Garvey and Lord Oldfield sat down, and His Lordship waved Dan to a chair. He told them the outcome of the prison interviews. When he had finished, Lord Oldfield gave a satisfied sigh.
“You’ve done marvellous work, Foster. You will have no need to doubt my gratitude, I promise you.”
“Thank you, My Lord, but I do not feel I have yet earned your thanks. I told you before I arrested the poachers I did not think they killed Castle. Now I’ve questioned them I’m convinced of it.”
“Because no one confessed? I know these men, Foster. They’re defiant and unmanageable, and their silence proves nothing.”
“Then you know that if any of them would have spoken, it was Travell. But even he couldn’t name the murderer to save his skin.”
“What they will or won’t say doesn’t alter the fact,” Lord Oldfield said. “They murdered Josh.”
“I admit appearances are against them, but without a confession or other conclusive evidence, there is good cause to doubt that they killed Castle.”
“You are the only one who doubts it,” Garvey said, “which is neither here nor there.”
“It might be if I put my doubts to the jury.”
The lawyer smiled. “A jury can easily be persuaded that not all testimonies need to be given equal weight.”
“Discredit your witness, you mean? I’d like to see you try.”
This was mere bravado. There were plenty of people willing to believe that Bow Street officers were incompetent and corrupt. There was the money he had taken off Warneford for one thing. It was all above board as far as the office was concerned. Any profits the officers made were considered fair recompense for the discomforts and dangers of their work, which no man would undertake solely for his salary of a guinea a week. But it would not be hard to hiss “Bribery” in a jury’s ears.
“No one is going to be discredited,” Lord Oldfield said. “Come, Foster, you have already told me there is no case against anyone else. This is the right result.”
“As we told you it would be,” Garvey said.
Dan had to acknowledge the truth of Lord Oldfield’s words. He had a result, he had a generous reward coming, His Lordship was happy. What else did he want? Maybe the problem was simply that he could not bear to have Garvey proved right.
Ackland announced dinner and the gentlemen joined the ladies in the dining room. Dan went down to the kitchen and asked one of the maids to bring him something on a tray and some writing materials. He went to his room and settled down to write his report. After half an hour staring out of the window, he gave up and decided to go into the village, partly to see how Mrs Singleton was bearing up, but also to gauge the mood in Barcombe.
The long shadows of late afternoon lay across the fields, but it was still light when he walked past the Fox and Badger. No smoke curled from the chimney and all the windows were dark. He walked on, jumped over the locked gate into the forge yard. The furnace was cold, the house silent, and no one answered his knocks. As he climbed back into the road he saw Louisa Ruscombe standing in the graveyard holding a cluster of bright yellow chrysanthemums.
The door from the rectory garden opened and Mrs Poole hurried out, drawing a shawl about her. She had seen Louisa from an upstairs window. Louisa had not seen her, nor did she hear the lychgate open and her friend’s rapid steps on the path, so was startled when Mrs Poole slipped her arm through hers. She let her head droop on the older woman’s shoulder. They stood silently looking down at the grave, then Louisa wiped her eyes, stooped and placed her flowers on the mound. The women exchanged a few more words before Louisa started slowly down the path. She was weeping, and did not see Dan by the forge gate.
Mrs Poole lingered in the graveyard. Dan thought she might know where Mrs Singleton had gone, and crossed the road.
She turned at the sound of his footsteps. “Can I help you?”
He took off his hat. “It’s Foster, ma’am. Dan Foster, Principal Officer of Bow Street.”
“Of course. You called yourself Fielding, didn’t you? And you’ve just arrested the poachers.”
“An unpleasant business, like all these operations, but it has to be done.”
“The law must be upheld.”
She smiled as she uttered these pontifical words. Dan suspected they were not her own.
“I came to let Mrs Singleton know her husband is safe and well, but she’s not there. Do you know where she’s gone?”
“That was kind of you. She’s with her family in Mells.”
“I thought as much. Well, I’ll get a message to her.”
He turned to leave. The bright flowers on the grave caught his eye and he glanced at the headstone. The name engraved on it was not Frederick Ruscombe. It was Josh Castle.
“I put them there,” Mrs Poole said quickly. “I do from time to time. There aren’t many to leave flowers for him, poor man.”
He let her think he believed her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you and Mr Castle were close.”
“I would not say we were close. He was a decent man, though.”
“You call him a decent man, but many in the village accuse him of fathering – and perhaps worse – the babe that’s buried on the other side of the wall.”
“No. The poor thing wasn’t his.”
“But it was he who asked Mr Poole to bury it.”
“It was. When Mr Castle brought that wretched bundle of bones to us, my husband very rightly…” she stressed very “…pointed out that the Office for the Dead cannot be used for any that die unbaptised. Castle said it was not seemly to bury the child in a common hole, and I think he was right. It was a living infant once and ought to be put to rest near its own kind, not left alone in the dark. In the end Mr Poole agreed to let it lie by the wall. Mr Castle dug the grave himself.”
“He must have been very persuasive.”
“He was Lord Oldfield’s gamekeeper and friend,” she said drily.
“Does the Reverend Poole hunt?”
“No. He doesn’t approve of parsons who shoot, particularly those who side with their parishioners on the question of the unfairness of the gaming laws.”
“Why do you think Castle went to so much trouble if the child wasn’t his?”
She hesitated. “I believe he had a special sympathy for the child.”
“Because his own father was illegitimate?”
“Yes. Here is Mr Poole.”
“There you are, Laura,” Poole said, flapping towards them in his robes. “It’s nearly time for evening prayers and the ringers have not turned up yet. I suppose I will have to do it myself again…I don’t believe I know you, Mr…”
“This is Mr Foster, the Bow Street officer,” she said.
Poole held out the hand he would never have offered to Dan Fielding. “I have heard of you from Lord Oldfield. Well done, sir, well done! You’ve done this village a good turn, ridding it of murderers and thieves. Let us hope their fate will be a warning to the rest of them.”
“They haven’t met their fate yet,” Dan said.
“No, no, of course not. We must pray for their judges, who have a difficult and painful task ahead of them.”
Dan thought Singleton and the rest were more in need of prayers, but kept it to himself and said, “It would be useful if you could let me have the Bloodie Bones note that was thrown through your window.”
“Of course; it is important evidence. And if I am called upon to testify – ”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Dan said, and wished them a hasty good day.
A few minutes after he left the churchyard the bell began to ring.
He could think of only one reason for Mrs Poole to lie: she was protecting her friend’s reputation. A single woman leaving flowers on a man’s grave was bound to cause speculation, and speculate he did. Why should Miss Louisa Ruscombe mourn the death of the gameke
eper? There was an obvious answer and it explained much that had puzzled him about Josh Castle. The self-improving books and fancy clothes, the scented soap and silver hairbrush, the faded posy in the bedroom. Josh was no ordinary gamekeeper. He had noble blood in him. But if Louisa and Josh had been lovers, did it have any connection with the murder?
Darkness already filled the space between the tall hedges along the lane to Oldfield Hall. He heard something rustling in the shadowy foliage on his right and turned towards the sound. A stone arced towards him and hit him full in the chest.
Chapter Twenty
The next stone knocked off Dan’s hat and skimmed a trickle of blood from his scalp. Three men brandishing cudgels burst through a gap in the hedge, their faces covered with scarves.
Dan had his flintlock raised and cocked. “Who wants to die?”
They faltered to a halt but did not retreat. Too late he realised there was someone behind him. There was a loud crack, pain shot up his arm, and he let go of the gun. Another blow across his hamstrings sent him to his knees. He reached for the pistol, but it was kicked away from his scrabbling fingers. A boot in his ribs shoved him sprawling to the ground.
He knew he would die if he stayed down. He tried to get up, but they thrust him back. Through a blur of dust and pain, he noticed one of them had thin, bandy legs. A weak spot. He grabbed the man’s ankle and tipped him up. The manoeuvre broke their ranks, distracting them long enough for him to get to his feet, shake the blood out of his eyes, and get his fists up. A quick one-two and the nearest man staggered. Dan danced and lunged, getting in beneath their weapons with stinging blows to ears, stomachs, heads – though sometimes he took a thwack too. They fell back, wary of his fists, but Bandy Legs was up and they were able to reform their circle.
A fifth man armed with a crook loomed out of the darkness. Dan thought he was done for then, but he was not going down without leaving his mark on his assassins. He singled out a man who was momentarily off guard, clutching at his jaw and muttering, “Bloody son of a bitch!” Dan aimed a punch at him, but before his knuckles made contact the crook came down on the man’s head and he crumpled.
“That’s enough!” the newcomer cried.
“Stay out of it, Drake,” shouted one of the gang. “It’s none of your business.”
“It’s my business when I see murder committed,” the field officer retorted. “Leave off. Now.”
“Fuck you!” the man snapped. “You get out of it and leave this to us.”
“I know you, Pip Higgs. I know you all. Kill this man, and I’ll have your names before the justice before you can blink. Unless you want to kill me too.”
“Then we’ll do that,” said Higgs.
Bandy Legs shifted uneasily. “Just a minute – ”
“Shut your face!” Higgs snapped.
But they had not reckoned on reinforcements, especially one as tough as Drake. The man he had knocked down staggered to his feet, croaked, “I’m out of this!” and fled. Bandy Legs set off after him at an ungainly run, and the third was not long in following. Higgs hesitated, swore, aimed a last blow at Dan which was easily dodged, and fled too.
Dan snatched his pistol, and from a half-kneeling position sent a ball after him. He missed, and the fugitive had forced his way through the hedge before Dan could reach for his powder flask.
Drake helped him up. “Are you all right?”
Dan winced when he put his weight on his left foot. “My knee’s buggered…So that was Higgs? I thought I recognised the stink. And the others?”
“When I said I knew them all I was only trying to put the wind up them. The bow-legged fellow is Thomas, one of Dunnage’s men. I couldn’t swear to the other two.”
“Shouldn’t be hard to find them. If Higgs and Thomas don’t turn them in, I have only to look for men with torn clothes and scratched faces.”
“And a black eye or two, judging from what I saw. Were you going to the Hall? I’ll see you back.”
Drake found Dan’s hat and knocked the dirt off it. Dan covered his throbbing head, then reloaded his pistol. He doubted the men would have another go, but there was no harm in being ready. He leaned on Drake and limped alongside him.
They were met at the Hall gates by Lord Oldfield, Caleb Witt, Mudge and Potter, all armed with guns and followed by a posse of stable boys and servants equipped with sticks and pitchforks. His Lordship’s dogs streaked towards them, barking wildly.
Lord Oldfield called them off. “Back, Captain, Trusty…Foster! We heard a shot. What happened? Are you hurt?”
“No, My Lord. A few cuts and bruises, that’s all. Drake came up before they’d time to do any real damage. There were four men, two Drake recognised as Higgs and Thomas.”
Lord Oldfield looked at Witt, who said, “I know them. I’ll be after them now, if it please you.”
“Do that. Call on Ayres on the way. Better have the constable with you, useless though the fellow is. Bring them back here and lock them in one of the cellars. I’ll take their statements tomorrow before sending them over to Shepton Mallet. I’ll allow no bail.”
Witt nodded, jerked his head at Potter, and with the underkeeper and half a dozen of the toughest-looking stable boys and gardeners, the hue-and-cry set off.
Dan moved off after them.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Lord Oldfield said. “You can hardly stand. You’d better come inside. You too, Drake,” he added, though with less warmth. “You’re owed a reward for this.”
“I don’t want no reward, thanking you, My Lord,” Drake answered. “And I’d best be off. The missus has the care of my mother all day. She doesn’t like being left with her all the evening too. So you’ll excuse me, My Lord.”
“I’ll need to take depositions from you and Foster tomorrow to send to the court with the prisoners’ statements. Can you attend in the morning at nine, Drake?”
“Yes, My Lord.”
“Do you want some men to go back with you?” Dan asked the field officer.
“No.”
Dan had not expected any other answer. They shook hands. Drake tipped his hat, turned, and walked back into the dark lane. Lord Oldfield took Dan’s arm and steered him towards the house. Dan turned his head, hiding a wry smile: he had never expected to find himself arm in arm with a lord.
Lady Helen had come out to the doorway to enjoy the spectacle. Lord Oldfield said a few reassuring words to his betrothed, who did not seem to need them, and sent her back to his mother in the drawing room. They went down to his den. Garvey was bending over a large map spread over the clutter on the desk. It showed the Oldfield estate, Barcombe Heath, and the neighbouring villages. Garvey was making pencil marks on it.
“Is everything in order?” the lawyer asked.
“Some ruffians set upon Foster.”
“Yes, you look as if you have been in a scuffle,” said Garvey, looking Dan up and down with distaste.
Dan’s clothes were filthy, and there was dried blood and dirt on his face and hands.
“Perhaps I should go and clean myself up.”
“Have some brandy first,” Lord Oldfield said. “You look as if you need it. Sit down. Do the honours, Garvey.”
The lawyer put down his pencil and went to the side table with its bottles and glasses. He handed Dan his brandy with no very good grace and refilled two wine glasses for himself and His Lordship. Dan took a sip just to be polite and put the stuff aside.
“There’s one good thing about all this,” Lord Oldfield said. “It’ll get rid of another batch of troublemakers, and that will smooth my way considerably.”
Garvey gave a discreet cough. Dan had heard that tickle in Garvey’s throat before, on the night he had first met Lord Oldfield. His Lordship had spoken of removing troublemakers then. They had been looking at maps that time, too.
“Smooth your way for w
hat?” Dan asked.
Garvey coughed again.
“Stop humming and hawing,” His Lordship snapped. “The notices are going up tomorrow, so it’s not going to be a secret much longer…I’m going to enclose Barcombe Heath.” He waved his hand over the map. “By rationalising my estate and those of the neighbouring farms, we’ll all make substantial savings in improved roads and reduced tithes, as well as benefit from increased crop yields.”
“We?”
“I have the agreement of all the neighbouring landowners. We’ve been negotiating with them for months. There’s still a long-winded legal process to go through: notices and hearings, and the Bill to get through Parliament. Then we have to appoint commissioners to oversee the process. Garvey, of course, and two other men. Tedious stuff.”
“You didn’t do that for the wood.”
“I didn’t need to. The woodland belongs to the manor outright. The common land is different. Enclosing the wood first was Garvey’s idea.”
“With the aim of drawing out the protesters before we present the Bill for the heath,” Garvey said. Now the stratagem was in the open he did not want to miss taking the credit for his part in it.
“Very clever,” Dan said. “When does this enclosure take place?”
“It will be several months yet,” Garvey answered.
Dan remembered what Singleton had said to him a couple of days before Drift Day: “Don’t think we could stomach Lord Oldfield interfering in the heath after what he’s done in the forest”. The announcement could not be more ill-timed.
“Then I suggest that you wait before putting up your notices. The village is unsettled. It isn’t wise to stir up any more strong feeling.”
“You think Lord Oldfield should change his plans because you have been in a brawl?” Garvey said.
“Only delay them for a few days, until things have calmed down.”
“I’ll not wait on their moods,” Lord Oldfield declared. “There’s been enough delay. This estate needs bringing up to date.”
“Indeed,” said Garvey, “you cannot seriously think His Lordship’s plans should depend on the whims of a few clodhoppers?”
Bloodie Bones Page 20