The Shadowcutter (5 page)

“Don Xavier Martinez. But he may have a clerical title as well.”

“Martinez? That’s the name of the late President – General Martinez. He fought with Bolivar, and then went home and pushed the Spanish out of Santa Magdalena, well, some fifteen years ago now. He ruled the place like a prince until last year someone put a bullet through his head.”

“Then our poor man may be some connection – which makes his neglect all the more inexplicable, unless is it some kind of family quarrel.”

“Those are wretchedly common. So you saw them all this morning taking the waters?” Giles nodded. “The
on dit
is that former Chancellor Ramirez has been travelling about Europe trying to raise support for a counter-coup. It is the widow Martinez I should like to see. She has the reputation of being a shrewd tactician who had the people in the palm of hand. The opinion is that the rebels made a serious mistake when they did not shoot her!”

Chapter Four

Lord Rothborough left him to his examination of the site. Giles wanted to see if there was any evidence of where she had entered the water, so he made a careful circuit of the pool, edging along the sloping path of the far side with care. As he approached the little bridge, the flagstones forming the path turned into dark but dry mud. He got down on his hands and knees to look for recent footprints. There were marks in the mud but he could not be sure if he was seeing footprints. He would have to look at her boots.

To enter the grotto cave it was necessary to cross that rickety, rail-less bridge. In wet weather, due to the steep arch, this would have been a risky undertaking. Today, in the dry, warm air, the sound of his feet on the wooden planks echoed in the sounding chamber of the basin around him.

The interior of the grotto was surprising – but he was sure that this was the desired effect. It was all part of the theatrical trickery of the place. He had expected darkness, but it was in fact illuminated from above. Irregular fissures forming roof lights had been glazed with stained glass, creating eerie but effective pools of coloured light on a white floor made from fragments of shells pressed into cement. Presiding over all, from a rocky niche, was the milky marble statue of a woman in a long robe. She had her eyes raised towards heaven and a cross pressed to her bosom. Presumably this was St Gertrude.

Despite her saintly presence, Giles wondered if the cave was not an attractive place for a tryst. It was sheltered from the elements, private and scarcely visited – in short, excellent if one did not wish to be interrupted. No-one would know of such a spot by chance. As a visitor to the house, had the dead woman heard about it from one of the resident staff? Perhaps she had gone there to meet one of them. Lord Rothborough and Lady Charlotte might think that the servants did not go into the Pleasure Gardens, but masters usually knew little about the private lives and desires of their employees. The fact it was a forbidden place would only make it more alluring, especially to those in search of privacy and intimacy. Men and women of that class were forced to take opportunities where they could find them. Was this how the business had begun? If that was the case, then what had gone wrong? How had she ended up in the pool, dead, and not safely back at the great house?

He searched around for evidence, but found nothing. There were no obvious traces of her presence.

He emerged again and carefully crossed over the rickety bridge, stopping for a moment at its slightly perilous summit. From there it was a drop of at least ten feet down into the water.

Had she meant to kill herself? Had she thrown herself into the deep, dark waters in a fit of despair when her lover had failed to come? That sounded all together too much like a novel. The heat was clouding his mind. He made his way back to the dairy.

Holt was in heavy conversation with the coachman, but jumped to attention at the sight of him.

“Let’s find you that pint of beer in the servant’s hall,” Giles said, getting into the carriage. Holt got in after him and sat as before, on the tip-up seat. “But not more than that. I need you to keep your eyes and ears open.”

-0-

Lady Charlotte was waiting for him in the great marble entrance hall at Holbroke.

“I hope you don’t mind, Major Vernon,” she said. “But I have been to talk to our housekeeper, Mrs Hope. She has not seen Eliza Jones – for that is her name – since after dinner last night. Well, the upper servants’ dinner, that is. They eat at five in the Steward’s room. But I have not spoken to Lady Warde yet, just as you requested. She must have seen her, because she went upstairs with the other maids when the dressing bell was rung at seven.”

“We shall have to talk to all the ladies’ maids,” said Giles.

“We?”

He had said it out of force of habit, but it struck him that she might be a useful assistant, and there was something about the way she had hurried across the hall to meet him that suggested she was eager to assist him.

“If you can spare the time. I would not wish to impose.”

“It would be no imposition. It would be...” she hesitated a moment, choosing the right word, “interesting to assist you, Major Vernon. You are staying tonight, I think? I have had them make a room ready for you.”

“Thank you, it would be a pleasure.”

“My mother and sisters are in the drawing room. As is Lady Warde.”

“I think I ought to make myself presentable first.”

She nodded and signalled to the liveried man who had opened the door to him.

“Henry, show Major Vernon to the Wellington room.” She turned back to Giles. “If you have any messages, give them to Henry. He will see you have everything you need. And he will look after your man.”

As they followed the footman down up a great gilded staircase and then along a broad passageway, Holt said, in a quiet voice, “Did she say Wellington, sir?”

“Yes.”

“Do you suppose it is where he sleeps when he comes here, sir? I suppose he does come here, sometimes?”

“He may do,” said Giles.

“Lord preserve us,” murmured Holt, as Henry opened the door and showed them into a room with a impressive canopied bed in the centre of it, hung with watered blue silk. On the writing table in the window was a bust of the Duke himself.

“Does he –?” Holt ventured to ask Henry, who was drawing up the blinds. “His Grace the Duke, I mean?”

“Oh yes,” said Henry. “He comes once a year, for four nights.” Holt looked for a moment he might fall on his knees, like a peasant entering a particularly celebrated and holy pilgrimage chapel. “I’ll just get you some hot water, sir. If you’ll come this way, Mr –?”

“Holt,” Holt managed to say.

Henry and Holt departed, leaving Giles with the Duke of Wellington’s bust and a view of the peerless parklands of Holbroke.

-0-

Giles found the most noble Marchioness of Rothborough sitting in her vast drawing room on a low chair, occupied with a piece of plain sewing. Three fashionably dressed young women sat with her, one of them Lady Charlotte. They were all busy with their needles. Patches of grey flannel and white calico lay spread over their brightly coloured skirts.

A handsome, young clergyman, tall and commanding in his figure, was walking up and down the room, reading aloud with great earnestness from what sounded like an evangelical sermon.

If this was how she was expected to spend her days, it was no wonder Lady Charlotte was eager to assist him, Giles thought.

“For the truth is evident, that whoever does not freely allow the Lord Jesus to enter into his heart, then –” The clergyman broke off, catching sight of Giles. At the same time, Lady Charlotte leapt up, throwing her work down onto the floor and came over to greet him.

The Marchioness looked quizzically at Lady Charlotte.

Lady Charlotte made the introductions.

“You are a friend of my husband?” Lady Rothborough said, putting out her hand. He took it and bowed over it.

“I have the honour of his acquaintance,” he said.

“Major Vernon is a policeman,” said Lady Charlotte. “He has come to help us with some rather unpleasant business.”

Lady Rothborough frowned.

“You are from Northminster, I think,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She frowned again.

“I do not like Northminster,” she said.

“These are my sisters, Major Vernon,” said Lady Charlotte. “Augusta and Maria.” Giles noted that these young women did not resemble Mr Carswell quite as much as their elder sister.

“I wonder, if I might speak to Lady Warde?” Giles said.

“Lady Warde?” said Lady Rothborough. “Yes, of course, but –” She glanced about her.

“She is not here, Mama,” said Lady Augusta.

“How strange, she is usually about the place. What do you want with her, sir?”

“It is for police business,” said Lady Charlotte said, with something of a flourish.

“I’m afraid so,” Giles felt obliged to add. “I regret the disturbance, Lady Rothborough.”

“I will go and find her,” said Lady Charlotte. “She must be in her room.”

“You may send one of the servants,” said Lady Rothborough. “You have not finished your portion of sewing yet, Charlotte.”

“Yes, of course, Mama,” said Lady Charlotte. “But first I must take Major Vernon to my father. This way, if you please, Major?”

“You will come back directly,” said Lady Rothborough. “Police business can certainly not be your business.”

“Of course, of course,” said Lady Charlotte, with a wave of her hand, her manner displaying some of the breezy insouciance of her father. Giles had to repress a smile.

“You may begin again, if you please, Mr Syme,” said Lady Rothborough, and the clergyman began to read his sermon again even before they had left the room.

“I must apologise for that,” Lady Charlotte said as they reached the other side of the drawing room door. “My mother is utterly in the thrall of that terrible man – since he has got her ear, it is as if every day is the Sabbath here. You must have your excuses ready, Major Vernon, or you will be dragged off to Bible Study.” Giles, rather astonished, did not quite how to respond. “And now, of course I have shocked you,” she said, rather quietly.

“In my experience,” Giles said, “clergymen are men like any others, equally fallible or virtuous.”

“I thought you would see it. Papa is incandescent with fury about him. We are working to get him out of here, but it does not seem easy to dislodge him. Perhaps you might help us with that as well?”

“How might I do that?”

“You are supposed to have the knack of finding out everyone’s secrets. That is what my father said. I am sure the detestable Syme has some secrets that would discredit him.”

“And are you not worried I will find out your secrets, Lady Charlotte?”

“No, not the slightest. I think it might be quite interesting.”

She gave him a smile which he knew he was supposed to find devastating. It might have been, in other circumstances – if he had been ten years younger, and not married. He wondered if he should tell her to keep her weapons for those worth wounding.

“Most people do not like to hear the truth about themselves,” he said. “I never do. It is never pleasant. My wife, only this morning, pointed out something about myself that I did not want to acknowledge and I am still feeling sore from it.”

“Ah yes, Mrs Vernon,” said Lady Charlotte. “I do hope we shall see her here soon. You will write and tell her that she must come, Major Vernon?”

“Yes,” he said. “Of course.”

They found Lord Rothborough in a room that opened off the great library, and which Giles could not help but envy. As a private office it had everything to recommend it, a mixture of elegance and efficiency. One of the walls was lined with neat cupboards and shelves, so that everything was to hand and in perfect order, while two great windows showed a magnificent prospect over the park. The sashes were pushed open, admitting a gentle breeze which stirred the muslin glass cloths and made the room an agreeable temperature for concentration. Lord Rothborough sat at his desk, working at his papers, but at once abandoned his study to greet them as they came in, as if Giles were a person of vast importance.

“Here he is, Papa,” said Lady Charlotte. “I shall go and find Lady Warde. I will bring her into the library for you, Major Vernon.”

“Is she being useful?” Lord Rothborough asked when she had gone.

“Extremely.”

“I have written to Sir Arthur,” said Lord Rothborough. “My man is about to ride over with the letter. You might wish to add something?”

“I have a letter ready for him here,” said Giles, taking it from his coat. He had written it at the writing table in his room, under the blank-socketed gaze of the hero of Waterloo. “And these others. I was not sure of the coroner’s correct address.”

“Woodward, will you see that this is correct?” said Rothborough, signalling to his secretary, who had his own desk in the corner. “And send one of the footmen with these.”

“About Mr Carswell?” Giles asked, when the secretary had left.

“He will be with you tomorrow morning. I have arranged it. You have seen my wife?”

“Yes.”

“Was Syme there?”

“The clergyman? Yes. Lady Charlotte did mention –”

“She is extracting a terrible revenge on me,” said Lord Rothborough, throwing up his hands. “On us all. I had rather she had turned to Rome. That would be comprehensible – and few Jesuits at the dinner table, I could bear that, just about – but this! She might as well be a dissenter!”

“Lady Charlotte suggested I might investigate Syme to see if he had any weak spots.”

“Ha, did she? Well, that is an excellent plan, but probably not entirely to your taste, Major. And you are going to be occupied, I fear, with this business. The more I think about it, the more strange it seems that she was there at all.”

Lady Charlotte came in again.

“I have Lady Warde for you in the library,” she said.

-0-

The lady belonging to the dead maid sat in her widow’s weeds in the grandeur of the great library, looking, Giles reflected, a trifle out of place. Her clothing had an old-fashioned air, as did her manner as she sat there, rigidly upright, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She was in middle age, as far as he could judge, but perhaps looked older than she was, as if the cares of her existence had put years on her face and dulled her brown hair.