Morgan ceased talking abruptly and Amos said, ‘We already know a great deal about your life in India, Mr Morgan, including the fact you were married and had two children there – something that you seem to have kept secret from everyone here. Suppose you tell Sergeant Churchyard and me something of your life there and exactly what this recurring nightmare is all about….’
Horace Morgan seemed about to dispute what Amos had said to him, but then his shoulders sagged and after a number of false starts and more than one break in the narrative when it appeared he might break down completely, Horace Morgan told his story. It went on for almost half an hour during which time both policemen listened in silent horror, occasionally exchanging sympathetic glances, and looking down at the floor when he was reduced to tears when talking about the massacre of the women and children at the bungalow, carried out on Nana Sahib’s orders.
Both policemen felt deeply sorry for all that Morgan had suffered in India, but this was a murder inquiry and it had become evident that Horace Morgan was no stranger to violence and murder. There was also a very strong motive for killing Kerensa if he had been made aware that his Indian wife had not died in the massacre at Cawnpore. This remained the key factor in their questioning of him.
‘Your last weeks in India must have been horrific, Mr Morgan.’ The observation was made by Tom. ‘It is little wonder you have nightmares about it even now.’
‘They are worse than nightmares,’ Morgan declared, fiercely. ‘When they come I relive everything all over again. There are times – many times – when I have wished I died with my family out there.’
‘But you had Kerensa and baby Albert,’ Tom pointed out. ‘Didn’t they bring some happiness back into your life?’
Horace Morgan seemed to be struggling with his thoughts and feelings, then his shoulders sagged again and with resignation in his voice he said, ‘Albert made me very happy, at least, at first he did. It’s difficult not to be happy when there’s a baby in your life.’
When he fell silent once more, Amos prompted him, ‘You say he made you happy “at first”, what happened to change it?’
Now Horace Morgan had told the two policemen about his experiences in India, it seemed he intended holding nothing back. ‘I suppose when Kerensa said she would marry me I felt flattered. She is, or was, half my age but I let myself believe she loved me. I soon learned there was very little love for anyone in her make up. I knew nothing about the type of girl she was when I married her, but to be perfectly honest it wouldn’t have mattered very much anyway if she hadn’t thrown her past life up in my face whenever we had an argument – and our marriage was never short of those. It soon became clear she’d only married me to give herself some respectability, but she found respectability boring and began having affairs. This wouldn’t have mattered too much either if she’d been discreet about it and been a good wife in other ways, but that was too much for her.’
Morgan paused again and when he felt the silence had lasted for too long, Amos asked, ‘What did you do when you learned about these affairs?’
‘I lost my temper one day when she bragged about them to me. It was the only time I did so, mind. To be perfectly honest I struck her. It made her cry and that hurt me so much I think I’d have forgiven her anything. I swore I wouldn’t ever hit her again, and I never did.’
‘When she was bragging about these affairs did she ever lead you to believe you might not have been Albert’s father?’
The question took Morgan by surprise and he looked at Amos sharply, but when he replied it was with a curt, ‘Yes.’
‘That would have been enough to make most men feel they wanted to murder their wife!’ Tom said sceptically ‘Are you telling us you never felt that way?’
‘To tell you the truth, I don’t know how I felt. I didn’t really believe her. When she became really angry she would say the first thing that came into her head, whether it was true or not.’
‘Did she say anything about who the father of Albert could be if it wasn’t you?’
With the shift of the questioning away from his past life in India Horace Morgan seemed to have regained control of himself and now he said, ‘I think I’ve told you more than enough about my personal life with Kerensa. I never had anything to do with her death because I saw more violence in India than anyone should witness in a lifetime and I never expected it to follow me to England. No matter what Kerensa did I would never have done anything like that to her – and I would never ever have harmed baby Albert. That’s the truth, I swear to it. All I’d like to do now is go back to Trelyn and try to pick up the pieces of my life as much as I can.’
‘Are you still in touch with the East India Company, Mr Morgan?’ Amos put the question.
‘Not really, although I’ve had two letters from them since I came to Trelyn. Once to acknowledge the change of address I gave them and the second time three or four months ago asking me to confirm that I was still alive. That’s because I have a pension paid by them into a London bank.’
‘You’ve heard nothing else from anyone there?’
‘No, why should I? I’m an ex-employee now and belong to a part of their history they’d rather forget about.’
‘Had it not been for the massacre at Cawnpore would you have still returned to this country, or remained in India?’
‘I would probably have stayed in India, but not with the Company. My wife’s father was a very rich and important man in Northern India, a younger member of a maharajah’s family. He owned a vast amount of land and always said he’d like me to manage it for him.’
‘Have you never considered going back there and working for him anyway?’
Horace Morgan shook his head. ‘There would be far too many memories. They were very happy ones until the end and there would be far too much to remind me of them every day of my life.’
‘What if you were to learn now that your wife and family are still alive? What would you do?’
Horace Morgan’s expression of pain could not have appeared more genuine had Amos struck him a physical blow and he said, ‘That is a cruel thing to say at a time like this, Superintendent. I think I would like to return to Trelyn Hall now. Indeed, I can think of nothing you have said that is sufficient reason for bringing me here in the first place. Certainly nothing that couldn’t have been said at Trelyn and saved me from suffering the torture I went through last night.’
Instead of replying, Amos took Verity Pendleton’s letter from the file that was on the desk in front of him and handed it to Morgan.
‘I think you should read this, Mr Morgan. It will give you a great deal to think about, as it did me, but for very different reasons. It should also satisfy you that I did have cause to bring you here to Bodmin for questioning.’
Horace Morgan was puzzled, but he took the letter and, after glancing at the address on the envelope, opened it. Verity’s letter had been removed and only the copy of Shabnam Morgan’s letter to the Honourable East India Company was enclosed. He was about to say something to Amos, but he was actually reading the first line when his mouth opened – and it remained wordlessly open as he continued reading.
Amos and Tom exchanged glances frequently while Morgan’s face expressed a kaleidoscope of differing emotions as he read and both policemen arrived at the same conclusion without a word being spoken between them. They had considerable experience of interviewing criminals who had something to hide and if Horace Morgan had known the contents of the letter before today then he was a remarkable actor.
When he came to the end of the letter, Morgan returned to the beginning and, turning the pages, re-read some of the passages again. When he did look up there were tears in his eyes and a look of utter bewilderment on his face. ‘When…? Where…? How did you come by this? Is it true? Is it really true? You’re not just playing a cruel hoax on me?’
‘It’s true.’
‘Then why haven’t I seen it before? Who kept it from me … and why?’
‘It was t
urned up when I asked someone to make enquiries with the East India Company about your time in India. If you really knew nothing about the letter until today, it makes wonderful news for you and I can assure you nobody will be more delighted than Sergeant Churchyard and me. However, if we find the letter was sent to you then you are a very strong murder suspect indeed, especially as there is a rumour going around that you are not the true father of baby Albert. If it could be proved the rumours reached your ears there’s not a jury in the land would find you “not guilty”, however much they might sympathize with you.’
‘But I’ve never seen the letter before! Had I done so do you think I would still be in this country … or would ever have married Kerensa? Why was the letter never sent on to me?’
‘I’m told it was addressed to the East India Company offices in London and that the clerk who dealt with correspondence was an alcoholic who failed to keep proper records. When he was dismissed, and someone was put in to clear up the mess he’d left behind, the letter was found, but it was assumed you’d been notified of the information it contained.’
‘If only I’d known before I left India … but after seeing the carnage around the bungalow where the women and children had been slaughtered … and the well choked to the top with their bodies, I was told there had been no survivors. Oh God! How I’ve suffered all these years thinking they were dead and of the manner in which they died…!’
At this point Horace Morgan broke down in tears and, bowing his head and covering his face with his hands he wept noisily, much to the sympathetic embarrassment of the two policemen in the room with him.
It was a long time before he regained control of himself but every so often he sucked in a deep breath of air and his body shook with an uncontrollable sob.
‘How long ago was the letter received?’ he asked, eventually.
‘I can’t be certain, but from all I’ve learned it would be no more than six months and probably much less than that.’
‘All those wasted years! I must let them know I’m alive … and get back to India as soon as I can.’
‘I am confident you’ll be allowed to go back there, Mr Morgan and that you knew nothing of the letter before today, but I can’t allow you to leave the country right away. Do you have any idea where your family might be staying?’
‘Shabnam will have taken the children to the family home near Simla, in Northern India. As I told you, she belongs to a royal family which rules one of the smaller states there.’
‘If you write a letter informing your wife that you are alive and well and will be travelling to India as soon as is possible, I will send it off to London with a covering letter and ensure it’s delivered to her through the Viceroy’s office.’
Once again the news he had just received overwhelmed Horace Morgan. He was no longer the arrogant, overbearing man whom Amos and Tom had met at Trelyn when they had paid their first visit there and was almost timid in his manner when he asked, ‘What happens to me now?’
‘You are free to go, Mr Morgan. When you have written your letter to your wife give it to Sergeant Dreadon at Trelyn for urgent delivery to me and I’ll see that it goes to India in a diplomatic bag from London. In the meantime remain at Trelyn until my murder investigation is completed – but there is no need to say anything to anyone about your interview here.’
‘Thank you.’
Rising to his feet, Horace Morgan said, ‘I owe you a debt I can never repay, Superintendent. Had it not been for you I might never have learned that my wife and family survived the massacre at Cawnpore.’
‘I need no repayment, Mr Morgan, but if you think of anything that might help in my murder inquiry here, please let me know.’
Horace Morgan looked at Amos without speaking for a few minutes then, apparently making up his mind, he said, ‘You asked me whether Kerensa had ever suggested to me that I might not be the father of baby Albert, but I never told you exactly what it was she said to me. In fact, during one of our arguments she did claim someone else was his father. She even told me where he was conceived: in the empty gamekeeper’s house by the fishponds on the Trelyn Estate, she said.’
Both policemen were immediately interested and Amos asked, ‘Who did she name … one of the gamekeepers?’
‘No. She said it was Colonel Trethewy.’
Chapter 28
‘THERE IS NOTHING at all that can be done about it unless you can substantiate what Morgan told you, Amos.’
Amos was in the chief constable’s office later that morning, having repeated to the police chief what Horace Morgan had told him.
‘Even if it is true, Colonel Trethewy has broken no law … I assume there is no suggestion that Mrs Morgan was not a consenting party?’
‘None at all, and even if there was the defence could call a whole army of men to give evidence of her promiscuity.’
‘That is what I thought. We will keep the information to ourselves for the time being, but it does add Colonel Trethewy to your list of suspects.’
‘It does, but although Morgan must remain on the list too, both Sergeant Churchyard and I are convinced he never received word that his Indian family survived the troubles they had there. If we are right it takes away the strongest motive he had for wanting to rid himself of his English wife.’
‘Is there a chance we could charge him with bigamy?’
Amos shook his head, ‘He genuinely believed he had lost his Indian wife and family and no jury listening to his story would ever convict him. Besides, it was in all probability a Hindu wedding and I am not at all certain that would be considered as binding in this country. Even if it was, we would have an impossible task obtaining the necessary documents to prove our case. Quite frankly I think he has already suffered far more than any man should, his is a harrowing story.’
‘I will take your word for that, Amos – oh, by the way, will you pass on a “very well done” to Sergeant Churchyard for me? I have had a personal letter from the chief constable of Wiltshire asking me to thank Churchyard for the help given to his daughter when they met in Wiltshire. He says she is delighted with the girl Churchyard recommended to her. He also mentions in his letter that she is coming back this way to make some recommendations for a hospital to be built in Plymouth, so no doubt she will be visiting you and your wife.’
‘I hope so, she is a very pleasant woman who has been a great help to us.’
Confirmation of Verity’s proposed visit was not long in coming. There was a letter from her waiting for Amos when he arrived home that very evening. Addressed to both him and Talwyn, in it she confirmed what her stepfather had written to the Cornwall chief constable and said she would be in Plymouth for a full week. Apologizing for giving them such short notice, she asked if she might visit them for a day during the coming weekend, which was merely two days away. She explained she felt she could not possibly be so close to their home without visiting them, but that this was the only time she would have free during her stay in Plymouth.
Talwyn told Amos she had already replied, inviting Verity to stay with them for the whole weekend and she suggested to Amos that they invite Tom to have lunch with them on the Sunday.
Amos agreed, but he could not resist adding a wry comment about her all-too-obvious attempt at match-making having little chance of success.
Verity arrived by a morning train from Plymouth and was met by Tom at the Bodmin Road railway station. Despite his disparaging remarks about ‘match-making’, Amos had asked Tom to take a horse-drawn wagonette from the police headquarters to bring Verity to the Hawke home.
Verity was delighted to see him and, seated beside him, was smiling happily as they drove away from the station – and here they passed Colonel Trethewy, who was being driven to the station in a similar vehicle but had arrived late to meet a relative who had been on the same train as Verity.
The Trelyn landowner recognized Tom but did not return his polite nod of acknowledgement as the two vehicles passed each other. Tom did not loo
k back at him but Verity did.
‘Isn’t that Colonel Trethewy from Trelyn?’
‘Yes.’
‘He is still watching us and has an expression as black as thunder! Have you or Amos done anything to upset him?’
Tom gave her a weak smile, ‘I think Colonel Trethewy is permanently upset with us, but yes, we had Horace Morgan in the Bodmin police station overnight this week and the colonel was not at all happy about it. Actually, had Amos and I known the full story of all Morgan had been through in India we would never have subjected him to a night in a dark cell. He had a frightening nightmare and broke down completely when we showed him your letter.’
‘Oh dear, poor man … but did you learn whether he knew his Indian wife and family are still alive?’
‘I don’t believe he did and Amos agrees. It came as a great shock to him. Even so, he was embarrassingly grateful to us – and to you – for giving him the news. He has written a letter to his wife there and Amos has had it sent to her through diplomatic channels. Morgan intends returning to India as soon as we find the killer of Kerensa and the others.’
‘So he is no longer a suspect?’
‘He has to remain a suspect until we have found evidence implicating someone else, but I really don’t believe he is the murderer. Nevertheless, he has been able to help us in a way that we would never have considered had your letter not persuaded him to open up to us in the way he did.’
‘I am pleased I was able to be of assistance to you, but how is the investigation progressing … and how is your young gypsy girl?’
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