The Hanging Cage (The Northminster Mysteries Book 4)

by Harriet Smart

  Felix shook his head.

  “Thinking of it, though?” Yardley said. “You will need to be begetting some heirs of your own. Have you a dam in mind? I would imagine your noble sire has quite –”

  “I think, sir, you may be misinformed about my connections,” Felix cut in. “Perhaps I should go and see to Mrs Yardley. The post-partum period can be extremely dangerous, especially after such a traumatic labour.”

  He started towards the door.

  Yardley started to laugh, in rather an unpleasant fashion.

  “You cannot lay claim to Ardenthwaite, and deny him, surely?” he said, in the same disturbing, jocund fashion. “How unfeeling of you, sir, when I have heard so much about the noble Marquess’ devotion. It is the talk of the county, of course.”

  Felix was on the verge of turning back, trying desperately to think of some suitable remark to deal with this impertinence. He felt it as keenly as if Yardley had poked him in the stomach with one of his antique swords.

  But at that moment the door opened and a lady entered. She had a pronounced limp and used a staff to support her. But her figure was so handsome and elegantly turned out, that the staff seemed to be more like a instrument of great office. She walked straight past Felix, as if he were invisible and went up to Yardley.

  “Here you are, Briggs, of course!” she said, a disapproving expression on her face. “With your blessed punchbowl!”

  “We have much to celebrate!” said Yardley. “You have been up to see him?”

  “I have been up to see them both,” she said, with some emphasis on the both. “Both seem comfortable, thank God, but I only heard by the merest chance. Why, pray, was I not informed at the earliest instant of the crisis?”

  “My dear sister, I have no idea. I was as much in the dark as you,” said Yardley. “I didn’t hear a thing until that wretched Grace, who thinks she is the mistress here, evidently, bothered to send a girl to tell me we had an heir! We ought to let her go, do you not agree, Amelia?”

  “No, indeed,” said the lady. “Mrs Yardley would only go with her and we cannot have that sort of scandal. You cause enough trouble as it is, brother.”

  “I believe Grace was only thinking of her mistress,” Felix ventured. “She is an excellent woman as far as I could judge, and if she had not acted as promptly as she did then there might have been little to celebrate.”

  Now the lady turned her attention to him.

  “You are the Scotch doctor? Grace said she found you at the Falcon.”

  “This is Carswell of Ardenthwaite, Amelia, no less and no more,” said Yardley. “Lord Rothborough’s own –”

  “Enough, Briggs, enough!” said Miss Yardley. “We shall not stoop to gossip when this man has done our family such a service. Dr Carswell, thank you. I believe we owe you the life of both mother and child.” She put out her hand. “I am Amelia Yardley.”

  Felix took it and made his bow.

  “We are fortunate you were at hand,” she said. “What brings you to Whithorne?”

  “Police business,” Felix said. “Mr Earle, the coroner, asked my employer Major Vernon and myself to come and investigate an unexplained death. A young lady called Miss Barker. Perhaps you knew her?”

  “The mulatto girl?” said Yardley.

  “She’s dead?” said Miss Yardley. “Oh, dear Lord! How terrible. And the coroner and the police involved!”

  “Shocking,” said Yardley.

  “It cannot be murder, surely?” Miss Yardley said.

  “We don’t know,” Felix said. “When I have done the post-mortem, things will be clearer, but apparently the road is flooded, and we will not be able to get back to Northminster until the day after tomorrow.”

  “It cannot be done here?” said Yardley.

  “I would prefer not to, but it may come to it, if the weather does not improve.”

  “It is not set to,” said Miss Yardley. “And even if the weather does change, the Northminster road is always the last to drain.”

  “Then it must be done here,” said Yardley. “Indeed, we have the very place, Dr Carswell, under this ancient roof! The old kitchen here would be most suitable, from what I have read of these things. Justice need not be inconvenienced by the weather.”

  “Poor, poor girl,” said Miss Yardley. “It is the worst of fates for her.”

  “I really should go and see Mrs Yardley,” Felix said, going to the door. “Perhaps a servant might show me the way?”

  “I will take you there myself, Mr Carswell,” said Miss Yardley. “I cannot resist another sight of my handsome young nephew. Briggs, will you come?”

  “Later,” said Mr Yardley, giving his punchbowl a stir. “Later.”

  Chapter Four

  Giles continued his sodden walk back to the Falcon, looking forward to the fire and some coffee, when he turned a corner and saw two boys fighting.

  As he ran towards them, he saw their schoolbooks and caps had been thrown to the ground and an unpleasant fracas was in progress. This was not a mere schoolboy scrap – the boy on top was holding a knife to the neck of the other. Giles dragged him off, the result of which was that the knife went flying from the assailant’s hand and lay glinting on the slippery cobbles. The boy struggled so hard to evade Giles’ grasp that it needed two hands to keep hold of him, such was his state of animal fury. As a result the other boy leapt to his feet and ran off without a backward glance.

  “Stop!” Giles called out. “Stop!”

  But the boy had no intention of obeying him. Giles could not give chase for risk of losing the other, who was still putting up a fierce show of resistance. The fugitive could be dealt with later, Giles decided, certain there were not so many places in Whithorne where a respectable lad could hide. He turned his attention to the knife-wielding terror who was squirming in his arms.

  Giles finally got him under control by means of a pair of handcuffs. He was a little worried that the boy’s slender wrists would easily escape them, but the boy seemed genuinely frightened by the sight of them, and gave up his fight at last.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Rivers, sir,” stuttered the boy, unable to look Giles in the eye.

  “How old are you?”

  “Thirteen.”

  “And those are your books on the ground there?”

  “Yes, sir, some of them. Some of them are Latimer’s.”

  “That was the other boy?” The boy nodded. “You’re at school together?”

  “Yes. At the Abbey.” He gestured up the lane, behind him.

  “And, that,” said Giles, moving the knife on the ground a little with his foot. “That is yours?”

  There was no answer.

  “Is that your knife?” Giles said again, tightening his grip a little.

  “Might be,” he said at last.

  “I hope you know how serious that is, to put a knife to another fellow’s neck.”

  “I had to,” the boy burst out. “I had to!”

  “And why?”

  He fell into silence again.

  “I am going to take you straight to the Bridewell, Master Rivers. Since you are determined to behave like a common hoodlum, you will have to be treated as one.”

  “Oh God, sir, no!”

  “Then where do you live? Your father can deal with you.”

  “My father’s dead.”

  “Then I am sure your mother –”

  “It was because of her, sir, that – that –” he blurted out. “Her and my sister. He insulted them! He said they were – he insulted them!”

  “What did he say?”

  “I don’t like to say it,” the boy said. “It was too – you understand, you must, sir, you’re a gentleman! I couldn’t let him say such a thing and get away with it, could I?”

  Giles repressed a sigh at this sorry tale. He did not yet know if he was dealing with a habitual liar attempting to put his actions into an acceptable light, or if this was genuine outrage. He reached down and retrieved the
knife, putting it into his pocket.

  “Where do you live, Master Rivers?” he said.

  “St John’s Lane.”

  “Then I think we had better go and speak to your mother.”

  At least then they would be out of the rain, although it was not going to be pleasant telling a hapless widow about her errant child.

  The house was a modest one, in a modest street. The widow Rivers and her family were clearly not in good circumstances.

  A girl holding a ginger cat opened the door to them. She was a smaller, female, drier version of Master Rivers and she gasped at the sight of her brother in the company of a strange man.

  “Oh, Mama,” she said, turning abruptly. “I think you’d better...”

  The front door opened directly into the front parlour. The room was not squalid, but it was by no means luxurious. There were two old chairs sitting ceremoniously on either side of the fireplace, but no fire. On the mantlepiece was a pair of handsome silver candlesticks that stood out as the only symbols of gentility in this frugal environment.

  Mrs Rivers emerged from the back of the house. She wore a blue and white striped apron over a black dress, and had wrapped a scarf of the same stuff about her lustrous hair. On another woman this might have looked like a mark of servitude and poverty, but it had been arranged so well that she looked as if she were about to sit for her portrait. Even in the dull light of an undistinguished room, it was evident that she had the sort of beauty and composure that would have been remarkable in the most exalted circles.

  “Yes?” she said. “What is going on?”

  “Shall I speak or shall you?” said Giles to the boy.

  The boy was frozen in terror now at the sight of his mother.

  “I... I...” he began but could manage no more.

  “Forgive my intrusion and interference, ma’am,” Giles said. “I found your son attacking another boy – Latimer – in the street. Your son had a knife to his neck. Naturally I had to intervene.”

  Mrs Rivers took stock for a moment and said, “Naturally.” Then she added, “And you, sir, are?”

  “Major Giles Vernon at your service, ma’am,” he said. “I should add, I am a police officer.”

  “Latimer, you say?” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Johnny, what do you have to say for yourself?” she said advancing a little towards her son, who stood looking pointedly away. “John, look at me.” He managed to do so. “Is that what happened?”

  At length the boy nodded slightly.

  She pressed her hands together and then to her lips for a moment, composing herself.

  “Latimer,” she said again. “Oh Johnny, Johnny –”

  “He insulted you!” Johnny burst out. “He insulted you and Louisa! He called you whores! He said that he’d have Louisa just as his pater had you! For money!”

  There was a miserable silence as Mrs Rivers absorbed this information. Then quietly she said, “Go into the kitchen and get dry, Johnny. We will talk about this later. I must speak to Major Vernon alone.”

  Giles released him from the cuffs and the boy left the room rather quickly, as if glad to be out of his sight.

  “I am sorry I cannot offer you a fire here, sir,” Mrs Rivers said, sitting down. “Our circumstances are not as I would wish. I’m sorry as well that my son’s conduct has brought you here. My apologies, and my thanks. I cannot even offer you a glass of wine by way of thanks.”

  “Has he ever been involved in anything like this before?”

  “No, at least not that I know of. He has always been very good, very obedient. A great support to me. This is not how he usually is. It is distressing.”

  “The other boy – I wonder if you should speak to him and his parents to establish the degree of provocation involved, before you deal with him.”

  “You are merciful,” she said, with a slight smile. “From your appearance, and your profession, I would expect you to recommend that I flog him.”

  “That rarely does any good,” Giles said. “At least in my experience. I was a vile boy, and my father a great traditionalist, but it didn’t seem to reform me. It only made me resentful.”

  “So what did reform you?” she said.

  “My mother had a clever way with words. Her ill-opinion was far more terrifying to me than any number of punishments from my father.”

  She smiled again at that, and he was once more confounded by her great beauty. It was hard not to be affected by it.

  He was reminded of a conversation he had had long ago with another young officer. They had been talking about famous courtesans, and how they must differ from ordinary whores, and that their beauty and manners must be of a superior order to command such ridiculous prices. “I suppose,” his companion had said, “that they can make a man sick with longing just with a smile or the wag of a finger.”

  It was a strange thing to find a woman like that in an overlooked corner of a town that had no claims to anything but obscurity. It would be difficult for Mrs Rivers, he imagined, living that cheese-paring sort of life. As a respectable widow and mother of children, the allure of a courtesan would be an inconvenience rather than an asset. It would give rise to gossip.

  He could not help wonder for a moment if there was not some truth in Latimer’s insult, not that Mrs Rivers was a whore, but that she was perhaps involved with his father. Perhaps the father had made some careless mention of her desirability and the boy had spun a fantasy about it, which in turn he had used to torment an enemy. Giles disliked this train of thought. It was not pleasant to doubt her virtue.

  “But I should at least confiscate his knife,” Giles added, taking it from his pocket and holding it out to her. “And tell him that no gentleman fights in such a fashion.”

  “That advice would be far better coming from you, sir,” she said. She took the knife and turned it in her hands. “This was his father’s. He is not supposed to have it. He must have taken it from my things.” She shook her head and then rose and laid it on the mantlepiece. “There is no difficulty with the law in this, is there?” she said after a moment. “You did say you were a police officer, sir?”

  Giles nodded and said, “It might be counted a case of common assault if the boy’s family wished to press charges and there was evidence of injury. But if they do not complain, then... I assume you know the family?”

  “Yes.”

  “They will likely be as embarrassed by this as you must be,” he said. “What the boy said was... perhaps your son’s offence is more understandable in the light of that.”

  “I shall have to speak to Mr Latimer, certainly,” she said, with a sigh. “What a wretched business! Wretched weather and more wretched news.”

  “Might I ask you something?” Giles asked, wondering at her downcast manner. “You did not know the late Miss Barker?”

  “Yes,” said Mrs Rivers. “Is that why you are in Whithorne, Major? You are certainly not in the common pattern of policemen. I heard there was going to be an inquest and that usually means dreadful things...” She broke off, with a shake of her head. “Poor Bel. I can’t quite believe it. It breaks my heart to think I shall never see her again.”

  “You were friends?”

  “After a fashion. Mr and Mrs Ampner are hospitable and are kind enough to ask me to their evenings now and then. I do not expect it of them, although Mr Ampner and my late husband were friends as boys. I am not exactly an ornament to their society – I have no illusions. But when Bel came to live with them, we did establish a sort of friendship. She was in need of friends, and perhaps those of us on the margins, for whatever reason, find ourselves drawn together. And my daughter, Louisa, who is just sixteen, adored her. She is so unhappy. She can’t begin to understand it. She has been crying out her heart. Have you any idea yet what happened?”

  “Not yet, I’m afraid. But we shall do our best to find out as soon as we can, if that is any comfort for your daughter. And it would help me if I could talk to you both
about Miss Barker. Perhaps I might call again tomorrow morning?”

  “Yes, certainly,” she said.

  “You must know Mr Gosforth as well, then?” he said, going towards the door.

  “Mrs Ampner’s brother? Only a little.”

  “What do you make of him?”

  “A civil young man, handsome, yes, but a little lacking in direction. And perhaps a touch foolish. Certainly liable to get himself into scrapes. Mrs Ampner is always worried about him. She dotes on him, of course, but I think she feels he is going to disgrace himself at any moment. Why do you ask?”

  “He has taken himself off somewhere, and Mrs Ampner seemed inclined to be worried about it. Does he have any particular friends or haunts that you know of?”

  “Lord Milburne has taken him up, that I do know. They have been fooling about pretending to be medieval knights or some such. Learning to joust, I believe. And Lord Milburne has promised us all a fancy ball – no, I beg his Lordship’s pardon – a medieval revelry.” Her amusement died on her lips, and she sighed. “Oh poor Bel, she was looking forward to that!” She paused a moment, composing herself. “Mr Gosford might have gone out to Woodville Park, that is Lord Milburne’s place. That would explain why he has not come home. The road will be impassable. We have a curious geography here, sir, you may have gathered. We are an island at such times!”

  Giles took his leave, and made his way back to the Falcon. It was about five o’clock and the gloom of the rain combined with the dusk to create a miserable atmosphere, as if the town itself was swathing itself in crêpe.

  Chapter Five

  At six o’clock, Felix judged it safe to leave Mrs Yardley and her son, having given instructions that he was to be fetched at once if there was any deterioration. He was anxious to be away before he was asked to stay for dinner.

  Returning to the Falcon, he found Major Vernon installed in the private parlour between their bedrooms. He was sitting in an uncharacteristic state of repose, his bare feet resting on the fender, a coffee cup in his hand and gazing into the fire. But there was plenty of evidence that he had been hard at work. There were papers and a plan of the town spread across the table, while on a chest stood a host of fancy cosmetic bottles, to all of which white evidence tags had been added.