“It’s good sport,” Hurrell went on. “Far superior to rough shooting with a gun, no matter how expensive and new-fangled your gun might be. One misfire from a rifle alerts every living soul that there is a hunter in the neighbourhood, but an ill-judged arrow is soundless and allows you to take a second shot, or even a third, if necessary.”
“You would expect to have a kill with a second arrow, then?” said Major Vernon.
“I would be irritated with myself if I did not. I spent a lot of time as a boy practising my aim, and it was a point of honour. I wanted to be better than my brothers and as good as my father, as if that were ever possible. No one could ever shoot as accurately as he.”
“So that was definitely the last time you saw your brother, Mr Hurrell?” said Major Vernon.
“Yes, I took to my bed after that. I have only been out of it today when Powell brought me the news that Arthur –” He broke off and clasped his hands together, looking down at his boots for a moment.
“When was this?” Major Vernon said.
“A little after ten. It was kind of him to come and tell me.”
“You knew each other at Oxford?”
“Through Arthur. Powell, however, was growing a little confused by the whole business, and had asked me for advice – though I am hardly the person to ask for that! He is far too sensible a man to throw away a promising career in the Church by taking such an extreme position, but at the same time, the whole thing seduced him thoroughly. My brother could make an acolyte of the most unpromising material. I have felt that siren call for myself. That is why Arthur is – was, I should say – regarded with such fear in Oxford. Willoughby is a shadow in comparison when it comes to such things. In fact, I wonder how long their movement can continue now.”
“Sometimes a martyr can assist such a cause,” said Major Vernon.
“You have been talking to Willoughby,” said Mark Hurrell, and laughed uneasily. “He will make a great deal of this, if we are not careful.”
“So you took to your bed from Wednesday until this morning?” Major Vernon asked.
“Strictly speaking I was not entirely in my bed, but I did not leave the house. I was in no fit state to. Fortunately Mrs Fuller came down and looked after me. And I had other visitors who can attest to my being in the village – that is what you want to know, I think, sir?”
“Yes.”
“Because, I suppose, my violent altercations with my brother make me look less than innocent?”
“I am not making any suppositions at this stage, but I thank you for your frankness, Mr Hurrell.”
“My father came to see me,” Mark Hurrell went on. “That surprised me. Yesterday, just before the rain came on. And Miss Wytton came three times: on Wednesday, Thursday and again yesterday. Quite unbidden, you do appreciate.”
“Yes,” Major Vernon said.
“She is in a wretched state of mind. She was before, and this will only make things worse, though the point is now settled, so to speak.”
“What point is that?” Major Vernon said.
“My brother’s behaviour towards her has been – oh, I know I’m not in the position to accuse anyone else of poor behaviour, but how he treated her – it was not decent. I cannot use the whitewash of death to excuse him.”
“So there was the understanding of an engagement?”
“More than an understanding. It was all settled years ago and with some enthusiasm on both sides, as well as the consent of the elders and betters. When Arthur was first at Oxford, he was an attentive lover. He drew her portrait badly and wrote dreadful poetry to her. She was a loveable, beautiful girl, after all. But waiting for him to name a day has faded her. A decent man would have told her years ago that he wished to be released from his obligation, but Arthur never did. Even on Friday when she was here, she was convinced that he would at any minute tell her that he was ready to call the banns. She had based her supposition on the most ridiculous thing – he had apparently told her he did not like Lady Maria Haraald and considered her frivolous. She took that to mean that his preference was still for her. I tried to tell her it was hopeless.”
“Why were you certain he would never marry her?” Major Vernon asked.
“He took a vow of celibacy. He and Willoughby both did. I witnessed it myself. They tried to make me take one too, in preparation for my ordination. But in the end, I could not, just as I could not go through with my ordination. I think it was that suggestion that made the scales fall from my eyes – as it has done with Powell. It is a step too far. It is akin to abandoning the English Prayer Book for the Missal.”
“And your father was with you on Friday?”
“Yes, for some time. He wanted to talk to me about emigration.”
“He wants you to emigrate?”
“Yes,” said Hurrell. “It had occurred to me that I should, even before he mentioned it. It seems that New Zealand or some such might be a more accommodating place for a scoundrel such as myself. And yet, when one thinks of it, how hard it would be to leave!”
“And after this conversation with your father, you did not leave the house?”
“No. I thought of going out but I was still very sore, and the conversation with my father had been demanding, one might say. Then Margaret came and it started to rain, so after that I went back to bed and contemplated my sins through a haze of laudanum. The conversation with my father was extremely painful.” Shaking his head, he sighed and got up from his seat. “And now I really must go to him. Are you done with me, sir?”
“For the present,” said Major Vernon.
“Then I will go and see if I can find someone to drive me home.”
When he had gone, Felix said, “That business with the arrows –”
“Yes, it’s interesting,” said Major Vernon.
“And he seemed collected, given the circumstances, don’t you think?”
“Perhaps,” said Major Vernon, leaning back and gazing into the fire. “I think we need to read that scandalous novel of his.”
“I will get it when I next go back to Hawksby,” said Felix, getting up and putting on his coat. “I had better go and see how Mrs Gray is doing.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Major Vernon. “I want to know what Mr Gray thinks of Arthur Hurrell’s theological capering.”
Chapter Eighteen
Mr Gray was sitting with his injured child, who was sleeping peacefully.
Carswell made a brief examination, and being satisfied with his progress, left to attend to Mrs Gray.
“My wife’s sister is with us now,” Gray said to Giles. “She tells us how fortunate we are to have Mr Carswell to hand. He has quite the reputation as an accoucheur. Mimi – that’s my sister-in-law – met Mrs Yardley in Florence and heard all about Mr Carswell from her.”
“I understand there are twins on the way?”
“Yes,” said Mr Gray. “They run in my family, but it is still a fraught passage. It always is, even with the most skilled attendants.”
Giles nodded, remembering – without wishing to – the night when Laura’s pains had come on in the sultry heat of a Canadian summer. He had been at her side the entire time. He had sent for the regimental surgeon, but the message had come back from his servant that he was drunk and beyond use. Fortunately they had the assistance of a local woman, part Indian, who had coaxed Edward into the world with a wonderful mixture of cunning and magic.
“Let me distract you a little,” Giles went on, in truth wanting to distract himself now. “This business with Arthur Hurrell?”
“Arthur Hurrell,” repeated Gray with a nod. “They are saying it is murder. It must be, or why would you be here, Major Vernon?”
“It is,” Giles said. “How well did you know him?”
“Not well. I have to confess I did not want to know him. There was something about him that I could not like. I understand why everyone thought him brilliant. His writing certainly is, and his mind was sharp, but there was nothing there I cou
ld warm to. A failing on my part, but –” He glanced at the bed. “Perhaps we might talk elsewhere?”
“Of course.”
They went downstairs to Gray’s study, and were just crossing the hall when a piercing female scream ripped through the air.
“Perhaps you should go –” Giles began, thinking of how feverishly Laura had clutched at his arm through each wave of pain and how her nails had dug in, leaving marks on his skin, as if she meant him to feel something of it for himself.
“She does not like me there,” Gray said, showing him into his study and carefully shutting the door. At the same time, there was another heart-rending scream.
“You have the same taste in engravings as Mr Hurrell,” said Giles, noticing that the same image of the Virgin ascending into Heaven hung above the fireplace, just as it had done in the Rectory at Langdon.
“I do?” said Gray with some surprise. “I’m very fond of that picture. It reminds me a little of my wife. It is engraved from a painting by Murillo.”
“What does it mean in theological terms?” said Giles.
“It represents the Assumption of the Virgin,” Gray said. “It is the Roman Catholic tradition that the mother of Jesus did not die an ordinary mortal’s death, but was assumed into Heaven, like her son, and there she reigns as Queen.” Gray shook his head. “Both Hurrell and Willoughby were active in the promotion of such Marian devotion with the Church, but it is not really part of the Church of England.”
“I have heard some talk about Willoughby converting to Roman Catholicism. What do you think of that?”
“It would not surprise me. In fact, I have often heard that of Arthur Hurrell. In Oxford they have been talking not of ‘if’ but ‘when’, which is a great sadness to some, but I say: good riddance! What would Hurrell have done if he had become a bishop? He was regularly spoken of as a future Archbishop of Canterbury.” Gray shuddered. “No, it is better that a man is true and open and submits to whatever tradition he thinks represents the truth instead of trying to undermine the church of his birth from within. If the pair of them had had any honesty they should have walked away years ago. For Hurrell to have taken the living here – it is not what that parish needs! I tell you, Major Vernon, there are people who no longer go to Sunday service at Holy Trinity in Langdon because of Arthur Hurrell’s antics. Some of them have gone to the Methodist chapel, and one or two actually come here, which I take as a great compliment, but it is an inconvenience for them, and why should they be turned from their own place, where their ancestors worshipped?”
“Do you think he should not have taken the living?”
“Not without some moderation of his views. Nor without marrying. Marriage is essential for a parish clergyman.”
“Do you know about the business with Miss Wytton?”
“Oh yes, and that is another reason I could not take to Hurrell. He has treated her abominably. From what Mark says –”
“You know the younger Mr Hurrell, then?”
“Yes. We were at school together. He is younger than me. He was my fag, of all things, but we soon became friends. I have him to thank for this living. He introduced me to the present Lord Wytton’s father. I should be in a far worse situation now if he had not gone to such trouble on my behalf. I was not the first candidate, but Mark argued my case tirelessly. I am greatly in his debt.”
“What do you make of the quarrel between the brothers?”
“It is a complex business. Mark is not one to make quarrels, but he is both stubborn and rash, which is a dangerous combination – mind, he would be the first to say so. But he loved Arthur, indeed he idolised him, and this will be agony for him. His only living sibling gone – there were seven children once, and now only Mark remains! It is a dreadful thing.”
“And do you know what this latest difference between them was all about? Why he had been banned from the house?”
“It has been growing for some years. I cannot excuse Mark, because he has been beyond foolish in publishing that disgraceful novel. I take it you know about that?” Giles nodded. “I told him he should not, but he said he must – he had written it and must publish it.”
“Do you have a copy?”
“Unfortunately I do. He insisted on giving me one.”
“Might I borrow it?”
“Yes. You are welcome to it. Please forget to return it. It is an outrageous thing, and I know Mark will regret it soon enough. I think he regrets it already.” He went to his desk, unlocked the bottom drawer and took out a small volume which he handed to Giles. “He had it bound especially for me,” he said. “I think he has been suffering from a brain fever. He will come to his senses and he will ask me to add this to Sir Morten’s bonfire. Perhaps, indeed, Arthur’s death will remind him of the fragility of his mortal soul and bring him back to the fold! I pray it will be so! That some good might come of this.”
“Do you think Mark would be capable of murdering his brother?”
“What a question!”
“I am sorry if it shocks you, but I must ask it. Violent feelings nursed over many years can have dire results, and he has been provoked.”
“Not Mark,” Mr Gray said. “He is too sweet-natured. There is a tenderness about him that would keep him from such an act. I am sure of it. He may have suffered a great deal and be angry, but I do not think that he –” Mr Gray broke off, as if he doubted his own words. There was a knock at the door. “Enter!”
“Mistress wants you now, sir!” said the breathless maid. “It’s two little girls!”
~
Felix returned to the inn and found Major Vernon reading in a blaze of candlelight.
“Mrs Gray is doing well?” he said.
“Very well, considering. And both children were large ones, and thrawn, but healthy,” Felix said, sitting down.
“Thrawn? Is that Scotch?”
Felix nodded. “Stubborn. A term usually applied to myself by my father.” He found himself yawning. “I could sleep until the end of Christendom,” he added, and began to pull off his boots.
“You’re staying here?” Major Vernon said.
“Too late to go back,” Felix said.
“I suppose it is,” said Major Vernon.
“I want to see Mrs Gray first thing,” Felix went on, “and I may be wanted overnight. Then I shall go back to Northminster and look at those wounds again. What are you reading?”
“Mark Hurrell’s novel,” said Major Vernon. “Mr Gray’s copy. Inscribed by the author himself on the title page. Gray wanted to burn it too but he could not, out of sentiment. They are old friends, it seems, and Mark Hurrell even got the living for Gray.”
“What do you think of it? The part I read was compelling, and Eleanor, of course, could not stop reading it.”
“I’m no literary critic,” said Major Vernon. “But it does draw you in. Everything is a trifle overstated and clumsy but there is a great deal of passion in it, which is attractive. Perhaps if he writes another one it will be more accomplished.”
“Do you seriously think he will?” said Felix. “That he is not facing the gallows?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Can it really be as simple as that? That the pariah of the family murders his brother in a fit of pique?”
“Hot weather like this provokes people. Makes them violent and unpredictable, especially if there is strong drink involved. There are always more brawls and riots at this time of year. And everyone seems happy enough to accuse Mark Hurrell. He practically accused himself, which is a novelty.”
“But you would not have said he was on the verge of a confession, would you? He seemed very cool to me. Perhaps too cool. It’s all a great puzzle,” said Major Vernon laying down the book. “Perhaps it will become clearer after a good night’s sleep.”
He got up and began to get ready for bed.
Felix picked up Hurrell’s novel and flicked through it, trying to find the place he had reached before Eleanor had taken it from him. But he was too tired to do
anything with it. Major Vernon was already in bed and there was nothing to be done but undress and get in.
“I wonder if it is not too late to go back to Hawksby,” he said, his cravat in his hand.
“It’s an easy mile,” said Major Vernon, propping himself up on his elbows. “You could walk there. There is enough moon and it is drier now.”
“I could,” Felix said.
“To an infinitely preferable bedfellow, I should say,” Major Vernon said.
Felix pictured Eleanor, curled up in the embrace of the sheets, half-asleep. Would it be possible to go home and broker some sort of peace? In that moment he wanted nothing else but to return to the simplicity of a few weeks ago; but how that was to be managed? Humbling himself to her would not make the difficulty go away.
He hesitated, his cravat still in his hand.
Major Vernon said, “Has something happened between you? Forgive me for saying this, but a quarrel is like a wound. It ought to be dealt with promptly, wouldn’t you say?”
“What makes you say that?” Felix said.
“You have been avoiding Hawksby as if cholera has broken out there.”
“Would you rather I neglected what needs to be done?”
“No, of course not, but you ought not – excuse me if what I say is unwelcome, but for a newly married man it is a little unusual to be so preoccupied with his work.”
“We have not quarrelled,” Felix said after a moment. “It is just that we have a difference of opinion that I must negotiate a sensible way about, but I am not sure at this moment quite how it is to be done. So it is good for me to cool my heels and be distracted, to be honest. It is not that I do not want to go back, it is just better for a while that I do not. I do not trust myself at present. I will stay here.”
“As you wish,” said Major Vernon, moving over to make room for him.
Chapter Nineteen
On Monday morning, Giles rode out to Hurrell Place.
A servant took Giles upstairs to the long gallery where every ancestor had been draped in black gauze. Here Sir Morten and Mrs Hurrell were sitting, as stiffly as the effigies of their ancestors in the parish church, on high back chairs with the family arms behind them, draped with even more black. It was sombre and impressive.
The Echo at Rooke Court Page 14