by Myers, Amy
Tompkins senior disagreed. ‘’Tis sixty year or more ago. Anyways I was only an outdoor fellow.’
Much of this was unintelligible, and needed his son as interpreter.
‘But your job is so important, Mr Tompkins.’ Tatiana had a better grasp of charm where elderly gentlemen were concerned. ‘The driver hears all, sees much, and speaks little, but he is in control of his passengers’ lives.’
Mr Tompkins beamed and, thanking the heavens for providing him with a wife, Auguste continued: ‘Were you at the Hall before the Dowager Lady Tabor came?’
‘Aye. Only a lad then, o’ course.’
‘Do you remember a housemaid called Rose Moffat?’
‘There was a lot of them. Don’t recall one from the other.’
‘Would an ounce of baccy help your memory, Father?’ Walter asked helpfully.
‘It might.’
Auguste rushed to oblige. ‘Did young Mr Tabor, the present lord’s father, have a bad reputation with the female staff?’
‘Nay. ’Twould be more than his life was worth,’ declared Tompkins in scorn. ‘Terrified of his father, he was. This Rose Moffat. I do recall a Rose. All the junior housemaids went by their Christian names. Never knew their surnames, half the time. Pretty she was. I were seventeen and noticing these things.’ He gave a toothless grin. ‘And if there’s any more of that baccy I’ll be having it, thank ’ee. Not that she’d look at me. Then she left all in a ’urry. Dismissed, so the story went, but one of the girls told me different. She was to have a baby and the story was it was the young master’s. He loved her. She were a pretty young thing, as I said, and kind with it. Reminds me of her Ladyship, the present Dowager, looking back. Different class, o’ course, but same pretty ways and graceful-like as she moves. Story went he wanted to wed her, but o’ course his Lordship wouldn’t hear of it and Rose had to leave the house that day. The whole roof nearly came off with all their shouting, so I heard. But it weren’t no good. Rose went. I allus did wonder about Rose, and what happened to her. Ah well, ’tis a long time ago.’
‘Possibly she did marry, but she died a few years later. She had a son called Tom.’
He paused, hoping this might spark off another recollection.
‘Things weren’t the same between his Lordship and young Master Charlie, as we called him, after that. He spent a lot of time away for a year or two, and whenever he was home there was quarrelling. The more he came to stay the worse it got. Terrible it was. You’re right, missus. When you’re driving it’s amazing what folks’ll say. They reckon your ears don’t work. I’m the only one left of them old days. Lot of the servants left or changed when the old lord died. New ways, yer see. New mistress. But they didn’t change Tompkins. Oh no. His new Lordship wouldn’t have that.’
‘Were the quarrels still about Rose?’ Auguste asked excitedly.
‘No. They was about young Mr Charles having to wed to produce an heir. Every time he was home, he were on about it, was his Lordship. Then he met her Ladyship and wed her in ’46. Lovely wedding t’was. She was so lovely, and so much in love. It was a pleasure to see ’em. His old Lordship dies in 1850 and that put an end to the bad blood.’
No sign of his being daffly daffled, thought Auguste gratefully.
The old man looked at his empty glass, and pushed it towards Auguste. ‘I’ll take another pint o’ this cowslip wine, Ebenezer, thank ’ee.’
‘There are as many possibilities as currants in a clafouti,’ Auguste commented triumphantly, back in Egbert’s rooms. ‘Surely you can’t doubt now that the corpse is that of Tom Griffin?’
‘Probably,’ Egbert grunted. ‘So I take it you believe his ancestry is the key and young Alfred, Black Rufus, roulette and gents in loud check suits dunning for payment can join our distinguished company of false scents.’
‘Yes.’ Auguste was almost reluctant to let the unlikable Alfred go as a suspect. That meant one of the other Tabors must be guilty.
‘So an illegitimate brother turns up at midnight on the very day the King was staying to threaten George Tabor with a scandal sixty years old. Why? His Majesty ain’t exactly a paragon of domestic virtue, he wasn’t going to be shocked out of his Balmoral socks. And why kill him and land themselves with a corpse? Why not just pay him off?’
‘But just suppose Rose did marry Charles Tabor, Egbert,’ Auguste said desperately, seeing his theories melting away. ‘Just think, Tom would be the oldest son, and he, not George Tabor, should have inherited the title and the estate.’
Egbert thought lovingly of this horror descending on Priscilla, but shook his head. ‘You forget. You say Rose Moffat died in 1847, but Charles Tabor married Miriam in ’46.’
‘Bigamy!’ breathed Auguste, his eyes gleaming with excitement. ‘George would be illegitimate. One mention by Tom Griffin of an earlier marriage, and scandal would sweep down like castor oil.’
‘How about some evidence, Auguste? All those fairy stories have gone to your head. If Rose Moffat married Tabor, Twitch will dig it out.’
Feverishly, Auguste played with the idea that Twitch might deliberately be holding back to spite him.
‘I grant you the corpse is most likely Griffin,’ Rose said reassuringly, seeing Auguste’s crestfallen face, ‘and that seems to imply that one of the Tabors must be the murderer.’
Seems to imply? The qualification did not escape Auguste, but he managed to bite back his anger, saying instead, ‘And Gregorin seems to have his own supply of old clothes, without murdering stray working men for the privilege.’
‘Perhaps,’ Egbert threw in idly, ‘old Tompkins was a jealous lover, and popped down here to shoot the product of his sweetheart’s love for another. Seventeen-year-old boys have violent passions.’
‘Mr Tompkins is no longer a seventeen-year-old and his passion has now been transferred to the Buck Inn, its cowslip wine and tobacco,’ Auguste tried to jest.
‘If you’re right, and that body is Griffin,’ Egbert said after a pause, ‘I reckon all the Tabors are in it together.’
‘They all shot him?’
‘Accessories after the fact, at least. They’d gamble I’d never arrest the whole family – much as I’d like to. That wash and brush-up in the smokehouse took time – and organisation, especially if it were done on the spur of the moment.’ Another pause. ‘Cobbold’s heard from his pathologist chum. You were right – it is pig’s blood on the clothes. We’ve got proof of that at least.’
Auguste glowed with pride. ‘And the carpet?’
‘Human blood where someone tried to wash it out. The pathologist had a hard job with that one, but managed it in the end. Thanks to you, we can prove murder and that the clothes were changed.’
‘You know it is not thanks I want.’
Rose looked at him. ‘Tatiana’s clear.’
‘Thank you, Egbert.’ All was well. Relief flowed through him. Now at last his brain could work unfettered.
‘You believe the Tabors did not expect Tom’s visit?’
‘It’s a strange time for a chap to choose for a casual call.’
‘Perhaps one of them knew.’
‘Which?’
‘Not Oliver Carstairs.’ Auguste was clean on that. ‘Even if Oliver believed the man was Mariot, and that is surely unlikely, given the clothes, the Tabors would not put themselves to so much trouble on his account.’
‘They would if they had been expecting Tom Griffin, and discovered him dead. They’d be only too anxious to conceal his identity.’
‘Why not bury the body?’
Rose crashed his fist on the table. ‘I don’t know. There’s a cunning mind behind this, Auguste. A Tabor mind, I’ll wager.’
‘But not Alfred’s.’
‘If the whole bally family decided to get rid of Tom Griffin, Alfred’s not an obvious choice for the deed. Son and heirs have to be protected.’
‘And the Dowager.’
‘Right. Would you choose an elderly lady of seventy-nine to pull the trigger? Bes
ides, Laura and Savage were with her. My guess is she was left well out of it.’
‘So Laura can be omitted too if she was with her mother.’
‘But the Dowager said at first she didn’t remember that,’ Egbert recalled thoughtfully. ‘It was Miss Savage confirmed her story.’
‘If they acted on a family plan, surely the task of shooting Tom Griffin would be allotted to a man. Cyril or—’
‘Not him again. I can’t take any more of his blasted stories about the Galaxy Girls. As bad as you.’
Auguste ignored this. ‘Then we are left with the obvious: George, whose thumbprint was on the gun.’
‘All the Tabors would have been wearing gloves. Can’t pin much on that.’
‘But, as head of the family, George is the obvious suspect.’
‘Is he?’ Egbert grunted. ‘What about Priscilla?’
‘Ah, Chief Inspector Rose and Mr Didier. It is not often nowadays I have the pleasure of a visit from two gentlemen. In former times it was far from unusual, though this may now be hard to believe.’ The Dowager Baroness Tabor sat in her upright armchair, a delicate hand resting on the arm, as the other gestured to them to be seated.
‘Madame, you are beautiful still.’
‘Beauty fades, Mr Didier, for all your kind words. Fortunately I still have my brains, don’t I, Savage?’ She turned mischievously to the woman at her side.
‘Indeed you do, my lady,’ Savage replied, her hands resting primly in her lap.
Rose cleared his throat. He could leave the pleasantries to Auguste. ‘We believe we’ve identified the dead body in the smokehouse, ma’am. It seems possible it was the body of a man called Tom Griffin.’
Miriam looked concerned. ‘I don’t think we know anyone of that name, do we, Savage? Was he a friend of His Majesty’s?’
‘He’s not what you’d call gentry, Lady Tabor. He was a travelling showman at a fair.’
‘Oh, what fun, I love fairs. But such a shame.’ Her face puckered in concern. ‘That poor man. What did he kill himself for? No – it was murder, wasn’t it? Why? Was he a thief after something here at Tabor Hall?’
‘That we don’t know yet, Lady Tabor,’ Egbert told her noncommittally. ‘But I have to ask you some questions, which may seem odd or even hurtful. How old was your husband when you married him?’
She looked startled. ‘That is indeed an odd question, Chief Inspector,’ she replied after a moment. ‘Darling Charlie. He was a year older than me, so he would have been twenty-five.’
‘Did he tell you anything of his past life, ma’am? Any wild oats, shall we say?’ Rose asked delicately.
‘You mean mistresses? I should think it quite likely, Chief Inspector,’ Miriam replied frankly. ‘Gentlemen do, you know. It is no part of a lady’s task to resent what her husband has sown in his past, merely to prevent his sowing any more.’
Auguste’s approval of this intelligent attitude was instant.
‘He never mentioned having had any children?’
The atmosphere grew a little less warm.
‘He did not.’
‘I don’t want to shock you, Lady Tabor, but it’s possible Tom Griffin was the illegitimate son of your late husband by a girl called Rose Griffin or Rose Moffat who used to work at this house.’
‘When?’ The word shot out.
‘The late 1830s or early 1840s.’
‘I did not marry Charles until 1846, Chief Inspector, and this would have happened well before I came to Tabor Hall – with dear Savage.’ She patted the maid’s hand affectionately. ‘Whatever happened earlier is not my concern. I did not meet Charlie until 1844. If there had been such an unfortunate business, he would not have bothered me with it, for he dealt with all business matters himself. As for being shocked—’ she smiled, suddenly looking fragile, ‘I am not, for I know he loved me. Nevertheless, I am not young, and tire easily.’ She held out her hand.
Auguste kissed it. ‘Forgive us, Lady Tabor.’
‘You must do what you must, Mr Didier.’ Her face crumpled and she looked her full age before she recovered. ‘I expect you will find that Priscilla knows all about it. She usually does.’
Egbert looked very solitary surrounded by Tabors, like raw meat encircled by Wombwell’s Menagerie, thought Auguste, protectively at his side. But he was armed now. Cobbold’s men had tracked down the travelling gingerbread man who had given Tom Griffin a lift to Tabor Hall that night. It was all the evidence Rose needed for the moment. Auguste felt no struggle of loyalty now. One of those in this room had murdered Tom Griffin. Egbert would not have called them all together unless he was sure they were on the right track. And plumb in the middle of that track was Priscilla Tabor, whom Egbert was preparing to meet head-on. If Alfred were to be discounted, then for Auguste’s money – and it seemed Egbert’s too – Priscilla was the only Tabor capable of ruthlessly removing anything that stood in the way of the Tabors’ security. The Dowager’s voice rang in his ears: ‘Annie Oakley – or do I mean Calamity Jane?’
The well-bred Tabor faces around them betrayed nothing but polite interest. Except, that is, for Priscilla’s; a Vesuvius gathering up steam to explode. Even Miriam, whom Rose had excused from attending, wore her charm like a mask. Auguste glanced at the family portraits around the room. Gainsborough, Lely, van Dyck. The Tabors might have lived discreetly over the centuries, but they had not stinted themselves. It was a point worth remembering. He was glad he had persuaded Tatiana not to come. Survival was what mattered to families such as the Tabors, and the ruthlessness it necessitated might shortly be shown in all its stark ugliness.
‘It’s probable the corpse was a man called Tom Griffin,’ Rose told them bluntly.
There was no reaction.
‘And who is or was he?’ enquired Victoria.
‘The son of Rose Moffat of Clapham.’
‘And Mr Griffin presumably,’ added Alexander irrepressibly, but was quelled by a warning frown from Victoria. Rose’s face did not suggest it was a time for badinage.
‘It’s also possible,’ Rose continued evenly, ‘that he was an illegitimate son of the 13th Lord Tabor, conceived before his marriage.’
‘Illegitimate?’ retorted Priscilla robustly. ‘What of it?’
‘It’s immaterial, of course,’ Rose came back immediately, ‘unless he came to blackmail you. It seems likely that the visitor you said was a creditor of Mr Alfred’s was actually Tom Griffin, and that he came here on 18 August.’
Priscilla eyed him with scorn. ‘I really cannot say. Two such persons might have called; I do not keep a record of all unwelcome callers. My impression is that the visit was later than 18 August. You may ask Richey.’
‘Thank you, ma’am. I’ll do that. Send for him, would you?’
Richey averted his eyes from the terrible sight of a policeman sitting in the Tabor drawing room. ‘Richey, were there one or two objectionable callers who insisted so rudely on intruding into the Hall in August?’ Priscilla asked him.
Richey hesitated and Egbert Rose thrust the picture, now doctored somewhat more professionally than Auguste’s efforts had achieved, towards him.
‘That’s the man that came,’ Richey said, baulked of any guidance as to how her Ladyship would wish him to reply. ‘I don’t recall another.’
‘Thank you, Richey, that is all.’
‘I don’t recall saying I’d finished talking to him, ma’am,’ Rose said pointedly.
‘There is no need to detain Richey now I have seen that picture,’ Priscilla told him coldly. ‘It strikes a chord more vividly than the first picture you showed to me. It is immaterial whether there were one or two callers. I realise I did see this man several weeks ago. It is true that impertinently he came to this house to collect a debt from my son, but he was also eager to impart his fantasy that he was also the son of my late father-in-law. One meets such people.’
‘You lied to us then?’
‘Lied, Chief Inspector? I did no such thing. Since the man achieved his
purpose in August, he had no reason to come again last week. I could hardly be expected to appreciate that the body of a well-barbered gentleman found in our smokehouse was the same scruffy individual who had left here well satisfied many weeks before.’
Egbert Rose looked up from his file. ‘Richey stated he didn’t recall escorting that caller out of the house again.’
‘Possibly not, Chief Inspector. The man was so well satisfied, he produced,’ she shuddered, ‘a most obnoxious pipe and as it was raining I showed him out myself through the garden door, pointing the way to the place where he might indulge his filthy habit. I could not be expected to presume he would remain there for four or five weeks.’
Auguste watched as Egbert was dealt this blow, of which Jem Mace himself would have been proud. But he showed no signs of retiring to his corner yet. ‘Glad it all came back to you, ma’am. Now,’ turning to the rest of the family, ‘you were all very helpful with your various suggestions as to who the corpse might be. The police were much obliged to you. Of course, if I were an imaginative sort of chap, I might think you were trying to pervert the course of justice by sending us off on enough wild goose chases to stock my larder for six months.’
‘Why would we do such a thing when we didn’t know who the man was?’ Laura asked, unruffled. ‘Not even Priscilla recognised him, and she tells us she had in fact met him once.’
‘Maybe because you’re Tabors,’ Rose replied. ‘Loyalty to the End is your motto, I gather. Between you, you’ve misled the police and buried the truth deeper than someone did Tom Griffin’s clothes.’
There was a reaction at last. But from whom? Auguste could not be sure.
‘Why should we?’ Cyril asked plaintively.
‘At the least, to avoid scandal. And perhaps more.’
‘Now it is you wasting time, Chief Inspector,’ Priscilla replied crisply. ‘Kindly tell us just what you imagine we have done. I am not acquainted with the higher echelons of Scotland Yard if that is what concerns you. Nor have I any intention of appealing to His Majesty. I merely wish to remove the police presence from Tabor Hall as soon as I can—’ her eye fell deliberately on Auguste, in case he might be in doubt as to whether or not he was counted with the forces of the law.