The Keeper of Secrets

by Judith Cutler

  ‘I am sure that Mrs Trent would also be delighted to rear some chickens,’ I assured Susan, ‘especially if you were to make them your especial care. And Jem would make them a coop, I have no doubt of that. Go and choose your chicks now.’ I waited until she was out of earshot before I turned to Mrs Beckles. ‘You are worried about something, are you not? I saw your face when you tried to give evidence.’

  She nodded, biting her lip.

  ‘I know you told the truth and nothing but the truth, Mrs Beckles. But I think the coroner himself prevented you from telling the whole truth.’

  She met my eye. ‘Indeed, I sometimes believe that Catholics are fortunate to have to go to confession!’

  ‘The Church of England has always taught that you may confess. Does what you have to say require the secrecy of the confessional?’

  She shook her head. ‘I know you will need to tell Dr Hansard, but that neither of you will spread it further. Mr Campion,’ she said, very stiff and resolute, ‘one of my unwelcome…duties as housekeeper is to ensure that female servants do not…are not…’ She blushed painfully, but continued, ‘I had a terrible fear that Lizzie might have been with child before her ladyship left the Priory. To be completely frank, I was relieved not to have to say that in public.’

  In my mind’s eye I saw the wan face of poor Lizzie the morning she asked if she could speak to me in my capacity as a clergyman. I had assured Jem that I thought she wanted to speak about breaking off her betrothal to Matthew; now it occurred to me that she might have had an altogether more formidable problem to discuss. Nonetheless I prevaricated. ‘Surely not! Not Lizzie! Why, Matthew took his oath that they had not…not anticipated marriage.’

  ‘There are other young men than Matthew.’

  ‘And Lizzie need not necessarily have wanted their attentions,’ I agreed with feeling, recalling the day that we first met.

  To my surprise, she took both my hands in hers, as if to comfort me. I returned the firm pressure before releasing them.

  ‘Had Dr Toone no idea how advanced her pregnancy might have been?’ she asked, businesslike again.

  ‘I did not ask. I confess to finding myself squeamish, Mrs Beckles. But Dr Hansard would surely enlighten you – if it was possible to determine such a thing. I know nothing of natural science.’

  ‘Nor want to, I dare swear,’ she said, with a warm and understanding smile.

  No wonder Dr Hansard was enamoured of her. Why was he so stiff-necked about his financial situation? Mrs Beckles would care not a whit that the house was not completely furnished – indeed, I suspected that she would have enjoyed putting the remaining rooms in order. Certainly nothing in this world could have given me more happiness than to marry them in St Jude’s. Never would two better or kinder people have been united in matrimony.

  ‘You know Dr Hansard and I are to leave for Bath to break the news to Lady Elham?’

  I thought she blushed. ‘I do indeed. What if you do not find her at home?’

  ‘Then we shall have all the longer to execute any commissions with which you care to entrust us. Come, Mrs Beckles, surely you cannot let us venture into such a fashionable city without demanding we purchase lace or ribbons or gloves? I know my sisters would never have let me stray to within ten miles of it without producing a list.’

  I thought her laugh was forced. Leaning closer, I asked, ‘Are you still troubled by your evidence?’

  ‘No. But I am worried about what I hear of young Lord Elham. They say he is wild to dissipation.’

  ‘Indeed. I am surprised his mother does not try to influence him.’

  ‘And how would he react if she did? He always had a temper, Mr Campion, so strong that it was hard to impose one’s will on him. You saw how he behaved to you simply for interfering with his friend’s pleasure.’

  ‘And I have seen the remains of animals he has tortured,’ I agreed. We looked straight into each other’s eyes. It was clear that she too suspected he might have had a part in Lizzie’s demise. I shivered; it was one thing to utter such a thought in anger, another to find such a sensible and loyal family retainer sharing it.

  She referred obliquely to our fear. ‘I have furnished Dr Hansard with details of his lordship’s comings and goings. You realise how very little time he has spent here? I hope and pray… Ah, are those the ones you have chosen, Susan?’ she asked, interrupting herself as the girl returned with another trug seething with pretty chicks. ‘Mind you ask Jem to build them a strong coop – the foxes are always hungry at this time of year.’

  As we made our farewells, I uttered a silent prayer that he might be sober enough to hit a nail straight.

  Susan was so pleased to have birds of her own to care for that she hardly registered my announcement that I must go on a journey to break the news of her sister’s death to Lady Elham. I made no mention of a possible widower. She skipped off to watch Jem assemble her new chicken run and coop; after his visit to the inn his usual deft touch was quite missing and he fumbled with the nails she insisted on handing him.

  Mrs Trent came out to watch the proceedings, looking at them with troubled affection. ‘That’s how it is with young girls – they must lose their heart to the first handsome man they see, however unsuitable he might be,’ she said. ‘At least he’s a good reliable man who will let her down gently,’ she added, as we watched the two brown heads together. ‘Or will make her a good husband if he’s that way inclined.’

  ‘But—’ I nearly exclaimed that it was the other sister that Jem had loved. ‘But he is more than twice her age.’ I corrected myself.

  ‘And how many marriages do you know that are perfectly happy despite such a difference of years?’

  I smiled my acquiescence, but went to my bedchamber, vaguely troubled. And it was not the thought of packing for myself for the very first time that was the problem, though that soon proved almost an impossibility.

  A discreet knock on my door announced a surprising but more than welcome visitor. It was Turner, Dr Hansard’s valet. He declared that he was on loan for the rest of the day, his master being downstairs in my drawing room. Without using so many words he implied what I knew all too well to be true – that my endeavours had already made his task as valet more difficult and that I should recruit myself with a glass of sherry with Edmund before dinner. It was clear that he assumed he would be accompanying his master.

  ‘I think we should travel in comfort and in style,’ Edmund announced. He was warming his back at the fire Mrs Trent had had lit to take the chill off the evening air. ‘After all, I have a perfectly good travelling-chaise that needs no more than fettling up. We’d need a groom, but I promised Toone I’d leave my George here – he knows the lanes and by-roads like the back of his hand. Do you think Jem would care to come? I cannot think he would prefer to cool his heels here.’

  Neither could I. ‘Nothing would do him more good than quitting the place.’ Would it ease Susan’s alleged tendresse for him? I knew not.

  Knowing it would offend him if we went down the kitchen in search of him, I rang the bell, bidding Susan send him up to us. He came with a pale weariness I’d never seen in him, and with the most perfunctory of smiles. Hansard pressed a glass of claret into his hand, observing him closely.

  ‘Jem, Dr Hansard has thoughts of using his own equipage to get us to Bath. Would you have any objection to taking charge of it?’

  Jem’s eyes lit up, but the clouds soon returned. ‘That’s George Deakins’ job.’

  ‘Dr Toone needs George to guide him round the district,’ Hansard said. ‘Imagine trying to find a patient without a local man to help. Would you come in George’s stead?’

  He was clearly torn, but looked at me shrewdly. As if we were lads, he said gruffly, ‘Don’t get any maggots in your head about – well, being kind to me.’

  Hansard stepped in. ‘For goodness’ sake, Jem, how can we manage without you?’

  ‘You could travel post.’

  I was sure his apparent reluc
tance was an attempt to conceal a great desire to quit, even for a short time, the site of so much distress.

  ‘We prefer not to,’ I said, with, I hoped, just the right amount of chill. In fact he smothered a grin. ‘And though we could hire a man to do your work,’ I added more conciliatingly, ‘he could not do it as well as you. Moreover, he could not help us in other ways as you certainly could.’

  Had he been a dog, his ears would have pricked. ‘In what way help?’

  ‘You could obtain backstairs information where we could not. In her hurried journeys, her ladyship will have left disgruntled servants behind, and irritated grooms. Would you use your eyes and ears where we cannot?’ And – if of course he indeed existed – poor Lizzie’s husband was likely to be a fellow servant, so it might well fall to Jem to find him. ‘And, I should warn you, we may all have to proceed to London.’

  Grudgingly he said, ‘As it happens, I’ve got cousins in both Bath and London I wouldn’t mind seeing again. How much work does your chaise need before it’s ready? Not that I can imagine that George would neglect it in any way,’ he added quickly. ‘We’ll have it ready by ten.’ And, downing his wine in one gulp, he replaced the glass on its tray and left the room without further ceremony.

  Hansard and I drank a great deal more though at a leisurely pace.

  ‘It seems to me,’ I grumbled, though with a twinkle in my eye, ‘that we are ruled by our servants. Why not give them the slip and travel post?’

  ‘And have them pursuing us on the stage coach, as if we were lovers eloping for Gretna Green? I think not! And, to be honest with you, Tobias, there are few things more needful to a man’s comfort than a valet like Turner watching over one’s clothing.’

  He was right, of course – I was never more aware of my recent sartorial inadequacies than now. But I responded with a jest. ‘And necessary for giving one status at an inn, of course. You or I would not bruit ourselves abroad, but rely upon it, our two men between them will convince any landlords that we should be given the best bedrooms, the best private parlours.’

  ‘And properly aired sheets – do not forget those… A toast, Tobias, to our journey!’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  We took nearly three days to reach Bath, preferring to make the journey in easy stages, despite Jem’s obvious impatience. While Turner plainly thought we should take rooms in the York House Hotel, we preferred the less expensive but still eminently respectable Pelican, in Walcot Street, which had the reputation of having a particularly good ordinary and was also very convenient for Lady Elham’s house in Camden Place. Needless to say, we bespoke a private parlour, which Turner submitted to a contemptuous stare that immediately elicited the services of a maid and a feather duster.

  Leaving Jem and Turner to their various duties, Dr Hansard and I set out on foot, despite a thin, mizzling rain, to leave our cards for her ladyship. We did not move briskly, or even purposefully. Rather, we feasted our eyes on the elegance of the architecture and on the attire of those similarly promenading. We soon saw that the latter, though it was not of course of the first stare of fashion, Bath no longer being the haunt of the beau monde, was far more stylish than our own.

  After my sojourn in the country, I had forgotten the sheer noise of a bustling town – the street-vendors, the chair-men, the carriages. There was a ceaseless clink of pattens protecting even the most elegant feet from the muddy streets. But however sensible their footwear, the ladies eschewed practical outdoors clothes for delicate muslin dresses, of necessity sheltering beneath umbrellas carried by their equally elegant beaux.

  Our feet carried us insensibly to the abbey, at the bottom of the town. As we came towards it, fitful sun gleamed through the rain, highlighting the warm golden stone and making it a house fit for God indeed. Inside we found trysting serving men and girls, middle-aged ladies weighed down with shopping simply sitting and staring about them and provincials like us armed with guides to the city. We also found a quiet corner, where, as one, we knelt in silent prayer, our souls uplifted by the light and grace of the building.

  Try how we might, once we had quitted the abbey, we could not maintain the solemnity due to our endeavour. On Bond Street, Milsom Street and Bath Street, we dawdled before the rich variety of shops.

  I ventured to point at the ware in one window. ‘Tell me, Dr Hansard, do you not think that that bonnet would suit Mrs Beckles? The gold silk one, cut exactly like a jockey’s cap?’ It had a most charming little tassel at the back

  ‘Indeed it would. But I fear it would offend her sense of delicacy were I to buy it for her.’

  ‘Surely she would not be offended by an addition to her library?’ I pointed at Duffield’s. ‘A volume of Scott’s poetry, perhaps?’

  Despite himself, knowing her absolute weakness for books, Hansard drifted into the shop. I hesitated outside, and then darted into what was clearly an expensive modiste’s. The ambiguity of Hansard’s relationship to Mrs Beckles might prevent him from buying personal gifts. But from one who stood almost as a son in her affections, surely a shawl would not be unacceptable, even if I could not afford the very best Norfolk silk – at fifty guineas! – that Lady Elham always wore. How many mouths would such a sum feed for a year? Then I too stepped into Duffield’s, to wallow in the glorious and inimitable perfume of new books, far more beautiful to me than any floral concoction from Paris. Eschewing the temptation of other men’s sermons no matter how much better they might be than my own poor offerings, I contented myself with buying a leather-bound prayer book for Susan.

  ‘Come, Tobias, a girl of her age would thank you more for ribbons and lace!’ Hansard declared as I explained my purchase.

  ‘Then she shall have both,’ I declared. ‘And Mrs Trent must have finery too!’

  ‘And Jem and Turner must not be forgotten.’

  For the next hour we were like two schoolboys suddenly released in a fairground with a year’s pocket money. The best that could be said of us was that in this temple to Mammon, neither of us wasted our money on ourselves, a modish suit of clothes each apart. True, Dr Hansard found a new bag for his medical needs, and I well-made gloves, but these were necessities rather than luxuries, as were the boots we discovered we both required. All were despatched back to the Pelican, for our later inspection. Only then did we recall the serious reason for our presence in the city, and we crept guiltily back up to Camden Place.

  As we expected, the houses in such a fashionable area were elegant in the extreme, and in the first stare of fashion. After looking about us, gaping like veritable hayseeds, at last we sought the address that Mrs Beckles had assured us was her ladyship’s.

  To our horror we found the knocker had been removed, and the shutters and blinds firmly closed. No one was at home! A few pence elicited the information of a crossing sweeper that the house had not been occupied for many a day. He spat copiously. He clearly could not understand why anyone in possession of such a property should not be in want of a tenant. Every other householder, he averred, was keen to rent out their properties, often for huge sums.

  ‘How many days has it been vacant?’ I asked.

  ‘Hard to tell, there’s been so much coming and going.’

  ‘But you would know Lady Elham’s carriage, black and gold with a crest on the door?’

  He spat again. ‘So be they all – some flasher than others. But I know her ladyship’s carriage all right. But there have been others too, a-coming and a-going.’

  I pressed another coin into his filthy palm, and he knuckled his forehead. But he clearly saw it as payment for information already given than an encouragement to dredge his memory further. ‘When did you last see her ladyship’s coach?’ I prompted him.

  ‘It must be soon after Christmas.’

  ‘So Mrs Beckles was mistaken,’ I said sadly, turning away.

  ‘Or Mrs Beckles was deliberately misinformed,’ Hansard suggested.

  It was a sober pair who finally repaired to the Pelican, where we chose to di
ne at six, a compromise between the country hours we were used to keeping and the more fashionable hours kept here. Turner, apprised of the latest developments while assisting us at our toilette, undertook to convey them to Jem, currently visiting his cousin. Between them, he had no doubt, they could establish almost to the hour, certainly to the day, when Lady Elham removed from the city and discover her intended destination.

  To my immense pleasure, Dr Hansard had contrived, via the estimable Turner, to procure tickets for a performance at the new Theatre Royal. He assured me he had once unforgettably seen Mrs Jordan act; I fear that this evening’s leading lady was no more than acceptable in her skills, but The Rivals still provided us with honest entertainment.

  Although Hansard had told him not to wait up, Turner was awaiting us with his usual carefully blank expression. Only when asked did he declare, ‘It seems true that Lady Elham has scarce been seen in Bath since Christmas. There is a strong rumour that Lord Elham is unwell and that she has been caring for him. But not, I venture to add, sir, at Moreton Priory.’

  ‘Quite so.’ Hansard waited while Turner served us some punch he had prepared against our return. ‘Thank you. Did Rumour have any suggestions as to their whereabouts now?’

  ‘As to that, sir, I regret that it is entirely contradictory, especially as one story was that she was attending him at the Priory. Her ladyship has an estate in Devon, of course, as part of her marriage settlement. But then, Lord Elham has properties all over the country. And at this time of year, there is the lure of London.’

  ‘There is indeed,’ I said. ‘And even if we do not find Lady Elham there, perhaps we may find Lady Templemead.’

  ‘Shall we be proceeding to London tomorrow, then, sir?’

  ‘I don’t know, Turner. I am loath to career around the countryside on the mere off-chance of running our prey to earth,’ Hansard grumbled. ‘Imagine getting all the way in London and finding the good ladies had been residing in their far-flung country seats all the time! Cornwall, Northumberland? Where might they not be?’