by Issy Brooke
“Everyone says there is no evidence of his making any plans at all. And why would he? He is an Englishman and he is at home; he is no longer young. The time for travel is past.”
“Oh, father, how bleak! And anyway, I do not think he has an Englishman’s heart. Look at his house, how he dresses; he is half a Chinaman. He embraces their way of life, their culture, and he clearly longs for the place where he lived for so long. If he does feel his life is drawing to a close, then would he not want to die in the place that he loves best?”
“So we are both right,” Theodore said stubbornly.
“You are both blockheads,” Adelia said. “For does this not point to his possible guilt? We have turned up and begun to ask questions. Suddenly, Calcraft is fired into action. He even admitted as much, did he not? He even said that it was our arrival – well, your example, dear Theodore – that made him begin to effect changes in his life. Namely, to get away from here and from us as soon as possible.”
“He could have just fled in the night,” Bamfylde said.
“That would look very guilty, too guilty,” she replied. “This way he has built a plausible explanation about his actions. And it suggests to me that we are getting close to the truth, even though we simply can’t see it. We must be sitting on some information that we don’t realise, for him to be so keen to get away.”
Theodore’s fist was still balled up. He thumped the table again. “And this means we have to act immediately to prevent him from going.”
“Which we cannot do, without evidence,” Adelia said.
Bamfylde groaned. “And you are saying that we already have the evidence, or the information that points to it, but we simply don’t recognise it?”
“Yes. When we thought that Miss Johnson had been targeted, we thought that she could have information without knowing it – we were wrong. But it has made me realise that the principle is the same. We are so close to the truth. It could be staring us in the face.”
“Is Miss Johnson definitely innocent?” Bamfylde said.
“Ah,” replied Adelia. “I have a little more information. It seems that our Miss Johnson is actually involved in this Great Yarmouth charity too, somehow, through Mrs Pickworth. Not the extinct charity that linked Spenning and Calcraft – I think that is a diversion to this current one. I have no idea why she wants to keep her current activities such a secret, but when we have seen Miss Johnson acting strangely or evasively, then it has been due to that, and not Spenning’s death.”
“Have you direct proof?”
“Yes. A letter I’ve just seen. The letter that came this morning was from Mrs Pickworth to Miss Johnson. I am intrigued and I will continue to look into it, but it is not the main investigation.”
There was a moment of silence while they thought about what they were doing.
“It comes down to the links between Spenning and Calcraft. We need evidence,” Theodore said explosively all of a sudden. He pushed the documents around in frustration. “But all we have is hearsay from years ago. We need a direct example of Spenning doing something so terrible to Calcraft that Calcraft would want to get his revenge. That he would need to get his revenge, even years after the event.”
“Could it be linked to Calcraft’s son? His late wife?” Adelia asked.
“Yes. No. It could be linked to everything.”
“There is too much information,” Bamfylde said. “We will never follow the right thread in time. I just want to grab the man and pin him against the wall and shake it out of him!”
Adelia put out a hand as if Bamfylde were really about to leap to his feet and do it.
But instead, Theodore jumped up.
“No,” she said in alarm. “You cannot!”
“Cannot what?”
“Are you about to grab Calcraft and shake it out of him?”
He snorted. “Maybe. No, I am not about to slam him against a wall, though Bamfylde’s idea is not the worst. I feel the same. But come, let us pay another call on him. We will be clear and direct in our questions. Let us ask about this charity that we have heard of; let our aim be to get the name of it, if nothing else.”
Adelia had to agree that it was a good, clear aim.
In a way, the visit went rather well.
Of course, it wasn’t ideal that the elder Mr Calcraft was becoming increasingly unhinged. And Adelia was not entirely comfortable with the ethics of exploiting his apparent state of mania. But on the other hand, they certainly obtained the information that they were seeking.
It started with a wild chase through the grounds of Calcraft’s house. Adelia, Theodore and Bamfylde walked together and as they approached the house, they heard shouting off to one side. They followed a path that led through a wooden door into a secluded, walled-off area, with ancient rotting pergolas and trellises that had twisted and broken. Some of the wooden structures were only held up by the vines and tendrils of the plants that used them. The path was gravelled and edged by a variety of stones in black, greys and whites, and at every twist and turn, there seemed to be a sculpture lurking in the bushes or wind-chimes dangling from branches.
“Father!” cried Archie from some hidden place in the maze of vegetation. “The ladder is not safe! You must get down.”
Adelia picked up her pace and so did the others. They tracked the commotion down quickly. Edwin Calcraft was dressed in the most alarming bright red tunic and pale cream baggy trousers, and he was balancing on a wooden ladder that he had put against a twisted conifer. He was trying to reach a dangling lantern which was lodged in the upper branches.
Archie Calcraft was holding the ladder, clearly struggling to keep it upright. He was purple in the face from effort, and Theodore and Bamfylde ran immediately to his aid.
“The silly old fool wouldn’t let me go up instead of him!” Archie burst out through gritted teeth, an explosion of words and anger. “Father!” he shouted. “Get down or I shall come up now and get you!”
Old Edwin ignored them all. He didn’t even look down at the new arrivals. He stretched out and out, his fingers lengthening to just brush the lantern. Adelia held her breath.
He had it. He nudged it, and it dislodged, and gently drifted down to the ground.
“Ha!” was all that Edwin Calcraft said. He began to inch his way down the ladder and Adelia was suddenly struck by how careful and measured his movements were, like that of a man in pain.
When he reached the ground, he made an exaggerated show of brushing dust and dirt from his clothing, smiling in triumph.
His son was fuming. “I should have let you pitch head-first to the ground. What is so special about this lantern?”
“It is mine.”
“Is it valuable?”
“No. But it is mine, you see, mine.”
“If you are so concerned about things that are yours, why are you selling everything?” the young Archie burst out, asking the question that they all wanted an answer to.
Edwin grabbed him, startling everyone, not least his son. He gripped Archie by the upper arms and spun him around as if he were presenting him to his visitors.
“For him! It all benefits him! What father would not do all that he could do for his son?” he cried, a curious light in his eyes. There was a smile on his face that reminded Adelia of certain people in the grip of an intense religious experience.
Edwin Calcraft was not entirely embedded in everyday reality.
Adelia knew she had to take advantage of it, however distasteful that was. She said, “Your will, too, then, benefits him?”
“Of course! It all goes to him! Why would it not?” he suddenly said, his beatific smile replaced instantly by the flash of a frown.
“You are a very good father,” she replied mildly.
And she thought, so, if his will now benefits his son – whom did it benefit before it was changed? But she could not ask that. He didn’t know that they knew he had recently rewritten his will. Calcraft’s sudden change of expression was a warning not to
go too far.
If she couldn’t ask that, her blundering husband could, unfortunately.
Theodore said, “Look here, Calcraft. You are not a stupid man and you know that there are reports that your old solicitor, Mr Hedges, is quite upset with you for changing your will lately. Frankly, I agree with you completely. Let your will benefit your son. You’re doing the right thing, old chap. But I do have to ask what your will used to say? Just out of idle curiosity, you understand. I can tell you that before my son came back into the fold, I was sorely tempted to leave all my money to a charity that tries to save and preserve tropical snails.”
Bamfylde choked.
Adelia pressed her lips together, hiding her smile. Theodore had never had such a notion in his life. But Theodore’s revelation and his chummy approach paid dividends.
“Snails?” said Calcraft, laughing at the thought. He pointed at Bamfylde. “Oh, you poor lad. To be considered to be of less value than snails! At least my chosen charity was something more edifying.”
Adelia almost held her breath again. So his original benefactor was not a person, but a charity?
Charities, again. It had to be linked.
It was news to Archie too. He laughed and said to his father, “Really? I had not had you down as a particularly charitable person. So it was not snails, then?”
“Goodness me, no. It was all going to go to The Philanthropic Endeavour for the Improvement of the Poor, in fact.” Then he shrugged. “But it’s of no matter now. Who cares, now? Oh! The lantern!”
A gust of wind caught the paper object and it began to roll away. Edwin leaped after it, his baggy clothing flapping. Archie sighed and took hold of the ladder.
“I am going to put this away and chain it up while I have the chance,” he explained. “I would have invited you inside, for although my father has forgotten how to be a good host, I have not. However, as you can see, I am currently rather engaged in preventing more acts of lunacy.”
“Is there anything we can do?” Adelia asked in a low voice. “I mean that genuinely. Are you … coping?”
“Yes,” Archie replied, his teeth bared in something between a smile and a grimace. “I am coping, thank you.”
“And is he really intending on travelling?”
“I have no idea what he intends to do, from hour to hour.” He looked down at the floor and there was a painful silence. Then he looked at Theodore. “Sir, as a doctor, if I have need of you…”
“At any time. Call and I shall be there.”
“He is not insane,” Archie said hastily.
“But is he sane?”
“I think that he is. But something afflicts him and I should like to help him. I rather fear that he is the sort of man that will let matters get very much worse before he will accept anything, however.”
Adelia nodded and smiled. “That is entirely normal. Good luck, sir, and you know where we are. As my husband says, call upon us at any time.”
“I shall.”
20
They discussed it over dinner that night. Bernard had emerged from his study looking weary and anxious. He welcomed the distraction of the conversation. Emily Johnson was there, pale and quiet, listening but not contributing. She, too, seemed to have her mind on other things.
Anne snorted when she heard the name of the charity. “The Philanthropic Endeavour for the Improvement of the Poor?” she declared. “I have never heard of it. Has anyone?”
They all shook their heads. Adelia watched Miss Johnson but she had no reaction.
“It is a silly, generic sort of name,” she went on. “It doesn’t actually say what it does. Where is it based?”
“I would imagine that it is local. Great Yarmouth, or Norwich,” Adelia said.
“Is it linked to Florence Spenning and the workhouse in Yarmouth?” Anne said.
Again, Miss Johnson remained impassive, giving no clue that she had ever heard of it.
“We have no idea,” Theodore said. “That is all the information we were able to get out of him before he went running after a paper lantern in his nightclothes.”
“Goodness. The man grows more unstable by the day.”
Bernard said, “An interest in cultures beyond our own shores does not make a man unstable.”
“It surely can’t help but contribute to a person’s madness, though,” Miss Johnson sniffed.
Bernard looked ready to indulge in a rant, drawing in his breath and puffing himself up, but after a glance from his wife he subsided and instead stabbed at a slice of beef.
“Well,” said Theodore decisively. “Tomorrow’s course of action is clear. Let us look into this defunct charity now that we have a name for it. If there is a link between Florence Spenning and Calcraft’s charity then there is also a link between Calcraft and Walter Spenning. Once we have found the records, we have found a direct piece of evidence between them. I feel sure the truth is right there.”
“Being a detective seems to be mostly about looking at paperwork,” Bamfylde said. There was the hint of a complaint in his voice which Theodore chose to ignore.
“It is. But there are bursts of excitement.”
They were, at last, in the town hall of Great Yarmouth. The clerk had been more than willing to allow the two men access to the records of the town, and got them comfortably seated with hot drinks on hand. He had not heard of the charity that they mentioned but he led them to the great brown ledgers on the shelves and suggested that they would find what they looked for somewhere there.
“I think the most exciting thing to happen in here is if I drop a very heavy book on my foot,” Bamfylde went on.
“Aha!”
“What? A paper cut?” Bamfylde asked.
“Enough with your sarcasm. No, look here.” Theodore, while his son had been complaining, had been leafing through the books and documents, scanning them quickly. Studying medicine in his youth had given him strong skills in being able to quickly read text and take in the main points. He carried a very large ledger to the table and set it down. It had foxed pages and a musty smell, and he was sure that something small scuttled across the paper.
“The Philanthropic Endeavour for the Improvement of the Poor,” he said, pointing at the tiny, spidery handwriting. “It was dissolved – oh. Only last year. Surely there is some mistake here? For some reason I thought this must have been wrapped up ages ago. It has only ever been spoken of in the far past.”
“What did it do? How did it improve the poor? Education? Clothing? Food? Religion?”
“I have no idea. It doesn’t say what it actually did. Sometimes these organisations are merely a front for something else, though.”
“How could that benefit Calcraft?”
“I don’t know,” Theodore said. He flicked on through the ledger but there were no more mentions of it.
“What are you looking for now?”
“Anything. Records of the charity, records of meetings, a record of who was on the board – that would be very interesting.”
“Spenning and Calcraft could have been on the board together,” Bamfylde said. “Then if they had argued, perhaps about the charity and its workings, one would leave. And we know that they were involved together on a charity – it must be this one! It can’t be any other.”
That sounded very plausible.
Bamfylde went on. “Perhaps they disagreed on how it was run. If it were a dodgy, fake sort of organisation, perhaps Calcraft didn’t like it. Perhaps he threatened to expose Spenning!”
“In which case, Spenning would have killed Calcraft.”
Bamfylde strode around the room. “Now, this is the excitement I was looking for! Father, think about it. Perhaps Spenning wanted to kill Calcraft. Perhaps he tried! And perhaps, in the struggle, it was Spenning who was fatally injured. What then? Who is the murderer?”
“Well,” said Theodore patiently, “Calcraft is the murderer.”
“But it could have been self-defence!”
“Perhaps. But
was Calcraft reasonable in his use of force? An accidental blow to the head as someone falls is one thing. Stabbing someone full in the body with an eel spear is quite another.”
“Perhaps he fell on it.”
“Perhaps he really did.”
“So, father, what shall we do?”
Theodore watched his son deflate as he replied, “We shall continue to look for evidence.”
Bamfylde huffed and threw himself sulkily into a chair. “I want to go and find the evidence.”
“Hush. If you can’t be any use with this, you can be very useful still. Pour the tea, and keep thinking.”
“Thinking?”
“Yes!” said Theodore. “Bamfylde, your insights have been invaluable so far. Keep making connections. Keep playing it out in your mind. Explore how things might have happened. Don’t be afraid to be wrong. We need you to be wrong so we can discount those wrong ideas. Eventually, the idea that is left is the right one.”
Bamfylde frowned. “I don’t like being wrong. It’s something you’re punished for.”
“Absolute poppycock. Forget what they said at school. The only people who are never wrong are the ones who never try. So sit there, shut up, and have a bloody good think.”
Theodore and Bamfylde returned to Litton, both fizzing with excitement. They eagerly related all their discoveries to Anne and Adelia.
“The charity was based in Great Yarmouth. It was set up about fifteen years ago and does not appear to have done anything,” Theodore told them. “There are no endowments, no schools or halls set up in its name, no recipients of alms, no records of any good works. And last year it was dissolved. Last year. Not ages ago, as we had thought.”
“But that’s not all,” said Bamfylde, bouncing around the room while the rest of them sat down politely. Adelia had to smile at his boundless energy and enthusiasm. He can’t have enjoyed ploughing through old books and records, she thought.
“What?” clamoured Anne and Adelia.
“Ask us who were trustees of this charity.”
“Can we guess?” said Adelia. “I’m going to say Edwin Calcraft and Walter Spenning.”