by Alys Clare
It looked very much as it had done at first sight: as if Jeromy Palfrey had driven the blade in himself, especially as his dead hands were still clasping the weapon’s handle.
But then something occurred to me.
‘I need your help,’ I said to Theo. ‘We need to move the body into the position in which it was found. The exact position, mind.’
He didn’t protest, although the task must surely have been repellent. ‘It wasn’t I who found him,’ he said as we began, ‘but I reckon I can put him as he was when I first saw him.’
‘Which is presumably how he was when you and I arrived on the scene?’
‘Yes.’
We sat the body on the floor of the crypt, leaning against the damp stone wall as it had leaned against the dilapidated building at Old Ferry Quay. The head lolled as it had done then, and the hands retained their grip on the weapon handle: I guessed they had been effectively glued to it by blood and other bodily fluids.
I stood gazing down at the corpse. Then I said, ‘Did you speak to the fisherman?’
‘Fisherman?’
‘You said he’d been found by a fisherman who’d gone to the shore to clean his catch.’
‘I did, I did,’ Theo agreed. ‘At first the man couldn’t be found, and I was beginning to wonder about him, but then one of my men located him. It doesn’t look as if he was involved, other than finding the body.’
‘Is he local?’
‘He is. Keeps his boat at Warleigh Point.’
‘Could he be fetched?’
I thought I heard Theo sigh, and I didn’t blame him. ‘Is it important?’ he asked.
‘It is.’
‘Very well.’
He stomped off up the steps, and I heard his heavy tread cross the hall above. Then the door opened and closed. I anticipated a long wait and so, shortly after Theo had gone, I followed him upstairs and went outside into the night air.
He was back quite quickly, and with him was a thin man with a weathered face and strongly muscled arms. The man looked awed, even frightened. ‘I’ve told him there’s nothing to worry about,’ Theo muttered as we entered the house and headed for the steps down to the crypt, ‘but he doesn’t seem to believe me.’
I smiled to myself. Nothing to worry about other than the prospect of being in close proximity to a corpse that must surely be around two weeks old by now. It was no wonder the fisherman was apprehensive.
Once we had assembled around the body, I said to the man, ‘I would like you to tell me, if you can, if this is how the body was when you first came across it.’ I didn’t say any more: it was crucial not to prejudice the fisherman.
‘Let me see now,’ the man muttered. He swallowed a couple of times, and there were beads of sweat on his brow and upper lip. I hoped he wasn’t about to be sick. Then he straightened up, nodded to himself and said, ‘The dead man was sitting leaning against the ruined wall of a house, legs out in front of him and just a little bent, hands on the end of the weapon’s shaft. The shaft’s broken off, see? It was like that when I found him.’
He fell silent. He seemed to understand the importance of what he was being asked. He took his time, looking first from the right side then from the left, finally crouching right down and staring up at the chest and shoulders from beneath. Then, standing up again, he nodded again and said, ‘Reckon it’s about right.’
‘The hands are placed as you remember?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ he said firmly. ‘He was holding on to that weapon like it was a lifeline, which is odd considering it was the very opposite.’ He leaned forward, pointing. ‘The right hand’s just at the top of the handle, see, with the left immediately beneath it, and I recall thinking to myself that if he’d held it any higher up, he’d have sliced into his hands. That looks sharp, that does.’ Again he made the confirming nod.
I was thinking very hard. After a moment Theo cleared his throat and said quietly, ‘Is there anything else, doctor?’
I waved a hand. ‘No, no.’
I was only vaguely aware of Theo telling the fisherman he could go, of the man’s footsteps as he hurried away.
After a while I said, ‘It wasn’t suicide.’
‘How do you know?’ Theo asked quietly.
‘Look.’ I pointed, just as the fisherman had done. ‘Jeromy’s hands were on the weapon’s shaft, clutched round it.’
‘So how can you—’ Theo began.
‘He couldn’t have reached the handle. The blade is at least the length of his forearms, perhaps more, as we can readily tell because its tip is sticking through the flesh of his back. So, before it was thrust inside his body, the handle would have been a forearm’s length further away. See?’
A new light shone in Theophilus Davey’s clear blue eyes. He said slowly, ‘Oh, yes. Indeed I do.’
‘His hands—’ I began.
But, full of the heady pleasure of realization, Theo forestalled me. ‘His hands were carefully wrapped round the weapon’s shaft after it had been used to kill him.’
SEVEN
I rode home to Rosewyke, very eager to see Celia and bring her the news. I was sure in my own mind that being permitted after all to arrange Jeromy’s funeral would mark the start of her healing. I had suggested to Theo that I call upon Jonathan Carew as soon as I could to tell him what we had discovered about the body, but Theo said that really ought to be his job, promising to see to it first thing in the morning.
‘I shall tell him that I am now satisfied as to how Jeromy Palfrey died, which was not by suicide but by unlawful killing at the hands of another,’ he said solemnly. ‘I’m now prepared to release the body.’
‘Thank you,’ I replied. ‘You will have my sister’s gratitude.’
He gave me a brief and piercing look. ‘I rather think she should bestow it on you.’
I could hear Tock’s snores bouncing off the courtyard walls as I rode in through the gates, but Samuel was still up, and came out to greet me.
‘All well, doctor?’ he enquired as I dismounted and handed him Hal’s reins.
‘Oh, very well, thank you, Samuel.’
Sallie had retired for the night – no light showed under the door to her room leading off the kitchen – so I lit one of the candles set ready on the table and tiptoed across the flags, still damp from their last swab of the day, hoping not to wake her. I hurried through the hall and up the stairs. I didn’t doubt, as I raised a hand to tap on the door to Celia’s little anteroom, that she would still be awake, for I was sure insomnia was adding to her low state.
But there was no soft call of ‘Come in’.
I tried again, this time saying quietly, ‘Celia?’
Still no answer.
I raised the latch and opened the door, just far enough to peer into the room. I held up the candle. All was orderly, with her sewing folded and placed on the small table beside the settle. There were fresh roses in the bowl.
The door to the bedroom was ajar. I stepped forward.
Moonlight flooded the room, and I saw my sister, curled up in her bed, fair hair spread over the pillows, her face soft and relaxed. She was fast asleep.
Very quietly I backed away, closing the anteroom door as I left.
My good news would have to wait till morning. I felt absurdly disappointed.
‘And so you’ll be able to bury Jeromy exactly where he should be buried, in the graveyard of St Luke’s, and Jonathan Carew will officiate,’ I concluded.
It was early the next day, and Celia had just joined me in the morning parlour. Anticipating that relief would sharpen her appetite, I’d asked Sallie to bring us a decent breakfast, which was now spread out on the table in the window.
Celia hadn’t spoken.
‘Don’t you see, my dear?’ I asked gently, going to stand beside her and reaching for her hand. ‘Now you can plan his funeral feast, and all his friends and business associates can be invited, and his name will be honoured in death as it was in life.’ I wondered if that was going a
little far, but then she had loved him, and undoubtedly saw qualities in him that others did not. Well, I didn’t see them. ‘There won’t be the scandal of suicide attached to him now,’ I went on, ‘and you’ll be able to—’
I felt her slump against me as she fainted.
Fool! Dolt! I reproved myself, supporting her as I helped her across the room to the chair beside the hearth. I draped a blanket over her, then knelt in front of her, chafing her icy hands. I was furious with myself, for, in my relief at being able to break the news that Jeromy hadn’t killed himself, I’d entirely overlooked the corollary: if he hadn’t, then his loving, grieving wife had to face the terrible fact that somebody else had.
Because one thing was certain. That great blade hadn’t ended up inside his chest by accident.
I had extracted it last night. It was a wicked-looking weapon, a hand’s span across at the widest and a foot long or perhaps a little more, with one straight side and one curved, tapering to a long, sharp point. The blade was attached to a pole, the end of which had long ago been broken off. Theo had wrapped it and taken it away, commenting darkly, ‘We may be needing this.’
I dragged my thoughts back to the present.
Celia was stirring. Her eyelids fluttered and opened. She looked up at me, anguish in her white face. I took her in my arms, hugging her close. ‘It means that someone killed him, my dearest, and I know how hard that must be for you to accept.’ I gave her a little shake. ‘But surely it must console you to know for sure that he was not in that terrible state of despair from which there is no relief other than the taking of your own life?’
Very slowly she nodded. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘It does console me, of course it does.’ She paused, then went on in a tiny voice, ‘And we can put him safe and sound in the ground now?’
‘Of course,’ I soothed. ‘Nobody will be able to hurt him any more.’
She relaxed a little at that, as if the concept comforted her. My heart ached with pity. How dreadful it was, to be in such a state that comfort could be derived from such meagre consolation.
I watched my sister over the next few days. Sometimes she appeared serene, as she did the morning we had a visit from Jonathan Carew.
He was a good man. On entering the parlour, he went straight up to Celia, gave her a formal bow and said, ‘I offer you my sympathy, Mistress Palfrey, concerning the initial misapprehension that your late husband died by his own hand. The consequences of that misapprehension undoubtedly caused you extreme distress, which I sincerely regret.’
Celia gave a graceful little inclination of her head. ‘It was, I have been led to believe, an understandable mistake,’ she murmured.
I winced, for I felt we were approaching the dangerous ground of the state of the body when found, the blade driven deep in the chest. My dear sister should not have to contemplate such a thing.
Clearly, the vicar saw the danger too. Straightening up, he smoothly changed the subject and said, ‘If you wish me to officiate, then perhaps we might arrange a convenient time for the funeral. St Luke’s is not a large church and it may be that you would prefer your husband to be put to rest closer to his place of work and his many friends and colleagues. He was, however, one of my parishioners, and welcome to lie at St Luke’s.’
There was a brief silence. Then Celia said, ‘I think, your reverence, that Jeromy would like that.’
I left them to their discussion. It wasn’t my place to add an opinion, and whatever my sister decided, I would support.
At other times, however, Celia’s calm resignation deserted her and she became pale and fretful. She jumped at sudden noises, snapped when Sallie tried to engage her in conversation, complained loudly and hysterically when she thought poor, simple Tock had been watching her as she briefly took the air on her grey mare one fine morning: ‘He was spying on me, the dirty, filthy swine!’
That was particularly vexing. For one thing, Tock was harmless and Celia knew it, and her accusations were cruel. For another, I’d been trying to persuade her to go outside into the good air for ages, and this was the last thing I’d wanted to happen.
I’m afraid the whole thing descended into a full-out row. When I reminded Celia mildly that Tock was really a boy in a man’s body, and no more threat to her than a puppy, she rounded on me and screamed that I was a deluded simpleton and saw only what I wanted to see, burying my head in the sand and turning my face away from unpleasant reality. You’d have thought Tock had dragged her from her horse and tried to ravish her, yet I knew full well (because I quietly checked with Samuel) that all Tock had done was step out from behind the wall to wish her a stumbling, stuttering good day.
I could only conclude that he’d made her jump, and, in her present state, that had been enough to set off the extreme reaction.
Life at Rosewyke wasn’t easy just then, for any of us.
The funeral passed off without incident. My sister looked beautiful in her black gown, and the long, fine, translucent veil she wore covered her face and hid her sore eyes from the curious. Jonathan Carew was impressive in his official role, and I resolved once more to make St Luke’s my regular place of worship. My parents wouldn’t object; in fact my mother, beside me as we listened to Jonathan’s powerful and moving words, whispered, ‘He’s a fine preacher, Gabriel. You ought to give him your support.’
The cakes and ale back at Ferrars were copious and extravagant. Celia had been at the house for much of the time in the preceding days, organizing her servants in the preparations, although I had ridden over to fetch her at the end of each day to bring her back to Rosewyke. She wasn’t ready yet to resume life on her own and I wasn’t sure when she would be.
A group of Jeromy’s former colleagues attended the funeral and the feast. Theo, who was also present, materialized at my side as I stood watching the polite but intense struggle to get at the best of the savoury pies, the dainties and the sweetmeats, and he pointed out to me a tall, stiff-backed, black-clad man with a face like a skull and strangely unblinking eyes, over in the corner of the room with what appeared to be a bodyguard of three heavily built men, each impassive face wearing the same watchful expression.
‘That’s Nicolaus Quinlie,’ Theo murmured in my ear.
I focused on Nicolaus Quinlie’s sallow face at quite the wrong moment: just as the cold eyes turned to meet mine. For an instant I seemed to feel a shock of chill, as if something deeply repellent had just appeared before me. The man’s utter stillness reminded me of a cobra I’d seen in an Egyptian bazaar, hood flared as it drew itself up to strike.
‘He comes well attended,’ I said to Theo, shaking off my unease.
‘The heavyweights?’ Theo smiled. ‘Yes, I spotted them too. I was wondering what sort of attack he fears, at the funeral of his late employee.’
‘He is rich, they say,’ I remarked. ‘Rich men always fear for their security.’
‘True, true,’ Theo said.
I glanced around the room. ‘Has he brought any other of his men?’
Theo nodded, silently and unobtrusively indicating a group of four standing in the doorway, and a fair man with a carefully trimmed beard who kept himself a little apart from the throng, murmuring to a dumpy youth with dark, greasy hair down to his shoulders. ‘The quartet comprises Quinlie’s two senior subordinates and their assistants,’ he said in a voice not meant to carry further than me, ‘and the man over there is Pius Moran, who I gather was the one who went to fetch Quinlie’s precious cargo when Jeromy failed to turn up. The fat lad with him is his nephew Abner, who, despite his lack of intelligence and common sense, Moran seems intent on bringing on as his protégé.’
‘You’re well informed,’ I observed.
‘I make it my business so to be,’ Theo replied.
‘Did he take this block-headed nephew on the mission to Dartmouth?’
‘He did.’ Theo shot me a glance. ‘Why?’
I shrugged. ‘I’m not sure.’
There was a thoughtful silence, and
then Theo said, ‘I sent one of my own men over to Dartmouth back when we were still lacking a name for our dead body.’
‘And?’
Theo smiled. ‘And nothing. He’s a good man – my best – but his orders were only to try to find Jeromy Palfrey. Since that would have been impossible, it wouldn’t be fair to say Hodge – my man – had failed me.’
‘Did he report no other observations at all?’
‘It was he who told me about Pius Moran and his nephew. He thought I might like to know. And …’ Theo paused. Then his blue eyes widened. ‘Now that is interesting, now I come to think of it.’
‘What is?’
Theo was frowning and shaking his head. ‘I can’t think why I haven’t mentioned it before. It didn’t exactly slip my mind; it’s more that other things have driven it into the background, so to speak.’ He glanced at me and must have picked up my impatience. ‘Sorry. It may be nothing much, but Jarman Hodge went down to the warehouse that Quinlie uses in Dartmouth, looking for any word of Jeromy Palfrey. Nobody had seen him – well, that was no surprise since he was lying dead at Old Ferry Quay – and the warehouse owner was cross because he was having to keep Quinlie’s costly and valuable cargo for longer than he’d been paid for. Anyway, Hodge overheard one of the men in the warehouse saying something about being very surprised if they ever saw Jeromy Palfrey again after this business. Now Hodge took it to mean that Quinlie would never trust Jeromy with any other important task, but what if the man was referring to something quite different? What if—’
‘What if he knew very well they’d never see Jeromy again because they knew he was dead?’
Theo nodded. ‘Yes. Exactly.’
‘And your man definitely heard the man in the warehouse refer to this business?’
Theo waved an impatient hand. ‘I can’t swear to the precise wording, and I don’t suppose Jarman Hodge could either, but it was something very like that.’
I tried to clarify my thoughts. ‘Jeromy Palfrey was meant to collect the precious cargo of silk, but he never got to Dartmouth.’
‘We don’t know that,’ Theo interrupted. ‘He might have been intercepted after he reached Dartmouth and either brought back or returned of his own volition.’ He paused. ‘It’s definite he was killed where he was found?’