The Shadowcutter (48 page)

“It’s Mrs Bertram, sir,” she said. “Do you want me to fetch her? She’s just in the back shop.”

“No need,” said Giles, flipping up the counter barrier and pulling back the blue velvet curtain that led to the back shop.

The back shop was a large, airy room lined with shelves, and at the centre, sitting at a baize-covered table, sat Mrs Bertram. She was handsome and superbly turned out, in a dress of steel coloured silk. She had a strong look of Mrs Honeywell about her. Were they sisters, Giles wondered. That was an unholy connection if it were so.

There were piles of artificial flowers of every description on the table in front of her, with which she was making posies, tied with fancy ribbons.

“Excuse me?” she said, rising and clearly annoyed at his intrusion.

“I am Major Vernon, of the Northminster Constabulary. And this is Mr Carswell. We are making enquiries about a woman whom I believe to be a customer of yours: Lady Warde.”

“Oh, really, sir?” said Mrs Bertram. “Her Ladyship that is a guest of Sir Arthur Felpsham and his lady at Brook House?”

“The same.”

“Well, I don’t know what enquiries you might have about her, sir; she is a most respectable lady, and Lady Felpsham is a good customer.”

“I understand that she may have been using this establishment as a receiving address,” Giles said.

“That is not against any law I know of,” said Mrs Bertram.

“No, it is not. But why would it be necessary for a lady with such respectable friends to have her letters sent to a flashy draper’s shop?”

She pursed her lips at that, and again Giles saw the resemblence to Mrs Honeywell.

“I think I may have had the pleasure of meeting your sister, Mrs Bertram. Mrs Honeywell?”

“What of it?” she said after a moment.

“That cannot be a comfortable connection for you. A respectable business like this – if it is a respectable business?”

“There ain’t no law about taking people’s letters,” she said. “And this is a respectable business. As I said Lady Felpsham is one of my best customers.”

“And Sir Arthur is one of your sister’s best customers,” said Giles. “He must always pay his wife’s bill on time.”

“All right, all right. What do you want?” she said.

“Tell me what your dealings with Lady Warde have been. When did she first come here?”

“She was with Lady Felpsham. It was more than a fortnight ago. I didn’t take much notice of her, that time, but she came back alone a day or so later, for some embroidery silk I think. She took her time choosing it, and she would only deal with me, not my girl. Then when she was paying for it she asked me where in town was a good place to have letters sent. So I said she could have anything she liked sent here, for a fee, of course. I have done it before – it isn’t against the law – and it’s convenient for a lady to come into a shop like this. She can always make an excuse to come in for something or other.”

“And how many letters have you had for her?”

“One or two. She has been in regularly asking though. I think she is waiting for something.”

Giles nodded.

“When does she usually come in?”

“A little after eleven. Soon enough. Why?”

“Tell her you have her parcel.”

“But I don’t.”

“Bring her in the back here. I wish to speak to her.”

“And why should I do that?” Mrs Bertram said.

“She is a thief and a murderer, Mrs Bertram, and protecting her will get you into no end of trouble. Just send her in here and the matter will be done with. Oh, and tell your girl, when Lady Warde does come in, to run out and find a constable. There was a solid-looking fellow in the vicinity of the post office, I noticed.”

“That’s George,” said Mrs Bertram. “A murderer – are you sure, sir?”

“Quite.”

“But staying at Sir Arthur’s? How did that come about?”

The bell jangled.

“You have a customer,” said Giles. He hoped it was not Lady Warde. He needed Mrs Bertram to settle into a mask of normality. At the moment she was quivering with curiosity.

“Go on,” he prompted her.

She left, staring at them as she drew the curtain.

“Who is Mrs Honeywell?” Carswell said.

Giles put his finger to his lips and went to the doorway, hoping to catch what was going on in the shop. But he could not.

Mrs Bertram came back a few moments later and sat down again at the table.

“What were you doing at my sister’s?” she said. “Are you going to cause trouble for her?”

“She has caused it for herself,” Giles said.

Mrs Bertram sighed. “She won’t like any of this. But she has had it easy. Too easy. She was never one for steady work.”

She picked up another bundle of flowers and began to bind the stems with ribbons.

“Has she told you about her arrangements with Sir Arthur?” said Giles.

“Yes,” she said with a sigh.

“Then you may help her by being a witness to that. It can be argued that his part was far worse than hers in this. What he has done is a far greater crime, all in all.”

“And who would take my word against Sir Arthur?” she said throwing down the finished posy and beginning to make another. “And if she goes down, so shall I, I dare say. All my hard work for nothing.”

The bell rang and she got up again.

“I hope you know what you are about in all this,” she said and went sailing back into the shop, brusquely pulling the curtain shut.

“Oh, my Lady, how good to see you,” they heard her say. “I have news for you.”

“She’s a good actress,” murmured Carswell.

Giles nodded and summoned his own arts.

-0-

The expression on Lady Warde’s face was interesting, if not gratifying as she realised what she had walked into.

Major Vernon had taken Mrs Bertram’s place at the table and was idly playing with one of the finished posies. He had directed Carswell to stand by the door, and block her way should she turn and attempt to leave, which she did almost at once.

“How dare you!” she said, as Felix jumped into her path. “What is this? How dare you?”

“We have some business to finish,” said Major Vernon, getting up and pulling out a chair for her. “Please do sit down.”

“Get a constable, Mrs Bertram,” said Lady Warde. “This man is a lunatic. He attacked me! He cannot do this.”

“The girl has already gone for one,” said Major Vernon. “Why do you not sit down, my Lady? We have business and we might as well be civil.”

“I shall not speak to you!” she said, still facing towards the doorway.

“Would you not like your parcel, ma’am?” said Major Vernon. “I understand you have been anxious to get this back.”

Now she turned a little and stared at him.

He was holding up the carpet bag.

“Is this what you have been waiting for?” he said, putting it down on the table among the artificial flowers.

She dashed forward, snatched it up in her arms and held it against herself like a child she wished to protect. But after a moment, she realised something was amiss with it.

“It is empty,” Major Vernon said. “I have removed and examined its contents. All of them. Mr Benson, the magistrate, has them. Including the account book. A meticulous piece of work. He was most intrigued by it. And we identified the clasp on that pretty diamond bracelet as belonging to a member of the Wrottexter family.”

“How dare you open my baggage? How dare you? Will you never cease with your outrages, sir? Will you not desist from persecuting me? Wait until I tell my counsel of this, he will –”

“Oh, hold you tongue, you silly woman!” said Major Vernon, calmly but with great firmness. “You have absolutely nowhere to hide now. The magistrate has seen all the evidence, and he will show it to his colleagues. When the constable comes, he will arrest you and take you before them, and they will charge you with theft and that will be an end to all this nonsense.”

“No!” she exclaimed.

“And you will eat your dinner in a cell tonight, instead of at Sir Arthur’s table. And you can look forward to a sentence of transportation at least, if not the gallows.”

“You will not, you shall not get away with this!” she said.

“It is too late to protest,” Major Vernon said. “The cat is out of the bag, so to speak.”

And he went to her and with a little struggle wrested the bag from her.

“Sit down,” he said, pointing to a chair. “And be quiet. A little composure and contrition will serve you very well.”

She was breathing hard, Felix could see, and shaking her head, in disbelief.

“I shall not be treated like this,” she said. “I shall not! Do you know who I am?”

“A thief and a murderer,” said Major Vernon. “And that is how the world will know you henceforth. Your scheming has failed, ma’am. It is done with.”

She gulped as if swallowing a torrent of words and, somewhat to Felix’s astonishment, she went and sat down as she was bid. He supposed she was planning her next outburst. In the meantime a curious silence fell on the room as they waited for the jangling of the shop bell and the arrival of the constable.

Major Vernon took up one of the posies again.

“These are pretty trifles,” he said, breaking the silence and speaking as if nothing at all was amiss. “Are they for bonnets, Mrs Bertram?”

Mrs Bertram looked a little astonished by this. She was standing by the shelves, one hand pressed to her breast, her fingers nervously picking at the pleats of her bodice.

“Er, yes,” she said after a moment. “They are the latest thing from Paris. Would you like one for your lady, sir? Or two? They are two for one and six.”

Major Vernon nodded and laid down the posy.

“Unfortunately my wife is dead,” he said. “I would be a willing customer otherwise. I should have taken great pleasure in taking her home a present like that.”

“I am sorry to hear that sir,” said Mrs Bertram. “Not recently, I hope.”

“Very recently,” said Major Vernon. He sat down at the table again, and picked up a silk rose that had not yet been bound up. “She would have been charmed by these.” He laid the rose down on the green baize with great gentleness. “Lady Warde has also lost her daughter recently,” he went on.

“Oh my,” said Mrs Bertram.

“In shocking circumstances. You may have heard talk about it. She was found in a pool, battered to death and then drowned – and with a child in the womb. It is no wonder her mind is disturbed. Loss leads us into to dark places.”

“She was... murdered?” Mrs Bertram said, clutching a little harder at her bodice.

“Yes,” said Major Vernon getting up so that his shadow cast itself over Lady Warde who sat, head bent, staring down at her gloved hands. “By a brute who had led her astray. Who had led a mother and daughter astray. A deceitful, manipulative brute. Who promised an escape from a miserable life and then cheated them of it. A piece of filth, yes, ma’am?” His tone was gentle, almost caressing, and there was a hint of the mesmeric about it. Then, as if compelled by him to do so, Lady Warde lifted her eyes and looked up at the Major. “A woman must protect her child. You did exactly that. You loved her so much. No-one ever understood how much.”

Lady Warde nodded. Felix could see there was a tear glistening in her eye.

“You were a good mother,” Major Vernon went on. “The best mother she could have had. And what a fine grandmother you would have been, had that wretch not –”

“I had to,” she said in a tiny voice that was half a sob. “I had no choice.”

Felix could scarcely believe what he had heard.

Major Vernon now laid his hand on her shoulder. She still gazed up at him for one long moment longer before she pressed her hands to her face.

“And after that, it was all fear, and confusion and you did not know what you were about,” Major Vernon went on, still quiet, still so gentle. “What happened was an accident. I understand, ma’am. I understand.”

She began to weep into her hands, and then, as if collapsing under the weight of his hand, she slithered from the chair and onto her knees, bent over, and howling like an animal in pain. It was an awful sight and a sound worse still.

“Forgive me?” she rasped. “For the love of God, will you forgive me? I did not mean to... I pushed her aside, and she... ”

Major Vernon stepped back, his hand on his mouth, breathing hard.

“The stairs,” Lady Warde began again, in awful strangulated tones of agony that chilled the heart to hear them. “I did not realise she was so close to the top of the stairs. I did not mean... Dear God, I did not mean... Forgive me, sir, forgive me!”

Epilogue

Northminster, September 1840

“It’s certainly a very fine house,” Giles said. “Quite an undertaking, though.”

“Yes, but nothing I can’t manage,” Sukey Connolly said. “Now, I must show you the garden. It’s the best part of all.”

“Of course.”

He followed her along the flagged passageway to where a glazed door opened onto a very pleasant, old-fashioned walled garden.

“I had no idea the gardens in Silver Street were so large,” he said, as they walked along a lavender-edged path towards a patch of orchard.

“No, it’s a bit of a wonder, isn’t it?” she said. “My sister couldn’t believe it either. And look at these apple trees – well, I don’t suppose we will get a crop like this every year – it has been a good year for them – but these are good-keeping apples. And there is an apple store. Waste not, want not...” she said, stooping to gather up a few windfalls.

“Here, you missed these,” he said, picking up a couple for himself and dropping them into her apron, which she had turned into an impromptu container. As he did so, their eyes met but only for a moment, for she looked away nervously. At the same time, a raft of clouds blew over the sun and a grey chill descended on the garden.

“I suppose,” she said, “you will want to know how this all came about. This good fortune of mine.”

“Only if you wish to tell me,” he said.

At first he had not questioned Sukey’s good fortune. Unexpected inheritances did occur, and he knew nothing of the circumstances of her late husband’s family. Her plan to put the money into a high-class lodging house, letting rooms to gentleman, struck him as sensible, even though he was surprised she had chosen to do it in Northminster. Yet she had family in the town, which was reason enough. But when he had realised that the handsome house in Silver Street belonged to the Rothborough estates, he had grown a little uneasy.