‘Have you sent for the wheelwright?’
‘I shall do so tomorrow.’ It was the same answer she gave every time the subject came up. She sat and chattered to him about the book she was writing. He barely listened, drinking coffee with his food almost untouched before him. The sick feeling from yesterday would not go away. Could Maudsley, his friend, really have murdered his own son-in-law and widowed his daughter, all for financial gain?
Of course he could. The love of money is indeed the root of all evil.
After breakfast they drove to New Romney through a bright morning, the sky full of piled white clouds. Calpurnia hurried off to the Tydde house, while the rector went into the town hall, which also contained the courthouse. He had decided to interview the Tyddes here rather than at their home because of its formal setting; he wanted Ebenezer and Florian, in particular, to realise the gravity of the situation, and he also wanted to show Munro that justice was being properly done.
He spoke to the town clerk. The Tyddes had responded to the summons and would attend voluntarily. Munro entered the courtroom and bowed a little stiffly. His face was heavy, and he looked as if he had not slept.
‘The family have been sent for, Mr Munro. They will attend on us shortly.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Munro, rather gruffly.
‘I understand you are in business in Edinburgh,’ said Hardcastle, his tone conversational.
‘Aye. Shipping and importation. We are importers of jute in particular.’
‘I see. A family firm?’
‘It was founded by our grandfather, yes. My brothers and I are the partners now.’
‘Did Hector retain his partnership when he went south?’
‘Oh, yes. That’s another bone of contention. Through this spurious will, those thieves the Maudsleys now have a stake in our firm.’
The rector ignored this. ‘Did you ever have business dealings in the Netherlands?’ he asked.
‘Before the war, yes. We traded a little with Amsterdam.’
‘And since we went to war with the Netherlands? Has there been any further trade in that direction?’
Munro stared at him, his eyes cold under their heavy lids. ‘What are you insinuating, sir?’
‘Nothing at all. Some British firms, in special circumstances, continue to trade legitimately with the Netherlands. I wondered if yours might be one of them.’
‘It most certainly is not.’
At that moment, the town clerk nodded and entered the chamber, ushering in Mrs Tydde arm in arm with Calpurnia. Ruth Tydde was a matronly woman in her fifties with black hair turning grey, in a sombre gown and bonnet. She gave her evidence in a low voice, turning often to look at Calpurnia for reassurance.
She had offered lodging to a stranger, not thinking there would be any harm in doing so. Yes, she had thought it odd that he kept to his room and asked to take his meals there, but he was a guest in her house; he was welcome to do as he pleased. No, he had no callers, nor did he go out. None of her family had laid eyes on Munro, or even knew of his existence. Her husband was now entirely infirm and seldom left his bed. Her two sons had been out all day on Wednesday, the day Munro arrived; on Thursday they had risen late and gone out again.
Hardcastle watched her closely. ‘Let us be quite clear about this. Mr Munro did not see either Ebenezer or Florian while he stayed with you?’
‘No, reverend. Apart from myself, the only person who saw him was our maidservant, who took him his meals and emptied the . . . the necessary box.’
‘When did you realise that the man your sons had found was in fact your lodger?’
‘As soon as they told me, reverend. I recognised the coat they said he was wearing. I could not believe my ears. He seemed such a nice gentleman, and I could not fathom why anyone would wish to do him harm. But then I grew terrified that we would be blamed for his death. People might say we lured him into the house and killed him for his money.’
‘Yes,’ said Munro heavily. ‘They might well say that.’
Mrs Tydde quailed. Calpurnia whispered to her; she nodded, and then spoke up again in a stronger voice. ‘My boys don’t need money, reverend. My husband and I give them everything they need. There’s no need for them to steal.’
The rector silenced Munro with a look and then turned back to the woman. ‘As it happens, Mrs Tydde, his money had not been stolen, so your fears were baseless. Had you informed me of what had transpired at the time of the murder, we could have cleared up the matter at once and set your mind at ease. The law does not exist solely to punish you, Mrs Tydde. It is also there to protect you.’
Mrs Tydde nodded, mute. ‘One more question,’ said Hardcastle. ‘You are a lady of means; you do not need to take in lodgers. Why did you on this occasion?’
‘He looked tired,’ said Mrs Tydde simply. ‘I spoke to him, and he said he was a stranger who had travelled far and was weary. I offered him simple charity, reverend, as the Lord himself bade us do. I did not ask for money, but he said he had means and insisted on paying for his keep.’
The rector nodded. ‘Thank you for answering my questions,’ he said.
He listened carefully while Ebenezer and Florian recounted their actions during the hours before the murder, ending with their discovery of the body. Once again, the story was unchanged from its first telling. He asked the same question he had asked the morning Munro was found. ‘While you were at sea, did you see any other boat, or ship?’
‘No, reverend. Like we told Mr Stemp before, the other fishermen were all down south,’ said Ebenezer. ‘We were up north, fishing for bass. We were all alone.’
‘At some point in the night, two ships passed through the waters near here. One was the revenue cruiser, the Stag. The other was a Dutch lugger, broad-beamed and of shallow draft. Did you see either of them?’
‘No, reverend.’
‘Have you ever before seen a Dutch ship in these waters?’
They thought for a while. Munro stared at the rector, clearly wondering where this line of questioning was going. ‘Can’t say we have, reverend,’ said Ebenezer finally.
‘Very well. We are also looking for a man from Hythe, a young man, slender of build, dressed in workmen’s clothes but well spoken. Did you see anyone like this the day before the murder?’
‘What is this?’ demanded Munro. ‘Who are you talking about?’
‘He is wanted for questioning in connection with the murder of your brother, Mr Munro. Well?’ he asked the Tyddes. ‘This is the man who hired Jem Clay’s boat, and who may well be responsible for the murder. Have you seen him?’
‘We’d really like to be helpful, reverend,’ said Florian earnestly, ‘but I don’t recall anyone looking like what you say.’
‘Nor me,’ said Ebenezer. ‘Permit me to ask, reverend; why would a man from Hythe be down here hiring a boat?’
That indeed was the question to be answered, thought the rector. He turned to the clerk. ‘Thank you. We have no more need of your services.’
The clerk departed, looking puzzled. Hardcastle turned back to the Tyddes. ‘Do you know Mr Frederick Maudsley, the justice of the peace from Shadoxhurst? Answer me truthfully now.’
The two men looked at each other. ‘Yes, reverend,’ said Florian with resignation.
‘You met him while you were engaged together in the free trade. Am I correct?’
Mrs Tydde gasped and clutched at Calpurnia for support. ‘You have nothing to fear,’ said Hardcastle. ‘I have no intention of informing the Preventive services.’
‘We’ve run some cargoes up to Magpie Court,’ said Ebenezer after a time. ‘Brandy and bolts of cloth, mostly. I reckon he was keeping some of it, and selling the rest on. He treated us proper, paid us well, helped us store the stuff in his barns, even gave us a meal in his kitchen. He’s a gentleman.’
‘And while you were at Magpie Court, did you ever meet or see Mr Hector Munro, the deceased?’
Again the brothers looked at each other, and
again he saw the weary resignation in their eyes. ‘Just the once, reverend,’ said Ebenezer.
Hardcastle saw Munro’s eyes light up in triumph. ‘Tell me,’ he commanded.
‘It was one of them times when he gave us a meal. We were sitting in the kitchen when Mr Munro came in to speak to the cook. We didn’t know who he was; we asked cook after, and she told us.’
‘You did not speak to him? You have never seen him since?’
‘No, reverend. You see, we didn’t know it was him in the boat, cuz of what the birds had done to his face. We only found out when we heard you tell Dr Mackay.’
‘And why did you not inform myself or Mr Stemp that you had previously met Mr Munro?’
‘We didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that we knew Mr Maudsley,’ said Ebenezer, a little miserably. ‘It wouldn’t have looked right.’
‘No,’ said the rector. ‘It does not look right. You run goods for Mr Maudsley; you have been to his house; you have met Mr Munro. Then Mr Munro comes to New Romney and stays in your mother’s house. A day and a half later, you are the ones who find him dead. That doesn’t look right at all, does it?’
‘It must be a . . . what’s the thing? What’s the word I’m looking for, Eb?’ Florian asked his brother.
‘Coincidence,’ said Ebenezer, nodding. ‘That’s what it’ll be. I swear, reverend, we didn’t know Mr Munro at all. We just saw him the once.’
Munro sucked his teeth. The rector nodded.
‘Did Mr Maudsley ever give you any additional commissions? Did he ask you to undertake any venture for him unconnected with smuggling?’
The two men looked perplexed. ‘Don’t rightly know what you mean, reverend,’ said Florian. ‘What kind of commissions would you be talking about?’
Did he hire you to murder his son-in-law? Of course he didn’t. If Maudsley had wanted to hire a killer, he would have gone to Hythe and contacted men like Noakes and Fisk, not these two yokels.
And perhaps that was exactly what he had done.
*
He sent the Tyddes home, the mother still in the care of Calpurnia, then thanked the clerk and walked out of the town hall. Munro came after him, face dark with anger.
‘Hardcastle! You’re not letting them go?’
‘Yes. They are innocent of any crime.’
‘What? They’ve as good as confessed, man! You described the chain of evidence yourself! It’s exactly as I said last night. Maudsley and the Tyddes planned the whole thing between them.’
Hardcastle halted and faced the other man. ‘There is not a shred of actual evidence against the Tyddes. And if you were any kind of student of human character, Mr Munro, you would realise that they are incapable of doing such harm. A good woman with a kind heart; two simple men who dabble in smuggling for the fun of it but otherwise live their lives in peace: that is what we have here. No more.’
‘Then what was my brother doing at their house?’
‘It’s not so much of a coincidence as you might think. You’ve seen the Tydde house; it is one of the largest in New Romney. Your brother was trying to stay out of sight, in case he was being followed or observed. He eschewed the Ship and the rooming houses for that reason. He hoped that in a big private house like that of the Tyddes, he could simply disappear until it came time for him to make his rendezvous.’
‘Rendezvous with whom?’
‘That is what I am endeavouring to find out, Mr Munro. That is why I asked the questions I did, about the Dutch ship and the man from Hythe. Unfortunately I was not able to learn anything further.’
Munro was still furiously angry. ‘So what now? You’ll drop the whole case, I imagine. Maudsley is a friend of yours, isn’t he? Aye, you’ll stick by him, and that’s all we shall ever hear about who killed poor Hector. English justice!’ he spat. ‘I should have expected nothing less.’
‘You are grieving, sir,’ said the rector quietly, ‘and you are exhausted from your journey. Therefore I shall forgive your words. Go back to the Ship and wait. I will attend on you when there is news.’
*
A little later Hardcastle delivered Calpurnia back to New Romney, and then drove the dog cart up the high road towards Appledore before turning north to Ashford, climbing the hill out of the Marsh and picking up the turnpike at Ham Street. His mood was one of dull, bitter gloom.
Munro’s rage was born partly from grief; as such, he found it excusable. He had come down to Romney Marsh, certain that his brother had been murdered by Maudsley or his agents, and begun asking questions. Someone had pointed out the Tyddes as the men who found the body, and he had bullied them and their mother, taking their hesitation and that tenuous connection with Maudsley as proof that they were concealing something. He had put two and two together, and made five.
Like Calpurnia, he had never really believed the Tyddes were capable of murder. It was Maudsley who worried him. Munro was convinced that Maudsley had forged Hector’s will, with the connivance of the solicitor. It was probable that he was wrong; his judgement clouded by sorrow and anger, he had refused to accept his brother’s will as genuine. But why had Hector Munro cut his family out of his will? Something was not right here. Mrs Chaytor had thought so too.
And then there was Cranthorpe, with whom Munro had spent an hour, talking privately before going away to meet his death. What role had Cranthorpe played in those events?
Arriving in Ashford early in the afternoon, Hardcastle dismounted stiffly and walked into Cranthorpe’s offices. The same clerk greeted him. Yes, Mr Cranthorpe was fully recovered and had returned to work. He would see if Mr Cranthorpe was free. The clerk disappeared into the inner office, and Hardcastle heard a long, murmured conversation through the door. Finally the clerk returned and showed him in.
‘Reverend Hardcastle, welcome,’ the solicitor said, bowing and smiling. ‘Good to see you again. We didn’t have much chance to talk at Magpie Court. Are you enjoying your mission among the heathen?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Romney Marsh.’ Cranthorpe winked. ‘They eat their babies down there, don’t they? Do sit down, sir. Will you take refreshment?’
‘Thank you, no. Mr Cranthorpe, I am here in my capacity as justice of the peace. I have a number of questions concerning the murder of your late client, Mr Hector Munro.’
Cranthorpe at once grew solemn. ‘Ask away, sir. I am entirely at your disposal.’
‘For how long had you been handling Mr Munro’s affairs?’
‘Not long. He appointed me to act for him shortly before his wedding to Miss Maudsley.’
‘Among other things, you drew up his last will and testament.’
Cranthorpe lost some of his affability. ‘Have you been talking to that insufferable Scotchman?’
‘The brother of the murdered man, yes.’
‘Well, I’ll tell you what I told him. I cannot and will not discuss the affairs of any of my clients, living or dead.’
‘Mr Alexander Munro has made a very serious allegation,’ said Hardcastle. ‘Your full cooperation will enable me to get to the bottom of the matter swiftly and promptly. On the other hand, if you demur, I will be forced to conclude that you are involved in some sort of deception yourself.’
His voice hardened. ‘As a legal man, you will know about the law of joint enterprise. If a crime has been committed without your participation but with your knowledge, you may still be convicted.’
Cranthorpe wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. It was not particularly warm in the office. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘When did you draw up Mr Munro’s will?’
‘About a month before his marriage.’
‘In broad terms, what were the provisions of the will?’
‘Apart from the usual bequests, the whole of his estate passed to his wife, with the proviso that if she were to have a legitimate child, the estate should then pass to the child and be held in trust until that child reached its majority. In which case, Mrs Munro and
Mr Maudsley would jointly be guardians. There is nothing unusual about this.’
‘No? It sounds as though, by the terms of this will, Mr Munro effectively cut himself off from his own family. That, surely, is unusual.’
‘Not so much as you might think,’ said Cranthorpe. He had recovered a little. ‘Mr Munro had a falling-out with his family. They disapproved of his marriage, and I gather there were strong words on both sides.’
‘He told you as much?’
‘Yes.’
‘But the estrangement did not last for long. Mr Munro was soon corresponding with his brothers once again. He spoke of going north with his wife to visit them.’
‘It could be,’ said the solicitor tersely. ‘I know nothing of that.’
Hardcastle looked at him, his suspicions growing. ‘Also, you said if she were to have a child, indicating a possibility only. Surely, once it became known that Mrs Munro was definitely with child, the will should have been amended to reflect this. Was this not done?’
‘Mr Munro was a very busy man. I’m sure it must have slipped his mind.’
‘Oh, come, come, Cranthorpe. It was your duty to give Mr Munro legal advice. You should have informed him that he needed to amend his will. Did you do so?’
Cranthorpe was perspiring again. He spread his hands. ‘I . . . I may have done so, yes.’
‘Did you, or did you not?’
‘Yes. I did.’
‘When?’
‘In March, and again in June. He prevaricated. He said he needed more time to think about the terms of the guardianship.’
The rector paused, letting this sink in. ‘You mean, he had been reconciled to his brothers, and was considering whether to name one of them as guardian. Is that what he finally did, Mr Cranthorpe? Is that perhaps why he came to see you on Tuesday the 8th of August, three days before he was killed? Did he change the terms of his bequest? Did you draw up a new will on his behalf?’
Cornered, the solicitor looked down at his desk, refusing to meet Hardcastle’s eye. A bead of sweat rolled down his nose and dropped onto his waistcoat.
‘I require an answer, Mr Cranthorpe,’ the rector said.
The Body in the Boat Page 14