Sweet Smell of Murder
Page 17
Jack escorted Bessie home. She was full of exuberance. She had been roundly wolf-whistled on her first entrance and had done her utmost to outdo Catherine Balmore in the battle of the revealing curtseys at the end.
‘They liked me, did they not?’ said Bessie with girlish delight as they crunched their way through a freshly fallen layer of snow.
‘You mean when your breasts fell out at the final bow?’ Jack replied, not a little tetchily.
‘Not at all. That had nothing to do with it. The applause was for my performance. Tyler was most pleased, even if that madam of yours was not.’
The jibe irked him. He hit back. ‘So ’tis “Tyler” now.’
‘Well, I have known Tyler Courtney since I can remember. Why should I not refer to him as “Tyler”?’
‘No reason,’ Jack responded sulkily. This was going to spiral into a full-scale row. ‘Anyway, Miss Balmore is not—’
Bessie cut him short. ‘Look!’ They had reached the steps to the house. Footprints were clearly visible leading up to the door. They belonged to more than one person and there were none coming out again.
‘The maid?’ Jack ventured.
‘She is only allowed to use the tradesmen’s door. And not even Hilda has feet that big.’ How did Bessie notice these things? wondered Jack admiringly despite his annoyance.
This was another nasty moment for Jack, who had already experienced enough for one day. Who was inside waiting to strike him? Surely not Thirsk and Hodsock. Courtney was at the theatre and Crindle was dead. Yet Crindle had used others in the attack on him.
‘Bessie,’ he commanded, ‘stay here. I will go and fetch help.’
‘Don’t be so stupid.’
‘All right.’ He was being shamed into action again. ‘I will go inside. If a fight breaks out and something happens to myself, do not spare a thought for me, but run for your life.’ If he was about to meet his Maker, best to go out with the undying gratitude of an attractive young woman.
‘Fiddlesticks!’ Bessie huffed and walked straight up to the door. She turned defiantly. ‘If someone enters my house, I want to know the reason why.’ In she barged, followed by a fretful Jack.
Hilda was in the hall. ‘You’ve guests, miss,’ she said snidely. ‘Put ’em both in the parlour.’
‘Who are they?’
‘Sheriff Ridley an’ his sergeant.’
‘Fetch refreshments, and be quick about it.’ The mistress of the house was taking charge.
Sheriff Ridley rose from a chair by the fire when they entered. Axwell hovered moodily by the window.
‘Miss Acorn,’ the sheriff drawled, ‘I am sorry to have to visit you at such a late hour.’
‘Not at all, Sheriff.’ He took her hand and guided her to the other chair by the hearth.
Not a word, nor a look, did he throw in Jack’s direction. ‘We would not have waited for your return if the matter was not of the utmost importance.’
‘I am sorry that I was not here to welcome you, sir. I was at the theatre this night.’
‘So your servant informed me.’ Axwell fidgeted impatiently during the unnecessary pleasantries.
‘Do you bring me news of your investigations?’
‘I do, Miss Acorn. In fact, I may go further. You may be able to bring this sorry business to its conclusion.’
‘Me, sir?’ Bessie was most surprised. Jack threw an enquiring glance across to Axwell. Silent hostility was all he got in return.
‘May I?’ said Ridley, seating himself back down without waiting for an answer. ‘This very afternoon, my sergeant here found the dead body of a man called Crindle.’ Bessie was unprepared for this, as Jack, not wanting to deflate her excitement on their way home, had not got round to telling her of his adventures that day. ‘He had been murdered.’
‘And this man…’ she searched for the unfamiliar name.
‘Crindle,’ the sheriff supplied helpfully.
‘Has this Crindle a bearing upon the matter?’
‘That, Miss Acorn, I hope you may confirm.’
‘If I can,’ Bessie answered uncertainly.
Jack was intrigued. A quick solution and he would have fulfilled his obligation to Bessie, and he could make a sharp exit from this dangerous town. Yet he had the nagging feeling that whatever conclusion the sheriff reached, the name Tyler Courtney would not be mentioned.
‘After the murder of your father, did you discover anything missing from this room?’
‘Why, yes. Not straightaway. But later I discovered something had gone.’
The sheriff clicked his fingers. Axwell picked up a large, heavy sack and placed it unceremoniously on the table. He then proceeded to take out a number of objects from the sack and carefully laid them out for inspection.
‘Do you recognise any of these? They were recovered from Crindle’s…’ he fought for an appropriate description, ‘dwelling.’
There was the usual assortment from a pickpocket’s plunder – a couple of pocket watches, cheap snuffboxes, a number of delicate ladies’ handkerchiefs. Larger objects included pieces of china, four silver candlesticks, an ornamental knife of Indian origin, a single duelling pistol and an ornate clock. ‘Quite a magpie, our Crindle,’ commented the sheriff wryly.
Yet it was the plain, oblong, wooden box that arrested Bessie’s attention. Compared to the other items from Crindle’s storehouse, it was worthless. Bessie slowly got to her feet, reached across and ran a slim finger along its smooth, arched lid. There was a hint of tears in her eyes when she spoke. ‘This is my father’s box.’
‘Just as I had hoped,’ the sheriff smacked the arm of his chair triumphantly. ‘I must confess I thought it would be something more valuable, but no matter. I think we can say without contradiction,’ – here he gave Axwell a knowing look – ‘that this box connects Crindle directly to your father’s murder.’
Jack wasn’t really listening; he was watching Bessie. Was the letter still in the box? If it was, he could vindicate himself in Axwell’s eyes by proving that his story about Courtney was true. Bessie slowly opened the box in Jack’s full view. It was empty.
Ridley stood up abruptly and began to pace the room. ‘Crindle follows your father into the house – or at least he finds a pretext to come in and talk with him. Then, when his back is turned, Crindle strikes the fatal blow. He then steals the box.’
Despite his disappointment, Jack felt he must say something. ‘Excuse me, Sheriff Ridley. If he murdered Mr Acorn so that he might rob him, why did he only take a plain wooden box when there are other things in this room that are obviously more valuable?’
He could see that his thoughts were echoed by Axwell, who for the first time took an interest in the proceedings. The sheriff was not flummoxed for long. ‘The explanation is simple enough. Crindle was disturbed by the sound of Miss Acorn above. He made quick his escape before he had time to plunder any more.’
Bessie, preoccupied, was quietly cradling the box. Jack couldn’t believe that the sheriff could be satisfied with such a feeble explanation. Yet it was increasingly obvious that he was. Jack tried one more time. ‘Sir, if Crindle killed Mr Acorn, who killed Crindle?’
The sheriff brushed this aside as an irrelevance. ‘Another of the low forms of humanity who inhabit Sandgate.’ And that was that. ‘Miss Acorn, I will submit my findings to the Council, then this painful episode will be laid to rest. I am heartily sorry that the scoundrel Crindle will not swing for his crimes, but you have the satisfaction of knowing that God’s natural justice has been done.’
XXXIV
‘Horse shit! That fop is drowning in it!’
Jack continued to fume. ‘He has no desire to get to the truth. Crindle is what he has been praying for. Now he can report to the Town Council that the criminal has been identified; and what will really please them is that they do not have to go to the expense of trying and hanging the villain.’ He banged his fist furiously on the table. Instead of feeling grateful that he now had an excuse to leave N
ewcastle, he found himself incensed at Sheriff Ridley’s ambivalence.
‘I could tell that bastard Axwell wasn’t satisfied either.’ He shivered as he remembered Axwell’s softly spoken threat as he showed the sheriff and the sergeant out of the house only minutes before. ‘Don’t think you’ve wriggled free, laddie. I’ll be watchin’ you like a hawk.’
Jack crossed over to Bessie and gently stroked her hair.
‘Who has the letter?’ she asked in a distant monotone. The sight of the box had affected her deeply. For some reason, which she could not explain, it had brought home to her the magnitude of her loss. She had rarely seen the object, and open only once when she had pinched the key and read the letter. As she held it, images of happier times flitted through her mind. It was ironic that in her nomadic life, she had never been without her father and when at last all seemed settled, they were to be parted forever.
‘Courtney, I presume,’ replied Jack. ‘Of course, it would never occur to that muttonhead of a sheriff that there might have been something of significance in the box. Even if he had considered the idea of any missing contents, he would have quickly dismissed it as it would raise other awkward questions.’
‘Why do you think Courtney has the letter?’ There was sadness in Bessie’s voice.
‘Bessie, you know why. It was for the letter that he killed your father. I am sure it was not planned. They came back here and suddenly the opportunity presented itself. I am sure it only happened in a moment of madness. Years of festering frustration.’
The sharper Bessie now returned. ‘So how is it that this ill fellow Crindle was in possession of it?’
‘That is easily accounted for. Crindle was used by Courtney to do his dirty work, such as the extinction of my good self. In this role, he is the one person who knows for certain that Courtney committed the murder unless, as is possible, Courtney actually got Crindle to do it. If that is so, then Courtney is doubly despicable.’
‘This I know, Jack. Stop blathering.’
‘Very well. I believe Courtney knew that I had tracked down Crindle. That is why he was dead when I arrived with Axwell. The box was placed there deliberately in the knowledge that eventually it would be traced back to this house. The natural conclusion, which the brave sheriff so quickly jumped upon, was that Crindle committed the murder while trying to rob the house. It has worked sweetly. The sheriff is satisfied, the law will proceed no further and Courtney is now as free as a bird.’
‘You are saying that Courtney killed Crindle.’ The incredulity in her voice was exaggerated.
‘Why not? Unless he paid yet another villain to do it.’
‘Pray tell me, how could Courtney possibly know that you were on the trail of Crindle?’
‘I believe he overheard me talking about it at the theatre.’ Only once the words had come out did he realise the implication of what he had said.
Bessie’s eyes narrowed. ‘And with whom were you conversing at the time?’
‘Does it matter?’ Jack answered too swiftly.
‘Most certainly it does. It is not the sort of information you toss carelessly around like tavern gossip.’
Jack coloured. He dared not mention that it was Catherine, for that would unleash the full force of Bessie’s fury. She would then want to know what else he had discussed with her. ‘It was Southby.’
‘That overblown lumpkin! What possessed you to talk to him?’
‘Good question, yet the answer is simple.’ If only it were. Jack prodded the fire with the poker to give himself more time to think up a rational reason.
‘Because I am aware that you hold Courtney in such affection, I decided not to close my mind completely to the possibility that the murder might have been committed by one of our other suspects. That is why I told Southby about Crindle to see if he would react in a guilty fashion.’
‘And did he?’
‘There was nothing to give him away.’
‘It still might be him,’ Bessie said hopefully. Why was she so damnably awkward?
‘No, Bessie. He was all for going to the sheriff’s at that very moment and hunting Crindle down.’
Bessie was downcast. ‘So it sounds as though it is not him.’
‘Precisely,’ Jack said while still avoiding eye contact. ‘Unfortunately, when Courtney came to haul us back to the rehearsal, he must have overheard the vital piece of our conversation.’
She laid a hand upon Jack’s arm. ‘Thank you for keeping your mind open about Tyler Courtney despite the weight of evidence against him.’
‘No matter.’ His tale had further raised his esteem in her eyes. His shameless lying was improving, as even Bessie had swallowed this story.
‘And yet,’ and Bessie sat up, ‘and yet there could be some truth in the sheriff’s deduction.’
‘Bessie, you are clutching at straws.’
‘No, Jack, listen.’ He gave her an indulgent smile. ‘The sheriff could still be right. But, remember, he didn’t know there was anything in my father’s box. He thinks that the box itself just took Crindle’s fancy.’
‘I do not understand.’ Jack seated himself opposite Bessie.
‘Let us imagine that Crindle tricked his way in here. He uses some pretext to gain admission. He wants to see the contents of the house for himself so that he can creep back later to steal whatever has caught his eye. From the items in the sergeant’s sack, it is safe to assume the man was an accomplished thief.’
‘That I grant you.’
‘Something happens, I do not know what. Maybe my father grew suspicious. Whatever, the consequence is that he strikes my father down. He then takes the box and flees.’
‘But why would your father take the box out of its hiding place to show to someone like Crindle? And what about the key? Where is that?’
‘It wasn’t about my father’s neck when his body was taken away. So, did he open the box, or did his murderer?’
‘I do not know. And why would Crindle only steal the box? Why not those candlesticks over there, or the clock on the mantel?’
Bessie gripped the box firmly and held it out triumphantly. ‘Perhaps he spies the letter in the box and, once the significance dawns on him, he has no need to worry about stealing anything else. He could make more money blackmailing Courtney.’
Now that was a thought. When Jack had first seen Courtney and Crindle together at St. Nicholas’ Church, the actor did not appear to be a happy man. It would also explain why Courtney was still in Newcastle and had not hotfooted it to London as he told Thirsk he was intending to do.
‘What do you think, Jack? Could it be possible?’
‘I think you have made a case for Courtney. Yet there are two points which might dispel your argument. Firstly, where is the letter? If it was not found at Crindle’s, then someone else must have it.’
‘Could not Courtney have it now? He may have paid the price that Crindle demanded for it.’
‘The Crindles of this world do not let their prey escape so easily. Yet if that is true, here is my second point. You can call me a Saracen if I am mistaken, but I do not believe for a moment that Crindle would have been able to read a word. And even if he could read a little, he would hardly be able to appreciate the significance of what he had stumbled across.’
Bessie was not to be deflected. ‘He could have shown it to someone who could read. And that other person could have killed him and taken the money extracted from poor Tyler.’ It was “poor Tyler” now.
Jack was getting irritated. Bessie was contradicting herself now. ‘How would Crindle know that the letter was important enough to be stolen in the first place if he only got someone to read it later?’ He was too tired to carry on the discussion. ‘Bessie, I must to bed. I have never known a day as long as this one and my eye begins to throb again.’
Bessie gently put the box down on the table and stood in front of Jack. ‘My poor Jack.’ At least he was on the same level of sympathy as Courtney. ‘In all this excitement tonight, I d
id not even ask how you came by that awful bruise.’
‘I bumped into a wall,’ he said dismissively. ‘A silly accident.’
‘Does it really hurt you, my love?’ He felt it gingerly and winced. ‘There is only one cure. Distraction. So you do not feel the pain.’
‘Distraction?’ Was this a new concoction from the apothecary? They were forever coming up with fresh remedies with rum old names.
‘Yes.’ And slowly she lifted up her skirts to her waist to reveal her stockinged legs.
‘Oh, that “distraction”.’ Jack hoped he had enough energy left. His body had already been horribly abused that day.
XXXV
The next week passed relatively uneventfully. Jack wasn’t attacked, pursued for money or threatened by officers of the law. No further mention was made of the murder between Bessie and himself. She appeared happier than he had ever known her. She enjoyed the acclaim at the two performances at the theatre that week, and Jack assumed that she was content to lay the blame for the murder at Crindle’s door and not at Tyler Courtney’s. Though Bessie had placed doubts in his mind, he was still sure that Courtney was heavily involved. Even if her theory was right about Crindle blackmailing Courtney, then the likelihood was that Courtney had killed Crindle to get the letter back. Yet as the days went by, he cared less. Courtney was civil to him. He obviously no longer regarded Jack as a threat. The sheriff’s verdict had spread from the Guildhall chambers to the taverns and coffee houses, so Courtney knew he had escaped. Jack also felt safe for the time being. Thirsk had been dealt with, Crindle was dead, and only Bowser posed any problem, and that wasn’t pressing.