by R J Lynch
‘Show me where you found your mistress,’ he said to Susannah.
The girl pointed at the floor some distance away. ‘She was there.’ After the slightest pause, she added, ‘Sir.’
‘Come, Miss. Am I to be pouted at by a maid? Move to the place and show me.’
The slowness with which she slouched across the floor was a calculated insult, and Blakiston knew it. ‘She was here. Sir.’
‘You try my patience. Shall I have Rayne thrown off his farm? Would he thank you for making me angry?’
‘Sir...you would not...you must not...’
‘That is twice today someone has told me what I must and must not do, and dinner time not yet here. Let me tell you what you must do; you must answer my questions with haste, with politeness and with truth. Otherwise it shall go badly with you and those close to you. Am I understood?’
‘Yes, sir. I am sorry, sir.’
‘Then let us make a fresh start. Where did you find the body?’
‘Here, sir.’
‘And how was it arranged?’
‘Well, sir...it was...I know not how to tell you, sir.’
‘Ned. Go to the place. Now put yourself on the floor. Get on with it, man. Thank you. Now, Susannah Ward, arrange Ned so that he is as you found the dead woman. Ah, Kate. You have finished laying out the body already? That did not take long.’
‘No, I have not finished, but I have found something I believe you should see. But what on earth are you doing with Ned?’
‘He is representing the dead woman so that I can see where she was before you moved her.’
‘Would you like me to do so in his stead? For I am a woman, as poor Margaret was, and I saw how she lay.’
‘Of course. Ned, get to your feet and allow Kate to take your place.’
Ned’s relief was clear, but Blakiston was soon to regret agreeing to the substitution, for between them the two young women arranged Kate in a way that draped her petticoat high above her knees and gave him his first sight of a thigh as perfect as his besotted mind might have expected. ‘Yes, yes,’ he blurted. ‘You may stand up now, Kate. You said you had something to show me? It is in the dairy?’
‘Did you see how Susannah Ward glared at me?’ said Kate when they were again alone with the dead woman.
‘Pah! She is of no consequence to me.’
‘But she must be to me.’
‘Then tell her we are to be married.’
‘Not until we have fixed a date, please. I shall be the talk of the parish.’
‘Kate, you are worth ten Susannah Wards. One hundred. More. Put her out of your mind.’
Kate hung her head and clenched her fists by her side. Blakiston was beginning to recognise these signs of rebellion. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘What was it you wished to show me?’
The girl sighed. When she moved to the bench on which Margaret Laws lay, Blakiston was unwilling to follow her. ‘Please do not be concerned for your modesty,’ she said. ‘I have made sure the poor woman is decently covered. But look here.’
She had removed Margaret’s bedgown and the petticoat it covered and taken off the large neckcloth the woman had worn like a shawl. Apart from the cap on her head, that left only the shift and Kate had torn that downwards from the arm hole just enough for Blakiston to be able to see the dead woman’s side. He said, ‘She has been beaten as well as strangled!’
‘So it would seem. What I asked myself was, where was she when this happened?’
‘But my dear Kate, how can we know?’
‘I will show you. Suppose you wished for some reason to beat me.’
‘But, Kate, I would never...I could never...’
‘We are merely supposing. Let us suppose a little further. Suppose you were a complete stranger. A burglar, let us say, who thought there was no-one here. What do you suppose I would do, a weak and defenceless woman, faced with this desperate ruffian? A ruffian who knows if he is caught he will hang, or at the very least be transported to Virginia?’
‘Why, Kate, I suppose you would run.’
‘I suppose so, too. And what would you do when you saw me try to escape?’
‘I should come after you.’
‘And then?’
‘I should catch hold of you.’
‘Then let us see.’ She turned her back on Blakiston. ‘I shall pretend to run away from you, and do you run after me and catch me. And then pretend to strike me, as the supposed burglar struck Margaret.’
‘But Kate, I could not...’
‘We are merely pretending, James. But what is needed is for you to try to strike me in the very place that her bruises show Margaret was struck.’
‘Ah. Yes. I see. Very well, Kate; you may consider me a desperate ruffian indeed. Attempt your escape.’
Kate lifted her petticoats from the ground, giving Blakiston a thrilling glimpse of slim ankles, and began to run across the dairy floor. He caught her with ease, his left arm going around her throat to pull her firmly against him. For a moment he breathed in deeply, allowing her scent to fill his nostrils and revelling in the sensation of her firm young body pressed against his. Then he raised his right hand in a fist and prepared to swing it into her ribs. He paused.
‘Kate. I cannot.’
‘But we are only pretending. I am not asking you to hurt me.’
‘What I mean is that while I am in this position I cannot strike you in the place where Margaret was struck.’
‘Aha. You see? This is what I supposed. But change hands, and let us see what difference that makes.’
‘Change hands?’
‘You are right handed. Perhaps the man who killed Margaret is left handed.’
‘Of course.’ As Blakiston moved Kate’s throat from his left arm to his right, he was acutely aware of what she must feel pressing against her. ‘You have never wished for hooped skirts, Kate?’
‘That is a foolish fashion, and not for the likes of me. Though I can see how they might spare a gentleman’s blushes at a time like this.’
‘Kate!’
‘Am I to curtsey again? Or shall we forget for the moment that we are a man and a woman who love each other and get on with what we are about?’
Blakiston swung his fist, holding it back before it could make contact. ‘No. With this hand it is even less possible.’
‘So Margaret was not hit from behind. Let go of me and we will see how it may appear from the front. Now. Place this hand on my shoulder...yes, like that...and bring the other fist up to hit me here. Yes! You see?’
‘She was hit from before.’
‘So she was looking at her attacker, and not trying to flee from him.’
‘She knew her assailant!’
‘It seems possible, does it not? And now let us look at the marks on her throat.’
Blakiston turned to the body. ‘What do they tell us?’
‘You see they are at the front. There is nothing behind.’
‘So she was still facing her murderer when she was killed. But how can we know she was beaten before she was strangled?’
‘And not strangled before she was beaten? Is that what you mean?’
‘Yes. How can you be so sure?’
‘I cannot. But I am picturing the scene in my mind. After she was strangled, she was dead. She would have been lying on the floor. He might have kicked her, the rotten bully...’
‘But not punched her. Yes, I see. You are right, Kate.’
‘And, see. The marks are high on the throat. She was looking up at him.’
‘He was taller than her!’
‘Or he had thrust her to the floor. Or he was taller than her and he had thrust her to the floor. For, see, if you will look at her poor knees you will see that they are scraped and there is blood on the surface. And that is all I believe the body has to tell us. I shall finish laying her out, and if I see anything else that may interest you I shall say so.’
‘Thank you, Kate. You have been a most instructive assistant.’ He turned to
wards the door but Kate called him back. ‘There is one other thing...’
‘Yes?’
‘Before I closed her eyes, I examined them closely. There is no image to be seen.’
‘What?’
‘You know they say that a murdered person keeps the image of the murderer in her eyes, where anyone who looks may see it.’
‘Where do you hear such tales, Kate? That is arrant nonsense.’
‘Well, you may be right. For I have looked and there is nothing there.’
Chapter 3
Watching Blakiston ride off, Kate felt that she was being left to face the music alone. It started as soon as she came back into the kitchen from the dairy.
Susannah Ward said, ‘I am the maid here. You came, you said, to mind the bairn. Though I was here and could look after him as well as you. Better, for he knows me and he scarce knows you. But here you are, and then yon overseer comes and you leave the boy in my care and gan off to the dairy with this man who I must call sir, or Master, but you it seems need not.’
‘Be quiet,’ said Ned. ‘What there may be between Kate and Mister Blakiston is no business of yours.’
‘Oh, you admit it then?’ said Susannah. ‘There is something between them, this man and your harlot of a sister?’
The speed of Ned’s hand in striking Susannah astonished Kate. The maid was taken completely by surprise and she fell to her knees. With a coolness she did not feel, Kate crossed the floor and took the screaming Samuel from the maid’s arms. Susannah stared at Ned. ‘By God,’ she whispered, ‘but you will pay for that.’ And, at that very moment, the kitchen door opened and a plump man in clerical attire walked in.
‘What is happening here?’ asked the new curate.
Susannah was on her feet in an instant, a hand rising to stem the flow of blood from her mouth where Ned had slapped her. ‘Oh, Mister Fawcett, it is God’s providence that you are here. There has been one murder already in this house, and you arrived just in time to prevent another.’
‘You stupid woman,’ said Kate. ‘The only danger you were in was provoked by your own mouth. Did you think you could slight me in front of my brother?’
‘Come now,’ said Fawcett. ‘Am I to stand here and listen to two fishwives trade insults? I have the Rector’s calash outside. Kate Greener, you are to bring the babe and come with me to Chopwell Garth, where I shall leave you. Susannah Ward, the constable will be here directly to question you about your part in last night’s doings.’
‘I had no part in...’
‘Do not raise your voice to me, Miss. You, Ned Greener, will wait here. When I have reunited Kate and Samuel with their family, I shall return with the carter and you will help him put the body of Margaret Laws onto his dray so that he can take her to the church, where she shall be prepared for a decent Christian burial. Is all clear?’
All three nodded. ‘Who gives these instructions, Mister Fawcett?’ asked Susannah.
‘I do. Did you not hear me?’
‘I meant, who gave them to you?’
‘The constable, of course.’
‘The constable! The constable is Jeffrey Drabble. He was elected because he is a labourer who knows his place. And now he gives us orders.’
‘They were not his orders. He spoke to Rector Claverley for guidance. But Jeffrey Drabble will be in charge until we know how Margaret Laws died, and by whose hand. You would be wise to treat him with the respect due his office, if not his person. Come. Let us begin. Kate Greener, get to the calash with the bairn. And by all that’s holy, try to shut up that infernal noise. I cannot bear the sound of a baby crying.’
When they were in their seats and heading for Chopwell Garth, Kate asked, ‘If Jeffrey Drabble is in charge, what is to be Mister Blakiston’s part?’
‘I have been here a short time only, and there are many things I do not yet know, but I think our constable is not a fool. And, you know, he is merely a constable.’ Having said this, Fawcett fell silent, as though he had answered Kate’s question.
‘But what is to be Mister Blakiston’s part?’ Kate repeated
‘Whatever he wishes it to be, I should say, subject to Lord Ravenshead’s wishes. It was Mister Blakiston, I understand, who had my predecessor taken to Durham Gaol?’
‘It was. But George Bright was the constable then.’
‘A dissenter. That was very irregular. When he was chosen, he should have appointed a deputy.’
‘Everyone liked George Bright. After him we had William Stevenson, who was not liked and I cannot say why he was elected. And now we have Jeffrey Drabble, and people are happy once more.’
‘Well, Jeffrey Drabble should not have been elected, and once elected he should not have been sworn, any more than George Bright should have been. Constables must be honest, understanding and able men, which from what I have seen of him Drabble may be, though he is passing old for the duties of a constable, but they should also be men of substance, which Drabble is not, and not of the meaner sort, which he undoubtedly is. By God’s good grace, a petty constable has very little power. He has only to preserve the peace, search for common nuisances and execute warrants. So the answer to your question is that Mister Blakiston is Lord Ravenshead’s farm overseer and if his lordship does not object then of course Mister Blakiston may pursue the killer of Margaret Laws as he did Martin Wale. A constable is only a constable. The gentry are the gentry.’
‘What is a common nuisance, Mister Fawcett?’
‘A common nuisance may take many forms. Some may say that a pretty girl may never be a common nuisance, but I would say that a pretty girl who will not stop asking questions can be exactly that.’
To take the sting out of his words, the curate turned to look at Kate and smiled. Then he laid his hand on her petticoat, quite high up on the thigh. One look at the expression that appeared on her face and he instantly removed it.
Chapter 4
When Jeffrey Drabble had finished his interrogation of Susannah Ward, he came to tell the Rector what the maid had said. Why he did this he did not know, except that the Rector had suggested he should and he knew that independent thought was not prized in a petty constable.
Drabble was both relieved and made anxious at finding Blakiston with the Rector. He had not forgotten the concern of Dick Jackson that Blakiston might somehow uncover the long-forgotten matter of the Dobson boy and, as Jackson’s cousin and oldest friend, he did not want to be interrogated on that question.
The two men were neither speaking to nor looking at each other. Each held a glass of port. Claverley was smoking a clay pipe. No refreshment was offered to the constable, and nor was he invited to sit down.
The Rector’s welcome, though, was cordial enough. ‘Mister Blakiston is about to tell me what he has learned from his examination of the body, Drabble. He does so because I am a Justice of the Peace. But you are Constable, and had better hear what he has to say, before you give your report.’
‘Our most interesting discovery,’ said Blakiston, ‘was that whoever killed Margaret Laws was in all likelihood known to her.’
‘Our?’ said Claverley. ‘You were not alone?’
‘I had most estimable help from Kate Greener,’ said Blakiston. ‘Indeed, I think I should not have learned what I did without that young woman’s aid.’
Claverley’s eyes flickered at the mention of Kate, but he said nothing.
‘Sir, how could you tell that Maggie Laws knew her killer?’ asked Drabble.
Blakiston was about to reply when the Rector interrupted him. ‘I do not think you should refer to the dead woman as Maggie. She was a farmer’s wife, and you are a labourer who might from time to time be employed by her husband.’
Drabble had turned bright crimson. ‘Beg pardon, sir.’
‘There is more than one Mistress Laws, so for convenience you may refer to her as Mistress Margaret. But the question is good. What told you this, Mister Blakiston?’
‘It is not something we can be certain of. But th
e position of the blows to her body, and the marks on her throat, tell us she was looking at her assailant, and indeed looking up, when they were inflicted. Had a stranger been involved, she would surely have been running away.’
‘You did well to notice those things.’
‘I can claim no credit. Kate Greener drew them to my attention.’
Once again, the flicker in the Rector’s eyes said that he might have pursued this question of Kate Greener, but he did not. Instead, he turned to Jeffrey Drabble. ‘And your interview with the maid, Susannah Ward. What had she to tell you?’
‘Nothing of use, your reverence. Only that she arrived home on the stroke of six this morning and found the door standing wide open, her mistress dead on the floor and the bairn still asleep in his bed. There was no-one else in the house. I asked how she could be sure of the time, for she has no watch, and she said she had heard the church clock as she walked up the lane.’
‘I see you have a watch yourself, Drabble.’
‘Yes, sir. You see it has three seals.’ He held it out proudly towards the two men for a moment before he noticed the Rector’s disdainful look and hastily pushed it back into his jacket pocket.
‘What did she do when she found such carnage?’
‘Well, sir, I imagine she screamed. Her being a young woman, and a show-off.’
The Rector stared at Drabble in silence for so long that Blakiston fidgeted in embarrassment. Drabble reddened again. ‘Sir, she ran out into the fields to look for help.’
‘Why the fields? Why not into the village?’
‘That would be some distance by the road, your reverence. It was already light. She knew there would be men working. She found William Snowball not half a mile from the house.’
‘Snowball?’ said Blakiston. ‘The Snowballs are squatters, are they not?’
‘Squatters may be respectable people,’ said Claverley.
‘I think I must question him, nevertheless. He was close by the place where a woman was murdered. But go on, Drabble. What did Snowball do?’
‘Why, sir, he ran to Ryton to tell me. He is not recovered yet. All the Snowballs run to fat, sir.’
‘And Susannah Ward?’