A satisfied belch from the other side of the table announced Woods had finished his meal. ‘That were good, that,’ he said grudgingly. Some natural colour had returned to his cheeks and there was a twinkle in his eyes again. ‘Besides which, if I hadn’t stumbled with that damned coffin – or driven the wagon off the road – you wouldn’t have heard the knife rattlin’ around inside it. I may be stubborn and stupid sometimes – but I reckon it’s a useful kind of stupid.’
Relieved the conversation had finally turned away from Sir Richard’s extraordinary behaviour, Lavender smiled and nodded. ‘Yes, that was a stroke of luck.’
‘You’ve got sharp ears next to that sharp mind of yours.’
Lavender brushed away the compliment and sipped his ale thoughtfully. ‘It’s still a mystery though, Ned, isn’t it – the murder weapon in the coffin.’
‘Who do you reckon put it there?’
‘The murderer,’ Lavender replied shortly.
‘Then it were a brilliant ruse to hide the weapon beneath the dead man. Who’d have thought to search in the coffin? It’s most . . . most irregular.’
Lavender smiled. Woods was regaining his good humour. His imitation of Magistrate Nulty was unmistakable. ‘Irregular, yes,’ Lavender said, ‘but maybe it’s not that clever. Not if the knife is found. It narrows down our field of suspects to those who had access to the coffin before it was sealed.’
‘The morgue at Bow Street’s often unlocked,’ Woods pointed out.
‘Yes, but there’s always stable hands and officers in the yard and everyone’s more alert now since Nidar’s gang dumped the body of Baron Danvers on our doorstep last spring. Not many people had access to David MacAdam’s body after he was found dead.’
‘True,’ Woods said. ‘Our Eddie’s always on the lookout for strangers lurkin’ in the stable yard.’
‘Did you see anything unusual when Mrs MacAdam and Ike Rawlings were in the morgue at Bow Street?’
‘What? You think one of them may have slid the knife in the coffin while we were stood next to them?’ Woods thought for a moment, then shook his head. ‘It’s always dark in that room but I didn’t see any sleight of hand.’
Lavender downed the last of his ale and pushed back his wooden chair. It scraped across the flagstones. ‘Are you ready?’
Woods glanced longingly at his empty bowl. ’What for? I’d thought to have another one of these.’
‘That, Ned, is how you got into this mess in the first place. From now on, it’s one bowl of stew at a time for you – like a normal man.’
Woods sighed, pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. ‘Where are we goin’?’
‘I think it’s time we had another word with Ike Rawlings. And I want to see how Mrs MacAdam reacts to the news that Rawlings knew her husband was still alive.’
‘Do you think he killed MacAdam?’
‘I don’t know,’ Lavender replied honestly, ‘but I think a night in the town gaol may make him more talkative – and I have a warrant for his arrest in my pocket.’
Chapter Thirty
Mrs MacAdam bristled with annoyance when she found Lavender and Woods on her doorstep. Reluctantly, she let them into the cottage. ‘I don’t want to ’ear any more nonsense about Ike killin’ Davy,’ she said.
Rawlings was sitting by her fireside, smoking his pipe. The lanky man stood up when they entered. There was no sign of the two young boys. ‘Good evenin’, officers,’ he said. ‘Do you ’ave some news for us?’
‘Not yet,’ Lavender said, ‘but we need to ask you some more questions. Firstly, do either of you remember if Mr Collins, the man who brought you the coffin in June, had a prominent wart on his chin?’
Rawlings and Mrs MacAdam glanced at each other, bewildered, then shook their heads.
‘I can’t remember much about ’im at all, except ’e were young and dark,’ Mrs MacAdam said. Rawlings sucked on his pipe and nodded agreement.
‘Would you recognise him if you saw him again?’ Lavender asked.
Mrs MacAdam shrugged her shoulders and raised her hands in confusion. ‘I don’t know. I were mightily upset to ’ave my ’usband brought ’ome in a coffin.’
‘I might know ’im again,’ Rawlings said.
Lavender cleared his throat. ‘I also need to ask if either of you recognise this.’ He pulled the bloodstained farrier’s knife out of his pocket and held it out.
Neither Rawlings nor Mrs MacAdam flinched. They just stared quietly at the weapon in his hand.
‘Is that what killed Davy?’ Rawlings asked.
Mrs MacAdam frowned. ‘Why should we recognise it?’
‘Because you’ve been lying to me,’ Lavender replied firmly. ‘Or at least you – Rawlings – have done so.’
Rawlings shuffled uncomfortably and his eyes dropped beneath Lavender’s stare.
Mrs MacAdam pulled herself up to her full height and put her hands on her hips. ‘’Ow so? What you accusin’ ’im of now?’
Lavender ignored her. ‘You didn’t go straight home after you delivered your cargo to Eggerton’s on the day of the murder, did you, Rawlings?’
‘No, I . . . I ’ad an errand to run.’
‘In the west end of the city?’ Woods asked.
‘I can’t recall.’
‘So how is it we’ve got a witness who saw you in your wagon outside MacAdam’s lodgings on the day of the murder?’ Lavender asked.
Silence. Rawlings nodded and hung his shaggy head in shame.
Mrs MacAdam slumped down into a chair in shock. ‘Did you . . . Ike, did you know Davy were still alive?’
Pink spots appeared on Rawlings’ high cheekbones beneath his beard. ‘Winnie . . . I . . .’
Mrs MacAdam’s voice rose in distress. ‘You knew ’e were still alive? But you still asked me to wed you! Oh, Ike – ’ow could you?’
‘I didn’t know what to do, Winnie,’ Rawlings said in desperation. ‘I were so shocked to see ’im drive past in that fancy black carriage wi’ that young girl by ’is side.’
‘Young girl!’
Rawlings dropped his voice to a mumble. ‘Aye, ’e were with a chit of a girl.’
‘Why the devil didn’t you tell me?’ She slammed her fist down on the arm of her chair. ‘Is every man I ever meet set to betray me?’
They heard movement from the attic above. ‘Are you all right, Ma?’ asked a nervous young voice from the top of the wooden ladder.
Lavender glanced up and saw the pale faces of Mrs MacAdam’s young sons staring down at them. ‘I think we’ll take this conversation to the town gaol.’
He pulled out the warrant from his pocket and showed it to the shocked couple. ‘Isaac Rawlings, by the power vested in me by His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent, in the name of and on behalf of His Majesty King George III, I arrest you on suspicion of the murder of David MacAdam.’
Woods pulled out his handcuffs and clamped them round the wrists of the stunned stone carrier. Mrs MacAdam’s sobs and screams rang in their ears when they dragged Rawlings, stumbling, out of the house into the moonlight.
The dilapidated County Gaol of Essex was a crumbling fortress about three-quarters of a mile out of Chelmsford. Surrounded by a high brick wall, it had a platform over the entrance gateway where the condemned were publicly executed. The interior of the cramped compound was as bleak as the exterior and it was noisy. The low, ugly murmur of male voices, the yells of the insane and the screams of a woman prisoner suggested that the shared cells were overflowing ahead of the quarter sessions. Lavender and Woods pulled out their handkerchiefs to protect their noses from the overpowering stench of urine, faeces and unwashed bodies as they nudged Rawlings ahead of them.
Lavender showed his arrest warrant and his Bow Street tipstaff to one of the gaolers on duty. The man nodded and led them through a series of draughty and stone-flagged corridors to a small interview room. The iron keys on the ring dangling from his belt jangled when he walked.
The peeling walls and th
e rotten beams in the ceiling dripped with damp. The weak lantern on the table and the silver moonlight pouring through the high window failed to light or warm the cold, shadowy corners of the bleak cell.
Rawlings slumped down into a battered chair with his head bowed forward. He hadn’t uttered a word since they dragged him out of the house. The gaoler stood behind him, waiting for further instruction from Lavender.
Lavender took Woods outside for a moment. ‘What did you think of Mrs MacAdam’s reaction?’
‘It seemed real enough to me. I don’t think the poor woman knew anythin’ about Rawlings’ deception. Neither of them seemed to recognise the knife, either. If they did hide it in the coffin, I think they’d be more alarmed.’
Lavender gave a short nod. Woods had confirmed his own thoughts. Mrs MacAdam was no longer a suspect for the murder of her husband and the case against Ike Rawlings for the murder of MacAdam wasn’t as strong as he’d like. There should have been more reaction when he produced the murder weapon. ‘Let’s see what he has to say for himself.’
They returned and sat down at the table opposite Rawlings. The silent gaoler shifted his weight from one foot to the other and his keys jangled again.
‘You haven’t been honest with us, Rawlings,’ Lavender said. ‘You knew all along David MacAdam was still alive and had faked his own death.’
Rawlings’ shaggy head nodded sadly. He raised his eyes to Lavender’s. He looked wretched. ‘Yes. Winnie will never forgive me for that.’
‘It’s not Mrs MacAdam you need to be worried about right now, fellah,’ Woods said. ‘You’re facin’ a charge of murder. If you’re found guilty, you’ll be hanged.’
‘Tell us how you found out MacAdam was still alive,’ Lavender said.
‘It were like I said at the ’ouse.’ Rawlings’ voice dropped with despair. ‘I were in my wagon and I saw ’im drivin’ past in a fancy black carriage wi’ a young girl. I saw it clear as day.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I pulled out into the traffic and followed ’im. I didn’t believe it at first. I ’ad to make sure.’
Woods was sceptical. ‘Are you tellin’ us your creakin’ old wagon managed to keep up with that flash phaeton?’
‘The traffic were slow. No one were movin’. I followed them to ’er ’ouse near Berkeley Square. ’E ’elped ’er and the maid down from the carriage. ’E raised ’er ’and and kissed it then the women went inside. I knew by the look on ’er face the gal were sweet on ’im. ’E seemed right fond of ’er too. One of their fancy servants took the coach and ’orses and Davy walked ’ome.’
‘Did you follow him back to Park Lane?’
‘Aye, and I watched ’im go inside.’
‘Didn’t he see you?’
‘I took care to stay back. ’E only ’ad eyes for the gal anyway.’
‘When was this? Woods asked.
‘About a month ago.’
Woods sat back in his chair and gave a short, unfriendly laugh. ‘So you’ve known for a month MacAdam was still alive – but you never thought to tell his grievin’ widow?’
Rawlings’ handcuffs clanked as he twisted his large hands together in his lap. ‘I didn’t know what to do. I swear, Officer, I didn’t know what to do. I wrestled wi’ me conscience for weeks. I knew ’im and Winnie ’ad never been ’appy together. She wouldn’t want ’im back.’
‘And in the meantime, you’d decided you wanted Mrs MacAdam for yourself.’
Rawlings ignored Lavender’s jibe and continued: ‘I were mightily torn about what to do, Detective. It were like a paralysis ’ad set in my mind. I couldn’t believe it were ’im. I kept goin’ back to the ’ouse on Park Lane, wantin’ to catch another glimpse of ’im to make sure I’d got it right.’
‘Yes, we know,’ Lavender said coldly. ‘Our witness saw you there several times. You do realise, don’t you, Rawlings, that faking a death is a criminal offence? If you’d reported MacAdam to the police he’d have been arrested and probably transported for his crime.’
‘Yes – I know that. But ’ow would that ’ave ’elped poor Winnie?’ Rawlings’ tone became stronger as he defended the woman he loved. ‘She’d ’ave still been bound to ’im by marriage while ’e were on the other side of the world. Without an ’usband to take care of ’er and the boys back in Chelmsford, they’d ’ave ended up in the workhouse – or worse.’
There was a short silence while Lavender and Woods digested Rawlings’ words. The carrier was right. A few wives and families went out to New South Wales with their transported husbands, but most didn’t. This cruel system of punishment devastated families even more so than the death penalty. At least after a villain was hanged, the widow was free to find another man to support her and her children. By faking his own death, MacAdam had done his wife a huge favour as well as himself; he’d released her from an unhappy union to marry again.
‘So, you decided to become her new husband,’ Woods said flatly.
Rawlings nodded. ‘I’ve always been fond of Winnie – and she grew fond of me. But I thought I’d make it right wi’ Davy.’
Lavender frowned. ‘How so?’
‘I decided to approach ’im.’
‘You intended to confront him?’
‘I were goin’ to tell ’im I knew what ’e’d done – but that it were all right because I wanted to wed Winnie. I were goin’ to tell ’im to stay away from Chelmsford then it would be all right. ’E could ’ave ’is life in London – and we’d ’ave ours in Essex.’
It was Lavender’s turn to sit back in his chair, startled. ‘That’s complicity to fraud. You do realise, don’t you, that makes you an accomplice to MacAdam’s fraud?’
Rawlings nodded sadly. ‘Well, maybe it would ’ave done if I’d done it – but I didn’t. I never got chance to speak to ’im. I followed ’im for a couple of days but couldn’t find the pluck to call out to ’im.’
‘You lost your mettle, did you, fellah?’
Lavender heard the sympathy in Woods’ voice. ‘Were you following him on the day of his murder?’ he asked.
‘Aye. I intended to talk to ’im that day. A carriage turned up at Park Lane to take ’im to ’is sweetheart’s in the evenin’. I followed it and waited. It were dark when ’e finally left and I could see by the way ’e stumbled down the steps ’e’d had a glass or two of strong drink. I followed the carriage back to the mews. I left my wagon on the main road, climbed down and waited in the shadows of the mews at the top of the road for ’im to walk back to ’is lodgin’s. I were determined to speak to ’im that night.’
Lavender tensed and Woods held his breath beside him. ‘What happened next?’
Rawlings shrugged. ‘I didn’t see ’im. The coachman backed the carriage into the coach ’ouse and took the ’orses into the stables.’
‘Where was MacAdam?’
‘I don’t know. I must have missed ’im in the dark. Maybe ’e went ’ome a different way. When the coachman went up to ’is rooms above the coach ’ouse, I gave up and come back to Chelmsford, sorely disappointed. I went to London the next day but didn’t try to see ’im again; I were too tired. The next thing I knew you were at the door of Winnie’s cottage tellin’ us ’e’d been murdered in his lodgin’s.’
Lavender cleared his throat. ‘But we didn’t tell you MacAdam was murdered in his lodgings.’ He paused to make sure his next words had maximum effect. ‘He was stabbed on his way back from the mews to the house. He managed to stagger home and died later in his bedchamber.’
The colour drained away from Rawlings’ face. ‘You mean, the murderer were out there in the street wi’ me and ’im?’
‘Yes, Mr Rawlings, the murderer was out there on the street. The attack took place somewhere between the mews and his lodgings – in the exact same place you’ve just told us you waited for him in the shadows.’
The silence hung heavy in the room. Rawlings’ Adam’s apple moved painfully in his dry throat as he tried unsuccessfully to swallow. ‘So
that’s why you think I killed ’im?’
‘Do you blame us?’ Lavender asked. ‘You had a motive to kill him, the opportunity to do it – and now the knife that stabbed him has turned up in a coffin you stood next to yesterday morning. Someone tried to hide it in there.’
‘I didn’t do it.’
‘It’s not lookin’ good for you, fellah,’ Woods said. ‘This is your last chance to tell us what happened. Think hard. Were there anyone else there? Did you see, or hear, anyone else?’
Rawlings shivered and the metal cuffs rattled. His tone became desperate. ‘Apart from the coachman, I never saw anyone else. The mews were deserted apart from a couple of cats. There were a few lamps glimmerin’ in the rooms above the stables and I ’eard a dog barkin’ and a couple quarrellin’ . . .’
‘A couple quarrelling? You mean a man and a woman?’
‘Aye, they were havin’ a right spat – she sounded well vexed.’
Lavender hesitated. Many families lived in the accommodation above those stables and coach houses on the mews. It was a warm night. Windows may have been open and an argument would carry on the still air . . . ‘Can you remember anything else?’
Rawlings put his head in his hands and shook it. ‘Nothin’.’
Lavender pushed back his chair and picked up his gloves and hat. ‘We’ll leave it there for tonight, Rawlings. I need to speak to the coachman. I’ll arrange with the gaolers to have you transported to Bow Street for further questioning before I charge you. The journey will give you time to reflect on your predicament.’
Suddenly Rawlings became agitated and tried to rise to his feet. The gaoler shoved him roughly back down on the chair. ‘I didn’t do it! I’m no murderer! I just wanted to talk to Davy – not kill ’im!’
‘If I were you, fellah,’ Woods said gently when they turned to leave, ‘I’d forget hirin’ a parson to wed you to Mrs MacAdam and think about hirin’ a solicitor for your defence instead.’
Chapter Thirty-One
Thursday 24th September, 1812
Chelmsford, Essex
Lavender and Woods strode in grim silence through the sleeping town towards St Mary’s. The medieval tower of the church was barely visible against the black sky. They’d consumed a hasty bowl of porridge before they left the tavern but the food did little to alleviate the churning of Lavender’s stomach. He shivered and pulled his hat firmly down over his head against the chill. It had rained overnight and their boots splashed through invisible puddles on the dark streets.
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