Hand still shaking, Brighouse poured three glasses of brandy, and drank deeply of one of them. ‘There, gentlemen, you will see there is nothing to fear. What was better, to connive in the patient’s living death or to kill him outright, as I was bidden?’
‘But die he assuredly will, unless some miracle occurs.’
‘He will have the best nursing I can provide – provided, gentlemen, that you ensure that the person who required his death can never come near me to exact retribution for my betrayal.’
‘I am sure we can promise you that,’ I said easily. ‘Especially as we do not know who he is. I think it is time you enlightened us, do not you?’
‘I dare not! I dare not!’
‘Come, you are being unreasonable. We all know that a most heinous crime has been committed. The miscreant must – will! – be apprehended. Then you will have no cause to fear,’ Sir Hellman reasoned.
‘No, no! Pray, do not ask me – not yet. I dare not!’ Indeed, he was white to the lips with terror. What kind of monster could instil this degree of terror in a rational man?
He held up his hands in supplication. ‘Look around you, gentlemen – pray, look in any of these rooms at any of my patients and tell me what could be done better! It is only those who are a danger to themselves or to others who receive the harsh treatment that you have seen. And would they be better treated anywhere else?’ He took another sip of brandy. ‘Now, I will undertake to reduce Mr Sanderson’s doses of laudanum, and to increase his diet, much as you have already instructed me to do in the case of Lord Elham. But you must protect me! Pray, gentlemen, protect me!’
I took a steadying nip of brandy and walked to the window. ‘Have you dismissed anyone from your service recently?’
No doubt fearing another burst of fury from Hansard, he nodded. ‘Sam Eccleshall blabs when he’s in his cups. I cannot risk the identity of my patients being known – you must see that.’
‘And the man in charge of the patients who were gardening? Is he still employed here?’
Brighouse dropped his gaze. ‘He swore he revealed nothing, but how could I trust him ever again?’
‘Reinstate both, Mr Brighouse,’ I told him, ‘and in future pay them more to keep their mouths shut. You will find Sam Eccleshall in the Pig and Whistle. You will have to run that good sergeant to earth yourself, but I will expect to see him at his post when we return.’
‘You are coming back?’
‘Very soon. After all,’ I said, ‘we shall need to return this, shall we not?’ I picked up his ledger. ‘And now, we will take our leave of you. Good day, sir.’
When we returned at last to the Pelican we had very little time to change for our dinner engagement, one which, I admit, I was most reluctant to keep.
‘The man made his money from slavery, Edmund!’ I declared, as Turner eased me into my tailcoat. ‘How can we soil ourselves by accepting his hospitality?’
‘Because none of us is pure. How much of your father’s wealth – which, I accept, you have largely eschewed – comes from his own labour? Your stipend derives from Lady Elham and her family, with which, given all the indications so far, one would prefer not to be connected. The guineas my farming patients pay me are available because labourers are paid so very badly.’
‘But slavery! Every feeling must be offended!’
‘Indeed. But first let us admit that giving away a fortune made perhaps by his father, even his grandfather before him, is not easy. And secondly, let us see what he does with his wealth. He may have manumitted his slaves; he may be a great public benefactor; and above all, Tobias, he may be extremely useful in keeping an eye on Lymbury Park, both as a justice and as one who has already seen and been revolted by some of the practices of the place. Ah, thank you, Turner – you have once again transformed your country bumpkins into civilised gentlemen.’
Turner smiled. ‘And, moreover, sir, I will endeavour to find the truth about Sir Hellman from my colleagues in the taproom, though I suspect that Jem may be more adept at the art than I.’
There was a knock at the door. The Boots had a letter in his hand for one whom he referred to as a gennelman.
It was addressed to me, but in a hand I did not recognise. Hansard clearly did, however; his face tightened and the hand held out for Turner to fasten his cufflinks shook.
I opened it. It was from Mrs Beckles.
My Dear Mr Campion
Pray forgive me for writing to you, but I have information to hand that I believe you and Dr Hansard should know. I have been speaking, as you would expect, to Mrs Woodman, still laid low by the shocking revelations at the inquest. At last, appalled by her constant reiterations that Lizzie was no daughter of hers, I took the liberty of remonstrating with her. But – and you may guess my amazement! – she assured me that this was the literal truth. Lizzie, Mr Campion, is not her flesh and blood. Rather she is the love child of someone whom Mrs Woodman has never met. The arrangements were all undertaken by lawyers, who paid Mrs Woodman a sum to act as wet nurse, and then, Mr Woodman at last assenting, to act as her mother. Mrs Woodman still receives a regular sum of money provided she maintains this secret. I cannot but feel that Lizzie’s identity must have a bearing on her death, though what as yet I cannot imagine.
Yours, etc.
Maria Beckles
Post scriptum. I have this instant received a communication from Dr Hansard, but wish to put this directly in the post. Pray assure Dr Hansard that I will respond the instant I have opened and perused it, and do me the honour of passing on my sincerest good wishes.
Without a word, I passed the open missive to my friend, gripping his shoulder affectionately as I pointed to the ending, surely as open a declaration of love that in all conscience a lady could give. More I could not do, not knowing whether he had taken Turner into his confidence about his intentions towards the lady – though I would have wagered all Sir Hellman’s wealth that Turner had known, to put it vulgarly, the way the wind was blowing long before I had so much as an inkling.
We dined à trois with Sir Hellman, but clearly could not speak of the matter so important to us all until the servants had cleared the table and withdrawn.
‘You are telling me that on someone’s orders an innocent man has been kidnapped and kept in a drugged stupor? Gentlemen, have you been reading too many novels from a circulating library? We are living in nineteenth-century England, not in some Gothic Alpine kingdom!’
Dr Hansard sipped the excellent port thoughtfully. ‘Do not think that we are unshaken by the idea. But Brighouse has confessed it himself. John Sanderson lives, Sir Hellman. Yet before Christmas we were apprised of his sad death from inflammation of the lung.’
‘Who was your informant?’
‘None other than Lady Elham, mother of the drug-raddled wretch whom we suspect of murdering Lizzie.’
‘Can you still suspect him? If Brighouse’s ledger is accurate – and it had the appearance of truth – then he cannot have been involved.’
‘We have brought the ledger for further inspection – perhaps it could be fetched?’
‘Indeed – and more candles and a magnifying glass.’
* * *
At last, having examined the relevant entries from every angle, we came to a reluctant but unanimous conclusion: they had not been altered in any way.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
‘If Lord Elham did not kill Lizzie, could not have killed Lizzie, who did?’ I asked, my brain reeling. I did not feel as angry as Jem had sounded uttering almost identical words, but could not perhaps allow myself to speculate further, lest I found the answer unacceptable.
Dr Hansard’s response was measured, warning me, I suppose, that while Sir Hellman was a sympathetic host and fellow justice, he was still not a friend. ‘My feeling accords with the sentiment expressed by Lady Elham’s housekeeper. Mrs Beckles has informed us,’ he told Sir Hellman, his face almost insensibly softening as he mentioned her name, ‘that there is now some doubt as to the birth
of the murdered maid. Her view is that until we solve that mystery, we shall not find why she was killed, and thus by whom. So I believe an urgent return to Moreton St Jude is called for. We have news, moreover, that Mrs Sanderson deserves to hear from our own lips.’
Sir Hellman bowed. ‘Of course. Will you be setting out tonight? There is a moon.’
‘I think not; even such excellent servants as ours will need time to prepare. But I believe, Sir Hellman, that we must away far earlier than we would wish, and, of course, than you may consider polite.’
Hellman shook his head. ‘Not at all. I quite understand your reasons. I would add another. If the servant of whom you spoke has discovered something someone wished to keep hidden, she herself may be at risk. Considerable risk.’
I wished to object – as I was sure Edmund did – that Mrs Beckles was no servant, but a lady, but we both kept our counsel.
‘From Brighouse’s terror,’ Hellman continued, ‘we know that we are dealing with a heartless and ruthless man. Even when I pressed him while you were seeing to Sanderson, Brighouse still refused to say who had placed the poor old man in his clutches. I pray you, do not stand on ceremony. My house is your house, gentlemen. In such circumstances, were you to leave it this instant, I believe I would urge you on still faster.’
We almost ran back to the Pelican, where we swiftly located Jem and Turner. One look at our faces and they were on their feet.
‘I say we travel at once, Toby,’ Jem declared in the privacy of our parlour. ‘We would never forgive ourselves if anything happened to that good woman. She’s been a real saviour to the villagers.’
Edmund’s heart apparently too full to admit of a reply and further moved, I swear, by Jem’s encomium, I agreed vehemently. ‘And if you believe that an overnight journey is possible, then let us set forth immediately.’
Turner said smoothly, ‘I believe that I might deal with your baggage more swiftly than you, gentlemen.’
‘In that case we will pay our shot, and be ready when you both give the word,’ Edmund said gruffly.
* * *
Whereas we had made a leisurely journey to Bath, our return was much swifter. When he judged a change of horses necessary, Jem hired others, undertaking to return at a later date to collect Hansard’s own.
‘You must take some rest yourself,’ I urged, as he put his head under an inn yard pump to clear his head.
‘Truth to tell, Toby, I’m grateful to be properly on the move at last. It’s as if a fever has been building and building and is at last about to break. If by pressing on we can make it break the quicker, then I’m not about to call craven. Now, ask them to find me some coffee,’ he told me. ‘I want to make sure that they give me some halfway decent cattle, not some old bonesetters fit for nothing but the knacker’s yard.’
I did as I was told.
Without being asked, on our arrival in Moreton St Jude the following night, Jem drove neither to Langley Park nor to the rectory but direct to the tradesman’s entrance at Moreton Priory. He almost fell with fatigue, but, finding his feet, veritably sprinted to the door, where a startled manservant admitted him, a candle wavering in the night air. We followed with less speed, tumbling from the coach with limbs so stiff I was surprised that they moved at all. Somehow we found ourselves in the kitchen corridor, with a covert audience watching, no doubt, through keyholes and round unclosed doors.
It took horrible moments for Mrs Beckles to appear. At least the explanation for her delay was clear. She had been preparing for bed, and wore a fetching nightcap over curl-papers. When she saw who was summoning her, she blushed scarlet and backed away, clutching tighter the shawl she had wrapped herself in.
Hansard seemed unable to speak.
‘Pray, Mrs Beckles, prepare yourself for a short stay at the rectory. Go – now!’ I urged her.
‘Mr Campion, what nonsense is this?’ she demanded, with one glance reducing me to a junior pageboy on his very first day in service. ‘You wake the whole household! What am I to tell Lady Elham in the morning?’
I would not blush and stutter. Instead, casting my eyes in the direction of the unseen but attentive ears, I said calmly, ‘Please do me the honour of permitting me two minutes of your time in private. Absolute private.’
Our eyes met. I hoped that in mine she saw authority and reason, while in hers there was doubt and, at last, acquiescence.
‘One moment, sir,’ she said, with a bob of a curtsy.
Edmund and I waited like guilty schoolboys, shuffling our feet and preferring not to meet each other’s eyes. When her door opened, it was to reveal that she had already slipped on her usual attire and had brushed out the curl papers.
Nonetheless, she had undertaken to admit me alone, and so I left Hansard in the corridor as she shut the door behind us.
‘I think I deserve an explanation,’ she said, folding her arms in an implacable way that boded no good for Dr Hansard’s suit. ‘One that will satisfy her ladyship herself.’
‘I owe you an apology. There should not have been this drama. But, dear Mrs Beckles, pray understand that, had Dr Hansard and I not believed your life to have been at immediate risk, we would simply have paid a polite morning call on our return from Bath, and would have drunk a glass of your elderflower wine and told you all about our adventures. We would even have shown you the gifts we purchased for you.’
There was no answering smile. ‘Why on earth should you think I am in danger?’
‘Because you have found out that secret of Lizzie’s birth.’
‘And you think I have told any apart from you? For shame, Tobias!’
I hung my head. But then I rallied. ‘If Mrs Woodman is capable of revealing it to you, she is capable of revealing that she has betrayed the information to you. And, lacking any other explanation for Lizzie’s death, Edmund and I believe that it may lie in her very birth. If her killer believes anyone else is privy to the secret, that person may be the next victim. We – Edmund and I – would vastly prefer it not to be you.’
‘Thank you kindly,’ she said, with a dry smile. ‘But all this commotion, Tobias – it will be all round the Priory by six tomorrow morning, and thence all over the village.’
‘In that case, we must devise an explanation. Pray, Mrs Beckles, please do as I ask – as I implore. Now, as to a post-haste departure, I am sure the reason for that can lie in Mrs Trent. I am sure she will consent to be bed-bound with the influenza and require skilled nursing that only you could provide.’
‘I do not like to involve Mrs Trent in an untruth. Perhaps I should visit my sick sister? Augusta lives near Worcester and is constantly asking me to visit.’
‘Has Augusta a strong man like Jem constantly at hand? Consider, if this man, whoever it might be, sought you out and attacked you.’
She shot a shrewd glace at me. ‘Would not any evildoer be more likely to find me in the rectory here in the village?’
I considered. ‘That depends on who else knows about your sick sister.’
‘Augusta is hardly a secret! There have been occasions when I have had to ask her ladyship for leave of absence to post down when her end seemed to be approaching. Then many other members of the household have had to undertake extra duties, from the butler to the housemaids.’
I frowned. ‘Is there no one else, unknown to anyone belonging to the Priory or to the village, with whom you could seek refuge? Dear Mrs Beckles, Edmund is still outside, pacing, no doubt, in anxiety. May we not admit him to our discussions?’
She blushed fierily. ‘Circumstanced as we are—’
‘Would you prefer a few moments alone with Edmund?’ I asked gently. ‘There are matters you might wish to discuss.’ Not giving her time to prevaricate, I stepped out and indicated with a movement of my head that Edmund should take my place.
Naturally the person whose company I sought was Jem’s. He had returned to the yard. Turner was curled up fast asleep in a corner of the carriage.
‘She doesn’t want to
leave the house, and certainly not to seek refuge in the rectory,’ I said bluntly.
‘We managed it ill,’ he said. ‘And I am most to blame. Truth to tell, Toby, I got so wound up thinking about how poor Dr Hansard would feel if anything ever happened to Mrs Beckles that he could have prevented that I never thought about the proprieties. Nothing would have happened overnight. All this could have been done so much better by daylight.’
‘By daylight,’ I mused, ‘Mrs Beckles would have been honour bound to apprise her ladyship of her movements. As it is,’ I nodded over his shoulder, ‘I fancy she must have left without notifying anyone.’
Like man and maid in the may-time of their years, our friends were walking towards us, Dr Hansard carrying a valise with his free hand.
‘Mrs Beckles is not the only one to have an ailing relative,’ he said, preventing any comment or congratulation. ‘I have an aunt in Derby. Mrs Beckles will stay with her until all has been resolved here. Now, Jem, will you drive us all to the rectory, where we may make more detailed dispositions?’
Edmund and I rode on in silence to Langley Park, leaving Mrs Beckles to be chaperoned by Mrs Trent, with Jem insisting on sleeping in the corridor outside their bedchambers. Travel-weary though he was, Turner had ridden straight to Langley Park to make preparations and to warn Dr Toone of his host’s return.
‘I ought to be the happiest man on earth, Tobias,’ Edmund confessed at last, as our horses picked their way through the moonlight. ‘But all I know is that I am the most exhausted.’
‘Tomorrow the fatigue will be forgotten,’ I assured him, ‘whereas your happiness will be yours to savour for the rest of your life.’
‘Much as want her by my side, I am glad she is prepared to go away from here. Tobias, do you ever feel there is evil in the world?’
The Keeper of Secrets Page 24