The Body on the Doorstep

by MacKenzie, AJ

  ‘Stay away from me,’ snarled Blunt. ‘Stay out of my business, and tell the woman to stay out too. If you continue to meddle, both of you will suffer.’

  ‘And Fanscombe?’ said the rector. ‘Should I stay away from him also?’

  Blunt snapped. One big fist clenched white, and he drew his arm back and aimed a hard punch at the rector’s face. Then he gasped and stepped back, clutching at his arm, for the rector had smashed him hard across the forearm with his walking stick. Hardcastle raised the stick again, pointing it warningly at the other man’s throat.

  ‘No, Blunt,’ said the rector, his deep voice hard. ‘In this, I am your master.’

  ‘Damn you!’ snarled Blunt, and he raised his fist again.

  ‘I say!’ a young man’s voice said sharply. ‘What the devil is going on?’

  *

  It was Captain Shaw, hair floppy, red uniform untidy on his scrawny frame, but with a rare expression of authority on his undistinguished face. He too had been at the inquest, watching in silence, and now he came hurrying up the street towards them. His eyes were sharp. ‘What is this?’ he demanded. ‘Fisticuffs in the street? You’re an officer of the law, Mr Blunt, you should know better than that.’

  His eyes raging, Blunt turned to the militia officer and for a moment the rector thought he would strike Shaw instead. The captain held up a hand. ‘I think you had better go,’ he said sternly. ‘Go back to Dymchurch and cool yourself down, Mr Blunt. You’ve no more business here.’

  Slowly Blunt subsided. He gave the rector one last glare, his eyes promising revenge. Then he turned on his heel and walked back towards the village, holding his bruised arm. ‘Reverend Hardcastle,’ said the captain, full of concern, ‘are you injured?’

  ‘Not at all, captain. And I thank you for coming as you did. Your arrival was most timely.’

  ‘Whatever was that about, Reverend? What can have upset old Blunty so? He’s a bit of a shouter, if you know what I mean, but it is not like him to raise his hand to anyone, especially to a man of the cloth. I am deeply shocked, I truly am.’

  ‘It was an unfortunate misunderstanding,’ said rector. ‘I am certain the matter will resolve itself. And thank you again, Captain Shaw.’ He changed the subject. ‘Do I understand that you were coming to see me?’

  Shaw shifted a little. ‘Well, yes I was. I wanted to see you, sir, because I have a confession to make.’

  The rector pricked up his ears, and waited.

  ‘I apologise most humbly if I misled you when we met in Appledore. The truth is, I wasn’t myself at all. I had some bad news that morning. My mother up in Ashford had been taken ill, and I was anxious to be off to see her, but my horse had thrown a shoe the previous day and that fool of a blacksmith still hadn’t re-shod the beast. I was anxious to be away, and did not give you my full mind.’

  ‘My dear captain, there really is no need to apologise. How is your mother?’

  ‘Well, she’s still poorly, sir, but the physician up there says she is improving. I don’t mind telling you that I am still very worried for her.’ The young man’s face was indeed anxious, Hardcastle thought.

  ‘Is your mother being cared for? Should you not still be in Ashford yourself?’

  ‘My sisters are both there looking after her, so there’s no call for me to hang on, and of course I have my duties here, but . . . Anyway, sir, there’s no need for me to burden you with my problems. I’ll come to the point. We were discussing the patrols I sent down into the Marsh at the request of Mr Fanscombe, to look for any signs of trouble and also to ensure your safety, Reverend, so far as we could.’

  ‘Yes, that is right. I believe you said you patrolled for four nights. I was, and am, most grateful.

  ‘Yes, but that’s where I may have deceived you, inadvertently, you see. We’d actually been down in the Marsh the night before, too, the night the killings took place. You remember I said at the inquest that I had been out on patrol with my men? But we didn’t come near St Mary then, we were only a little east of Ivychurch. That too was part of a request for aid from the civil power from Mr Fanscombe.’

  ‘Oh? What orders did you have on that occasion?’

  The young captain rubbed his bristly chin. ‘Well, it was never really quite clear, sir. We were to hold a line east of Ivychurch and try to intercept any smugglers coming west; that was all I was told. But we never saw anyone. We heard the shooting, of course, but it was a long way to the east and north-east. We just stood there wet and cold, and never saw a thing. Finally about three in the morning I gave it up as a bad job and ordered my men back to Appledore.’

  ‘I see. You didn’t say any of this at the inquest.’

  ‘Not when I was on the stand, no. But I’d said all of this in my statement to Mr Fanscombe. And he knew all about it, of course, for it was he who had given the orders in the first place.’

  The rector nodded slowly. ‘Why are you telling me all of this now, Captain Shaw?’

  The young man looked up sharply, and then unexpectedly he smiled. He actually had quite a pleasant smile, the rector thought.

  ‘You’re a sharp one, Reverend. I always thought so. Very well, I’ll come clean. I obeyed Mr Fanscombe’s orders that night, but I wasn’t happy about it. The order came late, and there was something peremptory about it, quite unlike his normal manner. Normally he comes to see me in person and tells what he wants done and why. This was just, “Go there, do this.” ’

  ‘I see. You don’t think Mr Fanscombe was his usual self?’

  ‘Well, no, sir, but I think there is more to it than that. There is something about this whole business that makes me uneasy. We were called out and then stuck in the wrong place, or at least that’s how I see it. Were we being used for some other purpose? Was Mr Fanscombe himself maybe deceived? There’s something wrong, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘And you thought you would fish around and see if I knew anything?’

  ‘There it is,’ said the young man, smiling again. ‘You have the right of it. It’s impertinent of me, to be sure. I’ll quite understand if you brush me off.’

  ‘No,’ said the rector slowly. ‘I share your feelings. I too am concerned that no one seems to know the name or identity of the young man who was killed here, or why he was murdered. I have many questions, Captain Shaw, but answers have so far eluded me. I wish I could help you, but I fear I cannot.’

  Shaw nodded. ‘You’ll understand why I had to ask, though, Reverend. If some game is afoot and whoever is playing it is trying to involve the militia; well, that is a serious business. I want to get to the bottom of this.’

  ‘Then I wish you luck, captain. And if I do hear anything that might be important, I will certainly let you know.’

  ‘I’d be right pleased if you would. Well, then, sir, good afternoon to you.’

  THE RECTORY, ST MARY IN THE MARSH, KENT.

  23rd May, 1796.

  My dear Freddie,

  I trust this letter finds you in excellent health, and Martha also. I recall she had a bad chest during the winter, and hope that this has entirely cleared. How is young William? Making a name for himself at Cambridge now, I trust.

  I write to you to ask a small favour. I believe you have in your parish a widowed lady by the name of Shaw. Her son is currently serving with the militia down here at Appledore, and reported to me recently that his mother is unwell. He seemed most concerned about her. Would you be able to have some report of her condition? I should like to be able to be of some use to him, especially should she take a turn for the worse. This is of course in confidence between us, for I should not like Captain Shaw to think I was prying into his affairs.

  Yr friend as always

  M.A.H.

  Amelia Chaytor presented herself at the rectory after midday, and Mrs Kemp showed her into the study with more civility than she usually offered his guests.

  ‘Another splendid public performance,’ she said. ‘Even I believed you when you said you had never seen the m
an before.’

  ‘It was almost true,’ replied the rector. ‘During our only previous encounter he had been masked and hooded. Technically, I did perjure myself, but given that the man who administered the oath is himself corrupt, I feel no unease on that score.’

  ‘Nor should you.’ She looked at him sharply, and at the half-empty bottle beside him. ‘What is wrong?’

  He described the confrontation with Blunt, and also how his study had been searched. She listened in silence and then said, ‘Could they have found anything?’

  ‘I very much doubt it. I have made a few notes and scribbles from time to time, but I have always been careful to burn them. I have to say, I am not at all certain it was Blunt who searched the room. He seemed genuinely puzzled when I mentioned it. Also, searching through my papers might be a bit too subtle for him. As we are learning, he prefers more direct methods.’

  ‘Blunt by name, blunt by nature. He is nevertheless becoming dangerous,’ she said thoughtfully. She said it in the same tone that she might have used when discussing the ordering of furniture in a room.

  ‘He is becoming desperate, which does indeed make him dangerous. Make doubly certain that your doors and windows are locked at night.’

  ‘Be assured that I have already done so, but thank you for the advice. Did you speak with Lord Clavertye?’

  He told her the gist of Clavertye’s letter, and she listened with her hands resting gently in her lap. ‘He has cast us adrift,’ she said.

  ‘Damn His Lordship for a weak-minded fool,’ said the rector bitterly. ‘He has put himself and his own ambitions ahead of the truth. He’ll make a fine politician, won’t he? But it is too late. Blunt and his confederates know that we suspect them.’ He did not say it, but it was likely to be her visits to Deal and New Romney that had given the game away. ‘They will not believe that we have stopped. We will continue to be in danger, no matter what we do.’

  ‘Then it seems we have no choice but to carry on investigating,’ she said. ‘We need now to bring this affair to a conclusion, as swiftly as we can.’ Her hands remained still in her lap, and yet again the rector marvelled at her composure.

  ‘There is another thing,’ he said, and he related his conversation with Captain Shaw. ‘I don’t know what to make of it. If he is genuinely investigating this matter, then he could be a very useful ally. But I could not bring myself to trust him.’

  ‘Is it possible to check his story? About his mother?’

  ‘I have already written to a friend in Ashford to do so.’ He sighed. ‘This affair has become so tangled and so complex that I no longer know who is involved. Perhaps everyone is,’ he added.

  ‘ “I don’t trust anyone except me and thee, and between us, I am not too sure about thee.” ’ She smiled. ‘It is a joke. It was one of John’s favourite sayings.’

  The rector regarded her. He recalled that Peter and Matthew had referred to the Twelve Apostles’ informant in St Mary as a woman. Could it be . . . ? No, of course not, it was a ridiculous notion. Ridiculous . . . ‘We must keep an eye on Shaw,’ he said, wrenching his mind away from the seed of doubt that had been planted there. ‘His men think he is a blunderer, but I begin to wonder if he might be deeper than he looks.’

  ‘That would not be hard. In appearance, Captain Shaw is the quintessence of shallowness.’

  ‘True, but that could be a masquerade. What he said about Fanscombe troubles me. It seems clear that, whether he knows it or not, Shaw’s men were supposed to be part of the ambush that would trap the Twelve Apostles. And we know now that it was Fanscombe’s orders that sent Shaw there.’

  ‘We’ve long suspected that our justice of the peace is mixed up in this business. It begins to look as if we are right.’

  The rector smiled. ‘Lord Clavertye says he is a sound man, beyond reproach. “His heart and head are in the right place”, says His Lordship.’

  ‘I see. That in itself surely gives us cause for suspicion.’

  He laughed aloud. ‘My dear Mrs Chaytor, you are nearly as suspicious and cynical as I am myself.’

  ‘I have never thought of myself as cynical,’ said Amelia Chaytor thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps I am. I tend to think of myself as a realist. I actually quite like Fanscombe, though I prefer him in small doses. His bluff and hearty manner would be irksome, were it not so obviously a front.’

  ‘What do you make of Mrs Fanscombe?’

  ‘I am frightfully glad that I am not married to her . . . but in fact, I cannot help liking her too. She is pleasant enough, when she is not with her husband.’

  ‘And Fanscombe’s daughter?’

  ‘Eliza? Who knows what goes on inside her pretty head? For the last several months she has barely been on speaking terms with her stepmother. My girl had this from the maids at New Hall.’ She paused. ‘I will play devil’s advocate for a moment. There might be innocent explanations for all of Fanscombe’s actions. Blunt might have deceived him about the Twelve Apostles; Fanscombe may have thought that he was merely upholding the law and assisting the Customs.’

  ‘And what of Paul, who was a guest under their roof?’

  ‘They simply may not have known his real identity.’

  ‘True. But you will recall that I gave Fanscombe a clear opportunity to tell me the truth about Paul’s visit to the house, and he failed to do so. And when I asked Miss Fanscombe a question about Paul, she responded with an outright lie.’

  Mrs Chaytor pursed her lips. ‘Very well. What is the connection between Fanscombe and Blunt?’

  ‘My feeling is that it is Blunt who pulls the strings. Fanscombe, assuming he is involved, is there to provide cover for Blunt. As justice of the peace, it would be easy for him to conceal evidence and steer official investigations in the wrong direction. For example, Fanscombe may have arranged the bribe for the coroner.’

  ‘But what about Eliza?’ she frowned. ‘What possible reason could she have for lying?’

  They could think of no answer to this. She looked out the window, her gloved hands very still in her lap, and then looked back at him, her blue eyes steady. ‘We have pushed Blunt as far as we can, and he has started to strike back. Let us turn our attention now to the Fanscombes. Let us find out who they really are, and what they really know.’

  ‘There is still danger in doing so.’

  ‘My dear man, of course there is. But as I said earlier, we cannot stop. We must see this matter through.’

  ‘What then do you propose?’

  ‘I propose that we shake the tree. I have lived here for more than half a year, and have yet to entertain my neighbours. It is time I remembered my position. Reverend Hardcastle, will you do me the honour of dining with me on Saturday, the twenty-eighth of May?’

  ‘I am delighted to accept.’ He was puzzled, not understanding what she meant, but he said nothing further. He had learned by now that it was best to let her do things in her own way.

  He showed her out, and then returned to the study and poured another glass of port. Her husband had been in diplomatic service; was that a coincidence? Or did she too have interests in high places? Was her presence in the Marsh simply a matter of chance? Or was she reporting her suspicions and her findings to someone else? Was she the Twelve Apostles’ agent in St Mary in the Marsh?

  It was ridiculous, of course. If she was hand in glove with Peter, why would she then confide in him? On the other hand . . . what other woman in the Marsh had her coolness, her penetrating intelligence and her courage? He wondered.

  13

  Secrets at New Hall

  On Tuesday morning the rector harnessed his horse to the creaking dog cart and drove carefully down the rutted track to the Cadman farm. Old Cadman was now in a bad way; a combination of marsh fever, rheumatism and gin had sent him to his bed, and Dr Morley, seen the previous day in the village, had remarked that he might not last the week. He found the old man peacefully comatose, his son and daughter-in-law and their children distraught; he offered
all the comfort that could be offered in such situations, and then drove back to the village.

  It was about eleven on that warm May morning when he reached the ivy-clad crumbling cottage of Miss Godfrey and Miss Roper. They offered him tea and brandy and some pastries created by the fair hand of Miss Roper herself, full of sickly sweet stewed fruit and wrapped in thick, fat-laden cases. He managed to eat two of these with a straight face. They asked him about Mr Cadman’s father, discussing his symptoms with a clinical exactitude that would have tested Dr Morley.

  ‘On the subject of Dr Morley,’ said the rector, once a fair amount of brandy had been consumed. ‘You are certain he is having assignatious with Mrs Fanscombe?’

  Delighted by the chance to gossip, they gave him times and places: usually at the doctor’s house, once or twice at New Hall when Fanscombe was away, several times at a house said to be somewhere near Rye. The girl who cleaned for them had all of this directly from those ever-flowing fountains of information, the maids at New Hall.

  ‘Goodness me,’ said the rector. ‘And this has been going on for over a year? Well, well.’

  ‘The morals of that house are simply shocking,’ pronounced Miss Godfrey. ‘Simply shocking. Mrs Fanscombe is not the only one to transgress either,’ and she looked brightly at the rector.

  The rector duly took the bait. ‘Don’t tell me Mr Fanscombe has a lover somewhere?’

  ‘Oh, no, he is quite blameless, poor man.’ Miss Roper checked. ‘At least, so far as we know. He might have a fancy woman hidden away somewhere, but if he does, he has kept it very quiet. No, my dear Reverend, I mean his daughter. Elizabeth.’

  The rector raised his eyebrows and waited. ‘They say,’ said Miss Godfrey, leaning forward and dropping her voice to a confidential murmur, ‘that she has been compromised by that Frenchman, F-f-f-. . .’

  ‘Foucarmont,’ enunciated Miss Roper. ‘That is the typical behaviour of a Frenchman, is it not, Reverend Hardcastle? I daresay that when the invasion comes, all we ladies will be subjected to a great ravishing by hordes of Frenchmen. All very hairy and smelling of garlic, no doubt.’