The Corpse Played Dead

by The Corpse Played Dead (retail) (epub)

  ‘What are you doing in here?’ she asked again. ‘You’re not supposed to be in here.’

  ‘I was in Lady Hawbridge’s room with Hannah just now, helping her to fold some gowns and then when her ladyship came in, Hannah sent me away. I missed the doorway to the back stairs and came in here by accident.’

  Even if she worked out that this was a lie, she didn’t say anything.

  ‘Is this the earl’s room?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course it’s the earl’s room,’ she said, brows furrowed. ‘Who else’s would it be?’

  ‘Yes, I thought it must be,’ I said, replacing the letters and gazing about. ‘Looks like a man’s room.’ I needed to divert her attention away from me. ‘What are you doing in here?’

  She shrugged, lifting up the bucket she was carrying. ‘I was cleaning the fireplace. I didn’t want to do it before, but Mrs Kemp made me come up today.’

  ‘Why didn’t you want to do it?’ I asked, walking over to her and making a play of inspecting the pile of ash in her bucket.

  She licked her lip and looked back at the door to his bed chamber. ‘I was afraid of his ghost. They were all saying he was murdered, and I thought his spirit might be in here.’

  I suppressed a smile. ‘I don’t think ghosts haunt their own homes, Mary. More likely the place where they died.’

  Her face was serious as she thought about it.

  ‘You think he’ll haunt the theatre?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t know much about ghosts. You’re cleaning this fireplace too?’ I gestured to the ash in the grate. ‘Would you like some help?’

  ‘I can manage it. I always do it.’ She still looked anxious, but she was no longer wondering why I was in his room.

  ‘Dead men don’t do any harm,’ I said, giving her thin shoulders a rub and echoing Molly’s words to me. ‘It’s the living ones you have to worry about.’

  At this her face began to crumple.

  ‘Is it so very wrong to be glad that he’s dead?’ she said, giving a sudden sob. ‘Does that make me very wicked, Lizzie, do you think?’

  I looked at her. She was fourteen, possibly younger. She had not quite lost her child’s face. There were little pimples appearing around her nose and chin. Her hazel eyes, starting to fill with water, were large and appealing, framed by long lashes. She was a pretty thing. He had obviously thought so. She would not have stood a chance against him. She was not intelligent, but she had been innocent. I felt anger rising in my chest.

  ‘No, I don’t think it makes you wicked. Men who prey on their maids are wicked, though.’

  She looked at me in alarm.

  ‘Don’t say anything, Lizzie. Please. She mustn’t know, Lady Hawbridge. She mustn’t know. I don’t want her to be angry with me.’

  ‘You haven’t told me anything, so I’ve nothing to tell.’ She had not told me. I had guessed. ‘I’d better go to the servants’ hall, though, or Hannah will wonder where I am. Show me where the door is?’

  She pointed me back to the door I had ignored earlier, and I made my way down the back stairs, as fast as I could.

  The life I live in Berwick Street is not the life I chose, but the wealthy men who visit me pay well for what they want. I dug my fingernails into the palms of my hands as I stamped down the stairs. Mary, and hundreds of girls like her all over London – all over England – were living at the mercy of men like Hawbridge, believing everything to be their own fault, cautioned to stay silent for fear of upsetting the lady of the house or losing their position.

  His death had brought relief to at least two members of his household: two women who would never know what the other had endured, because they would never speak of their experiences to one another.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Hannah had not returned to the servants’ hall when I walked in. There was no one present. I sat for a minute or two, waiting dutifully, but quickly became restless.

  There was a sound from beyond the doorway. Men’s voices. This was Mr Astley arriving with the young earl, I thought.

  ‘What? Why?’ I heard Astley’s surprise and assumed that he was only now being informed of Davenport’s impending arrival.

  ‘Here already? Who’s with her? Is Callow here?’

  The servant delivering the news had a very soft voice. Even with my ear pressed to the door, I could not make out what he was telling Mr Astley. I could, though, hear Mr Astley’s pompous tone very clearly.

  ‘Well, why didn’t anyone come and find me? I’ll go through now to be with her. No, no, I’ll manage. I don’t think you need be part of this, Shand, unless you wish to be… what? Yes, of course.’

  And then they were gone.

  Davenport had arrived then. He was already with Lady Hawbridge. I was cut off, trapped in the servants’ quarters. I wanted to hear, but I could not.

  I jumped back from the door as Hannah came in with Mrs Kemp. From the look on their faces, I saw immediately that something was wrong.

  ‘There she is,’ said Hannah, nodding at me. ‘Mary said she was in the earl’s room just now, looking at his personal letters.’

  I tried to swallow, but my mouth was dry. Silly little Mary might not have been a valet, but I should have guessed that she would be a squealer. Even after she had sobbed over me, she had run straight to Hannah. Shit.

  Mrs Kemp had returned from her business and was still in her bonnet.

  ‘Come here, you.’ The kindness had vanished.

  Reluctantly, I shuffled towards her, outwardly penitent, but ready to run. The back door was open.

  She grasped the top of an arm and shook me so hard that I thought my shoulder might break.

  ‘I don’t know who you are, or what you are, or why you’re in this house, but you are certainly not welcome here.’ She shook me again. ‘I made some enquiries, while I was out, thinking that I could find an honest girl a new position.’ More shaking. This was hurting my head now as well. My teeth were rattling. ‘I happened to meet a servant from the Woodmarsh house, and I discovered that Mr Woodmarsh has not dismissed his staff. You lied.’ Another shake and a fierce dig with her fingernails that made me yelp. ‘Mr and Mrs Woodmarsh did not have, nor ever had, a maid called Lizzie Blunt. And Mrs Woodmarsh,’ her voice rose in dreadful crescendo, ‘is still very much alive.’

  The lying old bastard.

  ‘I can’t believe you deceived us, Lizzie,’ said Hannah. ‘We trusted you. We let you into the house, into her ladyship’s rooms.’

  There was nothing that I could say. Nothing that I could do, except hope that my shoulder would not be shaken from its socket and that Mrs Kemp might simply order me to leave. She released my arm. I staggered and nearly fell over.

  ‘Pull out your pockets,’ she ordered. If I wasn’t a servant looking for honest work, then, in her mind, I must be a thief. It was a reasonable assumption. The pockets were empty save for the sixpence she had paid me yesterday.

  ‘That’s mine,’ I said, grabbing at it before she could take it. ‘I earned it fairly. You gave it to me.’

  She plucked at the fabric of my sleeve. ‘What about this, then? Where did you find the coin for new clothes?’

  I could not say, so shook my head. She drew her own conclusions.

  ‘Wicked, insolent girl,’ she said, voice rising in anger again. ‘Thieving hussy.’

  She gave me a sharp slap on the cheek, and then strode over to the corner of the hall, to fetch the stick that was leaning against the wall.

  Hannah was not expecting me to run and was not fast enough to grab me as I pushed past her and sped to the open door, unwilling to be beaten as well as shaken to bits. Neither she nor Mrs Kemp could catch me. Through the back door I went, as fast as I could run, knocking over a box on the way, around to the front of the house and out into the square. I turned to see whether they were following, but neither woman had given chase. I was not worth the effort, and I would be unlikely to return. They had not, I was grateful to see, sent any of the male servants
running after me.

  I leaned against the wall of a house at the top of the square, panting so hard that I thought I might faint or vomit.

  After only a few minutes, when my breathing had become nearly normal and the stinging heat on my cheek had died down, I saw the house steward showing Davenport out through the front door of Hawbridge House. He saw me and raised a hand in greeting.

  ‘That’s a better costume,’ he said, as he approached. ‘Less… grubby.’

  ‘Glad you approve.’ I gave him a little curtsey, still shaking.

  ‘Have you become a servant of Hawbridge House now, then?’ he asked.

  ‘No. Nor would I wish to.’ I looked back at the imposing edifice and rubbed my injured arm. ‘That’s a much better coat.’ I nodded to his outfit. ‘I rather like it.’

  The brown coat, reeking of smoke, had gone. He was dressed in something almost fashionable, as befitted an interview in St James’s Square. The rich blue suited him. It was perfectly cut and set with silver buttons, even if it was still rather plain.

  ‘Glad you approve.’ He gave me a bow and then grinned. He was a fine-looking man, now that he had lost the old coat and the scowl.

  Two stable hands were leading horses to the front of the house. We stood and watched – although I made sure that I was hidden behind Davenport’s shoulders, as I was reluctant to be seen by any of the servants. I wondered whether either was Martin Jakes, the man who caused Hannah to blush so quickly. Perhaps the younger of the two, who was talking, not to his companion, but to the horse, stroking its neck as he walked. Poor Hannah would need to acquire a glossy chestnut coat, if she wished to attract this one.

  The front door opened again and, this time, the steward was bidding farewell to Mr Astley and Mr Callow. Davenport and I watched as the new earl stood in the doorway and shook hands with his father’s friends. Lady Hawbridge appeared next to him. Astley bowed, clasped her hands and said something to her. I watched her nod, serious-faced, at whatever it was. He did not wish to let go of her hands, I thought. It was she who pulled away, glancing down the square.

  Mr Callow, by contrast, was lighter in his farewell – much more the old friend from childhood than the would-be suitor. He leaned into her and planted a kiss on the cheek she offered. She patted his face. Whatever it was that he said to her caused them both to laugh – he heartily, she covering her mouth. Astley laid a hand on Callow’s shoulder, as if cautioning him to regard that he was out in public. Callow gave a light shrug but moved away. One man had too great a sense of how to deport himself, the other had too little. Callow’s flippancy was annoying Astley, but I hoped that the young widow was grateful for the levity he brought. Her smile, although brief, had made her, if it were possible, even more beautiful.

  ‘How was your interview?’ I asked Davenport, still unable to pull my eyes from the countess. She had linked her arm through the earl’s as Callow and Astley steadied their horses and called their goodbyes.

  ‘Not easy.’

  I turned to him as the men passed us. ‘She is pleased to hear her husband’s killer is dead, I expect?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ He offered me his arm and we began to walk back to Covent Garden. ‘Yes, that was a great relief. In one sense, the nightmare is over for her. There will be no public trial, no raking over the story in the press. But she will always be known as the lady whose husband was hanged at Drury Lane. She will not escape the gossips.’

  I know how cruel polite people can be.

  ‘She had better marry again,’ I said. ‘And quickly. Take a new name and have done with Hawbridge for good. What did you think of Mr Astley? Will he make her an offer?’

  He considered this. ‘Mr Astley was warm to her, he was kind. I would say he behaved in a fatherly way. She’s still young, after all – young enough to be his daughter. He was the one most keen that she didn’t hear details, who intervened when I spoke of Sugden’s death. He was… protective.’

  ‘Worthiness can be dull, but she may yet be grateful for his protection.’

  ‘She was grateful for his kindness, I think’ he said. ‘But I doubt she’ll be short of suitors.’

  ‘Ah, the lovely Lady Hawbridge, with her golden hair, beautiful face and large fortune,’ I laughed. ‘No, they will be forming a queue down to St James’s Palace. Sadly, Mr Davenport, she is unlikely to turn to you for comfort, even though you are a gentleman and wearing such a smart coat – I do hope you’re not too distressed.’

  ‘I shall try to contain my disappointment,’ he said, drily.

  ‘What of the younger man, Mr Callow?’

  ‘I understand that they’re childhood friends. His London home is not far. Beyond that, I saw nothing to indicate they were particularly close. She looked embarrassed by his antics on the doorstep. Are you really suggesting that one of those gentlemen would have murdered Lord Hawbridge just to marry her?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ I said. ‘Not only is she extremely fair, she comes with her own fortune. Men have killed for less.’

  ‘They have. But both men are accounted for at the time when Lord Hawbridge was killed.’

  ‘You checked Mr Astley’s story?’ I thought of the love letter, signed with an A.

  ‘I did. His servants are all adamant that he returned home after the first play. He was not in a cheerful mood, one of them said.’

  ‘His mistress had been fondling Hawbridge’s thighs all night. I would not have expected him to be dancing a jig.’

  ‘And Molly Bray saw Callow in a tavern, so neither of them was cutting the earl’s throat.’ He said nothing more for a while as we paced in step with one another. He had slowed his usual brisk pace, content enough to amble with me.

  ‘What about you?’ he asked eventually. ‘What news from the servants’ quarters?’

  ‘I learned that the countess’s marriage was not a happy one and that her husband, when not gambling away her money and flirting with actresses, preyed upon one of the chamber maids.’

  He said nothing. It could hardly be considered news.

  ‘He once nearly killed a stable boy in a fit of temper. Several of his men left, they were so appalled. I think it must have taken a lot for them to leave such a prestigious house.’

  ‘That matches your own experience of him at your father’s house,’ he said.

  ‘I thought so too.’ I said. It was time to play my best card. ‘Oh, and Lady Hawbridge is having an affair with someone who signs his letters with an A.’

  ‘Really?’ He stopped still, genuinely shocked. ‘What on earth makes you say that?’

  ‘She has a note tucked into a book of sermons, of all things, on a bedside table. It’s written in French. The declarations of affection are unimaginative, but I didn’t have chance to read it carefully, so I couldn’t discover who sent it.’

  ‘Ah, I’d forgotten that you were so well-educated,’ he said, glancing at my servant’s clothes. ‘But you didn’t have chance to read it properly? That’s a pity. You were caught reading it?’

  ‘No, I was not.’ I paused, frustrated to admit my failure. ‘I was caught leafing through the earl’s private correspondence in his chambers, though. I didn’t find anything there, but I won’t have chance to have another look. I don’t think I’ll be welcome in Hawbridge House again.’

  He gave me an enquiring look. ‘What happened?’

  ‘There was an unpleasant scene in the servants’ hall. I’m sorry.’

  We walked on again in silence, each of us digesting our discoveries, presently arriving at the west side of Covent Garden’s piazza. Ahead was Bow Street and beyond that, Drury Lane.

  ‘I feel as though I’m wandering about in circles,’ he said. ‘Mr Fielding is unhappy. He’s outwardly content to allow Joseph Sugden to carry the blame for Lord Hawbridge’s death, at least for now, but he’s a man of principle and he would prefer to know the truth. He’s snapping at the men.’

  ‘At least he’ll guarantee the funding for their work,’ I said. ‘The government can’
t withhold his expenses, if he’s found a murderer. Especially when the murderer is conveniently dead.’

  ‘I don’t like convenient,’ he said in a low mutter. ‘I prefer truth. Even if we are forced to put up with the likes of William Simmot making us out to be blundering fools while we find it.’

  ‘You’ll find it, I know you will. But perhaps, now that the hacks are off your back, you can go about reaching it without being watched and criticised.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He gave me a warm smile. ‘And thank you for staying here.’

  I pulled my arm from his as we neared the magistrate’s house. ‘I’d better walk to the theatre without you, Mr Davenport. I have my reputation to think of.’

  He laughed at this. ‘What reputation would that be, Miss Hardwicke?’

  ‘The one that currently requires me to wear such dismal clothing and live without hope of payment, as Lizzie Blunt.’

  He met my eyes, suddenly serious. ‘Try to stay out of danger. Whatever the newspapers say, we both know that there is still a killer about.’

  Chapter Thirty-five

  I left him at Bow Street and made my way towards the theatre. I peered into the Rose tavern on the way, to see if Molly was there, and then looked into the Shakespeare. John, the tavern-keeper hadn’t seen her. She was, perhaps, sleeping off her drink in the mending room.

  I was about to leave when, in the corner, I saw William Simmot. He was sitting by himself with a small bowl of punch and a pile of papers. He was reading them and, from time to time, scribbling on them, his tiny inkwell and several scattered goose feathers lying next to his drink.

  It struck me, watching him, that I had overlooked him as a source of information. He was, it pained me to admit it, an observant man. His description of Hawbridge House, although a little flowery, and written for those who prefer gossip to architecture, had been precise and accurate. His portrait of Davenport had been vindictive, but it had been recognisable – which was why it had stung the man so badly. Members of the company had marked Simmot as Lord Hawbridge’s killer because they did not like him, but a charmless man isn’t necessarily a murderer. Davenport had questioned him as a suspect, but I wondered whether this puffed-up fool had a talent for seeing and hearing things, when he wasn’t writing terrible plays. He could certainly write – I had evidence of that.