Letter from a Dead Man

by Dawn Harris

  I raised my eyebrows in surprise. ‘So soon?’

  ‘It was his choice. He won’t be fit enough to resume his duties for some time, but the poor fellow was fretting at Dell Farm. He said the women never gave him a moment’s peace with their infernal fussing.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ I said, with a chuckle. ‘Mrs Ward is a good, kind-hearted woman, but she does have a reputation for liking everything to be just so.’

  ‘Leatherbarrow may not have liked her fussing, but he owes a great deal to her nursing skills.’

  ‘Indeed he does.’

  Later that day, going to Dell Farm to thank Mrs Ward, I learnt Marguerite had handsomely recompensed her for the trouble she had been put to. And after some persuasion, she accepted the sum of money I had brought with me, when I suggested it might come in handy for her first grandchild, expected shortly. I admired the dresser one of her sons had made, and a pretty drawing her youngest daughter had done of the farmhouse. Two kittens, belonging to the farm cat, scampered into the room, only to be quickly shooed out again. One of her sons came in covered with dirt from his exertions on the farm, and he too was sent packing in much the same manner, for daring to present himself in that state before a visitor. I was still smiling at this episode as Mudd and I made our way back to the road.

  I decided to ride up onto Hodes Down, above Dittistone Bay, to enjoy the magnificent view, only to find the coast shrouded in mist, as often happened in this area, even when the sun was shining inland. The ships that were visible, made slow progress in the light wind, and as I rode down the hill towards the bay, I caught sight of Piers talking animatedly to some local fisherman. Intrigued by this unusual show of fervour, I kept out of sight until he had ridden off, and when I spoke to the fishermen they were only too eager to tell me about it. ‘That gentleman, Mr Giles’s cousin,’ one man said, touching his forelock respectfully, ‘ought to know better than to ask a lot of tom-fool questions.’

  ‘Such as?’ I invited pleasantly.

  ‘How much we earn in a week? And was it was enough to live on?’

  A fisherman with ten children muttered, ‘And did we find other ways to make money?’

  ‘If he goes on asking those sort of questions,’ said another man indignantly, ‘someone might take offence, if you get my meaning, your ladyship. No disrespect to you, of course.’

  I said with quiet authority that I understood perfectly, and that they could safely leave the matter in my hands. Relief showed in their faces, and I inquired if Piers had said anything else.

  ‘Well, he did ask old Harry if he approved of what was happening in France,’ one man said. A statement that made his companions grin. I looked around, but old Harry had disappeared, probably into the inn further round the bay. A well-known local character, he spent most of his spare time at the inn, and the rest running messages for the free traders to earn enough money for his drop of ale.

  ‘What did Harry say?’ I asked, amused.

  ‘Well, your ladyship, he said all foreigners were heathens, and nothing the French got up to surprised him.’

  I laughed, wondering what Piers had made of that. He’d ridden off in the general direction of Ledstone and I decided I had better warn him that asking smugglers how they earned their money was not very wise. I gave Mudd permission to visit his father in Dittistone while I did so, if he wished. Something I often did when I visited Ledstone.

  When I arrived, Parker informed me that both Piers and Vincent were in the library. On being shown in, I found the two gentleman sitting by the window in quiet conversation. Both rose and bowed, but only Vincent was smiling.

  ‘Lady Drusilla, how delightful.’ I apologised for interrupting them, but Vincent swept such concerns aside. ‘We were not discussing anything of consequence.’

  Piers set a chair for me, and I thanked him with a smile, but his own features remained impassive. His manners, as usual, were correct, but purely mechanical, without any of Vincent’s natural warmth. Mr Reevers had described Piers as boorish, which I considered particularly apt. Yet, when the subject under discussion interested him, he was capable of adopting a perfectly amiable manner, as he had proved when Lucie and I dined at Ledstone.

  I took the chair offered, and came straight to the point, grateful for Vincent’s presence, as it made my task easier. I turned to Piers with a polite smile. ‘Please don’t take offence at what I am about to say. Only I feel I must offer you a friendly word of warning.’

  For a second his eyes flickered with anger. ‘Indeed?’ he murmured stiffly.

  Vincent was aghast. ‘I do trust Piers hasn’t offended you in some way, ma’am?’

  ‘No, not at all.’ And I explained that, as most local fishermen were also smugglers, they were suspicious of outsiders asking questions about how they earned their money

  Vincent slapped his thigh, roaring with laughter. ‘If that’s what you’ve been doing Piers, you’d better watch out, or you’ll find yourself trussed up like a chicken and left in a ditch.’

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed seriously. ‘Or be found with a knife in your back.’

  Vincent whistled. ‘As bad as that? It’s so long since I lived here, I’d forgotten how these smuggling gangs work.’ He looked across at his son, anxious now. ‘Well, my boy, I----’

  ‘Yes Papa,’ he cut in abruptly, and fixed his eyes on my face. ‘May I ask ma’am, how it came to your notice that I talked to these men?’

  ‘I have lived on this Island all my life, and the local people know they can come to me with their problems, or to Giles when he is here. Any stranger asking questions makes them uneasy. Even if he is a gentleman.’

  A rare smile crossed his lips. ‘I hadn’t realised, ma’am. I was interested in how well they were able to live, but I see I must be more careful. I am obliged to you, ma’am.’

  I rose then, saying I must pay my respects to my godmother before I left. Vincent insisted on escorting me, but Piers remained in the library, where he had a book he wished to read. As we walked along the corridor I said, ‘I hope Piers will take my warning seriously, Mr Saxborough.’

  ‘Oh, he will, I assure you. He means no harm by it. In fact he’s the same wherever we go. Always asking questions. Piers likes to get the feel of the place, to talk to the local people. It helps him with his sketching, he says. Our year in America affected him profoundly. He believes in a classless society, and is greatly concerned for the welfare of the lower classes.’

  Marguerite’s eyes lit up as we entered her drawing room. ‘Drusilla, how delightful. Come and sit by me. I have something wonderful to tell you.’ Smiling up at Vincent she announced joyfully, ‘I have finally persuaded Vincent to stay for the wedding.’

  ‘That is good news,’ I agreed, for he would be a decided asset at the wedding breakfast.

  Vincent seated himself and said, ‘Marguerite insisted on it, and I was delighted to accept. Piers is pleased too, as he hasn’t yet finished exploring the Island.’

  Marguerite clasped her hands together and implored, ‘If you made your home on the Island, Piers could spend all his time exploring.’ Vincent shook his head, a half smile on his lips, and insisted such a scheme wasn’t possible.

  I stayed for another half an hour, and riding through the parklands on the way home, told Mudd the reason Piers had given for his behaviour, as I wanted to see his reaction. ‘It seems Mr Piers was concerned for the fishermen’s welfare, John.’ I encountered such a look of disbelief, I burst into laughter. ‘No, I don’t believe it either. But may I ask why you don’t?’

  ‘Well, my lady, the grooms at Ledstone say when Mr Piers comes back from a ride, he hands over his horse without so much as a smile, let alone a word of thanks. He doesn’t ask them what they think of the French.’

  He hadn’t asked me either. In fact, he had not asked my view on any subject. He was always tolerably civil to me, but I had the distinct impression he considered a woman’s opinion of no importance. And I wondered how he justified this flaw in his vision of an
equal society.

  In one respect, he reminded me of Cuthbert Saxborough. Not in his features, or build, for I could see no resemblance there; it was more to do with the harshness in the eyes. The kind of look I associated with those who considered other people’s feelings to be of no consequence. Cuthbert, with all his power and riches, had never concerned himself with the sensitivities of those who served him. Yet, he’d had an authority about him that came from his breeding. Something Piers did not possess, and without it, he seemed even more heartless.

  But then something happened that took my mind off Piers completely. As we rode back to Westfleet that afternoon, Mudd told me his father had met a man who said he knew how Thomas and his son had died.

  CHAPTER TWENTYFIVE

  Mudd told me the news when we stopped to rest the horses on top of the Downs. ‘This man lives in Gosport, my lady.’ Gosport, a growing town on the mainland, was just across the harbour from Portsmouth. ‘He heard about the five hundred pound reward, and says he knows the men who murdered Mr Thomas and master Tom.’

  ‘Does your father think he’s genuine?’

  ‘He doesn’t know, my lady. But this man said he had proof.’

  ‘Proof?’ I repeated, hope growing in my voice. ‘What sort of proof?’

  ‘He wouldn’t say. My father was at an inn quietly asking around about the dead Frenchie, but no-one could tell him anything. This man waited until my father left, then caught up with him in the alley. Said he didn’t want to be overheard.’

  So this man was taking a risk. He wanted the money, but was scared of being found out. And that lifted my hopes even more. ‘How am I to contact him?’

  ‘At the inn in Gosport where my father met him.’ He didn’t tell me why his father had gone to Gosport, and I didn’t ask, mindful that it probably involved smuggling. ‘But he won’t be there again until next Wednesday.’

  ‘Wednesday?’ I reiterated in dismay. This was only Thursday. Six days, I thought, bursting with impatience.

  ‘What sort of inn is it, John?’

  ‘My father says it’s an alehouse, my lady. The sort of place frequented by common sailors.’

  I frowned. ‘Clearly I cannot go there then.’

  ‘No, my lady.’

  Detecting the faintest suggestion of relief in his voice, I suppressed a smile. It was, however, sheer common sense. For, if I walked into such an inn everyone would stare, and this Gosport man would never approach me. Not even for five hundred pounds. Mudd’s father had not been out of place there, yet such was this man’s fear of being seen speaking to him, he’d only done so out in the dark alley.

  Mudd said, ‘I could go, my lady.’

  ‘Yes,’ I conceded thoughtfully. Mudd could do so. ‘How are you to recognise him?’

  ‘I’m to sit at the table nearest the door at seven o’ clock.’

  I bit my lip, still hesitating. ‘Are you sure you want to do this, John?’

  ‘Yes, my lady, I am. Mr Giles or Mr Reevers would go if they were here, but they’re not. Whoever murdered Mr Thomas and Master Tom tried to kill Will Leatherbarrow too. And Will and I have been friends a long time.’

  ‘In that case I’ll work out what we should do.’

  In fact, an idea was already forming in my mind. In the first place, I was determined to speak to this man myself. I wanted to hear what he said, to see his face when he spoke, to make my own judgement on whether he was being truthful. And I needed to see the proof he said he had.

  But finding a way to do this wasn’t my only problem. I could not stay in Portsmouth without an escort. When father was alive, we always put up at the ‘George’ in the High Street, and as my maid was terrified of the sea crossing, I left her at home. Therefore, no-one would be surprised if I arrived without her, but I could not go accompanied only by my groom. In the end, however, my problem was solved far more easily than I could have hoped.

  Walking round the gardens later that day trying to find a solution, I saw my uncle coming towards me. He was already a different man from the one I had welcomed home last month, having filled out with good Island cooking. He smiled as he approached, and offered his arm to me. ‘Drusilla, my dear, may an old man accompany his pretty niece on her walk?’

  I laughed. ‘You are not old, neither am I pretty. But I should be delighted to walk with you.’

  We strolled up past the house, through the long border, into the orchard, enjoying some warm sunshine. ‘Your aunt is too busy with wedding preparations to take the air, and being outside has become one of my greatest pleasures since I came out of prison. I used to wonder if I would ever do so again.’

  I put my hand on his arm in reassurance. ‘Well, you needn’t ever fear prison again.’

  ‘Thanks to Giles,’ he murmured, and glanced at my profile. ‘You’re not still worried about him, are you? From what Leatherbarrow said I’m sure Giles knows what he’s doing.’

  In truth I was still a little anxious, but I shook my head. ‘Uncle, there may be a chance to find out who murdered Thomas and young Tom.’ And I repeated what Mudd had told me.

  He gazed at me speculatively. ‘And you want to go to Gosport.’

  It was a statement, not a question, and I smiled warmly at him. ‘I knew you would understand. I intend to go somehow. But how? I cannot see ------’

  He squeezed my arm. ‘Well, all you need is an escort, surely?’

  ‘Yes, but there’s no-one I can ask, and I cannot go alone. Yet, go, I must. Mudd will be with me, of course, and can arrange for me to meet this man in a more suitable place. But-----’

  ‘You must be properly accompanied, Drusilla. Quite apart from reasons of propriety, it would be most unwise to meet this man attended only by your groom.’

  ‘I realise that. Only I cannot see-----.’

  ‘There’s a perfectly simple answer, my dear. I will go with you.’

  ‘You?’ I blurted out, aghast.

  ‘Yes. Why not?’

  ‘But----

  ‘No buts, Drusilla. Today I rode into Yarmouth, and I still have enough energy to walk with you.’ He reminded me that he’d driven my aunt to Newport, ridden to Ledstone to meet Vincent and Piers, and even enjoyed one or two gallops on the Downs. ‘I am quite strong enough to cross the Solent and go with you to meet this man in Gosport.’

  It was an offer I longed to accept, but a trip to Portsmouth was far more tiring than anything else he’d done, and I hesitated. ‘I don’t know, Uncle.’

  ‘Drusilla, I owe my life to Giles, and if I can help find out who killed Thomas and his son it would repay a little of the debt I owe him.’

  In the end I capitulated, it being the only solution to my problem. For all his eagerness though, a trek across the Island to Cowes, followed by a sea crossing to Portsmouth would exhaust him, and for that reason I suggested, ‘I think we should leave on Monday, stay the night at Cowes, and cross over to Portsmouth early on Tuesday.’

  He smiled at me gratefully. ‘That sounds an excellent plan for an old man like me.’ I didn’t tell him the other scheme I had in mind. In fact, I had no intention of mentioning it at all, if I could help it, until the very last moment.

  Sitting in the sunshine, we concocted a story for our projected trip that would satisfy my aunt. An innocuous shopping expedition seemed best, and thankfully she was far too busy organising the wedding to think of coming with us. As she’d already told me the hat I’d purchased for the wedding made me look dowdy, I simply said I’d decided she was right, and I meant to buy something better.

  My uncle was keen to acquire a good pair of riding boots from the excellent man my father had patronised, admitting that the ones he’d had made on the Island pinched a trifle. Aunt Thirza reminded him she’d said all along they were poorly fabricated, although she was rather doubtful about the wisdom of him making such a trip. But my uncle insisted it would do him good, and a stay of three nights in Portsmouth allowed him plenty of time to rest.

  When I told him about Piers’ encou
nter with the Dittistone smugglers, he was highly amused, but clearly the incident had worried Vincent, for he called at Westfleet the following afternoon to speak to me about it. Jeffel ushered him into the drawing room, and as he bowed I thought how distinguished he looked in his sky blue coat and fawn breeches. Once seated, he said he’d had a serious talk with his son.

  ‘The trouble is ma’am, Piers is a little naive. Still, I’ve made the situation very clear to him, and I am persuaded he won’t so much as look at a smuggler again. I’m much obliged to you for taking the trouble to warn him. Not everyone would bother.’ Before I could answer, he said, ‘Now that’s off my chest, might I accept your kind invitation to show me round your gardens? If it’s not inconveniencing you, ma’am’

  I smiled. ‘I should like nothing better.’

  But as I stood up, Jeffel came in to inform me Mr Arnold wished to see me. ‘He has another gentleman with him, my lady. A Captain Kettlewell.’

  Vincent gave a loud gasp. ‘Did you say Captain Kettlewell?’

  Jeffel inclined his head. ‘Yes, sir.’

  I asked Vincent, ‘Do you know the gentleman?’

  ‘If it’s the same man, and with such a name I imagine it must be, I know him very well.’ I directed Jeffel to show them in, and to bring suitable refreshments.

  After Jeffel had left the room, Vincent removed his snuff box from his pocket and flicked it open. ‘Are you acquainted with the captain, ma’am?’

  ‘I’ve not yet had that honour,’ I said, watching him take a pinch of snuff. ‘But Mr Arnold is on friendly terms with many of the captains whose ships call at Cowes.’

  Vincent rose as the two gentlemen entered the room. Captain Kettlewell, a jolly man, in his middle years, stopped in his tracks when he saw Vincent, and in a booming voice, acquired through years of giving orders on board ship in every kind of weather, burst forth, ‘By all that’s wonderful!’ He strode eagerly across the room, a wide smile on his face, and wrung Vincent’s hand heartily. ‘Mr Saxborough, how are you, sir?’