The House on Vesper Sands

by Paraic O?Donnell

  ‘What trouble?’ Octavia said. ‘What did you come here to do?’

  He gave her a look of mocking sorrow. ‘Oh, Wavy. You poor darling. Haven’t you guessed?’

  She glanced at the pistol, then scanned the windows again, searching the greyness for movement. ‘There are others who know,’ she said. ‘They’re probably here already.’

  ‘Oh, they are. I wanted everyone here, where it’s nice and quiet. One can kill people in London, of course, but it’s always such a production. There’s just so much to think of. Whereas in the country, well – there aren’t so many distractions. One can get things done. Of course, it’s tiresome all the same. You mustn’t think it’s what I wanted. I mean, I’m awfully fond of you still. I had other hopes for you, dear heart. I had other hopes for us. But you will insist on finding things out, won’t you?’

  ‘The policemen. There are two policemen here. If you – if there is shooting, it will bring them running.’

  ‘Well, a policeman and a half, perhaps. But yes, they will make an appearance, I’m sure. Inspector Cutter, I’m afraid, has no great gift for looking the other way. It can be rather trying.’

  ‘But they’re policemen, for God’s sake. And Scotland Yard knows they’re here. You said so yourself, after the second death at Strythe House.’

  ‘I say lots of things, darling. The second death at Strythe House was a bit of housekeeping, nothing more. Carew had been indiscreet, I rather suspect, or might have been later. No, our friends are a long way from home and haven’t troubled to inform their superiors of their whereabouts. No one will be looking for them here.’

  ‘He was right about you,’ Octavia said softly.

  ‘Who was?’ Elf affected detachment still, but there was a sourness in his expression. ‘Your secret correspondent? Your brother? You think they know me? That I have permitted anyone to know me?’

  ‘I do. I know you. All your deceit, all your lies. Did you think you were so very brilliant? I may not have known what you were hiding, but I knew you were always hiding something. Always. And there were things you couldn’t hide. The emptiness at the core of you. You couldn’t hide it because you didn’t recognise it. But I did. It’s why I refused you.’

  His sneer was undisguised. ‘You? Refused me? What can you be talking about?’

  ‘Yes, you tried to hide that too, didn’t you? To make a grand joke of it, as if the very notion were ridiculous. But you can’t let it go, can you? That’s why you taunt me still, about my birth. About how well I might have married. You thought you could become someone, didn’t you, if I loved you. Someone real. But you never did. You never will.’

  He looked away for a moment, and released a long sigh. ‘Perhaps you are right, Wavy. Perhaps you are right, after all. I hardly know any longer. I admit I’ve never had your charming conviction in the matter of what is true and what is not. But it hardly seems to matter now.’

  He stood up. His movements were unrushed, almost ceremonial. ‘Perhaps you ought to close your eyes, old thing.’

  ‘You loved me, Elf, but I never loved you. There was nothing to love.’

  She closed her eyes. For a long time, there was only the sound of the rain.

  When Lady Ada turned at last from the window, she held something before her, suspended on a fine chain. ‘Do you know what this is?’ she said. ‘It is a key. It is a key that my brother wore about his neck, and which I removed from his body earlier this morning with the inspector’s permission. It is the key to the gates of this cursed place, which he chained up almost thirty years since.’

  ‘If I may, madam,’ Cutter interjected. ‘You have not forgotten, I hope, that you undertook to give me the key when our business here is finished. It may be submitted in evidence.’

  ‘Yes, yes, Inspector. I have not forgotten. You need not remind me how little the world is changed. When one man dies, another is always at hand to take possession of the keys. A woman is never long without a keeper.’

  Cutter frowned and cleared his throat. ‘I have no authority to detain you, madam, nor any intention of doing so. You are suspected of no offence.’

  ‘You mistake my meaning, Inspector. You spend your days taking up thieves and murderers. It is natural that you have a simple view of such things. It is an easy matter, after all, to deprive a man of his liberty. He is put behind high walls, since he would otherwise climb over them. The window of his cell is barred, since he would smash a pane of glass without effort, and he is kept behind an iron door, so that he cannot batter it down. If you wish to understand the brutal force that men possess, you need only look at the measures that must be taken to imprison them.

  ‘But when a man wishes to imprison a woman, Inspector, he need go to no such lengths. My brother put a chain on the gates because it amused him to do so. It is an additional inconvenience, certainly, since I cannot come and go by carriage, but there is nothing to keep me from leaving by the wicket gate. I am quite capable, I assure you, of walking all the way to Dover. But what good would it do me? I could not pay my passage abroad. I could scarcely afford to go into a tea-room. My brother’s hirelings have long since tied up what is rightfully mine. Now that he is dead, perhaps, I may have some recourse at last, but until now I have relied upon the pittance he disburses for my upkeep, and even that is administered by Mrs Cornish.

  ‘My brother reduced me to this state, Inspector, with no more than a few strokes of his pen. He accused me as only a woman may be accused, and he did so in the full knowledge that his charges would be laid before other men very like himself. You may wonder at this, perhaps. I am a gentlewoman, you may say, the daughter of an earl. But the truth is that I might just as well have been a village girl, brought up before the witchfinder.

  ‘He had my journals admitted in evidence. I’d kept them for years. I documented things, you see. My father had encouraged it. I would go botanising, and so on. I was very meticulous. And I recorded them, all the bright ones I saw, whatever particulars of their lives I could come by. There were certain speculations, of course, as to the nature of their condition. And that wasn’t all.

  ‘The brightness, this phenomenon. It wasn’t the only thing that drew me to certain young women. I hope I need not say more. I make no apology for my nature. In any case, I was meticulous, as I mentioned. I recorded my observations in considerable detail, and such small encounters as I could contrive. I recorded those too. You begin to see, I suppose, how all this might have appeared.

  ‘He found a sympathetic ear upon the bench, of course. It was not even considered necessary to call me before the court, since by then my confinement had begun. My father being for some years dead, my brother was given unchecked power over my affairs, a power he did not stint to exercise.

  ‘I tell you all this, Inspector, because I know that it was my brother’s acts that brought you here, and that brought this man Neuilly here. I have told you all I know. I knew what he was capable of, I knew of his obsessions, but I knew no more than that. He would appear at odd intervals, always unannounced, and I would be confined to my rooms by those dreadful lackeys of his. The Cornish woman and her simpleton of a son. I wish I knew more, Inspector. Upon my life, I would gladly offer you any scrap that might damn his name, but I can think of nothing else.’

  ‘Thank you, madam. It was no easy matter, I’m sure, to give us the account you did, and it may aid us more than you think.’

  ‘As to the rest,’ Neuilly said, rising from his chair, ‘I believe I may now do my part. First, there are things I must show you. If I might have the use of this table, madam?’

  Lady Ada raised her cane in assent.

  He drew a packet from his coat, and from it he produced a number of documents and photographs. ‘I obtained these yesterday,’ he said. ‘From a man on the train from London. There were other items of a similar kind, but it was necessary to show those to another person. That person is now on her way here, or so I hope, as is another less welcome visitor. Listen now, all of you, we may have only
a little time.’

  The noise. It was obliterating and complete. Afterwards, in the ruptured darkness, she felt nothing. There was a stillness, that was all, and a strange ease that kept her from pain or fear. Perhaps it was always so, at the end. Perhaps there was always this mercy.

  ‘There now,’ said the voice.

  She stirred, sought his shape in the smeared light. She felt herself enclosed, made weightless. ‘Georgie?’

  ‘There now, sister.’ He set her gently on her feet, keeping an arm about her. ‘Mind how you go on the way out. There is a good deal of broken glass.’

  ‘Georgie, is he—’

  He guided her from the summerhouse, settling her coat about her shoulders. ‘Gone, the bastard. I clipped his wing for him, but he got off before I could do more.’

  ‘But the noise, the shot. I thought he had … that I was …’

  ‘My boarding pistol, which between ourselves I have never fired in anger before now. It is an ancient thing – I bought it from a disrated master at Portsmouth – and none too accurate by the looks of it. Or I am a poor shot, one or the other.’

  ‘But I left you behind, at the gates.’

  ‘What do you take me for, Octavia Hillingdon, to think I would not follow you? It was only that I took a moment to stow the bags out of the weather. And I will own that I could not get my bearings for a time. It is a puzzle of a place, this garden, though it seems full of nothing, and the rough weather is no help. It has the makings of an honest squall. But hold up now, there is a fellow coming from the house at a fair clip. He is a stern-looking cove, by God.’

  ‘You there,’ the man called out, coming to a halt a little way off. ‘State your business here, and be brisk about it. I am Inspector Cutter of the Metropolitan Police, and you are trespassing here at the very least. State your business now.’

  ‘Good morning, Inspector.’ She stood fully upright, though she felt a little unsteady, and offered him her hand. ‘My name is Octavia Hillingdon, and this is my brother, George. I am here—’

  ‘Your name has just come up, Miss Hillingdon. You are expected, it seems. But no brother was mentioned.’

  ‘Lieutenant Hillingdon, sir, of the Royal Navy. I hope I see you well.’

  Cutter gave a guarded nod. ‘Another man was mentioned, who might be in your company. A Marquess, among other things.’

  ‘He was here, sir.’ Georgie’s expression darkened. ‘I came upon him just now in that summerhouse, menacing my sister with a gun. I had a go at him with my boarding pistol, but I was firing through a window. I did him some damage, but I’m sorry to say it was no more than that. He’s made himself scarce for now.’

  ‘You needn’t be too sorry, Lieutenant. I have evidence before me of conspiracy in upwards of half a dozen murders. I have one suspect dead already, and I mean to put the other in the dock. Put your pistol away, like a good man. There is too much shooting and wandering the grounds for my liking. Come, you may tell me the rest while we walk. I will be easier in my mind when we are back indoors.’

  When Cutter had returned with the new arrivals, there was a good deal of business to be attended to. There were introductions to be made, but he would not permit much in the way of ceremony. Lady Ada had other ideas, however. Although she scarcely acknowledged the lieutenant, she was most solicitous towards Miss Hillingdon.

  ‘It is a shame you cannot see it, Inspector. She is not quite like Angela, of course, but her light is bewitching all the same. There is something almost autumnal about it. Forgive me, dear, if I embarrass you. I have been starved of such wonders for so very long. You must have some tea, of course. Or should you prefer whisky?’

  ‘I am sorry for it, madam,’ Cutter said, ‘but our new guests must do without for now. Miss Hillingdon has been giving me the bones of what happened in the summerhouse. We need not go into every detail, but it seems you were right to have a low opinion of Mrs Cornish and her boy. I intend to lock them in your cellar for the duration. I have quite enough to occupy me without looking over my shoulder for those two. Bliss, is there any sign yet of the girl?’

  ‘No, sir. I will go out now and look again. I was only waiting for you to return.’

  ‘No, Bliss. It is best that you stay put for now. There is a man loose about the grounds, and I do not like the sound of him a bit. Make a circuit of the main rooms. Be sure the doors are locked and the windows fastened. When you have done that, you may keep watch at the French doors. They command the widest view of the grounds. Lieutenant, you might take up station there in the meantime, and keep a hand to your weapon.’

  Cutter had already returned when Gideon completed his rounds. He was conferring now with Gideon’s uncle, while Lady Ada kept Miss Hillingdon in animated conversation.

  ‘I am trying to get the measure of them, Neuilly,’ Cutter was saying. ‘Or of the man who is still standing, at least. They dogged your steps for years, it seems, but never revealed themselves until the night Miss Tatton was taken. Do not take it amiss. I am only trying to account for it in my own mind.’

  ‘No, Inspector, I do not blame you. The same questions have preoccupied me. In the end I believe it was a simple matter. I had failed in my vigilance, in the past. There were other girls I cared for, as I mentioned, before Miss Tatton. It grieves me to think of it now, but it seems to me in hindsight that there was more I could have done. They took the others while my attention was elsewhere, and I vowed that I would not fail Miss Tatton in the same way. But Strythe and Hartington had grown impatient, it seems. She was unique, you see. Brighter than the rest. They would not wait. They decided to take us both.’

  ‘Forgive me, Reverend,’ Miss Hillingdon interrupted. ‘I spoke to Mrs Campion, who kept the boarding house. She said that Miss Tatton had been on an outing that evening. That she went out alone, to the best of her knowledge.’

  Neuilly gave a sad smile. ‘An outing, yes. To feed the ducks in St James’s Park. She had a great fondness for them.’

  Gideon had crossed to the window, but he turned at this and quietly lowered his head.

  ‘I could have forbidden it, perhaps, but the poor girl had few enough pleasures in the world. Why shouldn’t she have her outings? I asked Mrs Campion only to fix the times, and to keep to them strictly. In that way, I could be sure of keeping watch. I followed her, you see. Discreetly, or so I thought. But I was seen.

  ‘They took me first, and brought me to the church – to St Anne’s, nephew, where you later discovered her – and they bound me until they returned with her. They had begun dosing her already, those demons. It had made her faint, but she saw me there, just as she was meant to, so that each of us would know the worst at the end. Strythe left then, for his grand engagement, meaning to conclude the whole filthy ceremony at his leisure. Hartington too.’

  Miss Hillingdon sat up at this. ‘He must have known you, then. You must have known he would recognise you, when you came into our compartment on the train. Were you not at all fearful?’

  Neuilly gave a rueful nod. ‘Greatly so, miss, but the Lord granted me just enough courage, and directed the outcome as I had prayed he would. You see, I had staked all on the hope that he would attempt nothing in your presence, and so it proved.’

  ‘If we might return to the events in the church,’ Cutter said. ‘They left someone in charge, I take it, having gone to so much trouble?’

  ‘Indeed, Inspector. A sexton in their employ was left to watch over Miss Tatton; they had used that place before, I believe.’

  ‘And you, uncle?’ Gideon said. ‘You were not there when I found her. What had they done with you?’

  ‘They were agitated when they returned. Miss Tull, by then, had carried out her plan, though I did not come to know of it until much later. She had come to me, some time before, in torment and in fear of her life. I was grateful to her, God knows, and commended her courage, but I warned her against approaching me again, fearing that we would be observed. She told me that she saw a way – a way they would not discover un
til it was too late – to unmask those she feared and frustrate their plans. She would say no more than that, and I did not press her. I did not know the nature of her sacrifice, that night in the church, but it was plain to me that she had succeeded in her designs. They were at odds with one another, and uncertain of how to proceed. Poor Miss Tatton was unconscious, but she had received only a partial dose, and they could not predict what might happen if they waited longer. The sexton was to stand guard, and was to secure her somewhere out of sight if they did not return. I was dragged out to a carrier’s cart that was waiting in the yard. The driver was not expecting to haul away anyone living, I believe, but he knew enough to stand apart and to look the other way. He was a regular hireling too, perhaps.’

  ‘Devlin and Sons,’ Miss Hillingdon said. ‘I went to their yard, by London Bridge Station.’

  ‘Yes, it was there that I managed to free myself, but it was only by the grace of God, for I was not meant ever to stir again. Outside the church they hauled me atop the cart and bundled me into a great chest. Strythe showed me a glass phial then, and said that he would unstop it before he nailed the box shut. It was coarser stuff than they had given to Miss Tatton – that would not be wasted on the likes of me – and it was meant for a cruder purpose. If I was going to pray, he said, I might do it then while I still had the breath in my body.’

  ‘Devlin and Sons.’ Lady Ada echoed the words. ‘Forgive me, Neuilly, it has just returned to me. On those occasions when he came here, when they locked me away upstairs – I saw them, those carriers’ carts, but they were driven somewhere out of sight. Valuables, the Cornish woman said. The master has valuables that want storing. And he did keep things here, objects that he’d acquired for his collections. The place is filled with them. But I ought to have known. May God forgive me.’