“From the moment you arrived, in as much detail as you can,” he said, taking out his notebook.
“Goodness,” she said. “But why? Do you think that something is amiss about Mr Truro’s death?”
“I think he does,” said Emma. “You do have that look about you, my dear.”
“And that is why you asked Dr Manton to call, because he attended him,” Maria said. “Oh dear. But who on earth would want to murder Mr Truro?”
“That is only one question that has been bothering me,” said Giles. “So if I may – at what time did you arrive?”
“Yes, of course you may, and I will try to be as helpful as I can, but the whole evening was, as I said, a little muddled. When did we arrive? Ah yes, I know, we were the last to get there, and we went straight into the drawing room once we had left our wraps, and I was with your sister at this point, as we went in – I think Sir Mark and Canon Fforde were still in the hall talking to Mr Carswell. There seemed such a crowd already that I could not help saying to Eleanor that I hoped we were not too late. They were playing an acting game at that point, and there were quite a few people I did not know, but of course Mr Truro was much in evidence, one might say, to put it politely.”
“Perhaps you should not be polite,” said Giles. “Although that may be difficult for you, I know.”
“Papa says I am often not the least bit polite,” said Maria with a smile, “so it is less difficult than you think. Very well, let me put it bluntly: Mr Truro was the loudest person there, and he was determined that he should be the centre of everything. As he was on all the other occasions I have seen him, now that I think of it, including that other evening when we were at Hawksby with you, when he was proposing the theatricals. You could see how discomforted Lady Blanchfort was when he mentioned her late brother-in-law, who was by all accounts a truly terrible person. Do you remember that, Major Vernon? I think you do, Emma.”
“Yes,” said Emma, “because you were shocked by it. You and Lord Rothborough both were.”
“He used to be a great friend of Papa’s, but he went quite beyond the pale. I do not know the specifics, of course, although I have heard a few hair-raising hints from my mother. But it was not a relationship that anyone who knew the circumstances would have mentioned in the presence of my father or Lady Blanchfort unless they meant to be spiteful. Of course, he may have known nothing about it, but I cannot help thinking he might have done. It felt like a barb.”
Giles struggled for a moment trying to remember this incident.
“It was something about his being a talented actor,” he said. “Yes?”
“Yes. Quite.”
“And you think it was a barb?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps it was not deliberate, but it will have wounded all the same. It is just as well that Eleanor seems to know nothing about it.”
“Did you talk to your father about this?”
“No, but you must ask him.”
“So your assessment of Truro was that he was always seeking attention?”
“Would you not agree with me?”
“Yes, I think so,” said Giles. “So, to return to Friday night, what happened after the acting game?”
“Blind man’s buff,” Maria said. “Which was – well, again, I cannot say that Mr Truro distinguished himself; or rather he over-distinguished himself, chasing Eleanor about. And of course she did not mind a bit, but I think Mr Carswell did.”
“Oh dear,” said Emma. “Was it that bad?”
“It was uncomfortable, especially when she hid behind him – Mr Carswell, that is – to avoid being caught, and so Truro caught him instead, and Mr Carswell did not look at all pleased about having to take his turn. Really, these party games can be odious. I was quite relieved when Canon Fforde suggested we have some music.”
“And that was after the blind man’s buff?”
“Yes, directly, and before we went into supper. Sir Mark and I played our new duet, or at least the opening adagio, because Sir Mark got ‘afrighted’ and refused to play the allegro in public. He says he is not equal to it yet, but it is just a question of confidence. He is so unaccustomed to anyone encouraging him. However, that is nothing to do with the matter in hand.”
“Tell me about supper.”
“We ate standing up – very à la mode. You could see the older gentlemen frowning at it, but it really makes things most convivial, and because the punch was so strong, everyone was already rather merry. But I do remember that Miss Fleming seemed put out that Mr Truro was going to read from his new novel. She said it was not what he usually did, almost as if it was an offence to her. And she made an insinuation that Eleanor was a muse to him and that was somehow improper.”
“And what was Truro doing during the meal?”
“I think he was talking to Eleanor, but we were all chattering away so one hardly noticed. He was at the other end of the room.”
“And nothing strange happened at supper?”
“No, but we all ate and drank rather too much. That wretched punch. Half a glass was quite lethal – oh, but perhaps I should not say that...”
“So what happened then?”
“We all went back to the drawing room for the reading. I was sitting between your sister and Sir Mark, in the middle of the room.” She laughed and said, “The ladies from the Rectory, Miss Lacey and Miss Martha, were so eager to get a good place at the front. It was quite funny, for I should not have thought that they even read novels. They were like a pair of schoolgirls. Perhaps it was the punch. They cannot be used to strong spirits or parties. I understand that the Rector is extremely austere – from what Canon Fforde tells me, at least.”
“I believe there was a lectern set up for Mr Truro, with a jug of water –”
“No, it was not water. It was more punch, which I thought was astonishing when I saw it, but it was a large claret jug, a glass one, so one could see what was inside it, and it was definitely more punch, for it was a cloudy red, not clear as if it had been decanted wine.”
“And did you see Truro take a glass from this jug?”
“More than once. He paused and refilled his glass. Sir Mark was muttering about it, in that particular way that gentlemen do when they see a person being reckless. A sporting expression.”
Emma laughed at that, and Giles found himself smiling.
“Cheating the Devil of his margin?”
“That was about it. And then, of course he started laughing – Mr Truro, that is.”
“And when the fit of laughing started, can you recall how he looked?”
“He may have been flushed. But the room was so warm. We were all flushed.”
“And what was this fit of laughter like?”
“It was disturbing, as if he had suddenly lost his reason. But soon Mr Tolley and Mr Carswell were on hand and he seemed to calm a little, and Mr Hepworth was assuring everyone that this was not unexpected. It was all to be ascribed to his being a genius.”
“You cannot recall how much of the punch was left in the jug?” said Giles.
“It was empty,” said Lady Maria. “He drained it – that was what made Mark say what he did.”
“And I understand that Hepworth took him out of the house?”
“Yes, and quite refused any carriage or assistance. He said that all would be well, and given he was his friend, why should we have disputed that? It was something of a relief to see him go, and the party ended, for it was not the most comfortable experience. There is something about Mr Truro I never liked, I must admit that, even though he is dead.”
At this moment, Holt came in to announce that Sir Mark was downstairs.
“Excellent timing,” said Giles. “Send him up, and would you bring another pot of coffee, please, Mr Holt?”
“You ought not to have any more coffee,” said Emma, when Holt had gone.
Lady Maria had risen from her chair and had gone to the glass above the fire to check her appearance. Sir Mark, dressed in his riding clothes and lo
oking weather-beaten, stole into the room and caught her in the act of pinning back a stray lock.
“No, no, I like you dishevelled,” he said, catching her about the waist and turning her about. “Disorderly, even.”
“Sir Mark!” said Emma. “Vraiment!”
“But you must agree, Mrs Vernon, she needs nothing to improve her? A falling lock is too –”
“That is all too suggestive of Herrick!” said Emma. “You are not alone, remember.”
He made a smiling apology and shook their hands.
“And I am bound to be disarranged,” said Lady Maria. “Major Vernon has been quizzing me. With his notebook. The notebook.”
“What about?”
“Mr Truro.”
“Oh, dear Lord, has it come to that?” said Sir Mark. “But I suppose –”
“What do you suppose, Sir Mark?” said Emma. “That is an interesting tone of voice.”
“Yes, it certainly is,” said Giles. “Sit down. There is coffee on the way. Or would you care for something stronger?”
“No, no, coffee is quite the thing. I had such a head yesterday from that night, I am contemplating temperance.”
“The famous punch?”
“Yes, that, and the hock and the champagne. It was all too liberal and I was foolish.”
“You did not seem to me to be in an especially embarrassing condition,” said Lady Maria. “You were a little sleepy, I thought – but that was all.”
“That is an Oxford education for you,” said Sir Mark. “It teaches you to conceal your intemperance. Forgive me,” he said, taking Lady Maria’s hand. “I shall endeavour not to do it again. For my own sake, as much as anything!”
“So, how much precisely do you recall of the night’s events?” Giles said, and everyone laughed at that.
“I remember being annoyed with Truro,” Sir Mark said. “He is – was, excuse me – such a strange fellow. Like a badly behaved dog, determined on his own pleasure. Of course, we allow the fact of his genius to excuse a great deal, but that night – it was most uncomfortable. He was a social irritant. I’m tempted to blame him for my having too much to drink, but that would not be fair.”
“Can you be more specific? What did he do that irritated you?”
“I didn’t care for the way he dashed about after Mrs Carswell. I don’t know how Carswell stood it, to be honest. Of course, she is above suspicion, but his admiration – no, his interest – was too overt. Wouldn’t you say, Maria?” he said.
“I don’t think I should say. I’ve no wish to prejudice your account,” she said.
“Of course,” he said. “Well, that was my feeling, for what it’s worth, which is not much given the state I was in. I can’t remember a single word he read, either – just his being taken ill, which was of course rather striking. Oh wait, I do remember thinking: is this part of the performance? For quite a few minutes I was complacently imagining that it was some wretched prank on his part and that he was going to snap out of it at any moment and laugh at us, but at the same time I knew that was the most ridiculous notion.” He paused for a moment and then went on. “I was astonished, though, at how quickly he got through that jug of punch when he was reading. Vulgar bravado. It might have passed if he had been twenty years younger and at Oxford, with no ladies present, but –”
“You don’t recall anyone else filling their glass from that jug?”
“No.”
“Did you have any conversation with Hepworth at all?” said Giles.
“No. Why do you ask?”
“I just wondered what your impression of him was.”
“That Truro was lucky to have such a friend close at hand. A prevention against a great deal of folly, and far more gentleman-like, although it was clear they both came from the same milieu. Yes, a good friend. He certainly took charge of him like a stalwart.”
“And afterwards, I understand you walked with Tom and Sam Tolley to the Rectory in order to take the Miss Laceys home?”
“I did, in a vain attempt to clear my head. And I saw the ladies into the house. That was quite a moment, in fact: Mr Lacey was standing waiting for them in the hall, with a look of thunder on his face. It seems that they were not supposed to go out! It had apparently been contrary to his wishes. It was absurd in some respects, but terrifying at the same time. I found myself apologising, and I don’t think that can have helped their case at all.”
“That is such a curious family,” said Lady Maria. “You know that is not his proper name? He changed it. Canon Fforde told me.”
“What was his name previously?” Giles said.
“I can’t remember. You must ask Canon Fforde yourself.”
“I shall,” said Giles. “I want his account of Friday night as well.”
“He will be the best witness of us all,” said Sir Mark. “He refused the punch.”
“Of course he would,” said Giles smiling.
“I would have taken his advice,” said Emma.
“We shall be calling there later,” said Lady Maria. “Shall I tell them you wish to speak to them?”
“Yes, if you do not mind always being my messenger?” said Giles.
“No, of course not. Come, Mark,” she said.
“One more question, if I may? You seemed to think that it was inevitable that there would be questions over Truro’s death. What made you think that?”
“Because he is entirely the sort of man to make many and possibly dangerous enemies. Which is exactly what you are thinking, Major Vernon, I should imagine?”
“Yes, something along those lines,” Giles said.
“I’m glad we were not there,” said Emma, when they were alone together. “Poor Mr Carswell. It all sounds most painful.”
“But you would not think that he –?” said Giles.
“No, no,” said Emma. “You are not, surely?”
“The fact that he drew the matter to my attention exonerates him. And I know him too well. It is not like him to be remotely devious.”
“Quite!” said Emma.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Monday morning came, but there was no communication from Carswell.
Sally and Lambert had come calling after evensong on Sunday, as requested, but there was nothing in their accounts that suggested any fresh lines of investigation. Giles puzzled over the matter, but did not concern himself excessively with it. By Monday morning, he was feeling a great deal stronger, and was heartened by a long visit from Chief Inspector Rollins. Armstrong and Amy Roper had been up before the Justices who had committed them to be tried at the next session of the Assizes. Both had pleaded not guilty, and so there would be a great deal of work required to prepare watertight cases against them. However, as Rollins and Giles reviewed the evidence, they began to feel secure that all would go their way. Then, when Rollins had left, Hamish ran in to tell him he was ready to recite The Ballad of Crimson Mary, and was on the verge of beginning when Holt came in and said that Mr Carswell was downstairs.
“You had better say it now, Hamish, before it leaves you,” said Giles, noticing how agitated Hamish seemed at the thought of being interrupted. “Bring Mr Carswell up, Holt, would you?”
Hamish began his breathless recitation and had just reached the final verses when the door opened to admit Carswell. Giles put his finger to his lips to silence Carswell.
All who stand in her august way,
Will rue the day, rue the day!
And wish that they had ne’re thought
To oppose justice so rightly sought!
Hamish gasped out the final lines and stood grinning, extremely pleased with himself.
“That is excellent!” said Giles.
“Will there be a ballad when Armstrong hangs?” said Hamish.
“I imagine so.”
“Will it cost a lot to buy?” he asked.
“Why?”
“I should like to buy it for you,” said Hamish.
“I should like one as well,” said Carswell
, reaching in his pocket. “Here, that should be enough for two.”
Hamish gazed at the two shillings with wonder. “Yes, of course, sir! Thank you!”
Hamish was so pleased that he quite forgot his young manly dignity and skipped from the room, at which Giles laughed and found it still hurt him to do so.
“I think I had better check you over,” said Carswell, noticing his discomfort.
“Yes, certainly, but first – tell me what Dr Manton said.”
“I can’t,” said Carswell, turning away and laying his bag down on a chair to open it. “I haven’t seen him yet. And I don’t think it will be necessary.”
“Why not?”
“I think I was mistaken,” he said.
“But the atropine?”
“I may have been imagining things there. And on reflection, it all seems so unlikely.”
“Yes, but there was room for reasonable doubt, surely?”
Carswell did not answer for a moment and then said, “If I had known about his heart condition then it would not have been so surprising. I probably would not have thought about the atropine having any bearing on the case.”
“Let us unpick this a little,” said Giles. “Which did you discover first: that the atropine may have been removed from your bag, or that he had a weak heart? Who did you speak to first when you went to the house?”
“Hepworth. It was Hepworth. He came out into the hall when the servant opened the door to me.”
“And what did he say to you?”
“He thanked me for calling but said that Dr Manton had already been. And so I asked if Mrs Truro would like to see me, which he said at once she would, and I went straight up to her.”
“So when did you learn of Dr Manton’s opinion?”
“Mrs Truro told me,” said Carswell. “She said she had always been nervous of such an event, ever since they had consulted Chicheley. It was a nightmare realised for her.”
“Poor woman,” said Giles. “And it might perhaps explain Truro’s – how shall we put it – febrility?”
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