by Dawn Harris
It was some five years since Richard Tanfield, a captain in the Royal Navy, had brought Julia back to the Island as his bride, and in that time she and I had become the greatest of friends. Richard owned Breighton House, just a mile from Westfleet, and I had known and liked him all my life. He and Julia were around my own age, and their son, Edward, almost three now, was my godson. It seemed a long time since I had written that letter, giving Julia the official version of what had happened to Jeffel.
My housekeeper went on, ‘Mrs. Tanfield gathered everyone together, right down to the gardener’s boys. No-one was missed. She read out your letter, just as you wanted. None of us could believe it. It must have been terrible for you, my lady.’
‘I shall never forget it,’ I agreed sadly.
‘Poor Mr. Jeffel. It won’t be the same without him.’
‘No,’ I sighed. ‘It won’t.’
‘Mrs. Tanfield was that upset too. All concern for you, my lady, with never a thought for her own loss.’
I caught my breath in alarm. ‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘Of course, you won’t know,’ she said, not quite managing to hide her eagerness at being the one to impart this sad news. ‘She told me herself there was no point writing when you were about to come home. She feels it deeply, my lady, as I’m sure I don’t need to tell you. Such a likeable young gentleman too.’
My heart pounded with fear. I hadn’t heard of any sea battles with the French, but men could be killed in small skirmishes too. ‘Captain Tanfield – is he---’
‘Oh no, my lady. Captain Tanfield is quite safe.’ I closed my eyes in relief. ‘He’s at Breighton House. He--’
‘At Breighton House?’ I echoed puzzled, for he should have gone to sea early in May.
My uncle said, ‘Didn’t he sail with the Channel Fleet?’
‘No, sir. He had an accident, but he’s recovered now. In fact, he insisted on taking charge of Mr. Jeffel’s funeral.’
‘That was good of him,’ my uncle said.
I looked at my housekeeper. ‘Then who---’
‘It’s Mr. Septimus, my lady.’ Julia’s brother Septimus was an intelligent, studious, rather shy young man of twenty-one with strong beliefs. Poverty, and especially the sight of hungry children, distressed him deeply. When he finished his degree at Oxford he wanted to do something to alleviate such suffering. Then he’d caught the measles and when complications set in, Julia persuaded him to stay with her while he recovered, fitting out a small parlour as a study for him, putting in a desk, chair and bookshelves. I was so stunned I couldn’t speak. ‘It seems he fell over the cliff in the dark. They only buried him on Monday.’
I turned to my uncle, my own distress mirrored in his face. ‘I must go to Julia at once.’
‘Yes, of course, my dear. Don’t worry, I’ll see to everything here.’ He put a comforting hand on my shoulder. ‘Poor Septimus,’ he sighed. ‘Such a nice young man.’
I looked at my travel-stained riding habit. ‘I must wash and change first.’
Somehow I remembered to tell my housekeeper about Mr. Hamerton, and she went off to have the yellow bedchamber prepared for him. Removing my hat, I left it on the hall table, ordered hot water to be taken up to my bedchamber, and sent a message to the stables for Orlando, my favourite horse, to be saddled. Hurrying upstairs I judged I had an hour or two before my aunt and Mr. Hamerton arrived.
Going into my bedchamber I was greeted by the delicious smell of newly polished furniture. While I waited for the hot water I wandered about the room touching all my familiar and most loved possessions, the portraits of my parents on the wall, the ormolu clock I’d brought back from Paris years ago, the first fossil I ever found on the beach, but my mind was on what Julia must be suffering. I thanked heaven that Richard was home to comfort her, and not at sea risking his life fighting the French.
Once I’d made myself more presentable, wishing my maid was here and not still on the road from Cowes, I ran downstairs, picked up my hat from the hall table, put it on and went outside. Orlando, the beautiful grey horse I adored, had been brought up to the house.
He gave a whinny of excited recognition and nuzzled my neck, no doubt expecting a long gallop across the Downs. ‘Not today,’ I sighed regretfully, making a great fuss of him, and said, as if he could understand, ‘Tomorrow morning, I promise.’
Westfleet Manor was to the east of Westfleet village, and Breighton House to the west. Orlando made short work of the long steep hill up to the Tanfield residence, and I handed him over to the servant who came running out as I dismounted outside the main door. The butler, Wade, ushered me into the drawing room and I saw Julia’s strained white face break into a faint smile. ‘Drusilla. Oh, I am so glad to see you.’
‘I came as soon as I heard about Septimus.’ And I begged her to tell me how the accident had happened.
‘It wasn’t an accident, Drusilla,’ she said, urging me to be seated. ‘Septimus was murdered.’
CHAPTER SIX
‘Murdered?’ I gasped, unable to believe what she was saying. For, who could possibly want to kill the kind, gentle, good-natured Septimus?
‘He was found at the bottom of Hokewell cliff.’ Julia, a tall attractive redhead with sparkling green eyes, sat with her hands tightly clasped in her lap. ‘His horse was tied to a gate nearby and it looked as if he’d gone for a walk along the cliff top and either missed his footing, or a piece of cliff had given way under him.’
He wouldn’t be the first to suffer that fate, I thought, with immense sadness, for the cliffs were notoriously treacherous. The pounding of the sea against sandstone and clay could dislodge quite large chunks of cliff, sending them tumbling down onto the sand below.
‘The verdict at the inquest was “Death by Misadventure.” But it wasn’t an accident, Drusilla. I know it wasn’t.’
When I asked why she was so certain, she said, ‘He went to a meeting that night, and if he did stop for a walk afterwards, he would not have gone within ten yards of the cliff edge. Septimus was absolutely petrified of heights.’ Her voice was breaking, and she stopped to calm herself, then said, 'But that’s not all. For about two weeks before he died he was dreadfully jumpy and anxious, and so pre-occupied that sometimes he didn’t hear when I spoke to him. As if his mind was on something else.’
‘You asked him what was wrong?’
‘I begged him to tell me,’ she said in remembered despair. ‘He said all was well. But he was lying. I know he was. If he was murdered Drusilla, I want his killer made to answer for it.’
‘Have you spoken to Roach?’ He was the constable at Dittistone.
‘Yes, but he thought I was just being hysterical. To be fair I was rather overwrought at the time. Richard says I’m talking nonsense and I shouldn’t bother you with it, but I’ve thought and thought and I know I’m right.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Will you help me find out who killed him?’ I was so stunned by such a request, I didn’t answer at once, and she beseeched, ‘Please, Drusilla. You’re the only one who knows how to go about it. Your father told me that you solved most of the mysteries he came across when he was writing his book.’
Whatever the truth of that, there was a huge difference between tracking down a live killer and uncovering the truth about one long dead. If Septimus had been murdered, his killer had nothing to lose by getting rid of anyone discovering his identity. A thought that made me shiver. Nevertheless I told Julia, ‘I can try, but I may fail, or find it was really an accident after all.’
‘I just want the truth, Drusilla.’
Glancing out of the window I saw young Edward playing with his nursemaid in the garden, and needing a moment to gather my thoughts together, I stood watching him, remarking on the amazing energy of my Godson. Turning back I noticed a bowl placed discreetly behind Julia’s chair, and she, observing my puzzlement, explained, ‘Edward is to have a brother or sister in November---’
I clapped my hands together in delight. ‘That’s wonderful news.’
‘Yes, we are very pleased, but I regret to say I am suffering from sickness. It comes on me suddenly and at any time of the day, not just mornings. Hence the bowl. I have to be prepared. Dr Redding says it should pass soon, but I wish to heaven it would hurry up,’ she ended, attempting to make light of the unpleasant time she was clearly enduring.
Before I could ask her anything more about Septimus, the door burst open and Edward came running in. ‘Illa,’ he cried in delight, his early attempt at my name having stuck. He held out his arms to me and I scooped him up and hugged him, burying my face in his soft curls as his chubby arms went round my neck. ‘Illa --- I missed you.’
‘I missed you too.’
‘Come play ring-a-roses. Mama can’t – she’s sick and Papa’s busy. Ple-a-se.’
I looked at Julia, who was watching with a contented smile, and she nodded. To her son, she said, ‘Edward, I wish you would remember that it is Aunt Drusilla.’
‘Yes, Mama,’ he said carelessly as I set him down. Putting his hand in mine he urged, ‘Come on, Illa.’
After an exhausting twenty minutes of dancing round in circles, chanting and falling down, I handed him over to his nursemaid again, and went back to Julia. She laughed as I sank thankfully into a chair. ‘You don’t have to play with him.’
‘I know, but I enjoy it. Everything is incredibly simple to him.’ And my life had suddenly become immensely complicated. Julia was so pale and drawn my heart went out to her. ‘Tell me about Septimus,’ I urged. ‘You said he’d been to a meeting that night.’
‘Yes, with a group of friends. He went every Tuesday.’
‘Where was this?’
‘At an inn, somewhere. He starting going soon after you left for Windsor and always went on horseback, so it wasn’t in the village.’
‘Did you meet any of these friends? Or hear their names?’
‘No. He didn’t talk about it at all, except to say it was a convivial gathering of like-minded people. And I didn’t like to pry. I was just pleased to see him getting out and about again.’
‘When did he start acting oddly? Was it after one of these meetings?’
She thought for a moment. ‘No it wasn’t. He missed a meeting on account of being invited out to dinner. Then, a few days later, he went to Newport to look for a book he particularly wanted. When he came home, it was obvious to me he’d suffered a severe shock. He said he’d fallen off his horse on the way home and hurt his back, but there wasn’t a mark on his clothing. And – and he had this awful stricken look on his face.’ Her bottom lip began to tremble. ‘I – I can’t get that look out of my mind. It haunts me day and night. The thing is, he knew this wretched sickness was getting me down, and that I was worried about Richard, and it’s my belief he did not want to add to my troubles. If only I’d dragged the truth out of him, he might still be alive,’ she ended on a sob.
I put my hand on her arm. ‘You mustn’t blame yourself, Julia. With hindsight we would all do some things differently.’ If I had tackled those two would-be assassins sooner, Jeffel might still be alive. I felt so sorry for Julia. Normally optimistic and cheerful, she’d had to deal with the death of her brother, debilitating sickness, and Richard’s accident. No wonder she was feeling low.
At that moment Richard walked into the room, dressed for riding. I greeted him affectionately, for I had always been fond of him. After thanking him for taking charge of Jeffel’s funeral, I asked how he had come by the fading cuts and bruises on his face.
‘I slipped,’ he explained in the manner of someone weary of repeating the same tale, ‘and fell headlong down a gangway shortly before the channel fleet was due to sail. I knocked myself out, so they took me ashore, and by the time I came round, the fleet had left without me.’
‘You couldn’t have gone,’ Julia pointed out reasonably. ‘You were unconscious.’
‘Indeed,’ he agreed shortly.
‘You must be very disappointed,’ I sympathised, remembering how his eyes had lit up every time he spoke of being involved in the search for the French fleet.
‘Disappointed,’ he repeated, saying the word slowly, his voice full of bitterness. ‘That’s one way of putting it, I suppose.’ I looked at him in surprise. For Richard, normally blessed with a sunny nature, wasn’t easily upset and believed in finding ways to overcome setbacks.
Julia sat beside him and laid her hand over his. ‘It was an accident,’ she reminded him tenderly. ‘Such things happen.’
‘I’d rather not discuss it any more, if you don’t mind.’
And he jumped up. ‘I’ll leave you two to talk. I only came to tell Julia I was going out.’ As if realising how churlish he’d sounded, he attempted to make amends. ‘Please forgive my foul mood, Drusilla. I am delighted to see you. Truly.’
As he shut the door behind him, Julia clearly felt the need to explain his odd behaviour. ‘I was so thankful to have Richard here, safe and sound and I thought he’d soon get over his disappointment at not sailing with the fleet. They sent him home to recover properly, but he has remained --- well, as you saw-----’
‘He wishes he was in the thick of it at sea.’
‘Yes, but that’s not what’s on his mind, Drusilla. It’s something else. He swears there’s nothing bothering him, but I know there is. And w-what really worries me is he’s behaving just like Septimus did before he died. He – he sits for ages, sometimes, just staring into space.’ Her voice began to break up, and she quickly dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. ‘I’m frightened, Drusilla. Terrified I’ll lose him too.’
I had never seen her in such low spirits before. She was so unlike the happy, spirited, lively Julia I knew, that, instinctively, I burst out, ‘That will not happen.’
She looked at me, a watery smile trembling on her lips. ‘Oh Drusilla, I have missed you. You always make me feel anything is possible.’ Looking down at her hands, she confided her worst fears in a whisper, ‘The thing is, Richard and I have always told each other everything, and if he won’t tell me what’s worrying him, it must be something really terrible.’ She rallied a little, saying, ‘He may not want to worry me while I’m suffering with this sickness. But he might confide in you. Would you speak to him?’
I promised to do so, although if he wouldn’t tell Julia, I couldn’t see him unburdening himself to me. Richard adored Julia, and would be in no doubt as to how worried she really was. Yet, he still refused to tell her. A fact that sent a cold chill of fear rippling down my spine, and I quickly changed the subject.
‘About Septimus,’ I said. ‘Have you kept all his things?’
She nodded. ‘I couldn’t see anything being of use, but when you were helping your father I remember you saying that one insignificant fact had sometimes given you the key to the whole puzzle. So you’ll find the study exactly as Septimus left it. Go and look if you like.’
When I stood up, she remained seated and I said, ‘Aren’t you coming?’
‘Not yet. I regret to say I am feeling rather unwell again.’
At her insistence I left her and crossed the hall to the study. This rather dark, east-facing room, contained a desk, two chairs, an attractive fireplace, a bracket clock, and a bookcase holding the books Septimus had needed for his studies. The desk was bare except for a fine silver ink standish and a selection of quill pens.
It was here I hoped to find a clue to the identity of the friends he’d met every Tuesday. Letters, visiting cards, or some such thing. Emptying the desk drawers, I found a supply of writing paper, some excellent drawings of Edward watching a frog, which made me smile, and various small items including sealing wax, wafers for sealing letters, a penknife, some string, and sand to dry the ink on his letters.
The kind of things I expected to find, but there was nothing that told me who these friends were, nor were there letters of any kind, or any bills, which I thought decidedly odd. It was as if he’d deliberately put all his affairs in order. As if he knew his life was in danger. And the hairs on th
e back of my neck began to tingle.
I was about to put it all back when I caught sight of something wedged in the far corner of the top drawer. Pulling the drawer right out, I removed what proved to be a small piece of cardboard. It was triangular in shape, and in the centre, was a painting of a rather fat badger. A token, just like the ones found on the two assassins at Ashton Grange.
I held it in the palm of my left hand, and gazed at it stupefied, utterly unable to believe what I knew it must mean. For, how could Julia’s studious brother have even the slightest connection with those murderers? The sequence of events on that awful day in Windsor raced through my mind. Septimus would never have become involved with such evil villains. He was a kind-hearted, amiable young man. Yet, he had a Fat Badger token, just as they had.
Hearing the door open I swung round to see Julia entering the room. She shut the door and leaned against it, looking decidedly pale. ‘What’s wrong, Drusilla? You’re every bit as pasty-faced as I am.’
‘It’s nothing,’ I blustered ineptly. ‘I – er- caught my fingernail in the corner of the drawer.’ And I began to rub it industriously, praying she wouldn’t notice my hands were trembling.
She eyed me thoughtfully. ‘You know Drusilla, you never could tell a lie.’ I began to protest, but she cut me short. ‘I’d like the truth, if you please. What did you find? I couldn’t bear it if you starting hiding things from me too.’
‘Julia,’ I floundered, ‘I-----’
‘I shall worry far more if you don’t tell me. And I do have a very vivid imagination.’
I gave a long deep sigh, knowing how true that was, yet I dreaded having to add to her troubles. She saw me trying to find some other way out and declared, ‘The plain truth is best, I always find.’ When I still didn’t say anything, she inquired politely, ‘Would it help if I sat down?’