Fear for Frances

by Veronica Heley

  ‘As soon as she walked into the room, I guessed what had been going on. I had not seen her before. I had been away for a couple of years, if you remember, and she was not a local girl. Her mother kept a small shop in a village some five miles away. Lilien’s father was half a gypsy and used to go off on his own for months at a time, tramping the countryside, plying his tinker’s trade, but the girl had been brought up strictly by her mother. In many ways, Lilien was right to have ambitions above her station. She had a smattering of education, her manners were good, and she was, of course, magnificent to look at. She had met Jervis at a fair, had been intrigued by the thought of the contact with “the gentry” which Jervis could offer her. She was troublesome at home, so her mother was only too glad to marry the girl off. She was only sixteen, poor child, and she thought Jervis was offering her the keys to the Gates of Heaven. Marriage to him did not bring content. He failed to get her pregnant, and after a while she grew to despise him and look for satisfaction elsewhere. Her eye had fallen on my brother, and she had seduced him with results which had seemed at first to be satisfactory all round. He could not visit her at the lodge, so he gave her two keys; one to the postern door which lets you into the courtyard from the park, and one to the door of his dressing-room. He always locked his bedroom door at night. Lilien would creep up through the shrubbery, circle the outbuildings until she came to the postern, and go through that into the cloisters. The only time she was in danger of being seen was in the cloisters, on the stairs, or in the Gallery. Richard obtained a white monk’s robe for her to wear, which she used to keep hidden behind some logs in one of the store-rooms below. Thus it was that the legend of our family ghost was reborn, and the cloisters and Gallery became a place to be avoided after dark.

  ‘I think she loved him; certainly she ran great risks for him. Jervis did not take lightly to being cuckolded, but he put up with it until she told him that she was bearing Richard’s child. It was early days with her. She could have concealed her pregnancy for some time, but Richard had just announced his engagement to Maud, and she thought the time had come to put her cards on the table. She did not want to be stuck in the village for the rest of her life. She wanted something better for herself and her child. Richard could not marry her, but he could set her up “as a lady” in Lewes, with a maid to wait on her and plenty of money to buy clothes with. That was why she came up to the Court. There was anger and jealousy as well, but basically she wanted what she called “her rights”.

  ‘As I said before, Richard was out that day. I suggested to Lilien that she return to her mother’s, and that I would get Richard to contact her there. She said she dared not. Gypsies have a rigid code of honour where their women are concerned and punish their adulterers severely. She feared what her father might do to her, if she went back home. She could not, of course, go back to Jervis. That was out of the question. So I sent her with a note to my mother’s old maid who lives a couple of miles off in the opposite direction to Lilien’s birthplace, asking her to take the girl in for the time being. Then I consulted Richard as to what was to be done. He had no ideas on the subject. I suggested that the matter be placed in the hands of Mr Cotton, and that he should arrange things ...’

  ‘This is all very well,’ said Hugo. ‘But it’s easy to place the blame on Richard, now that he’s dead and can’t contradict you ...’

  ‘If you please!’ said Mr Cotton. He looked annoyed. ‘I can bear out everything that this witness — I mean Lord Broome — says. The two brothers came to see me at my office about the affair. The late Lord Broome was concerned that no word of the matter should reach his fiancée, but he very properly wanted to do what was right for Mrs Jervis and her child. I suggested that money be found to send Mrs Jervis to another part of the country, or even abroad. This was agreed to. The present Lord Broome offered to put up the money since his brother was always short of funds. When Mrs Jervis moved to Lewes, I visited her on several occasions to discuss the matter of the child’s upbringing, which ...’

  ‘Softly,’ said Lord Broome. ‘You are going too fast. Before Mr Cotton could finalise arrangements, Richard received a verbal message that Lilien wished to speak with him. Her father and husband had found out where she was, had dragged her from the cottage and beaten her. They wanted her to tell them who was responsible for her plight. She would not tell. They had guessed that it was one of us, because we had sheltered her, but they did not know which. Richard’s reputation was against his being responsible, and I had not been home long enough. So they beat her. They were interrupted, and fled. Richard got the girl cleaned up and sent her to Lewes, where Mr Cotton visited her, as he says.’

  ‘That is so,’ said Mr Cotton. ‘And I cannot express my disapproval of your subsequent conduct strongly enough, my lord. If you had only called me as a witness at the inquest ...’

  ‘Again, you are jumping the gun,’ said Lord Broome. ‘The girl was settled in Lewes, Richard was happily showering Maud with gifts, and I was pursuing matrimony on my own account. Then Richard received a letter from Lilien. Her father and husband had once more discovered where she was living. They had not yet approached her, but were having her watched. She had not seen Richard for some time. She was lonely and in great distress, and she wanted to be reassured that nothing was going to happen to her or her baby. She reminded Richard that she still had his keys, and she asked him to meet her at dusk the following evening in the park by the footbridge. She said that Mr Cotton had promised to hand over her passage money to America the following day, and that she would never trouble Richard again, if only she could see him just once before she left. Richard asked me to accompany him to the rendezvous, partly as a chaperone in case Maud should see him meeting another girl, and partly as a bodyguard in case Jervis or Lee should turn up.

  ‘I agreed, the more fool I. We were a little late. We could see her running towards the footbridge, on the other side of the river, as we rode up. She had a red shawl around her, and her hair had come loose under her bonnet. Ordinarily she was fleet of foot, but she was pregnant and the men — Jervis and Lee — were both fit. They were gaining on her. We could not take the horses across the bridge; it was not safe. We dismounted, and I tethered the horses while Richard ran towards the bridge. I thought the men would stop chasing her when they saw us, but they didn’t. There was a mist coming up, and no one else in sight. Lee caught up with his daughter and started to drag her back the way she had come. She freed herself after a sharp struggle, and left him on the ground while she ran on. She left her shawl behind her. We could see she was holding a knife, and that the blade was dark. Lee was nursing one shoulder, and his coat sleeve was dark, too. She reached the far end of the bridge just as Richard stepped on to his end. She was panting. She held the knife to her breast. Richard cried out, to warn her that Jervis was close behind her. She turned and caught her foot, and before Jervis could reach her, or Richard ... she fell against the handrail and it snapped ... and she went down into the water.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Someone sighed. A ripple of movement went through the company. Lord Broome leant back in his chair and momentarily closed his eyes. Theo leant forward and set a glass of cordial at his patient’s right hand. Lord Broome sipped it, and set it down again.

  ‘She didn’t have a chance. The water was high and running smoothly. She was wearing a dark dress. We looked for her, but didn’t see her. Jervis and I both dived in to look for her. We failed. Richard was dazed. He kept saying that he’d told them to mend the bridge months ago. After a while Lee struggled up, his coat sodden with blood. He said we were looking in the wrong place for her, and that she’d come up in the lower pool. I don’t know how he knew. Probably he’d been poaching there. There she was, all right, floating face down. We got her out, but she was dead. There was a bruise on her forehead which hadn’t been there when she fell, and we thought she must have hit her head on one of the struts when she passed under the bridge, been knocked out, and drowned. She looked peaceful
enough, poor girl.’

  He looked around at the company. ‘Well, what would you have done, in my place? Richard begged me to cover for him; he was afraid that Maud would break off their engagement if the truth were to come out. Jervis sat there, weeping, because the woman he’d loved and married was dead. Lee was drained of blood, hardly able to stand, mourning his only child. Perhaps I ought to have allowed the whole thing to come out, to let everyone take their share of the blame, but it seemed unnecessary. I told Jervis to take Lee back with him, to be nursed back to health. I sent Richard back to the Court, waited half an hour, and then raised the alarm. At the inquest I told the truth, but not the whole truth. If I had called Mr Cotton to give evidence, if anyone had thought to ask Dr Kimpton how many months the girl had been pregnant, the coroner might have felt impelled to urge that further enquiries should be made as to how the girl died. My object was to get the matter over and done with. Now I ask you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, was the coroner’s verdict correct?’

  ‘Misadventure,’ said Mr Cotton, ‘was the correct verdict, technically.’

  ‘Dammit,’ said the General, ‘I’d have done the same myself, in your place. If only we’d known!’

  There was a chorus of agreement.

  ‘That was the object of the exercise,’ said Lord Broome, ‘That no one should know. Unfortunately, people put the wrong construction on what they heard, and came to the conclusion that I was responsible not only for the girl’s pregnancy, but also for her death. Mrs Armstrong cut me, and the girl I had thought to marry intimated that she no longer thought me “reliable”. I was given the cold shoulder in public, and in private I was told that the sooner I rejoined my regiment, the better.

  ‘To do him justice, Richard was very upset about this, but I persuaded him not to speak out. I thought the affair would soon be forgotten, once I had gone and Richard was married to Maud. And there I might have been right, if Lee and Jervis had let well alone. I had warned Richard to get rid of them. I had left him enough money to set Jervis up as a tenant farmer in another part of the country, and told him to get Mr Cotton to warn Lee off. I don’t know what Richard used the money for, but ...’ He shrugged. ‘He allowed things to carry on as they were, and so he died, too.’

  ‘Now, come!’ said Hugo. ‘Your illness has turned your brain.’

  Lord Broome lifted his hand. ‘We have witnesses here who are competent to judge the cause of my brother’s death. General, you were out with the hunt that day, and I am told that you were the first to reach my brother after he took his toss. What did you see?’

  ‘A poacher feller sneaking away under the hedge. Didn’t recognise him, but then — wouldn’t. Got his back to me. Big fellow, moleskin trousers. Thought he’d startled Richard’s horse as he jumped the hedge. Horse threw Richard, and broke its own legs. Damn shame. But accident. Nothing to be gained by talking about it. If I’d been quick enough to catch that feller, he’d have heard something from me about it, I can tell you.’

  ‘How long was it before you reached Richard, after you saw him jump the hedge?’

  ‘Coupla minutes. Musta been. I went round by the gate. Couldn’t see Richard ahead of me. Looked round. There he was, down. Nothing to be done.’

  ‘You have seen many men die in your time. In some ways you are as great an expert on wounds and dead men as the doctor here. In your opinion, what caused my brother’s death?’

  ‘Why, the fall ... oh, I see what you mean. Falling like that, you usually break your neck, or if the horse rolls on you there’s internal injuries. No, nothing like that. The horse was some distance off; couldn’t move, you know. Richard had fallen head first on to a stone, struggled up, and then gone down again. Knew that by the way the blood was flowing down over his face ... pardon, ladies ... gruesome sight. Best not mentioned. He wasn’t dead, but next thing to it.’

  ‘Doctor, your verdict?’

  ‘I saw what the General saw — not the poacher, of course — and deduced the same things. There was blood and hairs on the stone. The stone had come into contact with his head, and it was this injury which caused his death. It was tough luck that such a big stone — almost a boulder — was lying there, just where he fell. If it hadn’t been for that, I doubt if there would have been much damage done.’

  ‘Quite,’ said his lordship. ‘That stone ought not to have been there. That field had just been ploughed. It’s good earth there, and not at all stony. As soon as I heard about the stone, I began to wonder about my brother’s death. I set myself to work out how I, if I had had any reason to wish to kill my brother, might have managed it. Arling!’

  The head groom came out of the knot of servants to stand before him.

  ‘Yes, my lord. Following your instructions, I went up to the field this morning with two witnesses and inspected the trunk of both beech trees. Both showed signs of having been ringed, probably with wire, at about knee height. Later, I took one of the policemen up there and showed him what I’d seen. I also showed him the stone, which had been tossed in the hedge. He agreed with me that there was no other stone anywhere near, anything like it. We then went on up to the top pastures and looked at the stones there. To the best of our judgment, the stone which killed Lord Richard came from the top pastures.’

  ‘And what about my brother’s horse?’

  ‘Taking a tumble over a hedge will sometimes break a horse’s legs, but these were slashed across and broken, which was strange. I believe that a length of wire was tied to one of the trees, and belayed round the other; that the man standing behind one of the trees jerked the wire up to knee height as Lord Richard jumped the hedge, thus catching the horse’s legs and bringing horse and rider to the ground.’

  ‘And then,’ said Lord Broome, ‘while Richard was struggling to his feet, he was attacked, and hit on the head from above with a large stone which had been brought to that place for that very purpose. There wasn’t much time. The General was approaching. But one or two blows would have sufficed. Then the man gathered up his wire and slunk away under the hedge, leaving Richard to die.’

  There was a long silence, broken at length by Maud. She was very pale, and her hands trembled as they strayed over the velvet arm of her chair.

  ‘Do you mean Richard was murdered by Lee or Jervis? Because he bedded that common slut?’ She clutched at her throat, and retched, turning her head away from the company.

  ‘The poor thing,’ cried Isabella, running to Maud. ‘You shouldn’t have broken it to her like that.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think Maud is upset because she loved Richard,’ said his lordship, his voice as hard as ever.

  ‘Leave me alone! I’ll be all right!’ Maud beat her cousin’s hand away. Her skin was greenish-white, but she was under control.

  ‘What a devilish thing!’ said the General, pulling at his moustache. ‘And the police know about it? I wonder if I’d recognise the chap again.’

  ‘I daresay the police will give you an opportunity tomorrow,’ said Lord Broome. ‘They’ve already arrested Jervis, and are looking out for Lee. I think they’ll talk. The problem is, how much will they say? We know they vowed vengeance on the House of Broome. I believe they murdered my brother. I believe that they were also responsible for the four attempts on my life ...’

  ‘Four attempts?’ gasped Mrs Armstrong.

  ‘Proof!’ demanded Hugo.

  Mr Cotton interrupted. ‘May I ask a question? I assume that you would call the attack on the train the first attempt. Neither you nor Benson are able positively to identify your assailants. Circumstantial evidence may point to Jervis and Lee, but did they in fact have an opportunity to carry out the crime? How did they know you were to be on that train?’

  ‘That’s easy. I announced my return by telegram, giving the time of the train on which I expected to arrive. Of course Jervis would hear of it. You would have expected him to be at his post on the morning his new master was expected back home, wouldn’t you? And yet police enquiries have shown that Je
rvis asked a cousin of his, one of the gamekeepers, to substitute for him that morning, complaining of toothache. He said he would have to go into Lewes that day to get his molar attended to, and he returned to his post only after I had been carried unconscious past the lodge up to the Court. Someone will have seen him or maybe both Jervis and Lee, either going to Lewes first thing on the morning of my return, or waiting about on Lewes station for me to arrive, or returning to Furze Halt later that day. Does anyone dispute the conclusion I have drawn from these facts?’

  No one did.

  ‘Now let us consider the second attempt on my life — by poison. A very different affair, this, or so it seems at first sight. I was not properly conscious for some time after my return. I rejected the food and drink which was given me because they made me sick. I was nursed by strangers, and one of them was responsible for adulterating everything I had to eat and drink with a noxious yellow substance. For the presence of this substance I can bring many witnesses, including Spilkins, Miss Chard, Benson and Abel. But for a change in the manning of the sick-room I would have died of starvation, and no one would have thought anything of it.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Hugo. ‘The doctors got the nurses from an agency in Lewes. It is true that one of the nurses proved incompetent — drunk on duty — and was discharged. There was some talk of her trying to smother you, but that was merely a figment of your servant’s imagination. Benson was overtired.’

  ‘Don’t forget that Miss Chard also saw that incident. But for her, I would have died either of starvation or of suffocation. Like the doctor and the General, she saw that something was not quite right, but lacking background information, failed to draw the right conclusions — at least for some time.’