Cheating the Hangman (8 page)

Since he had suffered so very much indignity in his death, the least we could do was bury the unknown man with as much reverence as we could before the sun brought us another unseasonably warm day. So Hansard and Toone, stunned by having to quit his bed so early, were the mourners as I read the full service. I made the verger mark the grave carefully: one day we might find family and friends of the man who might wish to visit the spot to pay their respects.

Our breakfast was subdued, as one would expect after such a solemn half-hour, but then we parted, to carry out our appointed tasks.

Receiving me in his library once more, Lord Wychbold regarded me with very little enthusiasm as I gave him at first hand the details of the uninvited guest on his land and how it had behoved us to deal with the corpse more or less
in situ
. I might have been speaking about the death of one of his sheep for all his eagerness to know the identity of the victim.

‘Damned trespassers! My keeper should have shot him! It was only some damned sermon of yours that stopped him setting mantraps. I take it the body has been removed?’

I clenched my fists in an effort to speak politely to a man with such contempt for the life of a fellow human being. ‘It has. At Lord Hasbury’s expense. But there will of course be a coroner’s inquest.’

‘Conducted by some clunch who fancies he knows the law.’

‘Indeed, Mr Vernon, lately of Nuneaton, has proved a very thorough and efficient gentleman. He will be looking for a suitably large room to house the inquest,’ I said, a sudden and singularly inappropriate imp of mischief thrusting itself into my brain. But it was better to laugh inwardly at him than lose my temper.

Wychbold looked hunted. ‘I have no such room here,’ he lied.

Looking about me with appraising eyes, I gave the impression that I was estimating the size of the room in which we were seated. Imagine the villagers, of all ranks and of none, seated amongst these tomes, filling the scholarly air with sweat and bad breath. I fancy the same vision appeared before his own eyes.

‘One understands you have a singularly lovely ballroom,’ I said, in a conciliatory voice. I might have been a ferret confronting a studious rabbit.

‘Books. Full of books. Boxes of priceless books.’ He wet his lips in his anxiety.

‘Very well. I will see what Lord Hasbury can suggest. Now,’ I continued, my voice stern, ‘a man of your
intelligence will understand that the singular manner of the victim’s death has given rise to all sorts of tittle-tattle. Your retired, scholarly existence has always bemused your more ignorant neighbours. There are many who believe you once practised devil worship: there are murmurings that this obscene crucifixion has something to do with you.’

‘I? I have anything to do with such a thing? Are you out of your mind?’ His furious spittle bespattered his table.

‘Is not Rumour the many-headed monster? I believe you are simply a man obsessed with books and scholarship, to the exclusion of other important matters. Hoi polloi – some of them your own tenants, your own workers – clearly have a different, ignorant view. I have no idea what they may attempt – it may be nothing but a continuation of their sullen resentment, fuelled by hunger, for which few could blame them. But it may take an altogether more shocking form. Who knows? But in all seriousness, I would beg you at very least to make sure that all your doors are locked, all your shutters barred, at night.’ Nodding home my point, I stood up. ‘Take care of your books.’ I touched one with my index finger.

‘Take your hand away! How dare you! Never touch my books. No one – no one but me ever handles them. Ever.’

The lugubrious butler responded to Wychbold’s violent tug of the bell rope. My host glared at me, shaking with anger.

I bowed. ‘My unreserved apologies. I did not mean so to offend you. Now, before I go, Wychbold, permit me to thank you for your kindness in sending Mr Snowdon to Langley Park in response to my plea for a capable artist.
A most talented young man.’ I bowed, and left him to his studies, whatever they might be.

‘Snowdon? Do I know a man called Snowdon?’

Did his eyes truly show the same bemusement as his words? This time I was inclined to believe him. We parted with considerable mutual dissatisfaction.

Once again on Wednesday evening, Dr and Mrs Hansard insisted that we meet, as we had the night before, for dinner; once again the conversation was light and general until Burns had cleared the table and brought in the port and champagne. I suspected that although he must by now be used to the unconventional practice in the Hansards’ establishment of Maria remaining with the gentlemen, Toone felt a frisson of unease. So much for his revolutionary tendencies.

I was the first to recount my day’s doings; like one of Jem’s naughty schoolboys, I set out to make the class laugh at my victim, Lord Wychbold. Better he be a ridiculous figure than one engendering fear. Jem, however, scowled at me as I finished my narrative.

‘You think it acceptable merely to mock evil?’

‘Personally, I have seen no evidence of devil worship or any other reprehensible practices. I think he is just a misanthropic scholar. However, he was adamant that his ballroom was full of boxes of books, and something told me that in this he lied.’

‘And you did not challenge him?’

‘On what grounds? I was there as a visiting clergyman apologising for activity on his estate he clearly did not welcome. He could have insisted we move the corpse
away before Toone was allowed to examine it. Maria would have had another extremely unwelcome visitor to her cellar.’

‘The corpse would have arrived in pieces – no use to anyone,’ Toone growled. ‘We drift from the point, Campion. Hansard, will you talk about our visit to Hasbury or shall I?’

In the matter of providing a room for the inquest, Hansard reported that Hasbury had been more willing but no more able to help, given the size of his house party, members of which must not be incommoded. We rather thought that Mr Vernon, not known for his tactful handling of those who did not deserve it, might have an opinion on the matter, which we would lay before him in due course. He might even require Lord Hasbury’s guests to present themselves to say on oath whether they had seen any plump gentlemen wandering round their host’s estate. As to Mr Snowdon, Hasbury absolutely denied knowing anyone of that name, let alone sending for him.

‘I heard nothing worthwhile this morning,’ Maria said. ‘When I tried to question Mrs Heath, all she would say was something about servants not being what they once were. Apparently yesterday there had been some unseemly commotion in the kitchen, though she would not specify the cause. She had to speak firmly with all her staff, and threaten dismissal if anything like it ever happened again. Today everything was very quiet: whatever she said must have struck home. So the sum total of my success was to rid us of a jar of pickled eggs, which might better have gone to the poor, and receive in exchange a trusted recipe for pressed tongue—’

‘Which I trust you will not set on any table of mine!’ Hansard exclaimed, pulling his mouth down comically at the corners.

‘My dear husband, how many families would delight to be given offal?’

‘Many. But not yours.’

She got to her feet, laughing; we men rose in concert.

For a moment, however, Edmund detained me. His face showed both embarrassment and deep concern, and he gestured me back to a chair, seating himself beside me.

Even then he did not speak immediately. ‘Tobias,’ he said quietly at last, ‘there is something I should perhaps have told you earlier, and indeed would have done had Toone not been constantly with us. He finds the situation richly amusing. I only hope that you may. The patient we are attending at Orebury House is none other than Lord Hartland. Your father,’ he added, when I said nothing.

‘He keeps his room? Will he not be riding abroad for the purposes of sneering at my parish and my vocation? In that case, dear friend, unless he speaks of me, keep your counsel. Unless he speaks of me,’ I repeated.

‘And if he does?’

‘In that case … in that case …’ Drawing away from him I took a hasty turn about the room.

‘In that case, I shall assure him that he has a son to be proud of, one whom his parishioners love and respect. But what would you have me tell him?’

‘That I love and honour him. That I pray for him every day.’ I paused. ‘Alas, Edmund, I cannot tell him that I have any regrets, except for the manner of our parting. I cannot
leave the life to which I have been called and adopt the one that would please him.’

‘Would you like me to broach the subject first?’

I had a moment of clarity. ‘Tell me, Edmund, how does he treat you? As a fellow gentleman or as a lowly sawbones barely worth notice?’

His silence was statement in itself. ‘But he is in a great deal of pain. Perhaps he will be more courteous after a prolonged sojourn in his room away from the pleasures of Hasbury’s table and with a great deal of Toone’s coloured water replacing the claret and brandy he enjoys so much. A very great deal of coloured water,’ he mused.

From the drawing room came the sound of the fortepiano.

‘Forgive me, Tobias, but there is clearly going to be music. And I find I cannot bear the thought of Maria singing without my being there to listen.’

The following day dawned warm and fine. Edmund had his bread-and-butter patients amongst the local gentry to visit, taking the opportunity as he felt their pulses to ask about a mysterious plump gentleman. Maria would be busy in her herb garden. Toone took it into his head to ask to accompany me on some of my parish work, borrowing once more Edmund’s spare hack. Clearly he did not anticipate a day spent prowling round my study while I planned next Sunday’s sermon.

As far as I knew, there was nothing urgent to attend to in Moreton St Jude’s, and since I had discovered the body as I rode home from Clavercote, it was to that village that we would repair. Mrs Trent, insisting that Sarey Tump would
need a more plentiful diet if she and little Joseph Fowler were to prosper, a sentiment with which Toone concurred, pressed on us string bags of supplies: bread, bacon, cheese and a little brandy. Then there were more wrinkled apples. Lastly a small bundle appeared, produced from behind Susan’s apron.

‘The food’s from your own larder, so it’s not right you should thank me,’ Mrs Trent said awkwardly. ‘But what young Susan here’s got is from us. Ourselves. It’s not much. The little mite has clothes from the box. But these are a few garments for the poor wench. And young Robert – he’s made his own gift. Show Dr Campion, Susan.’

I believe all our eyes filled. Robert, who had nothing of his own, had whittled a little teething ring.

Even Toone was moved, coughing quietly behind his hand.

I felt it better to visit Sarey on my own, lest the sight of a well-dressed stranger overcome her. Meanwhile, Toone, armed with the apples, attracted a mob of urchins; I was quite certain that the doctor within him would notice and treat any obvious injuries and ailments, and that the gentleman within would decline any payment.

Sarey was nursing little Joseph when she called to bid me enter the apology for a cottage. An Old Master might have seen her as a latter-day Virgin with her infant Son. I saw her as an exhausted woman, old before her time, her hair lank and grimy, dirt in her very skin. Her dress had obviously been turned at least once, the blue in the seams showing what colour the grey, washed-out garment had once been.

I was reluctant to embarrass her by referring to the contents of the bundle, which I left wordlessly beside her. I hung the bags of supplies alongside the pitiful bundles of herbs that seemed to constitute her larder: rats were always on the lookout for free meals, even in a house as well-regulated as the rectory. Her eyes followed me: clearly she was famished.

Cutting a slice of bread and a hunk of cheese for her – Toone had drummed into me that I must not let her overeat after so much involuntary fasting – I dandled the baby for a few minutes. I did not have it in me to delay her further by demanding we say grace, instead waiting till she had finished every last crumb to thank God for the food. Only then did I ask her if she knew anything of young Snowdon’s activities in the village.

‘Mr Snowdon?’ Sarey looked baffled.

‘The day young Joseph was born, I saw a young gentleman riding fast from the village. It might not be Will Snowdon, of course. He might be someone completely different.’

This time her reaction was less clear. ‘Young gentleman? Hereabouts?’

‘He rides a grey horse.’

‘And why might you be wanting to see this man on a grey horse?’

‘To ask him a few questions – nothing more.’

Her face told me clearly that in her experience a few questions always meant more. ‘Don’t know nothing about any man on a horse.’

‘Young Molly Fowler’s baby – it must have had a father. And in my experience a village lad would do the
right thing by his sweetheart. That baby’s father didn’t.’

‘You’re thinking this young man of yours might be the one as …? But why should he come a-visiting when she was lying cold in the earth?’

Pale and sick this young woman might be, but she did not lack native wit. If only she and more like her had had the benefit of a school like Jem’s.

‘Do you think he might have wanted to make reparation to her family – tell them he was sorry and offer them … compensation?’

‘Pay them blood money, you mean?’ she asked, through narrowed eyes. ‘No, I’ve not heard tell of any young man – but I was sickly myself, being confined, as you know.’ Her eyes filled, but as Joseph whimpered she gathered him up tenderly. ‘Best you asks others that knows more than me.’

Clearly I would get no more information from her. In any case, I needed to speak of her churching, and to ask what else she might need.

‘Looks like someone’s sent a lot already,’ she said, as if registering the bundle for the first time. ‘As well as the food.’

‘Good people from my village. There’s a special present in there for Joseph, made by an orphan lad. You’ll know it from the love he has put into it,’ I added foolishly, but was rewarded by her smile when she dug it out and held it aloft.