The Echo at Rooke Court

by Harriet Smart

“Aye, Parson, maybe so.”

  “Will you join us, Mr Carswell?”

  Felix shook his head.

  “I must get back to Northminster. I will arrange for the nurse to come out to you straightaway and I will be back in the afternoon, as I said. In the meantime, you must send Jacob with a message if there is any change. I will just look in on him before I go.”

  ~

  Felix met Major Vernon as arranged. Felix was waiting for him in his laboratory in the basement of the Northern Office, among the crates of unpacked books.

  “You did not buy anything on the nature of fire, by any chance?” Major Vernon said.

  “No. Nor on the treatment of burns,” Felix said. “I could have done with some up-to-date information. But it is not much studied, unfortunately. Mr Harper was saying one of us ought to write a paper on it, for just that reason.”

  “Will you do the post-mortem here or at the Infirmary?”

  “At the Infirmary. Mr Harper expressed a wish to assist me, and I don’t want to inconvenience him. He is forming a hypothesis about smoke inhalation. Do we have permission from the family yet?”

  Major Vernon shook his head.

  “I thought we would go and ask Mr Pierce in person. He may need a little persuasion, and we need to set matters in context for him.”

  Together they walked to the Pierce’s residence in St Anne’s. As they did, Felix told him of the missing blacksmith’s wife.

  “When you go back to the Rectory you must get Mrs Gray to give you a full description of that bonnet,” said Major Vernon. “Did Mr Braithwaite say anything else about her clothes – her apron, for example? Or a leather bag hanging from her belt?”

  “No. He just said her work clothes.”

  “A red-striped apron?”

  “I’m sorry. I should have pressed him. He was going to speak to the village constable and give a detailed description. Is it urgent?”

  “It might be. Our fire-setter was most likely a woman. Noakes described the woman who bribed him to go away as wearing a lace-covered, half-veiled bonnet. In fact, I will go and see the blacksmith myself when you go back to the Rectory.”

  The Pierces lived in an expansive, expensive villa, set behind high walls with a large front garden. Mrs and Miss Pierce received them in the drawing room, where the blinds were down and the looking glasses had been draped with gauze. The ladies themselves were wearing fresh, elaborate mourning but their eyes were red from crying and their faces grey and drawn. The prayer book and the Bible lay open on the table.

  “Is Mr Pierce at home?” said Major Vernon.

  “He is... indisposed,” said Mrs Pierce.

  “Would you like Mr Carswell to see him?” said Major Vernon.

  “I don’t think that will be necessary,” she said after another pause.

  Then Miss Pierce, who had been studying her hands, looked directly at Felix and said, “Perhaps he should, Mama.” Mrs Pierce gave her daughter a searching glance. “He would never send anyone for himself, you know that, and he might be quite unwell. It is not like him, to lock himself away as he has done. We should let Mr Carswell see him.”

  Mrs Pierce thought for a moment and then rose from her seat.

  “I shall go and ask him.”

  She left the room, and Miss Pierce at once leapt from her place and went to close the door behind her mother. She stood leaning against it, so that no one might come back in.

  “You must see him,” she said. “Something is very wrong. Very wrong. Ever since Fred was injured – well, to be honest, long before that he has not been himself.”

  “Your father, you mean?” said Major Vernon.

  “I think he is going insane,” said Miss Pierce, in a whisper. “I know that is a terrible thing to say, but I cannot think of any other explanation.”

  “Did Fred think this too?” Major Vernon said.

  Miss Pierce nodded.

  “We were going to talk to Mama about it. It seemed so difficult to say anything, though, for she is blind to everything. Of course she must be because she could not bear it if this were true, but sometimes –”

  “What makes you think he is losing his reason?” said Felix. “Was there anything specific?”

  She leant back on the door, closing her eyes for a moment.

  “Where do I start?” she said. “It is a hundred little things. He has developed a terrible temper, and I think he has been drinking immoderately. I know he cannot sleep. Some nights he is pacing about the house, or rather upstairs – there is an old lumber room upstairs and he has on occasion shut himself in. He may be up there now. He was there last night. He was pacing all night. I feel we are losing him. First Fred, and now this! I have hidden his razors, though I dare say he will be storming about demanding them.”

  “That was prudent, Miss Pierce.”

  “And you discussed this with Fred?” said Major Vernon.

  “Yes, a great deal. How could we not? When one’s own dear father...”

  “I think I should go up to him,” said Felix. “This sort of restless agitation can be an indication of mania.”

  “Would you? Can you help him, do you think?”

  “I don’t know, but I will do my best,” Felix said.

  “Perhaps you would take us up?” Major Vernon said.

  So they climbed to the top of the house, which seemed intolerably stuffy on such a day, and found Mrs Pierce standing in front of a closed door, tapping almost imperceptibly, and saying, “George, George, can you hear me?” so quietly that he might only have heard if he were a supernatural being.

  “Mama,” said Miss Pierce, “we must let Mr Carswell see him. It is beyond concealing now.”

  She gently steered her away from the door.

  “I will take her to her room,” said Miss Pierce. Mrs Pierce consented, but she seemed enveloped in a veil of shame and could not look either of them in the face.

  The door was latched, but a sharp shove by the Major soon dislodged it.

  Felix went in, expecting at least a corpse or a man on the verge of suicide, and was relieved to find neither. However, the sight was miserable enough: Mr Pierce, dressed in his nightshirt, was on his hands and knees, rocking back and forth in a piteous paroxysm of grief and anxiety. His agitation was so profound that it was with great difficulty that Felix attempted to examine him. He had scraped his hands and knees to a bloody mess on the bare boards, he had a high temperature, his pulse was highly irregular and he was showing signs of dehydration. Felix managed to get him to drink a little brandy and water, laced with laudanum, and then after some struggle, they got him to bed in a servant’s garret across the landing, keeping him calm by means of tying the bed sheets around him, like swaddling about a baby. There his agitation seemed to diminish a little.

  Mrs Pierce was beyond speaking to and so Felix was forced to give the bad news to Miss Pierce.

  “Confinement – at least for a short period – would be the best for him,” Felix said. “At least somewhere where he can be kept from damaging himself and where they are used to dealing with such cases.”

  “A mad house,” said Miss Pierce. “You mean a mad house, sir, do you not?”

  “Yes, but it would not be for long. Such cases often resolve themselves. It is a question of adequate supervision, which cannot be provided here. Dr Hall has an establishment out at Blatherton. It is the best in the county,” Felix said. “He can be trusted to be careful with your father.”

  She nodded and said, “Then you had better arrange it. We will do whatever is needed.”

  ~

  “So what may have caused such a collapse?” Major Vernon asked as they walked back into town. “I know that these things do not always have obvious causes, yet in this case –”

  “That’s true enough. The circumstances can be everything or nothing.”

  “Would some serious difficulty at the bank be enough to send a man to distraction?”

  “I don’t know. His son’s death might be a more immedia
te cause.”

  “I shall have to go and see Lord Wytton,” said Major Vernon. “I need to know what the real condition of the bank is. And I also need to know that this attack of his is genuine.”

  “I think it was,” said Felix. “Why on earth would he feign madness?”

  “To cover some wrongdoing at the bank. Fred Pierce seems to have attempted to warn Lady Wytton that she was in danger of some sort. Did he mean financial ruin?”

  “You think the bank is going to collapse?” said Felix.

  “We shall see. In the meantime, I am going back to Raythorpe to talk to the blacksmith, and you must get Mr Pierce taken to Blatherton.”

  “I will see you there later,” said Felix. “I have to go to the Rectory.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Braithwaite the blacksmith was at his work assisted by two strong lads, the forge blasting out heat and sparks flying this way and that, but catching sight of Giles tying up his horse, he left the fire.

  “Afternoon, sir. How can I help you?”

  Giles explained why he was there.

  “I would go and look for her myself,” Braithwaite said. “I have been on the verge of going a hundred times, but I cannot think which way to go, how to begin, and besides there is the matter of the children and the business.” He shook his head. “I’m glad to know that you are looking into it, sir.”

  “I hope we may find her, and with some happy conclusion,” Giles said.

  “I pray to the Lord that you do.”

  “Tell me a little more about your wife, Mr Braithwaite. You said to my colleague, Mr Carswell, that she was strange. I was wondering what you meant by that?”

  “It’s hard to say. It’s what other folk say of her, you see – and she herself says it too. ‘I’m a strange one, husband,’ she says to me. ‘I’m not one of you.’ She says she has the heart of a gypsy.”

  “But no gypsy blood as far as you know?”

  Braithwaite shook his head. “Nay. But maybe, long ago, for she has the look of it. Perhaps that’s what makes her feel it. You can see it in our children: black hair and dark eyes they all have, and they are handsome like her. Nothing of me in them, at least not in their looks.”

  “Is your wife from these parts?”

  “Yes. Her father had the forge here. I was his apprentice and we ended up wed, and I took over the forge when he died.”

  “And how long have you been wed?”

  “Ten years, sir.”

  “And no serious quarrels between you, if you do not mind me asking, Mr Braithwaite?”

  Braithwaite gave an emphatic shake of the head.

  “Why would I quarrel with my sweetheart?” he said, spreading out his great hands. “And why would she go? I cannot stop asking that, and the children are asking it too. Why has she gone? When will she be home? I swear that the Devil himself, or the Fairy King, has taken her – for that is the only sense I can make of it.”

  “Does Mrs Braithwaite know much about the business of the forge?”

  “Aye, she knows a fair bit. And no one can lay a fire like her. She learnt it from her father – how to get a quick, hot fire first thing. Time is money, she says, and the forge is away and ready, just like that!”

  “How does she do it?”

  “She has some special rags – she makes them, soaks them in – well, I don’t know what, but they burn as hot as hellfire!”

  “May I see them?”

  “She keeps them in here.” He took down a glazed jar from a shelf and offered it to Giles. “Strange but sharp as a knife is my Esther.” Inside were strips of white cotton soaked in some greasy substance, just like the one he had found at the warehouse.

  “May I take a few of these?”

  “Yes, sir, as many as you like,” said the blacksmith.

  Giles put them in his pocket and took out his notebook.

  “If I could just confirm with you the description of her clothes that you gave to Mr Carswell – a red apron, a black lace bonnet and a leather pocket, worn over her skirts.”

  “That’s right, sir. Red check on the apron. Her favourite.”

  “And does she have any money on her, do you think?”

  “She’s taken nothing. I looked in the box where we keep what we can, and she has not touched it.”

  “And she has no secret store of her own, as far as you know?”

  “No, sir. She would never do that. We have no secrets.”

  ~

  Lord Wytton was not at home when Giles called at Raythorpe Hall. His sister, Miss Wytton, received him instead.

  “We should have met the other night, Major Vernon,” she said. “I was supposed to go and dine at Hurrell Place with my brother and sister-in-law but I was not well. My sister-in-law is at the Rectory now. Poor little boy! It is so fortunate that Mr – Carswell, is it? – was there. I don’t suppose I can help you with anything.”

  “You might, Miss Wytton, as a matter of fact. I have been at the forge, speaking to Mr Braithwaite. Perhaps you have heard that his wife has gone missing.” She nodded. “The circumstances are rather strange. I wonder if you might be able to tell me anything about her. I understand she is the daughter of a previous blacksmith here?”

  “Yes,” said Miss Wytton. “That is so. I had heard about it and I do know her.”

  “And what do you think about it? Did it surprise you, from what you have observed of her?”

  Miss Wytton thought for a moment and said, “A little, but there has always been something about her. But you really should ask my brother. He was put out to nurse with the family. They grew up together, so to speak. Ah, here he is.”

  Lord Wytton had come in.

  “You want to speak to me, Vernon?” he said.

  “He wants to know about Esther Braithwaite and why she has gone missing,” Miss Wytton said. “I was just saying that you practically grew up with her.”

  “My sister overstates it. I don’t know her in the slightest,” said Lord Wytton. “And why are you still here, Peggy? Did Aunt Chatham change her mind?”

  “I changed my mind,” said Miss Wytton. “It’s too hot for travelling.”

  “She will be offended,” said Lord Wytton. “And why do you think you may change your mind at such short notice?”

  “Because I’m not a package to be sent about the country at your say-so!” said Miss Wytton. “Excuse me, won’t you, Major Vernon?” At this she left the room abruptly and her brother glared after her, with the look of a man about to lose his temper.

  “I must have a drink,” he said. “Will you join me, Vernon?”

  “No thank you, my lord, but I do have some more questions for you, if you don’t mind?”

  “To what end?”

  “About the fire in Jebb Street.”

  “Very well, if you must. But I must have a drink. It has been a damnable day – another damnable day.”

  Lord Wytton led him to his study, which showed few signs of study and more of sporting pursuits. The butler was setting out a bottle of champagne and a bottle of porter, which Wytton himself then mixed to his liking in a large silver tankard. He threw himself down on the sofa and drank deeply.

  “You are sure you won’t join me?” he said.

  Giles was tempted, but shook his head again and sat down opposite.

  “You’ve been at the bank, I suppose?” he said. Wytton nodded and took another draught of his concoction. “Then you know what has happened to Mr Pierce?”

  “Dear God, yes!” said Wytton. “What a business. I had not thought that he, of all people...”

  “So you have seen no signs of undue stress in him?”

  “No, but as I said, I don’t really have much to do with the day-to-day business of the bank. Each time I have seen Pierce of late he seemed entirely in charge of himself. I had no idea! And now they have carted him off somewhere! Lord, what a fate!”

  “He may recover.”

  “I hope so, for without him – and of course Fred Pierce, as well...” H
e groaned.

  “It is hard to imagine the management of the place without him, I suppose?”

  “Very,” said Wytton. “But thankfully the bank’s affairs are in good order.”

  “You are certain of that?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “You don’t think that Pierce’s breakdown might be due to some difficulty in the business?”

  “No, not at all,” Wytton said, shaking his head. “The bank is in perfect order. In fact, if you are interested, Major Vernon, I can offer you a rate on any deposit that might surprise you.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind,” said Giles.

  “We are rock solid. Poor Pierce’s afflictions are nothing to do with the bank.”

  “Nor Fred Pierce being troubled?” Giles said. “Several people have mentioned that to me. What do you suppose that might be about?”

  “His father’s health?” said Wytton. “Perhaps he saw signs that we did not.”

  “Perhaps,” said Giles.

  “It’s a wretched business,” said Wytton, getting up and refilling his tankard. “I suppose Fred’s death was the last straw. Terrible. Terrible.”

  “I wonder if I might raise the business of Esther Braithwaite again, my lord?” Giles said.

  “And why would I know anything about that?” said Wytton.

  “Your sister –”

  “My sister is a feather-head,” said Wytton.

  “But you were put to nurse there?”

  “Yes, I was a child. What would I know of her now?”

  “Because sometimes bonds are formed in such circumstances.”

  “Only in ill-regulated families,” said Wytton. “I have no special knowledge of this woman because of that. I don’t think I was there above a month or two.”

  “Yes,” said Giles. “But it is a puzzle, none the less, that a woman happily settled, with children, would simply vanish. The consensus is that she is a fine-looking creature.”

  “Yes, and the lure of another man is the obvious answer to your puzzle, Major Vernon. She’s a bored wife – common enough, I should say. No mystery there, with a dolt like Braithwaite for a husband. What else can explain it?”

  Giles got up and said, “I dare say you are right, my lord.”