I’m rather ashamed of what I did next. My only defence is that I was in pursuit of justice. I am not a spy by nature. I did not set out that day with spying in mind.
Or not precisely.
It was the morning after my meeting with the Calderstones. The weather was fine and clear, and I was out walking. And I just naturally found myself turning my steps towards the toll-booth by the Spaniards, and the old house where I had met Mrs Rutherford.
Hampstead Lane was busy that day, with carts and carriages lining up to squeeze through the narrow tollgate, and many foot-passengers taking advantage of the dry conditions. I stood aside to make way for a laundress hauling an enormous basket – and my eye was suddenly caught by a dark, slight figure, moving determinedly towards Highgate village.
It was Miss Muirfield, wrapped in a close black cloak and bonnet. She did not see me. Where was the harm in following her? Or – to put it another way – how could I miss such an opportunity? I was very curious to know where she was off to in such a hurry, and with such an air of purpose. Luckily for me, she was so intent upon her journey that she did not bother to look behind her.
And it was quite a journey; I followed her down West Hill, along Highgate Road and through Kentish Town, until she climbed into an omnibus just by the Mother Redcap in Camden. I could not climb in with her, or she would have seen me at once. Again the fates were on my side; there was a cab-stand nearby, and I was (for once) well supplied with cash. I had to lean out of the dirty cab window to keep my eyes on the omnibus. Where was she going, for heaven’s sake?
At last, when we were in the roaring depths of the city in Ludgate Hill, and I was starting to worry that I had lost her, I saw Miss Muirfield climbing out of the omnibus; I paid the cabby (over-tipping him by at least sixpence in my haste) and hurried after her.
She turned into the great arch that led into the yard of the Bell Savage, a famous old coaching inn that was now crumbling and empty due to the decline of the old stagecoaches and the march of the railways (I am not an enemy of progress and can fully see the benefits – but I hated the great gashes those steel roads had made across countryside unchanged since the days of Ivanhoe, and now lost for all eternity).
Miss Muirfield kept her head bowed as she hurried through the public dining room, towards a glass door with ‘Coffee Room’ painted in letters of flaking gilt. In she went, closing the door smartly behind her.
It was risky, but I had come too far to turn back; I took a quick peek through the glass. And I was rewarded by the sight of Miss Muirfield falling into the arms of a gentleman. He had his back to me, so I could make out nothing except that he was a good head taller than she, and attired in a blue greatcoat of elegant cut.
Her face, however, spoke volumes; she was all afire with passion, and clung to him almost with abandon. The spinsterish poor relation had a lover.
The coffee room was divided into wooden booths, like little sentry-boxes or pews in a very dissolute church. Miss Muirfield’s lover pulled her into one of the snugs. My blood was up now; I went inside and whisked into the booth next door to them (my heart was hammering fit to burst out of my ribs with nerves; even if these two didn’t see me, I was doing something that was abominable in the sight of Heaven and I mentally apologized to Matt, but at the same time I was consumed with curiosity). As I had hoped, I could hear the voices of the lovers and make out most of what they were saying.
His voice was light and well-spoken, and not loud – I had to put my ear right up against the wooden wall. Concentrating to my utmost, I understood that he was talking (rather disappointingly) about the fireplace in his new lodgings, which was smoking him into ‘a Suffolk ham’.
‘But it won’t be for long,’ Miss Muirfield said. ‘Do you remember, my darling, years ago, when I swore I’d follow you to the ends of the earth? That hasn’t changed.’
‘Please, Em!’ His voice became coaxing. ‘I thought we agreed to stop going on about last time.’
‘I just want you to know that I’m ready, and I won’t falter at the last moment.’
‘I have every faith in you.’
(My curiosity was now at boiling-point; what were these two planning? An elopement seemed unlikely, when Miss M was plain, middle-aged and penniless, but stranger things have happened; they had a ‘past’, after all.)
‘I can’t stay long,’ she said, more matter-of-fact. ‘She won’t remember that I told her I was going out; she never really listens to me; I might as well have told her I was off to join the circus. But she’s as sharp as a needle when she chooses; I can’t keep her in the dark for ever.’
‘It’ll have to be soon, anyway,’ he said. ‘My supplies are dwindling.’
‘You had the legacy from your godmother; don’t tell me you’ve run through it already!’
‘Darling girl, you said yourself I must take my rightful place in the world. I was starting again from scratch – and gentlemanly clutter don’t come cheap.’
‘As soon as you like, then – I’ll wait for a letter in the usual place.’
I was agog to hear more, but the room was filling up and Muirfield and her lover were preparing to leave; I quickly got myself out of the Bell Savage and on to the street, before they could see me.
Fred always said that I ran after a new scent like a bloodhound; I took a cab directly to my brother’s chambers in Furnival’s Inn. Mr Beamish told me he was with Charles Calderstone at Newgate. I duly ordered the cab on to the prison, my mind in such a ferment that I barely even thought of the expense.
I was cold, exhausted by the long route-march of the morning, and faint with hunger – but what did I care?
I had seen him and heard his voice, I was sure of it; one thin plank of wood had separated me from the killer.
‘I’ve told you absolutely everything,’ Mr Charles said. ‘You know what I ate for breakfast, what I said to the stable boy, exactly where I was when the clock chimed. You have the clothes I wore that day. We’ve been over every detail.’
‘I know, I know – but one little detail can be all it takes to make a case, or break it.’ Fred brushed pie-crumbs off his waistcoat. ‘Wouldn’t you agree, Inspector?’
‘I don’t like generalities,’ Blackbeard said.
I had found a strangely convivial party in that brick-lined Newgate room – Charles, Fred and the inspector in a huddle around the fire, drinking hot punch. The seething punchbowl on the table overlaid the lysol smell of the prison with giddying scents of cinnamon, lemon peel and port wine.
‘Mrs Rodd, you look frozen; you’d better have some punch.’ Mr Charles put a glass into my stiff, gloved hands. ‘Among his other talents, Mason makes an excellent bowl of Smoking Bishop.’
(People don’t seem to make Smoking Bishop nowadays: it’s a fragrant concoction of red wine, port wine and spices, and my beloved Matt was very fond of a glass directly after a chilly Matins; you must first stick a lemon with cloves and sugar-lumps, roast it beside a medium fire until caramelized, then place in your pan of wine to simmer gently for twenty minutes.)
Mason, the affable gaoler, handed me a glass. I took it gratefully, suddenly aware that I was numb with cold and half-dead from exhaustion. I was longing to tell Fred about Miss Muirfield, but that would have to wait until we were alone.
I could, however, pass on the promising snippets about Mr Drummond.
‘By God, I knew it!’ Fred shouted triumphantly. ‘Now, Blackbeard – what do you say to that?’
‘Well,’ the inspector said, slow and thoughtful, ‘that’s your job, ain’t it? The jury will expect you to have a go at him, on account of its being his word against yours. It’s not my business unless he’s committed a crime.’
‘He’s lying his damned head off,’ Mr Charles said fiercely. ‘He did NOT see me reeking with gore and washing myself at that pump.’ He glanced at me. ‘I beg your pardon, Mrs Rodd; you can’t imagine how awful it feels, to know that people will believe such a blackguard before they believe me.’
‘My informer says he can easily find out more about Drummond without arousing too much suspicion,’ I assured him. ‘The jury will only need to know that he’s heavily in debt and fond of low company – though it’s rather a pity, Mr Charles, that some of the low company included you.’
Fred chuckled. ‘Never mind that – I’ll bet you fifty guineas Drummond was paid by the killer! Don’t let us keep you, Inspector. You’ll want to be rushing up to Lincolnshire to arrest the man.’
‘Well, I’ll have to see about that,’ Blackbeard said, blinking like a tortoise in the fumes of the punchbowl. ‘It might bear some looking into.’
I wanted to argue with him, but there was a rap on the door. Mason went to open it, and we were all startled to see Miss Esther.
She looked small and slight in her plain black dress, and very young.
‘Essie!’ Mr Charles jumped up, the colour rushing into his face. ‘My dear old thing – but what are you doing here? What’s happened?’
‘I’m so sorry, I know you didn’t want me to come here – but Charlie, I had to tell you before you heard it from somewhere else –’
‘What? For God’s sake –’ He seized both her hands in his. ‘Mamma – the girls –’
‘Please, you mustn’t be alarmed; they’re very well. It’s your father, Charlie.’ It was singular to see the way she gripped the hands of tall Mr Charles, as if transmitting waves of strength to him. ‘He had some kind of fit, late last night; he’s paralysed down his left side, his speech is dreadfully muddled and impaired –’
‘Papa – oh, my God –’ Mr Charles was now deathly pale.
‘But the doctor says he can recover,’ Miss Esther said fervently. ‘Do you hear me? That’s what you must remember! If he has sufficient rest –’
‘Rest? That’s a good one – when his son’s about to be tried for murder! This is my fault, isn’t it? Now I’ve killed my father.’
‘No, indeed, Mr Charles.’ I could not allow him to believe this, though it was at least half-true. ‘Your father had all kinds of strains and worries in his life that had absolutely nothing to do with you.’
‘You’d better hang me at once before I kill again!’ He pulled his hands away pettishly. ‘Which I can apparently do without even leaving the room!’
Miss Esther’s lower lip trembled, and tears spilled down her face. This brave young woman suddenly looked no older than Tishy (oh! seven-year-old Tishy, making such valiant efforts not to cry when she parted with her mother! Matt said it made him want to ‘slay beasts’); I knew that Fred was thinking along the same lines, for he murmured, ‘My dear little girl!’ and gave her the huge white silk handkerchief that he used for flourishes in court.
Blackbeard blew his nose loudly. ‘Excuse me, ladies.’ He bowed and left the room, discreetly followed by Mason.
‘Essie – oh God, I’m a complete monster! I’m so sorry, old thing – don’t cry!’ Mr Charles was now all tender penitence, and took the weeping girl in his arms. ‘Don’t, my dearest.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Miss Esther was making a mighty effort to stop. She pulled away from Mr Charles, her face flaming scarlet.
This was when I knew, with absolute certainty, that George Fitzwarren had no hope. Miss Esther was in an anguish of love for Mr Charles; there it was and there it would be until the last crash of the spheres; women like us lose our hearts but once, and for all time.
Mr Charles, however, did not seem to have noticed this, and still treated her as a beloved old playmate (I had been very cross with him for making Miss Esther cry, but was now touched by the way he joshed her and coaxed her – just like a ten-year-old Fred, wheedling forgiveness for the most outrageous crimes).
‘Sit down beside the fire, your hands are like ice! How about a glass of punch?’
‘Oh, Charlie – don’t be silly!’ She couldn’t help smiling at this. ‘You know I can’t drink! And if ever there was a time when I needed a clear head –’
‘Miss Esther, you look dreadfully tired.’ I gently pushed her into the chair Mr Charles had set for her. ‘When did you last sleep – or have anything to eat?’
‘I can send Mason out to the pie-shop,’ Charles offered.
‘No, really; I was overcome for a moment, that’s all. I didn’t mean to upset you; that’s the last thing I – Charlie, you truly must believe that everything is being done to help your father.’
He sat down close beside her and took her hand. ‘How did you find a doctor, when the whole world knows he’s ruined?’
‘Not all his friends have deserted him,’ Miss Esther said. ‘Sir Marcus Astley came at once, and said right at the outset that he expected no payment.’
‘That’s decent of him.’ Mr Charles was moved. ‘He’s a good old cove. But there’ll be other expenses.’
The door opened; Blackbeard entered, bearing two steaming cups and looking pleased with himself. ‘Some tea for the ladies,’ he said. ‘Compliments of Mason and the gatekeeper.’
‘How splendid!’ I said. ‘Exactly what we needed.’ Or, more accurately, what Miss Esther needed; hope and strength flooded back into her face the moment I took the thick, white cup from Blackbeard and put it into her shaking hands.
And very good tea it was – just the right side of scalding; strong, with a good dash of fresh milk. One sip and Miss Esther revived before us, like one of those paper flowers that expand when you drop them in water.
She gave Blackbeard a proper smile. ‘Thank you, Inspector.’
‘You’ve had a rough night, Miss Grahame, and I know you ladies like your tea,’ Blackbeard said (with the gleam, deep in those stony eyes of his, that I was beginning to recognize as kindness). ‘My wife was a great one for a cup of tea.’ He jerked a stiff bow at the room in general. ‘Now I’ll leave you to get on with your family business. Good afternoon.’
For a fraction of a second our eyes met, and I knew that the inspector wanted to speak to me; though I hardly dared to hope for such a thing, I sensed a softening in him – but that’s the wrong word. It was more like a slight shifting of the tectonic plates deep beneath the earth. Blackbeard, I remembered, liked to work with dogged, trudging slowness, ignoring flighty things like instinct and intuition and holding out for ‘cold, hard facts’ (as if facts became colder and harder the more true they were).
This was promising; in each of our last encounters there had been a turning-point, when Inspector Blackbeard had chewed all those facts to a pulp and finally admitted that he could not make them fit together. I had noticed (watching him while he watched all of us) that he sometimes looked at Mr Charles with what I can only describe as the puzzled fascination of a scientist who has found a new sort of beetle. At last, he had got around to forming an opinion of the young man.
‘A rare instance of tact,’ Fred said, after Blackbeard had left us again. ‘The fact is, though he’s as stubborn as a gatepost and makes abominable slurping noises when he drinks, the inspector is a very good sort of a man. You look a little better, Miss Grahame.’
‘I’m much better; please forgive me for breaking down like that.’
Mr Charles gave Miss Esther’s arm a friendly squeeze. ‘I’m the one who should be begging forgiveness – the last time I made you cry, we were fishing for tadpoles at Kirkside – do you remember?’
Well, of course she remembered; the colour surged back to her cheeks. ‘You pushed me into the pond.’
‘But then you forgave me, and begged Uncle George not to take a slipper to me – which he was obviously longing to do, little beast that I was. You always were ridiculously good to me. Tell me about Papa, so that I can get it straight. When did it happen?’
‘Just after midnight,’ Miss Esther said. ‘The girls and I had gone to bed, and were woken up by your poor mother’s cries for help. Thorpe ran across the square to fetch Sir Marcus, who was very fortunately at home giving a dinner party. Sir James was insensible for a long time, and when he regained his senses he could not speak plainly, or move his left side.’
‘How’s Mamma? Oh God – if I could be there!’
‘She was very frightened at first, thinking your father was dead. I was at my wits’ end trying to calm her down – but then Blanche took her away, so that Thorpe and I could assist the doctor. You’d have been proud of Blanche.’ A ghost of a smile flitted across Miss Esther’s face. ‘She was as brave as a young lioness and as gentle as a lamb – and an absolute angel to poor little Bessie, who thought she’d woken up to the end of the world.’
‘Poor Mouse,’ Mr Charles said shakily. ‘What a bad sign it is when they’re not squabbling! I miss them so much – and I can’t drive away the knowledge that I’ve ruined their lives. Tell me exactly what’s needed for Papa and I’ll tell Filey to give you the cash. My father can’t raise a farthing in his own name, but my name is still good; if I’m hanged –’ She flinched as if he had whipped her. ‘I had to say it, old thing. If Tyson breaks the habit of a lifetime and loses this case, Grandmama’s estate will go to Blanche and Bessie. It’s in pretty good order.’
‘So I believe,’ Fred said. ‘Fortunately, you were only ever an amateur dissolute; according to Filey, your debts were piffling.’
Charles ignored this, still thinking about his father. ‘You’ll need professional nurses, for a start – and I’m sure Sir Marcus has prescribed food and wine, and that sort of stuff. He must have the very best.’
‘You mustn’t worry about it,’ Miss Esther said. ‘He has the very best nurses, and a gigantic basket of the very finest food and wine. They all turned up together on the doorstep this morning.’
‘Who sent them?’
She sighed, and that was enough.
‘Mrs Hardy.’ Charles had forgiven his father for the affair, but could not utter the woman’s name without contempt.
‘Don’t, Charlie – I saw her in her carriage, and I couldn’t bear to let her go without a word. When she saw me coming to the window she put a veil over her face as if my eyes burned her, poor soul. She was half-dead with weeping and worry. I told her all the hopeful things Sir Marcus said about your father.’
‘Hmm,’ Mr Charles said. ‘That’s just like you, and I can’t scold you for it. At least she’s standing by him.’
‘More than that – she has been settling the most pressing of the bills, to protect your father from being taken up for debt.’ Miss Esther had recovered, and her voice was firm. ‘You can’t imagine what it has been like for us. Of course we tried to keep the worst of it from you. But the moment the news was out, we were beset with wave upon wave of grocers, tailors, saddle-makers – all with bills from a few shillings to hundreds of pounds. Mrs Hardy has been seeing off dozens of them, and with perfect discretion. She has been very kind.’
‘I’ve met the lady,’ I said. ‘And she left me in no doubt of her good intentions. Rightly or wrongly, Mr Charles, she loves your father.’
‘I’m grateful, and I’ll try to think better of her.’ Mr Charles was very serious. ‘Lord knows, I’m hardly in a position to judge the woman. You were a trump to come, Ess; the sight of you is like – I don’t know – like sunshine – like champagne –’
‘Oh, don’t be silly.’ Once more, her cheeks blazed scarlet. ‘I had to tell you myself.’
‘And Mamma – how is she now?’
‘Please don’t worry about her,’ Miss Esther said. ‘After the first fright had worn off, she was splendidly calm. She’s already talking to Sir James about the new life they will have in the country after – when all this is behind us.’
There was a silence.
‘Wishtide will have to go,’ said Mr Charles. ‘The Smash swallowed it whole.’
‘Not Wishtide; she means to bring him to dear old Kirkside. Sir Marcus says that with peace and quiet, and good country air, your father can hope to make a reasonable recovery. Whatever might happen –’ her voice shook a little ‘– I want you to know that I’ll take care of them.’
‘My dear thing.’ His face was tender, smiling down into hers. ‘I know you will. And it’s a great burden lifted; I shall like to think of them all stowed safely away at Kirkside, beyond the reach of the outside world. Are the lavender-beds still there?’
‘They’ve grown since the last time you came,’ Miss Esther said (trying to sound matter-of-fact while blazing love for him from every pore). ‘The scent can make me giddy sometimes.’
‘You’re an angel,’ Mr Charles said. ‘Heaping coals of fire on my father’s head. I suppose you know how he tried to cheat you.’
‘No!’ Miss Esther spoke with ringing firmness. ‘He did nothing of the kind!’
‘He kept his discovery from you and Uncle George, which amounts to the same thing.’
‘Please, Charlie – I can hardly bear to think of it now. He told me everything, as far as he could form the words, and asked my pardon. I’ll say to you what I said to him.’ She drew herself up proudly. ‘You’re my family, you loved and comforted me when I lost my mother, and all that I have belongs to you – no, please don’t say anything! What else would I do with it?’
‘It comforts me to know you’re with them,’ said Mr Charles. ‘I know I can trust you to take care of them for me.’
He took her hand and kissed it; the two of them looked into each other’s eyes.
At last, in the very shadow of the gallows, Mr Charles gazed at his cousin as if seeing her for the first time, and I saw the first spark of love in his gaze – nothing like his boyish passion for Helen Orme, but the deep love of a grown man.
What a fine couple they would make, I thought sadly; if only he could be allowed to live (I sent up a swift and rather strictly worded prayer for the two young people, pointing out how unfair it would be to let them fall in love if Charles was to be hanged; Matt would have roared with laughter and told me to stop giving orders to the Almighty).
Blackbeard was waiting for us when we left Charles.
‘I’d like to catch up, Mrs Rodd,’ he said. ‘Might I call on you tomorrow morning?’
Despite the solemnity of the situation, I was joyful; ‘then shall the eyes of the blind be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped’.