Michael Cox (37 page)

‘As to the nature of that matter – well, there’s the very nub of the mystery. But now, thanks to you, Miss Gorst, we have a definite connexion between her Ladyship and the murdered woman.’
‘The latter’s demand was either refused outright, or an impression given that it would be met,’ observed Mr Wraxall. ‘Either way, another course was covertly taken, which resulted in the most unpleasant consequences for Mrs Kraus. Of course Lady Tansor could not possibly have carried out the deed herself, and so must have had an accomplice.’
‘Mr Armitage Vyse.’
‘Excellent, Miss Gorst! The very man we suspect.’
Mr Wraxall was beaming at me in delight.
‘You see, Gully,’ he said, turning to the detective, ‘what a great addition Miss Gorst will be to our cause? We’ll get at the truth yet, mark my words, now that Miss Gorst is with us.’
The long-case clock in the corner of the room struck five o’clock, at the sound of which Mr Gully took out his pocket-watch to check the synchronicity of the two time-pieces.
‘I must leave if I’m to catch my train,’ he said, jumping to his feet, and brushing a few stray cake crumbs from his jacket. ‘And so, good-bye, Miss Gorst,’ he said, shaking my hand vigorously. ‘We shall meet again soon, I’m sure. Good-bye, good-bye!’

III
Mr Wraxall Exercises His Instincts

AFTER MR GULLY and his wife had gone – Mrs Gully having bestowed on me only the barest ‘Good-afternoon, Miss Gorst, so nice to have met you’ – Mr Wraxall and I walked out into the little walled garden at the rear of the Lodge.
‘You appear to be fond of Mr Gully,’ I remarked.
We had now passed through a gate into a small area of paddock. Beyond an enclosing fence, the carriage-road ran up through a fringe of well-set woods to the Park gates on the Odstock Road.
‘A decent man was killed over there,’ said Mr Wraxall, gazing out towards the darkening line of trees through which I had passed with my Lady and her two sons on our journey to Barnack for Professor Slake’s funeral. ‘The passage of time has not, and will not, erase the memory of that outrage.’
Overhead, a suddenly startled clamour of rooks, raucously squawking and flapping, took to the air. I stopped to look up at their raggedy antics, while Mr Wraxall walked a little way ahead, his eyes still anchored on the western horizon; then he turned towards me again.
‘Forgive me, Miss Gorst. You were speaking of Mr Gully. Yes, I’m very fond of him. Although you might not guess it to look at him, he has a broad and original mind. Not many young men of his upbringing, and certainly none of his compatriots in the Detective Department, read Plato at breakfast, I think! I shall never now have a son; but if I did, I would be proud to have one like Inspector Alfred Gully of the Detective Department.’
‘I wish I could have spoken a little more to Mrs Gully,’ I said, as we were walking back to the Lodge. ‘She seemed a person one would like to know better.’
‘Ah, Martha the Silent,’ laughed Mr Wraxall. ‘A young woman of the highest intelligence and discretion. She’s Gully’s unofficial right hand, you know. He depends upon her completely, and she has often provided the last essential piece in his investigations that brings success. Her story provides a notable testimony to the benefits of self-improvement. Her father was a ham and beef dealer from Bermondsey, but young Martha conceived the laudable ambition of becoming a doctor. Of course her family circumstances were against her – well, those do not concern us.
‘But what
does
concern us – or should – is Mr Armitage Vyse. You must beware of that gentleman, my dear. He is not an ornament to our profession, and things are whispered of him that give me grave concern. His influence over Lady Tansor has become very marked of late, and this leads me to think that he has some plan afoot, which, if discovered, might put the discoverer in danger.’
The look he gave disconcerted me, for he seemed to be offering me silent encouragement to unburden myself. I had been more than willing to join him and Mr Gully in their attempt to establish the extent of Lady Tansor’s involvement in the deaths of her father and Mrs Kraus; for if our suspicions could be proved, then my own private cause would be immeasurably advanced, as well as theirs. But I was not ready – yet – to bring even Mr Wraxall into my full confidence. For the time being, therefore, I kept my counsel.
As we reached the back door of the Lodge, Mr Wraxall stopped, his hand resting on the handle.
‘I wish to say something, Miss Gorst, and I shall be direct with you, as a friend ought. You have come here to Evenwood for a purpose. Others may believe that a young lady of your education and abilities was content to become a lady’s-maid, but I do not. It’s the great disadvantage of my calling: to doubt what I’m told until I can prove otherwise. In this case, although I may theorize on the matter, I do not know – and therefore cannot prove – who you really are, and why you are here. I am only sure that I’m right to think that there’s more – a very great deal more – to you, Miss Gorst, than meets the eye.’
I was about to frame some prevaricating reply, but he raised his hand to stop me.
‘No, hear me out if you please, my dear. Every instinct I have tells me that you’re here for no dishonest purpose; but that you have some hidden object in pretending to be someone you are not is, to my professional eye, beyond all doubt.
‘Now do not fear. I flatter myself that I’m exceptional in the acuity of my instincts – they provided me with a very comfortable living for many years – and I’m confident that you’re safe from discovery. I also see very well that you are unwilling as yet to confide in me – although I hope that may change. Say nothing, my dear. There’s no need. We understand each other perfectly, I think. All
I
will say is, that you may depend on me – absolutely – to offer whatever help I can, to the utmost of my ability, in whatever you are engaged upon, feeling certain, as I do, that it must be a matter of the greatest consequence, and that you will tell me what it is in your own good time. Now, let us go in. It’s getting rather chilly, and there’s still cake to be eaten.’
I found, however, that I did have something I wished to say.
As we sat together by the fire, our tea-cups refilled, encouraged by what Mr Wraxall had said, I had resolved to tell my new friend and ally what I knew concerning Mr Armitage Vyse, including his meeting with Billy Yapp at the Antigallican, and Yapp’s recent appearance at Evenwood.
He listened to me with the most concentrated attention. When I had finished, he got up and walked over to the window, where he stood for some time in silent thought.
‘Sweeney Yapp. Well, well. Gully was right.’
By which I understood that the detective had already suspected Yapp – well known to the Detective Department – of Mrs Kraus’s murder, a conclusion Mr Wraxall soon confirmed.
‘Gully was sure this was Yapp’s work,’ he said, resuming his seat. ‘People talk, if approached in the right way; but he lacked – still lacks – the evidence. Now, at least, we know who put Yapp up to it, and perhaps also on whose behalf this person was acting. Well, my dear, Mr Gully will have to look to his laurels, it seems. You have the makings of a fine detective – and an uncommonly brave one, to have ventured into such a place as the Antigallican, which I urge you never to do again.
‘But it appears that Mr Vyse’s instincts, like my own, are also in full working order. He has his suspicions of you, and that certainly puts you in the way of danger. You are certainly right to think that Yapp was sent here by Vyse, and that must be of great concern to us. I must telegraph Gully as soon as possible.’
‘And tomorrow we leave for London,’ I said.
‘Do you, though?’ replied Mr Wraxall. ‘Then I beg you to take the greatest care of yourself while you are there. You will please to seek me out, at any time, should it become needful for you to do so, in King’s Bench Walk – number fourteen – and you will try not go out unaccompanied unless it is absolutely necessary. Will you promise me that?’
‘I fear I cannot,’ I answered, shaking my head regretfully, for I was already planning various expeditions, if my Lady allowed me some liberty.
‘In that case I shall ask Gully to provide some protection for you. There’s a good man in the Department, Sergeant Swann. Let’s see what can be done in that regard.’
So it was agreed. Mr Wraxall would make the necessary arrangements, after he had conferred with Mr Gully.
‘You’ve been most forbearing, sir,’ I said, as I rose to leave, ‘in not pressing me to reveal more about myself than, as things presently stand, I am able to do – although of course I don’t admit that your famous instincts are right on this occasion.’
‘Of course,’ he said, smiling and resting his wonderful grey eyes on me. ‘I never claim infallibility.’
‘But I do have a question for you – if you’re willing to hear it.’
‘Ask away,’ he said.
‘What made you suspect Lady Tansor of being involved in the murder of Mrs Kraus?’
‘Ah,’ he said, ‘an excellent question, my dear. Excellent. And quite worthy of Mrs Gully, who has a wonderful knack of putting her finger on things. The suggestion – no more – came to us in a brief note, sent to Inspector Gully, from an anonymous informant. We have no idea at present who this might be, and so there things must rest for now. Well, this has been most pleasant, Miss Gorst,’ he said, handing me my hat and gloves, ‘most pleasant indeed. Goodness me!’
‘What’s the matter?’ I asked, anxiously.
‘Why, I’ve just remembered what day it is.’
‘The 31st of December?’
‘Exactly,’ he replied. ‘And so I wish you every good wish for the coming new year of 1877, in the confident hope that all our endeavours will be crowned with success, and that all the dry bones will be fleshed with Truth at last. And now, my dear, may I accompany you back to the house? It’s growing dark, and it’s perhaps best that you don’t go alone.’

24

Snow and Secrets

I
The Night Visitor

W
E PARTED,
Mr Wraxall and I, at the Entrance Court gates. On our way back from North Lodge, as the evening drew in, the conversation had continued to run on matters connected with the death of Lady Tansor’s father.
‘You said, I think, that Mr Carteret was an old friend of Professor Slake’s,’ I remarked.
‘Indeed – scholars both, yet their interests were different. Mr Carteret’s were of a historical and literary character, whilst my uncle’s principal passion was for philology and the religious practices of the Ancients, although of course he devoted himself for many years to his great history of the Gentile nations.’
I then asked Mr Wraxall whether his work on the Professor’s papers was proceeding satisfactorily.
‘Satisfactorily is perhaps not
le mot juste
,’ he laughed; ‘but, yes, I believe that I am making some progress, although there is still much to do.’
‘And – if you don’t mind? – may I ask whether the letters from your uncle to Mr Carteret that you took from the Dower House were of any particular interest?’
Mr Wraxall, clearly guessing my implication, congratulated me again for asking the right question.
‘I’ve been waiting all afternoon for you to ask about those letters,’ he said. ‘There were a large number, and it took me most of that night to go through them and put them in order. The majority concerned subjects of mutual scholarly interest. There were two, however, that particularly caught my attention. The first had a curious link with the murder of Phoebus Daunt.’
I felt my stomach tighten, and was obliged to look away in confusion.
Mr Wraxall, with a look of concern, enquired whether anything was the matter.
‘Nothing, thank you,’ I assured him, whilst knowing that my face spoke otherwise. ‘Please go on.’
From Madame, I already knew that the poet’s father, the Reverend Achilles Daunt, had been appointed Rector of Evenwood through the influence of his second wife, Phoebus Daunt’s stepmother, who had been a relative of the late Lord Tansor’s.
*
Now I learned from Mr Wraxall that he had also been a classical and bibliographic scholar of some repute, celebrated as the compiler of the
Bibliotheca Duportiana
– a complete catalogue of the books held in the Library at Evenwood, to which Mr Carteret had contributed notes on the collection’s manuscripts.
It appeared that, some time before the attack on Mr Carteret, Dr Daunt had been preparing a translation for publication of Iamblichus – an ancient Greek writer whom Mr Thornhaugh had sometimes mentioned in our lessons, but of whose works I was entirely ignorant.
When the Rector’s translation was in proof, he had sent it to Professor Slake for his specialist opinion, but had then written again requesting that it should be forwarded to a certain Edward Glapthorn, an employee of the legal firm of Tredgold, Tredgold & Orr, who also had extensive knowledge of Iamblichus. This request was the principal subject of the letter that Mr Wraxall had retrieved from the Dower House.
‘And here, Miss Gorst,’ said the barrister, ‘is the link I mentioned. This Glapthorn was the alias of Edward Glyver – Phoebus Daunt’s murderer.’
This fact I was already aware of, from the article by Mr Vyse, which Madame had sent me from the
London Monthly Review
, although I expressed a suitable degree of astonishment on receiving this information.
‘What is perhaps even more interesting,’ continued Mr Wraxall, ‘was my uncle’s opinion of this gentleman – for gentleman he was – which he expressed in several later letters to Dr Daunt. Although they never met in person, a brief correspondence passed between them, on the subject of the Iamblichus translation, from which my uncle formed a highly favourable impression of Mr Glapthorn – or Glyver, or whatever his real name was – both as a scholar and as a man, an impression confirmed by Dr Daunt, who had met him on several occasions. To learn, just a year later, that the same person had been responsible for the murder of his friend’s son came as the most severe shock to my uncle.’
Whilst there was no hint in Mr Wraxall’s account of exoneration for the crime my father had committed, it nevertheless gave me great comfort, by adding independent weight to Mr Heatherington’s favourable estimation of his character.
‘You mentioned a second letter,’ I said, as we were about to go our separate ways.
‘Yes,’ replied Mr Wraxall. ‘I found it – suggestive.’
‘In what way?’
‘It would appear from my uncle’s reply to a letter received from his friend that Mr Carteret employed his daughter’s fluency in the French language, and used her generally as an assistant, in the course of compiling his history of the Duport family, which my uncle was asked to edit and complete after Mr Carteret’s death.’
Puzzled, I asked why this was suggestive.
‘Only in this,’ replied Mr Wraxall. ‘My uncle refers to the fact that Mr Carteret and his daughter had been engaged on arranging certain papers relating to Lord Tansor’s first wife, Lady Laura, who, whilst married to Lord Tansor, spent an extended period abroad, in a strange anticipation of Miss Carteret’s sojourn on the Continent following the death of Phoebus Daunt.’
‘Abroad?’ I asked.
‘Residing principally, it appears, in the Breton city of Rennes. A curious episode. Very curious.’
‘I’m afraid I still don’t understand,’ I said.
‘Well, my dear,’ replied a smiling Mr Wraxall, ‘neither do I; but all those old instincts of mine tell me that this information is significant in some way, although there, I fear, the matter must rest for the time being, with those other interesting subjects we discussed with Inspector Gully, until the mists eventually begin to clear, as I hope and believe they may, in the course of time.’