The Butchered Man

by Harriet Smart

  “I do not know. Mr Rhodes never said anything else to you about the Cleys? He did not mention Lucy Cley?”

  “No, never. But as I said, he was practically a stranger to me.”

  There was a knock on the door and the maid came in, this time accompanied by Carswell. He looked like a man who just come from the battlefield, his complexion flushed, his hair disordered.

  “Oh, Mr Carswell, how is she?” Miss Hilliard asked.

  When Carswell spoke his voice was hoarse: “She’s as comfortable as she can be, given the circumstances. I have got her fever down and the bleeding has eased off slightly, but she is not out of the woods yet. She is going to need constant nursing.”

  “Of course.”

  “She needs liquid – sustaining liquid – beef tea, and, if she’ll take it, marrow jelly. Keep the room cool, and change the linen frequently, especially the napkins. If there is any increase of the fever wash her down again with cold water. She can take a little more tincture of opium at three in the morning, if she needs it, but no more than two drops. Make sure your woman understands that. I will ride over later on to see her.”

  “Thank you for all your trouble, Mr Carswell. I may go to her now?”

  “Yes, yes, you may.” Miss Hilliard went towards the door, and as she passed Carswell, he reached out and laid his hand on her arm for a moment. “But I have to warn you, Miss Hilliard, this may not have a happy conclusion. These fevers are fierce things and although she was healthy before, that may not be enough.”

  She nodded gravely and left.

  “That’s understating it,” he said, sitting down heavily and buried his face in his hands. “Oh, God in Heaven...”

  “Here,” said Giles taking his hip flask from his pocket.

  Carswell took it and drank a measure.

  “She’s all of nineteen,” he said. “And I’ve done everything I can for her. I may have done too much. I may have made it worse, but I had to try, didn’t I?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The young man calmly ripped open the belly of a dead cow that had been suspended from a great hook, and stood back for a moment surveying his work. Then he noticed Major Vernon and Felix.

  “What do you want?”

  “Mr Richard Cley?” said Major Vernon.

  “Aye, what of it?”

  “I’d like to speak to you, please, if you’ve a moment.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Vernon. I am the Chief Constable of the city police.” Cley put down his knife. “I want to ask you about Mr Stephen Rhodes.”

  “What about him?”

  “I understand he’s jilted your sister.”

  “Aye,” Richard Cley said reaching for his knife again and making another long rip through the carcass. “He has that.”

  “And you’re not angry about it, Mr Cley? I would be in your case.”

  “Of course I’m angry!” he said. “Damned weasel of a man, getting round my mother and sister like that, cutting out those that have known Lucy for years and had hopes of her.”

  “A friend of yours, maybe?”

  “Yes, as it happens. The sort of man I’d hope she’d marry, not Rhodes.”

  “Does this fellow know about Rhodes jilting her?”

  “No, I haven’t told him. Not yet. I didn’t want it spread all over. A girl’s reputation can be ruined by something like this. How do you know it, sir?”

  “Your mother told me.”

  “You were speaking to her about this?”

  “Mr Rhodes has been found dead, Mr Cley, in very peculiar circumstances.”

  “You mean like someone’s done away with the bugger?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Christ,” said Cley. “Hey, there,” he said, scowling at Felix who had picked up one of the knives on the block and was examining it. “What are you doing?”

  “You don’t keep your blades in very good order,” he remarked.

  “What the hell is it to you?” he said.

  “Mr Carswell is a surgeon and he is assisting me in this inquiry,” the Major said.

  Felix picked up another knife and studied it carefully. Long bladed, about an inch and a half wide, it was just the sort of tool that could have made the stab wounds in the thorax. He tried it in his hand, and made a stabbing motion, picturing the wounds in his mind’s eye as he did so.

  “What the devil do you think you are doing?” Cley said stepping towards him. Felix, thinking he meant to wrest the knife from him, laid it down again, seeing the flare of anger in his eyes. Vernon saw it too.

  “There’s nothing you want to say to us, is there, Mr Cley?” the Major said quietly. “About all this?”

  “No, no, why the hell would there be? What, do you think I did it?”

  “I just want to know if you have anything to say to us. I can see you are a man of honour and that your sister’s reputation and her feelings are no small things to you. Clearly you weren’t enamoured of Mr Rhodes and certainly not of his conduct towards your sister. It’s plain you have a serious grievance against him. Any man of honour would want some form of redress in such a case. I just wonder whether you might have taken matters into your own hands. A lawsuit, well, there’s very little satisfaction in that, is there?”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m only saying that if there is anything you know about this business, you would be well advised to tell me of it sooner rather than later. Juries are often impressed by a show of contrition, and for your own sake –”

  “Now, sir, I’ve had enough of this!” said Cley. “If you think you can march in here and accuse me of killing a man then you’re much mistaken. That’s slander, and I shall not stand for any more of it. Get out!”

  “As you wish,” said Vernon. “But remember what I said.”

  Out in the street Felix asked, “Do you think he’s a suspect?”

  “He’s angry enough. Perhaps he discovered Rhodes dead and took his feelings out on his corpse and then dumped the body. He certainly has a serious grudge against the man. But then there’s Miss Cley’s other suitor, the friend he says he hasn’t spoken to about the jilting. Who is that, I wonder? We need to talk to him as well. The mother will no doubt tell me.”

  “Will you do that now?”

  “Not at once. First, you and I have to go to the City Chambers. We have been asked to present ourselves at the meeting of the Watch Committee at two. After that, I shall go and see Mrs Cley again and you can go back and do your testing. I want to know what that poison was.”

  “It’s been troubling me too,” said Felix.

  After a brisk walk they emerged into a large bustling market square, on the far side of which was a handsome white stone building in the fashionable style of a century ago, complete with a great portico of pillars.

  “The City Chambers,” said Major Vernon. “The Corporation of Northminster has its own peculiar constitution,” he went on as they crossed the square, negotiating the crowds who were busy buying and selling. “In effect it is a guild, and to become a guild member is no easy thing. You have to be born into the right family, or marry into the right family to even stand for a place on the Great Council of the Guild of the City. And then nothing is guaranteed. It would be easier to be elected Pope, I think.”

  “And no-one has tried to reform them?”

  “Reform?” said Vernon with a smile. “What heresy!”

  The glittering pale stone and pillars proved to be a sort of gate house, albeit a very grand one. They crossed a marble-floored lobby and out again into an ancient courtyard, as fine as any Oxford quadrangle or Cambridge court. There was a fountain in the middle of a lawn which even in the muds of January was as smooth and green as the baize on a billiard table.

  “They keep some state,” said Vernon, “but they are very tight with the tin as far as I am concerned.”

  The Major did not keep to the path round the edges but strode purposefully across the lawn diagonally, to reach a corner turret with a
door in it. This opened onto a turnpike stair, which, in turn, led up to a broad landing hung with tapestries. The air was sweet with beeswax polish and the dust that hung in the air glowed golden in the sun. A white-haired clerk was sitting at a desk, scratching in some great book and at the same time guarding the great double doors behind him.

  “Oh, good afternoon sir,” the clerk said, getting up. “I will see if their worships are ready for you.”

  “He has gone to wake them up,” Vernon murmured as the clerk went through the door.

  The room beyond was equally impressive. It was large enough for a banqueting hall, but was lined with bookshelves, and had the aspect of a library. The books were all carefully protected by brass wire doors and Felix wondered what treasures might be locked away there and how a guild of provincial merchants had managed to accumulate such wealth. The far wall at the end was decorated by a huge old map of Europe, painted on what looked like leather, a strange and wonderful thing full of dragons and castles.

  Three elderly men were sitting at a long table, on impossibly high-backed chairs. They were very much at their ease, smoking pipes, each with a glass of wine near to hand. Felix recognized Mr Eames, the coroner, among them. The others to whom he was presented were the chairman of the Committee, Mr Twelvetrees, and the Guild Treasurer, a perfect husk of a man called Sonning.

  He found with some annoyance that they were not asked to sit down. But this did not seem to offend Major Vernon. He seemed unfazed by their incivility. Being of commanding height, with the benefit of his silver lace and his sword, he had perhaps found he could better dominate them on his feet, and Felix, seeing the sense this made, drew himself up as best he could.

  “So this is our expensive new surgeon,” said Mr Sonning.

  They looked him over, very impertinently to Felix’s mind. He felt that his three hundred a year was not that expensive to such men.

  “I think, Mr Sonning,” the Major said, “you will find that the expense incurred by employing Mr Carswell is a trifle considering the benefit he has already brought us in these exceptional circumstances.”

  “Ah yes,” said Eames. “This murder.”

  “Gentlemen, you will have seen in my last memorandum that Mr Carswell has considerable forensic experience from his work in Edinburgh and he has already proved his worth as far as I am concerned.”

  “The body – have you identified him yet?” Eames said.

  “Yes, I believe we have. It is the Reverend Stephen Rhodes.”

  There was a sharp silence as they digested the information.

  “The Bishop’s librarian?” Eames said.

  “Yes, the same.”

  “Good God!” said Twelvetrees.

  “And you have a suspect in your sights?” Eames said.

  “Not yet, sir. This is a complicated matter, as I think I made it clear at the inquest. We are pursuing several lines of inquiry at the moment.”

  “That scoundrel O’Brien, I would imagine,” said Twelvetrees. “I could easily imagine him having a hand in something like this. Mr Rhodes was a sound man against the chartists, I do know that. He preached very well on the subject. This is a shocking thing.”

  “It is indeed, but I doubt Mr O’Brien is responsible,” Major Vernon said. “A troublemaker does not necessarily progress to become a murderer. O’Brien has, as far as I know, no connection with this case.”

  “But you have interviewed him?”

  “No, not yet, sir. We have far more clear lines of inquiry to pursue. I do not believe for one moment this is a political matter.”

  “You are sure of this, Major?”

  “Yes, there seem to be plenty of people with far more compelling reasons to murder Mr Rhodes than for his political opinions. As they say in France: ‘cherchez la femme.’”

  A quip in French did not seem to much please or enlighten the gentlemen of the committee, Felix reckoned, but Vernon continued unabashed: “Mr Rhodes had made two offers of marriage, to young ladies of good family. One of these ladies has been jilted in favour of the other. The jilted girl’s family are naturally very angry and affronted at this, and they have the means and opportunity to have committed the murder. There is also a rival to this jilted girl’s hand who might also have wished to remove Rhodes from the scene. Romantic bitterness can drive men to do dreadful things.”

  Felix once again studied the committee for their reactions. They looked mystified as if romantic bitterness was a concept they could not begin to comprehend.

  Vernon continued: “Rhodes was also involved in a dispute over an inheritance with his cousin, Mr John Rhodes, a very flash character with a penchant for cheating at cards. He may also be our man. So I think politics are not at the root of this. It is love or money.”

  “How long is all this going to take, Major Vernon? We cannot have a mad man loose on the streets. He may strike again, surely?” Twelvetrees asked.

  “I think it is doubtful. This is a very deliberate act. This is not someone killing on whim. The safety of the town is not at risk, but of course, my men and I are doing everything we can to pursue this to a speedy and correct conclusion.”

  “I very much hope so, Major,” said Eames. “In fact, we were discussing whether we should not apply to Scotland Yard for assistance. This is obviously a complicated affair and you perhaps don’t have the necessary expertise.”

  Felix expected the Major to bridle at this, but he took it calmly.

  “But that would be a very great expense, and we do have the expertise. The detection of a murder is like the detection of any crime. Careful observation and inquiry, as well as the application of logic and common sense will uncover the perpetrator.”

  “I still believe you should bring O’Brien in, Major,” said Twelvetrees. “That man has a look about him I can never be easy about. He’s a canker in this city and I believe he is capable of such a crime.”

  “With respect, sir, if I bring O’Brien in without good cause, he will make things very hot for all of us. He is no fool. He knows the law and will tell us very clearly if we misapply it.”

  “Then find cause, sir. There must be something you can charge him with.”

  “I am afraid not. And it would not serve our purpose. But I will certainly speak with him, sir, but I think it unlikely...”

  “Yes, Major Vernon, speak to him, and make him realise that he has the eye of law upon him. That he and his antics will not be tolerated!”

  ***

  “So who is this O’Brien?” Felix asked, as they made their way back across the splendid courtyard. “The devil himself by the sound of it.”

  “In their eyes, yes. He’s a journeyman printer who has got hold of a press and he prints a rag on it. Well, the Bugle is not entirely a rag, but I can’t quite call it a newspaper. He has a very salty turn of phrase and he doesn’t mince his words. He has a great many radical notions and he likes to stir things up.”

  “He’s a chartist?”

  “Yes, of course, and a Malthusian and a Catholic Emancipist and an anti-corn law leaguer. Oh, and a Trades Congress man as well. In short, everything to keep a God-fearing ratepayer awake in his bed at night.”

  “I should like to meet him.”

  “I thought you might,” said the Major with a smile. “But you must find him of your own accord. I cannot be held responsible to your connections if you fall into his company.”

  “What do you think of him? You defended him in there.”

  “He is a very interesting fellow. He’s clever and unsettling. People like that are necessary.”

  They parted at the next corner, Felix going back to The Unicorn with the intention of starting on his chemical analysis, the Major to speak to Mr O’Brien.

  ***

  Considering he was a canker, O’Brien lived in a pleasant, respectable way, in a red brick terraced house in Water Street.

  In truth, Giles was a little annoyed at having to disturb the man, but he was duty bound to ask him if he knew anything of Rhodes.
And he was always a useful source of intelligence. That could not be denied.

  Mrs O’Brien opened the door to him, a pretty woman in her thirties, heavy with child, but cheerful with it. She wore a floury apron and the house smelt sweetly of fresh baking. Giles could not help being a little envious of O’Brien’s domestic life.

  Smiling, she showed him to a pigeon hole of a room, strung with galley proofs like a laundry, where O’Brien stood at his desk at the window, writing by the fading light.

  “Mr O’Brien, my apologies for this intrusion.”

  “Very mannerly, Major,” said O’Brien. “You don’t want to be here, do you?”

  “Not on business, no,” he said, “but I’m afraid I am.”

  “So what is this all about?”

  “Stephen Rhodes. Do you know him?”

  “Of him. He has a splendid line of invective against the working man. In fact I went to hear him preach. I was impressed by the rhetoric but what he said was poison. Why?”

  “He’s been murdered.”

  “Ye Gods,” said O’Brien. Then after a moment he added: “And of course those old fools think I have a hand in it?”

  “I am bound to ask, yes.”

  “You’re so obedient, Major,” said O’Brien. “That’s what I never can get about you. I’d have thought it would stick in your throat always to have to do the bidding of those old leeches. A man of your quality.”

  “I like to pay my tailor occasionally,” said Giles, carelessly.

  O’Brien shook his head in amusement and then said, “So what must you ask?”

  “If you’d heard anything, among the more radical elements? Any simmering resentment, any wild plans? You know the sort of thing.”

  “Yes, I know,” he said. “The sort of thing that happens only in their imaginations. Really, someone should slap a great big tax on port. That’d calm them down a bit!”

  “I know it does seem foolish but I must be seen to cover all angles.”

  “Ever the dutiful public servant. God man, you’re practically a saint. But you’ve a better idea who did this, surely?”