Airs and Graces (32 page)

‘Well,’ Esther said, as I finished my coffee. ‘What do you plan to do today, Charles?’

This was plainly dangerous territory – she was still smiling, but a trifle fixedly. I didn’t pretend to misunderstand her. ‘There’s no point in trying to find Mrs Fletcher again. She’ll have met up with
our
Alice and stepped through to the other world by now.’

‘You don’t propose to go after her there?’ Esther said lightly.

I shook my head. ‘Searching that world would be as big a task as searching this one. I thought I might look at Balfour’s rooms, and at Mrs Fletcher’s. I think we have to admit the murderer – whichever Alice it is – has escaped us, but we may be able to clear up what mystery remains. We don’t know, for instance, where Balfour put the hoard of coins or Hugh’s ring.’

‘Ah,’ she said, with some annoyance. ‘I forgot to tell you. George has had an exchange with one of the spirits in the watchmen’s hut. Balfour is apparently recalcitrant; he refuses to divulge the location of the artefacts.’

‘I suppose I could talk to him,’ I said doubtfully.

‘I knew you’d forget, Mistress,’ George said, startling us both by sliding up the table leg on to the edge of a used plate. The gleam of the spirit was bright – he was evidently happy today. ‘I’ve got another message now. From Mr Heron. He says to tell you Mr Fowler has left the house and is wandering about the town and if you see him, will you please tell him to go home again, or Mr Heron will dismiss him, and he really means that.’

I doubted that last bit. I sighed. ‘Fowler will be looking for Alice. He’s always been convinced she killed the Gregsons.’

‘He was right,’ Esther pointed out, and raised an eyebrow. ‘He must have been a good friend of the apprentice to take such pains over hunting his killer.’

I felt myself reddening. ‘I believe so.’

My throat was on fire as I went out into the cold air in the square. The cuts, as I’d seen in my mirror, were indeed not deep or long, and when I was dressed they were hidden beneath the folds of my neckerchief. Unfortunately, the cloth chafed the cuts horribly. At least the pain in my arm was now only a dull distant ache.

New snow had come down overnight and covered up all the old footprints; servants and carters had laid down new tracks. Looking up, I saw the sky covered in a greyish layer of cloud; in the east, the grey was darkening to pewter. I walked briskly out of Caroline Square, towards Westgate Road. One of the church clocks struck eleven. Hugh might well be teaching, but if he wasn’t, he might come with me.

He was indeed teaching; I heard the screech of his kit fiddle as I climbed the stairs, and the heavy thump of feet on floorboards. That sounded very much the way I danced. The dancing schoolroom door was ajar and I poked it open cautiously. Hugh had a little cluster of eight young ladies, none of them older than fourteen, partnering each other in a country dance, with their mamas – allegedly chaperoning them – chattering away to each other over a glass or two of what was almost certainly sweet wine.

The lesson was plainly coming to an end, and the young ladies were doing their best to remember the steps, although there was a great deal of pushing and shoving as the better dancers tried to remind the worse ones which way to go. I lounged in a corner for a moment, until one of the mamas signalled to me and I went across to talk. I only heard half she said; I was looking at the young ladies and thinking that in a few years time my daughter might be thudding away at her dance steps. If she turned out to be anything like me, she would have two left feet.

Or it might be a son, of course  . . .

The young ladies were dismissed, swooped into their mamas’ arms and ushered out. As I stood back to let them pass, I slipped on a stray piece of orange peel and nearly fell. Ridiculous; I was going to be a father and I had suddenly become accident-prone.

‘Hugh,’ I said, when the room was empty, ‘I was wondering  . . .’ and instead of asking him whether he wanted to come and search Balfour’s room for his missing ring, I said, ‘Esther is with child.’

I hadn’t meant to say it in such a doom-laden voice. Hugh burst out laughing. He slapped me on the back. ‘Congratulations, Charles! A family man, at last! I want to be godfather, mind.’

Dear God, I hadn’t thought of complications like that. My own father had been judicious in his choice of godparents, picking out the rich gentlemen who were his patrons with an eye to future advantage. He couldn’t have predicted that my own wealthy godfather would die in a fall from his horse within three months of my birth and prove of no use at all.

Hugh was grinning from ear to ear. ‘Is it common knowledge, or am I to keep quiet about it?’

‘Hugh,’ I said. ‘I’m not fit to be a father. I get myself in scrapes every other day. I nearly got myself killed last night  . . .’

Of course, he wanted to know all about it and took me off to the nearest tavern so I could have plenty of time to explain. He regretted missing the excitement at rather too great length but did say that he thought Heron had probably been more use than he would have been. Not that Hugh isn’t a good swordsman too; dancing masters usually are. He was only too eager to come with me to Balfour’s room, having no more lessons until the afternoon.

‘Mind you,’ he said, ‘there’ll be no more gallivanting for you. You’re a respectable family man now, Charles. You’ll be reading books of sermons to the servants next!’

‘Never!’ I said fervently.

I wished he wouldn’t grin so much.

Balfour’s room had been left untouched; possibly the people at the George didn’t yet know he was in custody. We stood in the doorway for a moment, looking about. His travelling trunk stood under the window; a coat and waistcoat were laid neatly on the bed, as if put out to wear. The plans for the Assembly Rooms were tucked down between the table and chair; I pulled them out and unrolled them. The loose sheets of paper on which Balfour had been writing fell out of the roll; one was covered in the almost illegible writing of the letter Mrs Fletcher had shown me. I could make out hardly any of it, except for one sentence, which was underlined:
Why did you do it?

The room yielded no clues. There were no other letters, no hidden store of money, and certainly no ancient coins or ring.

We went on to Mrs Fletcher’s rooms – a bedroom and a sitting room – which we searched to the accompaniment of Mrs Mountain’s indignant requests for reparations. Heron had evidently got his sword tangled up in her best curtains, or so she said, and there was a great slit in them. She wanted the cost of new curtains. She went very coy, however, when I asked to see the damaged curtains and said she’d show them only to Heron. I recommended her to do so and shut the door on her. Leaving her, no doubt, to go for her scissors to slit the curtains.

Mrs Fletcher’s rooms were not as tidy as Balfour’s. She seemed to have made herself very much at home, with her own teapot and dishes, and a caddy full of an expensive blend of tea. She had a drab selection of dresses, in keeping with her role as a widow, a novel or two, and a copy of the latest
Courant
.

‘There’s a box here,’ Hugh said, picking it off the mantelshelf. ‘It’s locked.’ He broke it open with a pocket knife before I could protest. ‘Letters.’ He turned them over. ‘Addressed to
Miss A Gregson
at an address in London.’ He laughed. ‘I don’t know what Alice told everyone but this is not a fashionable address. Heron would turn up his nose at it.’

I took the letters. He was right; the address was in the sort of street that’s patronized by people who make their living from trade. The letters were dreadfully written but I eventually deciphered enough to see that Balfour had not been cautious or wise. He referred to
that little plan I put to you concerning your father
and added that
 . . . no need to be careful of his feelings – he’s not been careful of yours.
In another letter, he said:
does your father keep much money in the house?
Something, something, something illegible, then  . . .
won’t miss it  . . . always make more
.

All of which suggested that Balfour had indeed been the one to suggest the theft. I turned on my heels in the middle of the room, musing.

‘Do you believe her?’ Hugh asked. ‘Mrs Fletcher, I mean. Do you think she committed the murders?’

I looked at the cosy, everyday objects. Owned, and used, by her own admission, by a murderess.

‘She’s certainly strong enough, and determined enough, to have done it. And all the planning bears her stamp. The other Alice is a creature of impulse, not careful preparation.’

‘But?’ he prompted.

‘I still don’t know,’ I admitted.

‘Maybe they
both
did it?’

‘They certainly planned it together. But which wielded the knife—?’

‘I suppose it doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘They were accomplices – they’ll both hang if we catch them.’

‘It matters to me.’ Particularly after last night.

From Mrs Mountain’s lodging house, we went to the Old Man Inn on the Key in search of Fowler. The serving girls swore he’d not been there. I asked several spirits if they knew where he was. They didn’t.

‘He can’t get far,’ Hugh pointed out as we came back out on to the snowy Key. ‘He has a hole in his shoulder. Any exertion will probably send him into a fever.’

‘Something will have to be done,’ I said, ‘And quickly. As long as Alice is at large, Fowler won’t let this matter rest. And I shudder to think what he might do if he gets desperate. I wouldn’t put it past him to try and get at Balfour, for instance – he’ll probably know exactly which watchman to bribe to let him into the cell. And if he does something stupid, like killing Balfour—’

‘He’ll hang too.’

‘Besides,’ I said. ‘I object to being manipulated, and laughed at, and being made the object of a girl’s silly spoilt wiles! I want them, Hugh!’

‘They’re certainly in the other world by now.’

‘We could tempt them back  . . .’ I stared at the ships at the wharfs, in the icy water, outlined against the bank of bare trees on the Gateshead side of the river. The sky was growing darker; more snow was certainly on the way.

‘Charles,’ Hugh said sharply. ‘You promised your wife you wouldn’t get in any more trouble.’

‘I promised her I wouldn’t get myself hurt.’

‘I’m not sure that would be
her
understanding,’ Hugh said. ‘What are you planning, Charles? Charles!’

I swung round, heading back along the Key towards the Printing Office.

‘Charles! Where are we going?’

‘To talk to Balfour,’ I said.

The watchmen’s hut was hot as a furnace as usual, and full of smoke both from the fire and from the four watchmen who were smoking in there. McLintoch was holding forth to his subordinates on his own courageous behaviour in apprehending Balfour and wasn’t in the least embarrassed to realize we’d overheard as we came in.

‘I was wondering if I could speak to Balfour,’ I said. ‘I need his help in finding Alice Gregson.’

‘Won’t talk, sir,’ McLintoch said philosophically. ‘Tried every way I know and he just sits there dumb.’

‘Can you take me to him?’

He was shocked. ‘Certainly not, sir! A gentleman like you oughtn’t to go in a place like that. I’ll bring him up here.’

He went off with two of his men; another two hurriedly put out their pipes and talked loudly of going off and doing their duty. Before they could be driven to such desperate straits, however, McLintoch came back with Balfour. The watchmen were bristling with pistols – two each – and Balfour’s hands and feet were manacled. He was pushed down into a chair and regarded me resentfully. His clothes were filthy and he smelt badly.

‘I’m glad to see you haven’t taken any ill from your soaking in the river,’ I said.

‘Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘I’ll be well enough to hang.’

The watchmen laughed cheerfully.

‘I’ve had a talk with Alice,’ I said, suddenly realizing how awkward this was going to be. Balfour had no idea there were two Alices and the watchmen couldn’t be given any such suspicion. ‘Unfortunately, she escaped.’

‘I heard about that,’ McLintoch said. ‘Mr Heron sent me a message. Pity.’

‘She did at least make it clear that
she
killed the family.’

Balfour gave me a sharp look. I said, ‘She killed most of them before you got there but left the apprentice alive because he snored, so you’d be reassured everything was well. When you went down into the cellar, she killed the apprentice, ran upstairs, and slid down the rope – she had to make it look as if she was fleeing from you in panic. But you were too quick and escaped before the neighbours came on the scene.’

He laughed bitterly. ‘It’s good to know I put one spoke in her wheel.’

‘You may yet put another,’ I said.

‘Charles,’ Hugh said uneasily.

‘We can set a trap for her.’

‘No!’ Hugh said sharply.

McLintoch took his pipe out of his mouth and said, ‘Don’t like the sound of that, sir.’

‘You wrote to her?’ I said. ‘Did she ever reply?’

‘Of course she did,’ Balfour said contemptuously.

‘And you kept the letters?’ He hesitated. I said, ‘You’re a thief by nature, Balfour, you want money and you want as much as possible. You’d keep any letter Alice sent you. If the plan to rob her father never came off, you might be able to use those letters for a little blackmail.’

He said nothing.

‘I don’t care whether I’m right or not about the blackmail,’ I said. ‘Were Alice’s letters indiscreet? Do they incriminate her in the plot to rob her father?’

After a moment, he nodded. ‘But they’re in London. Somewhere safe.’

‘It doesn’t matter. We have the basis of a plot.’ I glanced up at McLintoch. ‘Can we use your spirits to spread a message? We need Letty Mountfort’s spirit in the derelict court to think Alice’s letters are in the hiding place Balfour’s used for the coins.’

‘Easy done,’ McLintoch said, nodding. ‘You reckon she’ll try and get her hands on them? And we keep watch on the hiding place and apprehend her when she does.’

I shook my head. ‘Alice is too clever for such a ploy. We need something more subtle.’