by Issy Brooke
He grinned and hailed them both with equal pleasure. “Inspector Benn! And Lord Calaway! A delight, as always. I cannot offer you the sort of hospitality that befits your station, I am afraid, but Mackie makes a good cup of tea. Mackie!”
“Sir! Right away.”
“He’s as good as a maid and twice a strong,” Sir Arthur said as the young man disappeared on his mission. “Now, while we wait, what can I do for you gentlemen?”
“Have you an office we might sit in?”
“Of course. This way.”
He led them to a locked door and Theodore was impressed by the layers of security and seriously heavy-duty keys and bolts that had to be undone before they could gain access.
It was a dark and oppressive room, with windows that had been whitewashed over and only lit by a few gas lamps. Sir Arthur settled himself behind the desk and said, “It is not the most comfortable space but it means I do not linger here over paperwork; I just get things done and get out.”
“Quite sensible.” Inspector Benn was perched on the edge of his chair and had his hands clenched on his knees, with his legs clamped together like a woman on a public omnibus. Theodore thought that the man looked supremely awkward. “It is about paperwork that I have come to speak to you. In regard, obviously, that is to say connected, of course, to the recent death of your business partner.” Inspector Benn shot a sideways look at Theodore. “Forgive me for intruding in your grief upon such delicate matters, but ... well, you were business partners, after all. Linked, if you will.”
“We were, yes.” Sir Arthur had an amused smile playing on his lips, but he didn’t let the Inspector dangle for too long in his discomfort. “But I shall tell you now, quite plainly so that can be no misunderstanding, that I wanted to end this partnership with Beaconberg and I had wanted to do so for a long time.”
“I see,” the Inspector said. “Why so?”
Sir Arthur sighed. “Our methods of training differed and our ideas for the future also differed, and I grew tired of having to always bend to his will. It was his money that built this place, but I would like to think it was my expertise that kept it going – mostly. Until recently.”
“You were immensely successful with Golden Meadow.”
“We were but...”
“The horse is injured, is he not?” Theodore put in, feeling smug.
Sir Arthur’s face registered instant surprise. “Wherever did you hear that?”
“Don’t worry – it is not the subject of common gossip. I merely surmised so from my observations.”
Sir Arthur did not reply to Theodore. There was a strange expression on his face now that Theodore could not quite read – was it embarrassment at having been found out? Perhaps the reporter had been onto something after all.
Inspector Benn said, “I am sorry to hear that. Now, if you had wanted to end the partnership, what prevented you?”
Sir Arthur said, “And that is the question I was rather hoping to avoid. It does not paint the poor man in a good light and I would prefer to speak well of the dead, not ill, but here it is: Lord Beaconberg prevented me from completing the end to the partnership, blocking me at every turn. Paperwork needed to be signed, and he simply would not. He was being pig-headed, stubborn and downright obstructive.”
“But why?”
“My plans for the stables did not fit with his plans. Yet he could not put me off for ever. I had had all the paperwork drawn up and I pursued him relentless. He was bound to sign it sooner or later.”
The door opened and Douglas Mackie slid in carrying a large tray of tea things, which caused all conversation to cease while a space was cleared on the table and the tea was poured. There were also biscuits and cakes, which was an unexpected joy.
Nothing more was said about the business while Mackie was there. As he left, Inspector Benn said, “There’s a good lad. He looks familiar to me. What’s his background?”
Sir Arthur hesitated before replying, “Douglas Mackie’s his name. Mother’s no better than she should be, I think that’s the phrase – if you get my meaning. Eileen Mackie. He’s done well to get ahead in spite of that kind of start in life. He worked hard at picking up the right manners and I was happy to give him a chance here, despite it all. I don’t regret it.”
“Father?”
“Unknown. Likely to be dead.” Sir Arthur’s mouth twitched in distaste. But then he laughed, quite suddenly and inappropriately, and slapped his thigh. “Never mind about that! Have another madeleine.”
The shell-shaped biscuits crumbed with a delicious puff of light citron and Theodore was happy to take a few, but Inspector Benn politely declined, and he only reluctantly picked up a cup, rubbing his thumb over the rim before sipping at his tea. Theodore had already diagnosed him with some kind of neurosis to do with dirt and uncleanliness, and wondered what had happened in his past to cause such fastidiousness. Some horror encountered as part of his job, he thought. How intriguing. Dr Freud would love to speak to him, no doubt.
Inspector Benn was looking towards the door which had been left ajar. “But what of the future of this business now? And the future of all your staff, that lad included?”
“I shall carry on as normal. In fact now – and again I realise this reflects poorly on me – but I can now follow my own plans.”
“The whole business is yours?” Theodore said.
“Yes, of course.” Sir Arthur tried to look sad at the loss of Lord Beaconberg, but it was obvious that things had worked out perfectly for him.
If there was foul play at work, then this certainly made Sir Arthur look like a suspect. Theodore glanced at Inspector Benn and knew that the man was thinking exactly the same thing.
“What a stroke of luck for you,” Theodore said, turning his attention back to Sir Arthur.
“I cannot pretend that I am disappointed at how things have turned out. I have only one regret, and that is that I remain without an heir myself.”
Theodore could not recall if Sir Arthur was married or not, but he made a mental note to ask Adelia later. He nodded sympathetically, hoping that gesture conveyed all the appropriate sentiments. Inspector Benn said, out of the blue, “So if something happens to you, I suppose the place will return to Lady Beaconberg or her daughter?”
Sir Arthur was already shaking his head with some amusement. “Oh no. I intend to make Douglas Mackie my heir. The paperwork will be signed in a day or two; it is being drawn up now.”
Theodore felt a ripple of astonishment run through him and he could see the same reaction in the Inspector. Sir Arthur laughed at them both. “Don’t forget, good sirs, I have risen through the ranks myself from an ordinary man to this status you see me blessed with now. And why should I not extend a helping hand to another that I feel deserves it? The privilege that I now hold comes with certain responsibilities that I readily embrace.”
“Very noble, very noble,” murmured Inspector Benn in disbelief.
“Does Mackie know of your intentions?” Theodore asked.
“Oh yes. More tea?”
Inspector Benn refused, and declared his need to return to York. Theodore followed suit and they quickly took their leave of Sir Arthur. As they left the office, Theodore noticed that Douglas Mackie was standing off to one side, but quite likely within earshot of all that had been said in the office.
Why, then, did he look so thunderous?
Inspector Benn noticed the young man, too, and neither of them spoke until they were at the gate and ready to climb into their respective vehicles. The cabbie that had been driving Theodore must have been adding up the money earned with great delight. Now they were away from Mackie and from Sir Arthur, Theodore was able to say, “Why do you think Mackie looks so angry?”
“I have no idea,” Inspector Benn said. “But it is all rather curious, well, it has an air of curiosity at least, don’t you think?”
“I do think so. And I wonder if Lady Beaconberg knew of all this?”
Inspector Benn looked eve
n more intrigued. “Ah, that is a good question. Surely she could have expected to have inherited her husband’s share in the business even if she would have had to have appointed a proxy to act on her behalf. I have no idea.”
“Some women are taking a more active part in business now.”
“Indeed so. But those women are not Lady Beaconberg.”
“Very true. Inspector, I have some misgivings about Lady Beaconberg but my wife is in her house at the moment and will act in our favour – if you don’t mind?”
“A spy?”
“Do not call her so to her face! But yes, exactly that.”
The Inspector nodded. “I don’t mind at all. That will be of great help to us. I am glad to have you working alongside us, Lord Calaway, and if you have any other insights, please don’t hesitate to call. I shall ensure that the reception you receive is somewhat more positive than you had before.”
“I am grateful for it.”
Theodore let the Inspector leave first, and then turned back to look at the yard before getting into his own cab.
Douglas Mackie was leaning on a broom and watching them go with a glowering expression that he was making no effort at all to hide. If Theodore had not been fairly certain that he was watched by Sir Arthur, he would have crossed the yard and spoken to the lad. He’d been perfectly personable the previous time they’d met.
What had changed?
Theodore mused on that question all the way back to the Grey House.
Twelve
“I must also be in dressed in correct mourning attire,” Adelia told Theodore the next day as they met for a gentle stroll along the road around halfway between the Grey House and Dovewood. It wasn’t a particularly nice summer’s day. It was grey and flat and the low clouds were threatening to spill some light rain. “As we do not have accounts at any of the shops up here, I was hoping that you might be able to provide me with some money...”
He immediately agreed to her request and promised to arrange for some money to be sent to her at Dovewood. He told her he would go into York that very day and speak with a bank manager to have the finances ready by the end of the afternoon.
She was pleased, but also felt bad that she was lying to her very own husband. Lady Beaconberg had already purchased some fine mourning gowns for Adelia so that she fitted in with the general sombre ambiance at Dovewood, but Adelia kept that fact from Theodore. The money she was requesting was actually to go under the care of the Reverend Newbolt down south to pay for her nephew’s schooling. And she reflected, with some discomfort, that if she asked Theodore outright to pay for Wilson’s education, he would agree without a murmur – but she could not then bear the questions which would emerge, bit by bit, over the following days and weeks. Theodore believed that Wilson’s parents, Alfred and Jane, were happily married and that Alfred was working hard as a high-level clerk. Adelia had let the truth go unnoticed for so long she could not now break free of the lies, and reveal herself to have been deceiving Theodore for years. Those lies were the main problem, not Alf’s disgrace.
She stopped thinking about it. The only way she could maintain the façade was by pretending it wasn’t even happening.
And Theodore hadn’t noticed her distraction. He began to tell her about his visit to the racing stables, and she soon realised she was being asked to spy for the police while she was in the house of Lady Beaconberg.
Well, she thought, I am used to duplicity, so why not? It seems fitting. Good heavens, I don’t really want to face the Reverend Newbolt – but why am I more scared of his judgment than God’s? Again she had to pull her attention back to the present conversation and away from her own flicker of self-doubt.
Theodore was saying, “We need to know if Lady Beaconberg already knew that she was not going to profit from her husband’s death – at least in the matter of the stable yard and its income. The whole business now passes to Sir Arthur, apparently. And do you happen to know of Sir Arthur’s family? Is he married? I told the Inspector that you would know everything.” He beamed with pride at his wife.
Feeling rather underserving of such pride, she said, “Sir Arthur is unmarried and at his stage in life, all the general talk is that he will remain a bachelor for the rest of his days. For all his hearty bluffness, he has never been attached in scandal or otherwise to any lady, and sees unlikely to reveal himself to be a womanising reprobate as his dotage approaches.” Some men, after socialising and scandalising throughout their youth and early manhood, would finally marry in their forties or fifties, but Sir Arthur did not seem the type. “He is wedded to his business, I think,” she concluded.
“Interesting. And that fits with what he told us. It does make him become a suspect though I hate to consider it. You know, there’s a young lad who works at the stables there, Douglas Mackie, and he is a poor fatherless youth but a good worker. And it is he who will inherit after Sir Arthur!”
Adelia nodded as if such news did not surprise her. “Fatherless?” she said meaningfully.
“Yes, quite so.”
She wiggled her eyebrows at him. He still didn’t get it. She sighed. “You might find his father a lot closer to home,” she said, having to spell it out to him. “No one is fatherless – you know enough science for that. No, the more interesting question is how one identifies that man. It will be a man who takes an interest, who looks out for him, who perhaps gives him a job and ensures his future ... do you see what I am getting at!”
“Oh! Ah.”
“So there, no mystery at all. It is a shame Sir Arthur cannot acknowledge him publicly but maybe he does so to spare the mother’s blushes.”
“I saw no family resemblance between Sir Arthur and Douglas Mackie.”
“It is often subtle, and that is a fact which our daughters will be thankful of.”
“Yes,” he said with a smile. “I am grateful that they take after your beauty and not mine.”
“You flatterer.”
“There is something that still seems off about this Mackie chap, however,” Theodore said. “I am certain that he was listening at the door when we were talking about this matter, and when I left the office, he was staring at me and the Inspector in a fixed and rather alarming manner. It was as if he wanted to say something, but could not, or would not.”
“Of course he looked angry,” Adelia said. “Who likes to be the object of gossip, and in particular, such unseemly gossip? To see you and the policeman come out and look at him, and for him to know that you know the unpleasant details of his background – that is a heavy thing for a young man. Don’t you see?”
“I suppose so,” Theodore said, though she could see that he didn’t really understand but was content to trust her insight.
Adelia stifled her sigh. There were other things she wanted to talk about too, but now she realised that he would not understand, and she did not want to worry him unduly. So she made her excuses and said that she needed to return to Dovewood. Rain was coming, she suggested, and he ought to get himself clear of it before the skies broke.
He pressed her hand, and then, as no one seemed to be around, planted a quick peck of a kiss upon her cheek which made her giggle and feel silly and young again. She watched him walk away and felt a heaviness return to her heart as his presence receded.
She had wanted to talk to him about Mary and her suspicions. But he adored Mary and she could not bear to cloud his view of her.
STILL, ADELIA KNEW better than to keep things bottled up. She went back to Dovewood and after spending a little time with Lady Beaconberg, retired to her rooms for an hour and unburdened herself completely in a long and rambling letter to Harriet. She left nothing out. She laid bare her suspicions that her daughter Mary was sneaking out of the family home at night and meeting some mystery stranger, almost certainly a man with whom she was having an affair. To Adelia, though it made her feel sick and angry, it also made perfect sense. After all, Mary was childless and married to an older man who, while he doted on her, was far pas
t his prime; and she was not quite the mistress in her own home, jostling as she did for supremacy with her own sister-in-law, Sibyl Ramsgreave.
What woman would not turn her attentions outwardly, seeking some kind of escape?
But while Adelia could perhaps understand it, she could absolutely not condone it in any way. Mary risked her complete ruin and the social shame would be relentless and unforgiving.
She poured it all out to Harriet and felt quite better for it. And then, not entirely trusting anyone in the household, she made sure to lock the letter away in her travelling case until she had obtained the money that was to go with it.
THE MONEY CAME IN THE evening and she added a separate note for the headmaster of the school that Alf had once suggested that he favoured for the education of his son Wilson. She carried them out the next morning, telling Lady Beaconberg that she wanted to speak to the travelling preacher she’d seen in the area. For an awkward moment, it looked as if Lady Beaconberg was inclined to accompany her, but luckily the threat of rain still hung in the air, and she thought better of it. Adelia sallied forth alone in a decent and sturdy walking dress, promising to be back for luncheon. She headed for the parish church that nestled in the nearby village. It was a pretty sort of place, the kind of scene that featured on hand-painted plates and the lids of expensive tins of chocolates. There was a well-kept grassy green, a grey stone-built church with a circular wall, and a typically half-deaf and almost-senile vicar, the Reverend Staines. He was thoroughly decent, old-fashioned, moral and kind in equal measures, though he did still seem to think it was still 1839 not 1893. She imagined that he would crumble into dust in a few years’ time, when the clock ticked over from 1899 to 1900, and the new world was hustled in – all manner of things were predicted to happen, and some people seemed to fear the approaching change. She had read a great deal of pessimistic opinions especially from people in Europe, as if the end of the century meant the degeneration of society, the collapse of all morality and ultimately the death of civilisation – the alarming idea was growing that the world has gone as far as it could go and that society would soon consume itself in a fever of monstrous excess.