The Ghosts of Ardenthwaite (The Northminster Mysteries Book 5)

by Harriet Smart

  -o-

  “Do you think the stuff might really be that bad?” Lord Rothborough said as they drove away. “Given how defensive she was about it – but Heavens, not even Anne Blanchfort would stoop to something that low, I hope!”

  “It’s impossible to say. It’s more likely to be misguided than deliberate. I have read suggested treatments for nervous excitement and hysteria which I would baulk at attempting, but I do not know the full circumstances. It may be that Miss Blanchfort is –” He broke off, not liking to diagnose her so glibly.

  “Whatever the case,” Lord Rothborough said, “some time away from her mother will do her good, I think. Even though my Lady will no doubt tell all and sundry that I have stolen her for my own devious ends.”

  “What did you mean about her own conduct?” Felix could not help asking.

  “I shall not burden you with the details of that,” said Lord Rothborough. He sighed and rubbed his face. “I only know it by chance, and to be frank I wish I did not. I do not care to use it as a weapon, but sometimes there is nothing else one can do. Poor Dick! And poor Eleanor!” He gave another great sigh. “Now, where did you wish to be let out?”

  “At the Infirmary.”

  “Oh, yes, you have the remains of that unfortunate Colonel to deal with. What is the theory on that so far?”

  “That his wife commissioned it.”

  “Dear Lord. Well, you and Major Vernon will be kept busy with that, but if you do manage some liberty, you will both consider coming to Holbroke, will you not?”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Giles had just spread Kate’s dress on Mr Fairfaxe’s mahogany counter when the shop bell rang. He glanced behind him and saw Emma Maitland.

  “This looks most intriguing, Major Vernon,” she said coming up and standing beside him. “What a beautiful dress.”

  “Certainly a nice piece of stuff, sir,” said Mr Fairfaxe. “And a neat piece of work. What did you wish to know about it?”

  “I am trying to find out some information about a dressmaker called Anne Waites. This is her work. I wonder if you had any dealings with her.”

  “Here in Northminster?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is very superior work,” he said, looking at the dress again. “There are only two, maybe three, women I know of working to this standard in Northminster – Madame Courtney, and Miss Blacker. Waites, did you say, sir?”

  “Anne Waites. She works from Croft’s Building.”

  “I have to say I have never heard of her. A shame, for ladies are always asking me for recommendations.”

  “Have you ever heard her mentioned, Mrs Maitland?” Giles said. “I know you have not been here long, but sometimes these things come up in conversation.”

  She shook her head.

  “A Miss Blacker had been mentioned to me,” she said. “I was going to order a dress from her, as a matter of fact.” She had drawn off her glove and was stroking the silk. “This is the very quality I was after. Do you have anything in this weight, Mr Fairfaxe?”

  “Certainly, madam. If that is everything for now, sir, may I attend to the lady?”

  “Yes, thank you,” said Giles.

  Fairfaxe went in search of silk for Mrs Maitland.

  “It was too much to hope he would know anything useful,” he said.

  “Not at all,” said Mrs Maitland. “Linen-drapers usually know a great deal about everyone. Shop-keepers in general, I think.” Now she smoothed out one of the flounces. “This is such a charming dress – these scallops must have been time-consuming.”

  “And expensive?”

  “Yes. Do you know to whom it belongs?”

  “Yes,” Giles said.

  Mrs Maitland now turned over the bodice and examined the button-holes.

  “But you want to find out more about its maker?” she said.

  “Were you really going to order a new dress?” he said.

  “Yes. I have been asked to Holbroke. I need a new day dress. It is something of a extravagance, of course, but needs must.”

  “You could help me, then,” Giles said. “You might send for Miss Waites. She will not talk to me, but she might talk to you. This will be an excellent pretext.”

  She did not answer, but traced her finger again across the lilac silk.

  “I wonder if that is wise,” she said at length. “Wise for me, that is. I have no doubt I could be useful to you, but circumstances being as they are –”

  “Then I will ask Dr Fforde, if that is –”

  “That is not what concerns me,” she said, lowering her voice. “He will not object. No, I think I must object on my own grounds. I do not wish to – oh, Heavens, must I spell it out to you?” she finished in a whisper.

  Her discomfort brought a flush to her cheeks, which an objective observer might have found becoming. However, knowing that he was the active cause of her pain, Giles could not take any pleasure in it. He felt himself colouring also, and said, “No, no, of course not. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to be so –” He broke off, for Mr Fairfaxe had returned, carrying half a dozen bolts of silk. Giles was obliged to whisk Kate’s dress from the counter so that he could put them down.

  “Oh, those look charming!” exclaimed Mrs Maitland, with relief in her voice. “Plaid – yes, that is exactly what I was thinking of, Mr Fairfaxe.”

  “These are the newest thing,” said Mr Fairfaxe. “And I think, ma’am, this one in particular would suit your complexion.”

  Fairfaxe unfurled the bolt with practised flamboyance, and the plaid, a spirited mixture of greens and blues, flashed on the counter.

  “I will leave you to your deliberations. Good day,” Giles said, deciding the conversation was best ended at once. He bundled up Kate’s dress with scant ceremony and left.

  He had not got ten yards down the street when he heard her call out behind him, “Major Vernon!”

  She was standing in front of the shop looking as if she were about to run after him, but could not quite bring herself to do it.

  He walked back and said,

  “Yes?”

  “What you suggested,” she said. “I am too proud. And I know you would not have asked me if it was not important. Of course I must help you.”

  “Even if I am liable to be an ungrateful boor?” he said.

  “I believe we can all learn from our mistakes, Major Vernon,” she said. “What is it you want me to do?”

  -o-

  He gave his explanation as he walked her back to the Minster Precincts by way of Parker’s Lane.

  As they went along the lane, a cat dashed across their path which he recognised as the handsome tom whom Kate had lured inside to keep her company in captivity. He glanced in the direction from which the cat had come, wondering from what he was running, and saw a huddled figure, swathed in rags, sitting in the recessed doorway opposite the narrow little house. He quickened his step a little and approached, for it was an odd place for a beggar to sit, and there was something that seemed familiar.

  He drew close and saw it was Kate, only barely recognisable. Her head had been shaved and her face was riven with welts as if someone had taken a horsewhip to it.

  She, at the same time, saw him, and stretched out imploring, shaking hands to him. She was attempting to rise but it seemed to be a desperate struggle for her, and in the end, he found himself crouching before her in order to catch her in his arms. She fell against him, gasping for breath, sobbing, desperate, jerking in his arms as he tried to get a better grip on her so that he could begin to lift her.

  “In my right coat pocket,” he said, for Mrs Maitland was bending over them, attempting to assist. “There should be a loose key. That will unlock the door opposite.”

  She found it and went to unlock the door, while he managed to gently lift Kate to her feet, and supporting her as best as he could, they crossed the street and into the house.

  They barely got across the threshold before she gave way and pooled onto the floor in a dead fai
nt. As her wraps fell away, it was possible to see the extensive blood-staining down the front of her dress, as well as the tears to the fabric caused by a blade. He heard Mrs Maitland gasp.

  “Shall I fetch Mr Cars–?” she said.

  “He should be at the infirmary,” said Giles. “Yes, if you could. And if you see a constable –?”

  She needed no more prompting and was gone in a moment. Giles managed to move Kate into the room a little further, and sat down with her on the floor, taking her in his arms and attempting to loosen her clothing and stays to find where the wounds were, so he could at least attempt to staunch the bleeding by pressing on them.

  She revived a little, her head resting against his chest, as he made these clumsy and probably futile investigations.

  “Who did this to you?” he said.

  “B...” she began but then dissolved in tears. “I shouldn’t have –” She pressed her head against him, the whole of her body shaking and shivering. “I thought –”

  “Hush now,” he said, wrapping his arms about her. “It doesn’t matter now. Help will be here soon. Save your strength. I shouldn’t have asked. It doesn’t matter.”

  He had no idea how long it was that he sat there on the floor cradling her in his arms, listening to her increasingly uncomfortable breathing. Time seemed to slow, and he was acutely aware that the fragile being in his arms had very little left. She had been cheated of everything.

  Then curiously, she seemed to find a little more strength and began to talk, in a hoarse, excited whisper.

  “Johnny, Johnny, when will we go to America? When? Will we go to New York? It’s a long time on the boat. I wonder if I will be sick. I wonder what the fashions in New York are.” She gazed up at him blinking. “You’re not Johnny,” she said. “Has Johnny gone to New York? He said he’d take me.”

  “He told me to send you there when you were better,” said Giles. “I’ll take you myself, if you like.”

  “Johnny wouldn’t like that,” she said with a smile. “Colonel.”

  “Then you’d better go alone.”

  “I don’t know if I’ll get there,” she said. “I don’t know. I’m so tired...”

  “Hush then,” Giles said, and cradled her a little more closely. At the same time she seemed to droop visibly, like a flower on the branch that was about to shed its petals. He held her against him, his mouth pressed to her head, feeling the stubble against his lips.

  He closed his eyes, thinking of his dream of Lizzie and Laura, and found himself picturing that great drawing room again. There he saw Kate, ringleted and in her lilac silk standing at the threshold, fiddling with the long ribbons of her bonnet, looking about her, nervously. Looking for Johnny, he thought, and felt that her hand, which lay in his, was growing colder.

  -o-

  “Given the extent of her injuries,” Felix said. “It is something of a miracle she survived as long as she did.”

  Major Vernon said nothing. He had said very little since Felix had arrived with a constable and Mrs Maitland. He had been sitting on the floor, with the dead woman in his arms, his hands covered in her blood.

  Now in the gas-lit basement of the Northern Office, her body lay waiting for his examination and the Major stood over her, again holding her hand.

  “From the depth and placement of the abdominal wounds,” Felix said, “I think we can say that she was possibly restrained or incapacitated in some way when they were inflicted. But how she managed to get away and walk –”

  “Perhaps they left her there to find me,” Major Vernon said at last, and gently laid her hand down. “This is my fault.”

  “How?”

  “I did not protect her adequately.”

  “She ran away.”

  “I should have anticipated that. I have underestimated everything.”

  Then he turned away suddenly and began to retch into a pail. This was unusual, for the Major normally had a stronger stomach for such sights.

  “Excuse me,” he said. Felix offered him a cup of whisky but he waved it away. “No – it’s just my head, that won’t help.” As he did so, Felix saw that he was screwing up his eyes against the light.

  “Then you should go home,” said Felix. “And sleep it off.”

  “It’s not so bad,” he said. “I will get some coffee. That will deal with it.”

  “Unlikely,” said Felix. “You would be better –”

  “There really is no time for that,” Major Vernon said. “It is nothing.”

  -o-

  It was hardly nothing, and by the time he had got to the cells at the constabulary headquarters and was scanning the list of prisoners, it felt as if chisels were being applied to the roots of his eyes.

  “Where is Baxter?” he asked, as the names swam in front of him.

  “He’s gone, sir,” said the Custody Sergeant. “Didn’t you know? Gone at noon for committal for trial at Leeds, with these others. Here you are, sir, guilty plea before the Justices this morning.”

  “Leeds?” said Giles. “Why on earth to Leeds?”

  “Because the circuit judges are there at present, I suppose, sir, and because he made a full confession to Superintendent Herrick and Captain Lazenby, they must have thought there was no point keeping him here. It happened last night, I think.”

  “Oh, did he?” said Giles, putting down the list. “Were you on duty then when this confession was made?”

  “No, sir, it was Sergeant Bale. He’s gone home now, of course. Can I help you with anything else, sir?”

  “Not at present,” said Giles. “Thank you.”

  He went upstairs to see Lazenby, feeling, as the intensity of his headache increased, a curious dislocation from his surroundings. The building no longer formed part of his daily life, and now seemed populated by strangers. Lazenby had brought in new men and new methods, which was understandable, but at that moment, struck with both acute pain and annoyance, he struggled to see the necessity of it.

  He called in at the clerks’ office first, to see if he could locate a copy of Baxter’s confession, and having been disappointed in that, wondered how he was going to be civil with Lazenby.

  He stood in the passageway a moment, closing his eyes, attempting to steady his mood, and found he could only think of Kate’s wretched, wrecked form lying on Carswell’s laboratory table.

  He knocked on Lazenby’s door and went in.

  “Can you spare five minutes, sir?” he said.

  “Of course, Major Vernon, of course!” said Lazenby leaping up from his desk at the sight of him. “What can I do for you?”

  “I wondered if you had a copy of Baxter’s confession – if that is the name he gave you. I understand he also goes under Hopkins.”

  “Baxter, ah yes. That was quite a development. I have it here.”

  “And he has gone to Leeds?”

  “Yes, the justices committed him for trial there. To make a swift example of him. His confession is very detailed, as you can see, and he was determined to plead guilty. It’s better the matter is settled quickly.”

  “I’m not sure of that,” said Giles taking the confession and glancing at it. He found the words swam on the page before him. “I would have liked to speak to him before he was sent to the Justices, given that I began the investigation.”

  “Yes, I do understand, but he was insistent, and you were out of town. He talked a great deal with the Chaplain, and that seemed to hasten his resolve to unburden himself. As you can see, it is a thorough account.”

  “Is there anything in this that can be corroborated? He lied persistently to me.”

  “I was there, Major Vernon, and I found it a satisfactory account. And there was no reason to delay his appearance in front of the magistrates. He is fully aware of the nature of his crime. That is enough, I think.”

  Giles moved away to the window in order to attempt to read the confession but his eyes again failed him, and he felt dizzy with pain. He reached for a chair back to steady himself for a mo
ment and then decided he had better sit down.

  “Excuse me –” he began.

  “Are you unwell, Major?”

  “I seem to be,” he said.

  “You should consider some furlough. I was looking at the records. You are long overdue. I think I should insist if you are not well.”

  “I must go to Leeds and talk to Baxter before they hang him.”

  “I think you will find all you need in there. I think you should go on leave.”

  “It’s impossible. We have this business of Parham’s death – the ramifications are complex, and there is another witness who has died in circumstances which –” He got up from the chair, and feeling ancient as he did so, thought it must show in his posture. So he pulled himself very straight and went on, “I cannot take any leave now. The situation is –” However Captain Lazenby was shaking his head.

  “You are clearly not well, Major Vernon. I order you to take your leave. A fortnight.”

  “A fortnight?” he began.

  Lazenby shook his head again and said, “You have good men under you. You must delegate. It is irresponsible to lay so much of the burden of this on yourself. That is not your role, sir, and you know it. Now, I know you have the instincts of a hunter, and you do not like to give up the chase, but that is what you must do in this case.”

  It was politely put but Giles sensed that he would not be persuaded otherwise, and so reluctantly agreed, hoping that a few days’ rest and a good account of matters from Carswell would allow him to return.

  “I will make arrangements tomorrow and be away by noon,” he said. “But if I might take this?” he added, indicating Baxter’s confession. “My men will need to see this.”

  “Yes, certainly,” Lazenby said, and showed him to the door.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “And did you sleep?” Carswell asked the next morning. He had come in while Giles was at his breakfast, and insisted on examining him.

  “Very little,” Giles conceded.