‘Not at night, surely?’ she said sharply. ‘Unless it was clear and there was a moon, of course.’
He bowed, acknowledging the point. ‘Soresby could see nothing of any consequence, madam, but he could hear well enough. He heard footsteps and voices below in the garden.’
‘You say he was not well. Perhaps he had a fever. Perhaps he was imagining it.’
‘I do not think so. And nor, I think, did Dr Carbury. After all, by your own admission, Dr Carbury had already reprimanded you for walking in the garden at night.’
She sat up and glared at him. ‘If you mean to accuse me of something, sir, pray do not beat about the bush.’
‘Mr Soresby was referring to the night of Mrs Whichcote’s death,’ Holdsworth said. ‘Gradually he realized the possible significance of what he had heard. About a fortnight ago, he took his story to Dr Carbury, who told him he must have been mistaken. And in the next breath he offered Mr Soresby the reversion of the Rosington Fellowship.’
With an enormous effort of will, Elinor set her cup down on the table without spilling any tea. ‘I need hardly say that if Mr Soresby insinuates that I was outside at any time that night, it is either a terrible mistake or a gross fabrication.’
‘Why should he lie?’
She forced a laugh. ‘To gain advantage for himself. And it answered admirably, did it not? He’s poor, and he sought to improve his situation. I cannot blame him for that. But I do blame him for slandering me, even by implication. And I blame my husband for believing him.’
‘Madam, I do not believe it was a slander. He said the first thing he heard was a howl that chilled the blood, the cry of a woman in distress. It seemed to come from near the garden door to the Lodge.’
‘And clanking chains, no doubt, and spectral groans. This becomes more ridiculous with every word you say.’
Holdsworth moved away from the window and put down his cup on the writing table. The cup toppled over, and tea flooded across the leather top. He ignored it. She held her breath. She wondered whether he were drunk.
He sat down so suddenly beside her that the chair lurched beneath his weight. He leaned towards her. ‘I will tell you what I think happened: Sylvia Whichcote came here that night, fleeing from her husband’s brutality. She used her own key to let herself in by your private gate from Jerusalem Lane. She came along the flagged path at the back of the house to the garden door. Of course it was locked and bolted. But your bedchamber, madam, is above it. I think she tried desperately to attract your attention – perhaps she threw earth and gravel at your window? And perhaps the cry that Soresby heard was one of terror and frustration when Mrs Whichcote believed she had failed to rouse you. But she hadn’t.’
‘I find that Mr Soresby is not the only one with a lively imagination.’
‘What else would she have done? Having stayed at the house so often, she knew where the bedchambers were. Besides, where else could she hope to find sanctuary but with you? You were her friend.’
My friend.
The words burned into Elinor’s mind like acid on a metal plate. She stood up, moving so clumsily that she jolted the table with the tea things. ‘I had thought you had more penetration, Mr Holdsworth.’
He too rose to his feet. But he did not speak.
‘I loved her and I despised her,’ Elinor said. ‘Sylvia was all impulse and sentiment and vanity. A handsome face or an ardent compliment could turn her head in a moment and fire her appetite. That’s why she married Mr Whichcote. And that’s why she flung herself at Frank.’ She was crying now, the warm tears running silently down her cheeks. ‘She was such a giddy creature, always chasing after a new bauble. For all her winning ways I think she never really cared for anyone. But she always came back to me in the end. Ever since we were children. Because she knew I would not desert her. She knew me, and I knew her.’
She turned away from him and wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. He said nothing. His silence is a blunt instrument, she thought, and I do believe the hateful man will bludgeon me to death with it.
‘Is that all?’ she said, turning back to him. ‘Or does the young fool claim he heard more?’
‘Mr Soresby says he heard movement below – with hindsight he believes it was the sound of a struggle. And later there were other sounds on the gravel path towards the pond. The next morning Mrs Whichcote’s body was found in the water. But Tom T—, that is to say, the night-soil man, picked up her slippers on the flagstones by the house. Not far from the garden door, as it happens.’
‘Her slippers? What’s this?’
‘You will recall that no shoes were found on or near the body. Mr Archdale and Mr Frank retrieved Mrs Whichcote’s slippers from Mrs Tom on Wednesday.’
‘This is a farrago of nonsense. You must see that.’ Elinor sat down again, because otherwise she feared her legs might give way. She squeezed the damp handkerchief into a tight, hard ball. ‘For a start, why did neither of them mention these interesting … inventions and discoveries at the time?’
‘Soresby is a timid and friendless young man. He assumed that some private business of Dr Carbury’s –’
‘Private business! Fudge!’
‘He is poor and afraid, ma’am. He dared not speak out and risk the Master’s wrath. And in any case he did not know the precise significance of what he had heard. As for the night-soil man, he thought the lady could no longer have need of the slippers, and besides no one was looking for them – so why should not Mrs Tom have the benefit of them? He is convinced that such things come his way as of right.’
‘I can’t believe you condemn me on the basis of such flimsy evidence and from such sources.’
‘Of course I do not condemn you.’ He took a step towards her and for an instant she thought he was about to take her hands. ‘But the evidence cannot be wholly discounted and others may condemn you on the basis of it, even if I do not. Consider, madam – this place at night is a fortress. Your servant’s window looks over the court on the other side of the Lodge, and so does Dr Carbury’s. Yours is the only one that looks over the garden. If someone came out to Mrs Whichcote, they will say, who could it have been but you?’
‘And you, sir? What do you say?’
He stared grim-faced at her. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, sir, so now I know where I stand. You have judged me and found me wanting. But now it is your turn: so have the goodness to consider this.’ Her temper had slipped away from her without her noticing, and she was furiously angry. ‘It appears that others leave this house at night. In March my maid slipped out of the garden door on at least two occasions to meet her lover, Dr Carbury’s manservant. Their rendezvous was under the plane tree by the pond. On the first occasion, he had his way with her. On the second, she was before her time, and she met someone else at the rendezvous. Or rather he blundered into her. Frank Oldershaw.’
‘Good God! The ghost? But the cloak – the clasp?’
‘The gardener found the cloak the morning after Sylvia died and brought it to me. No one else had a need for it, and it was quite new. Sylvia had not had it more than a day or two. In the end I gave it to my maid. The foolish girl dotes on it. And the clasp was in the form of the letter S, if you remember. My maid is called Susan, so in a way it seemed providential.’
‘The cloak?’ Holdsworth’s eyes widened. ‘The cloak? Madam, I have been such a fool –’
There was a sudden racket outside, footsteps running along the passageway. The door was flung open, and Susan herself was on the threshold.
‘Oh, ma’am, you best come quick.’
48
The combination room was a scholarly beehive, humming with speculations and subdued excitement. Everyone knew that Dr Milton was at the Master’s bedside and that the chaplain had called at the Lodge to read the Order for the Visitation of the Sick, including the Commendatory Prayer for a person on the point of departure.
Mr Richardson presided at supper with a long and sorrowful face. Afterwards, as
they sat over their wine, the tutor took the chair next to Holdsworth’s. ‘I wish to take this opportunity to wish you Godspeed, sir. You and Mr Frank will leave too early for me to say farewell in the morning. May I have the honour of a glass of wine with you before you go?’
Richardson accompanied the wine with civil compliments about the benefits that Holdsworth’s visit had brought to both Frank and the college. Gradually he moved the conversation to Lady Anne.
‘I know her ladyship will be anxious to hear how Dr Carbury does – she takes such an interest in the affairs of the college. And it is wise that she should be forewarned, is it not? It is, I am afraid, more than possible that the prayers of Dr Carbury’s friends will not be answered and that a melancholy eventuality will soon take place – you may even carry the news of it to her yourself. In which case, her ladyship’s counsel will be quite invaluable. She has the experience we need to guide our deliberations – the knowledge of the world – and a mother’s profound understanding of what is best for Jerusalem – so natural, indeed, in one who is a direct descendant of our Founder.’
Holdsworth said he was sure she would do everything that was fitting.
‘If you have the opportunity, my dear sir,’ Richardson continued, ‘I should be greatly obliged if you would emphasize to her the importance of avoiding a lengthy interregnum in the Master’s Lodge. I fear Dr Carbury has let matters slide during his illness, and the fellowship needs a master who knows the college, and who can be trusted to direct its affairs with decision. My friends tell me I should allow my name to go forward but I think our best plan is to rely on her ladyship’s benevolence. If matters come to the crisis we fear, I am persuaded that we may depend upon her to lead us safely through our difficulties.’
Holdsworth bowed, acknowledging what Richardson had said, but not committing himself either way.
‘What a sad time this is for Jerusalem!’ Richardson glanced piously upwards. ‘Of course we must not question the ways of Providence. Troubles never come singly, do they? Poor Dr Carbury’s decline is by far the hardest blow to bear. But Mr Whichcote’s misfortunes will have their effect on the college too. Why, the entire University is prattling about that scandalous scene this morning. And outside our very gates!’
‘I suppose the unfortunate Mr Soresby is also weighing on your mind, sir?’ Holdsworth suggested.
‘Ah! That reprobate! Well, he has gained nothing by his treachery. And if poor Dr Carbury dies, he will have lost his only ally. Homo proponit, sed Deus disponit.’
‘Man doesn’t know God’s wishes in the matter, sir,’ Holdsworth said. ‘In which case God must surely intend us to do the best we can with what we have. No charge has been laid against Mr Soresby. I wonder if the facts concerning the theft are not entirely what they seem.’
‘I wish with all my heart that I could believe it,’ Richardson said. ‘But – well, sir, you were there yourself when his crime was discovered.’
‘Yes, but the evidence was in a manner of speaking circumstantial. I cannot help thinking that there might be other explanations. For example, perhaps the evidence was fabricated to discredit him.’ Holdsworth paused, staring into Richardson’s face. ‘By a malicious servant, or some such.’
Richardson looked away. ‘I cannot credit it. Forgive me, sir, this is nothing but wild speculation.’
‘But there is an element of doubt here, sir, you must admit. And it’s a pity to ruin a man’s career, simply for a doubt. Particularly a man like Mr Soresby, who has no resources and so few friends. If the matter were smoothed over, if he were allowed to resume his studies, I am persuaded it would be to the advantage of everyone.’
Richardson studied him. ‘I do not take your meaning.’
‘No scandal would attach to the college. The gesture would be seen as wise and merciful both within the college and by the college’s friends in the greater world. Of course the Rosington Fellowship would be quite another matter – if Dr Carbury dies and there is a new Master, then he may well prefer another candidate when the time comes. No one could blame him for that.’
Richardson shook his head slowly. ‘I think not, Mr Holdsworth. I do not think it would answer.’
Holdsworth bent closer, bringing his mouth close to Richardson’s ear. ‘Richenda,’ he murmured.
The tutor turned his head and looked at Holdsworth. He said nothing. His features were unnaturally still, drained of their usual animation.
‘I am persuaded that such a merciful gesture would earn her ladyship’s approbation,’ Holdsworth went on.
‘But we do not even know where Soresby is.’
‘I think we should be able to lay our hands on him when we need him, sir, without too much difficulty.’ His lips moved silently. Richenda.
‘Perhaps … in that case, perhaps we might be able to do something.’ Richardson leaned closer. ‘Tell me, sir,’ he murmured. ‘A black valise with a crest on it. Does that mean anything to you?’
Holdsworth shook his head. ‘Nothing at all, sir. Nothing in the world.’
Holdsworth did not stay long in the combination room. He went outside, where the rain had stopped and the air was cool and clean, smelling of damp earth. In Chapel Court, he looked into the uncurtained bay window of the combination room. Everyone was at Richardson’s table now and listening avidly to something the tutor was saying.
From the far side of the court came the sound of singing. Holdsworth walked towards it. The noise came from Frank’s rooms. He could not make out the words but he recognized the tune from that first evening when he had walked with Mr Richardson in the garden at Jerusalem.
Jerry Carbury is merry
Tell his servant bring his hat
For ’ere the evening is done
He’ll surely shoot the cat.
There was a burst of cheering and laughter. Holdsworth hung back in the shadows of the arcade, where a solitary lamp burned above the chapel doorway. He heard footsteps and two young men emerged into the court and walked unsteadily towards the next staircase. The supper party was ending. Holdsworth waited a moment and went up to Frank’s rooms. Archdale and the others had already left, and Frank was by himself, sitting by the window in his shirtsleeves and drinking brandy.
‘Holdsworth, my friend,’ he said, stumbling over the words. ‘My dear, dear friend. A toast, sir. I insist.’
‘It is getting late, Mr Oldershaw. The chaise will be at –’
‘No, no. Charge your glass. Damn me, you’re a fine fellow. Wait till we get back to London and I shall show my gratitude.’
‘I’ve found your ghost.’
Frank rose to his feet. ‘Are you – are you gone mad?’
‘No, sir. To be blunt, you stumbled into a little maidservant waiting for her lover under the tree, and she was too terrified of the consequences to tell the world what had happened. That’s your ghost. That’s your Sylvia.’
‘No, no – you’re bamming me. I don’t believe you. The cloak, the clasp –’
‘Were Sylvia’s. You were right there, at least.’ Holdsworth stared and stared at his own dark reflection in the windowpane by Frank’s head. ‘They found the cloak in the garden on the morning after Mrs Whichcote died. Mrs Carbury gave it to her maid. There’s no mystery about it, except in your mind.’
Frank sat down. ‘But I was so sure.’
‘Perhaps because you felt so guilty.’
‘Of course – first that girl at the club, then poor Sylvia falling foul of that brute of a husband –’
‘I don’t mean that.’
Frank poured himself more brandy and drank it off. ‘Well, it’s all done with now, ain’t it? And tomorrow we’ll be in London. You know, I don’t think I shall come back to the University – it don’t suit me, you see, and I don’t suit it.’
Holdsworth had the sensation that he stood at a crossroads. Behind him was the past, and before him was a multiplicity of futures, most of them dark and unattractive. He felt tired and angry and full of regret. ‘On the nigh
t Sylvia died, someone heard a struggle at the back of the Master’s Lodge. Her slippers were later found near by. She was with someone. I think it was you, Mr Oldershaw.’
‘What? You are mad. You must be.’
‘How else could you know which cloak she was wearing? Even the shape of the clasp on the cloak? No one else mentioned it. And of course she would have wanted you to escort her through the streets. Who better to escort her than her lover?’
Frank stared up at him. ‘You’re a fool, Holdsworth, as well as mad. Did you know that? Don’t you know I shall ruin you?’
‘A witness heard a scream. Was she going to wake the college, Mr Oldershaw, and make a scandal about her husband? And no doubt you feared what her ladyship would say. She is an indulgent mother but even her indulgence must have its limits. Perhaps you tried to hush Mrs Whichcote and you succeeded too well. I cannot think you wanted to kill her.’
‘This is – this is nonsense. I cannot now recall who told me about the cloak – Dr Carbury, perhaps, or one of the college servants. But someone did. They must have done.’
At the door, Holdsworth looked back. He had nothing to lay before a magistrate but a cluster of suspicions. ‘You kept a cool head,’ he said. ‘You must have locked the Master’s gate behind you and thrown away Sylvia’s key as you fled back to Lambourne house.’
Frank was staring at him, red-faced, with the empty glass in his hand. He looked a child again, and on the verge of tears. ‘Damn you,’ he said. ‘She said I must make Whichcote divorce her, and that I must marry her.’
‘Well?’
‘But it was quite impossible. Her ladyship would have prevented it. And besides …’
‘Besides what?’ Holdsworth said quietly.
Frank shrugged. ‘She was only a woman, after all. She was older than me – she had no fortune – no connections. No, no – it would not have done. You must see that.’
The Anatomy of Ghosts Page 40