“After a substantial dose of laudanum. It was more severe than the last attack, then?”
“Yes, I suppose so...”
“And you are still suffering?”
“But it is improving –”
“Because you are sitting in a dark room doing very little. I have to agree with Lazenby,” said Carswell. “Some leave is in order.”
“Very well,” Giles said, after a moment, realising there was little point arguing with Carswell. “Might I ask for one or two concessions though – firstly, that I might go to Ardenthwaite for a few days? Given the place is lying empty.”
“Of course,” said Carswell, “if you like. So long as you will rest and have no ulterior motive in going there. You don’t, do you? After all, it is still rather to the point in the investigation.”
“Yes, it is, but I was not really thinking of that. It’s merely that, despite everything, I find the place very agreeable.” This was not entirely the truth, of course and there was something about Carswell’s expression that suggested he knew this too. But it had occurred to Giles that he could make some quiet progress with both his health and the case if he were there.
“Very well,” said Carswell. “But I will join you there – I too am due some leave – though I am not entirely sure how I feel about the place at the moment. But perhaps I will find those damned mushrooms this time. And if you do attempt anything foolish, I will be there to prevent it.”
“I will be good,” Giles said. “I will send Holt on this morning, then?” Carswell nodded. “And I will go down later today. I have a few things that I must do before then.”
Carswell looked doubtful for a moment and then nodded.
When he reached his office and started giving out orders, he began to feel the wisdom of Carswell and Lazenby’s advice. He was struggling to function adequately – a mixture of angry grief and pain seemed to rob him of his usual sense of clarity and purpose. He sent out men to look for evidence and witnesses on the attack on Kate, but had no faith in their finding anything.
He had finally cleared his desk when he found Mrs Hughes’s notes. Since he had to go to the Minster Precincts, he decided he would return them back to her in person, and give her a strong warning to have nothing further to do with Bickley.
It was about noon when he approached the Bishop’s Palace, and it seemed that the brilliant spring sunshine was tormenting him.
He found himself standing on the steps, his hand on the bell, frozen for a moment in intense discomfort, while in his mind the image of Kate’s scarred face and shorn head came to him unbidden and full of reproaches.
He was shown to the library and as before, found Mrs Hughes there, in lieu of her husband. However, she was not alone. George Bickley was there.
They were sitting together at a baize covered circular table. There were books open in front of them and it was clear that Mrs Hughes was the teacher and Mr Bickley the pupil. Bickley was dressed on this occasion in his flash horse-dealer mode, his expensive clothes suggesting the dandy of twenty years ago: a superbly cut, dark blue coat, beautifully polished riding boots and a jewel fixing his elaborately arranged cravat. His snowy-white hair was immaculately swept back from his forehead, almost as if he were about to sit to have his portrait painted.
It was a little alarming to see his prey so exposed. In theory it was an ideal opportunity, but in truth, it felt like no opportunity at all, for he had as yet no hard evidence against the man, only a rag-bag of suspicions. He had not yet gathered enough weapons to launch an attack.
Neither, he realised, did he have a great deal with which to defend himself. He felt that he was the exposed prey, the vulnerable bird on the clearing on the hillside, a foolish, easy target.
Bickley looked up from his books as he came in, and although his expression said nothing overt, Giles knew there could only be appraisal behind it. Bickley would be very interested to know why he was there. It was therefore necessary to devise an excuse for this call.
“Major Vernon,” said Mrs Hughes, on seeing him. “How good to see you again.”
“I think I am interrupting something,” he said.
“We have just finished,” she said. “Now, Mr Bickley, for tomorrow, might I suggest you read the second book of Acts.”
Bickley nodded humbly and got up, closing his books.
“Thank you very much again for taking the time to help me, madam,” he said.
“It is a pleasure,” said Mrs Hughes.
“I am so unused to this kind of study. I’m lucky to have such a gentle hand to guide me.”
He bowed, and began to gather up his books.
“You have a natural understanding of God’s word,” said Mrs Hughes. “I feel I am learning as much from you.”
Bickley smiled becomingly and said, “I’d better leave you and this gentlemen to your business, ma’am.” He began to move towards the door. “Major Vernon, is it not, sir?”
“You remember correctly, Mr Bickley,” said Giles. “How fortunate that we should meet here. You see, I have heard the inspiring story of your conversion – it seems there may be hope for all of us,” he finished, hoping he sounded in earnest. Indeed, thinking of his own faults, it was not difficult.
“Oh yes, Major Vernon, yes, there is always hope,” said Mrs Hughes. “And I truly believe that Mr Bickley’s experience is the harbinger of something extraordinary – a spiritual awakening in this city. Why, I do believe you are feeling it as well! The Lord is working in you, Major, that is as sure as sure can be!”
“Yes,” said Bickley, and laid his hand on Giles’ forearm for a moment, and looked levelly at him, apparently with perfect sincerity. “That may well be so. And we can all lay our burden down and find peace, Major Vernon, that’s the great and simple thing. God’s love is here for us all. We only have to open our hearts to it.”
Again he laid his hand on Giles’ arm and his ringed fingers caught the light.
Remember the man is a genius at cards, Giles thought, remember this man is a highly-disciplined fighter, who will do anything he needs to survive and succeed.
“I saw a woman die yesterday,” Giles said. “She was the victim of a monstrous attack. It reminded me that death may come to us at any time. She never had a chance to acknowledge her redeemer and to beg for his salvation. It struck me as a terrible warning.”
“Amen,” said Mrs Hughes. “She was attacked, you say? Here in the city?”
“Yes, here, ma’am.”
“Why?” she said. “Was she robbed, or –?”
“That’s a good question. From the signs, it was a prolonged, deliberate attack. She was, I think, being punished for something.”
“What do you mean?”
He glanced at Bickley, who was standing there with his Bible and his notebook and wondered if it was he who had given the order to shave Kate’s head before she was set upon in earnest. It was such a calculated and cruel addition to the rest of the barbarity.
“She talked to someone she should not have done and paid a very high price for it. There are people in this city, ma’am, who live shadowy, desperate lives, controlled by immeasurably cruel codes from which they can never break free. They are trapped like slaves in their wickedness. This poor woman was one of them.”
“Slaves, in Northminster? Surely not?” she said.
“It is hard to understand what you cannot see,” he said. “And this, because of its illicit nature, is well hidden. There is another man, sentenced to hang, who has made an entirely false confession, and sworn an oath that it is true. He will not tell the truth, even though he is facing the gallows, because he is still too afraid of his master.”
“Now, sir, we mustn’t alarm the lady,” Bickley put in.
“I think Mrs Hughes has a strong constitution,” said Giles. “And her position is such that she ought to know the facts. However, I can reassure you, ma’am, that it is only a matter of time, before we have rooted all this out and put a stop to it.”
&nbs
p; “I pray so!” said Mrs Hughes. “What you say is very distressing. May the Lord guide your endeavours, Major Vernon! And this poor woman – perhaps in her heart she knew and acknowledged her saviour!”
“I was wondering if I could at least arrange a decent burial for her,” Giles said. “Perhaps gather a few shillings here and there from friends. She was without any family.”
“Yes, certainly, certainly,” said Mrs Hughes, opening a drawer. “We always keep a little ready money here for such purposes.”
“No, allow me,” said Bickley and pulled one of the rings from his fingers and held it out to Giles.
“Will this cover it?”
Giles took the ring.
“More than enough. Thank you very much.”
“I’m sure you will put the rest to an equally good purpose,” Bickley said.
“How kind, how very kind,” said Mrs Hughes, fluttering with pleasure, and Bickley basked in her approbation. He was enjoying being magnanimous, that was clear enough. That was a notable weakness, then, Giles thought as he put the ring into his pocket. “Shall I ask my husband to take the service?”
“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. And he must have a great many more important calls on his time.”
“Yes, yes, he is busy, that is true. But I am sure time could be found, when he is at home, that is. He is travelling about the diocese. He intends to visit every parish and see what needs to be done.”
“Then we will not trouble him with this,” said Giles. “And since Mr Bickley has been so generous, there should be no difficulty.”
He took his leave, and wondered what might be passing between Bickley and Mrs Hughes when they were alone.
But Bickley followed him swiftly from the library, and they were alone in the hall together.
“On second thoughts,” Giles said, putting the ring down on the table. “I can’t accept this. God knows where it came from.”
“Nice little performance in there, Vernon,” said Bickley, taking up the ring. “A few things you left out, of course. That you fucked the bitch, for example. Shall I mention that to my lady? I have her ear, after all.”
“Just her ear?” Giles said.
“You need to tread carefully,” Bickley said. “This is not your business.”
“It is exactly my business,” Giles said.
“I am giving you fair warning –”
“I should arrest you now.”
“But you don’t, do you, because you’ve nothing on me except the hearsay evidence of a dead whore, who you took your pleasure of?”
“I will have you hanged for what you did to her,” Giles said.
“That I sincerely doubt,” said Bickley and strolled past him to the door.
-o-
Giles went back to The Black Bull, and took a generous dose of laudanum. Holt had already left for Ardenthwaite and he had planned to go himself on horseback as soon as he was able, but the state of his head made him realise he must delay and take the carriage. So he lay down on his bed, intending to rest for an hour or so, hoping the laudanum would do its work.
It did, after a fashion. He slept a little, fitfully though, and woke in a state of mild confusion after troubling dreams. There was a servant knocking at the door. He was carrying a note from Emma Maitland.
So a little after three he set out again for the Minster Precincts, and the Treasurer’s House. She was waiting for him in the small drawing room. Sally and Lamb had already gone to Holbroke, but Celia and Tom remained, and they were sitting with her by the fire.
He stood in the doorway for a long moment, watching them, imagining for a moment he was the master of the house, returning early from his business to the pleasures of family and hearth. He drank deep this bitter-sweet fancy, finding in it a better remedy than laudanum for the pain that gripped him. Then she looked up and saw him there. Her smile was unaffected and full of pleasure, and she flung out her hand towards him.
For a moment he felt he ought to turn and walk away, feeling that he had no place there, but he could not resist, for all the guilt he felt about it.
He came in and took her hand, and before he had thought much about what he was doing, he had bent over and kissed it briefly, carelessly perhaps, but enough to want to remain standing there, still holding her hand savouring the warmth of it on his lips.
He let go, for Celia was scrabbling to her feet, toasting fork in her hand, demanding her usual embrace.
“You look like Britannia with her trident,” he said, when he had hugged her.
“Especially if I put the coal scuttle on your head,” said Tom, pretending to reach for it.
“Don’t you dare!” Celia screeched, then conceded, “but it would make a good helmet, should I need one. If I ever get to go to a fancy ball.”
“You will one day, I’m sure,” said Giles, settling down in Lambert’s favourite armchair.
“Lady Maria did say something about tableaux vivants at Holbroke,” said Mrs Maitland.
“Yes, they have quite a theatrical wardrobe there. You must ask to see it if ever you are invited,” said Giles.
“I certainly shall,” said Celia, returning her attention to the toast. “Well, I shall ask Mama to ask, I think, yes?”
“Yes, that would be the thing to do,” said Mrs Maitland. “You see, we are all going to Holbroke now. Lord Rothborough and Lady Maria were insistent that Tom and Celia should come with me tomorrow.”
“I may see you there, then,” said Giles. “I have been asked, and I have been told to take some leave.”
“Oh, you must come, Uncle Giles,” said Tom. “We are going rook-shooting.”
“Tom – you’re burning!” said Celia, as Tom’s piece of toast caught fire.
“Oh, bother!” said Tom, and attempted, rather ineffectually, to put out the flaming bread by furious blowing and fanning. In the end, Celia seized the fork from him and plunged it into the fire so that the bread fell into the flames. “What a waste of a perfectly good piece of bread!” he said.
“Better that than burn the house down,” said Celia. “You can come with us, Uncle Giles. We will have room in the carriage.”
“You are forgetting my Patton, Celia,” said Mrs Maitland.
“Oh yes, I’m sorry,” said Celia.
“I shall make my own way,” Giles said. “If I come.”
“But you will come?” said Celia.
“I don’t see why not.”
“Oh, that will be splendid!” said Tom, getting up. “I’m going to see Hughes for a bit. Are you coming, sis?”
“If you don’t mind?” Celia said.
“No,” said Tom.
“Even when you said I bored him?” she said.
“No, I think he likes you,” said Tom. “Though why, I can’t say. Come on, then.”
“Why don’t you take the toast with you?” said Mrs Maitland, indicating the plate on the hearth. “We will never manage such a quantity.”
“Good thought,” said Tom. “You take that, and I will take the butter,” he added, picking up the butter dish and pocketing a knife.
“Does Lord Rothborough know what he has done?” said Giles, when they had gone. “Will Holbroke ever survive such an invasion? And to let Tom loose with a gun? My poor sister will be in agony the entire time.”
“I think it is delightful of him to ask them. And you should have more faith in your own flesh and blood, Major Vernon. Your niece and nephew are some of the most delightful young people I have ever met. Actually, I think it is Lady Maria who is behind it.”
“That I can believe. She is truly the kindest of creatures.”
“Quite,” said Mrs Maitland. “In fact, I am glad that Charles has gone back to Oxford, for he was very taken with her, and I worry that if he sees any more of her, he will be head over heels.”
“Is that such a bad thing?”
“No, but it would be sure to lead to disappointment. Charles may have his title, but he is still too threadbare for that family.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. Lord Rothborough is not so rigid.”
“But Lady Rothborough is, and I understand that Lady Maria has quite a fortune from her mother’s family. So there would be objections, I’m sure. It’s best he is kept away. And really he is far too young to be thinking of this sort of thing.”
She busied herself with the tea-pot and refilled his cup.
“Thank you for yesterday,” he said. “No one could have been cooler in a crisis, or more useful.”
“What else could I have done?” she said. “I am sorry I could not do more. That poor, poor woman –” She broke off. “Why are you taking leave, if you do not mind me asking? In the circumstances, surely –?”
“Sometimes I have migraines; I had one yesterday,” he said. “Mr Carswell and the Chief Constable have told me to rest.”
“That sounds sensible,” she said. “But difficult for you, I should think.”
“Yes, but I still have various irons in the fire. You, for example. How did you get on with Miss Waites? Did she bite?”
“She did indeed. She came just after luncheon. I was quite surprised that she did come, after what you said. She was quite reluctant to take on any work, though, and said she was very busy, but I was insistent with her. It really was quite an interesting encounter, all in all.”
“In what way?”
“She said she had more clients than she knew what to do with, but when I offered to pay her in advance, more than one usually would, and mentioned that she would never be short of work amongst the ladies of the precincts, and that they would pay very promptly, that seemed to sway her.”
“Because you think she is being underpaid?”
“I think she is half-starved and exploited. And scared, just as you said, very scared. I had them put aside a plate from luncheon and she wolfed it down.”
“That makes sense.”
“And why is she operating out of such a dubious address when she is so skilled?” said Mrs Maitland. “She could have her own shop and hands, and be fat and prosperous. It makes no sense.”
“That is what puzzled me,” said Giles. “And she was glad to take cash?”
“Astonishingly glad. As if she never got cash payments. Is she a slave of some sort? Is that what you think? That dress you said she made – who was it made for?”
The Ghosts of Ardenthwaite (The Northminster Mysteries Book 5) Page 19