Instruments of Darkness (22 page)

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Authors: Imogen Robertson

Tags: #Historical fiction, #Crime Fiction

BOOK: Instruments of Darkness
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Rachel nodded. Crowther leaned back in his chair with his fingers touching tips in front of his chest and continued, ‘From whom did he wish to keep matters secret then? Is Wicksteed more loyal to Hugh, due to their connection in the Army, or has Lady Thornleigh gained influence with him? And what has Hugh to fear from either of them? What did our lady of the needle say, Mrs Westerman?’
Harriet made a face. ‘There is some gossip in the Hall that Wicksteed has made himself useful to Lady Thornleigh, and whatever their previous relations, no one in the Hall thinks Wicksteed is a favourite of Hugh’s.’
‘She must be very lonely in that big house,’ Rachel murmured.
‘And is,’ Crowther leaned forward, ‘Lady Thornleigh feared in any way by Hugh?’
‘He tolerates her presence with a bad grace and thinks nothing about her at all, I think,’ Harriet answered. ‘At least, that was the feeling I had when we were friendly.’ She paused and looked a little conscious. ‘But I have often thought there is something mysterious in his relationship with Claver Wicksteed. That man does seem to wield great power in the house, and I have always had the impression that he makes Hugh uneasy. I cannot think why Hugh put a man he seems to dislike so in such a position of power in his household.’
‘So Wicksteed - a man, we assume, of relatively obscure origin, and whatever talents or graces he has, there is nothing in his previous life we know of to suggest why he is qualified to be the centre of power in one of the richest houses in the county - and yet he is.’ Crowther scratched his chin. ‘We must see what we can do to find a little more out about the man. If he has some secret hold over Hugh, it is unlikely he would want to see the rightful heir return to Thornleigh Hall. Wicksteed may well not have that same power over the heir, Alexander, if he is found and tempted back home.’
Harriet stared into her coffee cup as if searching for runes.
‘That does make some sort of sense,’ she agreed.
‘But what is the nature of the power Wicksteed has over Hugh? Does it really exist? Might not Hugh simply think him a good manager, even if he is not personally fond?’ Rachel said doubtfully.
Crowther looked at her seriously. ‘We must suspect everything, and believe nothing till we have proof of it.’
‘That sounds like an immoral philosophy, Mr Crowther.’ Rachel smiled at him and he smiled back at her.
Harriet had begun to rap her fingers against the fabric of her sofa again.
‘Mrs Mortimer does not know of any hold Wicksteed has over Hugh, and if Belinda Mortimer does not know, I can guarantee you that no one else in the household can understand it either. And I think she has told me everything she knows.’
‘I saw her nephew arriving at the stables looking very bright,’ Rachel said.
Harriet grinned at her. ‘Well, I intend on spending your earnings from the skin salves on employing him, and getting him and James new boots.’
‘If Hugh is innocent,’ Rachel said with a sigh, ‘do you think perhaps Wicksteed might have killed Brook to stop Hugh finding out where Alexander is, Mr Crowther?’
‘Perhaps. It sounds to me as if what Wicksteed has, he has fought for. And it is generally acknowledged that when a man has had to strive for position or money, he is loath to give it up.’
Rachel looked sadly into the middle distance and twisted a corner of her dress with her right hand, before saying in a low voice, ‘Unlike Alexander, who just walked away from it all.’
Crowther felt the back of his neck prickle and his voice, when he spoke, seemed very far from him.
‘What we grow up with in profusion, we are less likely to value, as a rule.’
Each of them stared quietly for a few moments at different parts of the foliage artfully woven into the Commodore’s carpets. Harriet stirred first.
‘You are full of epigrams today, Crowther. We should gather them all together in a book for the edification of the public.’ He gave her a slight bow from his chair. ‘We must go and see Mr Thornleigh,’ she said, and added to her sister, ‘Not you, my love, just Crowther and I.’
‘I doubt he will do anything other than damn us to hell, let alone tell us what, if any, hold Wicksteed has over him.’
‘Then let him. But if he is innocent, we must try to help him.’
‘And the nurse? Why was
she
murdered?’ Rachel looked up at them. ‘I presume it was not by her own hand that she died.’
‘She was murdered,’ Crowther agreed heavily. ‘I have no doubt on that score.’
Harriet stood up and began to pace the salon between Crowther and her sister. Rachel followed her with her eyes, Crowther put his palms together as if in prayer and continued to stare at the floor and listen to the sisters speak.
‘But what possible share could she have had in the business?’ Harriet wondered aloud.
‘Perhaps she did know the nature of Wicksteed’s hold on Hugh.’ Rachel replied.
Harriet stopped in her pacing and turned back to her sister. ‘Perhaps that was what was contained in those letters - but how could she know what it was, on a much shorter acquaintance with the house, when Mrs Mortimer, who has been there regularly since before Hugh and Alexander were born, does not!’
Crowther felt the air around him shift; a space, ready for a new thought, seemed to open up in the centre of his mind. The shreds of some inspiration hung around him; if only he could knit them together in his brain . . . There was something there, longing to take form.
‘When did Lord Thornleigh’s nurse arrive at the Hall?’ he asked.
Harriet turned to him with a shrug. ‘She has been in the area longer than us.’ She swung back towards her sister. ‘Didn’t she arrive, by accident almost, a month or two after Lord Thornleigh became ill?’
Rachel nodded. ‘Yes, she happened to be staging down to Brighton to stay with her sister, and heard about Lord Thornleigh on her way. She has had all sorts of experience with these illnesses in the past - acting as a nurse, you know - so she decided to walk over from Pulborough and offer her services. The household was very pleased to receive her.’
The two women looked towards Crowther with curiosity, aware of the tension in his narrow frame. Even as the thoughts bound together like rope in his mind, he was ashamed to realise he was drawing great satisfaction from their attentive eyes, and when he spoke again, it was not without the air of an actor claiming the stage.
‘Of course. The mysterious letters from London. The timely arrival, then her murder. I have it!’ He looked up from the floor, his eyes suddenly and almost unnaturally blue in his pale face. ‘Alexander sent her.’
III.3
H
ARRIET ATE HER dinner quickly, and Crowther barely ate at all. As soon as the servants left the three to themselves, the revelation that Alexander might have sent Nurse Bray to Thornleigh was picked over again, and the women seemed ready to accept it as fact.
‘We have no proof,’ said Crowther wearily, and for the third time.
‘There must be an inquest tomorrow,’ Harriet replied a little crossly. ‘Perhaps Nurse Bray had friends at the Hall of whom we know nothing as yet. They may be able to inform us.’
‘I hope for their sake, if they exist, they do not know Alexander’s address,’ Rachel sighed. ‘Having it seems to be very dangerous.’
Crowther and Harriet looked at her, suddenly stilled.
‘If I were you,’ she continued, ‘before going to the Hall and demanding that Hugh tell us if he is in the power of his steward, I would see what you can get from Mr Cartwright. He is the only one we know who met Carter Brook when he lived, after all. He was so miserable to be seen to know Brook, perhaps he did not say everything he knew of him.’
Crowther nodded. ‘You are quite right, Miss Trench. That is perhaps the best course of action.’
Rachel helped herself to a little more of the fish, and grinned a little pertly at Harriet.
‘He will probably not wish to see you. So I would suggest a long walk in the heat to the village and a sudden attack of faintness just outside his shop, Harriet.’
Crowther saw Harriet smile, and commented, ‘This country lost a great general when you were born a woman, Miss Trench.’
‘Every woman must think like a general from time to time, I think,’ she answered with a slight bow. ‘And you’ll be glad to know the country also lost a great actress when my sister was brought up to be a respectable married woman.’
Harriet mirrored her sister’s bow back to her with a slightly twisted smile.
‘I’m not sure I am behaving like a respectable married woman at the moment, Rachel.’
Her sister widened her eyes a little. ‘Oh Harry, I did not say you were a respectable woman, just that you were brought up to be one!’
Crowther wondered if Mrs Westerman were about to throw her napkin, and suspected Miss Trench was saved only by the door opening and Mrs Heathcote’s arrival to clear the dishes.
Miss Trench had not exaggerated her sister’s skills. Crowther saw Mrs Westerman prepare herself as they approached the shutters of Cartwright’s shop, taking her breaths in a shallow rush, but as her weight fell against him, just where Crowther could still reach the door-knocker, he could not have distinguished between a genuine spell of weakness and those symptoms that Harriet displayed. He only hoped his performance would be equal. He struck an urgent double clap at the door, and as soon as it was opened by a sweetheart-faced maid, the girl who became nervous when left alone, he supposed, he half-led, half-carried Mrs Westerman in before the girl could do any more than open and close her mouth. Crowther pushed at the first door he could see, which led into a modest parlour, and supported Harriet into a chair.
The maid looked at them rather nervously, then said firmly, ‘Mr Cartwright sends his apologies but he is much engaged with business today, and unable to receive callers.’
Crowther composed his face into a severe frown and turned round sharply on his heel.
‘Dear girl, do you suppose Mrs Westerman or myself are in the habit of making social calls in this manner?’ The child lifted her chin. ‘Mrs Westerman has been taken ill in the heat, and requires a place to rest. Your master may go to the devil, for all I care.’
Harriet looked up, her face flushed, her breathing still short, her eyes moist with appeal.
‘I just need a glass of water, and a chance to recover myself, Hannah. We found Nurse Bray yesterday, you know . . . I began to think of her poor face, and . . .’
Crowther was fascinated to see a large tear run down her cheek. Without thinking, he took her wrist in one hand and his watch in the other and started to take her pulse. Hannah stepped forward with a little sigh, and her shoulders relaxed.
‘Of course I’ll get you some water. You stay right there, ma’am.’ She shot a bitter look at Crowther and turned quickly enough for her skirts to swish. The door rattled on its latch behind her.
Mrs Westerman’s pulse was steady and even as any man could wish. Crowther looked up from his watch and caught her eye. She winked at him. They could hear a muttered conversation in the hallway outside, and the door opened to allow the master himself in, bearing the water and leaning his upper body forward as he walked, as if he felt it dangerous to have his own head higher than either of his guests’.
‘Dear Mrs Westerman! So sorry you are unwell.’
He offered the glass. Harriet took it with a trembling hand.
‘Mr Cartwright, so sorry to disturb you!’ Her eyelashes fluttered, and he tutted away her apologies. ‘You know Mr Crowther, I presume. Mr Crowther, this is Mr Cartwright.’
Crowther drew himself up very straight and looked down his nose. ‘Ah, yes! The glove man.’
Cartwright gave a slightly sick smile. ‘That’s right, sir. As I have had occasion to remark to you before, the name is above the door. But do take a seat.’ He took a step back and opened the door into the hallway again. ‘Hannah! Fetch in some of that lemonade, if you will.’
Harriet raised a hand. ‘We trouble you too much, sir.’
‘Not at all, not at all, Mrs Westerman!’
Crowther settled himself with a convincingly bored sigh and there was a moment of silence as the two men watched Mrs Westerman take a sip of her water, and then, as if the effort of holding it were almost too much, place the glass on the table beside her. She then said rather more brightly: ‘So it was you who found the unfortunate Brook for Mr Thornleigh, Mr Cartwright. And how did that come about?’
The little man stiffened and looked confused. Hannah re-entered with lemonade and three empty glasses. Harriet seemed to fall back into her chair a little, and took hers with a weak, ‘Thank you,’ but as soon as Hannah was out of the room again her condition seemed to improve, and she looked at Mr Cartwright with steady, friendly attention. He glanced from one to the other and his skin acquired a slight sheen. He reminded Crowther of a cornered amphibian.
‘There is a coffee shop I visit during my buying trips to London. I knew Brook very slightly from there. I may, in my dealings with Captain Thornleigh, have mentioned some of the types I had met in London.’ He seemed to feel the importance of at least appearing to become a little more comfortable and leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs. Crowther noticed for the first time that his pantaloons were a most remarkable shade of yellow.

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