The Shadowcutter

by Harriet Smart

  “Major Vernon knows his business,” said Lord Rothborough, putting a chair down opposite the sofa. “And if you have done nothing wrong, you have nothing to fear from any questions he will put to you.”

  “If I have done anything wrong, Lord Rothborough? What on earth can I have done wrong? How, sir, can you even entertain what this man is suggesting? I would have thought that you would have more consideration of the honour of a poor widow, whom your wife has always protected so faithfully.”

  “Major Vernon knows his business,” said Lord Rothborough. “Why do you think I asked him here in the first place? So please, ma’am, sit, and assist him.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Felix came into the drawing room with Sukey, just as they had discussed earlier with Major Vernon.

  There was then a rather bizarre interlude that could only happen at Holbroke, as fancy ices were served. Felix had no idea if he should take one or not when offered the tray, for fear of offending Lady Rothborough. It was certainly the strangest interrogation scene that he had ever witnessed, but Major Vernon had been insistent.

  Major Vernon was half-reclined on a sofa, his face dangerously flushed, looking gaunt and wild-eyed.

  “Have you got everything?” he murmured, while Felix took his pulse. Felix nodded. “Just as we discussed?”

  “Are you still sure about this?” Felix said, not much liking the violent colour of the Major’s complexion nor his hoarse, breathy tone. It was entirely uncharacteristic. “It can wait a day or two.”

  “I might be dead by then,” he said.

  “Unlikely,” said Felix. “But you are prolonging your recovery by this.”

  “If that is the price, then –” Major Vernon, said with a shrug.

  “At least take some of your ice,” Felix said. Major Vernon obeyed him.

  Felix glanced over to Lady Warde who was sitting a little distance away with Lady Rothborough. All her her gestures were a pantomime of wronged womanhood, with one hand on her breast, the other clasping at Lady Rothborough’s hand. The latter looked from her and then to Major Vernon, obviously painfully conflicted as to the justice of the case.

  “She will probably feign illness,” said Major Vernon. “Ah, look, here we go –” Lady Warde was now weeping uncontrollably into Lady Rothborough’s lap. Lady Rothborough looked mortified. “Carswell, do you think you could disentangle her from my Lady?”

  “I will help you,” murmured Sukey, and together they gently prised her off her, and managed to get to the chair that Lord Rothborough had placed in front of Major Vernon’s sofa. She struggled though, with a wiry resistance that Felix had become familiar with when dealing with hardened members of Northminster’s criminal society. And just as they inevitably did, she protested loudly.

  “Major Vernon,” said Lady Rothborough, going over to him. “This is becoming an abomination. She is clearly –”

  “I apologise for the apparent brutality, ma’am,” said Major Vernon. “But it is necessary. And as your husband has said, if she has nothing to hide, why must she object so strongly to answering a few reasonable questions?”

  “I beg you sir, then, do it as quickly as you can, if you really must!” said Lady Rothborough and went and sat at the far end of the room with her daughters.

  “I will do my best,” said Vernon.

  He moved to the edge of the sofa and leant forward, his gaze fixed on Lady Warde.

  “I am giving you a chance to find peace, ma’am,” he said, gently and quietly. “That is what this is about.”

  “Peace?” she said. “How dare you!”

  “We were talking of grief earlier, and the challenges it brings. Like you I have just suffered a great blow. I know the pain of a fresh wound. It brings us to strange places. Yes?”

  “It has made you mad, certainly sir.”

  “Mad with grief, yes. Angry, yes. You know what I am talking about.”

  “As I said before, our cases are quite different sir. Eliza was not –”

  “But she was,” said Major Vernon. “And that is the key to all this. What is that about your neck, ma’am?”

  “This?” Her hand touched the locket.

  “You always wear it.”

  “Yes.”

  “An act of sentiment, not vanity. I cannot accuse you of that, can I?”

  “No,” she said.

  “Might I see it?”

  “I would rather not take it off.”

  “And would you like to explain why?” She shook her head. “As I thought. Oh well, we shall have to go the long route after all. But I know where it is we are going, and what the conclusion of this is, Lady Warde. There is no avoiding it. It is all over.”

  She shook her head again, and looked pointedly away. Still Major Vernon looked at her.

  “Do you remember how we talked the other day?” he said after a moment, “When I had to chase you halfway across the house before you would sit down and talk to me then?”

  “You were impertinent.”

  “Yes, I was intruding on your grief. You were in no state to talk sensibly. You had lost something precious and I compounded it by telling you something shocking, did I not?”

  “I really don’t remember,” she said, with a wave of her hand.

  “Oh, I think you do,” said Major Vernon, “given how shocked you were. I told you that Eliza was with child. How could you forget that?”

  There was a long pause and she said, “That was sad news – the loss of an innocent soul. Though it would have been a wretched business. I had not thought Eliza capable of being so foolish and wicked. But the Lord is her judge now.” She sighed.

  “You will be pleased to know that I am certain now who killed her, and why,” Major Vernon said.

  “Yes, of course,” she said.

  “You do not look pleased,” he said. “And neither am I. I will not have the pleasure of seeing John Edgar tried and then hanged for his crimes. Someone in their grief and anger took the law into their own hands.”

  “I am sure he had many enemies,” said Lady Warde.

  “Not least the mother of the woman whom he smashed against the wall of that cave and drowned,” said Major Vernon getting up from the sofa and staggering a few steps towards her. “The angry grieving mother who discovered that her only child was dead, and her unborn grandchild with it. The mother who had, with her daughter, been quietly pocketing treasures from the houses at which they stayed and using John Edgar to fence them.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “Let us start with this,” said Major Vernon. “Mr Carswell, the letter you found, if you please.” Felix took the letter from his pocket and gave it Major Vernon. “A letter for the post, addressed to Mrs Edgar at Swalecliffe. Found in your writing table. In your hand, I think? Perhaps Lady Rothborough would confirm that.”

  He was about to hand the letter to Sukey to take it over to Lady Rothborough, but Lady Warde rose from her seat, determined to take it from her. Major Vernon held it out of reach.

  “That is my private correspondence,” she said. “That is outrageous! How dare you!”

  “Even more outrageously I have opened it,” said Major Vernon, handing it to Sukey. “I am glad I did because you have been careless, my Lady. You did not think anyone would dare. You thought you could hide behind your widow’s weeds and your dead husband’s name. But you cannot. Lady Rothborough, you would be so kind as to look at this letter?”

  “You cannot – you shall not – Catherine I beg you, please –”

  “Is that Lady Warde’s hand?” Major Vernon asked Lady Rothborough.

  “Yes, I think so,” said Lady Rothborough. She opened the letter and looked at the contents. “Yes.” She handed it to her husband. “Yes?”

  Lord Rothborough nodded.

  “And what does the letter say, my Lord?”

  Lord Rothborough read out the letter. “‘Dear Mrs Edgar, I am writing to inform you than my daughter and I shall not require the ro
oms we previously engaged for the week starting the tenth of August. Yours sincerely, Mrs John Abbot.’ Now who is Mrs Abbot?”

  “Abbot was your maiden name, was it not, Frances?” Lady Rothborough said.

  “What name I use when I engage lodgings is neither here nor there,” said Lady Warde.

  “But rooms for your daughter?” Lady Rothborough said. “Your daughter died in India, with your husband – little Eliza whose grave you could not visit. Such a great sadness for you.”

  “Eliza Warde is certainly dead,” Major Vernon said. “But much more recently. Here at Holbroke in fact. In St Gertrude’s cave.”

  “Are you suggesting that Eliza Jones was Lady Warde’s daughter?” said Lord Rothborough.

  “Yes. Not suggesting. It is the truth.”

  “Good grief,” said Lord Rothborough.

  “He is talking nonsense! Utter nonsense!” protested Lady Warde.

  “I think you should sit down again, ma’am,” said Major Vernon, returning to his own seat on the sofa. He gestured towards her empty chair.

  She stood there still. “No, I shall go,” she said. “I shall not stay and listen a moment longer.” She moved towards the door but Felix managed to catch her arm. She struggled to be free of him and then, as if her dignity was mightily wounded, eventually returned to perch on the edge of the chair.

  “Thank you,” said Major Vernon.”

  “Your made your daughter act as as your maid?” Lady Rothborough said. “Is that what you are suggesting, Major Vernon?” Vernon nodded. “But why?”

  “A question of economy,” said Major Vernon. “How else were you going to manage, the two of you, quite penniless, when your husband died? A grieving widow with her loyal maid would be far more easily accepted as an object of charity by the great ladies with whom you hoped to make a life than a widow with a young unmarried daughter. That daughter would be an encumbrance, an expense, a constant worry to all concerned. How were you to afford to clothe and educate her according to her rank? And your friends, with daughters of their own to marry, and unmarried sons, they would hesitate to ask you stay so long. So you decided to leave Eliza Warde dead in India with your husband, and make Eliza into your maid.”

  “Nonsense!” Lady Warde said.

  “Yes, it does seem preposterous, I know,” Major Vernon went on. “And I have hesitated to believe it myself for a while. How did you make her do it, my Lady? How did you persuade her, a girl of fifteen or so, that she had to deny herself all the privileges of her birth and pretend to be nobody? I can’t imagine that would have been easy.”

  “This man is sick,” said Lady Warde.

  “It is no wonder she turned to thieving,” said Major Vernon. “She wanted revenge and a chance of a better life than being your unpaid servant. And she was lucky to get some expert instruction when you decided to take lodgings in Swalecliffe, at the house of a Mrs Bennett, where the front room had been let to a miniature painter and shadowcutter, John Edgar. Now, as we all know, Edgar recently married the widow Bennett, but his new wife was under no illusions as to what sort of man he was. Eliza would have been a pleasant diversion for him and as well as seducing her, he saw that she was an excellent business opportunity. He taught her the thieving trade and then took the goods off her hands.”

  “I cannot believe that you dare to make these allegations, sir –”

  “Mr Carswell, will you show Lord and Lady Rothborough the boxes we found at Swalecliffe? Perhaps they will recognise them.”

  Felix took them from his medical bag and laid them out on a little table in front of Lady Rothborough. She gasped at the sight of them, and at once snatched up the little jewelled egg.

  “Where did you find this?” she said. “This belongs to Lady Anna Deveraux. She was most upset at its loss.”

  “Did she not accuse her son of taking it to pay a gambling debt?” Lord Rothborough said.

  “Yes, and they have not spoken since,” said Lady Rothborough. “And here it is! How can that be?”

  “We found it on Mrs Edgar’s mantelpiece at Swalecliffe,” Felix said. “She said it was a gift from her husband.”

  “And you were there!” said Lady Rothborough, getting up and going across to Lady Warde. “Of course you were! I remember very well. It was just before Christmas.”

  “I was, but that is nothing to do with me. Whatever Eliza Jones chose to do is not my responsibility. You must believe that, Catherine, I beg you! Do not listen to this madman,” She grabbed at Lady Rothborough’s skirts and looked desperately at her. “How could you think that I, oh Catherine, please...?” Lady Rothborough stared at her and then turned to Major Vernon.

  “Are you sure of this sir?” she said.

  “At first, I thought she had nothing to do with it, ” said Major Vernon. “but I think she soon found out, and saw the advantages of the business for herself. Yes, my Lady? All that temptation everywhere you went! And how hard always to have to play the humble, grateful widow, always being asked to wind wool and address invitation cards. How tiresome it must have become, year after year! I believe you came to see that Eliza had found the key to your future liberation. And that was how you and she came to steal the parure.”

  Lady Rothborough stepped back from Lady Warde.

  “No,” said Lady Warde. “No, I had nothing to do with that, and you cannot prove otherwise.”

  “Perhaps you might tell us why you have forty Spanish American gold dollars hidden among your possessions? Some of which are from Santa Magdalena. I find that extremely interesting. Mr Carswell, perhaps we might show everyone the purse?”

  Felix tipped out the contents of the little red purse that Sukey had found in Lady Warde’s room, again on the little table in front of Lady Rothborough. The heap of exotic gold glowed even in the grandeur of the Holbroke drawing room.

  “How dare you go through my things?”

  “I do apologise, but sometimes these things must be done,” said Major Vernon.”Perhaps you could tell us where you got these coins? They are not in common circulation by any means.”

  “I’ve never seen them before.”

  “They were in your bonnet box,” Felix said.

  “A gentleman from Santa Magdalena, Don Luiz was talking to Edgar the evening he died,” Major Vernon said. “I believe that Edgar sold a bracelet to Don Luiz, that was part of the Rothborough parure that you and your daughter had plotted together to steal. These are the coins that he was paid with. But strangely there was no money on Edgar’s body when we found him. Not a shilling. But here are forty gold dollars, in your bonnet box, my Lady. How did you get them? Would you like to tell us that? Tell me honestly how you came by them?”

  But she sat there still shaking her head, her lips pursed.

  “Then I shall have to explain to everyone instead.” Major Vernon said. “Later that night, Edgar met you in the garden, as you had arranged, as he was your fence. I think he told you that he had not been able to sell the bracelet yet, but it was only a matter of time. But you had run out of patience. You knew what he had done to your daughter and grandchild and that he was about to defraud you. He gave you a few gold coins and a few cheap, insincere words of sympathy. It was not enough. You knew what he had done to her and you could no longer bear it. And because he was drunk, you could take your chance. You pushed him to the ground, sat on his chest and battered his head with an ormolu ornament from the mantelpiece in your bedroom. Mr Carswell, perhaps you will show everyone the figure of Atlas.”

  Felix added the heavy, gilded statuette that had decorated the mantelpiece in Lady Warde’s bedroom to the display of objects on the table.

  “Mr Carswell has observed blood on the statue. You attempted to wash it, but you were not entirely successful. And you left a piece in the poor fellow’s skull.”

  “This is ridiculous,” she said rising from her chair. “I will not stay and listen to a word more of this.”

  “It was a great struggle, of course,” Major Vernon went on quietly. He g
ot to his feet and walked across the room to where she stood. He took her arm and gently guided her back to the chair. She resisted, of course, but he had her under control. “But it had to be done, didn’t it? You were so angry. The pain was unbearable, and you wanted to make him feel it, as you were feeling it. That terrible, terrible loss of your daughter. All that love that you had hidden away under cover of deceit for all those long years. All the miserable sacrifices you had both made were now for nothing – because of him! And he had taken an innocent life, a grandchild, who might have brought comfort and solace in your old age. All gone, because of his disgusting treachery. So you cracked him over the head, again and again, until there was no breath left in him.”

  “No –”

  He crouched down beside her, grabbing the back of the chair.

  “I know why you did it,” he said. “I know how you feel. You and I are alike. We have lost everything in this business, and I feel that same wretched fury that took you over. I too am confronted with the person who destroyed the person I loved more deeply than I knew until she was gone.”

  He reached out and took her chin and turned her head so she must look him in the eyes.

  “Will I give into temptation?” he said. “That is the question we all face at such moments. What do we do with our grief? Oh, how easy it would be, how easy...”

  Then he let go of her chin abruptly and sank back on his heels.

  “You cannot prove anything,” she spat out at him, pushing him away.

  There was a long silence and Major Vernon staggered to his feet, shaking his head.

  “I also have a ripped-up black gown covered in blood stains,” he said, leaning over her, speaking into her face. “Your gown, the one you were wearing when you smashed Edgar’s head to pieces. It was found concealed in the lumber room above the staircase where my dear wife had her fall. There was a scrap of that black silk in her petticoats. Shall I tell you what I think happened?”

  “It will only be more wild fantasy,” she said.