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The Shadowcutter

Page 11

by Harriet Smart


  “Oh dear Lord,” she said and covered her face with her hands. “I didn’t even know he was here. What was he doing here?”

  “I don’t know, ma’am.”

  She looked at him again with that strange, piercing gaze. Her hands were knotted together, the knuckles white as if she were clutching them together to find some strength.

  “He was your patient?” Her voice was quiet now.

  “Yes, I am a surgeon. My name is Carswell, Felix Carswell.”

  “Felix Carswell,” she repeated. “Indeed.”

  She was staring at him now. He looked away, disconcerted.

  “Ma’am?” he said.

  Suddenly she reached out and touched his cheek, only for a fraction of a moment, and even then so that he barely felt it. But it astonished him that she should do this. She, for her part, horrified at her own audacity, had pressed her hand against her mouth. She jumped up from the sofa and fled the room, banging the door behind her.

  He touched the spot her finger had touched. He felt a little nauseous and faint, and he tugged at his cravat, longing for air. The room was unpleasantly warm. He went to the window and pulled back the heavy damask curtains and then drew up the blind, before forcing open the sash. As he did a little breath of air came into the room, just enough to set the candle flames dancing. He turned from the window and saw that the door the lady had left by was now ajar, and that she was standing behind it, looking through the gap at him.

  “Is there anything I can do for you, ma’am?” he asked.

  She came out of the room slowly.

  “You must excuse me,” she said. “I have had a great shock.”

  “Yes, your brother-in-law –”

  “Not just that,” she said, going to the portrait and looking up. She was breathing hard, attempting to steady herself.

  “Your late husband, ma’am?” he hazarded.

  “Yes,” she said, still looking up at the picture. He half expected her to fall on her knees before it.

  “So you are Mrs Martinez, ma’am?” he asked.

  She turned and said, “Yes, I am. But on the island I am known as Dona Blanca. That is the custom there.”

  “Then he spoke of you,” Felix said. “Don Xavier, I mean, at the end –”

  “Oh,” she said. “Oh, no...”

  She turned back to the portrait and he could see she was mastering her tears.

  “I am so sorry,” Felix said.

  “How strange fate is,” she said, still gazing up at her dead husband. “How strange.”

  “His body is at the White Horse, near the parish church,” he said.

  “Is that where he died?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so. It was rather wretched. I tried to get him to move, but events overtook us, so to speak. I wish he had told me earlier that I could find you here so that he might...”

  “I think,” she said, “he was taking the trouble not to be found.”

  “But why?” he could not help saying, and then tempered his enquiry, “if it is not presumptuous to ask.”

  She looked as if she were about to say something else when the door to the right opened, and Don Luiz came out again.

  “Oh, you are here,” he said. “You have heard, then?”

  She nodded.

  “Does Clara know?” she asked.

  “Yes, I have told her. She is praying for him.”

  “Then I will join her,” said Dona Blanca. She moved towards the door and then stopped, looking back at Felix. “Thank you for finding us,” she said. “We owe you a great debt, I am sure.

  Chapter Twelve

  They reached Holbroke just after the family had finished dinner, and since it was such a close evening, the ladies had quit the drawing room and were sitting out on the great portico, in order to catch the breezes. Many lanterns had been lit, creating a soft, golden light, in which the Marchioness and her daughters, all dressed in gauzy summer silks, made an impressive sight, as they came down the steps to greet them. Lady Warde, in black, struck a dull note, and Giles noticed how she shrank back as the others came forward, her face as pale as the skirts of Lady Charlotte’s white dress. He wondered what more information about Eliza Jones might be got out of her. Her blandness was, in that moment, as conspicuous and intriguing as that affected by her servant. He longed to seize the moment, draw her to one side and question her properly.

  But this was not the moment. Laura was glancing fearfully at him, her eyes begging for reassurance, as Lord Rothborough came forward to hand her out of the carriage. It was possible that the striking resemblance to Mr Carswell unnerved her. He squeezed her hand, and hoped that his nod and smile was enough to calm her for now. It was not the easiest entrance for her.

  “Mrs Vernon, a great pleasure to know you at last,” Lord Rothborough said, taking her hand, and helping her from the carriage. “My, you are quite the Diana,” Rothborough went on, observing how she was taller than him. “And what could be more appropriate, for the wife of our huntsman, here? Vernon, good evening again. I am glad you are back so speedily. There has been – but that can wait. Come and meet my wife and daughters, Mrs Vernon.”

  He offered his arm and took her up the steps to present her to them all. Even though her dress was not at all expensive or elaborate, Laura’s natural beauty and elegant bearing made it appear so. She looked quite the equal of the Rothborough girls. Her long, lithe body and her graceful movements, the things that had made him first notice her, now struck him anew, and powerfully. He hastened up the steps to join them, feeling proud of her courage as she shook hands and smiled and managed to make small talk.

  Laura was soon sitting in the place of honour by Lady Rothborough, while Giles found himself with the ladies Maria and Charlotte.

  “Papa is right. Mrs Vernon is a Diana,” Lady Maria. “She would be wonderful in a tableau, don’t you think? It has been so long since we had an evening of tableaux.”

  “Mr Syme has told Mama it is a sin,” said Lady Charlotte rather sharply.

  “I cannot see the harm in it at all,” said Lady Maria. “Papa does not, and Mama loves it.”

  “Where is Mr Syme?” said Giles.

  “He didn’t come to dinner. He had a headache,” said Lady Maria. “Major Vernon, would Mrs Vernon like to appear in some tableaux, do you think? Does she like that sort of thing? In fact, would you?” she said, giving him an appraising glance.

  “Major Vernon has far better things to do,” said Lady Charlotte. “I should think.”

  “I like a little theatrical nonsense as much as the next man,” said Giles. “And I am sure Laura would be delighted. She likes dressing up.”

  “Oh excellent! I will try and persuade Mama. Since Mr Syme is not here to pour cold water, we stand a chance. It is a favourite thing with her – well it always was, until he put the idea into her head that it was sinful. Which it cannot be, surely?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” said Giles.

  Lady Maria went to make her petition and Giles was alone with Lady Charlotte.

  “Your wife is very beautiful,” she said.

  It felt like a criticism rather than a compliment, as if he had suddenly acquired a beautiful wife in order to hurt her feelings. He wondered what fantastical notions had been running through her head.

  “I shall need your help tomorrow,” he said. “I need to talk properly with Lady Warde.”

  “Would you not rather I looked after Mrs Vernon?”

  “I think Mrs Vernon will have all the attention she needs,” said Giles, noticing how Lady Maria was talking animatedly at her.

  “She is like a child playing with a new doll,” said Lady Charlotte, then sighed. “Oh, that was cruel of me, I know. It was jealously. Maria is so easy with people, so warm-hearted, so good.”

  “And you think you are not?”

  “I know I am not.”

  “You have been listening to Mr Syme too much.”

  “He may have a point.”

  “Do not judge yours
elf by his standards.”

  “And what other standards am I to abide by, if not those of a clergyman?”

  “By those that you discover for yourself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “One must apply one’s intelligence and work out what is the right thing to do. It is not easy, of course –”

  “It is impossible!” she said. “Well, it might not be for you, but for a foolish young woman like me, who is all at sea. Ever since Papa and I found poor Eliza, I have not been... it is as if my house of cards has collapsed. Mr Syme says that I am resisting the call of my Saviour, and that I need to acknowledge him and be saved or I will never find peace again. Perhaps he is right.”

  “It is too simple. There are plenty of clergymen who would disagree strongly with that view, Lady Charlotte. My brother-in-law, Canon Fforde, for example.”

  “Perhaps,” she said. “He is so relentless with it. He would not stop talking at me this afternoon. No wonder I cannot think straight. I think he gave himself a headache with his sermonising.” She laughed which relieved him.

  “You must take care not to let him do that again,” Giles said.

  “I know,” she said. “It was unwise. He caught me at a moment of weakness. After you left –”

  Fortunately the conversation could go no further. Lady Maria had come bounding back to tell them she was showing Mrs Vernon up to their rooms.

  “You are in the Indian Chintz rooms now, Major Vernon,” she said. “But I think Papa wants to speak to you first. Come, Chartie, let us go and make sure Mrs Vernon is comfortable.”

  “Yes, of course. Excuse me,” said Lady Charlotte and went with her sister.

  Soon only Giles and Lord Rothborough remained on the portico.

  “You cannot imagine how glad I am you decided to come back to us tonight, Vernon,” said Lord Rothborough. “The strangest thing has happened, and I think you are the only man I know who might get to the bottom of it. Not only have we have a murder to deal with, but this afternoon I discovered that some extremely valuable jewellery has gone missing.”

  Giles took a moment to digest this information and reached for his notebook and pencil.

  “How distressing,” he said. “How did you discover this?”

  “Every year I have a jeweller come over from Northminster to check everything over – Hammersly, you probably know the fellow?” Giles nodded. “He looks for loose stones and so forth, to see if anything needs cleaning or restringing, that sort of thing. He is expected tomorrow. So what usually happens is that Woodward, my secretary, gathers up all the various pieces – some are kept in a locked cabinet in my wife’s dressing room – the pieces she wears frequently; others are in the care of my daughters, while the bulk are kept in the strong room, off the plate room in their own cabinet.”

  “So do you know exactly what is missing and from where?”

  “Yes – the Rothborough parure.”

  “That is a set of matching jewels?”

  “That’s right – in this case a tiara, two bracelets, earrings and a stomacher, I think it is called, worn on the bodice. Diamonds, rubies and pearls. My wife doesn’t care for it – she has family pieces of her own she prefers – so it does not often see the light of day, and is kept in the strong room. Which is the greatest mystery. How could it have been done?”

  -0-

  By the time Giles found his way up to the Indian Chintz room, he found that Laura was asleep in the great bed. Sukey was still there, hanging up clothes in the adjoining dressing room.

  “I am almost done, sir,” she said.

  “Are they looking after you?” he asked.

  “Very well, thank you. I am just along the passageway, next to Lady Rothborough’s maid. It’s quite grand, all in all.”

  “That’s good,” said Giles. “I have a job for you, if this isn’t enough. As well as this poor girl being murdered, a quantity of jewellery has vanished from its cabinet in the strong room, presumably stolen. Now the household don’t know about this yet – only Lord Rothborough and Mr Woodward his secretary – and I’d like it to stay that way.” She nodded. “But I want you to tell me if you see anything downstairs that makes you think someone is keeping secrets, or is up to anything unusual. I think Mrs Hope the housekeeper has a sewing circle for the ladies maids?”

  “Yes, she said I was to come and join them,” Sukey said. “Do you think it was someone in the house?”

  “Possibly,” said Giles. “Is that a fresh pot of tea?”

  “It’s camomile,” she said. “And it’s not been sitting there long. Mrs Vernon had her usual cup and went straight to sleep.”

  “How did she seem?”

  “Happy,” said Sukey.

  “Truly?”

  “Lady Maria was very kind to her,” said Sukey. “So would you like a cup of this, Major Vernon?”

  “Yes, thank you. Now, where am I to sleep?” he said, glancing back into the large bedroom from the dressing room doorway. There was no bed there. “Is there another dressing room?”

  “I don’t think so, sir. I think they thought –” she broke off, embarrassed. Sukey knew well enough that Giles and Laura did not share a bed. “Well, you know. Holt has put your things in here.”

  She busied herself with the tea.

  “You had better get to bed, Sukey,” he said. “You look tired.”

  “Yes, I am a bit,” she said, and closed the trunk. “This can wait.” She went to the door and stopped. “I hope you don’t mind me asking this, Major, about Mr Carswell?”

  “What about him?”

  “Is it true then, that he’s Lord Rothborough’s natural son?”

  “Yes. I suppose you noticed the likeness?” She nodded. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just for that reason. It is striking.” she said, quickly. “Goodnight sir.” she added and left, closing the door quietly behind her with her habitual care.

  Giles finished his tea, which was tepid but pleasantly refreshing, and got into his nightshirt, which he found laid out for him on a chair. He went through to the bedroom and climbed up into the great canopied bed, and for the first time in many years lay down beside his wife.

  Laura stirred and woke a little. She rolled onto her side to face him.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” he said.

  “No,” she said.

  She turned and pressed herself against him, letting him put his arms about her. He felt her relax in his arms.

  He felt ashamed then of all his own moments of weakness: of his betrayals, mental and real. She had not been unfaithful as he had. He wished he might confess it all to her, but that would be for his benefit, not hers. She had suffered enough without having to know of his cruelty.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Felix returned to the house in Stangate and found that the Vernons and Sukey had already left for Holbroke. He ate a melancholy supper of cold-boiled mutton, runner beans and stewed apricots, too sharp to be pleasant. It was served to him by the resident housekeeper, Mrs Bolland, who was put out by the sudden departure. Having brought the tray in, she stood asking him questions in a surly manner about what and when she was to do this and that, questions that he could not readily answer. He wished Sukey were there. She would have dealt with it and got the irritating old hen out of the room.

  “So you will be here tomorrow night, sir?” Mrs Bolland, pressed on. “For your dinner? I need to know.”

  “I don’t know,” Felix said. “It depends on when a man is buried. I shall let you know as soon as I can. Is there any more wine?” She had given him a solitary glassful.

  “Major Vernon didn’t say anything about your having his wine,” said Mrs Bolland.

  “I don’t think you need to worry about that,” said Felix. “Bring up the rest of the bottle.”

  “Whatever you like, sir!” said Mrs Bolland, irritably.

  Alone, he lit a cheroot and pushed the apricots about the bowl, wishing again Sukey were there and not just to bring domestic peace and
comfort. He wanted to feel her close to him. That kiss had been a tantalising prelude – not to something sordid and transitory but to something so profound that it frightened him as much as it gave him joy. Just to have had her sitting there with him, smoking a cheroot would have been enough. To kiss her again would be an extraordinary privilege.

  In his mind’s eye he pictured her calmly negotiating the strange oceans of Holbroke, her neat dark-skirted figure walking the crimson carpets. She would of course take the whole thing easily in her stride: that was one of the glories of her – he had noticed a hundred times her calm competence in the face of whatever life chose to throw at her. Yet for all that, he wanted to ride through the night and fetch her away from there. The thought of those powdered flunkies who had such a high opinion of themselves leering at her, as pretty women servants always were leered at, disturbed him not a little, and he had no idea to what unpleasant licentiousness she might be exposed in the Servant’s Hall.

  Was she thinking of him, he wondered, thinking of that kiss, and the half-smoked cheroots and that afternoon’s conversation? Would she even have time to consider what had happened, as she climbed into her strange new bed? Was she, like him, feeling exhausted and lonely and yet too stirred up to sleep?

  When, after a few more glasses of the claret that Mrs Bolland deigned to give him, he went to his own bed, he lay tossing and turning. The events of the day clung to him, keeping him from sleep with their painful potency – not just the taste of Sukey’s sweet lips, but Don Xavier’s miserable death and Dona Blanca’s peculiar manner and puzzling words: “He was taking the trouble not to be found.”

  -0-

  Felix had arranged to meet Don Luiz at the White Horse the next morning to settle the matter of his burial and hand over his possessions. He had the key to his room in his pocket, and he was seized with a desire to look over his things in a more thorough fashion. Dona Blanca’s words and manners had piqued his curiosity.

  The landlady took the opportunity to ask his opinion about a rash on her son’s arm – an entirely trivial matter which took up rather more time than Felix would have liked. He went upstairs, and began his nervous search, hoping he had enough time before Don Luiz appeared.

 

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