The Shadowcutter (8 page)

“The circumstances are ambiguous,” said Major Vernon. “This young woman may have been brutally attacked – that needs to be established, and if it is, then surely it is in the public interest that we discover who might be responsible?”

“We, Major Vernon?” said Sir Arthur. “I do not think this is your responsibility. This is not Northminster!”

“Forgive me – that was force of habit. However, may I at least offer my services as a neighbour? Mr Carswell and I have already begun to gather some useful evidence. Let me at least brief the officer you have put in charge of the investigation. That can do no harm, surely?”

“I really cannot see the need for it, unless you wish to set all my men on chasing about the district looking for phantoms? This is not Northminster, Major Vernon, my establishment does not run to such luxuries as yours. A silly woman, a servant, a nobody, has drowned herself. The kindest thing we can do is let it be recorded an accident so she may be buried before she rots.”

Felix glanced at Major Vernon, wondering how he would proceed.

There was a long pause.

Major Vernon scratched his temple and then said, rather quietly, but with a certain steel in his tone: “If your conscience is easy with that, sir, then so be it. But my conscience cannot be easy. This woman has had her life stolen from her in a brutal manner and there is nothing to say that other women in the district may not suffer the same fate. Imagine if you found your daughter in such a condition, gentlemen, and then think how you ought to act!”

“It is not for you to tell me how to act, sir!” said Sir Arthur. “This is not your business! You have already trespassed. You ought to have declined Lord Rothborough’s summons to come here in the first place – let your precious conscience think on that, rather than stand there telling me how to run my affairs. Drive on, Peter. We have wasted enough time here.”

The barouche pulled off, with the hearse, drawn by a miserable pony, going on behind at a much less smart pace. Major Vernon took off his hat to acknowledge its departure

“Poor creature,” he said. “We shall get to the bottom of this, by hook or by crook, we shall. I need to get back up to the house and you need to get back to Stanegate.”

“I’m not riding back in this heat,” Felix said. “At least not without something to eat and drink first. There is a reasonable-looking inn in the village at the gates.”

“The Peacock, I think it is called,” said Major Vernon. “I’ll come with you. I need to think a little tactically before I throw myself back into the gilded delights of Holbroke.”

“You see what I mean about it then, sir?” said Felix.

“Heavens, yes. At dinner last night we had a dessert that was the ruins of Palmyra in sponge cake. I would have preferred the stewards room with Holt. Speaking of whom –”

There, in the shade of a handsome Spanish chestnut, where their horses were tethered, Holt had made himself comfortable. He was stretched out on the grass, reading.

As they approached he hauled himself up to attention.

“What are you reading, Holt?” said Major Vernon.

“Nicholas Nickleby,” said Holt. “It’s the grandest thing. Far better than the Pickwick Papers, in my opinion, sir.”

“Don’t tell me the story,” said Major Vernon. “I’ve only just begun it.”

“No, sir, of course not. Shouldn’t dream of spoiling it for you.”

-0-

The Peacock was a comfortable, unpretentious and respectable establishment, cool and pleasant on a hot summer’s day. The front door opened directly onto the parlour and there Felix found James Bodley, Lord Rothborough’s man, sitting eating bread and cheese with a woman who looked like the landlady. On seeing him they stopped eating and stood up.

“Mr Bodley,” he said, slightly surprised at this show of respect.

“Master Felix,” Bodley said with a nod. “His Lordship did mention you would be hereabouts today. And you must be Major Vernon, sir?” The Major nodded.

The woman came over to inspect Felix.

“Goodness me!” she said. “I haven’t seen you, sir, since you were a tiny thing. That summer before you went up to Scotland it was. And look at you now! And the image of his Lordship! My, my!”

“This is Mrs Taylor,” said Bodley, “My sister. She and her husband keep the house here.”

“I used to work up at the big house, of course,” put in Mrs Taylor. “Now, what is it you gentleman wish? I’ve a lovely cold fowl pie if you’re hungry. It’s a favourite of his Lordship.”

“That sounds excellent,” said Major Vernon. “And if we might have a jug of beer and some water to wash in?”

“Certainly, sir,” she said. “The private parlour is just this way. It is is where Lord Rothborough always sits when he is so kind as to visit us. It is has a nice view of the garden.”

“Thank you,” said Major Vernon. “My servant Holt is outside with our horses, perhaps you could see he gets what he needs as well?”

“I’ll send the boy,” said Mrs Taylor.

“And if we might borrow Mr Bodley for a few minutes,” said Major Vernon. “Your master may have told you why we are here, Mr Bodley.”

“That poor dead woman, yes,” Bodley said.

“I have a few questions for you.”

“This way, if you please,” said Mrs Taylor, and she led them from the tap room, across a flagged passage way, into a neatly furnished room, with a large map of the Holbroke Estate hanging on the wall, which at once absorbed Major Vernon’s attention.

“So, sir, what was it you wanted to ask me?” asked Bodley.

“Forgive me,” said Major Vernon, turning from the map. “A map is always a great aid in such cases as this.” He took out his notebook. “I gather from Lady Charlotte that Lady Warde and her maid have been staying with the family since the beginning of June. First at Lady Rothborough’s house in Sussex, and then here.”

“Yes, sir, that is about it.”

“Now, I know you are often away with your master, but I imagine you have had a chance to see quite a lot of Miss Jones, at dinner with the other servants, and so on?”

“Yes, a fair bit, I suppose,” said Bodley.

“What was your impression of her?”

Bodley thought for a moment.

“Well, sir, that’s an interesting question. As ladies’ maids go, I should say she was not the usual type. Of course, she was not in the first rank, sir, if you get my meaning, not like her Ladyship’s maid, Miss Le Roche, and a person like Miss Le Roche is a clever, elegant woman, and interesting to talk to. Most of the other lady’s maids are in her pattern – a lady likes a servant who is cheerful and full of news but always knows her place. It’s a delicate position to hold, and it takes a particular type of person, and usually they are grand company for us downstairs. But Miss Jones was reserved. Quiet and kept herself to herself. But given her employer is a lady in reduced circumstances and not young, I suppose it seemed right enough. She wasn’t really one of us, if I can say that?”

“Do you know if she had any particular friendships? Or a suitor?”

“No,” he said shaking his head. “They all sit together, the ladies maids, and do their sewing, in Mrs Hope’s sitting room – she’s the housekeeper, and it’s quite a sight – for they are as pretty as they come and a lively bunch, and I sometimes stop there to get a cup of tea, and perhaps to ask them to do a bit of mending for me, for there are some jobs only a woman’s hands can do, and well, she’d be there, but she wouldn’t be in the heart of it. I never saw her exchanging confidences with any of them, or giving one of the men the eye, if you know what I mean.”

Major Vernon nodded.

“And the night she vanished – two nights ago, she was at dinner with you as usual, in the Steward’s room?”

“Yes, sir, she was.”

“And do you remember anything particular about that night?”

“Well, now I think of it, yes,” he said. “She excused herself. Left early. Said she had a headache and couldn’t eat. That was it. And that was the last I saw of her.”

“And she would have known that the Pleasure Gardens were out of bounds?”

“Of course,” Bodley said. “She’s stayed here enough times.”

“And is that rule always observed?” Major Vernon said. “By the younger staff, for example?”

“I should say so,” said Bodley. “I should hope so, at least. But young people nowadays, they can be flighty.”

“But that isn’t how you would see Miss Jones?”

“No, no, but women are weak creatures, and easily persuaded. Now there’s one or two the lads, new to the house, who perhaps don’t always realise what lucky souls they are to be here, and might be inclined to abuse their good fortune now and then. I could imagine – well, we’ve a new third footman, a Londoner, whom I have my doubts about. He’s a splendid looking fellow, of course, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t a dangerous sort. Something about him I don’t like at all. Jack Edwardes is his name, sir, you might want to talk to him. He was winking at the housemaids all through prayers this morning. Jack by name, Jack by nature, I fear.”

Mrs Taylor came in with a tray of food and beer, along with a maid who brought water and towels.

“Thank you Mr Bodley, that was helpful,” said Major Vernon. “If you think of anything else about Miss Jones, please do tell me.”

“Of course, sir. Glad to be of help. I take it that, well, from what his Lordship said to me this morning, that you’re here because she’s been done away with, poor soul? Is that so, Master Felix?”

“It’s not clear what happened yet,” said Felix.

“Let us pray it was just an accident,” said Mrs Taylor, as she laid the table. “Imagine that poor woman’s family, what torments they will suffer if it was not. Her poor mother! I could not bear it if something like that happened to my Annie. She’s away in service, you see sir, she’s lady’s maid to young Lady Heathfield, down in Lincolnshire. Imagine getting that letter. It does not bear thinking about.”

When Bodley and Mrs Taylor had gone, Felix and Major Vernon, having washed the dirt and dust of their morning’s work from them, sat down to a meal of cold chicken pie, bread, blue cheese, and a bowl of strawberries, accompanied by a jug of ale.

“How long has Mr Bodley been Lord Rothborough’s man, do you suppose?” Major Vernon said.

“Oh, at least twenty-five years,” said Felix, draining his glass. “He is an immemorial fixture.”

“A footman who winks at housemaids is not necessarily a murderer,” Major Vernon remarked. “Though he might be inclined to organise a tryst in a forbidden grotto.” He got up from the table and began again to study the detailed map of the estate. “I walked back from the Pleasure Gardens yesterday afternoon. It was a leisurely stroll and it took over half an hour. Now she was last seen by her mistress helping her dress for dinner after seven, and then we can assume she left the house, perhaps to meet someone. But who? Jack the footman wouldn’t be able to get away, because he’d be wanted in the dining room to serve dinner.”

“So perhaps it wasn’t someone from the household that she was intending to meet?” Felix said, coming up and joining him at the map.

“Exactly,” said Major Vernon. “It could be anyone, couldn’t it? Coming from anywhere. And long gone now, if he has any sense.”

“He?”

“In the first instance, I think we could make that small assumption. The father of the child springs to mind.”

“You mean she meets him, tells him she’s with child and he decides to deal with it, so to speak?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time that a man has evaded his responsibilities in such a fashion. And it’s an ideal place to carry such a brutal, pragmatic act, wouldn’t you say? She could have screamed all she liked in that cave and no-one would have heard anything. And there’s the pool there to dispose of the body, creating confusion about the manner of her death.”

“That might do as a working hypothesis,” said Felix.

“It will have to do,” said Giles. “It is all we have at present, thanks to Sir Arthur and Mr Haines!” He shook his head. “We can just hope that common sense and decency will prevail with them tomorrow.”

“Yes,” said Felix. “But I don’t feel very optimistic. Given what Haines said about Ardenthwaite. Why on earth does he think I would want to run for parliament? How dare he make such assumptions about me? What kind of people are these? I think Lord Rothborough has dropped me into a viper’s nest. I ought to have know better than to let him –”

“But you said yourself it was a fine house when you saw it.”

“Yes, it is,” said Felix. “Too fine. Too big. Too significant, it seems.”

“You should take ownership. Let your neighbours see who you really are. Perhaps, if it might help, you might like to entertain Mrs Vernon and me there one afternoon? It would make an easy excursion from Stanegate, especially with the weather like this. She likes old houses and it would do you good to practice playing host.”

“You’re as bad as he is.”

“It’s not a sentence of transportation,” Major Vernon said.

“I know, I know,” said Felix. On quite a few occasions they had discussed Ardenthwaite, the property that Lord Rothborough had acquired for him, and the Major’s sensible arguments had generally prevailed with him. But after that humiliation from Mr Haines, a mere country coroner, he felt the foundations of his being cut from under him, like a keen axe going through the slender, fragile trunk of a sapling. How could a bastard whore-son ever lay honest claim to a place like Ardenthwaite? It would be presumptuous folly.

And at the same time, an odd idea sprung up in him, where he sat in one of those fine old rooms and talked at length with his sister, who might, from time to time, ride over to see him there – No, that was a pernicious fantasy, and he dismissed it carefully, distracting himself by consulting his watch.

“I need to get back. Martinez was quite frail last night when I left him. He isn’t a monk, by the by, but a Dominican friar, it seems. I got that much out of him. Found him on his knees. Took all my efforts to get him to rest in bed.”

“Some of his countrymen seem to be at Stanegate. They were at the Well,” said Major Vernon. “According to Lord Rothborough, they are a sort of government in exile, forced out by a coup. He may have a connection to them.”

“Why on earth would they go to Stanegate?”