It was raining heavily now. I skidded on the footpath with my second or third step, and forced myself to tread carefully. The iron gate wouldn’t open at first. I tugged at it, glancing over my shoulder, expecting to see him there leaning on the doorjamb. But the path was clear. I took a breath to steady myself, lifted the iron latch on the gate and ran on to the road.
The wind was behind me. My skirts were blown out in front, always threatening to get in a tangle. I didn’t remember the slope being so steep on the way up. Once or twice I felt like a child running downhill unable to stop; but if I fell and hurt myself now I’d be finished. I had to slow for a bend in the road, and halted to look back up the hill. The gate was almost hidden in its thicket of brambles. There was no sign of him. I opened my palm. His glass eye stared back at me, the iris green and gold flecked. I closed my fingers over and stuffed it in my pocket.
Water had begun to flow in small rivulets through the cart tracks. The trees swayed overhead, and the stones had become treacherous. The winding road meant I could only look back a short distance each time, and I imagined him behind each bend, gaining on me, determined and relentless. Through a gap in the ditch I saw the turret of St John’s and ran all the harder. There were lights in the front room of the vicarage. Smoke from the chimney stack was scattered by the wind. I hurried through the front gate, up the short pathway, and hammered on the door.
The road was still empty. I knocked again, thumping the door with my fist. I was about to lift the letter box and call the Reverend’s name, but finally I heard the key turn and the door was pulled open. I pushed through before Coogan had time to stand back, brushing against his chest. I moved his hand from the latch, and shut the door behind me, leaning over to catch my breath, then turning the key in the lock.
Coogan retreated a little, surprised by my abrupt entrance. ‘Miss Lawless, are you all right?’
‘Are there other doors to this house, Reverend? They must be locked.’
‘They already are.’ He frowned and held his hands towards me, as if he feared I might topple over. ‘Have you caught a chill? Come and sit by the fire.’ He began moving into the hall, but when I stayed by the front door, he paused.
‘You know,’ he said, ‘a man came by here, enquiring after you.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘He found me.’
‘How do you mean? He is in the parlour now.’
The door to the front room opened, spilling candlelight into the hall. Ewan stepped into the threshold, his face set in a stern expression. Before he could say anything, I threw my arms around his neck. I could feel his surprise, but after a moment he unhooked my hands and held them between us.
15
The fire in Coogan’s hearth crackled as rain continued to drum against the window. He had given me a tartan blanket as well as a glass of whiskey with cloves and warm water, and though I wanted to peer through a gap in the shutters, Ewan and Coogan insisted that I remain by the fire. Ewan sat in a chair opposite, while the Reverend paced the green carpet, keeping an eye on the roadway outside.
Coogan had proved to be practical and willing to assist. If anything, he seemed to welcome the diversion: tales of murder and danger abroad, a strange couple embracing in his hallway. He was a young man in an isolated mountain parish, and his life may well have been bereft of incident. He paused again to survey the road.
I cupped the glass of whiskey to warm my fingers, and said to Ewan that we couldn’t stay here. ‘If the man goes towards the village, this will be the first house he comes to.’
‘His only concern will be escape, Abigail. If he is disfigured, then he is easily identified, and he will avoid towns and villages.’
‘All the more reason for us to go to one.’
From the window, the Reverend said, ‘You are safe here, Miss Lawless. You can remain for the night if necessary.’
But I couldn’t bear the thought of staying in a strange, darkened room. Devlin had crept through the Lying-In Hospital in the dead of night, and into my father’s workrooms. There was no reason to think that Coogan’s locks and window-latches could stop him.
I said, ‘Is there a constable in the village, Reverend?’
‘No, the nearest station is in Blessington.’
‘Word must be sent.’
A dog’s barking could be heard over the wind and the rain, and we became still. It stopped after a moment, and Coogan said, ‘There are sheepdogs in the surrounding farmsteads. They bark to each other all the time.’
He glanced outside once more, and moved back into the room.
Ewan said, ‘Miss Lawless is correct. We must get word to the village, and arrange for a group of men to retrieve Mr Darby’s body. They may even be able to search for his attacker.’
Coogan offered to carry the message, but I said that it was unsafe for any one of us to travel alone. ‘If we go, we should go together.’
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I have a trap in the shed.’
The back yard of the vicarage was enclosed by a high wall, but I was still wary stepping out into the open. It was like any other soft and muddy evening. Water dripped from the shrubs in the Reverend’s small garden. A few hens sat hunched beneath the pointed roof of their coop, and in the corner a large black pig lay in the mire of an open-air pen. He raised his head as we hurried across the yard.
In the stables, Coogan hitched a horse to the two-seater trap while Ewan slid open the large iron bolt on the back gates. We squeezed beneath the shelter of the folded roof, and in short order were rolling down the hill towards Manor Kilbride. The roadway was deserted, protected from the worst of the rain by the trees overhead.
Earlier in the day, the trek uphill had seemed long and gruelling, but coming down we reached the village in minutes, and Coogan reined in the horse beside the local inn. Its common room was wide, with benches and beams blackened by grime and wood-smoke, the floor covered unevenly in stained sawdust. After stepping in from the bracing wind outside it felt oppressively warm, and was filled with the smells of sweat and sour ale.
Some of the workers at the church sat at a table by the fire playing cards, but there were few other patrons. All heads turned as we entered, and the eyes of the men lingered on me. Coogan approached the innkeeper, a stocky man with rolled-up shirtsleeves, and the alarm was raised.
Men gathered at the inn. The labourers volunteered to go immediately, and the local blacksmith offered his cart. Darby would have been known to many of them, and I saw some glance to the table where I sat with Ewan as Coogan gave instructions. They set off together. I thought they would have been silent and solemn, but there was an eager chatter among them.
Ewan and I remained by the fire, and sat in silence for a while. The innkeeper asked if we wanted anything, but I had no appetite, and Ewan made do with a mug of water. His fingers rested on the handle, and he absent-mindedly pushed it back and forth. He said nothing to admonish me, and when he spoke, it was only to check on my well-being.
I watched him as he stared into the fire, and said, ‘How did you know to look for me here?’
‘It was a guess,’ he said, and smiled slightly. ‘Perhaps an educated one. When your father and I reached Howth, there was nothing of real interest about the body found there, and so I returned home early. Mrs Perrin and Jimmy were frantic at your absence.’
I bowed my head. ‘I had hoped to be home before dusk.’
‘They sent word to your father, and I volunteered to search here. They shall be worried tonight, but will soon know that all is well.’
I was ashamed to be the cause of such distress, and Ewan seemed to note my sorrow. He said, ‘At least your intuition proved correct.’
‘That is little comfort. We are left with more questions than before.’
He leaned his elbows on the table. ‘Thanks to Mr Devlin.’
‘I am convinced now that he murdered Miss Casey, and that he drove the carriage that took Edith away, maybe drowned her as well. But I do not understand why. If he was kil
ling at the behest of Mr Darby, why would he turn against his master?’
‘Fear of being apprehended? With the defect to his eye, he could not remain at large if Darby denounced him.’
‘Perhaps. What if he was working for someone else in the Brethren, a rival to Mr Darby?’
‘You said that Miss Gould had plans to elope with James Caulfeild. Could he have been involved? Maybe Mr Devlin was his man all along.’
I had seen James at the observatory on the night Edith died. He had left early, saying that he had business in the city. But if he planned all this, surely he would not have attended the gathering at all. ‘What about Emilie?’ I said. ‘What possible motive could James have had for harming her?’
Ewan stared into the fire while he was thinking. ‘The one person who is connected to them both is Robert Gould,’ he said. He turned to look at me. ‘He has already made one attempt on Darby’s life, and he was the one who suggested that Darby had fled to Wicklow. He could have sent Devlin here to track you both.’
Robert had shown himself to be a man of weak character in his treatment of Emilie, and dalliance with Miss Croft. But he struck me as rather callow, his bungled attempt to kill Darby at the inquest showing the limits of his scheming. ‘Even if he had a vendetta against Darby, what kind of man would sacrifice his own sister?’
Ewan shrugged. ‘What kind of man would do any of this?’
The darkness outside had become complete, and the innkeeper shuffled from table to table lighting candles. A young boy pushed open the door.
‘They are coming back,’ he said, and we all went outside to see, standing beneath the eaves to avoid the rain. The cart rolled through the village, the head of the horse hung low. There was a body laid on the bed of the wagon, covered by a blanket. Several of the men were perched on the sides of the cart, and others walked behind, as if they were following a leader who had fallen in battle.
They took the body to a storeroom at the back of the inn. It was cool and dry, with haunches of salted meat suspended from hooks, and baskets of withered vegetables. The driver of the cart and one of the labourers laid the body on a table, and then went to stand by the door. Reverend Coogan asked us to come closer. He held up a lantern and drew the blanket aside.
Darby’s head sagged to the left with his lips parted. There was a glisten from his teeth, and a wet sheen on his face like perspiration – most likely he had been carried through the rain. The noose was fixed around his neck, with only a short piece of rope still attached, the twisted braids unravelled and frayed.
Coogan looked at me. ‘We found him in the parlour just like you said. There was no sign of anyone else. He was hanging, and we had to cut him down.’
I picked up the loose end of rope. ‘So Devlin still went to the trouble of making it look like suicide?’
One of the men by the door exhaled sharply through his nose, as if amused, but when I looked back they were both impassive. The labourer scraped a muddy boot over the floorboards.
I said, ‘Has word been sent to the constable in Blessington?’
‘The feeling is that it’s too treacherous to fetch him tonight,’ Coogan said. ‘It can wait until morning.’
‘I cannot wait. I must return to Dublin.’
‘We had a hard time of it taking the cart down the hill. No one will be leaving the village this evening.’ He placed the lantern on the table and allowed the wire handle to fall against the glass with a clink. ‘The coroner in Wicklow will have to be informed, and it may take days before a jury is assembled. This isn’t the city. Things move a little slower.’
Ewan said, ‘I must bring Miss Lawless home at the first opportunity. We can return to give evidence if required.’
Coogan used his thumb to close Darby’s mouth fully, then wiped his hands with a handkerchief. ‘We shall see what the constable has to say.’
‘We know what he’ll say.’ Behind us, the driver of the cart was scratching the side of his beard. His pale fingernails stood out against the grime of his fingers. ‘He’ll wonder why has he been dragged twelve miles through the muck to see a man that’s hanged himself.’
The Reverend said, ‘Mr Burke, please.’
The driver looked at Coogan from beneath his brow, glanced at me once more, then turned and left the room with the young labourer in tow.
‘What did he mean by that?’
‘Among the men, there was a . . . consensus that Mr Darby had taken his own life.’
‘Did you not tell them—’
‘They only believed what their own eyes told them.’ Coogan folded his handkerchief and placed it in his front pocket. ‘Miss, anyone would be shocked if they came upon a person hanging from the rafters. Are you sure you saw another man there?’
‘Of course I am.’
Before I could say anything more, Ewan leaned forward. ‘This assailant was not some stranger, Reverend. He is known to us.’
‘Have you ever seen him, Mr Weir?’
‘Well, no.’
Coogan nodded to himself. ‘I believe the mind can play tricks when one is so alarmed.’
I took Devlin’s eye from my pocket and placed it flat on the table. The lantern-light flickered in the iris. ‘This is no trick.’
Coogan reached over as if he were about to pick it up, but then just nudged it with his thumb. He didn’t say anything, but I knew that if the men here didn’t believe me, they would not be swayed by a glass bauble.
Ewan stepped between us. He unbuttoned his coat, and laid it on a corner of the table. Then he took the lantern, placed it next to Darby’s head, and leaned over to examine his features at close quarters. Beneath the right ear, Ewan found the knot of Darby’s cravat. He moved the noose aside, and carefully unwound the grubby scarf from Darby’s neck, leaving his throat and prominent Adam’s apple exposed.
Ewan pulled at the noose to see if there was any give, revealing a deep groove running beneath Darby’s jaw and curling up towards his ears. He slipped his fingers beneath the rope and pressed firmly into the skin, like a parent feeling a child for glandular fever. He opened the mouth and peered inside. Finally he lifted both eyelids, pinching the skin with a firm, sure touch that made Reverend Coogan wince.
Ewan held the lantern over Darby’s face, and he turned to Coogan. ‘Mr Darby was dead before the rope touched his neck.’
‘How do you know?’
Ewan began to point out features on Darby’s body inconsistent with hanging. The face wasn’t swollen, nor the hands clenched shut. The eyes had not projected or turned red, and the tongue was unscathed by any convulsion of the jaw.
Ewan glanced at Coogan to see if he wished to comment, but the Reverend was silent, his face coming ever closer to the corpse.
‘The rope wasn’t even used for manual strangulation,’ Ewan said. ‘The noose is relatively loose, and a garrotter will always use his entire strength to pull it tight. The hangman is content to let gravity do the work.’
Coogan lifted the rope and rotated it slightly to see for himself. Ewan took it from him and placed it back on the table, and Coogan mumbled an apology.
‘Mr Darby died of a broken neck. At least one of the vertebrae is disconnected. It is possible that the damage was done by the impact of the drop, but at so short a height, that seems unlikely.’
Coogan remained silent as he looked over the body.
Ewan said, ‘Would you like me to repeat what I said?’
The Reverend frowned. ‘Why?’
‘Because tomorrow, you will have to report these observations to the constable. Miss Lawless and I cannot wait while a messenger is dispatched to Blessington. We depart as soon as there is a break in the weather. I am sure you understand that she must be reunited with her father.’
Coogan glanced at me and said, ‘Yes, of course.’
‘If the Wicklow coroner has need to contact us, then he can correspond with myself or Mr Lawless.’
‘You are both welcome to stay in the vicarage, of course.’
Coogan tried to reassure me that the man would have been long gone by now, but I was adamant.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I shall arrange some rooms for you here.’
Ewan and I were the only guests in the inn that night, though the labourers and some other villagers remained in the common room, growing ever more raucous. The innkeeper showed us up the stairs to two rooms facing each other across a narrow hallway. He opened one door, and said, ‘For the young lady.’
The room was cramped, low enough that I could brush the ceiling with my fingertips, though I wouldn’t wish to. Everything was coloured in a light earthen hue: floor, walls and bedcovers. Bits of straw emerged from a tear in the mattress, and the chamber-pot held a shining residue. There was only one window, the glass scratched and cloudy, and the cast-iron fireplace was cold to the touch.
Ewan said, ‘Surely there is better than this.’
The innkeeper seemed to take affront. ‘There is not.’
‘The fire isn’t even lit.’
The man handed Ewan the candle, pointed to some kindling by the hearth, and said that he had to return downstairs before all the kegs were emptied.
I told Ewan that it would be fine, and he set about making the fire, building a lattice of tinder in the hearth. He attempted to light a slender stick to use as a kind of taper, but though the wood blackened and smoked, it didn’t take. I watched his efforts for a while, stopping myself from asking to try. I withdrew a small clump of straw from the mattress. It was dry and crinkly, with sharp edges. Some manner of black weevil scurried over the bed frame, disturbed from his lair.
I knelt beside Ewan and showed him the straw. ‘Here.’
He took it from me, placed it in the firebox and soon the wood was burning. He watched it for a while, leaning over to blow on the flames, and I stayed beside him, our knees almost touching.
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