Sword and Song (16 page)

“You need someone to draw the staves for you,” she said.

“I buy ready-ruled manuscript paper,” I said. Regretfully.

She laughed. “I’ve seen it advertised in the papers. Then I will copy out parts for you.”

“No,” I said.

She shook her head. “I will not be dissuaded, Charles.” She stood back to let me unlock my door, walked forward as soon as I had it open. I instinctively stood back to let her go in
first, then cursed. Surely she must see she couldn’t enter a gentleman’s room – a single woman and a single man in a bedroom alone. Dear God, what would people think!

She was already walking towards the window, looking about with some annoyance. “This is a ridiculously small room. And the curtains could do with a wash.” She gave them a twitch and
dust flew out.

I went to the table, busied myself unpacking the few sheets of ruled paper I’d brought with me. “I’m sorry, but I’ve very little time.”

She held out a hand. “Give me a pen then.”

I stared at her. A little smile curved her lips. “You will not finish in time if you have to do it all yourself, Charles, as you very well know.”

“You cannot stay,” I said forcibly. “In heaven’s name, think what talk it would give rise to!”

“Let it,” she said, still holding out her hand for the pen.

“I will not let you risk your reputation!”

There was a brief scratch and the door opened.

And there was Claudius Heron, a red-bound book under one arm, and his mouth already opening to say something. Then he saw Esther, and his mouth snapped shut like a steel trap.

There was a storm of an argument. Heron shouted; Esther was icy in return. I tried to intervene, to explain; Heron snapped at me to be quiet. He called Esther a stupid female
with all the intelligence of a cat. Esther lost her temper and screeched at him. I hurried across to close the door. Half the servants in the house were probably eavesdropping.

It all subsided in the end, of course. Heron stood red-faced and breathing heavily in the centre of the room; Esther had gripped the curtains in her rage and was as white as ice. I stood between
them, looking from one to the other, desperately trying to think what to say.

Heron was not looking at either of us. “No one must hear of this.”

“We were not anticipating advertising it,” Esther said. “Not until you chose to shout loud enough for the whole village to hear!”

“No one can hear,” I said, trying to soothe the troubled waters. “Everyone’s downstairs.”

“The servants are not,” Heron snapped.

“If they heard anything, the blame is at your door,” Esther said.

“No one will hear!” I said in desperation. “I know this looks bad but – ”

“Damn it!” Heron said furiously. “If this comes to Alyson’s ears, he’ll throw you out of the house and the story will be round town in days. What gentleman will
employ you?”

“Thank you for your concern about
my
reputation,” Esther said in a friendly fashion so false as to be highly offensive – as it was clearly intended to be.

“If you cared so much for it,” Heron snapped, “you wouldn’t be up here. Leave this room at once.”

“This is my room – ” I began. “No,” Esther said at the same time.

“Then there is only one thing for it.” Heron took a deep breath. His mouth twisted in distaste. “You must – you must marry.”

“Indeed,” Esther said, brightening. “I would be delighted.”

“Oh, God,” I said.

Four hours later, in mid-afternoon, I was furiously copying out music when I heard the clatter of footsteps on the stairs. The door flew open, banging against one of the cane
chairs, and Hugh staggered in, laden with parcels and grinning broadly.

“An entire ream of ruled manuscript paper, a hundred ravens’ quills and enough ink to float a coal barge. And – ” He saw my face; the grin faded. “All right,
Charles,” he said, sighing. “What trouble are you in now?”

“I’m betrothed,” I said hollowly.

Hugh burst out laughing.

“It’s not funny!” I protested and told him what had happened. He dumped the parcels on the floor, dragged up the cane chair and sat grinning even more broadly.

“Esther was only here to help me copy out the music,” I said. “And Heron had to find another copy of the damned opera in the library and come up with it.”

“Well, there is one good thing about it, Charles,” Hugh said, still grinning. “If there are two copies of the book, you won’t have to copy out all the parts.”

“Hugh...” I said warningly.

“And,” he said. “You love her.”

Silence. Outside someone called; a dog barked.

“What’s done is done,” Hugh offered at last. “All you can do is make the best of it.”

He was right, though it didn’t make the situation any more palatable.

“We’re not telling anyone,” I warned. “Heron tried to insist we marry at once but Esther would not be rushed – she said we’ll marry when we get back to town.
We all agreed it would be best to marry first then announce it.”

Hugh nodded. “Avoid all the arguments. A good idea. But don’t dare forget to invite me, Charles.”

“I’m counting on you for moral support,” I said gloomily.

Hugh slapped his hands together. “Well, I have some good news for you.”

“Impossible. Hugh, I have still pages and pages of arias to copy out and not even time to eat!”

“We’ve got a description of Nell’s murderer.”

“What!” I sat up. “Are you sure? Who saw him?”

“A chapman. He’d been down to the Keyside to pay a few bills and was walking back home when this fellow came running out of Mrs McDonald’s. He didn’t think much of it at
the time. He left town at dawn next day on a tour of the local villages and only got back last night. He heard about Nell and went looking for you – when he heard you were out of town, he
came to me instead.”

“He didn’t go to Bedwalters?”

“You’re the one with the reputation as a solver of mysteries, Charles.”

“And he’s sure this person was the murderer?”

“The time’s about right. And the lad was carrying something under his arm. A brown-paper-wrapped parcel. Book-sized, the chapman said.”

I took a deep breath. “What did he look like?”

“Young. Maybe twenty. But the chapman thought he might even be a year or two younger. Soft complexion, not a boy who’d been in the open air much.”

I could imagine the chapman’s complexion; it would be weatherbeaten from years of tramping through sun and wind.

“He had dark hair, tied back, and an open face.” Hugh scowled. “Whatever that means. Untroubled, the chapman said.”

I began to doubt this was our murderer. “Could anyone be
untroubled
after killing a girl?”

“The book, Charles,” Hugh insisted. “He
must
be the murderer.”

“Not necessarily. He could have been a thief wandering in off the street. He saw the book, picked it up to steal, saw Nell’s body, and took off in fright – ”

“In which case, he would have looked terrified,” Hugh pointed out. “And no one could wander into Mrs McDonald’s unseen! That woman would never let a potential customer
get away.”

“What clothes was this man wearing?”

“The sort you’d expect an apprentice to wear. Neat, clean, tidy, poor quality and gaudy. A brown coat, a waistcoat with too much embroidery – silver on puce evidently –
white stockings under his breeches. The stockings were embroidered too – white clocks, badly done. The chapman has an eye for that sort of thing; it’s his business after all.
Puce-coloured shoes, with a fashionable heel and big buckles.”

“Typical apprentice,” I grumbled. “Aping his betters.” I’d had an apprentice last year and it had not been a happy experience. “Height?”

“Medium.”

“What the devil’s that supposed to mean?”

“The chapman said about his own height. Which is a couple of inches shorter than me.”

Hugh is around six feet tall, an inch or so taller than myself. Our apprentice was not a runt, then.

“Fat? Thin?”

“Slender. Well-nourished, the chapman said.”

I contemplated all this. It was good to have a description, but did it get us any further forward? “He’s sure the apprentice came out of Mrs McDonald’s house?”

He nodded. “The chapman frequents the house himself so he wouldn’t have made a mistake.”

“And did he see where the lad went?”

“Down towards the Keyside.”

I groaned. “Towards the centre of town. We’ll never trace him.”

Hugh nodded sympathetically. “I’ve paid the fellow a shilling to wander around the Keyside for an hour or two, to see if he can spot our man.” He overrode my objection.
“Don’t worry, I’ve told him not to approach the lad. And I know it’s another long shot, but what else is there to do?”

A servant appeared in the doorway, a young lad himself, looking embarrassed and reluctant. “Message from Mr Alyson, sir. He was wondering if you’d finished copying the
music.”

I gave Hugh a speaking look but curbed my temper. “Pray assure Mr Alyson it’ll be ready for this evening.”

The servant hesitated, looked as if he wanted to say something more, changed his mind. “Yes, sir.” He withdrew.

Hugh grabbed his parcels from the floor. “All hands to the deck, Charles. Tell me what you want me to copy.”

“But you’ll need to get back to town before dark, surely?”

“Brought my bags with me and bespoke a room at the local inn.” He leant closer and whispered, “The barmaid’s a sight for weary eyes.” He put sheets of ruled paper
beside him, looked for a knife to sharpen a quill. “Come on, Charles. I can spare an hour or two to help a soon-to-be-married man.”

We scribbled away, while I filled Hugh in on the attack on Alyson and myself in the wood. Hugh was of the opinion Alyson was probably the target. “And unmarried, you
say?”

“In heaven’s name, don’t shout that abroad! There’s no evidence.”

“But?”

“But I’d lay odds on it. Fowler thinks the same.”

“Then Alyson is the target – the attacker’s a jealous husband.”

“Then why not challenge Alyson to a duel? Or tell the guests the truth – that would ruin his reputation and be very satisfactory revenge. Why all the secret attacks?”

“Maybe he’s trying to blackmail Alyson.
Pay what I want or your life is in danger.
”

“It’s the book,” I said morosely. “It’s all about the book. I know it is.”

Unbelievably, we got all the copying finished, though at the cost of scrawling some bars rather untidily towards the end. I planned to give the Alysons the second book that
Heron had found, to sing the main parts from; I’d have the original at the harpsichord and everyone else would have their parts on paper.

My eyes were smarting and my wrist was painful but I got through dinner somehow. Heron was distant and did not so much as look at me; Esther smiled to herself occasionally, like a woman with a
happy secret, and several times apologised to her neighbour for being distracted. William Ridley regaled everyone with the details of his court case; Fischer was preoccupied and twice asked if I
was sure a reward for the arrest of Nell’s murderer would do no good.

At the lower end of the table, Mrs Alyson was sour and silent for the most part. She spoke only once, when an unlucky lull in conversation meant that a harmless, naïve remark of Lizzie
Ord’s rang out to all the company. Mrs Alyson said loudly: “Oh, for heaven’s sake, have you no sense at all?”

Philip Ord started up. Heron, sitting next to him, said something quietly. Ord sat down again. Casper Fischer intervened; he waved a hand at Lizzie’s hairstyle. “I do admire the
fashions over here. It makes our ladies in Philadelphia look sadly behind the times. Tell me, Mrs Ord, is there a special name for that colour ribbon?”

Lizzie, looking shaky, managed a reply. Fischer, who must certainly have a great deal of experience with young people, jollied her into a discussion of fashion.

I retired to the drawing room in company with Fischer, shortly after the ladies had repaired there. I’d left the copied parts, labelled clearly, on the tea table and the musical ladies, I
saw, had seized upon theirs and were sitting in a window embrasure, humming through the tunes. I saw Mrs Widdrington look up sharply as Esther came up to me with a dish of tea and gave me a private
smile.

“Do you know the reason for my presence in this select gathering?” she asked. “According to lawyer Armstrong, I am the best person to instruct Mrs Alyson in the ways of the
Newcastle ladies. I am beginning to think my task impossible.”

“Her remark to Lizzie was unforgivable,” I said. “That’s not a matter of social conventions – it was bad manners and cruelty of spirit!”

I kept my voice low as I spoke and noticed that Mrs Widdrington was watching me even more closely. The last thing I wanted was gossip so I nodded at Esther and moved towards the harpsichord.

At which point, Mrs Alyson picked up one of the scores of the opera, and said very loudly, in a bored voice, “It really is impossible to get interested in such ridiculous trifles. I cannot
be troubled to sing tonight.”

The musical ladies were disconcerted. “Tomorrow, perhaps?” Mrs Widdrington said brightly.

“Tomorrow is Sunday,” Mrs Alyson said. “It would not be devout.”

“Of course,” Mrs Widdrington said. “I had forgot. How silly of me.”

The evening was very long and dull.

Sunday was equally tedious. We all went to church of course. Hugh was in the congregation too, sitting towards the back with a big bluff man, very red-faced, and a young woman
in a very gaudy dress – the barmaid, no doubt. Hugh winked at me. The ladies yawned their way through the service, the gentlemen ogled the young women of the village. William Ridley snored
his way through a sermon which was actually rather good.