Something about Henry’s words worried Gertrude, but she wasn’t certain why. How could she know about parental disappointment? Her own parents were long since deceased, and she had no children of her own. She was about to ask him what he meant, but sensed the question would be better asked in private. She had little doubt that the Chief Inspector would want to question the boy further.
She turned to Lennox. ‘It would appear that the poor boy has been out here in this appalling weather for some weeks. Do you not think it would be kinder to let him have a bath and change into dry clothes before questioning him?’
‘What do you mean, question me?’ said Henry, eyes wide with fear. ‘I said I haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘Then you have nothing to worry about,’ said Lennox. ‘You’re not accused of anything, but you might have seen something. It could be something that seems insignificant to you, but may be a vital clue in catching your father’s killer.’
‘You could probably do with a decent meal too,’ added Gertrude, noting how pale Henry seemed. ‘If you’ve been out here roughing it for weeks then you’ve probably not been eating properly.’
Henry shrugged, his silence sullen and non-committal. ‘I think I’d like that bath now,’ he eventually muttered.
Gertrude wrapped an arm around his shoulders. ‘Come along. I believe in the current circumstances that your mother might postpone her recriminations of disappointment. I think she’ll just be very pleased to see you.’
She escorted Henry up towards the house, leaving the Chief Inspector and Constable Denham to tend to the semi-conscious Sergeant Callaghan, whom she could hear groaning from within the trees.
‘Now that I have you alone, Henry, would you please tell me what you meant just now about me knowing of parental disappointment?’
Henry paused, facing Gertrude. ‘You’re Juliet’s aunt, aren’t you?’
Gertrude nodded. ‘What does that have to do with anything?’
‘Aren’t Juliet’s parents disappointed with her being engaged to Herbert?’
‘Well, Juliet’s father is no longer with us, and I think her mother is happy enough.’
‘I find that hard to believe, given what Herbert did.’
Henry started to walk off, but Gertrude gently restrained him. ‘Wait. What do you mean by such a curious statement?’
Henry lapsed once more into a sullen silence.
‘Come on,’ said Gertrude testily. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ll have to ask Herbert.’
‘Well that might prove difficult since he’s the second victim.’
Henry’s shock revealed to Gertrude that he knew nothing about Herbert’s death, although his next words did little to assuage her sense of unease.
‘In that case, I think you should speak to Millicent, Herbert’s sister. I have a terrible feeling that she might be next.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Lady Castleford looked up as the door to the drawing room opened. With all the comings and goings of police she had given up trying to predict who was going to come through the door next. The last twenty-four hours had been a whirlwind of activity from which she thought she might never recover
When Henry stepped sheepishly into the room, Philippa wailed with relief and rushed over to embrace him, totally oblivious to his dirty appearance. By the time they separated from their extended hug, her dress was stained by mud and grass.
‘Oh you silly boy,’ she sobbed, holding him at arm’s length and staring directly into his eyes. ‘Where on earth have you been? Don’t you realise how worried I was?’
‘I didn’t think you cared, after you sent me back to that awful school.’
‘Darling, your father thought you needed the discipline of St James’ after the incident at the Brigadier’s last year.’
Hearing a loud harrumph from over by the window, Henry looked over and turned pale when he realised the Brigadier was in the room. ‘I’m sorry about what happened, Brigadier,’ he mumbled.
‘Lad, I’d gladly accept that apology, only it’s not me who you should be apologising to, is it?’
Henry shook his head. ‘No, Sir.’ He returned his attention to his mother. When he spoke, his voice was indistinct. ‘Is it true what they’re saying about Father – that he’s dead?’
Philippa choked back her emotions. ‘Yes, darling, I’m very much afraid it is. He was killed yesterday.’
‘And that, on top of your disappearance from the school, has had your poor mother frantic with worry,’ sighed the Brigadier.
Henry pulled away suddenly from his mother’s embrace and stared down at his feet. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘I’m so very sorry.’
Philippa changed the subject as she finally took the time to appraise her son, suddenly aware of his dishevelled appearance. ‘Lord, what a state you’re in, Henry. Have you been sleeping rough?’
Henry nodded sheepishly. He pointed out through the window. ‘I’ve been in the copse for much of the past three weeks.’
Sudden realisation about something that had been gnawing at her subconscious for the past couple of days washed over Philippa. ‘Good grief, it’s you I’ve been seeing, isn’t it, watching the house from the edge of the trees?’
‘Probably. I think I was hoping that someone would spot me and come to bring me in. Or wishing that Millicent might let slip that I was out there.’
Philippa took a step backwards. ‘Millicent? Our maid, Millicent? She’s known all along that you were out there in the woods? She must have known you were there before your father and I were told that you’d run away from school, yet she didn’t say a word.’
Henry could tell that his mother was curbing her anger. He’d seldom seen the full extent of her fury, but recalled that it wasn’t a pleasant sight. He tried to placate her with only half truths that suited him. ‘Don’t be cross with Millicent,’ he said. ‘I begged her not to tell you. I didn’t want to have to deal with Father.’
Philippa nodded. ‘Your father would have sent you straight back to school.’
‘Exactly, Mother. St James’ was the last place I wanted to return to.’
‘How did Millicent know you were in the woods?’
Henry peered over his shoulder at Gertrude, who had followed him into the room. He wasn’t sure how much to reveal. He knew she was a nosey old biddy whose sister lived in the village; he knew that in the end she would wheedle the truth from him. Would it be better, he wondered, to tell the whole truth right from the start, or should he try to spare Juliet the pain?
He could see Juliet on the settee, her eyes red raw from crying, and assumed her tears were for Herbert. Obviously the love Juliet felt for Herbert was genuine.
‘Millicent saw me one day,’ he began slowly, choosing his words with care. ‘I think I was gathering branches to make my hut when she spotted me. I suppose I was a bit careless. She came to see what I was doing, so I told her everything and she promised not to say anything to anyone.’
Henry could see Gertrude squinting at him suspiciously, and he cursed his stupidity, remembering what he’d said outside only minutes ago. He prayed that she wouldn’t question him in front of her niece. He’d met Juliet a few times in the past and liked her enough that he didn’t want to hurt her any more than necessary. Maybe she didn’t need to know the truth about Herbert? Perhaps if he could talk to Gertrude in private then they could come to some kind of mutual understanding.
Herbert Carter hadn’t deserved someone as lovely as Juliet, although he hadn’t deserved to die either. Murder wasn’t the sweet revenge Henry would have chosen to wreak upon Herbert; it would have been enough to have stolen Juliet away from him – and given the chance, Henry had no doubt in his mind that’s precisely what he would have done.
Not that any romance could ever have genuinely developed between them.
‘Lady Castleford,’ Gertrude said softly, ‘I believe that the Chief Inspector has a few things he wishes to speak to your son about, but we
thought Henry might prefer to have a bath and perhaps some decent rest before answering any questions.’
Philippa nodded. ‘I think that sounds like an excellent idea.’ She took her son’s arm. ‘Come on, Henry. I’ll get one of the maids to draw you a bath, and I’ll get Cook to prepare you something. You must be starving.’
‘Actually, I’ve eaten quite well.’
Philippa arched an eyebrow. ‘Really? Has Millicent been bringing you food?’
‘Not exactly, Mother. I’ve been – how shall I say it – foraging for food locally.’
Philippa held up her hand. ‘I think it best that I don’t know the facts, darling. Come along.’ She guided him from the room, closing the door softly behind them.
When they were gone, Gertrude and the Brigadier exchanged glances over Juliet’s head.
The Brigadier said: ‘That boy’s hiding something.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Gertrude solemnly. ‘I have a few ideas, but I think we should wait until the Chief Inspector is able to question him before we start jumping to any conclusions.’
‘If he’s been hiding out in the woods then I reckon he knows who’s been killing his father’s birds.’
Lost in thought, Gertrude absentmindedly agreed with the Brigadier’s words. She hadn’t really heard what he had said. She was too busy mulling over in her mind the facts and theories she had discussed with Chief Inspector Lennox. Small fragments of the mystery gradually drew together. There were still some facets of the puzzle that eluded her, but they would come in time. A few gentle words with Henry once he was rested would answer a few of them: of that Gertrude was certain.
And then there was his curious statement concerning Millicent. Outside, Henry had implicitly implied that both Herbert and Millicent knew he was hiding in the copse, and that the pair had their own secret – one which had caused Herbert’s death and put Millicent in danger.
However, in front of the others he had as good as stated that Millicent alone knew of his whereabouts, and Gertrude wondered why he had chosen to lie.
Was it to protect Juliet?
If Herbert had been up to no good, then it was nice of Henry to want to spare Juliet the truth. Somehow, though, Gertrude felt Henry had an ulterior motive for his latter reticence.
Was he perhaps trying to protect Herbert’s sister?
If Millicent and Herbert had been involved in something that put their lives in danger – which wasn’t in doubt considering Herbert’s murder – and Henry knew about it, then revealing such a fact might put his own life in jeopardy.
Especially if the person who killed Herbert was in the room at the time!
Gertrude glanced around. Apart from herself and Juliet, the other occupants within the room at the time had been the Brigadier and Lady Castleford.
She didn’t think Brigadier Barrington-Smythe capable of murder: he seemed a relatively feeble old man, and the blow struck to the side of Herbert’s head had been dealt with considerable force.
It was equally unlikely that Lady Castleford had killed her husband: and if she hadn’t killed him then it was equally unlikely that she had killed Herbert.
That left two possibilities: one – that Henry had committed the deed; two – that Juliet had done it.
She could see the motive for Henry’s anger towards his father: rage at being sent to quite possibly the strictest school in England.
But was that motive for murder?
And what of Herbert? Perhaps he had witnessed the crime? Maybe his murder was to silence him?
It was a more likely scenario than the other option as far as Gertrude was concerned.
Juliet.
She glanced down at her niece. The young girl sat on the settee, occasional sobs still emanating from her chest.
Were they sobs of guilt?
Had Juliet found out something about Herbert? Was his secret the motive for his murder? Juliet had certainly been in the right place to commit the deed.
Why would she have killed Lord Castleford though?
Gertrude shook her head. There was no immediately apparent motive for Herbert’s murder. She was jumping wildly to conclusions, and she was adamant that they were the wrong conclusions. No: neither Henry nor Juliet was guilty. She would have to wait. Chief Inspector Lennox would find out what Henry had been referring to, and then they would look elsewhere for a motive.
In the meantime, Henry had implicated Millicent by nature of his proclamation that her life might now be in danger.
Perhaps the time had come to have a chat with Herbert’s sister.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Millicent Carter, mindful of what Mr Jackson had said to her earlier, diligently went about her daily duties. She had no desire to give him cause for her dismissal. She wanted to leave of her own accord when the timing was right, and she had to be careful not to draw attention to her actions. It wouldn’t do to have her plans ruined by carelessness.
Millicent’s mind wandered. There had been a lot of commotion from the adjoining rooms, and she fleetingly glimpsed Juliet being escorted into the drawing room. There had been a flurry of movement in and out of the house, which she had tried her best to ignore, but Juliet’s presence unnerved her.
Juliet, as Millicent knew, was Herbert’s fiancée. They had met several times since Herbert’s engagement to her, and although Millicent liked Juliet well enough, she was ill-at-ease with the impending nuptials. Juliet wasn’t right for her brother. He needed someone of higher standing; someone not local. Millicent felt adamant that her brother would have been better served waiting until after they had moved away from the area before securing a fiancée.
Herbert was in danger of ruining her well laid plans.
And where was he anyway?
As she finished cleaning the grate in Lady Castleford’s bedroom and began building the fire to be lit later that evening, Millicent realised she hadn’t heard from her brother for a couple of days.
Her strategy had progressed to the point where they needed to start making plans for their departure from Upper Castleford. They had to decide where they would go to make their fresh start.
As far away from this hellhole as possible, she thought irately as she piled the logs onto the grate. I will never again work for anyone else, and I will certainly never again live a life of drudgery.
All her plans would come to nought without Herbert, though. She needed him. He had been her rock throughout their lives. Their childhood hadn’t exactly been pleasant; the tyranny of their father’s alcohol-fuelled bullying had led to a level of violence from which only Herbert had protected her. Their life in service had come as a way of escape. It hadn’t helped their mother, who they’d been left behind to suffer further at her husband’s hand.
Their father was now long dead, and it was Millicent’s one regret that she and Herbert had been unable to bring their mother with them.
Dear Mummy, you’d have been proud of what I have done with Herbert’s help. If you’d still been alive we would have shared with you our glory.
Millicent’s reverie was rudely interrupted by the door to Lady Castleford’s bedroom being thrown open. She stood up, expecting to see Mr Jackson standing in the doorway. She’d had a ready excuse for her tardiness poised on the tip of her tongue, knowing full well that she should have finished in the bedroom some half an hour ago.
She was a little surprised and perturbed to see Gertrude standing there. ‘Are you looking for a particular room, Miss?’ she said, wiping her hands on her apron.
‘Actually, I think it’s you I’m looking for,’ said Gertrude, stepping into the room. ‘Are you Millicent, Lady Castleford’s maid? The butler said I’d probably find her here in this room.’
‘Well then, you’ve found me.’ Millicent wasn’t at all pleased that Mr Jackson believed she would still be in Her Ladyship’s room: it implied yet again that he felt she was being tardy.
Gertrude closed the door behind her. The latch clicked softly in the silence. ‘If I might
have a few words the, Millicent?’
The gulf of silence drowned the elder woman and Millicent; a deathly quiet that unnerved the maid. Unsure whether the old woman was expecting her to speak first, she remained tight-lipped.
‘You know who I am, I presume, Millicent?’
Gertrude’s sudden words startled the maid, who choked on a mouthful of bile that had arisen. She didn’t know why the old woman’s presence so unsettled her. It was almost like she was a harbinger of doom. Momentarily unable to formulate words herself, Millicent was relieved when Gertrude spoke again.
‘My name is Gertrude Harrington. Your brother was engaged to my niece, Juliet.’
Millicent coughed loudly to clear her throat, shrewdly picking up on Gertrude’s use of the past tense. ‘I know who you are, Miss. So, has my brother finally seen sense? Has he abandoned his insane desire to marry Juliet? Are you here to try and get me to change his mind?’
Gertrude shook her head, her stern features softening as she indicated that they should be seated on Lady Castleford’s chaise-lounge at the foot of the bed.
Millicent made her reticence clear enough by refusing to sit. ‘That’s not appropriate,’ she said in a small voice, as though afraid to speak out of turn in the bedroom of her mistress. ‘I don’t think we should be in here really, now that I’ve finished with my chores.’
Gertrude smiled gently, patting the chaise beside her. ‘Under the circumstances, I really don’t think Lady Castleford will mind. We need to talk, and we need to have a quiet space to ourselves. This is the perfect place. Now please, come and sit beside me.’
Something in Gertrude’s tone impelled Millicent to comply. ‘Why do you want to speak with me? If Herbert’s hurt Juliet by calling off their engagement, then I’m very sorry. I really like your niece, but–’
Gertrude placed a hand on Millicent’s arm and interrupted softly. ‘Herbert is dead.’
Death on Swift Wings (Gertrude Harrington Mysteries Book 1) Page 19