Island of Bones (34 page)

‘He got in a fight with his da at the Pig, then they said they had to go out. He came back unhappy – he didn’t mean it! Nothing like this, please Casper, he’s my boy, he’s my boy! Don’t curse him!’

Joe flapped and stamped on Casper’s shoulder and the witch shouted and carolled. Casper couldn’t take the noise of it any more. He threw
the clothes to the floor and walked out the way he came with the crying and pleading shaking the air behind him.

Mr Leathes’ home was only a few minutes’ stroll from his office and seemed just as neat and pleasant as his place of work. A modern villa of comfortable size set back from the road towards Crosthwaite Church, it had high hedges that defended his garden both from the winds of the valley, and the stares of his neighbours. He ushered them in through the wrought-iron gates, then found himself rather hampered in leading them further by the sudden embraces of two young children who came dashing down the path to meet him.

‘Yes, Tom, yes, Sally! I am glad to see you both. Now tell me, is your grandpa out reading in the garden?’ Somewhere in the burble of talk, the children confirmed it. ‘Thank you! Now away with you and tell your mother to bring us tea in the summerhouse. We have guests here, you little savages.’

The children noticed Harriet and Crowther for the first time and became still. They were sturdy-looking children, both of them, with a high colour in their cheeks and matched straw-coloured hair. ‘Go, go,’ their father chided them and they turned to race back into the house. Mr Leathes led his guests towards the side of the house where the garden ran long from neat beds into a little sort of wilderness that crouched below the greater wildness of ever-present Skiddaw. There was indeed a summerhouse there, and in it a man sat reading. He was dressed in dark brown and his shock of white hair looked like snow on a mountain top.

Harriet watched as the man looked up at them from his book and raised a hand in greeting, then stood and began to walk towards them. His steps were a little slow perhaps, but Harriet had been expecting a decrepit relic of extreme old age, swaddled in blankets and helpless as an infant. This man looked no more than sixty.

Mr Leathes perhaps noticed her amazement. ‘My father is eighty-five, Mrs Westerman. There is something in the air of this valley that preserves those who love it.’

Harriet looked between the faces of the old lawyer and Crowther as they came together. She saw her friend smile as he bowed and watched the old man pause, open his eyes wider, then step forward with renewed vigour and his hand outstretched.

‘Charles! My Lord! How many years has it been since I saw you last? You were a young man then. I knew of course that you were at Silverside, but did not know if I’d have the pleasure of meeting you.’

‘Mr Leathes, I am sure you know exactly how long it is since I and you last had sight of each other,’ Crowther said, and took the lawyer’s hand in his own. It was the first time Harriet had seen Crowther show any sign of warmth to those he had known in his youth. Old Mr Leathes chuckled into his neat cravat.

‘It is thirty-two years, three months and some odd days, I believe.’

Crowther turned to Harriet. ‘Mr Leathes, may I present Harriet Westerman?’

The old man bent over her hand in courtly style then looked at his son. ‘Are we to have tea, Mark? So these young people may keep their mouths from drying out while I tell them old stories?’ His son nodded. ‘Good, good. But first, my dear . . .’ old Leathes continued as he drew Harriet’s arm under his own, ‘let me show you my birds. Lord Keswick must allow me to bore him with my experiments in their rearing and breeding at some other time, but I cannot let you sit down until you have had a chance to tell me how pretty they all are, and hear how charmingly they sing.’

Other men might have found that such an appeal to Harriet’s presumed female interests would be met with a cool response, but she had decided to be charmed by the old man so let him guide her steps with pleasure.

The aviary attached to the villa was more extensive than the one at the solicitor’s office. It was built out from the side of the house and half-formed of glass, with a number of walls constructed of a thin brass mesh. The floor was a mix of gravel and turf, studded with low bushes and tree branches. It was the sort of construction that Harriet might
have expected to see in the grounds of one of the great country houses; to see it here was astonishing. The old man smiled and patted her hand.

‘We must all feed our souls as well as our bodies, I believe, Mrs Westerman. I have spent a great deal of money on these little singers in my years, but never regretted a penny of it.’ He opened a door to his right and led her into the aviary itself, took corn from his pocket and whistled. A gold and red canary fluttered down from the branches above them and settled on his finger. ‘Ah! She is a bold lady, this one. Most of the others are too timid to join me, you see, when there is a stranger by, but this creature’s fear is always outweighed by her curiosity.’

Without being quite sure what she expected, or hoped for, Harriet removed the glove from her right hand and lifted it close to where the bird perched on Mr Leathes’ finger. It put its head on one side and examined her for a moment, then hopped across onto her finger. She felt its thin claws like pin scratches on her skin; the lowest feathers on its belly brushed her as it puffed itself out and shook itself then trilled at her, holding its beak open as it did so like an opera singer.

‘I think she recognises a fellow spirit, Mrs Westerman,’ the lawyer said, then he glanced over his shoulder. ‘Ah! My daughter-in-law is bringing out the tea. I must leave my darlings for now. How is Charles?’ Harriet started at the question and realised Crowther and Mark Leathes had already turned back towards the summerhouse. Alarmed by her movement, the canary retreated onto one of the perches elsewhere in the aviary.

‘I have known him three years, Mr Leathes, yet still do not know how to answer the question.’

The old man laughed very softly. ‘Then I may assume he is not much altered.’

‘You knew him as a boy, sir?’

‘I did, and a strange and lonely child he was. But he would come and watch my birds with me, and when age or disease took one we would open up the body together. Is it not strange, madam, that here are creatures so unlike us, yet they have lungs to sing with, a heart to
Island of Bones drive the blood through themselves and a brain much like our own, though what thoughts they have are a mystery. But then I suppose so are the thoughts of our fellow man.’

Mrs Leathes left them, pleading her domestic duties as soon as the tea was poured, and taking care to shepherd her children to a more distant part of the garden for their play, returned to the house. In the brief pause while they watched her cross the lawn, the sound of the canaries filled the air. Harriet had seldom heard such a range of song since her time in the Indies. Indeed, the weather reminded her of those regions as well as the birds, since the air was as close as ever, with the sun like a pewter disk through the haze.

Old Mr Leathes looked between Harriet and Crowther, and having taken a mouthful of tea, produced a long clay pipe from his pocket and began to fill it from his tobacco pouch.

‘Perhaps it is the lawyer in me,’ he said as he did so, ‘but I think you have come to make me talk about the past rather than hear about my birds. Now I have heard singing in the village about this body found on Saint Herbert’s Island. Do I assume too much in thinking your visit here is connected?’

‘You are correct, sir,’ Crowther replied.

‘Then with Mrs Westerman’s permission, I shall light my pipe,’ Leathes said, settling into his chair, ‘for you shall make me talk, and I talk better with a smoke to cool my lungs.’

Mrs Westerman’s permission was given and the pipe lit. Harriet could not help noticing the way that old Leathes gave his attention to them, quietly and with the air of a man prepared to wait them out. He wondered if Crowther realised how much he had benefited from his acquaintance with the lawyer.

‘I believe my father may have murdered the man we found on Saint Herbert’s Island. I do not know why he might have done so – though we suspect the murdered man might have set the fire at Gutherscale Hall in forty-five. Why he then chose to visit my father the following day is a mystery.’ Old Mr Leathes merely raised his eyebrows and waited
for Crowther to continue. His son coughed into his cup, but following his father’s lead, said nothing. ‘I was wondering, sir, if you can remember anything of my father’s concerns in the forties that might guide us.’

The old man smiled slowly. ‘You have not lost your habit of plain speaking, Charles.’ His voice was kind. ‘Have you been as frank with your sister?’

Crowther frowned at his cuffs. ‘To a degree. She misunderstood my meaning, however, and only stated that our father had no part in the death of Rupert de Beaufoy. It is possible my father discovered de Beaufoy’s location from the man he killed, then made use of that information.

The lawyer nodded and sighed. ‘Charles, as you know, I was your father’s adviser in legal matters for many years, but I never believed I was in his confidence. What your sister meant by that remark I cannot say with any certainty, but I suspect you wish me to speculate.’

‘I do.’

‘Your father was elevated from baronet to baron in forty-seven. De Beaufoy’s location was betrayed to the government in forty-five.’

Harriet spoke. ‘Do you think it was Sir William who gave them the information that led to de Beaufoy’s arrest, Mr Leathes? And the title was his reward?’

‘I cannot say, Mrs Westerman. It was rumoured de Beaufoy was betrayed by one of his servants. There was an interval, which would have been only proper, but remember also that Sir William had been growing in importance and stature in the area for many years by that point. After Greta’s lands were forfeited to the Crown in 1716, Sir William purchased a number of parcels of land from the government. He managed his business affairs well, and was already a rich man by the forty-five Rebellion. He was proud of the fact, and I am sure he had been campaigning for recognition well before then. His elevation was a reward indeed, but it might have been for his influence in this part of the country and his loyalty to the government of the time, rather than a direct result of a simple piece of treachery.’

Harriet glanced at Crowther, but he seemed unwilling to speak and
kept his eyes on his cuffs. She felt the burden of the questioning pass to her as clearly as if Crowther had spoken out loud. ‘Sir William did not arrive here a rich man, did he, Mr Leathes? Was there some moment where his fortunes began to improve?’

Leathes nodded. ‘I see, Mrs Westerman, why your alliance with Charles has proved useful to you both. Yes, there was. It was in the spring of 1718. Sir William came to see me, to ask me to assist in the purchase of a parcel of land that belonged to the Crown on the western shore. I remember he arrived in the middle of a rainstorm and asked to speak to my father, William, but finding him engaged was content to speak to me. Remember, we were both young men at that time. I think he had found my father a little precise, a little slow in his manner of conducting business. I was keen to prove myself in the practice and in the area as a coming man, so was glad of the chance to do well, whatever piece of business he might have in mind. He paced my floor with his coat dripping – I can see him as clearly as I do you young people now. I could swear there was such energy and urgency radiating from him, he seemed almost to steam in front of me. He told me he had hopes of mineral deposits untapped on the land he hoped to buy, and was ready to stretch his resources to the limits in order to exploit them. He asked me to find the price and see what the likelihood of the purchase was.’

‘And so you did?’ Harriet asked.

‘I did, and quickly enough to earn his praise, impatient as he was. Though when I gave him the news he was not pleased.’

‘Why?’

The lawyer shrugged and devoted a moment or two to his pipe before replying, ‘He could not afford it. He had calculated what money he could raise and found that his resources were still not sufficient. He might be able, by extending himself and borrowing whatever money he could lay his hands on, to buy the land, but he would need more capital to mine there. There was no room to negotiate the price down any further. The figure given to me was already generously low.’

‘Why did he not take a partner, then?’ Harriet asked.

The old lawyer’s eyes flicked up towards Crowther and it was his dry voice that replied.

‘My father would never have become involved in such an enterprise, if he did not have complete control.’

The lawyer nodded his agreement. ‘He would not. I went up to Silverside – it was hardly more than a cottage in those days – to give him the news the moment the express arrived from London. His frustration was extreme. He strode about in front of the fire as I spoke, and as he heard the price he kicked the logs in the fire so hard the sparks showered all around us. It was lucky the floors were stone, or Silverside might have found itself such a ruin as the old palace of the Gretas appears now.’

Harriet found herself confused. ‘But you told us, sir, that this period marked the beginning of the
improvement
in Sir William’s fortunes?’

‘So I did. Three days later, having left the Hall thinking the business lost entirely, I was visited by Ruben Grace with a letter from his master telling me to proceed with the purchase and a banker’s draft, drawn on a private bank in Cockermouth, for the total sum. I helped with the documentation necessary to mortgage what property he then held in order to fund the works, but that was a simple task once the land itself was purchased. The mine proved fruitful and laid the foundation of the fortune that Sir William then accrued in land and other speculations for the next thirty years.’

‘How did he come by such a large amount of money?’

‘Mrs Westerman, I cannot say. Perhaps if he himself had visited my offices with the banker’s draft I would have asked him. As it was Ruben who came with my instructions, I did not. I can add only two things that might interest you. Firstly, I thought Ruben did not like his task. He and I knew each other from childhood in a passing sort of way, and I thought he looked . . . angry. Secondly, I dined with the manager of that bank some months later, and he mentioned to me – I am afraid he was rather in his cups – that he had never seen such a pile of greasy
banknotes as were deposited in his hands by Sir William the day he began banking with them and asked for the draft to be prepared.’