the last few days, before she was discovered, can you recall anything in her manner or behaviour that struck you as odd?”

He watched her hand again fold round the locket.

“Perhaps,” she said. “I cannot be certain but I think, well, there is a gentleman in this house who would be more worthy of your attention, Major Vernon, than I. I think – I do not know for certain – but it struck me that Mr Syme and Eliza – one does not like to throw accusations around lightly, which is why I did not say anything at first, but now I consider it necessary.”

“Mr Syme? That is interesting. Thank your for candour, Lady Warde.”

“I do hope it is not true, of course,” she said. “But I observed them talking once or twice when we were at Limpersleigh and it unsettled me. It was not quite right.”

“How long were you at Limpersleigh?”

“From the end of the Season. From the end of May.”

“And Mr Syme was there all that time?”

“Oh yes,” she said, and gave a little sigh. “Oh dear, I do hope I have not said something slanderous.”

The note of regret struck him as entirely false.

“Is that the first time you met Mr Syme? At the end of May?”

“No, no, he was at Richmond too. Lady Rothborough doesn’t care to use Rothborough House during the Season but always stays at Richmond. He was there when I arrived in April from the Landishams.”

“He was with you then for the whole of the season?”

“Yes.”

“You only observed them talking, Lady Warde, nothing more than that?” Giles asked, thinking of Lady Maria’s confident assertion that Syme had been kissing Lady Augusta. “I take it she was a pretty girl?”

“A pretty girl,” she said. “And I fear he notices such things more than he ought. It was not just talking. It had an air of flirtation about it. I am not such an innocent that I do not know that when I see it.”

“I shall certainly speak to Mr Syme,” said Giles, closing his notebook and getting up from his chair. “Thank you very much, ma’am, for your time.” He was not entirely surely he had got everything he needed from her, but her accusation was at least something he could begin to explore.

She rose also, still with her hand on the locket.

“Yes, a pretty girl,” she repeated, almost absently.

“She did not confide in you, ma’am, even by hints?” he said.

“What do you mean, hints?” she said.

“The doctor who examined her body discovered she was with child.”

“Oh...” She swayed for a moment and steadied herself on the chair. “A child – no… two souls, not one... Dear Lord in heaven!” She laid her other hand on Giles’ arm, seemingly affected. “Your doctor is sure? That there was a child?”

“Yes, I am afraid so.”

Her fingers gripped at his arm for a moment.

“Speak to Syme. That is what you must do!”

And then she fled the room. This time Giles permitted her to escape.

Chapter Fifteen

A woman murdered by the father of an unwanted child – that was an old and miserable tale, but was that the case here?

Syme was in the great library, surrounded by all the worldly knowledge that the Rothborough family had acquired over the centuries. Giles wondered how many of the books he would have gladly tossed on a bonfire to improve the general chances of mankind’s salvation. Sitting there, his work spread out in front of him, he appeared lean-faced, committed, utterly in earnest and without discernible faults.

“Greek, I see, Mr Syme.”

“Yes.”

“Never my strongest subject,” Giles remarked, wandering over to one of the bookcases and examining the titles of the books. “In a library such as this, I feel rather aware of the holes in my education.”

“Greek would be an excellent place for you to start with that, sir,” Syme said. “Any Christian who can ought to try and read the Gospels in their original tongue. The word of the Lord is clearest here,” he went on, tapping the open text in front of him.

“It will have to wait until my retirement,” said Giles. “I have more urgent studies, such as the study of human nature.”

“The study of the Gospel is one of our first duties. I hope you do not neglect that, sir.”

Presumptuous whelp, thought Giles, taking his office so seriously.

“I have been given some information about you, Mr Syme, which may be pure slander. I have come here to give you the opportunity to refute it, as I am sure you will be able to do.”

He pulled up a chair to Syme’s work table and sat down.

“What sort of information?”

“A most unpleasant assertion. That you had an improper relationship with Miss Eliza Jones.”

Giles studied his expression a moment to see how he took the news. Syme did not meet his eyes, but busied himself carefully placing an embroidered marker in his Greek text and closing it. Giles wondered which female admirer had worked that for him. He continued: “Perhaps you might tell me, how someone might have conceived such an idea? You were seen together and somehow my witness formed the impression that you and she were intimate.”

“Your witness? Who is this witness?”

“I would rather not say.”

“I think I should be told. If it is a question of my word of against theirs.”

“You deny it, then?”

“Yes, yes, of course! It is a slander.”

“So what did my witness see? You were seen together.”

“This is the gossip of servants,” said Syme. “Malicious, ignorant gossip. I am surprised to find that you give such stories even a moment’s credit.”

“I am giving you the opportunity to refute this slander, Mr Syme,” Giles said. “I do not entirely credit it myself: what a person thinks that they have seen is sometimes a misinterpretation. However, a young woman has met her death in truly desperate circumstances, and I must sift through every piece of information I am given about her, in order to find what really happened. The fact that someone says that you and she had some sort of relationship, that you were seen in compromising circumstances, well, I must pursue that.”

There was a silence. Syme picked up his pencil and turned it in his fingers.

“How old are you, Mr Syme?”

“Twenty seven.”

“You ought to be married by now.”

“I am hoping that I may be in the not too distant future.”

“I think I can guess the name of the lady you have in mind.”

Syme bit his lip and went on twisting the pencil. Giles reached out and took the pencil from him.

“An allegation such as the one I have heard against you, would make that alliance an impossibility, I think,” Giles said, pointing the pencil at Syme. “You ought not to let it go unrefuted. You should gather your weapons and defend yourself against it.”

“I deny it. Is that not enough for you?” said Syme.

“That is not sufficient. You must tell me how you think such a slander arose. What was seen was seen. Now, was she in distress of some kind? Did you offer some pastoral guidance? Young women who are vulnerable and troubled often cross the boundaries of respectful behaviour when they seek help.”

Syme now closed his eyes and seemed to be offering up prayers.

“She was certainly troubled,” he said, after a moment.

“In what respect?”

“She was altogether curious. For a person of her station, at times, she had the manner of someone quite different. It was as if she were the daughter of a gentleman but given that she was also a common thief – ”

“You know that for a fact?”

“I caught her with several valuable little boxes. She took them from a side table at Lady Rothborough’s house in Richmond. I saw her do it. I made her put them back, of course.”

“You did not think of mentioning it to Lady Warde or Lady Rothborough?”

“No. Since the boxes were put back, and she promised me she would never do it again. It had been a single moment of folly. Or so she told me. I am not so sure now, given what happened afterwards – ”

He covered his face with his hand, writhing with mortification.

“Which was?” Giles said gently. “This will feel better for the telling, Mr Syme. And you have a God who is loving and forgiving.”

Syme took his hands from his face and stared, rather crazedly across at Giles.

“Yes, sir, indeed! How right you are to remind me! And thanks be that He has called you to witness His Infinite Mercy.”

“What happened, Mr Syme?”

“She... she...” He got up from his chair and began to pace about. “She was worried that I would betray her, although I had given her my word. She wished to make sure I kept it, and so she – oh, it was impossible! How was I to resist such an onslaught?”

“She offered herself to you?”

“Yes. Yes. And I failed. I failed myself and my God. I sinned, and on more than one occasion. She had me in her serpent’s arms. I could not escape her. I was lost when I was with her!”

Then he fell to his knees and began to weep. It was a most unedifying sight and Giles wondered if it was not something of a performance.

“Come, Syme, control yourself,” said Giles, going and standing over him. “Do not try to cloud the issue with hysteria.”

“What do you mean, sir?” said Syme, gazing up at him with watery, wheedling eyes. Even the Holbroke spaniels would not have attempted such a trick.

“How are you different from other ordinary young men? You paint yourself too white and Miss Jones too black. Get up!”

Giles wondered for a moment if he ought to haul the wretch to his feet, but fortunately Syme began to master himself a little and dragged his long frame upright.

“Given that this seems a great burden to you, Mr Syme,” Giles said, while the young man blew his nose, “I wonder why you did not approach me about it earlier. It can’t have weighed so heavily. Perhaps you were distracted by another young person.”

There was a long silence.

“Lady Aug – will she – ?” Syme began, with a gulp.

“Oh, I think so – unfortunately for you. I can’t imagine that she won’t find out what you have been up to. You are a material witness in this case, Mr Syme. Don’t think that I can keep this quiet. Lord Rothborough will want a full report of my progress. The information you have given me is not something that can be concealed, even though it will not do your reputation much good.”

“I am ruined,” Syme said, throwing up his hands.

“You were reaching for an apple very high on the branch, while helping yourself to the windfalls at the same time,” said Giles. “A game with high stakes. You might have avoided disaster, had you not let your prick be your master!”

“Sir!” exclaimed Syme.

“A pregnant girl has been murdered. That is what your should be concerned about. Not your reputation.”

“Pregnant?” said Syme.

“Yes, an innocent unborn, four months at most, the surgeon said. And I wonder who the father might be?” Syme looked a little pained by this information, to do him credit. Giles went on: “Is that really such a surprise to you, Mr Syme?”

“There might,” he said after a moment, “have been others. Given her disposition.”

“That would be convenient for you. And at the same time, most men, having made that sort of connection with a woman, are liable to find themselves angry at such behaviour. Even if we don’t think we value a thing highly, when someone else makes a play for it, we are apt to see how much it means to us. Perhaps her infidelity has been eating away at you, Mr Syme, causing you some distress?”