A stronger man would have damned Hardcastle’s eyes and challenged him to prove his case. Cranthorpe simply sat and sweated.
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘And what were the new terms?’
‘Mr Maudsley was no longer to be a guardian. That duty was transferred to Mr Alexander Munro of Edinburgh.’
‘You wrote out this will, and Mr Hector Munro signed it.’
‘Yes.’
‘What happened then?’
‘He took the will with him and returned to Shadoxhurst. That was the last I saw of him.’
‘But you retain your own copy of the will. Send for it, if you please.’
Cranthorpe called for his clerk, who brought the will. The rector broke the seal and read it through swiftly. The terms were as the solicitor had said.
‘One last question, Mr Cranthorpe, and you must answer this honestly or it will go very ill with you. Why, when Mr Alexander Munro called on you, did you not inform him of the existence of this document? Why did you insist that the earlier will was still valid?’
When Cranthorpe did not answer, the rector rose to his feet and stood looking down at him. ‘Did Frederick Maudsley ask you to deny the existence of the later will? And did you agree?’
‘Yes,’ whispered Cranthorpe.
*
‘Reverend Hardcastle. How very good to see you.’
Two weeks had brought colour back into Cecilia Munro’s cheeks, even if the shadows still lay dark under her eyes. ‘It is good to see you too, my dear,’ he said quietly, taking her hands. ‘How are you?’
‘I am beginning slowly to return to the land of the living. Father and my sisters have been so very kind and tender, and I never knew I had so many friends. Charlotte Faversham has come to stay with me for as long as I need her. She has been truly wonderful.’
Charlotte Faversham, in the rector’s brief experience of her, was a flibbertigibbet, but she was also a cheerful soul. He could see how she might be a tonic to her grieving young friend.
‘Mrs Chaytor called again last week, and Mrs Redcliffe has visited no fewer than three times,’ said Cecilia. Her eyes searched the rector’s face. ‘I still think of him every hour, every minute.’
‘That is good,’ said the rector. ‘He was a fine man, and it is right that you should mourn him. You will remember him all your life, as will all who knew him. Be his memorial, my dear, but remember too that you have your own life, waiting to be lived. Remember him, but also make him proud of you.’
‘I shall try to do so.’ Tears glistened in the corners of her eyes, but she was strong. ‘But I think perhaps you did not come to see me? Father is out by the stables.’
‘Then I shall go to him. He will return in a little while. When he does, be kind to him.’
He found Maudsley in the field beyond the stables, leaning on a wooden fence and watching horses graze in the middle distance. He turned at the rector’s approach and came forward, smiling. ‘Hardcastle. I heard a carriage arrive, but didn’t realise it was you. Forgive me for not being on hand to welcome you.’
‘That’s quite all right. I saw Mrs Munro, and was glad to see her looking much improved. Maudsley, we must talk.’ He looked at the grooms working around the stable and said, ‘Privately.’
They walked along the line of the fence until they were out of earshot of the stables. ‘You’ve seen the brother,’ said Maudsley.
‘I have. I have also seen your solicitor in Ashford.’
Maudsley stopped dead, the colour slowly leaving his face. ‘I see.’
‘You found copies of both wills when going through Hector’s papers after he died. What did you do with the new will? Burn it?’
Maudsley nodded, unable to speak. ‘So you maintained the fiction that you and Cecilia were still the guardians of her son,’ said Hardcastle. ‘You also involved Cranthorpe in the deception. Did you pay him? Or was it a favour?’
‘I asked him to do it. I’ve known him for years. He handles my affairs, too, of course.’
‘Of course. Why do something so wrong and illegal? Did you need the money so very badly?’
‘The bank,’ said Maudsley. ‘It is failing. We are running out of capital.’
‘Why? Bad debts?’
‘Yes, and losses in other areas. Faversham came up with a scheme that he said was bound to make money; we could recoup all our losses and have a profit left over. But then that started to go wrong too. The money isn’t flowing in as it should. We’re in real trouble now.’ He looked helplessly at the rector. ‘When I saw the two wills, I realised there was a chance I could get some more money to put into the bank, perhaps prop it up a little longer. I was wrong, Hardcastle. I knew it then; I know it now. But God help me, I did it anyway.’
He looked at Hardcastle. ‘What will you do now?’
‘That depends on how you answer my remaining questions,’ said Hardcastle. ‘Did you kill Munro to get his money? Or did you order someone else to do it?’
Maudsley flinched. ‘I loved Hector like a son,’ he said, his voice quiet. ‘As you know, my own son is crippled and ill and in pain; poor boy, he will not live many years longer. I love him also, believe me. But I wanted someone who could run this estate when I am older, take over from me and become head of the family. Hector was that man, the son who would follow in my footsteps. Upon my word of honour, Hardcastle, I did not kill him.’
‘Your word of honour is not the guarantee it once was,’ Hardcastle said brutally. ‘Do you know of a man named Noakes? Or one called Fisk?’
Maudsley shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Come, Maudsley. They are smugglers from Hythe, where you often do business. You must know of them.’
‘I haven’t dealt with anyone from Hythe for many years. They’re a secretive bunch, and I don’t trust them. I work only with the Dymchurch lot now. I recall hearing the name Noakes, but nothing more.’
‘And Dymchurch is where you met Ebenezer and Florian Tydde?’
‘Yes,’ said Maudsley, looking surprised. ‘They’re from New Romney, but they sometimes join the Dymchurch crew; they’re well known. I asked them to carry goods for me a few times. Why do you ask about them?’
Hardcastle ignored the question. ‘When Munro left on the 9th, he was not going to London, was he? There was no timber deal, was there?’
Maudsley’s pallor grew. ‘No.’
‘Then where was he going?’
‘France,’ said Maudsley.
*
Hardcastle nodded slowly, letting the pieces fall into place. That explained why someone had hired the boat. Munro intended to row out into the Channel where he would be picked up by a larger ship, very probably the lugger Captain Haddock had seen.
‘That explains why you thought he was going into danger,’ the rector said.
‘I begged him not to go, for Cecilia’s sake if not his own. But he would not listen. Once Hector made up his mind, nothing could shake him.’
‘Did you introduce him into the free trade?’
‘No. Faversham cooked up the idea, last year. As I said, he reckoned we could recover all our losses and come out with a profit on top. He found out somehow about my own contacts, and asked if I would help. I refused. I thought the idea was cracked; if we were found out, it could bring down the bank. But Faversham found his own people somewhere, and went ahead. And he persuaded Hector to join him.’
‘Presumably Faversham and Munro did not deal directly with the smugglers. They must have had an intermediary.’
‘I would think so. But if you are asking me who the intermediary is, I don’t know.’
‘What are they smuggling? The usual trade, gin and vanities?’
‘I assume so. Hector never confided the details to me. He said it was best that way. If something went wrong, then Cecilia and I would be protected. So all I knew was that Hector and Faversham had a smuggling gang working for them.’
‘But something went wrong.’
‘Yes. Hector went to see Fa
versham in Rye the Saturday before the birthday party. He was absolutely seething when he returned. Faversham had made a mess of things, he told me. They had staked everything on this venture; the whole future of the bank depended on its making large profits. But according to the figures Faversham had shown him, they were now actually making a loss. Something had gone wrong, he said, and he would have to go secretly across to France to sort out the matter.
‘And so he went.’ There were tears in Maudsley’s eyes. ‘Find out who killed him, Hardcastle, I beg you. I’ll not sleep easy until I know what happened, and why.’
‘Why did you not tell me all this when we spoke after the funeral?’
‘I was afraid of what would happen. If all this got out; well, as I said, it could bring down the bank and ruin us all. Faversham said as much to me, before the funeral. “You have to think of the wider interest, Maudsley,” he said. “You have to keep this quiet.” ’
Hardcastle watched him for a while, hardening his heart. ‘You say you loved him like a son. And yet you put the interests of the bank, and your own interests, ahead of finding his killer.’
Maudsley said nothing. He stood, leaning on the fence and staring at the ground. The rector could see him shivering a little as he fought to control his emotions.
‘I will find the man who killed Hector Munro,’ said Hardcastle. ‘No matter who he might be, or where, I will bring him to justice. As for you, you have engaged in a most pitiful conspiracy to pervert the course of justice for financial gain. You deceived myself, an officer of the law in the course of his duties, and withheld information from me. You have attempted to commit fraud upon the Munro family, and upon your own grandson.’
‘And I have betrayed our friendship,’ said Maudsley softly.
‘That is the least of your offences, though I admit it is the one that gives me the most personal pain. I have enough evidence to commit you to prison.’
Maudsley looked up at this. His eyes were still weeping but his voice was steady. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘I ask only that you spare Cecilia from knowing the full truth; for her sake, not mine. She has suffered enough already.’
‘I agree. And imprisoning you would devastate Cecilia still further. Stay here and be a father to her, and your other children too. But you will resign immediately your position as justice of the peace, and you will never again enter public life. Your children, your family, this estate: they are now everything you have. Serve them humbly and well, and pray every day for forgiveness. Farewell, Maudsley. I shall miss your friendship; but this is the end.’
*
Hardcastle returned to New Romney in the evening light, the white streak of the comet beginning to glow in the darkening sky. He found Munro in his room at the Ship, reading. The rector drew the valid will out of his coat pocket and laid it on the desk.
‘You may instruct your solicitor to contact Mr Maudsley and Cranthorpe. You will find them both compliant now.’
Munro glared up at him, offering no word of thanks. ‘And the murderer?’ he asked.
‘Neither Maudsley nor the Tydde family have any case to answer.’ More gently, the rector said, ‘Go back to Edinburgh, Mr Munro. Don’t stay down here, eating your heart out. Go back to those who need you.’
‘I told you. I’ll not leave until I have justice for my brother.’
Hardcastle tapped the will. ‘This is justice, right here in this document. It is up to you now to see that your brother’s wishes are carried out. As for finding his killer, let the law take its course. I know you have no high opinion of me, or of English justice. But I have sworn to find the man who killed him, and I will.’
Munro said nothing. His eyes were dark and heavy with renewed grief, once more on the edge of tears. ‘Mourn for your brother, Mr Munro,’ said the rector quietly. ‘It is I who will avenge him.’
He closed the door and stood outside it for a moment. Inside the room, the other man had begun to sob.
Back in St Mary, Hardcastle stood in the hall of the rectory, taking off his gloves and listening to his sister play the fortepiano in the drawing room. She was singing; off-key as usual. He stood listening, his mind still sick from Maudsley’s betrayal. Biddy the maidservant came out from the kitchen. ‘Ask Mrs Kemp to fetch me a bottle of port from the cellar,’ he said.
Abroad as I was waaalking
Down by some greenwood siiide
I heard a young girl siiinging
‘I wish I were a Bri-I-I-DE!’
‘Make it two bottles,’ said the rector.
12
Matters of Life and Death
SIXPENNY COURT, CHANGE ALLEY, LONDON
25th of August, 1797
Reverend Hardcastle, sir,
I am in receipt of your letter of 22nd inst. I can assure you that there has been no investment by the East Weald and Ashford Bank in Baltic timber in recent weeks. I know this, because I have it on good authority that there have been no investments of any kind in timber, by any bank or other investor at all. Since the negotiations with France began, and in particular since Lord Malmesbury’s latest report expressing high hopes for peace within the next few months, the Admiralty has pulled in its horns. The price of timber for shipbuilding has plummeted, and there is no longer any interest in this commodity.
From your letter, I infer that you are investigating the death of Mr Hector Munro. It would appear that you are also looking into the bank’s affairs. I feel I should like to discuss the matter with you more fully, and I feel too that it would be best if we did not commit our words to paper.
I am away shortly to Birmingham; it will be some days before I am back in London. May I call upon you on Thursday week, the 7th of September? You should expect me at about midday.
Yr very obedient servant
DAVID RICARDO
ABOARD THE STAG, CRUISER
26th of August, 1797
Reverend Hardcastle, sir,
I trust you will forgive the long delay in my writing to you. My ship has been at sea for the past week, and we have only just made port again, giving me an opportunity to dispatch this letter.
When we met in Rye, you enquired as to the time we spotted the Dutch vessel off Romney Marsh. I have checked the log, and am pleased to confirm that she was spotted at fourteen minutes past two of the clock on the morning of 4th of August.
I have also made enquiries among my crew as to whether any of them saw another vessel or any other unusual occurrence. The gaze of most of my crew was concentrated on the Dutchman, as indeed was my own. But Able Seaman Mossman related that he thought he had seen a smaller boat, a coastal fishing boat, adrift on the sea beyond the Dutchman.
When questioned further, he testified that he could see no one at the oars, and concluded that the boat was deserted; probably she had come loose from her moorings and drifted out to sea. Thereafter, the chase of the Dutchman being accounted the more important matter, he dismissed the boat from his mind.
I enclose a copy of Able Seaman Mossman’s statement. I shall continue to keep an eye out for this Dutchman, and should I spot him again, I shall be sure to inform you soonest.
Yr very obedient servant
J. HADDOCK, CAPT.
*
On a fine Monday morning in the last week of August, Joshua Stemp called at the rectory. He looked tired, like a man who had not been getting much sleep. He found the rector heavy-eyed and weary, too, but for a different reason.
‘I had another run-in with Noakes last week, reverend. My apologies for not coming to you sooner, but I was away on business of my own ’til late Friday, and then you were away Saturday.’
Business of his own, of course, meant smuggling; it had been the new moon last week.
‘Never mind,’ said the rector. ‘What happened?’
‘He had company this time, four others. I recognised one of them, a man called Fisk. He’s even more of a villain than Noakes. He’s the kind that’ll stab a man just for the fun of seeing the light go out in his
eyes.’
‘What were they doing?’
‘They were on a run, but they weren’t bringing goods in. They were sending them out. When I saw them, they were loading a ship bound for France. It looked like they were loading powder kegs.’
‘Gunpowder!’ The rector stared.
‘That’s what it looked like, reverend. The kegs had the Board of Ordinance mark and everything.’
‘How many kegs were there?’
‘I counted ten in all.’
‘So few?’ The rector rubbed his aching temples, trying to think. The Maudsley affair had been a distraction, and now he was having trouble picking up the pieces of the investigation again. Last night had not helped either.
‘This makes no sense,’ Hardcastle said eventually. ‘When I buy powder at the start of shooting season, I pay about sixpence a pound. A twenty-pound keg of powder will be worth about ten shillings. That entire cargo you saw isn’t worth above £5, £6 at the utmost. There cannot be a profit in smuggling that.’
He shook his head. ‘I am sorry, Joshua, but I fear this rather knocks on the head your theory that Noakes and his gang were working for the bank. Faversham and Munro were expecting a profit of thousands of pounds, perhaps tens of thousands. They won’t get that from a few kegs of gunpowder.’
‘There’s something more, reverend,’ said Stemp. ‘I mentioned two of the party, Noakes and Fisk; I reckon two of the others were sailors. The fifth was a young fellow, slender, with an educated voice. Do you see what I mean?’
‘The man who hired the boat in New Romney.’
‘And the fellow who met Mr Munro in Hythe,’ said Stemp. ‘It could be they’re one and the same.’
The rector rubbed his forehead again. ‘Then we must find this man. I’m afraid you’ll need to go up to Hythe again. But not alone, not with this gang around. Tell Jack Hoad, Murton and Luckhurst that I want to see them. I’ll swear them in as special constables and they will accompany you to Hythe.’
‘Thank you, reverend.’ Stemp hesitated. ‘There’s another thing, if I may.’
The Body in the Boat Page 15