by Dilly Court
She put on her bonnet and shawl and picked up a basket. She could do without food but Kit would be hungry when he returned home. She left the house, heading for the bakery in Artillery Street, but as she neared the funeral parlour she was aware of a small crowd that had gathered around the window. The sound of police whistles and running feet made her turn in time to see two police constables racing towards her. She flattened herself against the wall as they dashed past and the onlookers made way for them as they headed for the shop door. People were pointing at something in the window and talking in hushed tones. Stella hurried across the road, coming to a sudden halt and covering her mouth with her hand to stifle a cry of horror at the sight of Ronald Clifford spreadeagled over a coffin. His shirtfront was stained crimson with blood and the handle of a knife protruded from his ribs. His glassy-eyed stare bore witness to the fact that he was dead.
She backed away, too stunned to think about shopping for food or anything but the need to get home. She ran blindly and arrived at the house breathless and desperate to discover more of what had happened the previous evening. She did not believe that Kit was capable of murder, but if anyone had seen Ronald enter the house last evening or had witnessed the scene when Kit ejected him forcibly into the street they might inform the police. Almost inevitably there would be questions raised.
She found Spike standing by the fire, warming his hands while he waited for a pot of tea to brew. She grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a shake. ‘Tell me exactly what went on here last night. You know something, don’t you?’
His mouth fell open and he gawped at her, shaking his head. ‘No, miss.’
She shook him again. ‘Yes, you do. You said there was a fight between Mr Ronald and Mr Kit. What happened then?’
His eyes widened with fear. ‘I don’t know nothing.’
‘Mr Ronald is dead, Spike. Murdered and left for all to see in the funeral parlour window. Are you still saying you know nothing?’
Spike began to snivel, covering his face with his hands. ‘Mr Ronald come here shouting and bawling and saying he was going to strangle the old lady with his bare hands. It was just a bit of a set-to, like I told you last night.’
Stella eyed him warily. ‘I think there’s more.’ She grabbed his hand as he went to pick up the teapot. ‘No, you don’t. You aren’t getting anything to eat or drink until you tell me the full story.’
‘What on earth is going on?’ Rosa entered the kitchen, brushing her golden curls back from her forehead and yawning. ‘I heard you shouting from my room. What has he done now?’
‘I ain’t done nothing, miss.’ Spike’s voice broke on a sob. ‘I don’t know nothing.’
Stella tightened her grip on his wrist. ‘Yes, I think you do. Where did Mr Kit go?’
‘I told you last night. Mr Kit knocked Mr Ronald down, and then they went their separate ways. That’s the last I saw of either of them.’
Rosa laid her hand on Stella’s shoulder. ‘I think he’s telling the truth. Why does it matter so much?’
‘Because someone has stuck a knife into Ronald Clifford’s heart and he’s dead.’
Spike recoiled as if she had slapped his face. ‘It weren’t Mr Kit. He didn’t have a chiv. I’d swear to that.’
‘Of course he didn’t, you silly boy.’ Rosa stared at him in horror. ‘My brother might use fisticuffs but he wouldn’t kill. Go upstairs, Spike, and check to make sure that Mr Kit hasn’t come home and gone to bed. For all we know he could be sound asleep.’
Spike raced from the kitchen and his booted feet echoed on the bare boards as he headed for the staircase.
‘I knocked on his door first thing, Rosa. He wasn’t in his bed then.’ Stella picked up the teapot and filled their cups. Her heart was pounding inside her chest and her hand shook as she reached for the milk jug. ‘I was on my way to the dairy when I saw the crowd outside the funeral parlour. Ronald was stone dead.’ She stared into the empty jug. ‘And we haven’t any milk.’
‘I don’t care about the milk.’ Rosa took a cup and sipped the dark brew. ‘Kit couldn’t have anything to do with Ronald’s death. The man must have had plenty of enemies.’
Stella thought for a moment. ‘Last night Spike said they’d been arguing about caves and tunnels. Do you think they were talking about Heron Park?’
‘It certainly sounds like it. Ronald was well in with Uncle Silas, although I don’t think Uncle Gervase would stoop to befriend someone as lowly as an undertaker.’ Rosa faltered and her cheeks flushed pink. ‘I’m sorry. That sounds awfully patronising, but my uncle is a terrible snob.’
‘He took my mother into his house to act as hostess for his parties. Why would he do that if he thought she was beneath him?’
Rosa reached out to clutch Stella’s hand. ‘He wouldn’t have done so out of the kindness of his heart. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth and it’s no good pretending otherwise. It looks as though Ronald might have been procuring vulnerable women for my uncle’s pleasure. After all, an undertaker would see many women left destitute by the death of their husband or father. He would have been in an excellent position to offer them a way out of poverty, and by the time they realised what was happening to them it would be too late. Your poor mother seems to have fallen into their trap.’
‘That’s so dreadful. It doesn’t bear thinking about,’ Stella murmured, shaking her head. ‘But the same thoughts had occurred to me. It’s even more shocking to hear it from your lips, Rosa.’
‘I’m well aware of what goes on in the world, even though Kit likes to think he protects me from the harsh facts of life.’
Spike chose that moment to burst into the kitchen. ‘He ain’t there, miss. His bed hasn’t been slept in neither.’
‘That settles it,’ Rosa said firmly. ‘I’m going to Heron Park. I’ve a feeling that Kit might be there. Don’t ask me why, but I think he went to have it out with Uncle Gervase. Whatever Ronald Clifford said to him last night must have made him even more determined to bring matters to a head.’
‘In that case it should be me who goes there to face your uncle. I have Belinda to consider now,’ Stella said with a break in her voice. ‘I can’t leave her with the Hendys forever. I intend to find our mother if it’s the last thing I do. Now we know what might have happened to her I have a feeling that I’m getting so close that I could almost reach out and touch her.’
‘We’ll go together.’
‘No.’ Stella shook her head. ‘I think you ought to remain here. If Kit didn’t go to Heron Park he might return home not knowing what happened to Ronald. Someone needs to be here to warn him that the police might consider him to be a suspect.’
Rosa looked for a moment as though she was going to argue but then she nodded. ‘You’re right, of course. But I insist that you take Spike with you.’ She turned to him with a persuasive smile. ‘You’ll look after Stella, won’t you?’
He puffed out his chest. ‘You can count on me, miss.’
It was mid-afternoon by the time Stella and Spike arrived at the gates of Heron Park. They had travelled on a succession of horse-drawn omnibuses and walked the final mile from the village in a heavy rain shower. Drenched to the skin with the feather in her bonnet hanging limply over her eyes, Stella rang the bell, but when Masters appeared he was less than friendly. ‘Go away,’ he said gruffly. ‘We don’t want your sort round here.’
‘But I was here a couple of days ago,’ Stella protested. ‘I came with Miss Rivenhall and her brother.’
‘Clear off. I never seen you before.’ The gatekeeper turned his back on them and walked into his house, slamming the door behind him.
Stella was wet and cold and she wrapped her arms around her body, shivering. ‘What will we do now, Spike? We can’t just give up and go back to London.’
He grinned and tapped the side of his nose. ‘You’re asking the right man, miss. Follow me. I could get into the Tower of London if I was so inclined.’ He scuttled off, leaving her little alternative oth
er than to follow him. He skirted the high brick wall that surrounded the grounds, clambering up it monkey-fashion to peer over the top. ‘It’s well guarded,’ he said, dropping to the ground for the fifth time. ‘But there’ll be a way in: we’ve just got to find it.’
Stella was tired, cold and hungry and growing increasingly dispirited but she followed on, uncomplaining. She could feel her mother’s presence as if she were a small child and Ma had her by the hand and was leading her to somewhere secret. She trudged onward, snagging her skirts on the thorny shoots of brambles and narrowly avoiding turning her ankle in the odd rabbit hole half hidden by tussocks of couch grass. ‘Is there any point going on with this?’ she demanded after they had almost completed a round of the perimeter. ‘We’ll never get back to London tonight if we stay here much longer.’
Spike emerged from a dense thicket, his face split into a wide grin. ‘I’ve found it, miss. I knew there’d be a weakness somewhere and it’s here.’ He broke a branch off a stunted tree and dragged back the undergrowth to reveal part of the mossy brickwork that had crumbled away. ‘It’s not too high,’ he said proudly. ‘It comes out amongst bushes what’ll give us good cover.’ He bowed from the waist, ushering her in as if she were attending a grand ball. ‘After you, miss.’
Stella hitched up her skirts and climbed the wall, dropping down onto a bed of dried leaves and pine needles. Spike had been correct in saying that they would be well hidden as she found herself in the middle of the dense shrubbery. She waited for him to join her. ‘Stay here,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ll see if I can learn anything from the servants. If Mr Kit is in the house he’ll vouch for us. If not, we might have to leave rather quickly.’
Spike’s bottom lip stuck out ominously. ‘I should come with you and stand guard.’
‘I don’t think I’m in any danger, but I need you to keep a lookout. You’re good at that.’ She left before he had a chance to argue and she made her way through the tangle of branches, emerging on a gravel path, pockmarked with weeds, at the back of the building. A sudden sharp shower soaked her clothes as she waited, watching and listening, but the only person she saw was a gardener pushing a wooden wheelbarrow filled with clay flowerpots. He shambled past her, head down and oblivious to anything other than his set purpose. She wiped a trickle of rainwater from her cheek and went in search of the servants’ entrance. Despite the discomfort of wet clothing and a ruined bonnet, she walked with her head held high and a swing to her hips. If anyone saw her she wanted them to think that she had every right to be on the premises. They might assume that she was a recently acquired addition to the staff, but whatever happened she must present a calm exterior.
She let herself into the scullery, following a pleasant aroma of roasting meat that made her stomach growl with hunger. She took cover in what turned out to be the flower room to avoid a young slavey who dashed outside with a bucket overflowing with filthy water. She waited for a few moments and then set off again, trying to remember where the housekeeper had her office. She had sensed that Mrs Kendall did not approve of her new employer and she suspected that her loyalties might lie with Kit and Rosa, or she hoped that was the case.
She crept past the kitchen door and almost bumped into a footman who was carrying a crate of wine. ‘Good afternoon,’ she said boldly.
He eyed her curiously. ‘I don’t know you, do I?’
‘I’m new here. I’ve got to report to Mrs Kendall. Can you direct me to her office?’
He pointed to the end of the corridor. ‘You look like a drowned rat, miss. I should get out of them damp clothes quick or you’ll catch your death.’ He grinned and winked. ‘I’ll be pleased to give you a hand.’
She resisted the temptation to give him a sharp set-down. ‘I’ll bear that in mind, ta.’ She marched off towards the housekeeper’s office, pausing outside the door to shake some wet leaves from the hem of her skirt. She was scrubbing at a splash of mud when she felt a hand clamp on her shoulder.
‘We haven’t taken on any staff since the old master died, so who are you and what are you doing here?’
Chapter Fourteen
GERVASE RIVENHALL LEANED his shoulders against the mantelshelf as he glared from Stella to Spike, who had been found wandering in the grounds by a gamekeeper and brought to the master’s study. ‘Who sent you to spy on me?’
‘We’re not spies,’ Stella said hotly. ‘We came looking for Mr Christopher Rivenhall.’
‘And what makes you think you’ll find him here?’ Gervase narrowed his bloodshot eyes, peering at her intently. ‘If you’ve come to importune me for money you’re going to be unlucky.’
‘We don’t want your dibs,’ Spike said sulkily. ‘We want to know what you done with Mr Kit.’
Stella nudged him in the ribs. ‘Shh.’
‘So that’s it, is it? You’re my nephew’s creatures.’ Gervase straightened up, taking a step towards them, his brow darkening. ‘I know his game. He’s trying to get the better of me, but he won’t succeed.’
‘We made a mistake coming here, sir.’ Stella backed towards the doorway. ‘We’ll go now and leave you in peace.’
‘Will you? I don’t think so.’ Gervase signalled to the servant who had caught Stella. ‘Take them to the caves, Hinckley. Let them cool their heels there for the night and I’ll decide what to do with them in the morning.’
Despite their protests, Stella and Spike had their hands tied behind their backs. There was nothing that Stella could do other than to follow Hinckley’s curt directions as they left the house and progressed through the stable yard, emerging into open parkland where deer grazed placidly beneath the trees. Clumps of daffodils nodded their golden heads in a gentle breeze, but once again the rain clouds were gathering, promising another heavy shower. As they approached a wooded area Stella inhaled the scent of damp earth, but as they walked through the trees she was aware of a different smell. The odour of charred wood and paraffin emanated from cressets mounted on poles which lined a pathway leading deeper into the ancient woodland. She glanced at Spike but he had his head bent and was openly sobbing. She wanted to reach out and comfort him, but the ropes that bound her wrists cut into her flesh and she could only make soothing sounds.
‘Shut up.’ Hinckley gave her a shove that sent her stumbling on ahead. He strode after her and caught her by the shoulders, dragging her to a halt outside a heavy oak door set into the near vertical cliff face. ‘Open it, Jed,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘This ’un is slippery as an elver. She’ll make a bolt for it if I let her go for a second.’
The gamekeeper lunged forward, taking a large metal key from his belt and unlocking the door. It opened with a groan, as if awakened from a deep sleep, and he entered, dragging Spike in his wake. Stella could do nothing but follow on, with Hinckley bringing up the rear. Jed lit a lantern and held it high above his head as he led the way down a narrow passage carved out of the flint: gashes left by medieval workmen were still clearly visible after the passage of several hundred years. The air was dank and very cold, and Stella’s teeth began to chatter uncontrollably. ‘Wh-where are you t-taking us?’ she demanded angrily. ‘Y-you can’t k-keep us prisoner. We’ll b-be missed.’
‘Shut your face.’ Hinckley drew her to a halt. ‘This one will do, Jed. Let them spend a night here and we’ll see how cocky they are in the morning.’
Jed uttered a mirthless laugh and used his keys to unlock the door. Hinckley pulled a knife from his belt and for a terrifying moment Stella thought he was going to slit their throats, but with a deft flick he severed their bonds. ‘You can’t escape so there’s no point in leaving you trussed up. I ain’t a monster, girlie.’
‘Don’t leave us in the dark,’ Spike sobbed as Jed moved to close the door. ‘Please, mister.’
Jed put his hand in his pocket and produced a couple of matches. ‘There’s a few candle stubs in there somewhere. You just got to find one afore it goes dark, which it will when I shut the door. Sleep well.’
The th
ud of the wooden door crashing against the rock echoed round the cavern, causing Stella to clamp her hands over her ears. Spike whimpered with fear as the inky blackness enveloped them in a thick, airless cloak. ‘I’m afraid of the dark.’
Stella reached for his hand. ‘Hold on to me, Spike. I can’t see a thing, but let’s work our way round the walls together. We can feel for things and we might find a candle.’
He was trembling violently and his breathing was erratic. ‘Let me strike a match. We can see then.’
‘No. You’ve only got two. A candle won’t be any good if we can’t light it. We’ll try my way first.’ She held on to him, squeezing his fingers gently in an attempt to give him some comfort, but she had seen very little of the chamber in the feeble glow of Jed’s lantern. Slowly and methodically she guided Spike round the walls, feeling for niches and using her feet to test the ground for objects in their path. Eventually and with a cry of triumph, she found the stub of a candle. She took a match from Spike and struck it on the flint wall. It fizzed, and with a strong smell of sulphur it burst into flame, illuminating the small cavern for just long enough to enable Stella to light the candle. ‘Keep the last match safe,’ she whispered, hardly daring to breathe in case she blew out the flickering flame. ‘Let’s look round and see if we can find some more candles. This one won’t last the night and I’m afraid they intend to leave us here for a long time.’
‘Perhaps they’ll leave us here till us dies of hunger and thirst,’ Spike said with a whimper. ‘No one knows where we are.’
‘Rosa does, and if Mr Kit has returned home she’ll have told him where we went. They’ll come looking for us.’
Spike brightened visibly. ‘If Mr Kit comes here he won’t rest until we’re released. I trust him with me life, miss.’
‘Yes, you do, don’t you?’ She stared at him in surprise. ‘Why is that, Spike? What makes you so sure that Mr Kit is the man you obviously think he is?’