“And you gave her one of your famous tisanes.”
“Yes, as I told you this evening – a very insipid concoction – camomile, lavender and honey.”
“You are certain that is all it was?” he said. She may have been frank on some points but she had also admitted to a great deal of duplicity. If she had been procuring abortions about Northminster for all these years then she was practised at concealment. “You see, the girl is dead,” he said. “Mr Carswell could not revive her.”
She looked across at him in horror.
“No... the poor child.” She looked away. “When I saw her yesterday, I thought she might pull through. She had the spirit to live somehow. That is too...” She rubbed her face free of a tear. “Poor sweet girl.”
When she had composed herself a little, Giles asked her, “Did you know Mr Rhodes was preying on the girls at Brinklow?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And you reproached him for it?”
“Naturally.”
“And how did he respond?”
“He threatened to expose me.”
“He knew what you had been doing?”
“Yes, yes, it seems he did.”
“And how did he find that out?”
“Miss Hilliard must have told him. I knew there was something going on between them. This only confirmed it.”
“Between Miss Hilliard and Mr Rhodes?” said Giles after a moment. He had to struggle to sound calm and disinterested.
“It was not overt,” Mrs Lepaige went on, “but there were little signs. She had had her head turned, for the first time in her life I think. And he, being the sort of man he was, did not hesitate to use that for his advantage. It is strange to think of, I know. Marian is such a strong woman. That is why I respected her at first, why I was drawn to her, but with Mr Rhodes, she was like a piece of putty...”
“Did she tell you anything of this?”
“No.”
“Or Mr Rhodes?”
“No, but it was clear to me that they were involved. For example, when I told her that Rhodes had been a fox among her chickens she was furious at me. She did not want to believe it. She was like some deluded girl in a ballroom.”
“But she did not say anything directly to you to suggest that she and Rhodes were involved in that way?”
“No, but her manner indicated it strongly. I am not a fanciful woman, Major Vernon. I do not imagine such things. And Fulwood was jealous and upset. That I saw plainly enough.”
“I am sure you are not the least bit fanciful, ma’am, but I think you have every reason to try to mislead me with this story of Mr Rhodes and Miss Hilliard. I have been told on several occasions of your anger towards Mr Rhodes, of your malicious intentions. And remember that Mr Rhodes was poisoned with rare seeds that you happened to have in your possession.”
“You mean to accuse me?” she said
“You have motive, Mrs Lepaige, and the means.”
“You might say that of Miss Hilliard,” Mrs Lepaige said quietly. “Especially since I gave her those seeds to deal with the rats.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I gave her some Datura stramonium seeds.”
“Yet you did not think to tell me that before?” he said rising from his seat. “You told me that you considered it irresponsible to let those seeds out of your sight and now calmly, conveniently, you tell me you gave them to Marian Hilliard. You lied to me then, ma’am – do you expect me to believe you now?”
“Well, of course I lied about it!” she exclaimed. “Of course I did! I was already worried sick about what was going on at Brinklow and the moment you told me what had killed him, it struck me it was a possible source. But good Heavens, one does not like to consciously accuse another soul of murder! Of course, I know I should have come earlier and told you about those seeds. I know I have been a great coward and I will be punished for it, but in truth I did not think you would believe me. After that morning at the soup kitchen, when I saw you two together... well, I think you know what I am talking about, Major.”
He went and sat down at his writing table, avoiding her gaze.
She went on, “It seemed you might not listen impartially. So foolishly I held my tongue.”
“Did I make such an exhibition of myself?” he said quietly.
“No, no,” she said. “It was just that you had that look – of a man caught like a specimen on a pin. I knew it myself. I have felt it myself with her, that sense of being drawn in, despite oneself. She made me do things I did not want to do. She made me leave those herbs there when I knew it was dangerous. But as for the thorn-apple seeds! Dear Lord, I never thought for one moment she would use them for anything but the rats. I never imagined she could be as wicked as that. She is not, surely? Please tell me, she is not?”
“Unfortunately, I cannot,” said Giles. He found he was thinking about pepper cake.
Chapter Thirty-one
Mrs Fforde left Felix in a bedchamber with a towel, a candle, one of her husband’s nightshirts and tumbler of brandy and hot water. The room belonged to her sons, who were then away at school, and it seemed appropriate enough to him to be reduced to the status of a schoolboy again. For he felt as untutored as a child.
He did not undress but lay on the bed wrapped in the quilt which smelt of lavender, cedar and dust. He must have slept, he supposed, but it was hardly restorative. He woke to hear a servant outside banging a brush and found it was morning. The door opened and someone slipped into the room.
He propped himself up on his elbows and saw Celia Fforde standing there with one of the kittens in her arms.
“I thought you would like to see your kitten,” she said, climbing up onto the bed and dropping the kitten down into the space between them. “Mamma told me not to bother, that you were sad, but I thought...”
“You thought very well,” said Felix, reaching out and stroking the kitten’s head. He attempted to smile but it was an effort, especially faced with Celia, in all her uncomplicated childlike grace. The smile turned into a grimace and he was forced to look away to conceal his emotions.
He felt her small hand patting his back.
“I will look after you,” she said. “You see, I have decided I should like to marry you one day, Mr Carswell. Will you wait for me?”
“Do you know, that is the second offer I have had in two days,” he managed to say, finding it easier to smile now. “And I infinitely prefer yours, Miss Fforde. But I am afraid your uncle will never permit it.”
“What has Uncle Giles to do with it?” said Celia. “Nothing! He is not my keeper – nor yours.” She scooped up the kitten. “Now, you must come down to breakfast. There are muffins this morning and raspberry jam! I made it myself and it is very good, if I say so myself!”
***
Giles did not sleep, but he had not expected to. Instead he carefully put his thoughts in order, and at the same time put away his heart for the task ahead.
He changed his linen, shaved and went downstairs to give out the necessary orders to the men. He wrote notes to the coroner and to Carswell.
Then he called for a gig and drove out to Brinklow.
He asked the maid to take him straight to her mistress. He found her in her office, hurrying to remove her green checked apron. She smiled at him with a sort of coquettish shame at being caught in the act of it and he forced himself to return the smile.
“I need you to come into Northminster with me,” he said. “There’s been a development. Last night Mrs Lepaige came and spoke to me. I need a statement from you, for legal purposes.”
“Is that strictly necessary?”
“I’m afraid so. It’s a great inconvenience, I know, but it must be done.”
“No, no, if you must have a statement then you must. I will be with you in a moment. I must settle things here first.”
They drove for the first ten minutes in silence. He was acutely conscious of her physical presence beside him, and could not prevent himself f
rom glancing at her. She was wrapped in her white cloak, and looked more nun-like than ever. That ought to have checked him, but it did not. Her cheeks were bright with the cold. He noticed the clear beauty of her skin and wished he might feel it beneath his fingers. He had thought that such feelings would have died in him, but they were as strong as ever. He still wanted her and more than anything he wanted to be wrong about her.
He stopped the gig at the crest of the hill, where beyond them the city lay spread out: a disorderly jumble of smoking chimneys and ancient spires, all brilliant in the bright morning sun.
“If there is anything else you want to tell me, then tell me now,” he said.
“What do you mean?” she said.
“I beg you, in the light of what has passed between us – if there is anything you feel I should know, tell me,” he said.
“I do not understand you,” she said. “I told you everything last night. What more can there be to tell you? Why do you ask such a thing?”
“Because...” He turned and took her hand, and looked hard into her face, searching for some minute indication that he had it all wrong. But, even as he did this, he found himself thinking of the evidence and he knew that she was dissembling again. And therefore, so must he. “I just wanted to be certain. Forgive me,” he said, and bent over her hand and kissed it.
“Of course, of course,” she said. “This is a serious business and you must be careful.”
It was with some difficulty that he stopped his tongue. He wanted to rail at her, to demand an explanation and most of all to tell her that he had worked it out, that he knew everything.
However, he knew if he was to salvage anything from this shipwreck, he would have to restrain himself. He gathered up the reins and urged the pony on down the hill.
***
Felix left the Treasurer’s House and followed Abigail’s body back to The Unicorn where it was laid out on the same table that had so recently carried Stephen Rhodes. The necessary permissions arrived promptly from the coroner and he had no choice but to get on with the task, though he would have gladly endured a hundred tedious meetings with Mr Eames in his dusty office than face this.
His hands were shaking as he opened his instrument case and laid out his equipment. He felt her presence in the room with him, like a shadow in the corner. Finally he found his courage and turned to her.
He had never dissected the body of a person he had known in life. He wanted to do nothing to her. Not even to touch her in the stillness of death. He wanted to walk out of there and consign her to the care of one of those old women who in every parish took the dead and washed them, and made them decent for their coffins.
He wanted to get flowers for the coffin and ask for the cathedral choir to sing over it. He wanted all the ritual and pageantry of death for her: black horses with plumes; a procession of mutes; black gloves and mourning rings. Anything but having to stand there with his lancet and desecrate her. She had had too much of that already.
He cut a lock of her hair, tied it up with silk thread and put it away in the tail pocket of his coat. Then he covered her face, and uncovered her body. Drying his tears, he set to work.
***
Giles had decided to conduct the interview not in his office but in the room next door, which was not as rudimentary as the interview rooms downstairs. He did not yet want to make her feel hunted.
“I hope you are comfortable there,” he said. “I asked them to make a fire in here.”
“I am, quite, thank you.”
“Then we may begin,” Giles said, placing his chair opposite hers, rather as if this was a drawing room and he was settling himself for a little light conversation.
“Is it necessary that these officers are here?” she said with a glance at Barker sitting his writing desk and Inspector Roberts beside him.
“I’m afraid so. The law requires it.”
“Yes, yes of course,” she said. “So what must I do to make my statement?”
“I shall ask you some questions, and you must answer me. That is all.”
“I see,” she said. “Well, that is not quite what I expected. But I know nothing of your profession or how it works, do I? Very well, ask me your questions.”
“Tell me when Abigail first came to you, Miss Hilliard,” he said after a moment. It was his intention to start with the first lie and unpick the garment from there.
“You know, I can’t recall,” she said.
“It will be in the records, will it not? You have a log of some description?”
“Yes.”
“And you make the log up?”
“Yes, I do.”
“So you can probably recall roughly when she came to you, given you made the entry and that not so many girls pass through your hands. Please try a little harder. Picture yourself filling out the log for her – perhaps that will make you remember it better? What season was it?”
“Autumn,” she said. “This autumn. October, perhaps.”
Giles nodded and gave her an encouraging smile.
“And where did she come from?”
“London. She is one of Mrs Hutton’s discoveries, so to speak.”
“Discoveries?”
“Mrs Hutton is a lady in London who has a mission to find girls and persuade them to change their way of life.”
“You are quite sure that she came with her this autumn, then?”
“Quite.”
He felt chastened by the flagrancy of her lie but he kept his manner calm and civil.
“You might want to consider that for a moment,” he said. “And check that your memory is not playing tricks on you. It can happen.”
“I am sure she came this autumn. I remember it quite well, now I think of it,” she said.
“This autumn?” She nodded again. “Not the autumn before?”
“No.”
“I think you must be mistaking the date,” he said, “given that Abigail was confirmed this Easter in the cathedral. Canon Fforde remembers examining her in her catechism.”
“Canon Fforde must be mistaken.”
“Well, he may be, but the records are quite clear. Abigail Prior was one of your candidates for confirmation this Easter. I think you have confused the autumns. 1838 not 1839, yes?”
She glanced away from him.
“Perhaps.”
It was a tiny concession but he was pleased with it.
“So she has been there at least fifteen months, by my reckoning.” She did not answer. He went on: “And so she cannot have been with child when she arrived as you told me. She must have become pregnant while in your care, since she was only at most three months gone when she miscarried. Quite a breach in your citadel.”
“That is why I must be so vigilant,” she said. “These girls come from such degraded conditions. They have not the least idea of morality. And sometimes accidents do happen.”
“Of course. It is a difficult business. I imagine this is not the only instance you have had to deal with and you do not like to send such girls away to the workhouse.”
“I told you last night that this was the only time I was aware that anything like this had occurred,” she said.
“You are certain of that? Because Mrs Fulwood and Mrs Lepaige have told me that there were at least three occasions that the herbs were given to girls who had had accidents, so to speak.”
“I was not aware of those incidents. I told you that! If I had been aware that such things had been going on I would have stopped it long ago.”
“So Mrs Fulwood acted without your permission? Without your knowledge?”
“Apparently, yes. It must have been under Mrs Lepaige’s influence. She must have persuaded her it was the right thing to do.”
“That must have made you very angry,” he said. “That such a loyal servant should take it upon herself to disobey you.”
“I told you, I do not blame Fulwood. She was only trying to help me. Mrs Lepaige, well, that is another matter altogether. I cann
ot believe that she has meddled to such a degree in my affairs.”
“Let us go back to Abigail Prior,” said Giles. “Are you certain you only discovered she had been pregnant until after the miscarriage had been induced?”
“Yes. When I came back from my visit to the Archdeacon’s. When I sent for Mr Carswell.”
“And you have no idea who might have been responsible for her condition?”
“It might have been anyone,” said Miss Hilliard. “Does it matter who the man is? I cannot see that it does.”
“I think it matters a great deal. After all, you told me on several occasions how careful you are not to let the girls come in the way of temptation. I imagine that since you are so conscientious on this point you would have a good idea who could have been responsible. For example, you told me, did you not, that you always chaperoned the girls when Mr Rhodes was there?”
“Mr Rhodes, what has he to do with this?” she said.
“A great deal. You told me yourself that you heard Mrs Lepaige accuse him of being a fornicator. I wonder if he might have had something to do with Abigail’s condition.”
“That is an astonishing suggestion.”
“Not from what I hear of the man. It seems he had decidedly sensual tastes. Perhaps that was what Mrs Lepaige was referring to. Yes?”
“If you had met Mr Rhodes in life,” she said with a smile, “you would know what a preposterous suggestion that is. Your collection of scraps of tittle-tattle is misleading you, Major.”
“I may be very wrong, of course,” he said. “Correct me, please. Tell me again how you found him?”
“He was a very pleasant, clever man. And extremely virtuous and scrupulous in all things. He had a delicacy that I found very unusual in a man.”
“Perhaps you knew him a little better than you first indicated to me,” Giles said.
“I had only just met you then, Major,” she said. “There are things one does not like to speak of with strangers. I had to look to my reputation. The nature of our friendship was liable to be misinterpreted, especially by worldly people such as yourself.”
The Butchered Man Page 27