Murder in Paradise

by Alanna Knight

  Quickly changing the subject, Poppy smiled. ‘What are you planning to do this evening?’ she asked hopefully.

  ‘I rather think I am going to be somewhat busy.’

  And without further explanation, he bowed and left her looking sadly after him as he returned to his room. A glance at the streaming windows confirmed the necessity of some protection against the weather.

  He was sorry to disappoint Poppy but at that moment he could think of nothing but the urgency of finding a doctor for Erland. The wedding tomorrow was the least of his worries.

  He ducked out of sight, hearing voices from Erland’s room. Lena emerged with George Wardle. They exchanged a brief embrace and blowing him a kiss she watched him disappear down the stairs.

  This was a new turn to events. Were they both in the plot together? There was no time to lose, he felt certain that Erland’s life now depended on immediate medical treatment.

  Seizing a rain cape from the hall he set off into the downpour. First he would go to the local inn and summon the innkeeper who would surely know where the doctor lived.

  The alehouse however was firmly closed; doubtless the owner treasured his day off as well. Faro walked round the outside but could find no private entrance so, after a further hammering on the inn door, he gave up and retreated in frustration and anger.

  Constable Muir lived next to the police station and making his way to that now familiar territory, Faro decided he should have come here in the first place.

  He was out of luck. There was no reply. Staring up at the windows, Faro remembered that the constable had mentioned that he and his wife were going to a family wedding in London this weekend. So that was that. Doubtless they would not be back until late and he could not afford to linger.

  Where next? The vicar perhaps? Evensong drifted across the street from the village church, but close at hand was Brettle Manor and as Faro wanted to call on Mrs Lunn again, this was the perfect excuse.

  Footsteps from inside the kitchen could be heard in response to his tap on the door.

  A voice called cheerfully, ‘Door’s open.’

  He stepped inside and Mrs Lunn, who was seated at the table, turned to face him. Her welcoming smile faded quickly to be replaced by confusion as well as fear and anxiety. He was not her expected visitor.

  Apologising for the intrusion, Faro explained that one of the people at Red House was ill with food poisoning and needed a doctor urgently. Did she have the doctor’s address?

  ‘You’d need to go to Upton,’ she said

  ‘Is there not a local doctor?’ Faro asked, amazed.

  She shrugged, giving him a curious look. ‘I’ve no idea. Haven’t the Morrises got someone?’ And without waiting for a reply she went on, ‘Sir and madam have their own physician – from London. He visits when necessary.’

  She stood up, the indication that their short meeting was over. ‘I have things to do, if you don’t mind.’

  As she moved in the direction of the door, he said, ‘This is an odd state of affairs. What if someone has an accident or takes seriously ill?’

  Frowning now, clearly anxious in case that visitor she had been expecting was about to put in an appearance, she said, ‘I have no idea. People just have to stay healthy, that’s all – make their own arrangements, sign up with the Upton one.’

  Opening the door for him, he remembered the coat rack with its burden of cloaks and shawls.

  There was an addition today. One of the hooded capes worn by the Red House gardeners.

  ‘Do you take in lodgers, Mrs Lunn?’

  ‘What on earth makes you think that?’ was the indignant response. ‘Sir and madam—’

  ‘I mean while they are away—’

  ‘What a suggestion!’

  ‘I just wondered. After all, with the house empty for several months, all those empty rooms. No one could blame you,’ he added with a significant glance at the gardener’s cape.

  ‘I’ve never heard of such a thing – it’s outrageous,’ she stammered and then: ‘Oh – that!’ she gulped, ‘belongs to my nephew. Comes to see me occasionally and sleeps on my sofa. Wouldn’t consider intruding into the house,’ she ended piously. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.’

  Faro went down the drive very thoughtfully. He was certain that the housekeeper was not telling the absolute truth, not that he blamed her for making a few extra shillings for boarding one of the Red House gardeners. However, it was none of his business, which right now was to find a doctor and take him to have a look at Erland.

  He was walking along the road towards Upton when the sound of a carriage made him turn round. It was the Red House wagonette, and George Wardle leant out.

  ‘Can we give you a lift? Going to catch the train. Jump in.’

  Faro did so. Had what he witnessed with Lena been merely a polite farewell kiss?

  ‘I see you’ve recovered from last night’s festivities. I trust you avoided mussels too?’ Wardle laughed. ‘I left some very sore heads and even sorer stomachs back there. Where are you off to?’

  Faro explained that he was in search of a doctor.

  ‘You won’t find one back there, I’m afraid. Is it urgent?’ Wardle asked anxiously.

  ‘I think so. For Erland – he is very poorly.’

  Wardle shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t let that worry you too much. So are they all. By tomorrow all will be well again and wiser.’

  ‘But this is different. Erland seems to be getting worse by the hour. And yes, I’m very concerned.’

  ‘Of course. The wedding.’ Wardle nodded slowly. ‘Has to be fit for that. Topsy asked me to stay but alas I have important engagements in London. That’s why I’ve spent the whole day with him.’

  For Wardle’s non-appearance at the wedding Faro was grateful as he continued, ‘I do know a doctor in Upton, friend of mine from college days. I’d stop by and introduce you but haven’t time. Only one evening train on Sundays, you know. However, we pass Dr Grant’s house on the way to the station and we can drop you off at the very gate.’

  Faro was again grateful as the wagonette deposited him outside a handsome new villa. ‘Good luck. And give Freddie my best,’ Wardle shouted in farewell.

  Opening the gate, Faro walked up the path through the pretty garden and rang the front doorbell.

  It was opened by a maid. ‘The doctor is away from home, sir. He’ll be back tomorrow. Can I take a message?’

  Faro told her he was urgently required at Red House, as soon as possible. It was the best he could do and that she was to tell Dr Grant that Mr Wardle sent his regards.

  As he was walking back down the road, he hailed the wagonette approaching on its way back to Red House. He was glad to escape the rain since he was now drenched through, even his boots oozed water. As they sped along the road, past the Mill House, he realised he had not thought for some time of the fate of Bess Tracy. There were no lights in the cottage and he wondered if she was still alive.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Faro left the shelter of the wagonette to find the scene at Red House dismal indeed. The orchard was hardly visible through the rain, trees dripping heavy with water, the courtyard flooded.

  There were voices from the dining room as Faro deposited his rain cape on the hall stand and squelched his way upstairs, glad to get out of his wet clothes and remove his sodden boots. After drying his hair with a towel, he made his way along to Erland’s room.

  His approach had been anticipated for Poppy came to the door.

  ‘He’s asleep and he seems a little better.’

  As he angled his way past her, she put a hand on his arm, frowning. ‘Please don’t disturb him, he needs all the sleep he can get. Lena has been with him all day. Hardly eaten a thing. I insisted that she go downstairs and have supper.’ She smiled sadly. ‘Poor Lena. I had to almost throw her out. She has refused to leave him for an instant.’

  While she spoke, Faro edged nearer the bed. It was too dark by the light of a solitary ca
ndle to see Erland’s shadowed face clearly, difficult to see whether he looked better or worse as he was sleeping very deeply, his chest rising and falling with the effort.

  ‘How long has he been like that?’

  ‘Most of the day, I’m told.’

  Faro sneezed and she gave him an anxious look. ‘I hope you’re not taking a fever. I gather,’ she added with a glance at his wet hair, ‘that you’ve been out braving this atrocious weather.’

  ‘I won’t melt away,’ he said shortly. ‘I’ve been searching for a doctor to come and look at Erland. Best I could do was leave a message for Dr Grant.’

  She nodded slowly. ‘Lena asked me if that was where you had gone. If he isn’t any better by tomorrow, we both agreed that a doctor should be called. The others similarly afflicted have mostly recovered – to varying degrees.’ She smiled wryly. ‘I suspect that was according to the amount of wine consumed rather than the mussels.’

  The door opened behind them and Lena appeared.

  She seemed surprised to see him there and said to Poppy, ‘Thank you – I’ll take over now.’

  Poppy pointed to the sewing on the bedside table.

  ‘I’ll keep you company.’

  Lena sighed. ‘At least there have been no interruptions today. I’ve had plenty of time on my hands.’

  ‘I’ll fetch more candles, shall I?’ And indicating what looked like a stack of velvet material thrown across a chair, Poppy added ruefully, ‘We still have plenty to do.’

  Lena nodded. ‘No urgency now, I’m afraid.’ She sighed. ‘Everyone involved has been told.’

  ‘No wedding?’

  It was a question from Faro and Lena shook her head sadly. ‘Alas, no.’ Then looking at the sleeping figure, she brightened. ‘But no matter, there will be other times for weddings,’ she added wistfully.

  Indeed yes, but as he was leaving, Faro wondered whether it was Erland she was thinking of at that moment?

  In the dining room, he found a very much sobered group tackling cold meats with re-heated vegetables and, as befitted the survivors of last night’s banquet, like the diners themselves, somewhat wilted.

  Apart from a brief greeting, the wave of a fork momentarily suspended from Morris whose appetite seemed unimpaired, Faro was ignored. He had little wish to be sociable and soon realised that his presence was quite superfluous to the animated discussion between Morris, Rossetti and Burne-Jones regarding care needed in travel arrangements for their works at forthcoming exhibitions, galleries with atrocious hanging facilities as well as greedy owners.

  Bypassing the wine bottle headed in his direction, Faro seized the pause to mention Erland’s postponed wedding. For a moment they stared at him blankly as if this was the first they had heard of it. Then, with murmurs of ‘Too bad, rotten luck’, returned to more important matters, a heated discussion about how to evade the hefty commissions London galleries were charging.

  Faro ate his indifferent meal in silence; his departure, carrying his coffee, caused no raised heads in his direction. Halfway upstairs he met Elizabeth Siddal looking more ethereal than ever, as if a strong puff of wind might blow her away.

  ‘Gabriel said you were anxious about your friend. That he should see a doctor. We often have stomach upsets and as it has just cause,’ she smiled palely, ‘wine – and other things, we don’t take them very seriously. However, some of us – we ladies do have occasional medical problems, I’m afraid, although there is little sympathy,’ she added with a dark glance downstairs at the closed dining-room door as if they might be overheard. ‘They – believe in mind over matter. Illness is despised and depression regarded as an indulgence of one’s own making.’

  She was more voluble than usual and looking at her face, so beautiful and frail, he wondered how much of this was from her own bitter experience. ‘We cannot wait always for our doctor from London, excellent as he is. I – and the other girls – prefer to have a doctor near at hand for our troubles. An excellent fellow, Dr Innes, lives a couple of miles down the road and I have sent one of the grooms with a message. He will come tomorrow and have a look at Erland – and give me some more of my medicine,’ she whispered. ‘Something we ladies prefer to keep a secret.’

  Faro guessed that would be laudanum, the universal pain-killer, used by even the highest in the land, including, according to rumour, Her Majesty.

  He looked in to see Erland again and, although he was very poorly, he was awake, with Lena helping him drink from a cup.

  What was in it? Was it cocoa? Faro did not dare to ask.

  Erland raised his head from the pillow and smiled weakly. ‘So sorry, old chap.’ And with a shake of his head, ‘I don’t think I’ll be able to get married tomorrow. Awful to disappoint all my dear friends – and my precious girl here. But I feel so weak, I don’t want to fall down and alarm everyone during the ceremony.’

  And to Lena, ‘I used to faint regularly at school but I outgrew that. Remember, Jeremy?’

  Faro had almost forgotten and he had a sudden vision of those far-off days, a return to the protective affection he had known for the once frail, crippled boy as Erland reached out and seized his hand. His other hand sought Lena.

  ‘And here I am laid low, but with my very best friend and my very best girl. Who could ask for more? You’ll see me right, won’t you?’

  A shaft of fear, of terrible premonition, swept through Faro at this strange pronouncement. He looked at Lena, now stroking Erland’s forehead. A faithful, loving and gentle nurse: hard to reconcile with the passionate woman who had come to his bed last night. He shuddered at the remembrance. At least Erland would never know of that encounter, that betrayal.

  Erland’s eyes had closed again. His hand released, Faro stood up and Lena, without looking at him, said, ‘You go to bed, Jeremy. I will stay with him. He likes to see me when he wakes up.’

  ‘The doctor is coming tomorrow.’

  ‘I know. That is for the best, best not to take chances with food poisoning,’ she added, in complete denial of her earlier reassurances.

  He slept badly that night, troubled by nightmares, and left the house early next morning to call on Constable Muir, to get his farcical daily visit behind him. Not that he imagined there would have been any sightings of Macheath over the weekend. Perhaps in the criminal fraternity that was giving him shelter, Macheath too could be relied upon as going to ground, untroubled by thoughts of hell and damnation being preached in sermons throughout the land, but merely taking it easy and staying out of trouble on Sunday.

  The rain had stopped and a thin sunshine fingered the drenched gardens. Already the storm had stripped some of the leaves from the trees, carpeting the grass with their first red and gold.

  Taking the short-cut through the orchard, Faro observed that three of the gardeners were already hard at work, three young lads chattering like magpies over their weekend exploits. He wondered if they were well paid by Morris for their roles at the banquet.

  They greeted him cheerfully. He recognised one of them as Erland’s squire and this was a great opportunity to get some answers from him regarding the wine. As he paused indecisively the trio stopped talking and stared at him. Unable to think of an excuse to detach the man from his comrades, Faro merely nodded and continued his walk.

  As always he imagined their amused comments following him, especially after having obviously misunderstood his query regarding Bess Tracy, their giggling comments would doubtless be: ‘Bet that queer cove is after a woman again.’

  At the police office, Muir emerged from his cloud of smoke to give the now routine negative response about Macheath and Faro sent the usual negative telegraph to Edinburgh.

  He would soon have been in Kent for a week. A wasted week but now, for the first time, he was no longer dismayed or frustrated by Noble’s response, hoping that he would not be summoned back to Edinburgh before he could see Erland recovered.

  When he told Muir that the wedding was postponed and the reason, the constable shrugg
ed and said enigmatically, ‘I expect they’re well married already if not churched – if you get my meaning – from what I hear of the morals of the folk back yonder.’

  A pause, then he grinned. ‘What was your evening like – apart from the food poisoning I mean. Were there any interesting goings-on?’

  Faro shook his head firmly. He had no intention of indulging Muir’s low opinion of artists and gossip about their scandalous behaviour, which was rife in the district, so changing the subject, he asked, ‘Any word yet of Bess Tracy returning home?’

  Muir puffed energetically at his pipe. ‘Haven’t heard.’ He sounded unalarmed and Faro said, ‘How long has she to be missing before there is an official inquiry?’

  Muir stared at him and sighed deeply. ‘You’re off again, Faro. You don’t seem to understand that such matters are quite usual in rural communities like ours where young lasses like Bess, who spread themselves around, are concerned. They meet a chap, take an interest – perhaps a few shillings in it for them – and away they go.’

  ‘You’re implying that she’s earning a living by prostitution.’

  Muir chuckled. ‘That’s it, lad, you’ve got it right this time. She’s the local whore, well known.’

  ‘Sixteen’s a bit early—’

  ‘To be on the game, you mean. Never too early. Often with the approval of parents who have other bairns and are grateful for any coins that come their way. They see a pretty lass as a good earner.’ He paused and added heavily, ‘A fact of life, I’m afraid. And I’m sure you find the same thing in big cities like Edinburgh. Parents, most likely a mother, who turn a blind eye, happy to accept a pretty daughter’s immoral earnings.’

  Faro knew that was true. These were not only country matters. Every evening on his beat down Leith Walk or a glance into the closes of the old town could be guaranteed to reveal the sordid truth of Muir’s statement.

  ‘Set your mind at rest, Faro lad. The only way the police will be involved is if her anxious parents ask for a missing person inquiry and have evidence for their fears. And I have to tell you that from what I know of Bess’s dad, that’s not very likely. So don’t you concern yourself, no need to lose any sleep over this one,’ he ended sarcastically.