Before I could speak, Davies said quietly, ‘You are clearly a brave woman, Mrs Rowsley. Now, I was wondering if I might ask you to do something even braver.’
‘My supply of courage is rather low,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘Remember, Constable Davies, that we did not know when – indeed if! – you would be able to get through. So I need to confess something to you. Perhaps foolishly I dressed as a maid and searched the guests’ rooms while the men were dealing with the body. I’m sorry, Jeremy, that included yours, which, thank God, didn’t seem to contain any missing jewels. Please forgive me.’
Though the boy looked troubled, he stepped over to her and kissed her hand.
‘Did any room have any interesting contents?’ Davies asked.
‘I found some things that may or may not be of importance. I must ask you gentlemen to step from the room so that I can produce one of them.’
I did not follow the others immediately, but took her in my arms. ‘He says some of the roads are clear. No one would blame you if we were to leave now. You should not have to endure … even Barrington … That was unforgivable, and I shall tell him so.’
‘When he is in less pain I’m sure he will apologize. Could you untie the key? I find my hands are shaking.’
So were mine. But at last I could lay it on the table. And pour her a tot of what smelled like excellent single malt whisky.
‘Good heavens, it’s like drinking mud and hay! No, grass. No … In any case, I think I need a clear mind. Matthew, after what I did how can I join the others for supper? And for entertainment afterwards?’
‘You did right. Heavens, you would have genuinely cleaned their rooms with not a qualm had Mrs Simpkiss asked for help. There is no need for a moment’s shame. Is there? And do you seriously believe that a single one of those people would not actively betray even a friend to exonerate him or herself? No. Now we must show Davies this and your pieces of paper and then, while he considers them, I suspect we should go to Father Howells’ service,’ I said, without enthusiasm.
She straightened her shoulders, but her voice was tranquil enough as she remarked, ‘It might be good to think of God, not man, for a few minutes. Best call the others back, I suppose.’
Davies returned without Turton, who, he said as we sat round the table, did not feel that more people than were absolutely essential should be looking at other people’s property. ‘And I can’t say I disagree,’ Davies said.
Harriet flushed at the implied criticism.
‘We all understand his reservations, including you, of course, my dear,’ I said. ‘But if my wife has been brave enough to retrieve this material, then the least we can do is look at it and see what we can make of it.’
‘And then destroy it if it is irrelevant,’ she said quickly as she passed him an envelope.
The young man shook his head. ‘We won’t know if it is relevant or not until we have somehow uncovered the murderer or murderers.’ Suddenly he smiled. ‘Ma’am, you obviously had something very particular about your person. Might I see it?’
‘There.’ She put the key in his hands. ‘It’s the thing that troubles me least, since I found it in the Gräfin’s bed chamber. We’ve no idea what it might unlock,’ she added, as he continued to weigh it in one hand then the other. ‘It seems a little large even for the jewellery box that is missing – but since I have never seen the box I might well be wrong.’
He nodded. ‘This is certainly evidence. Later I would like you to show me where you found it.’
She nodded with clear reluctance.
‘And the other things you found, ma’am? Shall we look?’ Tipping the crumpled shreds of paper on to the desk, he straightened out each one, laying it face up with tedious meticulousness. Harriet pointedly averted her gaze. I did the same as he rearranged them as if they were part of a jigsaw puzzle.
‘For now, I must also treat this as evidence,’ he said solemnly. ‘I know you would rather not know the contents, but when I have discovered more I may have to ask you to give your opinion. Or maybe my cousin will. Or the Scotland Yard men from London.’ He shrugged. ‘For now, though, everything will return to the police house with me and be locked in the safe there. Now, what next, ma’am?’ He spoke with more authority.
So did she. ‘You will hear – have perhaps heard already since I can’t believe it hasn’t been the subject of a lot of village gossip – that Major Jameson behaved very strangely yesterday. You may even have seen? Surely you went to the match?’
‘I was shooting a dog that was worrying Farmer Cross’s sheep, ma’am. And then, to be honest, I had forty winks. The twins are teething, mostly at night. Very well. Major Jameson. What did you find of his that troubles you?’
She pointed to a folded note. ‘I wish I knew whose initials they are. Here you are, Constable. The Major also has a sizeable strong-box in his room, which I did not attempt to open. I have to say, there may be other items from other rooms. My – accomplice – on the staff here had no qualms about going through people’s pockets. We planned to look at what she found this evening, but I would be more than happy to hand over the task to you.’
‘That would be …?’ He looked almost apprehensive.
‘Mrs Simpkiss. Like me, she has been trained from childhood to be honest and discreet. Actually, she may flatly deny everything in case she thinks she is putting me at risk.’
‘Suppose you write her a note by way of explanation, ma’am.’
‘Of course. Then, if you will excuse me, I should attend evensong, no matter how short it has to be.’
I had never held Harriet’s hand during a service before, but I did this evening. Otherwise I think she might have stormed out. The family sat. The guests sat. The servants stood. Perhaps I misjudged her: she might just have gone to stand at the back.
The servants adjourned.
The guests sat through a mercifully short, almost perfunctory sermon, and then galloped off to change for their pre-dinner drinks.
The moment our bed chamber door was shut, she took my hands. ‘There is something I must tell you. Must. Something potentially very unpleasant. So I suggest we sit down together for a moment before we change. No. We need to sit, my love.’
I obeyed, making sure I could see her face.
‘This afternoon, I wanted – wanted to escape from all the carping and the criticism, yes, real or imagined. And I thought that the library might offer sanctuary. I had books aplenty. I had quiet. And if I wanted I could watch the people parading on the terrace – much as one might watch the animals in a zoological garden,’ she added, with a valiant attempt at irony.
‘But something disturbed your idyll,’ I prompted.
‘Yes. The Major disturbed my idyll, with a few well-chosen words and a … a menacing presence that reminded me of when … of when …’
Of when she was raped as a child. I gathered her to me and waited for the racking breaths to quieten. At last I could feel her shoulders straighten.
‘I really feared a physical, if not a sexual, assault,’ she said, her delivery now as clipped as if she were on the witness stand. ‘There was a paper-knife on that lovely desk, but I was afraid that if I used it he would turn it on me. There was also an inkwell. A big heavy one.’
‘Wouldn’t that have been just as risky?’
Suddenly her face was impish. ‘Not if I’d thrown it out of the window, which is what I threatened to do. And then Lady Pidgeon appeared, and in the politest and firmest way threw him out. And insisted her poor husband gave me some of his brandy. And I’ve been waiting all this time to find a time to tell you without making it look … particular. And to give us both time to calm down.’
I could not argue. In fact I could not speak. In silence I clasped the most treasured gift life had given me, one that might have been taken without my knowing.
‘I wonder,’ she asked at last, in an approximation of her usual tone, ‘if anyone has thought to offer that interesting constable some refreshment.’
‘I’m sure Mason would,’ I said, breaking off to take the hot water from the footman knocking at the door. ‘Are you sure you want to dress? To go down to face all those … those chimpanzees?’
‘I am not looking forward to the evening, I admit. But we owe it to Cousin Barrington, do we not, to put on what he would probably call a decent show.’ She spoke with very little conviction.
‘My love, it will be an ordeal in every respect, but I suggest that while we cannot escape dinner, we can avoid the after-dinner entertainment.’
‘Good. Because as you know I have already made a tentative arrangement to sit with Mrs Simpkiss after dinner. But you …?’ She turned to face me anxiously.
‘If you are happy to miss the singing and recitations – or would you prefer to recite the whole of Don Juan? – I could look through Barrington’s accounts. I’m intrigued about the work done on the bridge, and how it ever got paid for. Not to mention how much.’
‘Will he consent?’
‘I hope so. I very much hope so. Because I might just ask Constable Davies to suggest it – on the grounds that he was, in Davies’ words, robbed.’
‘Checking accounts on the Sabbath? Hortensia won’t approve of that!’ But she was laughing, not genuinely shocked. Then she frowned. ‘What a strange woman she is. All this insistence on observing the Lord’s Day, but as far as I can see not an ounce of charity in her whole body. Her coldness … No, I don’t want to drift into self-pity again.’
‘I don’t see an ounce of self-pity. You make a valid point. Why all this show of religion? It seems rank hypocrisy to me, if you will pardon the pun. You know, I really can’t see why a fundamentally decent man like Barrington should look at her twice.’
‘Her lineage, her blood, Matthew!’
‘Which is blue twice over, once with her lineage, and once with cold. And while Barrington’s family is good enough – though I suppose I might be biased! – an earl as a grandfather does not put you to the top of the marriage mart, especially if you are as badly injured as Barrington was. Heavens, the arrival of young Arthur must have been a miracle.’
‘Hence her piety, perhaps. She got the son she was praying for.’
‘Possibly. Or, there again, possibly not. Anyway, with luck, Hortensia will never know that I broke the Sabbath looking into the estate finances, assuming I can get hold of the ledgers, of course. Officially you and I are – I don’t know – indisposed.’ I clicked my fingers. ‘I will have a migraine and you will be sponging my forehead with vinegar. Would that be acceptable?’
‘Provided Cousin Barrington knows. Either you or Mr Davies ought to tell him. While you ponder that, I suspect we really must go down. Perhaps we should talk loudly so that they can stop gossiping about us before we enter.’
For all Lady Pidgeon motioned her to join her on a sofa as we drank sherry and Forsyth managed to take a place at her side for dinner, I feared that Harriet might succumb to a genuine migraine, the atmosphere was so tense. She was even cross-questioned over the first course about the jet necklace, her simple and truthful explanation about how she came to possess such a wonderful piece all too clearly disbelieved by her simpering but spiteful interlocutor. Fortunately the large presence of Mr Digby, whose monologue overrode everything this young lady tried to say, spared her a great deal. Meanwhile I was grasping my forehead and tried to look bemused, much as my cousin used to do when he was about to be afflicted with the strange lights and prostrating headaches that made a misery of much of his younger years.
When the ladies rose, I could do no more than stagger to my feet. Harriet was by my side in an instant. We left – slowly but inexorably – together. I insisted on accompanying her to the Room, but then slipped back to spend the rest of the evening in the sewing room, hoping to find that Davies had obtained the relevant accounts. He had. I picked up a pen, ready to make notes.
The constable occupied one end of the table, picking his way through scraps of paper, presumably ones that Mrs Simpkiss had removed from pockets. There was a companionable silence, but for the scratching of heads and pens.
While we both eased our backs, he asked, as if we were in the middle of a conversation, ‘And how do you propose to slip back to your bed chamber unseen? You don’t want to be caught out in a lie, man.’
‘I shall take the subterranean route, and, with luck collecting Harriet on the way, go up the servants’ stairs, not the main ones.’
‘I might accompany you underground at least. Do a little looking round on my own account, like. And your wife’s advice might be useful. Why do these people do it, Mr Rowsley?’ He jabbed at the collated statements. ‘Without naming names, do they not grasp the difference between the truth and the whole truth? I suppose they will when they address the Coroner at the inquests into the two deaths. And maybe other courts too,’ he added dryly.
‘I hope so.’ I dropped my pencil. ‘Dear me, none of this makes sense.’
‘What’s the problem, Mr Rowsley? What can’t you make out?’ Davies asked, already on his feet.
‘Who is responsible for what. Has my cousin assumed full responsibility for all the decisions? Or does he take advice and if so from whom? Come, Davies, you’re a village man. You must have a fair idea who does what and why. And,’ I added with a grin, ‘what people think of the arrangements.’
‘Are we talking just about the bridge? Or about the family’s finances in general?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Or was this accounts stuff all a load of flannel and you just came here to pick my brains?’
It was best to be honest. ‘I truly wanted to see if the figures would tell me anything. Which they don’t. So now I’d like to talk about everything you can tell me. Officially or not.’
For a moment I thought I had offended him. But his laugh reassured me. ‘As a sort of price for all the information your wife and the poor gentleman with the stammer have obtained and organized? No, I’m not serious. And if sharing information with you makes my job easier, so be it. Tell me, did your cousin recruit the stammering man for any special reason?’
‘Actually, he volunteered. I think Harriet might even have said extra clerical help would be useful.’
‘Hmm.’ He lowered his voice. ‘This is not the best place to talk about the family affairs, is it? Perhaps the late butler’s room might be better. Tell me, has anyone but me looked at it yet? Well, come on then. Lead the way through these mysterious tunnels. By the way, did I tell you I’m having both the corpses moved tomorrow, weather permitting?’
‘I believe everyone will be relieved to hear it.’
‘But they won’t hear it. Not from me, and not, I hope, from you. I’m still in hopes that someone will make some attempt to rob or otherwise interfere with the corpses. If they do they may get a bit more than they expected. My brother-in-law’s not a shepherd for nothing, Mr Rowsley.’ He gave an extravagant wink.
For a moment my mind was a complete blank, but light slowly dawned. ‘You mean he’s given you some of his reddle, so that—’
‘Any miscreant will be literally caught red-handed!’ He roared with laughter, but narrowed his eyes. ‘What do you need to tell me, Mr Rowsley?’
‘Something that happened to my wife, that almost left someone black-handed. Me. Black with bruises.’ Sitting down again, I explained. ‘So you will understand if I ask you something you may not wish to tell me: is Major Jameson one of those whose statement is not the whole truth?’
Davies frowned, an expression to which his face was not suited. ‘He’s not the only one, sadly. And being extremely offensive to a not quite defenceless woman and trying to lose a cricket match – sadly they don’t quite add up to murder. Motive and means, Mr Rowsley. I suppose you’ll tell me he’s a strong man, and as ruthless as Satan. But I don’t see an opportunity in his timetable and I don’t see a motive. Yet.’
‘If he wants to lose a match, and goes to a great deal of trouble to do so, money might well be a motive, surely. That’s not just my view, either.’ My confidence in his ability was ebbing briskly, as briskly as my temper was rising. ‘Perhaps when you interview him, you will see why I suspect him.’
‘I must admit you’re not the only one. And you’re not the only one to think he wanted to lose the match – for a bet, most say. As your wife imagined, it’s the talk of the village. It’s something I’ll be asking him about, never fear. Him and any other men involved, staff or guest.’
‘Don’t exclude the women, my wife particularly. She was watching the entire match. And,’ I added slowly, not sure I was doing the right thing, ‘if you want to talk to my wife about her dreadful experience in the library, be aware that this was not the first time she has been … No, that is not my story to tell. Let us agree to disagree at this point, Constable.’ I offered him my hand. ‘Shall I lead us into the underworld?
‘So long as you can lead us out again!’
In the gloomy corridor, he produced a key, squinting at it in the light of a feeble oil lamp. ‘I found this on Biddlestone’s person, and thought I might as well use it. Hmm. At least the lock is well-oiled.’ Stepping inside, he lit all the candles he could find – four in total. ‘A bit grim, isn’t it?’
At Thorncroft, Samuel, our much-loved butler, had spent his working life living in a room like this: dark, furnished with other people’s leavings, desperately in need of some whitewash and new wallpaper. This was even worse. Damp stained the outer wall. Even the rag rug before the fireplace was worn through. There were no pictures, no books, nothing to suggest that a living individual had spent years of his life here.
Davies shook his head. ‘My home isn’t much,’ he said quietly, as if he might disturb some residual shade of the dead man, ‘but at least I make it my own. My wife does, truth to tell. Bronwen. A couple of embroidered texts here, the Bible beside the bed: you’d get more sense of his life. Or not,’ he added grimly. ‘He doesn’t have much of a name as a God-fearing man. Efficient, yes, and more of a house steward than just a butler these days, I’d guess. Land steward too. But the other servants would be able to tell you more. They were scared to death of him when he was alive, I can tell you.’
‘And someone was more than scared,’ I mused. ‘Davies, if you don’t mind, I really do recommend we ask my wife to see this. She may see something that mere males like us have missed.’
‘I thought she was going to talk to Mrs Simpkiss? And who knows, she might get to worm something out of young Clara. Let’s not disturb her, Mr Rowsley. We might not search without leaving a single trace, but that doesn’t mean we can’t search, does it? Where would you hide something in this bleak hole? That cupboard? Under the bed?’
There was nothing there except an ornate chamber pot, badly chipped.
The cupboard doubled as a wardrobe, every item carefully hung or immaculately folded. There was a strong-box, locked, as one might expect, tucked behind a suit. It did not respond to any of the keys Davies produced.
‘So he must have hidden it somewhere in here. Drat. Going through a corpse’s belongings always feels wrong, even if they’re mere rags and rubbish compared with this,’ he said at last. He looked at his watch. ‘Maybe, if she’s finished with Mrs Simpkiss, we could actually talk to your good lady – she might think of somewhere unexpected. And I would like to hear what she says about the Major. If you think she’s well enough to talk, of course.’