Читать книгу A Corpse in Shining Armour - Caro Peacock, Caro Peacock - Страница 9

I went home and changed into my blue cotton print dress and straw bonnet with ribbon trim, both more appropriate to the season. When I came downstairs, Tabby was loitering by the pump at the end of the yard where the cows were kept. She came running up to me, stumbling over the cobbles in her too-large boots.

‘There’s a hen got her foot caught up in some string. I can’t get her out of it.’

I followed her reluctantly back down the yard. I didn’t want cow-byre smells clinging to my clothes, and the hens were the property of Mr Colley who kept the cows and ran a milk-round. Naturally, there was no sign of him or his idle son-in-law.

‘There.’

A big red hen had got her leg tangled in a loop of old string attached to the wooden bars of the chicken coop and was flapping and clucking.

‘How in the world did she manage to do that?’ I said.

‘Dunnow.’

There was nothing for it in all humanity but to crouch down in the dust and try to free her. I put my reticule down on top of the coop.

‘Can you hold her?’ I said to Tabby.

Her brown and grimy hands enfolded the hen. The string was frayed and terribly tangled round the scaly leg. I broke a fingernail and was set coughing by the warm dust from the hen’s feathers, but at last she was untangled.

‘It doesn’t look as if the leg’s hurt,’ I said. ‘Let her go and we’ll see.’

The hen stood for a while, not realising she was free, then shot off to join three or four others that were pecking by the manure heap. I watched her go and laughed.

‘Well, there’s nothing much wrong with her. It’s a good job you saw her before she died of thirst.’

‘You got straw on your dress now,’ Tabby said.

She kneeled down in the dust and started brushing at it with her hand.

‘No, never mind. I’ll do it.’

I picked up my reticule, adjusted my bonnet and hurried out of the yard, knowing that I’d have to walk fast now to get to Lincoln’s Inn by four.

Mayfair was crowded and in sociable mood under the blue skies. I had to weave a zig-zag course among the gentry strolling and looking into shop windows or standing in the middle of the pavement, talking in the loud voices of people who have nothing much to say but are determined the world should hear it. As I went, I tried to plan in my mind the interview with Mr Lomax. Through Disraeli, he’d offered me an intriguing and well-paid case, and I’d been minded to accept. But that had been before the discovery of Simon Handy’s body. Did I still want to accept the case? Yes. Would Mr Lomax still want me to accept it? That was another question altogether. Simon Handy’s death might have changed the situation for him too. There were things about it that the Brinkburns wanted hidden, or why had Lomax gone to so much trouble to coach the steward in his evidence? And he had coached him, I was as sure of that as if I’d heard him doing it.

I was still thinking about it when I got to High Holborn. The crowds were less fashionable there, but just as annoyingly inclined to drift along the pavements or make sudden changes of direction to watch two cab drivers arguing or avoid argumentative drunks.

‘Hey, stop! Stop, miss.’

The voice came from behind me, a husky female voice. I thought it might be a beggar or an unusually importunate posy seller, so didn’t turn round.

‘Miss, you lost this–’

I turned round and there was Tabby, red faced and panting. Her shawl had slipped, leaving her bare-headed. She was holding something in her hand.

‘Your purse, miss. You must have dropped it when you was seeing to the chicken. I’ve run all the way after you with it.’

She held it out to me. Her eyes were as appealing as Whiteley’s had been.

‘You followed me all the way here?’

‘Yes, miss. There’s still all your money in it. I haven’t opened it.’

All my money. Seven pence halfpenny, as far as I remembered. I took it from her.

‘Thank you, Tabby. I’ll see you when I get back this evening.’

Disappointment clouded her eyes. A plump woman who’d stopped to listen looked at me reproachfully. She thought I should at least give this honest girl a penny for her trouble.

‘Is that all then?’

‘All for now. I’ll see you later.’

I turned and hurried on, aware of a pair of hurt eyes at my back.

Oliver Lomax had not given me his address at Lincoln’s Inn. Was that arrogance, or did he assume I knew it from Disraeli? If arrogance, it might have been justified, because the first person I asked at Lincoln’s Inn–a clerk weighed down with bundles of papers–pointed out his staircase at once. I climbed the stairs and knocked on his door just as a clock was striking four. He was waiting in his clerk’s room to meet me and led me through to his office. It was simply furnished, but the furniture, carpet and curtains were of fine quality, with touches of comfort that suggested he might spend more time there than at home. Two leather armchairs with brocade cushions stood either side of an empty fireplace. Instead of a conventional desk he had a big mahogany table, with books and papers in tidy piles. A drawing in a simple gold frame of a Roman centurion’s head in a crested helmet was the only picture in the room. It looked to be Renaissance and expensive. A smaller table held a tray with a silver teapot and two bone china cups. He invited me to sit down at one of the upright chairs by his table.

‘Tea, Miss Lane?’

China tea, served without milk or sugar. That was the way he liked it, so that was the way his business associates would have to like it.

I sipped and put down the cup, deciding to unsettle him from the start.

‘Did the adjournment this morning surprise you?’

For a moment he let his annoyance show, but his voice was level.

‘In the circumstances, the coroner had little choice.’

‘I was surprised he thought misadventure might be a possible verdict,’ I said. ‘It would have to be a strange kind of misadventure, wouldn’t it?’

He turned the force of his slate-coloured eyes on me. The temperature seemed to drop by a few degrees.

‘Miss Lane, you know very well that this is not the question on which I wish to consult you. I’m surprised you attended the inquest.’

‘Why? I was there when they found the body. Did Mr Brinkburn tell you that?’

He gave the faintest of nods.

‘He naturally regrets having caused you to be present at such a distressing occasion.’

I doubted that. Miles Brinkburn still seemed far too shaken to indulge in conventional politenesses. I didn’t say that because I’d only intended to unsettle Mr Lomax, not antagonise him.

‘The unfortunate death of Handy is not your concern,’ he said. ‘I want to make it clear from the start that, if we do come to an understanding on the other matter, you are not to ask questions about it or take advantage of your position in any way.’

I let my eyes drop and picked up the teacup. If he wanted to interpret that as agreement, it was up to him. From the way he settled back in his chair, he did. The atmosphere became less frosty.

‘Mr Disraeli seems impressed by your talents and your discretion, Miss Lane. I’ve made inquiries in other directions that seem to confirm his good opinion…’ He paused, then added: ‘…on the whole.’

So he’d heard that I’d once refused to complete an investigation when I took a dislike to the client. I said nothing.

‘I take it that your presence here means you’re prepared to accept the commission?’

I met his eyes again.

‘To find out if Lady Brinkburn is mad or misguided?’

‘In a nutshell, yes.’ He sighed. ‘Miss Lane, you should understand that it’s almost impossibly painful for me to have to talk in this way. I’ve been a friend of Cornelius Brinkburn’s since university days. I was present at his marriage. I’ve known both sons since they were born. Only the most pressing necessity could persuade me to engage a person to spy on a gracious lady who has been my hostess several times in the past.’

The distress in his voice sounded genuine. He’d picked up a penholder and his fingers were clenched round it as tightly as if he wanted to break it.

‘But there are some situations, Miss Lane, in which we have to accept one evil to avoid a worse one. The consequences if Lady Brinkburn persists in her allegation would be unimaginable.’

I decided to swallow his implication that I was an evil, for the time being at least.

‘If I’ve been informed correctly, these rumours that Stephen Brinkburn is not his father’s son have begun quite recently,’ I said.

He nodded.

‘And their source is Lady Brinkburn?’

A pause.

‘Apparently, yes.’

‘How recently?’

‘This spring, only a couple of months ago.’

‘Before that, had she suggested the possibility to anybody?’

‘As far as I’m aware, no.’

‘You’d known her socially since they were married?’

‘Even before that. To be honest, Lord Brinkburn asked my opinion before proposing to the lady.’

‘And your opinion was…?’

‘There was a difference of some twenty years in their ages, but when the gentleman is the elder party, that’s no great objection. Apart from that, nothing could be more suitable. Her family owned estates adjoining his family’s in the north-east. She brought a very considerable settlement with her and was an accomplished and good-natured young woman.’

‘That’s hardly the language of a passionate love match.’

‘Why should it be? It was an arrangement beneficial to both parties. In many respects, it has been a good marriage.’

‘Except that they’ve spent a lot of it living apart.’

‘It suited them both. Lady Brinkburn preferred a more secluded life and Lord Brinkburn found the Italian climate beneficial to his health.’

‘And in more than twenty years, she’d never mentioned the matter of the stranger on her honeymoon until a few months ago. Can you account for that?’

He’d abandoned his attempt to break the penholder. It was in front of him on his blotter, and he was sitting back in his chair. Now that the decision had been made–to employ me, though not to trust me completely–some of the tension seemed to have gone out of him.

‘Yes, I think I can account for it. Lord Brinkburn returned from Naples last January. Before he left Italy he wrote me what I regard as a very courageous and honourable letter. He said he’d been conscious for some time of a decline in his physical and mental faculties. He had consulted several distinguished physicians who had told him that his malady could only become worse. What had up to then been occasional alarming episodes were becoming more frequent. He was facing the prospect of a permanent derangement of the mind, probably in the quite near future, and increasing physical incapacity. While he still had his reason left, he was determined on making his own arrangements. He selected an establishment in Surrey where he knew he would be permitted to live out his days with all possible comfort and dignity, returned to England accompanied only by his valet, and took up residence there much as a gentleman might settle into a hotel.’

‘The valet being Simon Handy?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did Lady Brinkburn know about this?’

‘It was my sad duty to tell her. I visited Lord Brinkburn at the establishment. It was all too clear that the doctors’ prognostications had been borne out by events and his mind was irretrievably affected.’

I decided not to mention what Disraeli had told me about the Emperor Hadrian. In spite of the lawyer’s dry manner, he was clearly distressed.

‘I went down to Buckinghamshire to see Lady Brinkburn,’ he went on. ‘She was naturally affected by what I had to tell her, but seemed at first to take it quite calmly. I broached with her, as tactfully as possible, the question of who was to take on the considerable task of managing the estates now that Lord Brinkburn was incapable of doing so. I suggested that, since Stephen was of age and would inherit, probably within months rather than years, I should set about arrangements for giving him power of attorney. Lady Brinkburn made no objection to the proposal at the time, but in retrospect I believe it may have started her on this potentially disastrous course.’

‘How did the story of the honeymoon get into circulation?’ I said.

‘I’m afraid there is no doubt at all that it came from Lady Brinkburn herself. Two weeks after I visited her at Brinkburn Hall, she came up to London unexpectedly and asked to see me.’

‘Was this an unusual event?’

‘Yes. I shouldn’t want to give the impression that Lady Brinkburn is a recluse, but she prefers country life to the city. Although she lives a little over twenty miles from London, she usually comes to town no more than two or three times a year at most, to visit relatives or old friends. I assumed she wanted to discuss some business matters. It would have been quite reasonable, for instance, for her to want assurance that her tenancy of Brinkburn Hall would continue after her husband’s death. I looked forward to being able to reassure her on that point.’

‘But that wasn’t what she wanted?’

‘No. The moment she came in and sat down, she launched into the story that you have heard. Needless to say, I was horrified.’

‘Did you believe it?’

‘Not a word, neither then nor now.’

‘Did you tell her you didn’t believe it?’

‘Not in so many words. One doesn’t accuse a lady of lying. I assumed that she was distraught owing to the illness of her husband and needless uncertainty about her future. I hinted, as gently as I could, that this fancy was the result of being overwrought and she should return home and rest.’

‘How did she react to that?’

‘Calmly enough, but she didn’t budge from her story. She asked me what I thought she should do about it. In the circumstances, I thought it would be best to pretend to take what she said seriously. I told her that, before any other steps could be considered, I should have to ask her to swear an affidavit that every detail of what she’d told me was true. I offered to prepare the affidavit for her then and there.’

‘And did she swear it?’

‘No. My offer had exactly the effect I’d intended. She refused to consider an affidavit and brought our interview pretty rapidly to an end. I was seriously concerned for her and decided that I must visit her at home as soon as I had the opportunity, to see if she needed any form of help.’

‘Did you tell her sons what had happened?’

‘At that point, no. I decided that it would distress them needlessly. I believed I’d dealt with the immediate crisis and we’d hear no more of the matter.’

‘But you were wrong.’

‘Yes, I was wrong. Within a few days, alarming rumours came to my ears. Lady Brinkburn must have used her circle of acquaintances in London to spread the story. As you can imagine, you could more easily stop a forest fire than a rumour of that kind, once it takes hold.’

‘And of course Stephen and Miles must have heard the rumour.’

‘Inevitably. Both came to consult me.’

‘Separately?’

‘Separately.’

‘How did they react?’

‘As I’m sure you know very well, Miss Lane, there is confidentiality between a lawyer and his client. I’ve come very near the line in describing my meeting with Lady Brinkburn. I’ve only done so because I choose to regard her visit to me as social rather than professional.’

‘Have Stephen and Miles always hated each other?’ I said.

He considered, and must have decided that this was a social matter too, though he remained wary.

‘I wouldn’t say hated. But it’s fair to say that from boyhood there has been some friction between them.’

‘Well, they hate each other now,’ I said. ‘Three days ago they were fighting each other in public.’

‘I’m sure that incident has been much exaggerated.’

‘I was there.’

He sighed and said nothing.

‘I’m told Miles Brinkburn was always his mother’s favourite,’ I said.

‘That’s true. He was a charming, sunny-natured child, more inclined to show affection than his elder brother. Then, in his first term at public school, he caught diphtheria and nearly died. He had to spend the next year at home with his mother, convalescing. That naturally brought them closer.’

‘And Stephen was not so charming and sunny-natured?’

He frowned.

‘I’m implying no criticism of Stephen, none at all. He was a most satisfactory boy in every respect.’

That sounded like criticism to my ears. Any boy so described must be either very good at hiding things or insufferably boring. I said nothing, and Mr Lomax went on reciting his praises.

‘He was a steady worker at school, never top of the form but always above the average. He captained his house’s cricket team. By comparison, Miles was never good at applying himself to anything for long. Their schoolmasters used to hold Stephen up as a good example to him. I’m afraid that didn’t make for friendship between them.’

‘Did Lord Brinkburn have a preference?’

‘He didn’t spend much time with his sons, but on his visits to England he did encourage Stephen to take an interest in managing the family estates. He took him on tours of their property in the north-east on several occasions and Stephen visited him once in Italy.’

‘Without Miles?’

‘Yes. Lord Brinkburn told me that Stephen had a good head for business. He’s very competent.’

‘So Lord Brinkburn had no doubt that Stephen was his son?’

‘None whatsoever, I’m certain of that.’

‘And Lady Brinkburn didn’t begin to cast doubts on it until her husband was in no state to contradict her?’

‘That’s true.’

Silence for a while, apart from the sound of feet walking heavily down the staircase outside.

‘So what you want from me is evidence that can be produced in court showing Lady Brinkburn is mad?’ I said.

‘Let us say that her memory and judgement are less than reliable. It would be better than the alternative of suggesting that she’s trying to advance one son’s interests against those of his brother, and her own honour.’

‘There is a third possibility,’ I said. ‘Suppose she’s telling the truth?’

The slate eyes met mine and held them for what seemed like a long time.

‘Miss Lane, we may suppose many things. We may suppose that this table will grow wings and fly away, or that the River Thames will run uphill. On the whole, I’d suggest it’s a better policy to stick with what is likely.’

So my brief was narrower than Disraeli had suggested. It seemed that it wasn’t a question of testing one version against another, only of providing support for the line already decided. Plus, I was not to concern myself with the strange death of a servant. I felt like a horse between shafts and in blinkers. Still, horses have to eat.

‘How am I to set about introducing myself to Lady Brinkburn?’ I said.

He actually smiled. This was where he wanted to be.

‘I’ve been giving that some thought, Miss Lane. The Buckinghamshire estate is a small one, no more than two hundred acres or so, just across the Thames from Maidenhead. The views are less charming than they used to be, owing to the Great Western Railway’s insistence on building a monstrously large bridge over the river, just next door to the Brinkburn property, but it’s still a pleasant area. The estate includes a riverside cottage, about half a mile away from Brinkburn Hall. It was built as a residence for a water bailiff, but Lady Brinkburn doesn’t care for fishing so it has been standing empty for some time. Rather than let it go to ruin, the estate lets it out occasionally to suitable people. Provided you look away from the railway bridge, it’s a picturesque spot, and much favoured by artists. You paint or sketch, I suppose?’

‘A little.’

‘I’ve already written to Whiteley saying that an artistic acquaintance of mine is interested in taking it for some weeks. It’s unfortunate that you attended the inquest this morning, but I don’t suppose for a minute that Whiteley will recognise you. Lady Brinkburn is fond of painting and often walks in the woods or by the river. I’m sure you could arrange things so that the two of you meet.’

And go from there to proving her a weaver of fantasies? It was a tall order, but then tall orders were my business.

‘Very well,’ I said. ‘When am I expected to move in?’

‘Within the next few days, I told him. There really is no time to be lost. From the latest report I had, Lord Brinkburn is sinking fast.’

He picked up some papers from the desk.

‘There are instructions here on how to get to the cottage. You may find it best to take the stagecoach to Maidenhead and hire a chaise. There’s also a banker’s draft for forty pounds towards your expenses. I’d be grateful if you’d sign a receipt.’

I signed. He was almost cheerful by now.

‘It really is a very pleasant place,’ he said. ‘I’m sure Whiteley will find a woman from the village who will clean and cook for you, and of course there’s a bedroom for your maid.’

‘Of course.’

I folded the papers into my reticule, stood up and shook hands with him, which he didn’t seem to expect, and walked in the early evening sunshine back to Abel Yard.

Tabby was sitting on the mounting block by the carriage mender’s store-shed. As I approached, she looked up, half hopeful, half apprehensive.

‘If you’d hurt that hen, I’d have had nothing more to do with you,’ I said.

I could see a succession of possibilities passing over her face like cloud shadows: run away, brazen it out, pretend she didn’t know what I was talking about.

‘I didn’t do it no harm, I took care of that.’

‘It must have been awkward, tying all those knots.’

I must have let some softness into my expression, because her face lit up.

‘It was, too. I didn’t want you undoing them before…’

Then she realised what she was admitting and looked scared again.

‘Before you could take my purse out of my reticule. Then you kept me in sight all the way to Holborn and ran the last part. That wasn’t so clever, you know. You couldn’t have known where I was going, so you must have had to follow me quite closely. In that case, why would you have to come running up, hot and breathless?’

She worked out what I meant immediately and nodded at the justice of it, biting her lip. Her teeth were whiter and more regular than you’d have expected from her way of life.

‘Why did you do it?’ I said. ‘Did you expect a reward?’

She shook her head, her knotted locks whipping round her face like Medusa’s snakes.

‘I just wanted to do you a good turn, that’s all.’

I looked at the eagerness in her expression and thought that beneath her cunning there was truthfulness of a kind. Amazing though it seemed, the charade had been because she wanted me to like her, or notice her at least. Was that so wrong? Quite recently, in my own life, I’d been without family, money or a roof over my head. Admittedly, my circumstances had never been as poor as hers. The fates had been kind to me, so who was I to turn away from her?

‘Mrs Martley said you came into our rooms the other day,’ I said.

‘She thought I’d come to take something. I hadn’t. I only wanted to see where you lived, that’s all.’

‘Still, you shouldn’t…’

But she was launched on a sense of grievance and wouldn’t be interrupted.

‘She called me names and threatened to throw me downstairs. She said I was lousy and flea-ridden. That’s not my fault. The queen and all her ladies in waiting would be lousy if they had to sleep where I sleep.’

I burst out laughing. The picture of Little Vicky and her retinue of ladies in their satin and diamonds, couching in a shining heap in the shed next to Mr Colley’s midden, was too vivid to contemplate straight-faced. Tabby was startled at first, then she started laughing too, so that we were more like two schoolgirls than wronged householder and vagrant.

When we stopped laughing we looked at each other, caught off-balance.

‘Tabby, would you like to work for me?’ I said.

It was a ludicrous idea. Anything less like a lady’s maid than the ragged girl standing in front of me would be hard to find in the whole expanse of London. Still, I had a problem and needed a quick solution to it. Mr Lomax’s casual assumption that I’d be bringing a servant with me reminded me that any kind of gentlewoman–and a person seeking acquaintance with Lady Brinkburn would have to be some kind of gentlewoman–would not stay in a country cottage unattended. There was no question of removing Mrs Martley from Jenny at this interesting stage, even if I had wanted her company, and I couldn’t afford or endure a conventional lady’s maid. Tabby grinned as if I’d given her a present, nodded her head and kept nodding it. I wished she wouldn’t. It reminded me about the state of her hair.

‘It will only be for a week or two,’ I said. ‘It means living outside London for a while.’

‘Further away than Hackney?’

‘Yes. More than twenty miles away. A day’s journey.’

She knelt down and started tightening one of the laces on her wrecked boots.

‘We’re not walking,’ I said. ‘And not at once. It will be the day after tomorrow, probably. And there’s something you must do first.’

I opened my purse and gave her the seven and a half pence.

‘You know the bath house, round the corner from the workhouse?’ She nodded. ‘I want you to go in there tomorrow morning and have a first-class bath. That will cost you threepence. The rest you can keep for yourself. Wait there.’

I ran upstairs and rummaged at the bottom of my clothes chest, turning up a grey cotton dress, much creased but quite respectable, cotton stockings and garters, a plain chemise and petticoat, corsets that were too fancy and frivolous for the purpose but the only ones I had to spare, and a woollen shawl. Down in the parlour, I stuffed them in a clean potato sack, took a bar of carbolic soap from the cupboard and raided Mrs Martley’s box of herbs for the mixture of dried rosemary and fleabane that she said was good against lice. Another raid on the food cupboard produced half a loaf of yesterday’s bread and a lump of cheese. When I got back downstairs with my armful, Tabby was standing just where I’d left her.

‘You can put the clothes on tomorrow after you’ve had your bath,’ I said. ‘You’d better keep them in the sack till then. Rub this into your hair in the bath and make sure you wash it really thoroughly.’

She accepted the sack and the instructions with the same calm she’d shown when she thought we were going to walk twenty miles. I said I’d meet her in the yard after she’d had her bath and wished her good evening. When I looked back from the doorway she was still standing there with the sack in her hand, looking after me. I thought I’d probably live to regret it. And the same applied to the other commitment I’d made that day as well.