by Alis Hawkins
He nodded, but his face looked as if he was hearing my words from a long way off and only just catching them.
‘I’ll get Mrs Weston to make up an invoice for the magistrates, shall I?’
That seemed to bring him back to himself. ‘No! You’ll need the rooms to go on with the investigation till I can get back.’
Till he could get back? Unlikely. He’d either be tending a very sick father or organising a funeral. He wasn’t going to have time for inquests.
Harry grabbed my arm as if he might drown without something to hold on to. ‘Keep on with the investigation for me. Please, John. You know as much about it all as I do. Just use your judgement.’
He gave me no time to argue. Just did as I’d told him and went.
After I’d spoken to Mrs Weston and arranged to move into the room Harry’d had, I went up to see about packing his things.
The room was small and barely furnished. At first, I thought it was Harry penny-pinching for the magistrates but then I remembered that the Black Lion was a coaching inn – not much required beyond a bed for the night.
Still, somebody’d put a little table in the room and Harry’s writing things were on it.
On top of his writing box was the wooden frame he used, still folded in half. He hadn’t had any need for it yet. I put it to one side and opened the writing box. I don’t know why but the sight of the half-used ink stick and the empty inkwell made me sad for Harry. Could he still make his ink up himself, or did he get somebody to do it for him? There’d be plenty of servants to do it at Glanteifi but perhaps he’d have had to see to it himself, here. Or asked me.
I looked at the steel-nibbed pens in their little compartment. Who had Harry thought he’d be writing to while we were in Cardigan? If he hadn’t brought the frame as well, I might’ve thought he’d brought the writing things for me. And I might need them, yet. All I had in the way of writing equipment was a pencil and a notebook.
I closed the box. I’d keep it and send the frame back to Glanteifi with the rest of his things.
I gave Harry’s portmanteau to Twm and told him I needed word from Harry as soon as possible about how I should proceed. Just use your judgement might show his confidence in me but it could let me in for a whole lot of trouble from Billy Go-About if my judgement wasn’t to his liking.
I watched Twm riding out of the yard. I knew I’d get no word from Glanteifi until the following morning at the earliest. Which left the rest of that day for me to do whatever I judged best.
Whatever Harry thought, my gut told me that Teff Harris was the obvious suspect for Jenkyn Hughes’s murder. Always assuming the corpse was Hughes. Granted, we didn’t know why Harris might’ve wanted to kill the American but it wasn’t my job to find that out.
I knew Billy Go-About had sent his officers to get what they could out of Harris’s neighbours but I’d’ve been willing to bet good money that they wouldn’t go near The Ship. Which was exactly where I was intending to go because two things were clear to me. One, Bets Parry knew something. Two, judging by the way she’d hustled me out the day before, her mother didn’t want Bets talking to me. But I was pretty sure that if I threw Harry’s name and ‘Acting Coroner’ about enough, I’d be able to speak to Bets alone.
I looked into the stalls. Seren was getting a rubbing-down from one of the grooms. Not that she really needed it – we hadn’t been far. Still, it was better than seeing her neglected.
‘Have you fed her since she’s been back?’ I asked.
The groom shook his head.
‘All right then, tack her up again for me, will you? I’m going out.’
Seren hadn’t even put her nose beyond the coachyard arch when I saw a horse and trap bowling along at a determined clip past the Black Lion and down towards the quayside. The driver, still wrapped in that thick, man’s cloak of hers, was Mrs Parry.
My first thought was to ride straight up to Tresaith and talk to Bets while her mother was out of the way. But then I remembered something that made me think again. When I’d spoken to her, Mrs Parry’d been very definite that she couldn’t come down to Cardigan that day to talk to Harry. Far too busy. But that’d been before I’d told her that we thought the dead man might be Jenkyn Hughes. Was that why she was in town now? To speak to Captain Coleman’s widow, ask after the widow’s lodger?
I turned Seren’s head and followed the trap down Bridge Street. But, instead of driving on to the bridge, Mrs Parry turned the pony’s head and drove along the quayside. I followed, slowly, hanging back in case she looked over her shoulder and saw me.
On the wharves, between the lines of moored ships and the huge, slab-fronted warehouse buildings, there was all sorts of to-ing and fro-ing going on. I crooked my finger to one of the boys who’d come rushing up to me, offering to look after Seren for tuppence, and agreed that he could have a ha’penny if he stood on Bridge Street with her and waited for me. Without Seren I was just another clerk. Invisible.
Mrs Parry’d tucked the trap in under the lowest windows of one of the warehouses and was giving instructions to a handy-looking boy who took the horse’s reins from her.
I looked up at the warehouse. Big, painted capitals on the middle storey spelled out its purpose. PHILIPS AND LLOYD, TIMBER AND GENERAL MERCHANTS. Harry’d mentioned Arthur Philips and his wife over breakfast. Philips was Harry’s cousin by marriage. He was also Jenkyn Hughes’s partner. Was that going to be awkward for Harry?
From a distance, I watched Mrs Parry going down a passage between the Philips and Lloyd building and the one next to it.
I squared my shoulders, tried to look as if I had the right to walk wherever I liked, and followed her.
At the end, the cut-through turned into a narrow street running behind the backs of the warehouses. Most of the buildings looked like offices and one had the Philips and Lloyd name in big letters above the first-floor windows.
I couldn’t see Mrs Parry. She must have gone inside. Damn. I couldn’t follow her in. Had no business in there, did I?
Except … Harry’d said he needed to go and talk to his cousin about the company’s business arrangement with Hughes.
You know as much about it all as I do. Just use your judgement.
Right then, I would.
I quickly ran through what I should say.
My name is John Davies, I’m the acting coroner’s assistant. No, better say coroner’sofficer – people were used to coroners’ officers looking for inquest witnesses.
I’m the acting coroner’s officer. I need to speak to Mr Philips.
With a bit of luck, I’d be able to wait outside his office – there was always a chance I’d overhear what Mrs Parry’d come for.
Before I could change my mind, I marched up to the door and pulled it open.
I don’t know what I was expecting but it wasn’t scuffed deal floors, plain board walls and low ceilings. Whatever money was to be made in shipping, Lloyd and Philips weren’t spending it on impressive offices. But then, I was used to a solicitor’s office. Most likely the kind of people who did shipping business didn’t care about smart premises. They’d be more fussed about the state of the company’s ships.
I looked about. No sign of Mrs Parry. She must’ve gone into a room behind one of the unpainted deal doors. I stopped a passing clerk of about my own age and asked where I’d find Mr Philips.
‘Older or younger?’
‘Younger.’ I remembered the name Harry’d mentioned. ‘Mr James Philips.’
The clerk jerked his thumb back over his shoulder, then thought better of it. ‘I’ll show you.’
I followed him to the back of the building. The door he stopped in front of looked like all the rest.
‘This is Mr Philips’s office,’ he said, keeping his voice low so it didn’t carry through the door. ‘But you’d better wait. I saw one of his business partners going in a minute or two ago. They won’t take kindly to being disturbed.’
I nodded. ‘Thanks.’
�
��What d’you want him for, anyway?’
‘I’m the coroner’s officer. I need to speak to him on official business.’
His eyes widened. ‘Coroner?’ His voice was even lower, now. ‘Who’s dead? Anybody I know?’
I nearly said How should I know who you know? but I stopped myself just in time. Clerks know more of their employers’ business than those employers ever suspect.
‘We think he’s a man called Jenkyn Hughes.’
The clerk suddenly had the look of a man who’s put two and two together and made twenty-two. Because he’d realised what Mrs Parry was doing here or for some other reason?
‘You saw Mrs Parry coming in,’ I said, leaving the subject open.
‘Yes. Crisis meeting, that’s what they’ll be having in there, sure as eggs.’
‘Crisis?’
He chin-pointed along the corridor and we moved quietly away from the boss’s door.
‘If Jenkyn Hughes is dead, then yes. Him and Mr Philips are partners in this emigration scheme, you know that?’
I nodded. ‘But why should there be a crisis?’
‘Because not one of them can step into the others’ shoes,’ he said.
I waited. With any luck he’d want to show off what he knew. Turned out to be my lucky day.
‘They’ve each got a third share in the venture, see,’ he said, eyes flicking up and down the corridor in case anybody heard him. ‘Mrs Parry’s the one responsible for getting the ship built and provisioned up.’ He glanced at the door of Mr Philips’s office as if he thought Mrs Parry might have her ear pressed to the other side of it. ‘Mr Hughes’s job is – or was – to find people who wanted to emigrate, and act as their agent. Mr Philips’s side of the business is supplying the new town with whatever he can sell over there at a profit – slate, mostly. Then he’ll bring timber back the other way. From Canada. For his timber-supply business, see. All this railway building – you wouldn’t believe how much timber’s needed.’
I nodded again, trying to look as if I would believe it.
The clerk glanced nervously up and down again. ‘If he’s dead, the other two might be in trouble.’
‘Because they’ll have to find somebody else who can take over as agent, you mean?’
His voice said ‘yes’ but his tone said there was more to tell.
I waited but he didn’t say anything else. Maybe he needed the coroner’s officer to ask officially. It wouldn’t be him tattling, then, would it? ‘That’s not the only reason, is it?’
‘Well, it’s just rumour, remember.’
‘What is?’
‘Will I have to say this at the inquest?’
‘Depends. If we can find it out some other way – like Mrs Parry or Mr Philips saying they already know if I suggest it to them – then no.’
The need to tell me and the fear of getting into trouble were wrestling in him, I could see. ‘This is important information,’ I pushed. ‘Billy Go-About’s got somebody in custody and if he shouldn’t be there…’
That decided him. He knew as well as I did how keen the police were to let a man go once they’d got hold of him.
‘Hughes is a card player,’ he said. ‘Well, more than that. He gambles. Big money.’ He dropped his voice till I could barely hear him. ‘What I heard is, he’s been borrowing money from the scheme, to pay his debts with.’
‘Borrowing?’
He made a face. You know what I mean.
I stared at him. ‘So the emigration scheme’s missing some money, is it?’
He shoved his hands in his pockets, shrugged. ‘I don’t know – maybe he’s paid back what he owes.’
‘And maybe not?’
He just looked at me.
‘If he’s died without paying the scheme back, Mrs Parry and Mr Philips are in the shit, that’s what you’re telling me, isn’t it?’
A sly look came over his face. ‘Well … maybe not quite as deep in it as you’d think.’
‘Go on.’
He looked up the passageway to his boss’s door, then back at me. ‘Took out life insurance, didn’t they?’
‘On Jenkyn Hughes?’
He nodded. Know-it-all man of the world. ‘Standard practice, of course, with risky ventures. But … they took out a lot more insurance than usual. More than his share of the business was worth.’ He stared at me. ‘A lot more.’
‘How do you know?’
A door opened, and both of us turned. A fat man came out into the passageway, crammed his hat on his head, and pulled the door to behind him. He turned to leave the building without even looking in our direction.
My heart was going like locomotive. Just from a door opening when I wasn’t expecting it.
‘Well?’ I pushed ‘Do you know about this insurance for a fact, or it is just clerks’ gossip?’
‘Know it for a fact. See papers, don’t I?’
‘When did you see them?’ I don’t know why I asked that but, later, I was glad I had.
‘When?’
‘Yes. If it’s standard practice to insure partners’ lives, there’ll be a standard time to do it as well, I suppose?’
His eyes turned shifty. ‘D’you know something about this already?’
I gave him a knowing look. Let him think I’d catch him out if he tried lying to me.
He licked his lips. Good, I’d made him nervous. ‘Well. Funny thing. Mostly, people take out insurance at the beginning. You know, when they sign up as partners?’
I nodded but he didn’t go on. Needed another push. ‘But these three didn’t?’
‘No, they did.’ His gaze twitched over my shoulder. ‘But then Mr Philips and Mrs Parry took out another policy, together. On Jenkyn Hughes.’
When?’
‘About six weeks ago.’
I had no idea how long it took to build a ship and start an emigration business but I had a fair idea that six weeks ago would’ve been pretty late in the day. ‘And the partnership was formed when, exactly?’
‘More than a year ago.’
I thought for a second. Money from life insurance was a motive for murder. My informant would see that as well as I did.
‘How much did they insure Mr Hughes for?’ I waited. ‘I’m not being nosey, here. You understand that, don’t you? I’m working for the coroner. If I need to know something, I can go to the life insurance offices and check. But I’d just as soon not waste the time.’
He stared at me. As if he was trying to pass the number from his head into mine through the air. ‘It was a sum that’d make your eyes water. That’s all I’m saying.’ He saw me open my mouth and held his hands up. ‘No. That’s it. I’m not saying any more.’
Fair enough. He had his job to think about. I glanced at the door to Mr Philips’s office. Still closed. ‘This gambling. D’you know where Jenkyn Hughes did it?’
He stuffed his hands back in his pockets, shoulders hunched as if he’d just felt a chill on his back. ‘Not for definite. It’s just what I’ve heard, right? I’m not standing up in any inquest or court and saying anything about it.’
I spat on my palm and held my hand out to him. ‘Just between us.’
We shook, and he sucked in a lungful of air as if he was determined to tell me all in one breath. ‘There’s a smwglin down on the docks where they play for potloads of money. Gentlemen go there as well.’
Gentlemen? In an illegal drinking den? Didn’t sound very likely, but I wasn’t going to get up his nose by telling him that.
‘That’s what I’ve heard, anyway. But I haven’t seen it with my own eyes so I can’t stand up in court and say it, can I?’ I’d already got the message. He wasn’t going to be a witness. Didn’t he trust my handshake?
‘All right then.’ I gave him a little break then asked the question I should’ve asked at the beginning. ‘When was the last time Jenkyn Hughes came here?’
He looked away, thinking. ‘Three weeks ago? Can’t remember exactly. He doesn’t come here a lot – I think he mostl
y deals with Mrs Parry, up at Tresaith.’
Still using the present tense. Whatever I said, he wasn’t ready to believe Hughes was dead, yet.
‘That makes no sense,’ I said. ‘He was lodging over at Captain Coleman’s. Why would he go all the way up to Tresaith when he could do business here?’
The sly look was back. ‘Very charming to the ladies, Mr Hughes is. P’rhaps it’s easier for him to get what he wants from Mrs Parry than from the boss here.’
I seriously doubted that he’d ever had any dealings with Mrs Parry, if that’s what he thought. She didn’t give away anything she didn’t want to and I was pretty sure no amount of charm would change that.
‘So, when he came here, that was the last time you saw him? You didn’t see him in town or anywhere else?’
He shook his head, clear on this. ‘No. Just here.’
‘Thanks. What’s your name, by the way?’
‘Whoah! I told you, I’m not standing up at an inquest!’
‘I’m not asking you to. But my boss might want to speak to you and I need to know who to ask for.’ He still looked unhappy. ‘I can always ask Mr Philips what your name is – I don’t suppose he’s got many clerks with hair the colour of yours.’ It was bright ginger, even in the dim light of the passageway.