His wife’s eyes turned towards him, and he read the answer in her face even before she nodded. “Oh yes. Or she thinks she does and is terrified of discovering that she is right.”
Chapter 16
Francis was conscious of a sliver of excitement and was about to ask for further enlightenment when the doctor’s name was shouted out and Kinnerton was seen to be returning, Meldreth at his side, carrying his medical bag. They were coming at a fast walk, and Tillie instantly moved to meet them.
The doctor, to his credit, did not bother to interrupt the argument in train between Lady Ferrensby and Lord Henbury, which was affording a deal of entertainment for the onlookers from the tavern.
“Kinnerton has told me the trouble,” he said, a trifle out of breath as he reached Tillie’s side. “How can I serve you, Lady Francis?”
“Pray will you insist on examining Hannah Pakefield, Doctor Meldreth? I meant to ask you to do so this morning, only in the press of events it slipped my mind.”
“Hardly surprising,” commented the doctor on a rueful note.
Tillie disregarded this. “I believe that woman has a heart condition. If she is left in that awful hole, I dread to think of the consequences.”
Meldreth’s brows flew up. “Indeed, it is the worst possible place for her.” He nodded. “Leave it to me.”
Francis could not but feel sceptical of anyone succeeding with Lord Henbury where Tillie had failed, not to mention Lady Ferrensby. But it was quickly apparent that Meldreth had an authority that the old man was apt to respect, although he did indeed voice the strongest objections.
“Can’t see why you need to check the woman over now,” he complained. “Tomorrow will do as well.”
“Not if she is ill,” the doctor pointed out. “You could not wish her to expire before she has a chance to come up on charges before you.”
“Expire? Expire? Only expiring she’s going to do is on the rope, old fellow.”
“Indeed, but that must be after the trial, my lord. One would not wish to have to explain to the authorities at Warwick that the prisoner was unable to appear because we had not exercised due care and attention.”
This argument had a powerful effect upon Lord Henbury. He was, after all, a mere local officer of the law and had no further jurisdiction once he had committed the matter for trial to a higher court. It would scarcely sit well for him to lose an accused murderer prior to her appearance at the Assizes.
Pilton was ordered to unlock the door, a move that roused Pakefield from his stupor. The villagers, who showed a tendency to surge forward, were thrust back by the constable’s staff. Lady Ferrensby stood aside with Kinnerton, and Meldreth went into the dark interior of the lock-up, Henbury at his heels. Seeing his wife about to follow, Francis went quickly up to her and seized her arm.
“What are you doing?” he asked sotto voce.
“I am going in.”
“No, you don’t. Besides, there is scarcely room,” he added, poking his head inside.
It was dark, dank, and dismal. In the light from the open doorway, he could see Hannah Pakefield, a sunken heap on the cold stone floor. She was breathing stertorously, air heaving slowly in and out of her chest. Meldreth was already on his haunches beside her, while Lord Henbury, his head thrust forward on his neck like a chicken, was rocking on his spindly legs.
Francis moved back out and pulled Tillie aside. “We are blocking the light.”
“Did you see her?”
“She’s on the floor. Lord, I believe she is ill! I thought it was one of your tricks.”
Tillie was peering around the edge, trying to see inside. “No, I truly am concerned for her. She looked grey this morning, despite the wounds on her face, and her breathing was shallow.”
“It’s worse now,” Francis said frankly. “I hope to God the woman does not die on us.”
“If Meldreth gets her out and into her bed, I imagine she will recover presently.”
But it was several moments before the doctor emerged, and he was alone. He looked round and selected the vicar.
“Kinnerton, your aid, if you please.” Glancing at the shattered landlord of the Blue Pig, he added, “Pakefield, we are bringing Hannah out. Send your maid ahead, if you will. Your wife must be put straight to bed.”
There was a flurry of noise and activity as Patty raced off towards the inn, closely followed by several young girls who came out of the crowd, Bessy among them. Kinnerton disappeared inside the black maw of the lock-up along with Meldreth, and Francis pulled Tillie away a little to join Lady Ferrensby.
“We will but hamper the proceedings, my love.”
“Quite right, Lord Francis,” Lady Ferrensby said, turning at once to Tillie. “Thank goodness you thought of Meldreth. I could make no headway at all with that foolish old martinet.”
Tillie sighed. “I’m afraid he has developed the habit of old age where nothing will do but one’s own opinion.”
“Old age?” scoffed Lady Ferrensby. “Nothing of the sort. The man has been a mule for all the years I have known him. Though I admit his hardness of hearing has made him ten times worse.”
When Hannah Pakefield was brought out, obviously upright only by virtue of being closely held between the doctor and the parson, a loud cheer went up from the crowd. Amazed, Francis glanced round.
“Why in the world are they pleased?”
Lady Ferrensby’s brows were raised as she surveyed the villagers. “Oh, because Henbury has been bested. You will note, however, that Jeremiah Wagstaff looks less than happy.”
Which was true. The ancient stood champing his jaws, leaning heavily on his staff, his eyes vengeful as he watched the cavalcade moving slowly towards the Blue Pig, Pakefield jogging alongside, his eyes fixed upon his wife in her state of semi-collapse.
“Jeremiah knew this was happening, I surmise,” pursued Lady Ferrensby. “I daresay he would have told Tisbury and the rest if Will had not forestalled him.”
Evidently it would not have suited ill with Pa Wagstaff had Hannah Pakefield died in the lock-up, Francis thought cynically. Tisbury looked merely morose, which was scarcely surprising. But there was no sign of Will the tapster or the boys who had earlier occupied the lock-up, which afforded Francis a moment of grim amusement. No doubt they had made themselves scarce for fear of being put back in to replace the lost Hannah.
His ruminations were interrupted as Tillie’s hand slid into the crook of his arm. He glanced down at her.
“Back to the Pig?”
“Yes, for it occurs to me,” she said, low-voiced, “that if the knife found its way into Hannah’s commode, the back door key may likewise have returned like a homing pigeon to its place on the window ledge.”
Ottilia had perforce retired early, urged thereto by her careful spouse. In the privacy of their curtained bed, she felt safe enough from listening ears to rid her mind of the deepening suspicion that was now almost a certainty. Francis was at first incredulous, but as she outlined her reasoning, he slowly became convinced.
“You have done it again, my woman of wonder.”
She welcomed his embrace but felt compelled to whisper a caution. “None of it would convince a jury, let alone the villagers. I have not a shred of real proof.”
Francis captured her restless hand and held it. “Then how are we to prove it?”
Ottilia drew in a tight breath. “I must find out who took the message to Molly. ”
“Have you any notion who it might be?”
“One, perhaps.”
“And if you find it out, will that be enough?”
“It may save a life. Though I am in hopes any further attempt will be delayed now Cassie has removed from Witherley to Lady Ferrensby’s home.”
Francis moved a little in the darkness. “You mean if there are no visions, the finger cannot be pointed elsewhere?”
“Just so.”
Then a thought exploded in Ottilia’s brain, and she sat bolt upright, disarranging the bedclothes. B
eside her, Francis pushed up on his elbow.
“What in the world ails you, Tillie?”
She turned, looking back at the dark shape beside her. “You have set off a firecracker in my head, Fan! We have no proof, but we can catch our murderer just the same.”
Her night’s rest was indifferent, her mind turning on the morrow and the actions she must take to set her scheme afoot. But since it depended wholly upon the identity of the person who had been suborned into taking a message to Molly, she had first to unravel that mystery.
Awake betimes, Ottilia was anxious to set out the moment she should have broken her fast. She had perforce to wait for her husband, Francis having decreed that she might not set foot outside their bedchamber door without his escort. She chafed while he dressed, and chafed again, once she had swallowed a hasty meal of a single baked egg accompanied by a slice of fresh bread, while her spouse worked his way through a plateful of ham. As it chanced, this little delay afforded an unexpected opportunity to glean a vital piece of information.
Patty sailed into the coffee room where they were partaking of breakfast just when Ottilia decided to broach a second cup by way of distracting herself from the spectacle of her spouse eating at what she considered an unnecessarily leisurely pace. She had discovered the coffeepot had cooled and hailed the maid with relief.
“Patty, thank heavens! Will you fetch a fresh pot of coffee, if you please?”
The girl plonked down the covered silver dish she was carrying, shoving it towards Francis. “Your eggs, sir.”
“Eggs as well?” burst from Ottilia before she could stop herself.
Francis looked up. “I’m hungry. Besides, the Lord only knows when we’ll get to eat again with what you have planned for today.”
Incensed, Ottilia would not trust herself to reply. At a time like this! Desperate for anything to speak of other than food, she caught the maid before she reached the door.
“How is your mistress today, Patty? I meant to ask you before.”
Patty’s freckles wrinkled across her nose. “Abed her be, and Master says as how he be a-going to send for Doctor Meldreth, for as her bain’t ate nowt nor yesterday when Miss Beeleigh took up a tray to her whiles we were all out on the green.”
Ottilia eyed her with interest. “That was kind of Miss Beeleigh.”
“Aye, for Cook be rushed off her feet,” said the maid, adding with a darkling look, “Not as I be best pleased, as Miss Beeleigh took as if her be mistress in this place.”
“With everything at sixes and sevens, and poor Hannah laid up, perhaps it was as well,” soothed Ottilia.
Patty tossed her head. “Bain’t as I hadn’t got all done and dusted without her say-so.” A gleam of triumph entered her eyes. “It be me as found the back door key and all, spite of having all to do.”
Ottilia’s senses prickled, and she saw Francis halt in midchew, his fork in the air, his gaze riveted on the maid.
“You found the key?”
The maid shifted her shoulders. “Well, it be on the cellar stair when I went down for to fetch up the joint from the cool room below.”
“When?” barked Francis. “When did you find it there?”
Patty jumped at his tone, and Ottilia threw him a repressive look.
“Was it before all the business on the green?” she asked, carefully casual.
The maid’s puzzled stare withdrew from Francis and found Ottilia. “Aye, for I be just come up with the joint when you come into the kitchen, m’am.”
“You put the key back on the windowsill?” Where Ottilia had indeed found it, when she had gone to look for it there after Hannah was freed from the lock-up.
“Aye, for I meant to tell Master. Only with all the rumpus, I forgot.”
“I am not surprised,” Ottilia said lightly. “It is a wonder you managed to do so much. Be sure I will tell Hannah how excellently you have coped.”
Patty’s eye brightened, and as quickly fell again. “If’n it be as Mistress bain’t took and hanged.”
With which gloomy utterance, she departed. Ottilia found her spouse’s gaze on her.
“I remember you saying how much people knew that they didn’t know they knew.”
Ottilia laughed. “Just so. It is astonishing what is noticed without awareness.” Then a stray thought came into her head, and she mused aloud, “I wonder.”
“What do you wonder?” came from her spouse, pardonably irritated.
She looked at his plate. “I wonder when you are going to finish that so that we may begin. Do you not realise, Fan, that the matter is pressing?”
The Cock and Bottle not yet having opened its doors, it was left to Francis to rouse the servants and hunt out the maid Bessy. Since he had hastened his breakfast, he was not in the best of moods. Having laid down the law to his wife, however, he could scarcely cavil at her impatience.
If the truth were told, Francis reflected, he was lacking sleep. Tillie had tossed the night away until he had drawn her into his arms and stroked her into quiet. That she was restless and troubled was hardly surprising, for she had set herself a tricky task. In vain had Francis tried to think of an alternative scheme. He could not like the one Tillie had outlined, but for all his furious thought, he could come up with no alternative.
Finding Bessy had not been part of her original intention, but Tillie had not enlightened him as to her reason for the change, and if she did not wish to tell him, he would not ask. Aware of the childishness of this resolve, he was yet unable to overcome it.
Once he had extracted Bessy from the house via the back door, however, Tillie’s intent rapidly became clear.
“Do you recall on the night your mistress died seeing anyone about near the Cock? It would have been late, Bessy. Think carefully now.”
Bessy frowned in an effort of concentration but then shook her head. “Bain’t seen no one, m’am.”
“Well, did you hear anything unusual?”
The girl shifted her shoulders and looked away. A sign of discomfort?
“No, m’am.”
Francis watched his wife, reading the signs in her clear gaze. She was going to change tack.
“You did not go to bed until late, I think, for you were upset.”
Shock leapt in Bessy’s eyes, which became riveted on Tillie’s face. How in the world came she to guess that? Francis saw her gaze narrow a little and knew she was going to push the maid further.
“Patty came over from the Blue Pig, did she not? She brought news for Will.”
The maid’s chubby cheeks reddened, and her eyes rimmed with liquid. Words burst out of her mouth. “That fussock! Her’ve no right. I telled her afore, but her won’t listen. Bain’t for her to come mewling round here.”
“Only she brought such news as turned the house upside down, did she not? And I daresay Will paid you no attention afterwards.”
“Bain’t as I care,” snapped Bessy. “Nor as I’d time for no gossiping, not with the work as I’d to finish.”
“No, and nobody could blame you if you were late,” said Ottilia gently. “If perhaps you had gone to your room to have a good cry first.”
Bessy looked as if she might dissolve again right at this moment, Francis thought.
“Now think carefully, Bessy. When you went to do your chores, was there any unusual sound or sight?”
An echo swept through Francis of the admiration he had felt for his wife when he had first seen her in action during the drama in his family last year. The moment she had an advantage, she was ruthless in following it up.
Sniffing back the threatening tears, the maid cast her eyes to one side, staring into the middle distance. Francis almost held his breath, his attention riveted on his wife as, with infinite patience, she waited. Could it work? Would not the girl have been too wrapped up in her grudge to notice? But then Francis saw the frown deepen in the maid’s face. Was a memory about to spring?
All at once, Bessy’s head turned back and she stared at Tillie, surprise
in her face. By God, but Tillie was sensational!
“Aye, there do be summat,” said the maid. “When I be dousing the fire in the mistress’s parlour, it be like tapping on a windowpane.”
Someone trying to attract attention? Francis saw the characteristic warm smile spring into Tillie’s face.
“Oh, very good, Bessy. Thank you. You did not, I take it, investigate this tapping?”
Bessy shook a regretful head. “No, for as I bain’t paying no mind. I’d forgot as I heard it, m’am.”
A pity, Francis mused. She might have made a better witness. But Tillie had not quite given up.
“Could you have seen a face at the window perhaps?”
The girl thought for a moment, but even to Francis’s mind, it was obvious there was no more to be got from her. He saw a look he recognised in Tillie’s face and was astonished at how well he was able to read her. She would not pursue it further. She thanked the girl again.
“Never mind. What you heard will suffice, I believe.”
The maid curtsied and scurried back into the house, while Francis searched for words to express all he had felt. Tillie tucked a hand in his arm before he could think of anything. Her tone was brisk.
“The vicarage, I think.”
“You want Kinnerton?” asked Francis, surprised.
“Kinnerton? No, indeed. But Mrs. Winkleigh employs Jenny Duggleby.”
“The blacksmith’s daughter? Why do you want her?” Francis saw her draw a tight breath, and his hand went to press the fingers resting on his arm.
“What is it, my dear one?” he asked in a softer tone than he had used towards her since yesterday’s disagreement. Her clear gaze met his, and his heart tightened.
“Only someone well acquainted with Molly would think to catch her attention by tapping on the window, and there was intimacy between her and the Duggleby household.”
“And so?”
“I fear it may be Jenny who was sent to fetch Molly from the Cock and Bottle the other night.”
Mrs. Winkleigh was discovered to have become as overprotective of Jenny Duggleby as Francis was of Ottilia. She greeted the visitors politely enough, ushering them into the rather bare room that apparently served Mr. Kinnerton for a parlour. But when asked for the girl, her eyes narrowed and she set her arms akimbo.
The Lady Fan Series: Books 1-3 (Sapere Books Boxset Editions) Page 63