Читать книгу 3-Book Victorian Crime Collection: Death at Dawn, Death of a Dancer, A Corpse in Shining Armour - Caro Peacock, Caro Peacock - Страница 17
ОглавлениеHis high white cravat was the brightest thing in the shadowy passageway, the face above it grey as moonlight on slate. He held his hat in hand, as if making a social call.
‘I thought you might be dead,’ I said.
Admittedly it was hardly a cordial greeting, but when I’d last seen him he was barely breathing. In the half light, I could see no sign on his temple of the blow that had felled him, so perhaps there was not enough flesh and blood in him to bruise.
‘It might be best if you would permit me to come in,’ he said.
I came close to slamming the door in his face. My reputation was low enough with the landlord, without entertaining gentlemen in my room. But something told me that my virtue was in no danger, though everything else might be. The man had as much carnality as a frozen dish-clout. Even though he had been spying on me through the keyhole, it was for something colder than my charms en chemise. I opened the door wider. He walked in, looking round. I might have invited him to sit down, but with only one chair in the room, that meant I should have to perch on the bed. We stayed on our feet. He put his hat on the wash-stand.
‘Our last conversation was interrupted,’ I said. ‘I was asking you what you knew about my father’s death.’
‘And I believe I counselled you to have patience.’
As before, his voice was low and level.
‘An over-rated virtue. Were you present when he died?’
‘No.’
‘But you know what happened?’
He raised a narrow black-gloved hand in protest.
‘Miss Lane, that is not what I have come to speak to you about.’
‘Do you know what happened?’
He looked straight at me, as if he wanted to stare me down. Anybody with a brother has practice in that trick. I held his look. He sighed and walked towards the window, sliding a hand into his coat pocket.
‘Miss Lane, do you recognise this?’
He was holding something small in the palm of his hand. I walked over to him and picked it up. When I saw it close, I felt as if somebody had caught me a blow.
‘It’s his ring.’
A signet with a curious design of an eye and a pyramid. The one that should have been on his hand in the morgue.
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘You robbed it from his body.’
‘It was taken from his body. Not by me.’
‘Who, then?’
‘By persons at the morgue in Calais.’
‘The fat drunken woman and her husband?’
The slightest of nods from him.
‘I thought so,’ I said. ‘But what concern was it of yours?’
He must have been at the morgue before me, touched my father’s hands as I’d done, and he had no right.
‘I bought it from them,’ he said. ‘It should have stayed on his hand and been buried with him, but they’d only have stolen it again.’
‘So you’ve come to return it to me?’
I was trying to bring myself to thank him, but could have saved myself the effort.
‘No. I show it to you only to convince you that I knew your father. That in some measure I speak with your father’s authority.’
He pulled off his right glove and stretched out his hand to me. On his middle finger was a ring identical to my father’s, only the design was worn flat by time. Then he turned the hand over, palm up.
‘If you please.’
He expected me to give him my father’s ring back. Instead I dropped it down the front of my stays. It was cold against my hot and angry skin. The shock in his eyes was the first human reaction I’d had from him. We stared at each other and he drew another long sigh.
‘I had heard that you possess an excellent understanding, Miss Lane. I fear you are not using it rationally.’
‘The only understanding I care about is how my father died. Who is this woman he was trying to bring back to England?’
For a second, he couldn’t hide the surprise in his eyes.
‘Who told you about a woman?’
‘The man who kidnapped me in the graveyard and a fat man in the carriage. You know who they are, don’t you?’
‘You did well to escape from them.’
‘The fat man said my father had abducted a woman from Paris. They thought I’d know where she was. I don’t. I know nothing about her.’
‘That’s good. You must continue to know nothing.’
‘No! She’s the reason my father was killed, isn’t she? Don’t I at least have the right to know who she is?’
‘I’m not sure myself who she is.’
‘But there is a woman, you admit that?’
‘I have reason to believe that your father left Paris in company with a woman, yes.’
‘He wouldn’t have taken her away against her will.’
‘Very well. I accept that.’
‘So, whoever she is, she went with him of her own accord. But Trumper and the fat man found out about that and wanted her back.’
A reluctant nod from him.
‘So they chased him from Paris to Calais?’
‘Not chased, exactly. I understand that it took them some days to connect your father with the woman’s disappearance.’
‘Were you in Paris at the time?’
‘No.’
‘So how do you know about this?’
‘I have no obligation to tell you how I know about anything. You must accept that I have been doing my best to observe these people for several months.’
There was a hint of weariness in his voice.
‘The day they tried to kidnap me, they were still looking for this woman,’ I said. ‘Did they find her?’
‘I don’t know. As you may remember, I was indisposed for a while.’
‘You mean knocked senseless by the fat man’s coachman. Who are these people? Why are they doing this?’
He didn’t answer for some time. We stared at each other. There were chalky rings round his grey pupils, a sign of bad health. He sighed.
‘Miss Lane, your father became involved in something that was nothing to do with him. You are probably right in thinking that it cost him his life. When I met you in Calais, my wish was to protect you.’
‘By ordering me to go back to England and forget about it?’
‘I never said “forget”. But it’s true that I wanted to keep you away from them.’
‘And now?’
‘Since then, I have discovered two things about you. One is that you are, unfortunately, not on good terms with those whose natural duty it should be to shelter you. In fact, you are alone in the world and without means of income.’
Yes, I thought. You watched me counting every last penny.
‘The other is that you are a young lady of some resource. Those two men in the carriage did not wish you well. I have heard some of the story of how you contrived to escape from them …’
How? From the toad-like man, the peasant with the pigs …?
‘… and it suggests resolution and quick-wittedness. If it were not for these two discoveries, I should have had no hesitation in restoring you to some relative and counselling you to mourn your father and ask no more questions.’
‘You have no rights over me. All I want from you is to know what happened to him.’
‘In due course, you shall know everything. Only you must have –’
‘Patience? What’s to stop me opening this window and shouting to people to fetch a magistrate, that my father’s murderer is in this room with me?’
He didn’t move a muscle.
‘Two reasons: one, that it would be untrue; the other, that it would be ineffective.’
I had my hand on the window latch. If he had moved to stop me I should have opened it. He stayed where he was and went on talking in that same level voice.
‘I did not kill your father. If I could have prevented his death by any means, I should have done so. As for the magistrates, I should be able within a few minutes to convince them that your accusation was untrue. And you, Miss Lane, would appear a young lady driven out of her senses by grief. Is that a desirable outcome?’
I let go of the latch. If he’d knocked me to the floor he couldn’t have defeated me more thoroughly, because what he said was true. I could imagine the cold, official looks and what would follow: my aunt sent for and my return to Chalke Bissett as a captive. Or, worse than that, strait-jacketed to a common asylum, fighting and screaming, spending the rest of my life among squalid gibberers. In this new world I’d fallen into, it could happen. He must have seen from my face that he’d won the round, because his voice became just a shade more soft.
‘Miss Lane, I did not come here to threaten you. I came, as far as I may, to assist.’
I kept my back turned to him, looking out of the window. A drab in a doorway was beckoning to two sailors. They were taunting her, pretending to push each other in her direction.
‘I give you my promise that, when it is possible, I shall tell you more about what happened to your father. But the time is not yet right, and there are more things bound up in this than the fate of any single man or woman. Your father was a good man on the whole …’
‘On the whole!’
‘… but of an impulsive temperament, as you clearly are. That, above all, was what led to his death.’
The two sailors were walking away, the drab shouting something after them. When she came out of her doorway you could see she was no more than a girl, perhaps fourteen or so. I turned back into the room.
‘You said you had a proposition to put to me.’
He made it, standing there with his hand on the edge of the wash-stand. I sat down after all, because my legs were trembling from shock and anger, and I did not wish him to know it. I let him talk without a word of interruption and tried not to show what I thought.
‘There is a small part which you may play in a great cause which I believe your father would approve. It may even in some measure help to put right the harm to that cause which your father unintentionally has done.’
How can I defend him, when I don’t even understand what you’re accusing him of? I hate you, as much as I’ve hated anybody in my life, but you possess something I want, so I must listen.
‘So here is the proposal which I ask you to consider. It has the merit that it would meet, for a short time, your need for sustenance, a roof over your head, while permitting you to be of some service to a greater cause.’
Am I intended to assassinate somebody, like Charlotte Corday and Marat? I suppose I’d have a roof over my head until they hanged me. Or does he wish me to put on a man’s uniform and go for a soldier?
‘I am proposing that you apply for the post of governess.’
‘What?’ That ended my silence, all this secrecy and drama leading to the most commonplace of conclusions. ‘You invade my lodgings, spy on me, insult my father – to tell me that? I could have come to that conclusion myself, without your valuable … counsel.’
I threw his own word at him, bitterly. The fact was, for a woman like myself with some education but no means of support, becoming a governess was the only respectable alternative to the workhouse, and only slightly less miserable: an underpaid drudge, ignored by gentry and servants alike, neither the one nor the other, condemned to a lifelong diet of chalk dust and humble pie. Yes, it was probably my only prospect, but I hated him all the more for hurrying me towards it.
‘Not just any governess,’ he said. ‘There is a particular family …’
‘Friends of yours, I suppose.’
‘No, anything but friends of mine.’
‘Enemies, then?’
‘Opponents.’
‘So am I expected to put ground glass in their stew and saw through the brakes on their carriage?’
‘Nothing so deleterious. You have merely to observe certain things and inform me, by means which shall be arranged for you.’
‘In other words, to spy?’
‘Yes.’
Honest, at least. My father’s ring was now warm against my chest and I kept my hand on it through my stays to help me think.
‘This family – are they something to do with why my father was killed?’
‘We think so, yes.’
‘How long should I have to stay there?’
‘A few weeks, probably. Months at most.’
‘And what are you in all this – a Government spy?’
‘Far from it. The reverse, rather.’
‘The reverse?’
‘No government has any reason to love me.’
I waited for him to enlarge on that, but he just stood there looking at me in that arithmetical way I’d noticed in the churchyard. He was a miser with information, giving out as little as possible.
‘You must tell me more about this family,’ I said.
‘Their name is Mandeville. They claim descent from one of William the Conqueror’s knights and hold a baronetcy, conferred on them by Charles II. The present holder, the ninth baronet, Sir Herbert, is a very wealthy man and until recently was a Conservative MP.’
‘Until recently? Do you mean he was one of those who lost their seats through the Great Reform?’
They’d been a huge joke to my father’s circle, those lost Members of Parliament. They were mostly country squires and their friends who thought they had something like hereditary rights to seats in the House of Commons. For centuries they’d owned pocket boroughs, consisting of a mere half-dozen easily bribed or bullied electors. The Reform Act of five years before had swept them away, and not before time. I was laughing at the thought of it, but the man in black didn’t smile.
‘Great Reform, you call it. I should have thought it a singularly small reform. Did it give a vote to every working man?’
‘No, but –’
‘Did it do anything to help the tens of thousands toiling in the workshops and factories of our great cities?’
‘No.’
‘Did it take away a single shilling from the rich to give to children hungry for bread?’
‘Sadly, no.’
His eyes were glittering, his thin body swaying to the rhythm of his words. So, I thought, the man is an orator. That explained his sparing way with words, like an opera singer guarding his voice. Perhaps he realised the effect he was having, because he smiled a thin smile.
‘I am sorry to become warm, Miss Lane. You suppose, correctly, that Sir Herbert lost his seat because of the Reform Act. Until then, there had been Mandevilles in the House of Commons for four hundred years. But you would be mistaken to see him as simply a buffoon from the shires. He is a man of ability and ambition. In fact, he has held ministerial office under both Whig and Tory governments.’
‘A turncoat, then.’
‘Certainly a man of hasty and arrogant temperament.’
‘Since he’s rich, couldn’t he simply buy himself another constituency?’
‘For the present he prefers sulking in his tent, so to speak. Sir Herbert has become something of a focus for other men who think the country is going to the dogs.’
‘But what does that have to do with how my father died? This baronet can hardly go round shooting everybody who favoured the Reform Bill. Even old King William had to support it in the end. Besides, how did they know each other? My father did not cultivate the friendship of rich Tories.’
‘I doubt if your father and Sir Herbert Mandeville ever met. There is no reason to think so.’
‘I repeat the question: what does he have to do with how my father died?’
‘Quite probably nothing personally. Your father, unfortunately, blundered into something mortally serious that touches many people.’
‘You keep criticising him and not telling me why.’
He said nothing. I could feel him willing me into doing what he wanted and tried to play for time.
‘They are very rich, then, these Mandevilles?’
‘They own substantial estates in the West Indies. The seventh baronet had profitable dealings in slaves.’
‘I shall hate them.’
‘Governesses can’t afford hate.’
‘Nor spies?’
‘No.’
‘Do they live in London?’
‘They have a house there, but their main estate is at Ascot in Berkshire, not far from Windsor. If successful in your application, you would probably spend most of your time there.’
Ascot. A picture came to my mind of heathland, horses galloping across it. An idea began to form.
‘I may not be successful. If they are opponents, you can hardly recommend me.’
‘That will be attended to. They are advertising for a governess, so an application would not be unexpected.’
The sun was down, the room almost dark. I stood up to light the candle on the wash-stand. My legs had stopped trembling and the idea was growing.
‘Very well,’ I said. ‘I shall apply for the post …’
‘I am glad of that, Miss Lane.’
‘But on two conditions. One, you must tell me what I am looking for. I can’t be expected to guess. Is it this woman again?’
‘No. Put the woman out of your mind. The main thing required of you will be to communicate to me news of any guests or new arrivals at Mandeville Hall. In particular, I have reason to believe that they will be holding a reception or ball in the next few weeks, and it would be very useful to us to know the guest list in advance. You will also inform me of the comings and goings of Sir Herbert himself and his family.’
‘How am I to inform you?’
‘Wait here for two days. Either I shall come and see you again, or instructions will be sent to you.’
As the candle flame steadied, I saw satisfaction on his face – and was pleased to be able to erase it instantly.
‘I said there were two conditions.’
‘What else?’
‘I have inherited a mare from my father. If you can arrange and pay for her stabling at some place convenient to Ascot, I shall do as you suggest. If not, then I refuse your proposition.’
‘A governess with a horse?’
He almost lost his self-possession. You could see him grabbing at the tail of it like some small animal bolting, and wrestling it back under his black jacket.
‘A spy with a horse,’ I said. ‘That’s different.’
He thought about it for half a minute or so.
‘Very well, I accept your condition. If you will let me know where the mare is, I shall arrange …’
‘No. Find a stables and I’ll make the arrangements.’
We glared at each other. Then he said, ‘Three days, in that case. Do not move from here. For necessary expenses…’
He picked up his hat from the wash-stand, clinked something down in its place, and went. As the door closed behind him I saw a handful of coins glinting in the candlelight. Ten sovereigns. I sorely needed them, but it was some time before I could bring myself to pick them up.
*
Three days passed. When he’d ordered me not to move, I don’t know whether he meant the town of Dover or my room at the inn. It didn’t matter in any case, since I had no intention of staying imprisoned. I slept, ate, walked by the sea, slept and ate again. The landlord had become polite now that I’d paid my reckoning to date and let him see the flash of sovereigns in my purse. Chops and cutlets, eggs, ham and claret were all at my disposal, so I made the best of them. I was like somebody cast up on a sandbank, with stormy seas in front and behind; it may have been only a short and precarious rest, but it was precious for all that. In my wandering round the town I kept an eye open for Trumper but saw no sign of him and hoped he was still on the far side of the Channel. Several times I was tempted to take the road out of town and visit Esperance and Amos Legge, but made myself defer that pleasure until I had news for them. It came on Saturday evening. A knock at my door and the landlord’s voice.
‘Letter for you, miss, just come.’
I opened the door only wide enough to receive it and took it over to the window. The paper and the writing were stiff and formal, like the man who’d sent it, the message very much to the point.
Miss Lane,
The mare may be sent to the Silver Horseshoe livery stables on the western side of Ascot Heath. The manager of the stables, Coleman, has agreed to pass on your letters to me, which should be addressed to Mr Blackstone, care of 3 Paper Buildings, Inner Temple. You will present yourself at 16 Store Street, near the new British Museum, on Monday. Ask for Miss Bodenham and act according to her instructions.
Early on Sunday morning I walked to the stables in sweet air between hay fields, with choirs of skylarks carolling overhead. Amos Legge was looking in at Esperance, leaning over the half door. He turned when he heard my step and gave a great open smile that did my heart good because it was so different from the man in black.
‘Just given Rancie her breakfast, I have.’
She was munching from a bucket of oats and soaked bran, the black cat looking down at her from the hay manger.
‘I’ve found a place for her,’ I said.
I’d expected him to be pleased, but his face fell.
‘Where’s that then, miss?’
‘The Silver Horseshoe, on the west side of Ascot Heath. You can take her there in the bull’s cart, then you’re on the right side of London for getting home to Herefordshire.’
He still looked unhappy, and I supposed he was calculating how little profit his long journey would have brought him.
‘You won’t go home quite empty-handed,’ I said. ‘This is for the expenses of the journey, and what’s left over you are to keep for yourself.’
I put five sovereigns into his hand. He deserved them, and being reckless with Blackstone’s money was some consolation for having to take it. He looked down at the coins and up at me.
‘I’m sorry it isn’t more,’ I said. ‘I am very grateful to you and hope I may see you again some day.’
The sovereigns went slowly into his pocket, but his hand came out holding something else.
‘My cameo ring? But you were to sell it.’
‘We managed after all, miss. She do resemble you somehow, the lady on it.’
Tears came to my eyes. That was what my father had said when he bought it for me. I drew out the ribbon I wore round my neck with my father’s ring that the black one had so reluctantly given me and knotted the cameo beside it. I thought my good giant might have gone hungry. His cheeks looked hollow.
‘Thank you, Mr Legge. That was a great kindness.’
He murmured something, then ducked into the box to pick up the empty feed bucket and went away across the yard. I spent some time with Esperance, stroking her soft muzzle, watching the way her lower lip drooped and twitched, sure sign of contentment in a horse.
‘I shall come and see you at Ascot when I can,’ I told her.
It occurred to me that, by sending her ahead, I’d committed myself to winning the governess post. Until then, I’d been priding myself on my cleverness, but now I was beginning to see how thoroughly I’d got myself enmeshed.
‘And I suppose you’d better go too,’ I said to the cat Lucy.
She gave a little mipping sound in answer and jumped lightly down to her place on the mare’s back. I left them there. In the yard, Amos was filling buckets at the pump. I held out my hand and wished him goodbye, but again he insisted on escorting me back to town. We didn’t speak much on the way and he seemed cast down, but perhaps that just reflected my own sadness at having to part from him.
The London Flyer drew out on Monday, prompt to the minute. I’d arrived early and secured a seat by the window and when I looked out there was Amos Legge, taller by a head and a faded felt hat than the crowd of grooms, ostlers, boys and travellers’ relatives come to see our departure. I waved to him as we clattered away, but if he waved back I didn’t see it for the cloud of dust we were raising.
