Cut to the Quick (24 page)

“When did you first meet her?” Sir Robert asked.

“She knocked on my door about half past seven the night afore last. She gave no name, and I didn’t ask for one. She didn’t seem to want to say much about herself, and I didn’t like to ask, because, as I told you, sir, I wasn’t easy in my mind about letting her stay, and I didn’t want to know no more about her than I had to. I just called her ‘miss.’ I showed her the room, and she said she’d take it. She didn't make any fuss about the cost.” Mrs. Warren furrowed her brow. “I don’t know what else to tell you. I asked her if she’d be wanting her meals, and she said yes.”

“Did she tell you why she had come to Alderton?” asked Sir Robert.

“No, sir.”

“Did you ask her how long she meant to stay?” asked Julian.

“Why, yes, sir, now you mention it, I did, and she said—she said— It’s hard to remember rightly! I feel struck all of a heap by what’s happened. I never was in trouble with the law before in all my days.”

“You’re not in trouble with the law,” Julian assured her. “You’re helping the law unravel a very knotty problem, and we’re all grateful.”

She looked at him timidly. “I’m sure I want to do my duty, sir. It’s just that it’s hard. It's—it’s been a hard day.”

We’re going about this all wrong, Julian thought. How can she be anything but dazed and fearful—here in her landlord’s house, with Rawlinson taking down her every word, and all the law's majesty brought to bear on her lone self? We ought to have called on her at her cottage, where she'd feel more relaxed and in command of things. I think I'll do exactly that myself, later on, and see if she finds it any easier to answer questions.

Mrs. Warren was still trying to remember how long the girl said she meant to stay. “I think she said as how she didn’t know. We left it that she’d spend the night, and let me know next day if she needed the room any longer.”

“What did she do for the rest of the evening?” asked Sir Robert. “She come down to the kitchen and had her supper—just picked at it, really. Then she went back to her room. She didn’t come out again till morning.”

“How do you know that?”

“My room’s just across the hall from hers, and I sleep very light, sir. I’d have known if she left her room during the night.”

“What happened next morning?”

“She came down and had her breakfast—about seven, I think. Then she put on her big shawl and her bonnet with the veil, and went out. And— and that was the last I saw of her.”

“Did she say where she was going, or when she’d be back?” “No, sir.”

“Which way did she walk?”

“Down the footpath toward the village. I lost sight of her after she rounded the curve.”

“But she never got to Alderton,” said Senderby. “Leastways, I can’t find nobody that saw her there. The fact is, nobody saw her at all, from the time she left Mrs. Warren’s till her body turned up here.”

“Where else besides the village does this footpath lead?” Julian asked him.

“A branch of it leads to the main road west out of Alderton, toward Whitford. If she was on that road, we’ll find somebody that saw her. The horse fair was that morning; there was a lot of traffic going to Whitford.”

“You must keep making enquiries,” said Sir Robert. He added, after a pause, “The same road leads southeast through Alderton to Bellegarde.”

Mrs. Warren nodded. “So I told her, sir.”

Everyone spun around to look at her. “How did you come to tell her that?” said Sir Robert.

“She— she asked, sir,” gulped Mrs. Warren.

“She asked you where Bellegarde was?”

“Yes, sir.'*

“Why didn’t you tell us this before?'*

“I forgot it, sir!** Her face crinkled up, and she pressed her handkerchief to her mouth.

Julian asked gently, “How did she happen to mention Bellegarde?’*

“I was showing her her room, and she looked out the window and said, in her funny speech, ‘Please can you tell me where is the house called Bellegarde?* I said it was a mile or two southeast. And I asked her, ‘What would you be wanting at Bellegarde, miss?* And she seemed to take fright, and said she didn’t want nothing there, she’d just heard it was a beautiful house, and she might like to see it. But I must confess to you, sir, I— I had a feeling that wasn’t true. I thought she’d made it up on the spur of the moment, like. Oh, deary me, I should have shown her the door after that, I know! It’s bound to lead to no good, having somebody sleep under your roof that you can’t trust not to tell you a story.”

“Did she tell you anything more about why she came to Alderton, or why she was interested in Bellegarde?” There was an edge of desperation in Sir Robert’s voice.

“No, sir.”

“Think very carefully.” Sir Robert leaned toward her over his desk. “Did the girl make any other mention of Bellegarde, or anyone at Bellegarde, during the time she stayed at your house?”

“I don’t think so, sir. No— no, I’m pretty sure she didn’t.” “Have you told us all the conversation between you and the girl, both the evening she arrived and the following morning?”

“Well, yes, I think so, sir—but it’s hard to remember, as I said.” Julian was thinking: Assuming someone at Bellegarde killed the girl, did that person know in advance she was coming to Alderton? Or did she just turn up at Bellegarde and give the murderer a nasty surprise? He asked Mrs. Warren, “Did any messages come for the girl while she was staying with you?”

“Not that I know of, sir.”

“Did anyone try to speak with her?”

Mrs. Warren shook her head.

“Did any strangers come by your house, either the day she arrived or the day she left?”

“No, sir. And I keep a close watch for strangers. Living alone as I do, and my cottage being a bit out of the way, I'm always afeard of thieves.”

Sir Robert thanked Felton and Mrs. Warren, and Rawlinson showed them out. The boy went reluctantly, Mrs. Warren with palpable relief. Sir Robert got up and walked around his desk, frowning. “This investigation is in every way irregular. As a rule, the victim's family or friends would take the lead in bringing her murderer to justice. But since we still know next to nothing about who the girl was, I shall have to continue to take sole responsibility for the investigation.”

He turned to Senderby. “You must redouble your efforts to find people who saw or spoke with her. And question my servants again. We know now that the girl had a foreign accent: that may strike a chord in someone's memory.”

“We also know she changed horses at Hammersley, on the London road,” said Julian. “If she started her journey in London, she would have had to change horses at least twice before that. Postboys and ostlers might remember her. She may even have spoken with an innkeeper or fellow traveller. Or she might have been seen at a toil gate.”

Sir Robert nodded. “One of the special constables must trace her journey back to wherever it began. He must go to each posting house and turnpike gate she passed through and glean whatever evidence he can about her identity, the purpose of her journey, and any person who was seen in her company. At the very least, once we know where she came from, we can make enquiries about her there.”

Julian was not hopeful that she had dropped clues about herself on her journey. She had clearly wished to keep her movements and identity a secret. She had not told her name to anyone in Alderton, she had spent the night in a retired cottage, and next day she had left Mrs. Warren's in the early morning, only to appear out of nowhere at Bellegarde in the late afternoon. Still, her appearance had been striking enough to attract attention. Someone, somewhere,

might have observed something useful about her. Of course, if she had begun her journey in London, it would be the devil’s own work to trace her there. They would have to circulate advertisements, offer rewards. And the Bow Street police would be almost certain to take over the investigation.

He put those concerns aside for the present. His next task was to go to Alderton and see how Dipper was getting on. He decided not to call on Mrs. Warren till tomorrow; she needed time to recover from today’s interrogation. Instead, he would pay his promised call on Dr. MacGregor. He felt the need to have a good long talk about the Fontclairs.

*

Julian decided that, instead of riding to Alderton by the main road, he would walk there through the Chase—the tract of thick woodland to the north and northwest. That was the route he suspected the murdered girl had taken to reach Bellegarde. If she had come by the main road, she would have had to pass through the center of Alderton, where someone would surely have seen her. Of course, she might also have skirted the south side of the village and approached Bellegarde through the park. From there she could easily have passed through the formal garden to the terrace and entered the house through the conservatory windows. But the forest provided more cover and seclusion, which would likely have appealed to someone as secretive as the girl.

He wondered how she had known the way, whichever route she took. She had asked Mrs. Warren where Bellegarde was, as though she did not know the neighbourhood at alL Perhaps the murderer had met her and shown her the way, or she had asked someone for directions. But if the latter were true, who—and where—was that someone?

It took him nearly an hour to get to Alderton through the Chase, but he was moving slowly, taking time to explore as he went along. Fortunately the weather continued fair, so he could use the sun to find his way through the maze of meandering paths. There were broken branches and trampled leaves to suggest someone had recently passed this way, but last night’s rain had washed away any footprints.

From time to time the trees parted to form a clearing, curtained off from the rest of the forest. One of these clearings might well be the one that Craddock visited yesterday.

He emerged from the Chase beside a stream that ran parallel to the main road. There was a footbridge, close to an old abandoned building that must have been a mill. He crossed the bridge and walked about a quarter of a mile to the main road. There he doubled back southeast, and soon reached Alderton.

From then on, curious spectators dogged his steps. People came out of their houses or paused in their work to gape at him from a safe distance—in case, he supposed, he should suddenly become violent or deranged. For of course the whole village knew by now that the mysterious girl had been found in his bed, and that his servant was in gaol under suspicion of her murder. Ignoring the watchers as best he could, he went to Senderby’s cobbler’s shop and told him he wished to visit Dipper.

Dipper had the lockup all to himself, which was just as well, since it was barely ten feet wide. It was shaped like a beehive, with a little domed roof and a padlocked door. The only light came from two small slits set high in the brick walls. There was a pallet bed on one side and a makeshift privy on the other. The smell of the place was foul. “You hadn’t ought to come in here, sir,” Dipper told Julian.

“No human being ought to come in here. But if you can spend a night and a day here, I daresay I can stomach it for a few minutes.” “It ain’t so bad, sir. I’ve dossed in much worse cribs nor this. I had a glimmer last night,”—he pointed to the remains of a small fire—“and the grub’s first-rate.” He added, “I think you ought to take it out of me wages, sir.”

“Take what out of your wages?” asked Julian coldly.

“Whatever you forked out to keep me in quod. I’m no gowk, sir—I been in and out of the jug since I was a kid, and I know you don’t live so high as this unless somebody’s flapped the dimmock. And what I say is, you ought to take it out of me wages, on account of I wouldn’t be in here if I hadn’t tried to gammon Sir Robert.” “It’s immaterial to me how you found your way into this paradise.

I don’t want you coming out of it ill, and of no use to me whatever.

And that means I have to ensure you live like something other than a gutter rat.”

“That don t mean I shouldn’t have to pay for it, sir.”

“I refuse to have this argument with you. It's ridiculous and undignified, and I won’t hear any more about it.”

Dipper gave it up. “How’s the hunt going, sir?”

Julian told him what had been learned so far about the murdered girl. “And she spoke with a foreign accent,” he finished. “But, of course, that may have been assumed. If she used a veil to disguise her face, why not an accent to disguise her voice?”

“That’s an old dodge, sir,” Dipper agreed.

Senderby joined them, saying he had to lock up the gaol so that he could return to the investigation. Julian said to Dipper, “I’ll look in on you again tomorrow.”

“I wish you wouldn’t, sir. I’ll be airing out your clothes for days.” “I expect that girl Molly would be happy to help you. Since you left, she’s been looking so peaked, she could probably do with some airing out herself.”

He came out of the lockup, blinking at the change from darkness to daylight. A small crowd was on the watch for him. He flicked off his tall silk hat and made them a bow. They scattered in some confusion. He smiled wryly, turned to Senderby, and asked how to get to Dr. MacGregor’s.

Well, let's have it,” said MacGregor, plumping down in a homely easy chair. “Which of the Fontclairs have you decided is a cold-blooded murderer?"

He and Julian were seated in his back parlour. It was a bachelor's snuggery, small and cosy, with furniture worn enough to be lounged in or knocked about with impunity. Julian leaned back in a wing chair, stretching out his legs. “I haven't decided. I'm very open and unbiased in my suspicions at this stage. The fact is, I think a case can be made against any of the Fontclairs except Hugh.”

“Do you realize what you’re saying? You’re saying that a member of a highly respected old family—a family that’s spawned military heroes, members of Parliament, leaders of county society—is a murderer. And not even a killer in an honest fight, but a treacherous, cowardly murderer, a stabber in the back and a liar! I’ve known the Fontclairs some thirty years. Sir Robert is one of the fairest, most conscientious landlords you’ll ever see. And Lady Fontclair is beloved all over the parish. There’s not a soul in Alderton she doesn’t know by name, and if someone's in trouble, there she’ll be, with a kind word and an open purse. The others—well, they have their faults, but I won’t believe one of them’s a murderer—not till I’ve seen proof so plain there's no gainsaying it."