Skin and Bone--A Mystery

by Robin Blake

  I was out of breath when I arrived at the door. Pausing for a moment to regain composure, I could hear voices calling inside, with hurrying footsteps and the banging of doors. Then, in almost instantaneous answer to my pull on the bell, the door was snatched open and I confronted a woman in a servant’s apron and cap. But she was no servant; she was Mrs Scroop herself. Her hair was disordered and her face red, as if she had been exerting herself.

  ‘Mr Cragg,’ she said.

  In her disdainful mouth my name sounded vile – as if it were another way of saying excrement. Nevertheless I removed my hat and bowed.

  ‘Madam, I have the honour to have been appointed in Mr Matthews’s place who, I must inform you, has yesterday passed away.’

  ‘Matthews? Matthews? I don’t know the man. What is this to me?’

  Helena Scroop had always been a forthright body.

  ‘He was County Coroner, and had lately begun enquiries towards an inquest into the regretted, er, passing of Mr Scroop. But Mr Matthews being himself now unexpectedly deceased it has become my duty to take up those enquiries and to hold the inquest into your husband according to law.’

  ‘I thought you were turned out in disgrace,’ she said with something like a sneer. Her tone still discomforted me.

  ‘I was formerly but Coroner of the town,’ I said. ‘Now Lord Derby has seen fit to appoint me as temporary Coroner for the county in Mr Matthews’s place. Later there will be an election for the post.’

  ‘I repeat, Sir, what is this to me?’

  ‘It is in connection with the inquest into Mr Scroop. I must to ask you if there were any circumstances I should know about. And I would like to look at his recent correspondence.’

  ‘I have nothing to say to you about circumstances. Nothing whatever. As to the late Mr Scroop’s letters, we are destroying them.’

  I held up my hand in a staying gesture.

  ‘Madam, you must not! They may contain important evidence.’

  She hesitated for a moment, then her face suddenly softened a little.

  ‘We cannot help it! We find it unbearable to keep anything relating to the late Mr Scroop. We do not wish to be reminded.’

  ‘That is understandable, Madam, after such a sudden loss. But surely you will not destroy everything. You must at least spare his Will and his legal papers.’

  ‘If you are interested in all that, I refer you to Messrs Rudgwick and Tench, his attorney. I am concerned with what he kept in this house.’

  ‘Madam I really must insist that you allow me to look at that first.’

  ‘Very well, I will allow you to look. Come in.’

  Mrs Scroop led me through the house, whose interior was in a state of some disorder. Furniture had been pulled away from the walls, while drawers and cupboards stood open, and unhung pictures leaned against the wainscot. In all this disorder servants and the Scroop daughters scurried around with bundles in their arms. Passing the open door of what, I could see, had been Abraham Scroop’s study, I saw that his bookshelves were bare, and his desk drawers had been pulled open and emptied. Seeing me pause to look, the widow plucked my arm.

  ‘No, not there. Follow me and you shall see.’

  We passed right through the house and outside again by the yard door. I immediately smelled smoke.

  ‘There,’ said Mrs Scroop, gesturing towards the yard’s end. ‘His papers. But you haven’t very long to look over them.’

  A bonfire was blazing with fierce hunger. It was being fed by two of the Scroop daughters who, standing at a respectful distance, were casting into it the last few armfuls of letters and ledgers, papers and prints. As these were committed to the fire, the flames leapt blue, orange and red, and an impenetrable plume of the thick grey smoke rose above them into the sky.

  * * *

  I found Luke Fidelis at the Turk’s Head on my return to Fisher Gate, where he was eating a late dinner of roasted fowl. He had looked for me at Cheapside and had already heard of my appointment from Furzey. Now, on seeing my approach, he found it impossible to contain his glee. He leapt up and punched me hard on the shoulder.

  ‘This is the finest news I’ve heard this year,’ he said. ‘And that, I may say, includes our valiant King’s humiliation of the French at Dettingen.’

  ‘Yes, it is very good to be in business again, and with a wider scope of responsibility,’ I agreed.

  ‘The wider the better,’ said Fidelis, as we settled at our table. ‘You have the whole county under your eyes, and you can work without the interference of Grimshaw and the rest of them.’

  ‘I am not so sure we can count on that in the first matter I have in hand: Lord Derby seems particularly concerned that I pick up the traces of Scroop’s inquest at Kirkham. It has grown exceedingly complicated.’

  I then told him of my visit to Water Lane in connection with Scroop’s death, and of Mrs Scroop’s bonfire. I also mentioned Elizabeth’s feeling that Scroop’s behaviour had been that of a guilty man. Fidelis, a slow eater, examined a cube of meat on his fork before easing it cautiously into his mouth. He chewed reflectively and swallowed.

  ‘So, why has the widow disposed of all her husband’s belongings so quickly after his death? What is she wanting to hide?’

  ‘It may be no more than what she told me: an expression of her extreme grief. She wishes to expunge her husband entirely in order not to be daily reminded of her loss and that of her children.’

  ‘That might account for her actions in the normal way, I agree,’ said Fidelis. ‘But in the light of her husband’s murder, it may carry a different significance, may it not?’

  ‘But if she had a guilty reason, something to hide as you say, she would still only be doing this if she knew there were suspicions about his death. But there are none, or not publicly. And even if Helena Scroop were attempting to destroy evidence, she would surely confine herself to the destruction of incriminating documents, whatever they might be. She surely would not burn everything.’

  Fidelis began to saw through another chunk of chicken flesh.

  ‘Unless she does not know for certain what is incriminating.’

  At this moment a shadow fell across our table and we looked up to see Captain Strawboy.

  ‘Fidelis,’ he said. ‘How is your Sultan? I doubt he is yet recovered from the mighty contest.’

  The Captain was a little the worse for wine. His stock in Preston had gone down since the surprising death of Abraham Scroop, his partner in business. Those that had previously sat and feasted with Strawboy, and toasted the captain’s name under Scroop’s presidency, now avoided him. Being the heir of Lord Grassington, which had once lent him glamour, now seemed to isolate him, since his Lordship himself had left the town. Meanwhile Strawboy’s friendship with Lord Strange seemed to have cooled and his aunt, Lady Rickaby, had also gone away. She had mounted a private coach loaded with luggage and driven back in pomp to Derbyshire. With the noble widow gone, even her brother-in-law Grimshaw now avoided the captain.

  So Strawboy was reduced to the company of cockpit men and tavern gamblers with whom he passed the time in wine and bawdry. Now he was swaying gently and his face wore a light sheen of sweat.

  ‘The Sultan is still weak in body, and his eye is not yet healed,’ said Fidelis. ‘He is strong in spirit, however.’

  ‘He is certainly spirited, we’ve seen that. So, Doctor, what d’you say to another bout? I have just acquired a new bird even gamer than the last, that I’m sure will give me the prize this time.’

  ‘We must see, Captain. I fear I cannot commit the Sultan to another bout until he has made a full recovery.’

  Strawboy gave a drooping bow and was about to withdraw.

  ‘Captain Strawboy,’ I said. ‘I hope the shocking death of Mr Scroop does not affect your joint projects for Preston. Do you and Lord Grassington intend to proceed with them?’

  Strawboy adopted a puzzled expression, as if I had spoken to him in a foreign language.

  ‘I don’t construe yo
ur meaning, Sir.’

  ‘In the first place, I refer to the improvement of the skin-yard, which you suggested to me was necessary when we met at Scroop’s house. But are there not other projects under your eye – the bath house, the racecourse, the Marsh?’

  No longer able to pretend he could not follow me, Strawboy was flustered.

  ‘The Marsh? That is not— I mean to say, I cannot say anything about the Marsh.’

  I pressed on.

  ‘Mr Scroop’s investment was to be a considerable one, or so I hear. D’you suppose that money will now be withdrawn?’

  Strawboy’s eyes narrowed. His thoughts arranged themselves a little more geometrically.

  ‘I don’t know how you obtained this intelligence, Cragg, but let me tell you, it’s—’

  ‘And if Scroop’s backing is withdrawn, will those projects collapse?’

  Strawboy straightened his back, as if remembering his military rank.

  ‘I came to speak to the doctor on a sporting matter, Sir, and not to you on business. I therefore wish you good evening.’

  When he had gone, Fidelis said,

  ‘What was all that about?’

  So I told him about my visit to Thorneley’s house, and the plans I had seen signed by the surveyor Joss Kay, and how I had later met Kay on the Marsh.

  ‘He was working with instruments, though he denied he was carrying out a survey of the entire Marsh. He maintained he was only calibrating his gear before using it at the skin-yard. Captain Strawboy had already told me that he and Scroop were concerned with the tanning business, and I know for a fact that Kay is here working for Strawboy and Scroop, though it seems Lord Derby and Lord Grassington are also concerned in the matter.’

  ‘I can’t see what business any of those gentlemen would have with the Marsh.’

  ‘All I know as a certainty is that the brief I saw on Recorder Thorneley’s hall table was expressly marked “Private Instructions re: P.M.”. Now, having seen him at work there, it seems a good guess that this refers to Preston Marsh.’

  ‘No doubt they plan to do some work on the Marsh – drain it or improve it in some way.’

  ‘Improve it! Not an easy task. An Act of Parliament would be required. The Marsh is common land. It has many ancient rights and easements attached to it, going back God knows how long.’

  ‘But improvement is improvement, is it not? What’s in this to be so secretive about?’

  ‘If you even think about interfering with the Marsh you will raise anger. Haven’t you noticed the way in which improvement always seems to require enclosure? A decision is made by a few placemen in London and, handy-dandy, that’s more of our stock of common land disappeared into private hands for ever. That’s the reason for the secrecy. If these projectors want to improve some part of the Marsh, to drain it, for example, the last thing they want is a public discussion. What they require instead is a fait accompli.’

  Fidelis had been leaning forward, listening intently. Now he sat up straight and a beatific smile lit his face.

  ‘How very clever of you, Titus. I believe you may have accidentally uncovered the reason for Mr Abraham Scroop’s untimely death.’

  * * *

  At nine the next morning I was again at Sweeting’s shop. The books taken from Scroop’s library still lay stacked on a sideboard. I asked if any stray papers had been found in any of the volumes. ‘Only this,’ said the bookseller, handing me a single printed sheet. ‘It’s a page from The Gentleman’s Magazine.’

  I took it and looked over the item. One paragraph in particular had been underlined, which read as follows.

  May I advert your readers to a curiosity I have noted in Sheffield amongst the cutlers? The handles of their excellent table-knives being fashioned for the most part from cattle bone this is shaped by being turned on a lathe. Beneath this piece of machinery the bone dust falls into a tray which is emptied from time to time into a particular area of the yard, and this has extraordinary results, viz. that the herbiage growing where the bone-dust has been deposited does so with twice the vigour and to twice the size as that in any other part of the yard. Can it be that this same bone-dust has powers of fertilization previously unknown to agriculture? It cannot be beyond the wit of our Royal Society to conduct experiments that would confirm such a startling and useful discovery! I am, etc.

  Scroop’s interest in this article was no surprise, when I thought about it. Was he not among other things a dealer in bones? And was he not also a man full of energy and zeal for improvement?

  Chapter 27

  AT TEN I ATTENDED Lord Derby once again. This time I was not shown into the downstairs ante-room but directed straight up to the peer’s business room. The ante-room door, as I passed, lay ajar and I was afforded a glimpse of the leather case, like a hatbox, that contained Mr Kay’s measuring instrument. The land surveyor evidently was still waiting for his interview with his Lordship.

  I had a further reminder of Mr Kay no more than three minutes later. The business room was empty as I was shown in and told that if I would indulge him for five minutes or so Lord Derby would join me to conclude the business at hand. I took a seat in front of the desk and settled down to wait – as one always waits on peers of the realm.

  On the desk in front of me were several bundles of papers, tied with ribbons, being mostly parliamentary business or matters related to the county. The one nearest to me, however, was different. It was concerned with Preston, and I recognized it: it was the file I had last seen in Mr Matthew Thorneley’s hallway. I knew as soon as I saw it that I would not restrain myself. Listening hard for any approaching footsteps, I rose and turned over the top page, which was blank save for the identification ‘Private Instructions re: P.M. – Mr Kay’. The document immediately below this was a letter, which I rapidly read through.

  I later obtained a copy of this letter as being of evidential interest. It read as follows:

  To the Earl of Derby at Knowsley Hall, Lancashire.

  My Lord: I am in receipt of your letter regarding the works at Preston proposed by Mr Scroop and others, and am sincerely flattered at the regard you express for myself and for my previous improvement projects, and gratified by your request that I participate in Mr Scroop’s scheme. However, I am presently engaged at Newry in Ireland in a most difficult engineering project which absorbs all of my energies at present. I can do no better therefore than to recommend to you a young man who has been in my employ. I refer to Mr Joseph Kay, who is a skilled surveyor and zealous believer in improvement. If you will send me your assent I shall direct him to wait on you at Knowsley.

  I am your most obliged servant, Thomas Steers.

  I had no time to look further into the file of documents, for now two sets of steps approached the door, and I hastily replaced the file’s title page and stepped back as Lord Derby and his legal secretary for the affairs of the county of Lancaster swept into the room. The business was summarily executed. I was handed a card with the words of a loyal oath, which I read with my hand on a Bible. His Lordship then pronounced me duly invested as a temporary incumbent, and presented me with my commission, a document furnished with elaborate decorative lettering, pendant seals, and the signature of Derby under the designation Lord Lieutenant.

  When all was done, we shook hands and I left Patten House in a position which only three days earlier I had not the slightest inkling of: Coroner of the Duchy and County Palatine of Lancaster.

  * * *

  Scroop’s body was being kept under the care of the churchwarden at Kirkham and, as it is not in my nature to procrastinate, I had sent word even before Lord Derby had sworn me in that I would be inspecting the body during the second part of Thursday morning. Luke had agreed to come with me and to give his own opinion.

  However, I had some other business in mind first.

  ‘Before we look at Scroop’s body we’ll be passing the mason’s yard,’ I told Fidelis as we rode into Kirkham. ‘I want to call there and talk to him, as he will hav
e to give his testimony at the inquest.’

  The stonemason’s name was Joseph Twiss and we found him kneeling in his yard chiselling letters into a smooth slab of granite. Skinny in body, he possessed a large head which, when he stood up, he canted forward as if to counter-balance the humped right shoulder. His body was all out of kilter, but the look in his good eye was lively and intelligent.

  ‘What can I do for you, gents?’ he asked.

  ‘A little information, if you please, Mr Twiss,’ I said. ‘Perhaps you remember that I was with the group of men from Preston who came out here the other day looking for Mr Abraham Scroop.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I do,’ said Twiss. ‘And you found him, too, knocked off his horse by a tree, I’ve heard.’

  ‘Just so. It is the kind of death where there must be an inquest to determine what happened, and I am holding it, you see. You must have been one of the last to speak to Mr Scroop.’

  ‘Happen I was,’ said Twiss.

  ‘Can you tell me the reason for your appointment with him that morning?’

  ‘He’d sent word to meet at the graveside of his baby. He wanted to give me a paper that he’d prepared with the words for its headstone.’

  ‘Can you show me the paper?’

  ‘I can do better,’ he said. ‘Come along.’

  He put down his mallet and chisel and led us to the end of the yard where his store of flagstones lay in orderly stacks according to their size, with a number of rougher boulders interspersed. There was also a row of finished carvings – urns and garlanded tablets, and a remarkable angel with furled wings who rested on one knee. I stopped to admire the angel.

  ‘This is a fine piece of work,’ I said.

  The statue had the preternaturally beautiful face and elegant neck of a young man in a Greek or Roman bust. The hands, however, though resting on the pommel of an unsheathed broadsword, were more like those of a girl. I touched one of them, to feel the almost silken texture of the stone.