by Issy Brooke
He had a little time before any of the officials would arrive to take over the case. He wanted to be able to present the inspector with a list of his observations but he was keenly aware that he must not disturb the surroundings of the dead body. So he remained on the step and peered into the gloom of the ice house.
It smelled. That was the first thing one noticed, even more than the presence of the corpse, which had not yet begun to enter the various well-known stages of decay. It smelled of the bad drains – in fact it smelled very strongly of eggs, a very particular sulphurous odour. It made Theodore cough and his eyes streamed. He stepped back to suck in some cleaner air for a moment.
The dark interior was filled with boxes and chests, and piled upon them and scattered around them were rocks and lumps of minerals. Some of the wooden boxes had broken open, their lower planks rotted away by resting in pools of stagnant water, and more rocks spilled out. There were jars, too, and canvas bags.
He would need to get closer, in a better light, to confirm what he was looking at but it didn’t take a clever man to make an educated guess. Here was the Seeley-Wood family’s old store of lapis lazuli, collected by successive generations of the earls of Buckshaw. Here was the root of their fortune, and if The Countess was to be believed, here was the seat of their curse.
Yet this all had value, though it might not have been the dizzying heights that it once was. The gems were still useable, just not as pigments. Why was it all left to rot in a foetid ice house, not even locked away securely as befitted their value? Did no one care? The family was wealthy but even the wealthiest family didn’t leave heaps of precious stones heaped about in the open.
It was a curious question and one that seemed to be important, because now there was a dead man lying in amongst the costly gems and the explanations for both situations had to be linked.
Hartley Knight was sprawled on his stomach, his head turned to one side, his eyes still disconcertingly open. His head was lower than his body, his shoulders awkwardly placed, and Theodore spotted that he was actually lying with his upper half in a wide channel that had been cut into the floor, presumably for drainage, not that it was particularly effective. Scummy water filled it, and it was impossible to tell how deep it was at the far end without poking a stick into it, which Theodore promptly did. It was about four inches deep but Hartley Knight had not drowned. Theodore had touched the body once, to check for a pulse, and while he had done so he had not noticed any signs of a struggle. He peered over again, and wondered if that was matted hair at the back of his head, indicating a blow. Perhaps. He would have to get closer to be sure and he didn’t want to contaminate the scene. He was sure the coming police would allow him to investigate, however, so he stepped away and waited for them with a growing impatience.
He heard them before he saw them.
Oscar Brodie led the way. Theodore had sent him into town as the most responsible person, and he was followed by two men in uniform and an older man with wispy pale red hair and a dull, faded brown check suit. Behind those came Adelia, Lady Agnes, Mrs Rush the housekeeper and an unnamed assortment of household staff. No doubt Adelia already knew everyone’s name; Theodore sometimes struggled to remember the birth order of his own daughters.
They came directly from the main track that led from the gatehouse to the castle, rather than the path that Theodore had followed from the back of the kitchens. They fanned out as they approached, the policeman galumphing over the parched grass of the lawns and stumbling with cries of surprise into hidden boggy patches where no one expected there to be sudden dampness. Theodore kept his place almost screening off the entrance to the ice house with his own body and as the red-haired man approached, he called out, “Do not let the women come any closer!”
It was not Adelia that he was particularly concerned for, although of course if he could spare his wife an unsettling scene, he would. But the effect of the sight of a corpse on members of the lower orders such as Mrs Rush was bound to be greater, he thought. Then he wondered why that should be, as the so-called “lower orders” often dealt with far more nastiness on a day to day basis than any of their “betters.” He shrugged the inconsistency away. It was simply how it was and he accepted that.
“Good day!” the inspector boomed.
“Hardly. I say, Adelia, do keep everyone back, will you?”
Adelia stopped and that prompted Lady Agnes and Mrs Rush to also stop, with the household servants bunching up around them and chattering as they peered over one another’s shoulders to get a glimpse of what was happening. The lack of household direction was painfully obvious. Percy should have been here, taking charge, and in his stead Felicia ought to have been controlling the wayward staff. Adelia would no doubt step in soon. He turned his attention to the inspector.
“Let’s see what’s what, then,” the inspector was saying, peering past Theodore with the same salacious expression on his face that the maids and boys had worn.
“Steady on one moment, sir! You would not wish to disturb any potential evidence, would you?”
“Chap’s definitely dead, then?” The inspector was still trying to peek around Theodore who absolutely refused to move, though the proximity of the policeman to his personal space was making him decidedly uncomfortable. He had to force himself to stay put.
“He is definitely dead, yes. And the circumstances are suspicious.”
The inspector gave up as he could hardly push Theodore out of the way. He took a half step back and seemed to look at him for the first time. “And you are...?”
“Theodore Caxton, the Earl of Calaway. And you...”
“Inspector Wilbred. Pleased to meet you, blah blah and all that. Right, if you’ll step to the side...”
It wasn’t the lack of respect for his position that irked Theodore. He liked to consider himself an egalitarian sort of modern aristocrat, although Adelia seemed to think that he was not. She often cited his attitude to the lower orders as evidence for that, suggesting that even thinking of people as “higher” and “lower” was part of his problem. He didn’t see it himself. People had their positions in society and that was just how it was; but Theodore did believe that everyone ought to be treated with respect for themselves, not because of a title. It wasn’t the lack of forelock tugging that annoyed him but the dismissive “blah blah.”
“I am a trained medical doctor,” Theodore pointed out. “And I have a certain amount of experience in investigating crimes – successfully, I must add. Might I suggest that...”
But the inspector spoke over him. “You might not. I do need to see the body, sir. Thank you for alerting us but we will be taking over from here. I must ask you to step aside. You don’t look like the sort of man who would like to be arrested for obstructing the police.”
Theodore took a deep breath and spoke in a low, stern tone. “Of course. I understand. I merely thought you would appreciate a fellow professional’s insight but naturally you know your job better than anyone else. I am sorry to have inconvenienced you.” It was sarcasm, an unusual low for him, but the inspector was positively infuriating. Theodore let his words dangle for a second too long, then stepped to the side.
The inspector had barely noticed any of Theodore’s gibes, it seemed. He simply barged past, rubbing his hands together, shouting over his shoulder, “Come on then, lads, let’s get this fellow up and out of here! Terrance, bring up the drunk-wagon.”
“You’ll destroy the evidence!” Theodore cried in alarm as the two uniformed policeman blundered past.
No one cared. Now three men had crowded into the low-ceilinged ice house and Theodore could barely see what was going on. He heard grunts, laughter – yes, actual laughter! – and scuffling noises. Footsteps splashed in water, and one of the policeman backed out, his feet feeling slowly for the steps as he climbed up into the daylight again, with the dead man’s legs in his arms. Lady Agnes gasped and Adelia put her arm around her, pulling her away.
Oscar Brodie and many of the se
rvants from the house pushed forwards, keen to get a look at the corpse. Theodore roared at them all, waving his hands at them, resenting that he was doing the work of the police when they were quite clearly unable to even assess a crime scene.
“Out of our way, sir,” said the policeman who was walking backwards, daring to nudge Theodore to one side as they carried Hartley Knight to the hand-cart. They slung him onto the wooden boards with less care than if he had been a drunkard scooped up out of the gutter. The second policeman did have the decency to draw a blanket up over the man’s face, although it was too short to cover him completely, and left his feet poking out of the other end.
“How did he die?” Theodore said, hurrying to put himself in front of the inspector as he emerged from the ice house, wiping his eyes and coughing.
“You tell me. I thought you were a doctor and an investigator?”
“Yes and that is why it was so important to examine the corpse in situ.”
“It’s much easier once you’ve got them on a slab, we find. Anyway, it looks like he took a blow to the back of the head. See?” The inspector pulled the blanket back and tried to tip the head to one side, but rigor mortis was starting to set in. It typically began at the neck and jaw, and the corpse’s head would not roll but the legs and feet had still been flexible. From that, Theodore could estimate the time of death to have been within the last four to six hours.
“So it was murder?” Theodore said.
Inspector Wilbred laughed. “Doubtful! He will have slipped – see how wet it is down there? I did my own observations, you know, and certainly noticed how treacherous those steps are. He’s slipped and cracked his head. Boom! Gone! What’s his name?”
“Hartley Knight. He’s the house steward here.”
“He was not he is. No more stewarding for this fellow. He probably deserved a holiday. Shame he’s not coming back from it, hey!”
“But there was no reason for him to be here in the ice house at all,” Theodore insisted, repelled by the inspector’s levity. “He died about four hours ago...”
“Now look sir, we can’t know that for sure. We’ll ask the medical officer at the station to have a look but right now I really can’t contribute to speculation.”
“It is blatantly obvious for anyone with half a brain!” Theodore exploded, all his frustration boiling over. “Listen, you clot. This man had no reason to be here at all. There’s no ice in this ice house. We were all at church...” He was interrupted by Mrs Rush giving a strangled sob but he ignored it. “We were all at church and he had no business being here at all. He might have had a blow to the head but it wasn’t enough to kill him, I am sure of it.” He wasn’t really sure of it. A medical examiner did need to confirm that. “There’s foul play here, sir!”
“There’s foul air, certainly,” Inspector Wilbred said, and his men laughed with a degree of malice aimed at Theodore. “And foul manners too,” he added. “I thank you for your contribution and now I invite you to step aside so that we may continue with our jobs.”
“But you’re not doing your job!”
“We would if you were not obstructing us. You have three seconds to leave us alone, sir, or I shall be forced to seriously embarrass you!”
He meant he would have to arrest him. Him, the Earl of Calaway! Theodore sucked in a great mouthful of swamp air and before he could unleash it in a torrent at Inspector Wilbred, Adelia had pulled at his arm, breaking his concentration.
He deflated. The look on Inspector Wilbred’s face made it very, very plain that Theodore would be arrested if he did not relent.
Feeling sick, he followed Adelia, Lady Agnes, Oscar, Mrs Rush and all the others back up to the castle.
“WHERE IS FELICIA?” he asked Adelia as they trudged into the great hall, the Tudor heart of the daily life of the castle.
“When she heard what had happened, she had an attack of hysterics. I could have predicted that. She’s in her room. She was wailing about the curse, which is only to be expected.”
Theodore nodded sadly. Her own curse, as far as he could see it, was her extreme sensitivity. “I shall pop in to see her later. I might be able to assist.”
“If she is sleeping, don’t disturb her.”
“Of course not. Do you think me as great a fool as the inspector seems to?”
“No, not at all. He is the fool. Listen, Theodore, you have done as much as you are able to. He is a buffoon and an idiot but you must hand it all over to him. Are you certain that it was foul play?”
“Without knowing the extent of the blow that landed on his head, not, I am not totally certain but why was Knight down there in the first place? His situation piques my suspicion as much as the manner of death.”
“I agree. I do not think he merely slipped and knocked his head.”
Mrs Rush was listening and her tears were pouring down her face. Adelia looked over at her and said, “Mrs Rush, don’t take on so. In truth, I thought that you and he were not entirely close...”
Mrs Rush’s purple face screwed up in a ball of wrinkles and mucus. “We were, once, and that is why they will blame me!”
“They cannot possibly suggest that. Why would anyone say so?”
“We were once ... recently ... close, too close, if you will, oh forgive me, and then we were not close any more and I hated him for it and we argued and ... everyone knows it!”
Lady Agnes was at her side and she tried to calm the housekeeper, murmuring, “But where were you this morning? You went to chapel as usual, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but it’s not your church, is it? You did not see me at your church. Chapel. Chapel! It will count for nothing, nothing!”
Lady Agnes shook her head and rolled her eyes. Her calm voice took on a stronger tone. “Come now, we cannot have everyone falling apart at this. You must go back to your room, wash your face, and come out ready to get on with the day. Come!” She grasped Mrs Rush by the elbow and marched her out of the hall.
“It is true that I saw them arguing,” Adelia said to Theodore. “Mrs Rush and the victim.”
“Then she is a suspect – if it is murder,” Theodore replied. “Not that the idiotic inspector will do anything about it. I might as well just put on my slippers, fill a pipe, and sit by the fire while they fail to catch the killer.”
“It is too hot for a fire and you cannot sit and do nothing. You would explode after three hours.”
“True. I have another idea, then – Felicia is incapable of standing up and leading, and now the steward of this place is dead – it’s all quite, quite rudderless. I shall write immediately to Percy.”
“Where is he?”
“I am not entirely sure. We know his rough route home, however. I shall have messages sent to all the points along the way. And you, dear heart, could do worse than to have a good look at the running of this place and see if you can’t bring a little order to it.”
“As well as joining the committee for the ball, working out what is ailing Felicia, and finding a husband for Lady Agnes?”
He smiled at her. “You know you are happier when you are busy. Come now. To work!”
Five
Adelia could not grumble at Theodore’s comment that she was happier when she was busy, and she did not even pretend to. She ordered all of the servants back into the house and insisted that they go about their allocated tasks for the day. Sunday was a day of rest, but in any kind of household that was impossible to actually implement for the whole place. You either had to compromise and be happy with cold cuts of meat for the meals or do as many houses did, and simply refuse to see the staff as real people – therefore they didn’t count and did not need the time off. They were always allowed a few hours of Bible study, of course. At least they got to sit down for a while then.
As for the servants at Tavy Castle, they were somewhat adrift without Hartley Knight to rule them and Mrs Rush, who ought to have been overseeing the female half of the household, was still fretting about what had happened. As
far as Adelia could tell from Mrs Rush’s half-hints, the housekeeper and the now-deceased house steward had been having an affair. The problem was not that Mrs Rush was married; she probably wasn’t. The “Mrs” was a mere courtesy title commonly given to housekeepers. The problem was that relationships between the servants were expressly forbidden in most houses for just this very reason – it caused friction in the smooth running of things.
So the relationship between the pair had gone sour, and that would account for the argument that Adelia had witnessed. Now Mrs Rush was convinced she would be blamed for the death of her ex-lover. It was vaguely plausible but Adelia thought the woman had probably been reading too many crime novels. Mrs Rush killing Hartley Knight might have been believable – but it was deeply unlikely – and she was a poor sort of murderer since she had started shouting about her possible guilt in front of the police as they unearthed the corpse.
Nevertheless, as there was no smoke without fire, Adelia did wander down to the kitchens. Theodore had gone off to write his letters to Percy, and she decided to speak to some of the servants and check that everything was running smoothly for the Sunday dinner that evening. The cook had prepared the pea soup the day before, and the small joint of mutton was coming along nicely behind the screen at the fire, roasted slowly in the old way, and when Adelia peeped she saw it was the perfect size for a small family to dine upon. Adelia nodded at the cook, a strong-armed woman who nodded back with the utter confidence of one who knew exactly what they were done. Adelia could see it, and did not interfere.
She passed through the kitchen and found two maids in the scullery amid a mountain of vegetables, though they were giggling and gossiping more than they were scrubbing and chopping. They nudged one another and straightened up when Adelia swept in. They were standing on wooden boards to keep them off the cold tiled floor, and both were tall, fit young women. Clearly they ate well from the “scraps” from the table here.