by AJ MacKenzie
Lucy tapped at the door. ‘Reverend Hardcastle to see you, ma’am.’
‘Your arrival is timely,’ said Mrs Chaytor as the rector entered the room. ‘I am in the process of losing a contest of rhetoric. I could do with your professional advice.’
Hardcastle looked at the child, thin and small in a baggy gown much too large for her, seated on Mrs Chaytor’s lap with one thumb in her mouth. The child looked entirely content. So, to his mild surprise, did Mrs Chaytor. ‘She looks a redoubtable opponent. I am unlikely to succeed where you have failed.’
‘Then I shall concede defeat.’ Mrs Chaytor kissed the girl on the head again. ‘Run along to the kitchen, and tell Lucy I said you may have a sweet.’
The child wriggled down and trotted out of the room. Mrs Chaytor looked at the rector. ‘Don’t,’ she said with a warning in her voice.
‘Don’t what?’
‘Say anything.’
‘About what?’
‘You know perfectly well what. I never said I disliked children.’
‘Neither did I.’
‘Then stop smiling at me. How are the people?’
‘They are recovering remarkably quickly.’ The refugees had arrived on Monday night; it was now Wednesday morning. Hardcastle had spent most of yesterday going around the village, seeing that all the refugees were cared for, and that they and their hosts had all they needed. ‘There are still a number who are too ill to travel, but some of the healthy ones are already thinking of moving on, to London or elsewhere. I have promised to help them with money for the journey, if they need it. Their strength of will is astonishing. I am not sure I would recover so quickly from the ordeal they have been through.’
‘Their ordeal began five years ago,’ said Mrs Chaytor quietly. ‘To survive famine, war and the Terror, one has to be strong, I think . . . But with all that has happened, I expect you have had to put the investigation to one side.’
‘Not entirely. Cole called again this morning, anxious to give me some good news. Captain Haddock, who is of rather sharper wit than Cole, assumed the smugglers’ ship might try to mingle with other vessels to disguise its departure. He spotted the Dutch ship and gave chase, but the other had too long a start. She took refuge under the cover of the French coastal artillery, where Stag could not follow. We now know that she is called the Hoorn, by the way, and her captain is a man named Sloterdyke.’
‘What was the Dutchman doing here, do you think?’
‘According to Stemp, Captain Bertrand has ceased working with Noakes’s gang. I think they have turned to the Dutchman instead. That is by the way. I also had an interesting conversation with one of my guests yesterday, a learned man who knows much more about human nature than I do. He has helped me to look inside the mind of our embezzler. Who has the vision and the power of will to carry out a huge and complex fraud such as this?’
‘An excellent idea. How may I help?’
‘Listen to my analysis, tell me if it might be right and demolish it if it is not. In other words, do what you always do.’
Mrs Chaytor rang the bell on her desk. ‘A discussion of this intensity will require coffee. Lucy! When you have finished spoiling those children with sweetmeats, bring us some coffee, please.’
‘Now,’ said the rector, once coffee was poured and Lucy had gone to prepare dinner for their involuntary guests, ‘let us first reconstruct how the smuggling operation works. Faversham’s bank buys gold, which is then concealed inside gunpowder kegs. When a consignment is ready, Jean the courier crosses to France. He negotiates with Vandamme, tells him how much gold is coming and arranges payment.’
Mrs Chaytor nodded. ‘Jean then sends word back to England that all is well and the shipment may proceed.’
‘Noakes and his gang load the gold aboard ship and escort their cargo across the Channel,’ said the rector, ‘guarding it until the transaction is complete. They return to England; as does Jean, probably bearing a receipt for the gold from Vandamme.
‘Now, Mr Ricardo thought the gold was transported to Amsterdam and sold there. Thanks to Matthew, we know that is not true. So what does happen? I assume that Vandamme, after sending the gold to Paris, draws up a bill of exchange and forwards this to Staphorst in Amsterdam. After that, the money follows the trail Mr Ricardo described: from Amsterdam to Hamburg, and finally back to the Grasshopper in London, who remit the money to the East Weald and Ashford.
‘That is the original smuggling operation as Faversham established it. Now, let us turn to the fraud. According to Charlotte Faversham, Munro believed that the money was being embezzled at one of two places, Boulogne or Amsterdam.’ Hardcastle paused. ‘It is possible that either Vandamme or Staphorst are themselves responsible for the fraud.’
‘But you don’t really believe it,’ said Mrs Chaytor.
‘Matthew didn’t think much of the idea of Vandamme being an embezzler,’ said the rector. ‘And Ricardo spoke of Staphorst as being an established and legitimate bank. Of course, there could be a corrupt official or clerk within either.’
Mrs Chaytor shook her head. ‘The embezzler is also the murderer,’ she said, ‘or at least, the one who directed the murders. All my instincts tell me so.’
‘As do mine,’ said Hardcastle.
Mrs Chaytor’s eyes were intense as she watched him. ‘We have heard from our instincts. Now, what does your reason tell you?’
‘I believe the embezzler must have four qualities. The first is the necessary intelligence and knowledge of how banking works, in order to design the fraud. The second is the opportunity to commit that fraud. This must include connections with the banks in Boulogne and Amsterdam, in order to manipulate the money trail. The third is the necessary motivation. Anyone can steal, but it takes an unusual and devious mind to contemplate, and commit, the theft of £35,000. Finally, the fourth is the will and the temperament to murder.’
‘Go on.’
‘Therefore, I have ruled out Noakes, Jean the courier and the other small fry. They can certainly kill, and they might have the opportunity to steal, but I doubt they have the necessary knowledge or, especially, the ambition to carry out a scheme this bold. Munro could certainly have done it; Cotton, perhaps; but both were killed by the embezzler, which rules them out of contention.’
‘Unless there was a falling-out among thieves,’ Mrs Chaytor said.
‘Hmm, perhaps. I believe there are other, better candidates, however. We had previously considered Grebell Faversham, but I think we must rule him out too.’
‘Grebell Faversham needs to grow up,’ Mrs Chaytor said tartly. ‘He has romantic ideas about his own nature and importance, but a scheme of this complexity is well beyond his abilities. I doubt if he could murder anyone, or be able to find people to do it for him.’
‘I agree. For broadly similar reasons, I have also ruled out Maudsley. He hasn’t the ambition or the skill to play a game like this. So I have therefore narrowed down my list to three candidates: Charles Faversham, Mrs Redcliffe and the clerk, Charles Batist.’
‘Earlier you were prepared to discount Faversham,’ she reminded him.
‘I was. He seemed desperate and afraid, thinking he himself might be the next victim. But for the sake of completeness, we should consider him again. The man has, after all, deceived many people over the years about the strength and health of his bank. He is a fairly accomplished liar.’
‘More than most bankers?’ she asked. ‘Very well. Make your case.’
‘Faversham knows that the bank will fail. Perhaps he has given up on trying to save it. Perhaps he is trying to save what he can from the wreckage, extracting money from the bank while he still can. After it fails, he will rise like a phoenix from the ashes and begin a new venture elsewhere, perhaps in another country. And Munro and Cotton found out what he was doing, and he killed them to prevent his own exposure.’
‘You have made this argument before,’ she said. ‘It is, however, even more full of holes than it was on that occasion. A
s I said at the time, Charles Faversham’s reputation is intimately bound up with that of the bank. Its fall will be a very severe blow to him. More practically, given what we know from Mr Ricardo and others about Faversham’s lack of ability, is it conceivable that he could carry out a fraud on this scale?’
‘It seems unlikely,’ the rector admitted.
‘To be honest, I am surprised he could even put together something so complex as the gold-smuggling operation. Indeed, I think he must have had help to do that. A fraud of this sophistication is surely well beyond him. No; I think your initial response was correct. Faversham is a frightened man. He knows, or suspects, who the real embezzler is, and is terrified that he will meet the same fate as Munro and Cotton. You invited me to demolish your analysis.’
‘I did. I wasn’t expecting you to bury it completely and then plough the earth with salt. You’re quite right, of course. We can rule out Faversham once again, definitively this time. That leaves us with two remaining suspects.’ The rector looked keenly at her. ‘What do you think of Mrs Redcliffe?’
‘I don’t believe it is her.’
‘Why?’ he teased her. ‘Women’s intuition?’
She scowled at him. ‘Mrs Redcliffe has contacts with smugglers, and is certainly competent. She could organise the gold smuggling, without a doubt. But does she know the European banks well enough to organise the trail of money? Her experience is in coastal shipping, not finance.’
‘A fair point.’
‘And, I would question too whether she has the motivation,’ said Mrs Chaytor. ‘She dislikes Faversham, but she has no animus against the bank. She spoke of her sympathy with the small depositors who will suffer when the bank fails.’
‘You mentioned once that she had another venture, something that she intended would be her legacy,’ said Hardcastle. ‘Did she say what that was?’
Mrs Chaytor frowned. ‘No.’ She paused for a moment, her teeth sunk into her lower lip, deep in thought. ‘Whatever this venture is, she expects it to be concluded soon; within a year or two, she said. After that, she talked of going travelling, rather as if she intended to retire. But also, I don’t know how much longer she can live. Half a pint of laudanum a day is a killing dose. She cannot survive that for long.’
‘Your reason for omitting her, then, is that she has her own concerns and is perhaps too preoccupied with her own mortality to have much interest in the bank?’
‘Yes. But do you know, upon thinking about it once more, I am no longer certain that is sufficient reason to eliminate her. She has the necessary competence and the strength of will, which most of our other suspects do not.’
The rector nodded. ‘The question is, does she have the knowledge and resources to commit the fraud? It seems unlikely that she does.’
‘And so, to Batist,’ Mrs Chaytor said. ‘What do you know of him?’
‘Very little. To all appearances, he is a hard-working, selfless servant of the bank.’
‘Perhaps that is what he wants you to think,’ she suggested. ‘Perhaps there is something else behind the facade.’
‘Quiet, self-effacing bank clerk by day; murderer, smuggler and arch-villain by night? It sounds like the plot from one of my sister’s ghastly novels . . . For what it is worth, Batist was genuinely fond of Hector Munro, and was distressed when Munro died.’
‘Perhaps he never intended for Munro to die, and was shocked when it happened. One can be fond of people but still find them disposable in the right circumstances.’
Startled, Hardcastle looked at her. ‘I think we must consider him seriously,’ Mrs Chaytor continued. ‘We are already agreed that as Munro’s confidant, he is likely to have known about the smuggling. As a clerk of many years’ experience, he must surely know how to embezzle money; well enough to fool Faversham, anyway.’
‘He knows about banking in Amsterdam, too,’ said Hardcastle. ‘When I interviewed him, he spoke knowledgeably on the subject. Stemp has found no evidence that any of the Batist family on this side of the Channel are involved in smuggling. But Batist might still have contacts in France.’
She frowned. ‘But what motivates him?’ she asked. ‘Why would a simple bank clerk wish to steal £35,000?’
‘Perhaps there is some old injury or slight which he has never forgiven, and he intends to bring down the bank in revenge,’ said Hardcastle. ‘Or perhaps he, not Faversham, is the one planning to use the proceeds of the fraud to start a new venture elsewhere. With £35,000 he could go anywhere in the world and do anything he wished. He is still a young man. The future would hold no limits for him.’
‘Mild-mannered bank clerk by day, evil arch-villain by night,’ said Mrs Chaytor, smiling.
‘By thunder; if Calpurnia’s books start making sense, I shall have to take up serious drinking again.’
‘Do you truly think it might be Batist?’
‘He has the ability, he has the connections.’ Hardcastle frowned. ‘But could he commit murder, or order it done? Is there a ruthless streak behind that quiet face? I wonder. I shall speak to him again as soon as possible, and see what I can learn.’
‘There is still one thing that bothers me,’ said Mrs Chaytor. ‘The opium. Where does it fit in?’
‘What makes you so certain that it does?’
‘Women’s intuition,’ she said.
THOMAS COUTTS & CO., THE STRAND, LONDON
21st of September, 1797
By express
Mrs Chaytor,
I write in haste, humbly craving your forgiveness. I have complied with your request in full, and accounts in the name of Miss Rosannah Godfrey and Miss Clara Roper have been established. I await receipt of your bills, upon which the accounts will be immediately credited with their full amount. As a gesture of goodwill to yourself, I am waiving our usual discount.
Please do forgive me for my earlier tardiness. I hope that my prompt action now meets with your pleasure and approval, and that both I and the bank may continue to enjoy your favour.
I endeavour to remain
Yr most obedient and humble serv’t
JAMES HORNBY
SENIOR CLERK
Mrs Chaytor knocked at Miss Godfrey and Miss Roper’s cottage and brandished the paper cheerfully as they opened the door. ‘At last, the letter from Coutts has arrived. Now we can withdraw your money, and you will be safe.’
‘Oh!’ cried Miss Roper, clasping her thin hands together. ‘Oh, Mrs Chaytor, what a relief!’ Tears started suddenly in her eyes. ‘Oh, my dear friend, how good of you to do all this for us. You are so kind, so kind! Oh, my dear, dear friend!’
‘Hush, Clara,’ said Miss Godfrey gently, laying a hand on her arm. ‘What do we do next, Mrs Chaytor?’
‘Next, I drive you to Rye. When do you wish to go? I can take you now, if you are free.’
They rushed to find their wraps and hats and reticules while Mrs Chaytor returned to Sandy House and ordered out the gig. Drawing on her driving gloves, she walked out and helped the two ladies up to the seat; there was just room for all three of them to sit abreast.
They drove to Rye on a dark, dreary September day, the Marsh blanketed by drizzle. They left the gig at the George and walked through the rain to the bank. A clerk showed them into Grebell Faversham’s office, seated them and offered sherry. Grebell himself entered the room a moment later, dressed in sober grey. His face was thinner and even more drawn than it had been before.
‘Thank you for seeing us, Mr Faversham,’ said Mrs Chaytor. ‘These are the friends I have mentioned to you, Miss Godfrey and Miss Roper. They have come to draw out their money, as we have arranged.’
‘Ladies,’ said Grebell, bowing. ‘It is my pleasure to meet you both.’
‘Thank you for your assistance, sir,’ said Miss Godfrey as they took their seats. She was suddenly rather embarrassed. ‘Please do not feel that our desire to withdraw our money is intended as any slight on your bank. We simply feel that for the moment, it is better for us to have our money
in London. I hope this does not inconvenience you.’
‘I understand,’ said Grebell. He looked down at his desk, and silence fell.
‘Mr Faversham?’ Amelia prompted. ‘Perhaps we could proceed?’
Grebell looked up again. His eyes were full of weary pain. ‘I fear, ma’am, that there has been an unforeseen difficulty.’
Miss Godfrey and Miss Roper sat silent. ‘What sort of difficulty?’ asked Mrs Chaytor.
‘I . . . I am sorry to say this, but . . . I am unable to comply with your request for Miss Godfrey and Miss Roper to withdraw the entire sums in their accounts.’
‘And why not?’
‘As of yesterday, we have been forced to restrict the amount of money we can issue to any individual customer.’
Dear God, thought Amelia. We are too late. That damned dithering fool Hornby. I will break him for this.
Aloud, she said, ‘I see. How much money may my friends withdraw?’
‘I am entitled to authorise a withdrawal of twenty-five pounds from each account, fifty pounds in total, but only in banknotes drawn on this bank. I fear I cannot issue a bill of exchange as you ask.’
‘Fifty pounds?’ quavered Miss Roper. ‘How shall we live on fifty pounds? Oh, Rosie! What shall we do?’
‘There is a run on the bank,’ said Mrs Chaytor to Grebell. ‘Isn’t there?’
‘Yes. It began yesterday morning. By nightfall we had lost fifteen per cent of our deposits. Much more, and . . . we will not be able to pay out at all.’
It was hopeless, she knew, but she had to try. ‘You gave me your word of honour,’ she said to Grebell. ‘You promised as a gentleman to see that my friends’ money was safe. I am calling on you now to honour that promise.’
He went pale. ‘I am . . . unable to do so. Words cannot express how sorry I am.’
‘Come,’ said Mrs Chaytor to Miss Godfrey, who helped Miss Roper to her feet. Grebell hurried to open the door for them, ushering the two older women through. Mrs Chaytor paused in the doorway and looked him hard in the face.