Keeping Bad Company (10 page)

‘Was McPherson there?'

‘No, but quite a few of the other Calcutta men were.'

‘And nobody argued against suicide?'

‘Are you saying I should have? What possible evidence could I have given?'

So I told him about my visit to Mr Griffiths's rooms, about the lack of warm water, the missing pamphlet. Tom looked shocked at first, then downright furious when I came to hiding behind the door to find out what Alexander McPherson was doing.

‘Liberty, this is intolerable. What if he'd seen you?'

‘Would it have mattered? He wouldn't have known I'm your sister.'

‘But you had no right to be there.'

‘Nor had he.'

‘He might have come to pack up Griffiths's things.'

‘On his own? Rather a menial job for him. Anyway, he wasn't packing up anything, he was searching. And I'm sure he was searching for Mr Griffiths's pamphlet.'

‘Why do you keep coming back to that?'

‘Because it was important to him, and we don't know where it's gone. It definitely wasn't in any of the things we unpacked. That means he kept it with him when he left Richmond for London. What did he do with it after that?'

I hoped Tom might draw the same conclusion as I had: that Mr Griffiths had hurried it straight to a printer. But he was still too occupied in being annoyed with me. That decided me not to tell him about my visit to Tom Huckerby. I was already having some regrets about that paragraph that would be appearing in
The Unbound Briton
and didn't want another cause of war between us.

‘I wonder who he meant that bearer bond for,' I said. ‘He didn't know many people in London, but here he is intending to send somebody a lot of money.'

‘It might not have been for anybody in London,' Tom said. ‘They have banks in India too.'

‘But it was for somebody he hoped to see in the next day or two. That must mean London, or near it. And why didn't he seal and post it, as he must have intended?'

‘Because he'd died,' Tom said, practically grinding his teeth.

‘But he was the sort of man who'd want to leave everything in order, wasn't he? So why leave that undone before he killed himself?'

‘Liberty, stop it.'

I moved the kettle closer to the fire to boil and rediscovered the letter to Tom, which I'd propped against the tea caddy.

‘Something came for you.'

He glanced at the clerkly hand on the wrapper, frowning. I turned away to tidy things on the table, then heard him gasp as if the contents had burned him.

‘What is it?'

He said nothing, just held it out for me to see. The thick parchment and bulge of a wax seal through the folds showed it was a legal document. He turned it over. The writing on the outside was also in a clerkly hand, but not the same as the one on the covering wrapper.

LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF EDMUND GRIFFITHS ESQUIRE.

‘When did this arrive?'

‘By the morning post. I'd have rushed it round to you, only I didn't think it was important.'

‘Why has he sent me his will?'

Tom stared at me then at the still-folded document, getting no answer from either. I picked up the wrapper. There were two lines of writing on the inside.

Dear Sir, We have been requested to forward to you the enclosed. A note acknowledging receipt of it is requested. Smith and Danby, Solicitors, London Road, Richmond.

It was dated five days earlier.

‘It looks as if he gave it to them just before he left Richmond,' I said.

‘But why send it to me?'

‘Hadn't you better look at it?'

‘It's a legal document, Libby. Shouldn't it be opened in a lawyer's presence?'

‘I don't think that's essential. Anyway, why should he have sent it to you if he didn't want you to see it?'

At least Tom still possessed his fair share of curiosity. After thinking about it for a while longer he opened it, read, then passed it to me.

It was a short document, drawn up by an English solicitor in Bombay. It was dated from the autumn of the preceding year and duly witnessed by two men with English-looking names, probably the solicitor's clerks.

I, Edmund Griffiths, currently resident in Bombay, being of sound mind, do hereby give and bequeath:

The sum of £500 each to the Hindu College in Calcutta and the Sanskrit College in Calcutta, with the wish that it shall be used towards the education of boys who would otherwise be too poor to attend these colleges.

The sum of £100 to my faithful servant Anil, with the hope that some of it will be used to further his education.

My library, including books, maps, pictures and manuscripts to the Sanskrit College of Calcutta, subject to the provision below.

All the remainder of my estate to the Rani Rukhamini Joshi, of the Red Fort, near Amravati, India in small recognition of the wrong done to her and to her family.

I appoint as my executor Thomas Fraternity Lane and direct that he shall be paid the sum of one hundred guineas from my estate for his trouble, and shall choose what books he likes from my library. I direct him as my executor to see that my body is disposed of according to Hindu rites by the sacred mother Ganges.

Then his signature, and the witnesses. A broad margin had been left below the witness signatures. In it, a line in Griffiths's handwriting in very blue, new-looking ink:

Or as near to that as he can contrive. E.G.

Tom had been watching as I read.

‘Well?' I said.

‘This leaves no doubt at all, does it?'

‘About what?'

‘That he killed himself.'

Relief as well as shock in Tom's voice. I hadn't realized until then how, in his heart, he'd doubted the verdict of suicide.

‘Why?'

‘Don't be stupid. He leaves the will with a solicitor to forward it, so that it will get to me after his death. He'd planned it all carefully.'

‘Had he? Everybody seems to think that he was driven to suicide by that argument with McPherson, but that only happened after he'd moved in to town from Richmond. By then, he'd already left the will with the Richmond solicitors for forwarding. So if he did kill himself, it had nothing to do with your evidence or with the argument.'

Tom said nothing while I made tea and poured it. He was rereading the will, probably several times over.

‘What shall I do with it?' he said.

‘It will have to go to probate. I should see a solicitor. Ask Daniel to find a good one. He has some legal friends.'

‘You don't think I should show it to them at East India House?'

‘Of course not. What's it got to do with them?'

‘Back in Bombay, Griffiths did say something about naming me as his executor, but I didn't think much about it at the time. Some of the men revise their wills before going on long sea voyages.'

‘So who's this Rani who gets the balance of his estate?'

‘I have no notion. Literally, ‘Rani' means queen, but it's often a term of respect for any high-born Indian lady. Rukhamini is the name of a Hindu goddess. Amravati is in the Maratha. I'll have to find out when I get back to India. But I doubt if there'll be much left over after the bequests to the colleges. I don't think he was a man of means.'

At the time, I didn't give much thought to the clause about Hindu rites and mother Ganges, or Griffiths's footnote to it. There was simply too much to think about. When Tom said goodbye his mind was clearly elsewhere. He surprised me with a last question that seemed to have nothing to do with what we'd been discussing.

‘Will Amos Legge be at the stables at this time of day?'

‘Yes, they'll be getting ready for evening feeds.'

So at least he was planning to get some exercise.

As I watched him walking away along Adam's Mews, I noticed a member of Tabby's gang standing in the doorway of one of the stables. I'd never sorted out the exact hierarchy of this troop of errand runners, horse-holders and occasional pickpockets, but knew this lad was one of the leaders. His nickname – probably the only name he had – was Plush. He was squat in build, immensely broad of shoulder. Trousers cut off raggedly at the knee showed calves of solid muscle and bare splay-toed feet, very dirty. His body could have been anything from twelve years old to twenty. His face was like some malign gargoyle from the middle ages, his voice as husky as dry leaves shifting in the wind from his habit of pipe smoking. Judging by his yellowed and oddly angled teeth, he'd taken to it as soon as he'd been weaned. He lived for fighting against members of rival gangs and usually carried some recent injury, in this case a left ear so bright and swollen that it looked as if it would glow in the dark. And yet, there was a tentative, almost gentle, air about him.

He shifted his short clay pipe in his mouth and wished me good afternoon. I returned the greeting and asked if he'd seen Tabby recently. He shook his head.

‘Not for ten days or more.'

‘Do you know where she's gone?'

‘Dunno. Just said she was going away for a bit.'

‘That's all she said to me. I'm afraid she's annoyed with me.'

‘Them little dogs?'

‘Yes. It wasn't right, you know.'

He nodded, grave as a churchwarden. I was sure that the business of lapdog kidnapping and ransoming was still being carried on, only transferred for a while out of my orbit. No use saying anything. I asked him if Tabby had given him any idea where she was going.

‘Nah. She's been a bit strange the last few weeks, not talking much. Like she's angry about something.'

‘She's been like that with me too. I thought it was just on account of the dogs.'

‘Something else bothering her, only she won't say what. I said to her when she came for the knife—'

‘Knife? What knife?'

‘The one she asked me to get for her.'

‘Tabby asked you to get her a knife?'

‘Good sharp one, with a long blade. Three bob I had to pay for it. She paid me back without turning a hair.'

‘What did Tabby want with a knife?'

‘That's what I asked her. I said to her if she was expecting trouble from anybody, just let me know and I'd truss him up with his heels round the back of his neck any time she wanted. Wasn't interested.'

I asked him a few more questions, without result, and went back into Abel Yard, badly shaken. Tabby was angry. Tabby had a long sharp knife. Tabby was inquiring about where rich men went. And I could see no way of finding her if she didn't want to be found.

A
mos didn't arrive for our usual ride early next morning, sending a lad on a cob with Rancie instead. The lad explained that Mr Legge had been called away elsewhere. I assumed that he'd gone on some horse-dealing errand, but was sorry because I wanted to talk to him about Tabby. I'd woken in the early hours, worrying about her and the knife and blaming myself. As far as I could see, there were two possibilities. One was that she really had gone out to look for cases of her own and found one more desperate than anything I'd have allowed. The other possibility was even worse: that she intended the knife for attack and not defence. Was this interest in the ways of rich men the start of a crusade? I'd been too pleased with myself for taking Tabby away from the gutter and giving her a chance at better things. In our strange trade, she'd been given a close view of some of the rich and powerful in society. She'd seen things that were admirable, but many that were rotten and hypocritical. Then, in my company and even with my encouragement, she'd met radicals like Tom Huckerby who wanted to sweep away privilege, take from the rich and give to the poor. Shouldn't I have foreseen what a wild and quick-witted girl would make of that? Had I made an assassin of her?

I tried all morning to work, going over domestic accounts with Mrs Martley, drafting a letter to a client who was disputing a bill. In the afternoon, tired of it all, I put on my bonnet and walked across the park to the livery stables in the Bayswater Road. Amos was in the stable yard, informally dressed by his usual smart standards in corduroy leggings, third best boots and felt hat. The leggings looked as if they'd been hastily brushed but there were dried traces of grey mud round the knee buckles. He was inspecting the swingletree of a small carriage drawn up in a quiet part of the yard. He seemed surprised to see me, and not altogether pleased.

‘Is that a new one?' I said, looking at the carriage.

It seemed plain and run-of-the-mill in a yard that usually ran to fashionable open landaus and barouches for drives around the park.

‘Just borrowed.'

His manner was definitely uneasy, even furtive. Amos could tell lies with the best of them when necessary, but was no good at deceiving me.

‘Did my brother Tom find you yesterday?'

A nod. Now he was giving one of the wheels the benefit of his close attention, though there was nothing remarkable about it. I made one of my leaps.

‘I suppose you've hired that for Tom.'

His head came up. He looked at me, surprised.

‘He told me you weren't to know about it.'

‘He did, did he?'

I hate it when men plot against me, especially if it's a brother and a good friend. I left Amos to think it over and went to say hello to Rancie. She was half dozing, with her black cat Lucy comfortably asleep on her back. Something was tucked into the straw at the far corner of the loosebox. I went over and pulled out a pair of boots, covered from soles to tops with dried and encrusted mud, the same grey as the splashes on Amos's leggings. I put them back under the straw, gave Rancie her carrot and strolled back across the yard to him.

‘You shouldn't go wading in river mud in your second best boots,' I said.

‘River?'

His face was a picture.

‘It has to be the river,' I said. ‘There's no mud anything like that deep around the park. Besides, there's the colour of it.'