Letter from a Dead Man

by Dawn Harris

  Glancing at the clock, I saw it was almost ten. Was it really only this morning that we had set out for Carisbrooke?

  That night I sat with Marguerite, promising to call Lucie at four, and pointing out to Giles he would be more useful to his mother when she was awake. I kept a single candle alight, for she was very restless; tossing and turning, and muttering in her sleep. Then, just after one, when I was about to give her the extra sleeping draught, she fell into a deeper sleep. I rested on the day bed, from where I could watch for any change, and found myself thinking that at this time last night, Thomas and young Tom had been alive. Yet, within an hour or two, they had drowned on the calmest of nights.

  How could such a thing have happened? I considered every possibility I could think of, as father had taught me to do. Could Giles be right? Could Tom have fallen overboard? Or had the yacht struck a rock, or collided with another boat? I desperately wanted it to be an accident, but in my heart, I already knew that it wasn’t. And that conviction so absorbed my thoughts that even the news of my uncle slipped my mind.

  CHAPTER TEN

  An eerie silence descended upon Ledstone that night as thick curtains of mist and fog drifted in from the sea, enveloping the walls of the old house. By morning not even the seagulls could be heard calling to each other, as if the birds themselves were mourning the loss of the two fine Saxboroughs lying in the small back parlour. Neither Marguerite nor I stirred until well after seven, when Lucie rushed in, her face flushed with guilt. ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’

  Rubbing my eyes, I set my feet on the floor, quietly explaining that Marguerite had passed a tolerable night, and I had eventually fallen asleep myself. My godmother sat up drowsily, puzzling briefly at our presence, before her memory returned, whereupon she sank back onto her pillows with a despairing groan. Almost at once we heard a gentle knock on the door, and Giles came in. Joyfully Marguerite held out her arms to him, and as he hugged her, Lucie insisted I went down to breakfast.

  Being glad to stretch my legs, I retired to the bedchamber I was always given when staying here; known affectionately as the Royal suite, this being where Queen Elizabeth would have slept if she’d kept her promise to William Saxborough to visit Ledstone. The sight of that delicate leaf pattern on the walls and the prettily embroidered bed hangings in rose pink and cream, always relaxed me, and it did so even on this dreadful morning. I rang for some hot water, and refreshed by a thorough wash, I changed into the clean morning gown and stockings I had brought with me, pulled a comb through my hair, and went downstairs.

  Giles joined me when I was on my second cup of coffee, saying Lucie had told him I’d slept a little last night.

  ‘Unlike you,’ I murmured, for he looked utterly exhausted. ‘Did you sleep at all?’

  He shook his head and sat staring at his plate. ‘I feel so guilty.’

  ‘Guilty? What do you have to be guilty about?’

  He gave a short, harsh laugh. ‘Think about it, Drusilla. How often do you imagine I wished Ledstone was mine? I’ve always known exactly what I would do here. And now--------’ He turned his hands upwards in a gesture of helplessness, his blue eyes full of anguish.

  ‘I know,’ I murmured compassionately, putting my hand on his arm.

  I saw precisely how it was. Yesterday, shocked and grief-stricken at the loss of Thomas and Tom, he’d had no time to think of anything except how to deal with the things that follow any tragedy. It was only later, lying awake in bed, he’d recalled those times he’d dreamed of owning Ledstone. Never expecting it to happen, nor wanting it to if it cost the lives of those he loved. But being human, he’d sometimes indulged the daydream to the point of deciding how he would run Ledstone if it was his.

  I tried to put this into words, pointing out, ‘Every younger son has thoughts of that kind.’ In truth I was far more worried about what was happening to the Saxborough family, and I told him so plainly. ‘Giles, I want you to promise me you will take the greatest care of yourself. At least until we know how Thomas and Tom died.’

  He gazed at me in utter astonishment. ‘Drusilla, are you suggesting someone is trying to kill off the whole family? That’s utter nonsense……..’

  ‘Is it? Since April your father, brother and nephew have all died.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean there’s a conspiracy. I agree father was foolish to jump the east gate on a nervous horse, but he’s fallen off there before, as we all have. He was just unlucky. Whereas Thomas and Tom were probably lost in some freak accident. But I promise you nothing is going to happen to me. I never do anything without thinking it out first. You, of all people, should know that.’ That was true. Even as a child he hadn’t embarked on any seemingly reckless exploit without planning what to do if it went wrong. But that didn’t stop me being anxious.

  I saw little of Giles in the days that followed. While Lucie and I cared for Marguerite, he dealt with the funeral arrangements, the necessary legal matters, assisted with the official inquiries into the accident, and received those who came to offer their condolences and pay their respects to Thomas and Tom.

  On the second morning, Mr Arnold came to tell me, most apologetically, that he couldn’t spare anyone to watch Smith at present, as all his men were out searching for wreckage from Thomas Saxborough’s yacht. It was the duty of the Customs service to help in the aftermath of a shipwreck, but as everyone knew, it wasn’t only Mr Arnold’s men who might be of assistance. In fact, Giles had ridden down to Hokewell straight after breakfast that first morning to offer the local smugglers a reward for any information. He knew these men well, and very little went on at sea that they weren’t aware of, or wouldn’t hear of through other smugglers.

  Later, quite by chance, I overheard Leatherbarrow telling another groom that Giles hadn’t found a single smuggler at Hokewell. Every man had been out since daybreak searching for wreckage. A sign of their loyalty to Giles, and a gesture so filled with kindness, it almost overset me again. I guessed Jackson was behind it. A giant of a man, with a black tangled beard that gave him a fearsome appearance. Useful for a smuggler, this being the reason he grew it, I suspected, for I had seen him many a time with his children, and no man had a gentler disposition.

  When Giles was a boy, Jackson and the other smugglers had happily filled his head with tales of how they fooled the Riding Officers. Things he’d repeated to me, in a voice that ached to be part of it all. How they showed a signalling light in one bay, fooling the Riding Officer into keeping watch there, while the goods were brought ashore elsewhere. Stories of horses’ hooves being covered in sacking, to avoid leaving a trail directly to the smuggled goods, while old horseshoes on sticks marked out a track for the Riding Officer to follow, in the opposite direction.

  Giles had loved these yarns, and willingly helped the smugglers. Once he saw the Riding Officer concealing his men along a route smugglers used to transport kegs. Guessing information had been laid, he ran like the wind to warn them, and watched as each revenue man was found and silently bundled away. When the Riding Officer finally realised what was happening and tried to escape on horseback, he was speedily unseated. The horse was sent packing, and although the Officer ran to the beach, the kegs had gone. It was no wonder the smugglers wanted to help him now. I smiled to myself, remembering how Giles had longed to go on a smuggling run, for their lives seemed so much more exciting than his.

  Giles had been a sickly child, and everyone from his parents down to his nurse, mollycoddled him on account of his poor health. He found his own way of dealing with it, by persuading them he was well, even when he was not. So that no-one would stop him doing the things he enjoyed.

  Whenever I went beyond the grounds of Westfleet as a child, Mudd always accompanied me, and if Giles was with us, Mudd allowed him to do things that would have had my godmother reaching for her smelling salts, had she known. Scrambling down crumbling cliffs, climbing trees, riding bareback races across the Downs. Things Giles revelled in, which Mudd considered only right for boys,
and which I enjoyed too. How much simpler life had seemed then, I sighed.

  Damp and dreary weather added to the atmosphere of gloom at Ledstone Place in the days leading up to the funerals. Rain lashed unrelentingly against the windowpanes of Marguerite’s bedchamber, saturating lawns, sweeping in torrents across the gardens on a strong south westerly, battering the last few foxgloves to the ground, and ruining entire drifts of ox-eye daisies and marigolds. Water dripped everywhere, from gutters and trees, forming puddles on paths, lawns and flower beds. The smell of damp earth and rain permeated the whole house, the air feeling so chilly, that Giles ordered the fires to be lit, for it felt more like late October than the first week of August.

  Marguerite began to improve during the day, but at night her fears for Giles’s safety flared up again, despite all our efforts to comfort her. She suffered one terrible nightmare; in which Giles was swept out to sea by a huge wave and lost, leaving her so distressed I almost sent for the doctor.

  On the morning of the inquest, Giles barely quibbled when I insisted on going, but I learnt nothing of any consequence from these proceedings. The local constable had no new evidence, Thorpe gave a coherent account of how the two bodies had been found, and Dr. Redding confirmed his opinion that drowning was the cause of death. Giles affirmed when he’d last seen his brother and nephew alive, stating they were both strong swimmers. Mr Arnold said that, despite a thorough search, no wreckage had been found as yet, and the weather that night had been fair, with calm seas. A witness testified as to when the yacht left Yarmouth, and a seaman Thomas had employed on occasion, stated the yacht was always kept in perfect condition.

  The Coroner made the point that even the most experienced of yachtsmen could misjudge a situation, and it seemed probable that sometime during the night in question, for reasons unknown, Thomas and his son had become separated from their yacht in the darkness, and consequently drowned. There being no evidence to suggest this was anything other than a tragic accident, the jury brought in a verdict of ‘Death by Misadventure.’

  On the day of the funeral, Marguerite came downstairs for the first time, keeping to her drawing room, where Lucie and I looked after her. She cried unashamedly as the funeral procession made its way down the drive and out the gate towards the church. Lucie’s tears were silent, as were mine, but I prayed none of us would ever experience another day as heartrending as this had been.

  The service was followed by a cold collation at Ledstone, and everyone of note on the Island attended, including the Governor, Mr Orde. I’d expected to see Mr Reevers, until I learnt from Giles that his cousin was in London, and unaware of what had happened.

  Lucie and I went home a few days after the funeral, promising to visit Marguerite frequently. Lucie stayed until the afternoon, but I left after breakfast, and as I came down the staircase I saw Mr Reevers handing his hat to Parker. He strode swiftly across the hall, taking my hands as I stepped off the last stair, and holding them a trifle longer than was strictly necessary.

  ‘I came as soon as I could,’ he said, his face grave. His eyes rapidly surveyed my face. ‘My poor child, you look positively haggard.’

  I managed a rueful smile. ‘You have such a way with words, Mr Reevers.’

  A faint chuckle escaped him. ‘I do beg your pardon. I simply meant you have obviously had a harrowing time of it.’

  ‘No more than anyone else.’ And remarked, ‘Giles will be glad to see you, I know. He’s with his mother at present.’

  ‘In that case, I won’t disturb him.’ Explaining I was going home he insisted on escorting me outside. Parker opened the door, and we walked out, stopping short of where a groom was waiting with Orlando. He asked quietly, ‘Do you know how Thomas and Tom came to drown?’

  ‘No, but Giles has offered five hundred pounds to anyone who knows how the accident happened.’

  ‘Five hundred?’ His eyebrows shot up. ‘Well, that should do the trick, if anyone does know.’ He paused. ‘Perhaps another vessel ran into the yacht in the dark.’

  ‘But wouldn’t they have stopped to pick up Thomas and Tom?’

  ‘Smugglers might not. Especially if they were French.’

  A blackbird landed on the roof nearby and began to sing. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ And I asked if he was making a brief visit.

  ‘That depends on Giles. I’ll stay as long as I can be of use to him.’

  ‘He may well be glad of your company when his uncle and cousin arrive.’

  He stared at me, puzzled. ‘Which uncle and cousin is that, ma’am?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, ‘with you being away, you won’t know about Vincent.’

  ‘Vincent?’ he repeated, bewildered.

  ‘Cuthbert’s brother. Didn’t your mother tell you about him?’

  His brow furrowed in deep thought. ‘Oh yes, I remember. He ran off with some dancer.’

  ‘Actress.’

  ‘Actress, then. But, surely, he died years ago.’

  ‘So everyone thought. Only it appears he isn’t dead, after all.’

  Mr Reevers gazed at me in astonishment. ‘Not dead?’

  I explained about Vincent’s letter, and that it had arrived the day before the yachting accident. ‘In fact while Giles was staying with you,’ I said. ‘Vincent and Piers mean to visit Ledstone shortly. I hope you don’t object to meeting the black sheep of the family?’

  He didn’t answer immediately, and when he did speak, it was a rather indistinct, ‘Not at all.’ The news had clearly shocked him, but then it had astounded us all.

  On the way home, I considered his suggestion that a French smuggling vessel could have run into Thomas’s yacht. But there were a number of possible theories, any one of which could be right. What was lacking was real evidence; without which we’d never learn what really happened.

  Then, as I rode across the Downs, I saw a boy flying a kite. He was about Tom’s age, and for one second, thinking it was him, I raised my hand to wave, until I remembered that Tom would never fly a kite again. I thought of all the other things he would never do again, and of the life he should have had. And my heart ached for him.

  On reaching Westfleet, I entered the house by a side door, going straight up to my bedchamber. Here I sank into a chair, savouring that familiar smell of freshly polished wood, and allowing the feel of my own home to fill me with all its timeworn comfort and ease. I had not been this tired since the death of my father, and I even allowed my maid to coax me into taking a long bath scented with lavender, before I finally went downstairs.

  Jeffel greeted me with pleasure, assuring me there had not been any problems during my absence. Which, if true, was the longest period my aunt had ever gone without upsetting anyone, but even she said that the servants had been very good. I told her all that had occurred at Ledstone, including the details of Thomas’s Will, which left everything to Tom, and in the event of Tom’s death without issue, to Giles.

  When I asked how she had occupied herself, she said, ‘I finished the curtains for my new bedchamber. Which reminds me Drusilla, what happened to your father’s clothes? I haven’t come across so much as a handkerchief.’

  ‘They’re in the small bedchamber.’ I’d had them moved about a month before my uncle’s letters had ceased, thinking he could use them if he had to leave France in a hurry. Many emigres arrived with little more than they were wearing, and not much money either.

  My uncle was a couple of inches shorter than my father, but had much the same build, and the clothes could be altered to fit. Now I feared they would never be needed. I knew I ought to tell my aunt he was in prison, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it, excusing my cowardice on the grounds that it would be better if she read the actual letter from Giles’s friends herself. In a few days I would mention it to him.

  That afternoon, when Aunt Thirza took the carriage to Ledstone to bring Lucie home, I went into the workroom to write down the few facts I had about the yachting tragedy. First though, I wrote a note to Mr Arnold a
sking him to inform me personally of any wreckage found. He might raise an eyebrow on receiving such a request, but he would do it, without question, knowing I would not have asked without good reason.

  After I’d sealed it with a wafer, and given orders for Mudd to deliver it, I heard a slight movement, and saw the kitchen cat sitting in my father’s chair, grooming herself. ‘You scamp,’ I chuckled, going over to smooth the soft tortoiseshell fur. ‘I bet this isn’t the first time you’ve sneaked in here either.’ Jess began to purr loudly, so clearly begging to be allowed to stay in this blissful haven, that I laughed out loud.

  ‘Oh, very well. Just as long as you don’t disturb me, mind.’ Jess, recognising the tone of surrender to her desires, curled up and went to sleep. Meanwhile, I noted when Thomas had set sail, what the weather had been like, when and where the bodies were washed up, the fact that no wreckage had been found yet, what the Riding Officer and Dr. Redding had said, and that no-one had reported seeing the yacht while Thomas was away.

  Wandering across to my father’s desk, I leant against it, absently smoothing the sleeping cat, as I considered the various ways a boat could founder. Jess, annoyed at being woken, hissed in warning, her claws unsheathed. She certainly knew what she wanted, and went all out to get it. Laughing, I moved away and found myself thinking that, if the three Saxboroughs had all been murdered, then the man responsible was going all out to get what he wanted too.

  It crossed my mind fleetingly, that finding a live murderer wasn’t the same as collecting facts about someone long dead, and assembling them in the correct order, as I had been accustomed to do. This murderer, having killed twice, would not hesitate to do so again, if I found out who he was. And I gave an involuntary shiver, remembering the two bodies I’d seen in that small back parlour at Ledstone Place.