Airs and Graces (5 page)

We went in to eat. Being Sunday, of course, the meal was cold, left for us by the servants before they went to church and their day off. We served ourselves, and Balfour tucked in approvingly. Esther complimented him on his designs for the York Assembly Rooms; he modestly disclaimed the credit, smiled indulgently, said that such things were dreadfully boring for ladies, then turned the conversation to the latest London fashions.

I made a mental note not to invite him again.

‘Which reminds me,’ Hugh said, intervening smoothly. ‘We need to look at the proposed site for the new Rooms. Is tomorrow suitable, Charles? You’re not teaching, are you?’

I was preoccupied with watching Esther, who was merely pecking at her food. ‘You don’t need me, surely.’

‘You know the Directors want your opinion on the musical aspects of the room.’

‘They know my opinion already,’ I said tartly but sighed. If spending a few minutes on a building site would keep the gentlemen happy and ease my life as musical director of the concerts, it was a small price to pay. I agreed to go whenever they wished, having the day much to myself. I don’t teach on Mondays but set it aside for composition, regardless of the fact I’ve not composed anything since long before my marriage; I usually find myself arranging someone else’s music for the concert band.

‘It will take only a few minutes,’ Balfour said. He was drinking too much wine, and had a high colour in his cheeks. ‘What about ten o’clock?’

He’d obviously realized I wasn’t a gentleman, despite having married a lady. Gentlemen rarely rise before noon.

‘Very well,’ I agreed. ‘As long as I’ve time to reach the Fleece for the inquest. And assuming it doesn’t snow again.’

‘Nonsense!’ Hugh said. ‘It’ll be fine tomorrow. This has just been a wayward shower or two. We won’t get any more snow now.’

‘I might come too,’ Esther said blandly, and was rewarded with a splutter and a stammer from Balfour.

‘Oh – really – I don’t think it will interest a lady  . . .’

Esther smiled sweetly.

Hugh bore Balfour off to his lodgings, and Esther and I were alone at last. We repaired to the drawing room, lit candles to dispel the gloom of the overcast afternoon, and poured more wine. Esther sighed and sank on to the sofa. ‘What an odd man! At times he can be engaging, at other times I want to hit him over the head with the nearest candlestick!’

I sat down beside her. Outside, in the garden, the soft snow was falling in a desultory fashion. I pondered on whether to comment on the fact she’d eaten almost nothing, decided against it, reluctant to spoil the moment.

‘So,’ she said. ‘What happened?’

I should have known Esther would realize something untoward had occurred – she has a knack of reading me aright. I sat back with relieved weariness. The exertions of the previous night were catching up with me – too much excitement and too little sleep.

‘I stepped through to the other world.’

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her stiffen; Esther knows of that other world and doesn’t particularly like it, in view of all the untoward things that have happened to me there. But she merely said, ‘Go on.’

I told her of my encounter with the mystery woman. ‘It was definitely not Alice – she had dark hair. But she must have had something to hide – why else should she run?’

Esther sighed. ‘Charles, it was dark, she was on her own and a strange man steps out of a house and accosts her – believe me, any woman would have made her escape under those circumstances. Although,’ she added, ‘I do wonder why she was out alone at night.’

‘It can’t have been a mere chance unconnected encounter,’ I protested. ‘Whenever this has happened before, there’s always been some connection with the murder I was investigating.’

‘There’s a first time for everything,’ she pointed out. She sipped her wine. In the gloom, the candlelight flickered on her pale hair, casting golden glints. I put out a hand and fingered the soft strands. She smiled. I was glad to see her looking better and said so.

‘Just a touch of cold,’ she said, and stifled a yawn. ‘I am getting too old for disturbed nights.’

‘Nonsense!’ I said fondly and took advantage of the moment to kiss her. She emerged a little ruffled and inclined to giggle. I love Esther’s giggle.

‘Charles,’ she said, drawing a finger gently down my cheek. ‘You do enjoy making things much more complicated than they need to be! The daughter killed her family and for nothing more than a few pounds to help her get back to London. It is very simple.’

‘Yes,’ I said, leaning in to kiss her again, ‘of course – you’re right. Very simple.’

Six

Of course, there are uncharted regions, where the legends read
Here be dragons!
And believe me, Philippe, these dragons, who go by the name of respectably widowed gentlewomen, are formidable indeed.

[Letter from Louis de Glabre to his friend Philippe

Froidevaux, 18 January 1737]

I didn’t sleep well. Alice Gregson drifted into my mind as I started to doze and wouldn’t drift out again. What made a girl do such horrific things? What turned commonplace dislike of her family into murderous rage? Could it have been mere selfishness, a resentment at being made to leave London? Surely there had to be more.

I was bleary-eyed at the breakfast table and so was Esther. She listlessly picked at a piece of dry toast.

‘I do not think I will visit the Assembly Room site today. I have some letters to write. And I have received a note to say I will not be needed at the inquest.’

I was grateful for that, although Esther could probably have given her account of the evening without revealing she’d been dressed immodestly. But it worried me to see her still unwell, particularly with Philips in my mind’s eye; I wondered again whether to suggest she see an apothecary. I knew she’d reject the idea out of hand; she was expert in preparing cordials and remedies for the small illnesses of life – indigestion and so on – and was no doubt dosing herself with something. But one more day of this and I would definitely insist on her taking advice.

A bright gleam shot across the floor and climbed the leg of a chair. Esther was sighing before the spirit reached the table top.

‘Mistress—’

‘Not now, George,’ she said.

George Williams was once my apprentice, and my interference in affairs that were not my own indirectly got him killed, a year or more since, at the age of twelve. That, rather oddly, didn’t affect his loyalty to me, but marrying Esther did. George had a boy’s infatuation with Esther, and a hatred of anyone else she paid attention to. Which has made him difficult to live with. But there’s no way to get rid of a spirit once they’ve died in a house, short of demolishing the building or setting it on fire, which means we all have to live with him. Somehow.

George’s enmity includes not only myself but also Tom, our young manservant whom Esther trusts too much for George’s liking. I glanced towards the door and sure enough there was Tom, trying hard to hide his annoyance.

‘George,’ I said. ‘Remember what I’ve told you – it’s Tom’s job to deliver messages, unless they come from other spirits.’

The spirit flared green, always a sign of annoyance. ‘Visitor, Mistress,’ he said, ignoring me entirely. ‘For the master.’

‘Good,’ Esther said briskly. ‘Thank you for telling me, George. Goodbye.’

‘Mistress  . . .’

‘Go, George!’

I’d not had a taste of Esther’s temper; indeed, I’d grown used to the idea she didn’t have one. But the snap in her voice sent the spirit fainter and smaller at once. ‘Yes, Mistress,’ it said hurriedly, and slipped out of the room without further ado.

There was a moment’s silence. Tom said deferentially, ‘There’s a visitor for you, sir. I’ve put her in the drawing room.’

Her
? ‘I presume she gave a name?’

‘Mrs Fletcher, sir. She says she’s a daughter of the late Mr Gregson.’

I gave him a smile to compensate for the annoyance he’d had. I lived in fear he’d decide he’d had enough of George and take himself off to a household where the spirits were more friendly. He was young – barely nineteen – but efficient and hard-working. We’d find it hard to replace him.

‘Something will have to be done about George,’ Esther said, after Tom had retreated. ‘I will not have the household disrupted like this!’

After a moment, I said, ‘I’ll speak to him  . . .’

She melted into rueful laughter. ‘Oh, Charles, you know he will never take any notice of you!’

‘I’m not master in my own home,’ I said with deliberate melodramatic emphasis. I was rewarded with a mischievous giggle.

Mrs Fletcher was standing by the banked-up fire in the morning room. In her mid-twenties, perhaps, but the way she wore her brown hair, drawn back tightly under her cap, made her look older. She was dressed like a tolerably well-off tradesman’s widow, in decent, but drab, clothes. She looked as if she’d been sizing up the quality of our furniture.

She inclined her head coolly. ‘Mr Patterson? I am Sophia Fletcher. The spirits tell me my parents have been murdered and I understand you know the details.’ She had a hard voice, as if she was more used to commanding than pleading. A woman who had a number of servants kept under firm control, I guessed.

‘I’m sorry you weren’t informed directly. I wasn’t told there were other family members in town.’

‘I’m not living in town,’ she said, ‘I walked in from Cherryburn this morning when I heard the news.’

She’d been lucky to get through the snow. I indicated a chair and she sat down, very upright. I took the chair opposite. ‘Forgive me, I’m not entirely clear on your family’s history. You’re the third daughter?’

‘The second. And the fifth child. The one that was sent to Bristol. In the course of time, I married and was widowed.’ She gave me a long look. ‘I’ve been to see the constable but I’m told he’s ill, and you’re dealing with the matter in his stead.’

I started to offer my sympathies for her parents’ deaths but she waved them away. ‘I can’t say I ever had any fondness for my parents, Mr Patterson. It’s difficult to love someone who gave you away. Be so good as to tell me what happened.’

‘As far as we can tell, your sister Alice stabbed everyone in the house before fleeing the scene. The watchmen are looking for her, but haven’t found her yet.’

‘And what do you presume her reason to have been?’

‘There was some money missing – probably not a great deal, but perhaps enough to get her back to London.’

Her lip curled; she said, after a moment, ‘She was always a spoilt brat, thinking of nothing but her own pleasure. But I find it difficult to imagine her a murderer.’

‘You know her well then? Despite being brought up in different households.’

‘We have met. And Sarah frequently wrote to me about her.’ She paused, said, ‘She can be engaging but has a will of her own. I had a letter only a day or so ago from Sarah, relating her homecoming. She was intolerable, apparently. She refused to do anything to help about the house and shop, wanting to know why there were no servants.’

That was unusual – I’d have expected the Gregsons to have at least a maid. Mrs Fletcher’s gaze was intent on my face. She said, ‘I take it you never met my father? He was not a man to spend more than he had to – he had a wife and daughter to do the work, after all. He was always mean, in spirit and in deed.’

Her tone held such contempt that it nearly took my breath away. My expression must have betrayed my feelings; she said bluntly, ‘I despised my father, Mr Patterson – his petty-mindedness, his narrow vision and his joyless spirit.’

Which was comprehensively damning. ‘Do you know if your father kept much money in the house?’

‘He might have. He never let a penny go unless he was forced to. I’ve seen him strike my mother for buying a ribbon.’

‘He was violent?’

Her lip curled again. ‘A man has the right to chastise his own wife, does he not?’

I wondered if the late Mr Fletcher had dared to take similar measures.

‘Well.’ She brushed down her skirts. ‘At least some good will come of it. There are only three of us left to inherit: my brothers in London and Exeter, and myself. My mother left me her jewellery and the household goods. I would like to retrieve the jewellery as soon as possible.’

So we came to the real reason for her visit. At least she was direct.

‘We could go down to the shop now,’ she said, adding, as an afterthought, ‘If it’s convenient.’

I shook my head. ‘Nothing can be done until after the inquest. The bodies are still in the house, and the jury need to view the premises.’

‘After the inquest, then?’ she persisted.

‘I understand,’ I said carefully, ‘that the will is in the possession of Lawyer Armstrong. I have to follow his wishes in this matter.’

She looked at me long and hard, then rose to her feet. I rose too, of course.

‘I think you take a great deal on yourself, Mr Patterson,’ she said. And she swept out without another word.

I went back to the breakfast room, amused rather than annoyed. Esther was finishing off her toast and looked rather better; she listened to my account of Mrs Fletcher without much sympathy.

‘So she was only interested in her inheritance? And she criticized her father for his interest in money? Like father, like daughter, clearly!’

I bent to kiss her cheek. ‘I must go or I’ll be late meeting Hugh and Balfour. Enjoy your letters.’

She looked almost cheerful. ‘No, I have decided to tackle the accounts for the Norfolk estates. Some of the tenants are being remarkably recalcitrant in paying their rents – a bad harvest, apparently.’

Esther’s estates in Norfolk and Northumberland supply us with the greater part of our income. Technically, after our marriage, they belong to me, but Esther has such experience of managing them that I have decided to leave the matter to her. I’ve agreed to take an intelligent interest, however, but so far all I’ve learned is that it’s a very complicated business and that tenants are usually obstreperous.

‘I thought it was a good harvest last year.’

She twinkled at me. ‘It was – except, apparently, in Norfolk.’

I stopped on the doorstep as I stepped out of the house, looking across the expanse of the street to the railed gardens in the centre of the square. Hugh had been right in his prediction; the weather had improved markedly. The sky was blue and almost cloudless; a bright sunshine glittered on the thick snow carpeting the street and lining the tree branches. It was still very cold but the sunshine lifted my mood immediately.