The Lady's Scandalous Secret (The Discreet Investigations of Lord and Lady Calaway Book 7)

by Issy Brooke

  “Yes.” She sighed heavily. “Very well, I will tell you. Yes, I have heard of it. My husband ran it with Mr Calcraft. But it did nothing for the poor. It only lined their own pockets.”

  “As we suspected. Could this be a reason for Mr Calcraft to kill Mr Spenning?” Theodore said.

  She shook her head. “I doubt it. The charity did nothing and then was dissolved though I cannot remember when.”

  “It was dissolved only last year though it had been inactive for decades.” Theodore rubbed his forehead. “What are we missing?”

  “Archie Calcraft,” said Adelia, pointing at the startled man. He was still holding the notebook that he had taken from his father’s house and had been flicking through it, looking for answers to no avail.

  “My lady?”

  “You were only recently inserted back into your father’s will. Who, then, inherited before that?”

  “I don’t know. There are no other relatives. What usually happens in such cases?”

  “In such cases,” Theodore said, slowly, as the reality dawned on him, “In such cases, often the proceeds will be left to a charity close to the deceased’s heart. Didn’t we speak on that matter ourselves?”

  Adelia exhaled. She said, “Then the original benefactor of Calcraft’s will – which we will need to check – would have been this Society for the Improvement of the Poor. Which means, if Calcraft were to die before Spenning, Spenning would inherit all of Calcraft’s wealth.”

  “That would be just like my husband,” Mrs Spenning said. “Yes. Typical of him, I would say.”

  “But as their business relationship soured, Calcraft would have realised that. I can’t imagine that he knew, at first, that the money going to the charity would actually go to Spenning, but when he did realise it … no wonder things broke down between them!” Theodore said.

  “Are you saying that my father was duped by Spenning?” Archie said.

  “I would like to think so, at first. But when he realised his money would not benefit the poor, but only Spenning, no doubt he would want to change things. But he didn’t change things then, when he first found out, did he?”

  “But speaking of changes,” Adelia said, “When Mr Calcraft’s son was due to be married, that changed everything, didn’t it?”

  Archie said, “Yes. Father’s attitude to me softened. I had been everything that he hated, and that was why he disowned me, and I didn’t care. But when I met Miss Johnson, dear Emily, with her sharp tongue and her passion for life, her whims and her energy, I was smitten and I resolved to change my ways. I promised my father I would leave the army and become a good husband. And he would not disown me any longer.”

  “And in return, he would put you back in the will!” said Adelia. “But Mr Spenning could not allow that, could he? He had to let things carry on as they were before. He had to have Calcraft’s will unchanged and his son cast out. So he had to stop the marriage.”

  Theodore wanted to gasp out loud but he held his nerve. How had he not realised this? It all seemed so obvious now. “Spenning, as magistrate, had you wrongfully arrested. The marriage was off.”

  “Oh, poor Emily!” Bernard croaked. “And she has been an old maid since then.”

  “She seems to be happy enough, thanks to you and your generosity,” Archie said. “We had a long conversation about it all. But that’s not the point, now. A year ago today, things had risen to a point between the two men that could not be ignored or overlooked. An argument occurred. Perhaps Calcraft was going to change the will at last, perhaps not. I suspect he must have approached Spenning and told him the charity should be dissolved and that he was going to change his will regardless of his relationship with me. But they grappled together, and one of them died. I wonder if it was an accident, or it was premeditated? Who attacked who?”

  “Whatever it was, it ended in a man dead,” Theodore said. “But if Calcraft is not here to kill Mrs Spenning, then where is he?”

  Archie was staring down at the notebook. “This divination system,” he said.

  “Yes, the I-Ching,” Bernard said, suddenly keen again to share his knowledge. “It uses sticks of yarrow thrown…”

  “Listen,” Archie said. “He has written his interpretations down and dated them. Nothing makes sense for the past few weeks. But when I go to the date when he sent for me, there is this: These hexagrams mean Darkening. They mean Decay. And they mean Peace. Alongside that, written at an angle, almost scrawled as if it was an afterthought, is another word. Death.”

  Bernard blurted out, “You see! He is a man who seeks patterns. He is a man of superstition. Its obvious, isn’t it! You came here,” he said, pointing at Theodore. “You came here with your son, and Calcraft started thinking about his own son, and then he cast the sticks and it told him he was going to die! So of course he believed it. And he called Archie back, and he rewrote his will at last, and he got his house in order because today – tonight – tonight is the night that it will happen!”

  “It?” said Mrs Spenning, her hand to her throat.

  “His death! He expects to die tonight because that would fit the pattern. It’s a pattern only he can see, and he will ensure that it happens – with fireworks if necessary!”

  “Where?” Mr Macauley said, but he had hardly got the words out when Archie cried, “The hut! That’s where he is – the hut where it all happened. Quick!”

  25

  Theodore got to the door first, but only narrowly beat Bamfylde. They collided, shoulder to shoulder, and turned to grin at one another.

  “Is this exciting enough for you now?” Theodore asked.

  “It’s getting better, yes.”

  “Excuse me!” shouted Archie. “My father’s life could be hanging in the balance right this very moment.”

  Ouch, yes, he certainly had a point. Theodore wrenched the door open rather than turn to look at the soldier. Behind him, he could hear Adelia running through the polite things to say when one took one’s leave, and the soft murmur of Mrs Spenning assuring her that no apologies were needed – from her, at any rate. Obviously, the rest of them were still to blame.

  But that hardly mattered now.

  The night had fallen cold now, and it was almost pitch black outside. The village was not lit like the larger towns were. Indeed, some parts of London seemed almost like daylight when the lamplighter had gone past, and the gin palaces were lit up from within, and the theatres and music halls had their displays shining.

  But this Norfolk village was like the inside of a lion.

  Bernard still had his lantern. Theodore had one too, but the flame in this one was guttering and getting low, threatening to go out at any moment. They clustered together to formulate a plan, but that plan simply became “We must get to the boathouse as quickly as possible.”

  Mrs Spenning appeared behind them, then, with two unlit lanterns in her hands.

  “Take these, and good luck. Sometimes you cannot do anything, so if it all turns out for the very worst, do not dwell on it. That’s simply how life is.” With that gloomy prediction, she retreated back inside.

  They lit the new lanterns just as Theodore’s went out, so they left that on the doorstep and continued. Three light sources between the six of them should have been sufficient but the night had a thick, blanketing quality to it, and they stayed close together. Theodore began to regret encouraging Adelia to join them. She clung to his arm and frequently slipped and missed her footing. Bernard’s breathing was laboured. The stocky man was not used to brisk exercise; he was more of a slow meanderer over long distances. Mr Macauley was likewise puffing. Only Bamfylde and Archie were bounding ahead, one lantern between them, to find the way.

  Theodore found himself making unpleasant speculations as to what Edwin Calcraft was going to do. If it were true that he was a slave to patterns and predictions and illogical superstitions, and this night was significant to him, then would he try to recreate the manner of Walter Spenning’s death, too? He quailed at the tho
ught. Surely no man of right mind could impale himself on an eel spear deliberately. One’s natural sense of self-preservation would surely step in?

  But Calcraft was not of his right mind, and his unpredictability made him dangerous to himself as much as to others.

  On they stumbled, Theodore now having fleeting moments of regret about the loss of the dessert course.

  It was perhaps trivial, but thinking about puddings was far nicer than thinking about a madman impaling himself on a spear.

  Now they were on the muddy track that led down to the boathouse by the river. They were heading downhill. There were hedges and trees either side of them, typically water-lovers like alder, willow and birch. Their black branches rustled and seemed to reach out to claw at their clothing as they hurried by. Something in the undergrowth screamed and made them all jump. The men quickly turned their nervousness to laughter as they muttered, “Oh, it was a vixen” or “Don’t those hedgehogs make such a fuss!”

  Adelia tutted.

  Then the water was in front of them. In spite of the blackness of the night, the river showed up as a silver line, broken halfway along by a squat black lump – the boathouse.

  There was a faint yellow light in the window. It was unmistakeably occupied.

  “Oh – father…” Archie said under his breath, speeding up.

  And then the blast turned the night into the full blaze of day, if the sun was a red ball that shattered into a thousand tiny stars which fell screaming to earth around them.

  They all stopped, grabbing one another in panic as the fizzing red sparks rained down like tiny demons.

  Another firework shot up from the area of the boathouse, yellow this time, streaming up in a dozen separate trails of fire. Before that had faded, a series of blue rockets went up, their noise and their intensity making Theodore gasp in astonishment and awe.

  “Maybe he’s just putting on a bit of a display,” Mr Macauley shouted, artificially bright and cheerful in his demeanour. “Maybe we’ve got it all wrong!”

  “Or maybe – this is part of the show,” Theodore said. “And we need to be concerned about what he’s planning for the grand finale.”

  “Goodness!” Adelia cried, her voice soon smothered by the huge barrage of fireworks that now began to go off. It seemed as if Calcraft had set everything off at the same time. There were rockets, sprays of light, whirling spinning things, and every colour that was possible all burning into their eyes as their ears were filled with deafening screeches, bangs and whistles.

  “No!”

  Archie’s voice pierced even the cacophony exploding from the boathouse. He roared out the word as he leaped forward, running towards the source of all the noise.

  Because the boathouse was now on fire.

  The wood must have been damp for it didn’t erupt in flames, but rather, it took its time to get going. The smell of it smouldering hit them as they ran behind Archie. He didn’t hesitate. He kicked out at the door, his boot at waist-height as he slammed the door clean from its hinges. Smoke billowed out and engulfed him immediately.

  Bamfylde tried to follow but the smoke made him falter, coughing, bending double with his arm over his mouth.

  None of them were wearing scarves. Theodore turned to Adelia but she had already thought of it. She pulled her light shoulder-wrap free, wriggling it out from underneath her cloak. He took it and ran to the edge of the river, dampening it before wrapping it around his face. His eyes streamed as soon as he got close to the burning boathouse. It was not flaring up, like dry wood would do, but it was smouldering fiercely with a strong heat and a great deal of smoke. He drew in a breath to call out, and immediately regretted it, his words turning to retching coughs in his lungs.

  There were shapes moving in amongst the debris and the smoke. Theodore dropped to his knees, partly because he was simply winded, but he also knew – or hoped – the smoke would be less dense at ground level. He inched forward. Something burned his ear and he flicked it with his hand. He reached out and grabbed the bottom of the jacket of the man-like shape in front of him.

  Archie was hunched over his father. His face was grotesque in the flames and the smoke, blackened and distorted. He couldn’t speak. Together, they grabbed the prone figure lying wrapped in what was once a beautiful silk wrapper, and began to half-carry, half-drag him backwards.

  The body of Edwin Calcraft was unresponsive. His arms flopped to his sides. Archie and Theodore took a leg each, and simply dragged him backwards, inch by inch. As they got clear of the door of the boathouse, others came up to them, coughing and shouting incomprehensible things, taking hold of the floppy figure and lending their strength. Around them, the fireworks continued to shatter the sky, but their frequency was lessening now, their noise slightly muted, their colours draining into the edges of the night.

  As soon as they were a safe distance from the collapsing boathouse, they stopped. Theodore and Archie were on their knees, coughing and wiping their eyes. Theodore tried to go to Calcraft.

  “He needs … doctor,” he croaked out.

  Bernard was there, kneeling down by Calcraft’s head. He put his ear to the man’s mouth and then said, “He’s alive. He’s breathing. Calaway, take your time. He’s not about to die. It’s all right.”

  “He’s alive?” Archie said, his voice just a rasping whisper, barely audible.

  “He is alive,” Bernard said firmly.

  “Good,” Archie said. With a supreme effort, his voice just a painful whisper, he said, “Then he will be fit to hang.”

  26

  “Of course, I knew it could only have been Edwin Calcraft all along,” Theodore declared. He was on his second pint and the ale seemed awfully strong in this Norwich inn. It was a respectable sort of place, near to the railway station, catering to a variety of classes and statuses. He was sitting at a well-scrubbed table with Archie Calcraft and Bamfylde. The three of them were dressed soberly and drinking slowly.

  They were soon joined, as planned, by Bernard and Mr Macauley who burst in from the wet street like dogs seeking shelter, shaking themselves at the door and causing a great noise and fuss while they divested themselves of their outdoor clothing.

  As soon as Bernard and Mr Macauley sat down, Theodore said, “You will want to know all about the trial, then?”

  “We didn’t need to be there to know the outcome. Everyone was talking about it as soon as the judge pronounced him guilty and sentenced him to hang in jail,” replied Mr Macauley, as irrepressible as ever. He suddenly seemed to realise that he was speaking rather gleefully of Archie’s father’s impending execution, and flushed.

  But Archie was not offended. He was cloaked in gloom, and had been ever since he had left the courthouse with Theodore and Bamfylde. Theodore had struggled to know what to say to the officer. He looked older, now, with new lines scoring down his cheeks and the peppering of grey in his hair, as if he had aged a decade in the past few months. But Bamfylde had been an absolute boon. He didn’t chatter or try to jolly things along. He was simply there, and with a quiet word or a nod or a look he brought a modicum of comfort to Archie.

  Bamfylde rested his chin on his hands and smiled ruefully at his father over the pub table. “So, father, you were saying that you knew the identity of the culprit all along. That is not how I remember it. At one point you actually had poor Mrs Spenning arrested.”

  Theodore frowned and glossed over that particular episode. It still pained him. “I was not able to reveal my true suspicions for fear of alerting the suspect.” Theodore decided that calling Calcraft “the suspect” might be easier on Archie Calcraft. It can’t have been pleasant to keep hearing one’s own name attached to a murderer.

  Bernard laughed first, and then everyone joined in. Theodore was affronted. The way he remembered it, he had thought it must be Calcraft.

  “I was simply struggling to find evidence!” he said in protest.

  Archie stopped laughing. He said, seriously, “Were it not for the events of t
hat final night, I wonder if you would ever had had the evidence?”

  Theodore rubbed his chin. “I … I must be honest. I don’t know.”

  “I can’t see it, myself,” Bernard said. “You got lucky this time, Calaway. This wasn’t down to your investigative skills at all. It was mere chance. That must feel a little flat, surely?”

  “Not at all. If I look at all of my cases, luck and chance played a part. The harder I investigated, the more that I looked, the more likely it was that luck would be on my side.”

  “How curious to think that he might have got away with it!” Mr Macauley said.

  “Just think of all of those who do get away with it,” Bernard went on.

  “I cannot think of them,” Theodore said. “Like in medicine, if one thinks of those who do not make it, one would go quite mad. No. Let us celebrate the success – sorry, sorry, Archie, that was a poor choice of words…”

  “No, I understand.” Archie smiled weakly. “I can only think of justice, and cling to that. The knowledge that justice is done is the only thing I have left in the world.”

  Bernard coughed. “You have one other thing in the world.”

  “The house? Heavens, no. I will sell it as soon as I can find an honest man to do it.”

  “You won’t be using Mr Hedges, then?” Mr Macauley said, and they all laughed. The solicitor had not been called to the trial though at one point it was suggested he would give evidence with the will and its rewriting and so on. Strangely, he slipped right out of the investigation, though it was rumoured he had been seen dining on more than one occasion with the judge.

  Nothing would stick to Mr Hedges.

  Bernard interrupted the mirth. “I did not mean the house. I meant – there is one other person in the world that you have.”

  Archie looked down at the table and played with the tankard of ale in front of him. “Yes. Perhaps.”