Charlie nodded. He was too surprised and delighted to trust himself to speak.
‘Of course, I agree, Lavender,’ Foxe said. ‘I know Charlie loves that type of work. It will make a nice change from the constant round of repairs occasioned by the careless way many of those who use our circulating library treat the books.’
It was on the third day after his visit to Lady Cockerham that Foxe received the news which put this idyllic style of life in danger of collapse. It was delivered by a breathless Mrs Crombie the moment he stepped into the shop.
‘Have you heard, Mr Foxe?’ she began. ‘Sir Samuel Valmar is dead. The story is that he died yesterday evening after eating a dish containing bad oysters. I suppose that means that his young grandson will now succeed to the estate and the baronetcy.’
‘Indeed, it will, Mrs Crombie,’ Foxe replied, his mind full of the implications of this piece of news. ‘I wonder how he came to be eating something of that kind?’
‘It does happen sometimes,’ Mrs Crombie said, ‘especially towards the end of the season. It may also happen if they are left too long in the larder. Oysters can be chancy things at the best of times, if you ask me. I never liked them.’
‘I can’t say that I enjoy eating them either,’ Foxe replied. ‘Well, whatever the precise cause of the baronet’s death, I expect it will be up to me to make sure his grandson receives what is due to him.’
With that, Foxe returned to his library to consider his next move. He expected no more surprises. When Alfred, his manservant, presented him with two letters that had just arrived, he simply threw them down on the desk to read later. It was only when, staring about himself somewhat idly, he noticed that the wax which sealed one of them bore an imprint of the Valmar crest; he took it up in haste and broke open the seal to read what was written inside.
My dear Mr Foxe,
I expect the news will by now have reached you that my husband died at around eleven o’clock last night. The physician was called and has decided his death was due to the dish of oysters that he had eaten at dinner. He has pronounced them bad, noting that my husband began to suffer severe stomach pains and vomiting within an hour of the meal. These pains steadily became worse until death was inevitable. He has told me that death was due to natural causes and no inquest is required before burial takes place. Then, in the manner of all of his kind, he offered me his deepest condolences, followed by telling me I would receive the bill for his services in due course.
My husband’s death will be accepted as a sad accident by all who knew him. I certainly will not suggest anything else. He had not been eating properly since your visit — pangs of conscience, I presume — so I told cook to prepare him a dish of oysters, which were his favourite food. He ate those greedily enough.
I was standing on the other side of the door from the hall to the dining room throughout the time when you and my husband were talking. From there, I heard every word he said to you. I decided then I could not bear to live in the same house as a murderer, especially not the one who had brought about the death of my son, George. My exact role in my husband’s last hours on this earth — if any such existed — will remain unknown to all but myself and my Maker. Your quick mind may well have jumped to a conclusion and formed what I will call an educated guess. It will remain a guess, since actual proof will never exist. Now I will write no more about it, save to point out that justice has been done. Let that be an end of it.
I have a favour to ask of you. I hope you will be willing to act as my emissary and go-between to introduce me to my grandson, Henry, and the household in which he has been brought up. Let there be no doubt in anyone’s mind that he is the rightful heir to the estate and the title. I have broken the news to my younger son, Frederick. As you can imagine, he is both disappointed and furious to discover that he has a nephew who will take precedence over him in the succession. I have assured him that my jointure will be generous enough for me to give him the means of moving elsewhere. For several hours, he stamped around in the most terrible temper. Then he announced his decision to emigrate to our colonies in America and begin a new life there. I have both approved of and encouraged that decision. It is possible that what has happened may turn out to be the making of that young man. Now that he must fend for himself, save for what help I can give him, he must exchange a life of idleness for one of purposeful and useful endeavour. On the other side of the Atlantic, there will be greater scope for him. He will also be able to put these unpleasant memories out of his mind.
As for myself, I will now dedicate my life to helping my grandson assume his proper place in society. Be assured that I will not ignore his other grandparents. They deserve my greatest esteem for all they have done for him after his mother’s death and his father’s disappearance. Provided they are willing, I will see that they have their proper place within our family. It is assuredly what they deserve.
My greatest thanks are reserved for you. Without your intelligence and perseverance, a dreadful wrong would have been committed. I would also never have learned of what happened to my darling Georgie. I hope he can now rest in peace, knowing that his son is being given the best of care. He too will be welcomed back into the family, if only posthumously. I shall commission a suitable memorial tablet to be placed in the chancel of our parish church, alongside the memorials to all his ancestors. The family tree of the Valmars, in which my late husband took such obsessive pleasure, may be largely the product of the imagination of past centuries, but my elder son still deserves his proper place in it.
Frederick, I hope, will forget all such nonsense. If he does not remain with his intention to go to live in one of our American colonies, I imagine he will settle down to being what my husband should have been: a respectable and useful inhabitant of this county. If he does not, whatever comes about will be his own fault.
God bless you for what you have done, Mr Foxe. You will always be a welcome visitor to this house, so long as I live and breathe.
I am, sir, your most grateful and appreciative servant,
Catherine, Dowager Lady Valmar.
P.S. I trust your face has fully recovered from the blow I gave it. Please forgive me. I was not myself that day and regret my intemperate action deeply.
Foxe gave a deep sigh at the end, before reading the text through once again. Afterwards, he walked over to the fireplace, took down a candle from the sconce above there and lit the wick with his tinderbox. Finally, he held the flame to the paper and consigned Lady Valmar’s letter to the fireplace below. It was better that way. Sometimes justice had to give way to mercy. Let the world think the Valmar family’s problems were finally over. Sir Samuel had told him that a thoroughbred which turned vicious should be put down, lest it do any more harm to those around it. In time, Foxe hoped, his own conscience would surely grow quiet and come to accept he had done the best he could. No more members of the Valmar family would suffer from the death of that one of their number who had slipped into obsession and madness.
When he came to read the other letter, Foxe found something far less welcome. The missive came from Gracie Catt and had obviously been written in haste.
My Dearest Ash,
After a season of tumultuous successes in London and Dublin, dear Kitty is exhausted, and I am tired out trying to keep up with her. We have therefore decided to return to Norwich for some rest and relaxation before the autumn season starts the whole process off again. Expect us sometime within the next few days. We have borrowed suitable lodgings from a friend who is travelling abroad at the present time and expect to spend around two months in our old haunts. It will be delightful to see you again. I know Kitty joins with me in saying how much we are looking forward to renewing our previous close acquaintanceship, if only for a short period. We know we can rely upon you to keep us entertained and amused.
We both send you our love,
Gracie Catt
Foxe could have wept!
About the Author
William Savage i
s an author of British historical mysteries. All his books are set between 1760 and around 1800, a period of great turmoil in Britain, with constant wars, the revolutions in America and France and finally the titanic, 22-year struggle with Napoleon.
William graduated from Cambridge and spent his working life in various management and executive roles in Britain and the USA. He is now retired and lives in north Norfolk, England.
Also by William Savage
The Ashmole Foxe Georgian Mysteries
THE FABRIC OF MURDER
Follow Mr Foxe through Norwich’s teeming 18th-century streets as he seeks to prevent a disaster to the city’s major industry and tracks down a killer with more than profit on his mind.
DARK THREADS OF VENGEANCE
Mr Ashmole Foxe, Georgian bookseller and confidential investigator, has a new case: to find the murderer of a prominent Norwich merchant and banker before his businesses collapse and the city is crippled by financial panic.
THIS PARODY OF DEATH
Eighteenth-century Norwich bookseller and dandy, Ashmole Foxe, is asked by the local bellringers to look into the death of their Tower Captain, found in the ringing chamber with his throat cut.
BAD BLOOD WILL OUT
Ashmole Foxe investigates two cases, both involving poisoned relationships from the past. A wealthy man dies amongst his own guests and a series of murders occupy centre stage at one of Norwich’s main theatres.
The Dr Adam Bascom Mysteries
An Unlamented Death
The Code for Killing
A Shortcut to Murder
A Tincture of Secrets and Lies
Death of a Good Samaritan
A Sickness in the Soul Page 26