The rector nodded. ‘Baltic timber,’ he said. ‘I heard the same from Maudsley.’
‘Ah, you spoke to him. What else did he have to say?’
‘Like Cecilia, very little. He told me several times that he has no interest in the bank, and knows nothing of its affairs.’
‘Hmm. Mrs Redcliffe said much the same. The remaining partners, Faversham and Cotton, must be the only ones who know what is going on. Faversham certainly gave the impression of a man who likes to control affairs. Cotton, of course, is an unknown quantity. There is also Faversham’s son, Grebell, but I saw no evidence that he knows anything about banking at all.’
‘Yes. I must speak to Charles Faversham, and Cotton too . . . What did you make of Mrs Redcliffe? I know her name, but I had not encountered her before.’
‘She is an interesting woman. Rather deeper than she appears, I suspect. She runs her late husband’s business, which she says keeps her fully occupied.’ Mrs Chaytor paused. ‘She is also a very heavy user of laudanum, and I would say that she has been for some time.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Dull eyes, sallow skin, and she wears a wig to cover her own hair. With addicts, the hair becomes rather lifeless and lank. I’ve seen it before.’
Hardcastle pondered for a few moments. ‘None of this gets us very far,’ he said finally. ‘I remain unconvinced that Hector Munro went to London, but one must keep an open mind. I have sent Stemp to follow Munro’s trail.’
‘And what will you do?’
‘I am away tomorrow, to interview the other partners. I must also speak with Batist, who was Munro’s chief clerk at Ashford. Maudsley says that Munro was in the bank the day before he went away. Batist may know what lay behind his departure.’
‘The partners? You will include Mrs Redcliffe?’
‘From what you say, she is unlikely to know much about Munro’s doings.’
‘I would interview her anyway. She is perceptive and acute, and she may well have noticed something that will be of value to us.’
Hardcastle smiled. ‘I defer to your judgement. I shall interview the four of them, and I shall ask whether Munro was travelling on bank business when he was killed. And, I shall ask also whether they had heard any rumours that he might have been involved in smuggling. It will be interesting to see how they respond.’
‘Shake the tree,’ she said, ‘and wait to see what falls out of it. You will ask them about Baltic timber?’
‘Of course. It may turn out to be quite unimportant.’
‘Perhaps, and perhaps not. There is a great deal of money in timber,’ Mrs Chaytor pointed out. ‘The Admiralty is in desperate need of timber to build and repair its warships; and the navy is our principal line of defence against France.’
‘It is our only line of defence against France.’
She smiled a little; the lack of coastal defences and garrisons, in a place where the coast of France was plainly visible on a clear day, was a hobby horse the rector had ridden many times. ‘I have another theory for you to consider. Grebell Faversham has paid me a call.’
She told him what Grebell had said. ‘Jealousy is a good motive for murder. And Grebell also has much to gain by Munro’s death, if he plays his cards right.’
‘Yes.’ The rector stroked his chin. ‘But there is absolutely no evidence pointing to him.’
‘Not yet. May I make a suggestion? Let me cultivate Grebell. If he is a murderer, then sooner or later he will give himself away to me.’
‘Why so?’
‘He desires my regard,’ said Mrs Chaytor, ‘and he is weak. He wishes to impress me, so he will not be able to resist giving away little hints about how clever he has been. I very much doubt he would make a full confession, but I may learn enough to determine whether he might be our murderer.’
Hardcastle watched her in mild alarm. ‘If he is the murderer, and learns that you suspect him, you could be in danger.’
‘Don’t worry. I know how to handle men like Grebell Faversham.’
7
The Bank
‘Good morning, reverend,’ said Charles Faversham in his cultivated voice. He spoke in round tones from the front of his mouth, like an actor delivering his lines.
‘Will you join me in some refreshment? Bring us coffee,’ Faversham told the liveried servant. ‘Now then, sir, how may I assist you? I assume your visit concerns poor Munro.’
They were seated in Faversham’s office on the ground floor of East Weald and Ashford Bank’s offices in Rye, a splendid building with elegant, rounded windows outlined in stone. The office was large, panelled in oak and designed to impress. Two enormous oil paintings in heavy gilt frames, one depicting East Indiamen in convoy on a stormy sea, the other a hunting scene, hung on opposite walls; a copy of Ramsay’s portrait of King George hung above and behind the great oak desk. Faversham himself, grey-wigged in the old style and wearing a coat of immaculate royal-blue velvet, sat behind the desk, toying with a silver mounted pen.
‘First, let me thank you for receiving me,’ said the rector. ‘You are quite right, this does concern the late Mr Munro. However, I must point out that this is not an official interview. As you doubtless know, I am a magistrate of Romney Marsh, and I have no authority here in Sussex. Therefore, Mr Faversham, there is no requirement for you to answer any of my questions.’
‘My dear sir. You may ask any question you wish. I am as anxious as you to find out what happened to the poor fellow.’
‘Thank you.’ The coffee arrived; the servant departed, closing the door softly behind him. There were lines in Faversham’s face, the rector saw; lines that had not been there when they first met at Magpie Court, nor even at the funeral. Beneath the bonhomie, he looked strained.
‘As you know, Munro left home several days before he was killed,’ said the rector. ‘He told his wife and father-in-law that he was going away on bank business. I am trying to determine whether that business might be connected to his murder.’
Faversham raised his eyebrows. ‘I confess that notion had not occurred to me,’ he said. ‘I assumed the poor devil was murdered by footpads.’
‘Footpads, who placed his body in a boat and set it adrift in the Channel?’ Hardcastle shook his head. ‘As an explanation, sir, it simply will not do. There must be a connection between Munro’s journey and his death. I was hoping you would be able to enlighten me as to the reasons for his journey.’
Faversham nodded. ‘I will do what I can.’
‘Thank you, sir. First of all, did you know Munro was going away last Wednesday?’
‘I had no idea whatever. But then, Munro did not always tell me when he was travelling.’
‘He told his family that he was working on a new investment in Baltic timber,’ said Hardcastle. ‘A deal that involved Berenberg & Gossler, the Hamburg bank. Did you know about this?’
‘Oh, yes indeed. We bought a stake in a major shipment of timber from Russia, destined for the Royal Navy. Berenberg & Gossler were the dealmakers. But that deal was concluded over two weeks ago. I know, because I signed the papers myself.’
‘Oh? Then it was you who arranged this deal?’
‘Munro made the first contact with Berenberg & Gossler, but then I took over. I handled all the final negotiations. I went up to Town, met the Hamburg representatives and we signed and sealed the agreement. That was, let me see . . . The 2nd of August, a week before Munro disappeared.’
‘And that was all? There were no further negotiations, no complications arising that might have needed dealing with?’
‘None whatever. The Hamburg bankers are gentlemen; they keep their word. Whatever Munro was doing, reverend, you can be sure that it was nothing to do with the timber deal.’
Then why did he tell his family that it was? ‘What other business might Munro have been involved in, do you know?’
‘There was nothing special that I am aware of,’ said Faversham. ‘But to be certain, you would need to ask Batist, his chie
f clerk. There may have been small loans and investments in and around Ashford that had not yet come to my attention.’
‘But if he had been working on another big investment, you would have known about it?’
‘Most certainly. Our policy is quite strict; all major investments must be referred to the senior partner, which is myself.’ Faversham paused. ‘I must say, reverend, I am surprised to hear that Munro told his wife and Maudsley that he was travelling on bank business. I would be even more surprised if that turned out to be true.’
The rector looked sharply at Faversham. ‘That is an interesting observation,’ he said. ‘I wonder if I might trouble you to explain it?’
‘I’ll be frank,’ Faversham said. ‘I respected Munro’s acumen, and I admired his ability. But I never warmed to him as a man. There was always a slight sense of . . . superiority about him.’
Hardcastle waited. ‘I’ll give you an example,’ said Faversham. ‘We’d been using a stockbroker in London, same fellow for years, chap called Leeming. Offices in Change Alley, very well respected. Soon after Munro joined us, Leeming bought stock in a couple of poorly managed ventures. Both went smash, and we lost money. Munro blamed Leeming for the decision, and urged me to fire him and replace him with the new fellow, Ricardo.
‘Now, Leeming was indeed to blame, and there’s no denying Ricardo has been an absolute Tartar for us on the markets. But the manner in which Munro went about things concerned me. Leeming had been with us for years; I knew the fellow well. We owed him some loyalty, I thought. But Munro treated him like dirt. And he was pretty offhand with me too. You know, it was almost as if he blamed me for the failure.’
‘That seems rather unreasonable,’ the rector said politely. ‘If I may ask, how does this relate to his disappearance?’
‘The point I am making, reverend, is that Munro and I were not close. He was, if I am honest, quite secretive. He used to disappear for days at a time, never tell me where he was going, then just turn up again as if nothing had happened. I know one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. But I was beginning to have my doubts about his reliability.’
The rector nodded slowly. ‘Why did you accept Munro as a partner in the first place?’ he asked.
‘That was down to Maudsley. Munro met Sissy Maudsley at some social event in London, and it was soon obvious that they would marry. Sissy was unwilling to leave her family and go to Edinburgh, and Munro was happy to settle here. He had enough capital to buy a partnership and, well, I needed someone like him, young and energetic.’
‘Someone to share the burden of running the business,’ said Hardcastle.
‘Exactly, sir. I’ve been running this bank more or less on my own for the past sixteen, no, seventeen years, ever since my father retired. I took over Henry Maudsley’s share of the Ashford Bank and went into partnership with Frederick, his son, but it was quite clear from the outset that Frederick had no interest in banking. Then I thought I had found a good partner in Andrew Redcliffe, but the poor fellow died six months after he came on board. As for his widow . . . Well, you know. Women have no head for banking.’
The rector nodded without comment. ‘What about Cotton?’
‘Cotton is very good at what he does, which is country banking. He has useful links with the Church, too, even though he’s a Quaker. But he doesn’t see the larger picture. He lacks breadth.’
‘One final question, if I may,’ said Hardcastle. ‘Have you ever heard that Mr Munro might have been involved in smuggling?’
‘Smuggling!’ Faversham stared at him. His face showed his alarm. ‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘The free trade, Mr Faversham. Munro would not have been the first gentleman of means to dabble in it. Do you know if he did so?’
Faversham spread his hands. ‘Reverend Hardcastle, I don’t know what Munro did in his private life. As I have indicated, we respected each other and worked together, but we were not close. If he had any connection with smuggling, well, I would deplore it, of course. I would also be more than a little angry that he would so recklessly endanger the reputation of this bank. If word of this had got out, or were to get out now . . .’
He looked sharply at the rector. ‘Why do you ask this question? Do you think he was smuggling?’
‘I am exploring several possibilities,’ said the rector. ‘That is one of them.’
‘If you learn anything further that might suggest this . . . possibility, reverend, then I would be most grateful if you would let me know.’
‘Of course.’ They rose together. ‘Thank you once again for receiving me,’ the rector said as they walked to the door. ‘You have been most generous with your time.’
‘Please don’t mention it. Munro was a respected colleague. I am happy to do what I can.’
*
In the antechamber another man was waiting, presumably Faversham’s next appointment. He was a man worth looking at: past sixty but still tall and strongly built, with white hair brushed back and clubbed at the back of his neck. His skin was tanned and seamed like old leather; his dark eyes were set amidst a web of crow’s feet wrinkles. He could only have been a sailor.
‘Reverend,’ said Faversham, ‘allow me to introduce one of Rye’s most worthy citizens; my client and good friend, Captain John Haddock of the Customs Service. The captain commands our local revenue cruiser, the Stag, of which I am sure you have heard.’
‘Indeed,’ said the rector, bowing, ‘and the name of Captain Haddock is also known to me.’
‘Captain, I present to you Reverend Hardcastle, justice of the peace and rector of St Mary in the Marsh.’
‘A pleasure, reverend,’ said the old captain, bowing in turn. ‘St Mary, you say? I was up your way last week, cruising off Romney Marsh.’
‘I hope my parishioners did not give you any trouble,’ Hardcastle said politely. A memory clicked in his mind. ‘When was this, captain, if I may ask?’
‘Surely. We sailed up from Rye on Thursday evening, bound for Dover. We passed your way in the small hours of Friday morning.’
Hardcastle was fully alert now. ‘During the night, did you happen to see a ship near New Romney or St Mary?’
The captain looked at him keenly. ‘Now, sir, how did you know that? We did run across a ship, a Dutch lugger, standing inshore bold as brass. A curious thing, that was.’
‘Why so, sir?’
‘The moon was just past full. The smugglers usually wait for cloudy nights, or the dark. What was she doing out on a night like that?’
‘What happened next?’
‘We spotted her, but she saw us too and made off north-east, heading towards home. I gave chase, but she could sail closer to the wind than my Stag, and we couldn’t get near her. I gave up the chase around dawn and brought my ship back to Dover. I’ve noted her, though. If she comes this way again, I’ll be looking for her.’
‘Can you be more precise about when you spotted this Dutchman?’ Hardcastle asked.
Haddock frowned. ‘During the middle watch. Four bells had just gone, so it would be a little after two in the morning. Is this important, sir?’
‘It might be,’ said the rector.
The captain nodded. ‘When I’m back aboard, I’ll check the log for you and send word.’
‘And did you by chance also see a smaller boat, a fishing boat, anywhere nearby? Or did you hear anything such as a shot?’
The captain shook his head. ‘Can’t say I did. I was concentrating on the Dutchman. I’ll ask my crew, see if any of them saw or heard anything.’
‘Please do,’ said the rector, bowing. ‘Thank you, captain. You’ve been most helpful.’
*
Hardcastle drove the dog cart back across the Marsh, full of thought. Dr Mackay had estimated the time of Munro’s death at between midnight and four in the morning; just when the Stag had sighted the Dutch lugger off St Mary.
The rector did not believe in coincidence. The Dutch ship must have some connection with Munro’
s death.
But what might the connection be? The Dutch were also involved in smuggling, of course; every year, hundreds of thousands of gallons of gin flowed out of Dutch distilleries and into English ports. Haddock assumed the Dutch ship was a free trader, and she might well be. But Hardcastle wondered, not for the first time, how Munro had managed to insinuate himself with any smugglers, Dutch or otherwise, in the short time he had lived in Kent. The Gentlemen were a cautious breed, and did not accept outsiders easily. It took time to win their trust.
It was well past midday, so he stopped at the Woolpack, south of Brookland, to rest his horse and dine on soles and beer. His mind continued to work on the problem. Of course, he thought, we do not know very much about Munro before he came south and married Sissy Maudsley. His family have a business concern in Edinburgh; what sort of business is it? Might it by chance have business contacts in the Netherlands, perhaps? Was Munro now using these, and would that explain the approach of the Dutch ship?
What sort of man was Munro, he wondered. Hardcastle had met him half a dozen times, and had formed an impression of a steady, pleasant, reliable man. But how well do we ever know our fellow creatures? Most people have secrets that they keep hidden, he thought. I know I do.
Certainly his own impressions of Munro were sharply at odds with the picture Charles Faversham had painted. And yet . . . did he believe Faversham? Was Munro really as devious, secretive and ruthless as Faversham implied? The rector stirred restlessly. I didn’t ask if Munro was unreliable, he thought; Faversham volunteered the information himself.
But why? Why, with the earth still new on Hector Munro’s grave, should Faversham choose to blacken his character?
*
From the Woolpack, the rector drove north to Brenzett, crossing Hangman’s Bridge and continuing on to Ham Street, where he paid his toll for the turnpike to Ashford. The road climbed up into the high, rolling country of the eastern Weald. The day was fine and the fields were busy with harvesters; the air smelled of the dust of threshing. He passed wagons drawn by teams of big, plodding horses, loaded with corn, on their way to the warehouses in Ashford.
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