by Myers, Amy
It was only as Auguste climbed into the Panhard that he realised to his amazement that he had not even demurred at the prospect.
The motorcar was left in the appreciative care of the landlord of the Clapham New Inn, and they followed Amos’ directions. Where else to feel close to Rose Griffin than in her cottage? It was not easy to find. They walked through the village and towards the Ingleborough Cave. The pathway leading to the cottage, off the main track, was overgrown through disuse, as Amos had warned them, but a large stick and determination finally succeeded, after several twists and turns and one or two blind alleys, in bringing them to a ruined stone cottage of fair size.
They stared at it in some disappointment. What had he expected? Auguste wondered. A home, hidden from decay for nearly sixty years?
Tatiana pushed through the half-rotten wooden door. ‘If the cottage belonged to the Tabors, perhaps they wished simply to forget about it, as they did Rose.’
A bird, alarmed, flew squawking out of a large hole in the roof. Inside was only damp, decay and a few pieces of broken furniture. Leaves had rotted in piles in the corners, woodland animal life had claimed the cottage for its own. Half-burnt, fungus-covered logs still lay on the hearth, a copper dolly-mop lay tarnished and cobwebbed in what passed for a kitchen.
This was the home where a girl had faced the ruins of her life, deserted by the man she had married for love, Auguste thought sadly. Or had she been so deserted? Did Charles visit her here? Charles had told her their marriage was invalid, but did she refuse to see him again? Or demand to regularise their marriage? No, not Rose. In any case, by that time Charles had met Miriam. Rose lived on in a humble cottage, not even her own; all she could boast for herself and her legally born son. She had been deprived even of the knowledge that he was legally born. Forced to knit and work on clocks for a livelihood to support herself and her son. The son who had turned out to be an aggressive blackmailer.
‘She’s not here, is she?’ Tatiana said quietly.
‘No.’ He walked outside and breathed the fresh cool air with relief. The track wound on past the cottage even further into the wood, already covered with early falling leaves. Not quite knowing why, he turned that way, with Tatiana following, as he pushed aside branches and bracken. Several times there were cross paths, causing him to stop to consider which way to go.
‘Why are we coming along here?’ Tatiana asked curiously but uncomplainingly, as brambles caught at her skirts.
‘I wanted to see where it goes.’
‘Might Rose be at the end?’
‘Only her cow. It’s just a footpath to the pasture.’ Auguste felt cheated, as the path emerged on to the open fell. Then at the bottom he saw a track, suitable for horse traffic if not for Panhards. ‘If we turn left it should bring us to the village,’ Auguste declared, with the lofty relief of one who had known his way all along. The track in fact led on to the main Settle to Ingleton road, but a branch line brought them back to the head of the village and the church.
‘Come and look at Rose Griffin’s grave.’ He took Tatiana by the hand.
‘Poor Rose,’ said Auguste at last, as they stood before it. ‘No “beloved wife of”, no “dearly beloved mother of”. And she must have had such dreams when she married Charles Tabor in Dent Church.’
‘“Here lies the rose of the world”’ Tatiana translated softly. ‘That does not seem to me the epitaph given by a man who did not love his true wife.’
‘A man driven by guilt.’
‘Perhaps. Yet I think, Auguste, that Rose is here, nevertheless.’
‘This is intolerable.’ There was no heart in Priscilla’s protest as she tried vainly to protect her Valhalla against Scotland Yard, the Yorkshire Constabulary and Auguste Didier. Awaiting them in the formal drawing room was the whole Tabor family.
‘I said just you and his Lordship, ma’am, when I telephoned,’ Egbert pointed out.
‘We are a family. All its members and those to be part of it must be present,’ she replied.
‘Very well, ma’am. If that’s how you wish it.’
The Dowager was present, Savage of course by her side, and even Gertie apparently counted as a member of the family today. She winked when she saw Auguste, then subsided as Priscilla’s eye fell on her.
The Last Stand of the Tabors, Auguste thought, looking at the set faces: Victoria and Alexander, Oliver and Laura – not sitting together, he noticed – Cyril and Gertie, Alfred (subdued to the point of conventionality), George and Priscilla.
They listened in silence as Egbert demolished the theory of the invalid marriage. Only Oliver showed any surprise, glancing worriedly at Laura. The Dowager sat, hands folded neatly in her lap, inured to shock.
‘The marriage between Rose Griffin and Charles Tabor was valid,’ he finished, addressing the family as a whole, ‘and I’m sure you all knew it to be so. You wouldn’t have let a matter like that go unchecked. You invited Tom Griffin to return that night – it had to be then for he probably told you it was the only night he’d be in Settle – in order to get rid of him for good. We can prove the clothes were changed by you. For what other reason than that one or more of you had committed the murder?’
The 14th Baron Tabor rose to his feet. ‘Touché, Chief Inspector.’
‘No, George.’ Priscilla’s cry was heartrending and terrible.
‘My dear, I have no choice.’ George turned to her gently, taking her hands and holding them to him. It was the first sign of warmth that Auguste had seen between them.
‘No. I will not let you.’ Each word seemed pumped out.
‘You will.’
Everyone seemed to be shouting at once. Laura’s voice was the strongest: ‘No, George!’ Alfred was sobbing, youthful arrogance gone. Cyril, bleating, ‘I say . . .’ Gertie inexplicably crying, ‘No.’ In the end Priscilla’s deep voice prevailed.
‘There is one aspect you have not considered, Chief Inspector.’ She sounded the calmest of them all. Yet the tiger was at bay.
‘That is, ma’am?’
‘We believed the marriage to be invalid, whether it was or not.’
‘You were worried enough to tell Griffin to come back, fearing you hadn’t got rid of him for good in August. Or did he come back of his own accord, having heard the King was here, in the hope of blackmailing you further? At any rate, you were frightened enough to kill him.’
She did not give an inch. ‘You have no evidence that we knew the marriage to be valid. On the contrary, I can offer strong proof that the family firmly believed it invalid both at the time and since.’
‘And what proof might that be?’
‘This Rose Griffin died in 1847.’
‘Priscilla!’ There was a warning note in George’s voice.
She ignored it. ‘My late father-in-law—’ she began.
‘One moment, Priscilla.’ The Dowager tried to interrupt, but Priscilla overrode her.
‘George told me my father-in-law paid for the woman’s funeral and tombstone. Do you think if he had known then that his earlier marriage was valid he would not have taken steps to rectify the situation by legitimising his marriage to my mother-in-law? Would it not have been somewhat careless of him to overlook that detail?’
If Rose was thrown he showed no sign of it. ‘He might not have realised it was necessary, or might not have wanted to cause you pain, ma’am.’ A compassionate look at the Dowager, acknowledged by a slight incline of her head.
‘Both highly unlikely, Chief Inspector. To me it is obvious that he regarded the marriage as invalid. That was what he later told you, was it not, George?’
‘Yes,’ George said unemotionally. ‘He had had the devil of a row with his father, of course.’
‘Charles Tabor just accepted that his marriage was invalid without checking?’ said Rose incredulously.
‘It may seem strange to you, Chief Inspector, in this modern age. My grandfather, however, was a hot-tempered man. It was hard to contradict him. You have to remember
this was a small country district. People weren’t as aware then of the minutiae of the legal system as they are today.’
‘I do find it hard to believe that the heir to the Tabor estates was quite such a simpleton, Lord Tabor. Moreover, even if you are correct, there was plenty of time for you to check into the legalities after Griffin’s first visit to you, or indeed at any time since you were told the story.’
George looked steadily at him. ‘I had no reason to check my father’s story. Why should I? It was all over long ago. And as for checking Griffin’s story when he came to us, again why should I? He made no claim to legitimacy. We paid him off, and had no reason to summon him here again.’
‘Are you now convinced you have no proof against my husband, Chief Inspector?’ There was triumph in Priscilla’s voice.
‘Far from it, Lady Tabor. I have proof against all of you and, if it comes to it, I’ll arrest you all on the charge of being accessories to murder. Now, Lord Tabor, will you speak?’
George rose to his feet again. He did not look at Priscilla or the rest of his family. ‘Very well, Chief Inspector, I am ready to come with you.’
‘No, Lord Tabor. You know that’s not what I want.’
‘But—’ His appalled look slid to Priscilla, who sat stiffly, her face betraying nothing save exhaustion.
‘I think it is I you wish to question, is it not, Inspector? George is very good in coming forward to protect me, but I cannot of course permit him to do so.’ His sister stood up, her face made even paler by the dull grey dress she wore.
‘Laura!’ Oliver cried in anguish. ‘What are you saying?’
A slight smile. ‘You see how right I was to insist you would wish to have nothing to do with me, Oliver. You would not have liked to have been married to a murderess, would you?’
As Egbert Rose got to his feet, Priscilla’s guard slipped. Her face crumpled and for a moment Auguste saw the woman Tatiana had told him existed beneath the mask. A woman in despair.
Laura turned to Oliver as Rose led her from the room. ‘It was Robert,’ she told him calmly. ‘It always was.’
‘You may think of me as a passionless woman, Chief Inspector,’ Laura Tabor said, in the small airless room at the police station. ‘I assure you I am not. Or, rather, I am, save in one respect – and that was, and is, Robert Mariot. I was no mere girl when we parted; I was mature, the pain was the greater. We parted through his wish, not through mine. I did not care about my social position, but unfortunately he cared about it on my behalf. His pride was offended by my late father’s rebuff – ironic, is it not, in view of his own involvement with a village girl? Robert was too proud to ask my own views. He left and naturally I believed that he did not love me.
‘A year or two ago I discovered the truth, and that, wonderfully, he still cared for me and was unmarried. Yet still his stubborn pride kept us apart. He told me he would come to me when the current expedition was over. By then, he judged – how foolish men are – that he would have made a sufficient name for himself to appease my family. He meant it, and I was overjoyed.’
‘Are you telling me, miss, that you thought the man in the smokehouse was Robert Mariot?’ Rose demanded. Surely they couldn’t be back at the beginning again, after all this?
‘Not when I saw him,’ Laura said impatiently. ‘But Robert was an impetuous romantic – and twenty years ago we used to meet at midnight in the smokehouse, Chief Inspector,’ she told him, a faint flush animating her usually pale cheeks.
‘I understand.’
‘I heard from Robert on the Friday that the King was due to arrive. He told me he was in England and I could expect to see him very soon. I was so excited, and when I saw the light in the smokehouse at the hour at which we used to meet I thought . . . I hoped . . .’ Her voice faltered. ‘But it wasn’t him. I had no idea who it was. He lunged at me, when I told him my name, and put his arms round me. I was his sister, he shouted, his odious breath on me. He’d found out he was legitimate, and had come back to claim his inheritance, or he would shout the truth out under the King’s window. I thought he was a madman, a lunatic – Priscilla and George had not told me of his earlier visit. He was repellent, not just because he was dirty, but because he was aggressive, sly, violent. I told him he was no brother of mine, nor ever would be. He took it badly.’
‘So you killed him?’
‘No.’ Laura was shocked. ‘Not for that, Chief Inspector. He attacked me.’ Her voice dropped. ‘He said if I wasn’t his sister, he’d have me in another way.’
Auguste, listening quickly in the corner with Cobbold, shivered. The truth at last, and how different to everything he had imagined.
‘He lunged at me, tore my dress . . . I broke away . . . He came after me, pulling at my skirts – it was shaming, terrifying. He tried to push me on to the floor, but I caught a chair and wriggled free and—’
‘And then?’
‘I saw the gun lying on the mantelpiece.’
‘Ah.’
‘George had left it there by mistake earlier that day after finishing off an animal in distress. I seized it, and the man came at me again to take it from me. We struggled, then suddenly he pushed me away to take me by surprise and make me trip. I did, but as I staggered backwards and fell, the gun went off. I didn’t mean to kill him . . .’ She covered her face. ‘It was terrible.’
‘Did you get blood on your clothes?’
‘One or two splashes, but most missed me as I fell. I got to my feet, and saw he was quite dead. It was an accident,’ she pleaded, ‘so I went back to the house to tell George to call the police. But then he and Priscilla told me who the man was . . . It was a terrible shock. They took charge – with my full agreement,’ she emphasised. ‘The man was a villain. No harm would be done in obscuring his identity. How I managed to get through I don’t know.’ Her voice trembled, and her hands were twisting and turning on her lap, Auguste noticed.
‘She’ll get off, of course,’ Egbert said as they left after charging her. ‘No jury would convict after that.’ He sighed. ‘That’s something to tell the Tabors.’
‘And Tatiana,’ Auguste thought to himself, in this, at least, relieved.
She listened in appalled silence in the quiet of their room. Then, as he finished, she said quietly, ‘How unhappy Rose would have been to learn that Tom descended to such behaviour, Auguste. She must have hoped for a better life for him, although her own life had turned out so tragic. Charles Tabor called her Rosa Mundi, the rose of the world, but she had little cause to bloom in her life. I tell you, Auguste, women are chained in marriage, victims of the men they are chosen by.’
‘Or whom they choose.’
‘Yes, but what choice did Rose really have? And Laura Tabor – did she have any choice? Her sweetheart put his own honour and stubborn pride before her, although he claimed to love her. Things must change, Auguste.’
‘Are you my victim?’ Auguste asked, somewhat alarmed.
She looked at him seriously. ‘No, and I shall not be Society’s either. Do you mind?’
‘No.’
‘Good. I have decided to be a motor engineer.’
‘What?’ He goggled at her.
Tatiana’s eyes twinkled. ‘You said the other day we could buy a motorcar.’
‘I did what?’
‘I asked if we could buy one, and you said nothing. That means you agreed.’
‘Buying is one thing and working as an engineer is another,’ her husband said logically.
‘Would you buy an oven and not cook in it?’
‘Non,’ he conceded.
‘So you may cook and detect, and I shall mend motorcars.’
‘Where?’ Were they to live in Yorkshire for ever?
‘In London.’
Auguste’s imagination ran riot: Queen Anne’s Gate? Mayfair? Buckingham Palace? He put in a last plea. ‘But you began life as a princess. What of your position in Society?’
‘It is the same under a car as at the opera.’<
br />
‘Perhaps.’
‘So that’s settled. I will obey the rules of Society, then push them aside.’
‘And me? You promised to obey me. You will push me to one side also?’
‘Non. For you would never order me to do what I do not wish.’
‘Ma mie, you are as tactful a woman as you are perfect.’
‘Like poor Rose. Like poor Laura. Neither had the chance to show their love. But I am lucky. I have been granted it. So let me show you . . .’
Ideas, faces, emotions . . . All began to come together, fighting for recognition, but Auguste would not let them in. The night was before him, and so was Tatiana.
Auguste woke up with a start. In fragmented dreams, a cottage track led to the churchyard, to Rose Griffin’s epitaph. Breckles’ hen crawed loudly throughout. Edith’s sister’s middle child danced up and down with a piece of string. Twitch stealthily pursued a green elf. Behind him marched two Tom Griffins: one to Clapham churchyard, the other to admire a nude lady bouncing on a bed. Now the jigsaw came together. There were two Tom Griffins. One was the Tom that Blackboots had known, the other the aggressive blackmailer described by the Tabors. Did they tally? No. There was only one Tom, but which was it?
At last he felt he understood Rose Griffin. He had to see Egbert immediately. Then he remembered Egbert had stayed overnight in Settle. Quickly he dressed, and descended to the breakfast room where he found George, who stared at him as if he had forgotten who he was. He shrugged when Auguste asked to be driven to Settle, as if events were out of his control.
As the carriage jolted over the fells, Auguste remembered what the Dowager had said: ‘All Tabor women are good shots.’ Had the shot in the eye that killed Tom Griffin been such an accident on Laura’s part after all?
Chapter Twelve
The Dowager Lady Tabor sat in her straight-backed chair looking out towards the fell called Willy’s Brow, bright in the late afternoon sun. She did not move as they came in, her fragile hand still rested on the arm of her chair, and Savage still sat at her side. Miriam greeted them, as if she had been expecting their visit.