by G. M. Best
Instead she had told him she knew both daughters intimately and that neither of them showed the slightest sign of inheriting the sinfulness of an evil mother. Nevertheless, it had taken all her powers of persuasion to calm his fears and keep him silent. She had recognized his silence would be temporary. And to whom else might Rider then confide the secret? He was at heart a very kind man but one who had become confused, forgetful and often muddled in his thinking. He could easily destroy the family that he so desired to assist! The idea of eliminating him had come unbidden into her head and, once implanted in her mind, it had tempted her as successfully as the serpent had tempted Eve. Rider was an old man, increasingly frail in body and mind, a man waiting for death. Why not end his needless anxieties? Why not ease his path? It had seemed so obviously the right thing to do! Why should she let an old man’s pathetic and foolish fancies about inherited sin destroy her daughter’s happiness?
On that fatal morning she had seen Rider go out to sit in his favourite seat and she had judged the time and place perfectly. Eleanor and Susan had just gone out for the day with Dr Grantly and Mr Harding was deeply involved in entertaining John Bold in his study. All of them would therefore have perfect alibis. As for herself, she was confident no one would ever consider her a potential murderer and, even if they did, she was sure she could get either Elias Bell or Billy Gazy to say she had been with him at the time of the murder. It was so easy to confuse them. She had wrongly thought that the police would assume some passing vagrant had committed the crime because it took place in the garden rather than the almshouse. It had seemed the perfect crime! Rider had greeted her without suspicion when she had gone out to him and she had stabbed swiftly and strongly, striking at his heart so that he would die as quickly and painlessly as possible.
But everything had gone wrong! The body had been discovered far more quickly than she had expected. Abel Handy had maliciously sought to implicate Mr Harding and his family in the murder. The inspector had not ruled out that the murder might have taken place before Dr Grantly had left with Eleanor and Susan or that Mr Harding or Mr Bold might be involved. Then there had come the sudden realization that the investigation might uncover the very secret that the murder had been committed to hide. Helpless, she had been forced to escort bedesmen into the inspector’s presence, uncertain as to what they might say. And Jeremiah Smith had proved the unfortunate complication. Unbeknown to her, Thomas Rider had confided his concerns to him as well. Fortunately he had kept quiet about Mr Harding’s secret adoption of Catherine Farrell’s child because of his promise not to repeat what he had been told, but she knew that was but a temporary decision. And so she had been forced to kill again. Poor Smith! He had paid dearly for welcoming her into his room that evening. But so had she. His murder had removed any hope that Rider’s death might be ascribed to an outsider.
She had followed the investigation with mounting alarm. Servants were invisible people, there when summoned and assumed absent when not. It had been easy for her to hear what the others were saying as she moved around the house performing her duties and, when necessary, listening at doors. Far more of the past had been uncovered than she had thought possible. The family’s discovery that neither of Mr Harding’s daughters was the child of Catherine Farrell did not bring her the relief it brought them. How could it? If the truth of her identity were ever discovered then her role in the murders would be immediately apparent. Her resulting arrest and trial would ruin her daughter’s life and that of Mr Harding, who had so kindly brought her up. Her one crumb of comfort had been the inspector’s belief that any search for Mrs Mather was unlikely to advance the investigation. He had chosen simply to send Trollope on a cursory visit to Newgate. With a bit of luck Tom Paterson would either be dead or have long since left the prison’s employ.
The real threat to her was not the Post Office surveyor but John Gaunt, who might one day recognize her. And he deserved to die! It was he who had started everything by betraying the family’s secret to Rider. What if she could somehow make it appear that he was the murderer? That would solve everything! All she had to do was make his death appear like a suicide and then report that he had confessed his crime to her before taking his life? But how should he die? Not by a knife blow. The answer had to be poison and she knew where to get it. In the garden there were deadly nightshade plants with their distinctive purple-brown bell-shaped flowers. She could easily pick a few and pluck up some of the plant’s white, fleshy roots and extract enough poison to ensure he died speedily. All she had to do was find the best way of administering what she had prepared to him without anyone being able to point the finger of suspicion at her. Then she could be happy again!
The inspector had spent the time after Trollope had departed in another fruitless round of questioning the family and the bedesmen. On this occasion he also decided for the first time to question the housekeeper in case she might be able to provide any leads for him to follow up. Mrs Winthrop found it easy to counter his initial enquiries and to use the interview for her own ends.
‘This is not the happy place Mr Harding thinks, sir,’ she said in a very sad voice. ‘The warden is a very kind man but, if you’ll forgive me saying so, a naïve one. He does not appreciate that his kindness has led to deep divisions amongst the bedesmen.’
‘What makes you say that, Mrs Winthrop?’
‘When Mr Harding became warden he listened too much to those who thought his role was too well remunerated. He therefore decided to give each bedesman more money, though that was quite unnecessary because all their needs are met here.’
‘But surely that would not have caused dissension?’
Mrs Winthrop shook her head, gave a sob, and, taking out her handkerchief, began wiping pretend tears from her eyes. ‘It did, sir, and now I wish I’d spoken earlier. You see, I think I may know what has led to these terrible murders.’
‘Come, come, Mrs Winthrop, don’t upset yourself. I fail to see the connection. Explain what you mean.’
Mrs Winthrop pretended to gradually regain her composure before replying. ‘Ever since the bedesmen received the extra money, they’ve been split into two camps. Abel Handy is the leader of one and Benjamin Bunce of the other. You’ve seen enough of Mr Handy to know what a malicious and greedy man he is. He’s made out that the bedesmen are being robbed of what is rightfully theirs. He says that the income from Hiram’s fortune should belong almost in its entirety to the bedesmen and not to the warden. He’s made it appear that Mr Harding’s generosity was just a sop to deceive them into an undeserved gratitude. He regularly attempts to persuade the bedesmen to sign a petition demanding they should get what is rightfully theirs.’
Blake’s eyes opened wide at this new insight, which implied that the murders had nothing to do with ancient history and stemmed instead just from squabbling between the bedesmen. He looked at the agitated woman before him and sought to reassure her so that she would say more. ‘Handy always was a troublemaker,’ he said, nodding his head in agreement. ‘I think it was an ill day Mr Harding gave him a place here.’
‘I agree, sir. Happily Mr Bunce has resolutely opposed Handy’s claims. Mr Bunce worships Mr Harding and will have nothing bad said of him. Thanks to his influence the petition’s never got off the ground. Too many have refused to sign it.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it.’
‘But I think that’ll now change. There’s no doubt that the deaths of both Thomas Rider and Jeremiah Smith have changed the balance of power within the hospital. Mr Bunce has lost his two staunchest allies whilst Abel Handy still has the full support of Gregory Moody. They’ll get both Elias Bell and Billy Gazy to do whatever they want because both men get so easily confused. It was Mr Rider and Mr Smith rather than Mr Bunce who were able to stop Handy winning over Jonathan Crumple, Job Skulpit and Matthew Spriggs. There’s every chance that Mr Bunce will now face having at least seven wanting a petition. I’m not sure what the other three bedesmen will decide, but they may well, like sheep, s
ide with the majority.’ She paused for effect and then concluded, ‘The more I have thought about it the more I think that it’s Hiram’s money that’s behind the murders.’
‘But Mr Handy is severely crippled. There’s no way that he could have wielded the knife blows that murdered them.’
Mrs Winthrop pursed her lips. ‘And that’s why I’ve said nothing until now. But is it not possible that his insidious influence might have caused another of the bedesmen to commit the crime? It’s in the nature of evil men that they often avoid the consequences of getting caught by encouraging others to do their work for them.’
The inspector jumped up, thumping the desk in front of him with his fist. ‘By heaven! Mrs Winthrop, I think you’ve given us the clue we need to solve these murders! Although I’m tired I will at once resume questioning the bedesmen in the light of what you’ve told me. I just wish these old men wouldn’t clam up at the mere sight of a policeman!’
‘If you’re prepared to delay another round of questioning, I can go around most of them tonight and try to encourage them to be more open with you tomorrow morning.’
‘I would be grateful for that, Mrs Winthrop, though it might be safer for you to speak to Handy and Moody as well. Their suspicions might be aroused if they heard you were seeing everyone but them. I’ll inform Mr Harding that I’ve given you instructions to speak with all the bedesmen this evening.’
If inwardly the housekeeper rejoiced at her success, outwardly there was no sign of this. ‘Very well, sir, if that is your wish, I’ll do as you say,’ she answered demurely. ‘I’d do anything to protect Mr Harding and his daughters.’ No one listening could have doubted the honesty that lay behind that statement.
‘All I ask is that you don’t try to play amateur detective. I don’t want the killer to strike at you because you’ve aroused his suspicions. If one of the bedesmen says anything that makes you think he may be responsible don’t let him see that. In fact, I don’t want you to say anything about what you’ve told me or about what any of them says to you to anyone, not even Mr Harding. You must relay anything you learn only to me. I’ll expect you to report to me when I return early tomorrow morning.’ He stared at her fiercely. ‘I want no heroics. Leave the unmasking of the murderer to me,’ he warned. ‘Is that understood?’
‘Rest assured, sir, I’ll do exactly as you say.’
Blake smiled. ‘You’re a good woman, Mrs Winthrop. I’m sure that Mr Harding will reward you for your role in all this.’
‘I seek no reward but to see life return to normal at the hospital, sir, and for Mr Harding and his family to be happy again,’ she replied, for once speaking the truth.
No sooner had the inspector left than she began planning what to do next. There was no problem obtaining the poison but how could she persuade John Gaunt to take it? The obvious way was to put it in a drink but there was no guarantee that he would drink it. And how was she to disguise its taste? And how best should she handle seeing all the bedesmen? She knew that what she said and did in the visits to each man would be critical in getting her story accepted once Gaunt was dead. It was vital that she should play the role of a concerned friend in such a way that all the old men, if questioned, would assert how helpful she had been to each of them.
She knew the order in which she saw them also required thought because her movements were likely to be seen by one or more of them. Looking out of a window was one of the few pleasures still open to them all. As Gaunt was to die, it made sense that his home should not be the last one she was seen to visit. She should go to at least two of the bedesmen afterwards. But could she behave as if nothing had happened when she had just killed a man mere moments before? Perhaps it would help if she selected for her final visits the two who would clearly vouch for her kindness yet be least likely to note any agitation in her manner and least likely to ask her anything difficult.
The result of her deliberations was that she visited the two least important bedesmen first. The mental infirmity of Elias Bell and Billy Gazy made it quite possible that neither would even recall her visit, but she would be seen entering their homes. Next she tackled Abel Handy. The visit proved easier than she had feared because he quickly ordered her out of his room when she began talking of the importance of him co-operating more with the police. She quickly moved on to speak with first Jonathan Crumple and then Job Skulpit. Their grief at the loss of Thomas Rider and Jeremiah Smith stood out in sharp contrast to Handy’s dismissive stance and she found herself genuinely offering them reassurance and comfort. Having decided to leave Matthew Spriggs and Gregory Moody till after her meeting with John Gaunt, she next saw Reuben Wilson. It was easy enough for her to twist the former miller round her finger because, despite his age, he was still a romantic and happy to flirt with her.
John Gaunt greeted her warmly when she entered his rooms and welcomed the opportunity to talk with her. ‘I don’t know what to do, Mrs Winthrop,’ he said in a frantic tone. ‘The inspector thinks I’m responsible for these murders!’
‘Surely not, Mr Gaunt!’
‘He does. He said that I had more or less signed poor Thomas’s death warrant by informing him about Mr Harding’s adoption of Catherine Farrell’s child. But I meant no harm and I didn’t think Thomas would tell anyone.’ Tears began to fall down the former gaoler’s lined cheeks. ‘Ever since I confided in Mr Trollope what I knew, events seem to have passed out of my control, Mrs Winthrop, and I find that very difficult,’ he bemoaned.
‘I’m not surprised, Mr Gaunt. All of us like to feel we’re in control of what happens around us and in your case you have also been accustomed as a former gaoler to controlling the lives of others.’
‘Mr Trollope has told me that I had it all wrong anyway and that Catherine Farrell’s child died years ago. There’s no tainted blood flowing in the veins of either Miss Harding or Mrs Grantly.’ He shook his head and Mrs Winthrop could see that he was not just distraught, he was deeply frightened that his actions would lead to him losing his place at the hospital. The shadow of the workhouse hung over him. ‘So what can I do?’ he muttered pathetically. ‘I should never have spoken of what I knew to poor Thomas!’
‘It’s no good crying over spilt milk. You meant no harm. The sin lies with the person who murdered Mr Rider and Mr Smith.’
‘But what must Mr Harding think of me! I promised him I would tell no one and I’ve brought down on his head all this sorrow!’
‘Mr Harding is a very forgiving man. If you write a note saying how sorry you are for what you’ve done I’ll take it to him.’
‘I’m no writer, Mrs Winthrop. Can you help me?’
‘Of course, Mr Gaunt.’ She made him sit at his table, took out a piece of paper and handed him a pen. ‘I would suggest the shorter the better. It will make your letter sound more from the heart.’ His pen hovered over the paper but it was quickly apparent that he was struggling to know how to begin. ‘Shall I help you compose what to say?’ she asked. He nodded and then began to write down what she slowly dictated to him. Having signed it, he placed the letter in her hands.
‘I hope this helps,’ he said in a pathetic voice. ‘I don’t know what I’d do if Mr Harding made me leave the hospital.’
He began to weep again and she put her arm around the old man. ‘Listen to me, Mr Gaunt, I’m sure Mr Harding will forgive you, especially as I’m not sure that the inspector is right about what has caused the murders. I think Mr Rider and Mr Smith died for other reasons.’
Her words instantly stopped his tears. He stared at her in surprise. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said.
‘As you well know, Abel Handy has been stirring up the bedesmen to petition the bishop about the warden’s alleged abuse of Hiram’s money. Both Mr Rider and Mr Smith opposed him over that matter. I think he’s encouraged one of his supporters to kill them.’
Gaunt said nothing for a few moments because it took time for his ageing mind to come to terms with this latest information, but then he exclaimed, ‘I
think you may be right, Mrs Winthrop! Abel Handy is a malicious man and I dare say he could have encouraged his friend Moody to undertake such a deed. The two are as thick as thieves together.’
In his happiness he embraced the housekeeper. She smiled and said, ‘I’m pleased you think so, Mr Gaunt, and I hope you’ll sleep better tonight because of that.’
‘My mind’s in such a whirl that I don’t think that will be possible.’
‘Now, listen to me. You look awful. You’ve obviously not slept since Mr Rider’s death. I think the inspector would like to have your assistance tomorrow and therefore it’s vitally important you sleep well tonight. Your mind will be much sharper.’ She pulled out the small bottle that she had put in her apron pocket. ‘Mr Bold prepared this for me because I often have a problem sleeping. You’re welcome to have some.’
‘That’s most kind of you, Mrs Winthrop.’
‘It’s very effective but I warn you that it tastes rather bitter,’ she replied. ‘Like all good medicine the worse the taste the better it is.’
‘Don’t you worry. I’ll drink it, whatever its taste. I want to do all I can to put Abel Handy and his accomplice behind bars and you’re right in saying that a good night’s sleep will make me more useful to the inspector.’
She poured the poison into a cup and handed it to him. ‘I hope you have a very long sleep. Be comforted. I’m sure that by this time tomorrow the inspector will be absolutely sure who killed Mr Rider and Mr Smith.’ She smiled as he took a deep gulp.
‘It certainly tastes horrible!’ he said. ‘Can I water the rest down by adding it to my normal bedtime drink? I promise I’ll take it all.’