Hannah was standing behind her lady and staring at me as though I had dropped from the sky. I ignored her and fixed my attention on Lady Hawbridge.
Davenport, much better suited to terrifying men like Simmot, decided to play his hand gently. He apologised for the intrusion into Mr Callow’s home but said that Mr Fielding now had cause to wonder whether, indeed, Joseph Sugden had killed Lord Hawbridge. He was trying to establish exactly where people were on the night of the murder.
Lady Hawbridge paled at this. She clasped her hands together a little tighter and spoke in a whisper.
‘But you told us that this man, Sugden, had killed himself. That he had murdered my husband. What has changed this?’
Davenport cleared his throat.
‘We still think that Sugden was involved in some way,’ he said, avoiding her puzzled gaze, ‘but we are not so certain that we can leave other lines of enquiry untested. It’s what the public expects, my lady, that we don’t simply jump to conclusions.’
It was a reasonable speech and she appeared to accept it.
‘Mr Callow,’ he said, turning to her companion. ‘You told the magistrate that on the night Lord Hawbridge died, you left the theatre and went briefly to the Rose Tavern, alone, and then had your servants take you to the Bedford Head in Southampton Street. I wondered whether you wanted to confirm this, or whether you’ve had opportunity to re-think your story?’
Callow blinked. ‘Why do I need to re-think it? It’s not a story. That’s what I did.’
Davenport considered his words carefully, in the light of his gentle audience. ‘In the theatre, you suggested to the magistrate that you had not been alone at the Bedford.’
Callow looked uncomfortable. ‘Really, man, I’m not sure Lady Hawbridge needs to hear…’
Davenport cut him short. ‘I am sure that Lady Hawbridge is quite aware of how her gentlemen friends conduct themselves around the theatres and taverns. But I find myself unable to locate the person you were with that evening.’
Callow coloured pink. ‘You told me that someone had seen me there.’
Davenport nodded. ‘They said they had seen your coat, but I don’t know they will swear to having seen you.’
‘Do they need to swear it?’ Callow was incredulous. ‘Am I under suspicion in some way?’
Lady Hawbridge was becoming very agitated. Hannah was almost more so.
‘As I said to Lady Hawbridge, we are now less certain of Sugden’s guilt. It’s unfortunate, but if I cannot confirm that you were in Southampton Street, sir, then I might suggest to the magistrate that we need to make further enquiries.’
There was a long silence, as the two of them understood his meaning. A look passed between them. Davenport saw it, as I did.
‘Lady Hawbridge, I do apologise,’ he said, bending his head to her. ‘Before addressing this distressing subject, I should have congratulated you on the happier news of your baby. That was negligent of me.’
I was impressed. I had imagined he would leave her out of this.
‘My baby?’ she said in a little voice.
He nodded to her belly. ‘Although I think you have a few months to go, haven’t you?’
She gave a tiny cry. ‘How did you know?’
‘I’m a physician, as well as one of Mr Fielding’s men, my lady,’ he said in a soothing voice. ‘A baby will be a worthy tribute to your husband, and a comfort in the days ahead, I’m sure.’
She turned paler still and shrank a little further into her chair.
‘Mr Davenport, I don’t think you should be distressing Lady Hawbridge like this. She’s been through enough over the last few days.’ Callow’s face was full of righteous anger now that Davenport had turned his attention to Lady Hawbridge. ‘Is this how the magistrate conducts his business? Pestering widows?’
‘My apologies, my lady, I meant only to offer my good wishes in a difficult time,’ Davenport murmured.
Callow’s response had been interesting.
‘I think you should leave, sir,’ Callow said.
Lady Hawbridge put a hand out to him. ‘No, Adam, not on my account. I’m sure Mr Davenport meant no harm.’ Adam. She called him by his Christian name. He was ‘A’.
Behind Lady Hawbridge, Hannah was struggling to stay still. I could see her out of the corner of my eye, fiddling with her apron strings.
‘And I would still like to know where you were on the night Lord Hawbridge died, sir, before I take my leave. And with whom. A description of your companion, at least, would be helpful,’ said Davenport, as lightly as if he were asking the name of the man’s tailor.
I looked directly at Hannah now. Her face was racked with anxiety.
‘I think you’re asking the wrong person, Mr Davenport,’ I said.
I expected him to scowl at the interruption, but Davenport, perhaps ahead of me, said simply, ‘And who should I ask?’
I nodded to Hannah. ‘Lady Hawbridge’s maid. Hannah knows where Mr Callow was.’
Davenport stood up and walked over to Hannah, who was glancing, terrified, at her mistress, torn between telling us what we had already guessed or seeing Callow taken away to Bow Street with no real alibi for a murder.
‘Hannah,’ said Davenport, ‘if you know of Mr Callow’s whereabouts on the night your master died, you must tell me. If you do not, I will ask you and Mr Callow to come with me to the magistrate’s office and he will ask you what you know.’ He used that slow, coaxing tone I had heard before. Even now it made me quake a little.
Hannah’s face was wretched. Her eyes flicked between Callow and Lady Hawbridge. The lady had now covered her face in her hands. She was sobbing softly. Callow looked as though he would burst.
‘For the love of God, Davenport, I was here with Harriet, with Lady Hawbridge. She was here with me.’
Davenport had not taken his eyes off Hannah. ‘Is that true?’ he asked her. She nodded and burst into a great sob.
‘You were here too?’
‘Yes,’ the word emerged in a gurgle. ‘She waited for him as arranged. And he came home not long after the clock had struck ten.’
Davenport turned to Callow. ‘This was arranged? For her to be here? You were not expecting Hawbridge to return home that night then?’ The insinuation was clear.
‘He never came home after the theatre,’ said Lady Hawbridge from her chair. ‘He never came home to me.’ She looked up at him, red-eyed but still astonishingly lovely. ‘He went from theatre to gaming house to whorehouse or to one of his other women. That was his way when he went out to a play. I did not expect him until noon the next day, at the earliest.’
Callow went to her, stood beside her chair and held her hand. He loved her. He was not her husband, but he was the man she had sought.
‘Did your husband know about the two of you?’ Davenport asked. Their answer was not critical – Callow had not killed Hawbridge if he had been at home – but he wanted to know.
Lady Hawbridge let out a deep sigh. ‘I rarely saw him and when I did he was always vile. It was my money that interested him, of course. A steady income – my father refused a single amount, knowing that he was likely to gamble it all in one go – but a regular and substantial income was just what he needed.’
She squeezed Callow’s hand.
‘And he continued living as he had always lived. But to answer your question, I never told him about Adam, of course. We were always careful. And, in truth, he never took me seriously enough to wonder about my life, my feelings. So I doubt it.’
I didn’t imagine Lord Hawbridge had thought of anyone’s feelings but his own. He had probably ignored his first wife, except when he required her to produce his heirs. Perhaps she had not minded his absence too much and been content with her lot. I had seen, when she had first lifted up her veil, that the present Lady Hawbridge was endowed with intelligence and strength of character. Under different circumstances, I would have wanted to know her better. Callow’s alibi had come at the expense of her reputation,
but the only people who knew of it were those of us in this room.
We got up to leave, Davenport murmuring polite words.
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out Lord Hawbridge’s snuff box. ‘I haven’t had opportunity to return this. It was found near his body. We don’t need it.’
She turned it over in her hand and then pressed the catch. The lid sprang up like a peacock’s tail.
She gave a wry smile. ‘This was how he was, Mr Davenport. So much show, so much grandeur, but full of insignificant dust.’ She tipped the contents on to the floor. ‘Do you know, he lost this once – just before we married. It drove him into a mad rage, can you imagine? His temper was violent, especially when he didn’t get his own way. He beat a servant, a stable boy, believing he had taken it, and then he accused another young boy of stealing it – a lad from a family of passing gypsies, I think he was. He pressed the case so hard that the child was condemned for it.’ She placed it on the table. ‘And then it transpired that he had simply misplaced it.’
That was even more shocking than the story of him beating the stable boy.
‘I am not sad that he’s dead, you know,’ she said. ‘I shall mourn the Earl of Hawbridge in public as is appropriate, but I shall not grieve.’
‘And you will have new considerations soon.’
She smiled. ‘Mr Callow and I plan to marry, and he will, of course, adopt the child as his own. We must wait, but we know that happiness is around the corner.’
Callow said nothing.
So, it was Adam Callow, I had overheard, wanting to marry her sooner, but she was the stronger of the two and the date of the marriage would be her choice. Her mettle had been tempered already.
Hannah stood, still fretting at her apron. I went to her, as Davenport was taking his leave of Lady Hawbridge.
‘You did well,’ I said. ‘You did the right thing and she won’t punish you for it.’
‘I hope not,’ she said. ‘I want to see her happy again.’
I gave her arm a rub and then embraced her. ‘Good luck, Hannah.’
She gave me an odd look. ‘Who are you? What are you?’
I shook my head. ‘As I was before: just a woman trying to make her way in the world, like the rest of us – even Lady Hawbridge.’
She wasn’t convinced by this, but it was all I was prepared to say.
Chapter Forty
Davenport led his horse as we walked together. We did not speak for most of the way.
‘You were right about Lady Hawbridge,’ he said, eventually. ‘She was not what I thought.’
I decided it was wise to be gracious in response. ‘She has spent a lifetime playing her part, Mr Davenport. A sensitive and clever woman trapped in the prison of wealth and beauty. It’s difficult to see beyond how she appears on the outside because she’s been so well-schooled in how to behave.’
I thought of Mr Simmot’s play about the phoenix. ‘I hope that she has found a means of escape in the person of Mr Callow. I hope that he deserves her.’
The horse let out a snort and shook its head.
‘Your horse thinks not,’ I said. ‘I expect your horse is right. But she stands a better chance of happiness with him than she ever did with Lord Hawbridge.’
He stared ahead, saying nothing. He had been enchanted by her, I knew, and even as she had revealed herself to be, in my eyes, a woman of courage and strength, her affair with Callow had diminished her in his estimation. The noble widow was carrying another man’s child; she was not the paragon he had imagined.
I changed the subject.
‘Who killed Lord Hawbridge?’
He groaned. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if we’ll ever know. If Callow was with Lady Hawbridge and Astley was at home, as his own staff are united in telling me, then who do we have left?’
‘William Simmot, however unlikely a murderer, is still unable to account for his time that night. No one saw him; he was writing, alone in his room. Mr Dinsdale and Mr Hunter are plotting to take over the theatre, as we know. Hunter would not be able to raise the girandole on his own because of his damaged leg, so they must be acting together. I still can’t see why they would want to kill Lord Hawbridge, but I wonder whether it was some sort of mad game gone wrong?’
‘A game gone wrong?’
‘A way of threatening Garrick, perhaps. Dangling one of his patrons over the stage? Yet another strange occurrence to make the company skittish.’
‘And then somebody accidentally cut his throat?’ he said. ‘That doesn’t work. It was deliberate. If they meant to frighten Garrick, then they did it by killing a man in cold blood.’
‘There’s something we’re just not seeing,’ I said. ‘Something about Dinsdale or Hunter that connects them to Lord Hawbridge – beyond the theatre, I think.’
‘Hmm.’ His pace slowed a little. ‘Perhaps I’ll gather a couple of men and bring the two of them into Bow Street. Mr Fielding might like to press them about it. He has a gift of getting at the truth, especially if these men believe themselves to be under suspicion. One may accidentally betray the other – I’ve seen this happen.’
‘Ah yes,’ I said, ‘a man will risk his friend to save his own neck. It’s an idea – especially as neither of them is currently aware that we know of their game.’
The plan in hand, his pace picked up and his mood lightened.
‘We’re nearly there,’ I said. ‘I can walk from here alone, if you want to go on ahead and find your men.’
‘Are you sure?’
I laughed. ‘I am perfectly sure. Believe me, Mr Davenport, I am even more hardy than Lady Hawbridge. I don’t need an escort from here.’
‘Very well.’ He climbed onto his horse and collected the reins. ‘I’ll meet you in the theatre shortly.’
* * *
I watched him go and walked now with a little more purpose. What was it that connected the two men with Hawbridge? Something, beyond destroying Garrick, had motivated this crime. And what had it to do with Joe Sugden’s death, which had been neither suicide nor tragic accident? If the magistrate heard from Davenport that the two men were plotting against Garrick, then he would work harder to discover what had led them to kill. He had his ways, as Davenport said.
Frustrating though it was not to have discovered what was going on, all I could do now was wait for Mr Fielding to do what he did so well and skewer the pair of them with threats and clever questions. I could, at least, be proud of my own part in uncovering their plot, as Davenport had said. I only hoped that Mr Fielding would be generous in the financial reward. I had, so far, earned sixpence in three days, and had lost that to a carriage I hadn’t ridden in. And I was yet to eat a proper meal.
I passed the corner of Southampton Street and caught sight of the Bedford Head tavern, where Mr Callow had not, it transpired, eaten a hearty meal with a cheap woman. My empty stomach ached for a good stew or a leg of mutton.
I was struck by a most curious thought. I turned it over and over as I walked towards the theatre. If Mr Callow had not been in the Bedford Head, then why had Molly been so certain that she had seen his coat?
At the back of the theatre, outside the door, there was a small, pull-along cart, the sort a pie-seller would use. There were, sadly, no pies on it, but a few sacks and one small trunk. Molly emerged from the door dragging a larger, heavier-looking, trunk. She reached the cart and then swung the trunk on to it with impressive strength.
‘Molly?’
She looked over and saw me. ‘Lizzie, you’re about to find that you’ve a new job in the theatre.’
‘What?’
She came over and put an arm around me. ‘You’ll be perfect as head seamstress. I’ll put in a word for you with Mr Garrick.’
‘I don’t understand.’
She rubbed her forehead, wiping away the effort of lifting the trunk. ‘I’ve decided to leave London again,’ she said. ‘I think it’s for the best. I talked it over with Ketch yesterday and I’m going back to Southwark,
possibly going from there to the coast. I can find work with travelling players as I go.’
‘I can see that life would be hard here, after all that’s happened. But you think you’ll survive?’
She laughed at this. ‘I’ve survived all my life, Lizzie.’ She started to tie the trunk onto the cart. ‘Tell Ketch I’m nearly ready, will you? He’s in the green room. I’ll come and say a proper farewell in a minute.’
The dark corridor into the back of the theatre was brighter for having the door open. It looked so very different now that I could see more clearly. Garrick would need a new seamstress – but I was certainly not going to stay around to fix cuffs and collars in Molly’s place. Here was one further irritation for the theatre manager.
I walked, in something of a daze, up to the green room and found Ketch loading a bag with bread and cheese.
‘Are you leaving as well, Ketch,’ I asked.
‘You’ve seen Molly, then? Yes, I’m going. I never really took to the theatre life. Too much of a traveller, like Molly Bray. We’ll head south, I think. Go slow. Stop here and there. It’s our way.’
A pattern began to rearrange itself in my mind. A picture started to form. A snuff box and an angry nobleman. A traveller’s boy.
‘What happened, Ketch? What happened to Molly’s mother?’
‘What’s that?’
‘Something happened a while ago and it distresses Molly still, I know. This is about more than Joe’s death, isn’t it? Her mother died, Molly said. What happened to her, Ketch?’
He looked at me thoughtfully for a moment and put his bag down with a sigh.
‘Dear Alice Bray. The loveliest and best of women, she was too. Hanged herself.’
‘How terrible. Why would she do that?’ I had a feeling I knew.
He shrugged. ‘Broken heart. Molly’s younger brother Jack. He…’ he paused for a moment, recalling something from his own past, as well as hers; pondering what to tell me. ‘He was only twelve and he died in gaol. Fever, they said it was. She never recovered.’
The Corpse Played Dead Page 24