I never had occasion to penetrate Mr Woodvine’s portal, but suspected that, like that of Mr Davies, the steward, the butler’s would be a slightly larger, but even drabber room. If either man left his door ajar, he could see that row of all-important bells.
Inside, there were no novels for Davies, at least, but tomes on the management of land that made me yawn to contemplate them. On the other hand, now I was supposed to be overseeing my own glebe lands, or at least making sure that Ford, my own resentful steward, did not fleece me, so I had called on Davies to ask which one he might recommend – the smallest, for preference. He had his hand outstretched to pass me one, when chaos broke out, in the form of the violent ringing of the front doorbell. Before our eyes, a succession of other bells sprang into activity, the last being that in his lordship’s bedchamber. The panic crossing Davies’ poor old face was catching. Like him, I took to my heels and ran whither he was summoned, pushing through knots of maids too hysterical to move aside when asked.
‘It’s his lordship,’ gasped Mrs Beckles, clearing a way at the foot of the backstairs. ‘Pray, Mr Campion, go to his room and see what you can do.’
‘You have already sent for Dr Hansard?’
‘Of course,’ she replied simply. ‘Go, sir!’ She pushed me firmly between my shoulder blades.
The first thing was to clear the crowd pressing round the bed, and demand decent silence from those chattering or wailing uncontrollably.
Her ladyship alone remained icily calm. Rising from where she knelt at the bedside, she said softly, ‘I fear you come too late, and that Dr Hansard’s journey will also be wasted. My husband is dead. I believe that he was already dead when I managed to pull him from the stream.’
For the first time I noticed that she was indeed soaking wet. ‘Fetch Miss Lizzie,’ I told a huge-eyed young girl, too young in any case for such a scene.
Lizzie appeared as if by magic.
‘Pray, take her ladyship to her own room and persuade her into some dry clothes. She must be chilled to the bone, and I am sure that is what Dr Hansard would advise. Hurry, Lizzie.’
Like the sensible girl she was, she acted without argument, propelling my cousin from the room with the same tactful force as I’d seen her use on the Jenkins brood.
With her example, one by one the other servants dispersed, leaving his lordship to the solemn care of his butler and his valet.
Dr Hansard, still red-faced from the exertions of a hurried journey, was closing Lord Elham’s eyes and drawing a sheet over his face when her ladyship reappeared, already clad in black from head to toe. I doubt if I had ever seen her more beautiful, though I am sure that that was not her intention. She reminded me of a long-forgotten line from the Bard: ‘Like Patience, in a monument, smiling at grief’. As yet, of course, she smiled not at all, and it might be many months before she allowed herself to, but her self-control and dignity were very pattern-cards of behaviour. She sank again to her knees as I led in prayer those already assembled.
When we escorted her back to her boudoir a few minutes later, in vain did Dr Hansard press laudanum drops upon her. She needed nothing, she declared, except a solitary period of quiet reflection. But her son must immediately be sent for – the new Lord Elham, she reminded us, with some emphasis.
‘A bad business,’ Dr Hansard observed a few minutes later, as on his orders we drank some of his new lordship’s wine in the housekeeper’s parlour. He had insisted on a glass for both Mrs Beckles and Mr Davies, as a restorative after shock.
‘But how should it come about?’ Mrs Beckles demanded. ‘His lordship was no child, to go paddling when his nurse’s back was turned. He was a grown man, with more sense, surely to goodness. And how came her ladyship to find him?’
Hansard favoured her with an appreciative smile. ‘Those are precisely the questions I shall have to ask in my capacity of justice of the peace. Was she alone, coming by chance upon him as he lay in the water? Or were they walking together? Tell me, were they in the habit of taking afternoon strolls in each other’s company?’
Her glance spoke volumes.
He got to his feet. ‘Come, Campion, there is enough light left for us to see the site of the accident for ourselves. Perhaps Mr Davies will accompany us?’
Davies jumped, as if kicked. He had been silent so long in his corner that I had completely forgotten about him. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘And the lad who heard her ladyship’s cries and came running to summon help. If we can find him.’
Mrs Beckles opened her mouth to say something, but shut it, as if suppressing an opinion she thought best not uttered. Even as she did so, it occurred to me that she would have made a better companion in our foray than old Davies, her bright eyes, in my experience, missing nothing and certainly more efficient than poor Davies’ rheumy orbs. But her place, of course, was here, advising the cook on the changes that would necessarily be made to the arrangements for dinner for what was still a houseful of guests. There was also the matter of mourning for all the staff – would she have a supply of ready-made clothes set aside in some distant attic or would she be sending post haste to a warehouse supplying such garb?
I would have caught her eye to smile my sympathy, but Dr Hansard was already speaking to her in a low tone, issuing last-minute instructions about her ladyship’s well-being, no doubt.
‘What are you looking for?’ I asked my mentor, as we stood five or six yards from the stream that had ended his lordship’s existence. Davies, his job done, retired to the lee of a tree and watched our activities in silence. Of the lad there had been no sign, and Edmund wanted to waste none of the remaining light while they hunted for him.
‘Anything and everything and nothing.’ He drove his hands more deeply into the pockets of his riding coat.
‘What could have possessed them to come a-walking on such a cold and dank day as this?’ Everything was now being soaked by a thin mizzle.
‘Silence, man! Your pardon, Tobias, but I must needs concentrate.’
‘Of course.’ Much as I would have liked to argue my point, I accepted the snub. He, after all, was the justice, I merely a clergyman. Eager to learn, I followed his eyes, trying to perceive whatever he might be noting.
A rustic bridge about ten yards away; one of the handrails hung loose. He must have fallen from there. There were footprints aplenty in the sticky mud, and the branches of many of the bushes leaning over the stream had been smashed down. From this evidence, even I could imagine the frantic activity that would have followed Elham’s plunge into the stream.
I moved towards it, doing my best to avoid the area Hansard was studying. But as I did so, his head jerked up. When he saw what I was doing, he smiled broadly.
‘You make an apt pupil,’ he said. ‘Let us look at that woodwork a little more closely, shall we? See? It is quite old, and the nail quite rusty. Let us see what the rail the other side is like. Hmm, equally old, but pretty sound.’ He pointed, as Davies scuttled up.
For all that, Davies scribbled a note. I felt for him. If her ladyship so much as suspected he might have been negligent, his future would be bleak indeed. Several times, Hansard pushed the sound joint with all his might, but it would not stir.
‘So why did its counterpart give way?’ he wondered aloud, moving back to investigate. ‘Perhaps it would repay a further look in better light. In fact, I think we should all adjourn to the Priory again. By now her ladyship may have decided she needs the services of one or both of us, Tobias, and we would not wish to fail her. Mr Davies here will find every waking moment occupied for the next week, I should imagine.’
‘A well-attended funeral?’
‘All the gentry from miles around, family, acquaintances.’
‘Poor Mrs Beckles,’ I ventured.
‘I can’t imagine that there is any task to which she would be unequal,’ he said. ‘Were I Prinny, I would seek her out when the time comes to organise the poor king’s funeral and subsequently his own coronation. But before any burial can take
place – and you will need to discover her ladyship’s preference for the family vault at St Jude’s or the mausoleum in the grounds – the coroner has to determine the cause of death.’
I stopped short. ‘Are you implying that—?’
‘I am implying nothing. But he will need all the evidence that you and I can provide. As a matter of fact,’ he continued, ‘I shall have to speak to her ladyship in my capacity as a justice; it might be – useful – if you were there.’
She was my kinswoman! ‘What purpose would that serve?’
He patted me kindly on the shoulder. ‘You are ever a calming influence, Tobias. Equally, you might find it beneficial, when you discuss his interment, to have me at hand. However calm she may be now, such reminders of our last end may cause spasms, palpitations and worse.’
* * *
He need not have feared. When Lady Elham admitted us to her boudoir, she had, according to a whispered aside from Lizzie, also already in mourning, been persuaded to take a mouthful of soup. Now a glass of wine was at her right hand as she reclined on her daybed.
‘And how is my patient?’ Dr Hansard enquired politely.
‘Pray do not treat me as an invalid,’ she snapped. ‘You forget that my family can trace its roots to the days of the Conqueror. People of our class do not give way!’
As a student of history, I could have pointed out that William the Conqueror tended to bestow largesse on the most vicious of his henchmen; as a student of human nature, I knew better than to bite the hand that regularly provided me with my after-supper cup of tea in an exquisite china cup. Shocked by my levity at such a moment, I flushed and lowered my eyes.
‘You cannot persuade me that you underwent such an ordeal with no evil consequences,’ Hansard insisted gently.
She swung her legs from the daybed until she sat upright; as she did so she pressed a hand to her back and gave a quickly suppressed yelp. ‘One consequence is a terrible pain in my back, Dr Hansard. I tried to drag him out, you see, and he was so very heavy.’ She choked back a sob, swallowing hard and meeting our glance firmly.
We both nodded sympathetically. ‘Did you see him fall?’ I asked in a low voice.
‘We were standing on the bridge together, for a while leaning on the rail to look for fish. At last I walked on – the weather was so very damp that I felt as if it were seeping into my bones. Elham stayed on. Then I heard a splash. I ran back and pulled and shouted and…’
‘No more, if it upsets you, Lady Elham.’ Hansard produced smelling salts.
She waved them away. ‘I managed to get him out. I did. And I think I turned him – no, I left him lying face down, so that the water in his mouth would drain away. I have heard of sailors bringing those on the verge of death by drowning back to life, but I never thought – I had no idea how…’ Her hands moved helplessly. For the first time she was losing her composure. ‘I called for help, and sent a lad who came out of the woods to summon my servants. Then I tried again. Pray, forgive me—’ She turned so that we could not observe her tears.
‘It is quite possible that his lordship was dead before he hit the water,’ Hansard said, in the tone of one exploring theories.
The quiet observation produced an extraordinary response. She was on her feet, pointing a clearly accusing finger. ‘An explanation, if you please!’
‘Pray, calm yourself, my lady,’ I urged.
‘Not until Hansard explains what he meant by that strange remark!’
‘Madam, Lord Elham always ate and drank his fill. I warned him again and again that he should adopt a more abstemious habit. But he constantly disregarded my urgings. I fear that the exertion of his walk, the damp and cold of the day – perhaps, your ladyship, they brought about a seizure, a fatal seizure. If his dead weight fell on the bridge’s handrail it is not unlikely that it gave way and let him plunge into the icy water. Such a shock might in itself have killed a younger, fitter man than he. If this were indeed the case, you should not repine that you were unable to revive him,’ he concluded, his voice at its kindest.
As she resumed her seat, he reached for her wrist. ‘I feared so. Your pulse is tumultuous, your ladyship. Pray, let me give a draught to help calm you. It should relieve the pain in your back, too.’
‘If you insist, I will take the medicine, doctor. Leave it with my maid. Cousin Tobias, you will do all that is needful for the funeral, will you not?’
‘Of course. I hate to ask, Lady Elham: do you want the interment to take place in the family vault in St Jude’s? Or—’
She interrupted with an impulsive gesture. ‘Did we not discuss, only a few weeks ago, the possibility of bringing the private chapel here at the Priory into use again? Would not that be a fitting place?’
‘It would be a wonderful tribute,’ I said. ‘But only your immediate circle would be able to attend; there would be no room for the servants and estate workers, let alone any villagers wishing to pay their respects. If the service were at St Jude’s, at least they would be able to line the route, perhaps even follow the bier.’
It was all too clear that the wishes of the villagers were far from her thoughts. She drew herself up as straight as she could. ‘Lord Elham will make all the arrangements, gentlemen. My son, the eleventh Lord Elham,’ she said, with the same proud emphasis as before.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mrs Beckles was waiting for us as we left her ladyship’s room, a troubled expression on her face. She did no more than curtsy, leading us in silence inexplicably down not the main staircase but the backstairs.
At the foot, she paused and turned, as if having made a decision. ‘Late as it is, gentlemen, I have a favour to ask of you.’
Though he looked as weary as I’d ever seen him, Dr Hansard bowed graciously. I could do no less.
‘His lordship’s – his late lordship’s – old nurse lives in the cottages at the bottom of Prior’s Hill. Would you be kind enough to break the news to Nurse Abney in person? After all her years of service, she should not hear it at second hand. I would have gone myself, but as you can see, all is a-flutter here.’
She did not exaggerate. The servants’ hall was buzzing with muted conversation, as every young woman in the building appeared to have a black-threaded needle in her hand and an expanse of black cloth on her lap. Young men were running backwards and forwards from Mr Davies’ room and the butler’s pantry. How much frantic effort was being put into maintaining the calm order above stairs.
* * *
The drizzle had cleared, leaving the night sky spangled with stars, a half-moon adding to their glimmering light. Dr Hansard let his horse follow its nose.
‘He knows where he will always find an apple or a carrot,’ he laughed. ‘Nurse Abney is a great friend of his. She will not see seventy again, but is as spry as a woman half her age, in the summer at least. At this time of year, she suffers dreadfully in her joints. Were she a great lady, I would recommend the waters of Bath or Cheltenham. As it is, I convey from Mrs Beckles a steady supply of goose fat and worsted stockings to keep the pain at bay. Would I were more successful. But she never repines, and never accepts my offer of laudanum drops. If she cannot sleep, she reads her Bible. See – a candle still burns. It is one of her bad nights.’
The old woman, face worn by laughter or tears into a thousand creases, greeted Dr Hansard as if he were her son; I was favoured with a curtsy so deep I could scarce forbear to take her elbows to help her upright again. Dr Hansard had no such inhibition. He eased her gently into the chair by the tiny table, which indeed supported a candle and an open Bible.
‘Such an honour, Mr Campion, to meet you, never having been acquainted before and you coming all the way here to my humble home, to which you are truly welcome. What a well set-up lad you are, to be sure, breaking young ladies’ hearts wherever you go, I dare swear. And do you have a sweetheart yet? A parson needs a wife, and to be setting up his nursery if he can afford it. And to be sure, Dr Hansard, you look after me so well, so I can’t complain abo
ut a little twinge, and goodness knows a woman of my age expects a bit of stiffness, only it stops my sewing when the days close in and the sun forgets to rise all day. Do be seated, gentlemen, pray, and take a glass of my cowslip wine. That will keep the cold out.’ The words poured from her. On her feet again, not to be gainsaid, she bustled about.
Before I knew it, I was seated, though not in comfort. She insisted that Dr Hansard took her only spare chair and I sank on to the broad windowsill. Even on a night as calm as this, the window frame admitted vicious draughts, icily fingering my neck, and attempting to cancel out the heat of the bright but tiny fire. In the light of that and the extra candle she had lit in our honour, I could see that every surface was spotless, an achievement all the greater given that the floor was simply beaten earth.
The Keeper of Secrets Page 6