by Roz Southey
A moment’s silence while I wondered if I could prevent that. Or if I wanted to.
“I need your help tonight,” I said.
38
The law, sir, must be strengthened against these outrages.
[Letter from JUSTICIA to Mayor of Newcastle upon Tyne, printed in the Newcastle Courant, 15 May 1736.]
I stifled a yawn as I let Corelli into Esther’s garden. I had managed a few hours sleep in the afternoon but it had not been enough and the onset of darkness had made me feel tired again. I knew it would pass. High above, the full moon rode in the sky, slipping behind a bank of cloud, silvering it from behind. That cloud was new – maybe we were in for storms and an end to this hot weather. It had to happen soon, surely?
Tom must have been watching out for us for he opened the back door before I could knock. Voices were raised in the kitchen. I gave Tom back the key to the garden gate. “I’ve locked it behind us.”
He nodded. “They’re all in the kitchen, sir,” he said unnecessarily. I noticed his admiring gaze settle on Corelli’s bulk.
Ned Reynolds’s voice was audible as we negotiated the machinery in the scullery. “I’ll say this for her, Athalia’s a damn good actress. A few tears and a two or three flattering remarks about how no one could imagine him old enough to have a daughter Julia’s age, and he’s hers.”
“He’s taking her to London?” Esther asked.
“To play Lucy in The Beggar’s Opera. Athalia as Lucy!” Ned laughed scornfully. “It’s been a long time since she knew what it was to be a virgin.”
“Ned,” murmured a warning voice. Fowler – whose service had taught him what was and was not suitable to mention in the presence of ladies. I understood why Ned had forgotten his manners, however; as I pushed the kitchen door open, I saw Esther was dressed in her breeches again.
They stood in a little group about the kitchen table: Esther, turning to me with a smile, Hugh, casting an exasperated gaze to heaven, Fowler, looking uncomfortable, and Ned, not entirely sober. Catherine, Esther’s maid, was pouring beer and apparently flirting with Hugh.
“Everyone’s here, as you see,” Esther said.
“I got your note,” Hugh said, “and found everyone you wanted.”
“Except Richard,” Ned said, slurring his words slightly. “I’ll not let him get mixed up in this.”
Esther gave me a warning look. I was beginning to think that the biggest danger to Richard was Ned himself; Ned ought not to be talking of him in any company he didn’t know and trust completely. He might know me and Fowler, but his acquaintance with Hugh was slight, and with the women and Corelli nonexistent.
“And George?” I asked Esther, explaining to the others that George was the only spirit in the house.
“I’ve told him to stay upstairs,” Esther said. “And to watch from the roofline. He’s to let us know if the intruder tries to scale a ladder to get in.”
I sighed; only the spirit of a child could have swallowed such a tale. But we needed George, and his exuberant rashness, well out of the way.
“So,” Hugh said. “We’re here to set a trap, right? For the murderer.”
“How do you know he’ll try to get in again tonight?” Esther asked. She had swept her fair hair up into a simple knot and her demeanour had altered subtly with the clothes she had put on; she was brisk and businesslike for which I was glad. That matter of the organ ticket weighed on me; it had altered something in our relationship – or perhaps merely brought it to my attention more acutely. “After we ran him off last time, I should imagine he’d not want to come near the place.”
“I asked him to come,” I said. “Though I did not realise it at the time.”
There was uproar. Fowler said dubiously, “That’s dangerous – the women – ” Hugh laughed and said, “Devil take it, Charles, no wonder you’re always in trouble.” Corelli said, “Five on one, that’s fair odds.” “Seven on one,” Esther said sharply.
“Devil take it,” Ned said. “Leave the fellow alone. I want to shake his hand – he got rid of the bitch, I want to thank him.”
Fowler took the tankard from his hand and shoved him down on to a stool. “Shut it,” he said sharply, his accent coarser than before. “Shut it or I’ll shut you. If you can’t talk sense, I’ll knock some into you. And stop drinking!”
Hugh gave me a weary look. “He’s been drinking all day apparently, and talking to whoever wants to listen.”
“Ned,” I said, copying Heron for brutality. “Do you want to hang? Do you want Richard to hang?”
He blinked at me then started to tremble; he buried his head in his hands. Catherine pushed past Fowler.
“Leave him to me. You go on.”
Ned was clearly a problem for later; I nodded and turned to explain to the others what I wanted to do. The household was apparently to retire as usual and to go through their normal routine so that if our murderer was watching he would not be suspicious. The house was to be locked up, with the exception of the back door. We knew that the murderer had the key to the garden gate but that his key did not fit the back door.
“He must get into the house,” I stressed. “And I don’t want any chance of him running back out again. Tom, you stay just inside the back door. Once he’s well in, lock the door and pocket the key, then keep watch over it.”
“He might not try the door,” Esther pointed out, “knowing he couldn’t get in that way before. What if he tries the kitchen window again?”
Catherine grinned. “Then he’ll have half the saucepans wrapped round his ears! We’ll take care of it.” And she nodded meaningfully at Ned who still sat with his face buried in his hands.
“No,” I said firmly. “You must let him pass. Just be ready to stop him retreating.”
She frowned but nodded; I added. “And avoid the skillet – he’ll be dead for sure if you hit him with that!” She giggled.
I turned back to the others. “He’ll try to get through to the front of the house,” I said, and ruthlessly overrode Hugh who wanted to ask how I knew. “Fowler, I want you just on the house side of the servants’ door. Esther – ” I saw Fowler blink at my use of Esther’s Christian name. “Position yourself by the library doors. He won’t go in but he might try to get out that way and I need to be sure he can’t. Hugh, I want you opposite the drawing room door – you should be able to find somewhere to hide in the shadows of the stairs. Corelli, stand by the front door in case he tries to get out that way.”
Corelli nodded. “And where will you be?”
“In the drawing room.”
“Why the drawing room?” Hugh insisted. “What’s so special about the drawing room!” Then he went silent. “You don’t mean – Charles – he can’t be! He’s not from – from – ”
Esther glanced round. “You mean – he does not belong here.”
“I think not,” I said levelly.
“I don’t care who he is or where he comes from,” Corelli said. “So long as we get him.”
He was very quiet, had been ever since we met an hour ago at St Nicholas’s Church. I knew he had not told me everything and that worried me. Clearly I would have trouble keeping him from killing the murderer; I had expected that. But there was something more. Perhaps he was not sure of it himself – he had the air of a man trying to puzzle something through and not greatly liking the answers that suggested themselves.
I told them to get to their positions. Catherine and Esther went off upstairs, first to light candles and then to put them out again as if they were going to bed in the ordinary course of events. Tom went ostentatiously round the house showing himself at every window, checking all the locks. Fowler went briefly into the garden to piss; Hugh and Corelli walked off to the library, discussing fencing.
I pulled out a stool and sat down next to Ned in the candlelit kitchen.
“You’ve got to stop drinking, Ned.”
“Go to the devil,” he said thickly.
“You’re in a fair way to finishi
ng the work Julia started.”
He showed me a sour face. “What do you mean by that?”
“Hanging Richard,” I said again, brutally. “You’re the danger to him now.”
He laughed mirthlessly. “Perhaps I’d better hang myself then. Get myself out of his way.”
“Yes, yes,” I said dryly. “And you think he’ll be safe on his own? How much common sense do you think he has, Ned? He was the one who told Julia, wasn’t he?”
Ned stared at me then looked away, at the puddles of beer on the kitchen table.
“The Colonies – you think we’ll be safer there?”
“Possibly. Or try Paris. They tend to let people get on with their own lives there, I’m told.” I leant forward. “As long as you’re discreet. Do you know the meaning of the word, Ned? Discreet, spelt S-A-F-E.”
That sour look again. “I can spell.”
“Doesn’t look like it from my point of view.”
“I don’t speak French.”
“Hugh will teach you.”
“And what are we supposed to do for money?”
I hesitated, thought of the hundred guineas under my mattress and sighed. “I can lend you some.”
“You’ll not get it back,” he said sharply.
“Surprise me. Become Monsieur Reynolds – France’s greatest actor.”
That brought a wry grimace. “It’s been a long time since I imagined that sort of thing was possible, Charlie.”
“Perhaps you’d better start thinking of it again.”
Ned laughed weakly. “God, would you do all this for a fool like me?”
There was a clatter from the passageway outside; Tom came back into the kitchen, beaming with excitement. “Everything’s locked except the back door, sir.”
“Good. Then get to your post.” I got up, leant over Ned. “Come and see me after Julia’s funeral tomorrow and we’ll sort out the details.”
He nodded. “I keep thinking – ”
“Yes?”
“That there’s something I ought to be telling you.” He frowned. “Something Julia said when she was telling me I had to marry her. But I didn’t listen properly. I couldn’t think of anything but Richard, about saving him – ”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “I know who the murderer is.”
He grimaced, plainly annoyed with himself. “You’d do better to kick me from here to Paris, Charlie. You’ll be throwing good money away.”
“That’s my choice.”
I thought ruefully of that hundred guineas as I left the kitchen. Esther would be furious if she knew I was giving some to Ned. And it had represented ease and a troublefree mind for at least the rest of the year. Yet perhaps I was not so distressed –it represented obligation too, and charity. Yes, perhaps that was the worst of all. Call it pride, but I wanted to meet Esther on equal terms through my own efforts.
I knew that was almost certain never to happen.
I went through the house checking that everyone was where they should be. Tom was eager for the intruder to show his face; he had even found rope with which to tie the rogue up. Esther had positioned herself in the dark library just behind the harpsichord, with one of her lethal duelling pistols close to hand.
“I was hoping to catch him alive,” I said uneasily.
“No, you were not,” she corrected me, coolly. “You are hoping he will go back into the world whence he came and not trouble us any more.”
I could hardly see her face in the darkness – it was a pale blur – but I could smell her scent.
“I think he is from that other world, yes,” I agreed. “That’s why he kept trying to get in.”
“He lives here in that other world?”
I nodded. “It’s a shabby lodging house there. I told you that world was both like and unlike our own? Well, the key to the garden is the same in both worlds, but the house lock is different.”
“I had it replaced,” she said. “Last year. Tom broke the key in the lock. So when the intruder tried to break into the house, he thought he was merely trying to get back into his own lodgings?”
“Yes. That’s why he kept coming back.”
“Then –” She hesitated. “This is fiendishly complicated, Charles. Does that mean he does not know he is not in his own world?”
“I think that at the very least he is confused.” I gestured at the pistol. “He is bewildered, uncertain and weak. You will not need that pistol.”
“I do not have the least concern about the intruder,” she said coolly. “It is your safety that concerns me. And that means the pistol is essential. Or may be at any rate.”
“I am in no danger.”
“You cannot know that,” she said into the darkness. “I meant what I said, Charles, I am not prepared to live in constant fear. I do not know whether these dangers seek you out or whether you go looking for them, but I will not sit idly at home and let you deal with them alone. You must know that already.”
“Esther – ”
“Yes,” she said. “We should talk of it later. I agree. Now is not the time. But let us be clear – the opinion of society means nothing to me. I will have my own way.”
There was nothing more I could say. How could I argue against something I wanted so much, yet knew to be so foolish? But I could not agree with her. I had just come from berating Ned Reynolds for putting his lover in danger; how could I turn around and do something equally detrimental to the woman I loved?
39
Shadows surround us; we are liable to be thrown into darkness at any moment. All the more reason therefore to cling to the light, to all things good and decent.
[Letter from Lady Hubert to her eldest daughter on the death of the latter’s child, September 1731]
Hugh was lingering in an ornamental alcove opposite the drawing room. A small table that held the bust of a Roman matron had originally stood in the alcove and he had moved it to one side, turning the face of the matron to the wall.
“Couldn’t stand her looking at me like I’d just taken her last macaroon,” he whispered. “Charles, if he gets into the house, how do we know he won’t just snap his fingers and go back to his own world before any of us can get near him?”
“It’s not as easy as that. Anyway, wherever he goes, I’ll shadow him. I’ll be no more than an arm’s length away.”
“So you can grab him? Damn it, Charles, you’ll get drawn into this other place too!”
“I can come and go as I please,” I said. Praying that it was true, and glad that he couldn’t see my face in the gloom. As I said before, I am not a good liar.
Corelli, by the front door, was morose and unapproachable. “This is all my fault.”
“No.”
“If I had not been so stupid as to agree to Father’s plottings!”
“Julia was killed by someone else,” I said, not feeling up to explaining the other world to Corelli. “Her death was nothing to do with your father.”
“Maybe I put the idea into his head.”
“Then you can make amends by helping me catch the fellow tonight.”
He said nothing. I sighed inwardly. Admirable though it was to see so much attachment to family, it was also wearisome. Corelli no doubt had many admirable qualities but cool detachment did not seem to be one of them. And was he far enough away from the drawing room? Could I get Julia’s murderer back in his own world before Corelli put a shot his way. If he could deliberately miss an entire crowd, shooting one individual in near-darkness was probably child’s play to him. Then I saw that he had a sword, not a pistol; I fancied he intended to toy with his victim, rather than put him out of his misery with a single shot.
I planned to wait just inside the back door, so I could follow the intruder into the house, to ensure that he did not somehow slip away from us. By the time I got to the servants’ door, Fowler was leaning wearily against it, rubbing his eyes.
“Did you have trouble getting away from Heron?”
He grinned. “Th
e opposite. Said I could have the evening off as he wanted to read Ovid. And as I was leaving – ”
“Yes?”
“He said: Give my regards to Mr Patterson and tell him not to take foolish risks.”
“Damn it,” I said, “Does the man know everything?”
“Well nigh, I reckon,” Fowler said, grinning again.
I wondered if that included Fowler’s interests.
In the kitchen, Catherine was pouring hot chocolate for herself and Ned. The window shutters did not quite meet and let in a thin line of moonlight. She nodded at the gap. “That moon’s a nuisance. Will he risk coming here tonight when a casual passer by might see him clear as day?”
“I don’t think he’s thinking as rationally as that.”
She looked sceptical.
I took up my place just outside the scullery in the kitchen passageway. Tom hid by the door to the garden; he was to allow the intruder to pass, then lock the door and stay to guard it. He had looked mutinous at my repetition of these orders but said nothing. And there we waited while the moon drifted in and out of the gathering clouds, alternately bathing the garden in brightness, then plunging it into impenetrable darkness. The house was silent except for the chiming of the hall clock; distantly I heard it chime twelve times.
Then came the sound of the key in the door.
The fellow was ridiculously obsessive, I thought; why try the key after finding three times that it did not fit? But then I had accidentally encouraged him to try again.
Silence. Then a creak. Moonlight flooded the scullery and spilled out into the passageway, pooling on the stone flags. I stepped back quickly, afraid that the intruder would see me, retreated to the butler’s pantry, standing just inside the room to try to obtain a good view of the passageway. The scullery door clicked shut; the moonlight died.