The Keeper of Secrets (10 page)

I reeled from the stench, pressing my handkerchief to my mouth. Even Dr Hansard took a step back. To think that any human being should be kept in such conditions, let alone a child!

We had set out for Warwick at first light to see what could be done for William Jenkins, his mother having perforce returned to the workhouse. To our horror we had found him confined in semi-darkness with adults, many of them hardened criminals, I feared, awaiting their trial.

The gaoler shook his keys. ‘Was you wishing to speak to the lad or not, gents?’

‘Emphatically yes,’ I said. ‘But equally emphatically not here in the common cell! You must have a room where—’

‘There’s my office. But—’ The offer hung tantalisingly in the air.

Hansard spoke before I could fumble coins into the man’s hands. ‘A justice of the peace does not need to give bribes, man. We will adjourn to your office. Now, man.’

Within seconds, William was plucked from the unspeakable mire, which still clung to his clothes and bare feet, and dragged into the comparative comfort of the gaoler’s office. At least there was a fire burning sluggishly in a once handsome
fireplace, but that merely served to accentuate the odour he brought with him. He would need another session under a pump to return him to a civilised state.

He fell at my feet, much as his mother had done, his tearstreaked face upraised to mine. It was hard to make out exactly what he said, his voice hoarse with tears and his thin body racked with sobs. ‘I didn’t mean, I didn’t – I – I—!’

I bent to pull him to his feet. ‘I’m sure you didn’t, William.’ Over my shoulder I said, ‘Gaoler, some bread and milk if you please. Well, man, what are you waiting for?’

‘Can’t leave the prisoner,’ he said stolidly.

‘And are you imagining a justice of the peace and a man of the cloth will spirit him away?’ Hansard demanded. ‘Go – before I report you! Now, William,’ he asked in his kindest tone, ‘what do you want to say? Slowly!’

This time William took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. ‘I didn’t do it!’

‘What didn’t you do?’ I asked.

‘Steal a watch.’

Hansard’s eyes met mine over the boy’s head. How on earth could we save him from the gallows if the jury thought otherwise?

‘I
found
it. I found it in your woods, Parson. Only Old Bully Bulstrode, he searched me for the pennies you pay us and found it in my pocket. The watch. I would have given it over, Parson, honest!’

To my shame, I suspended judgement on that assertion.

William sensed the need for some corroboration. ‘I’d have shown it to you when you taught us our letters!’

‘Why did you not show it to Mr Ford, the steward? He can
read and would have understood the importance of the find.’ I said.

The child shifted from foot to foot. What was he trying to hide, when for a moment he had been winning me round?

‘And where is the watch now?’ Hansard asked.

‘Locked up as evidence,’ said the gaoler, returning with a chipped mug and hunk of bread, which he deposited on a corner of his filthy desk.

‘May I see it?’ Hansard asked. It was a question expecting a positive response. ‘Do I have to ask again?’ he thundered.

William, clearly desperate to reach for the sustenance, quailed under the anger, despite the fact that it was not directed at him, and withdrew his hand. The gaoler moved with what he no doubt regarded as fitting and injured dignity. Taking from his pocket a heavy bunch of keys on a chain attached to his leather belt, he ponderously made his way to a floor-to-ceiling cupboard. I had seen the Kemble brothers on the London stage, and neither had a better sense of timing than this brute of a man. In a terror of suspense, we all watched as he fitted a key to the lock, discarding it as the wrong one.

At last realising that to protract his moment of glory might result in trouble, he selected another key and opened the door, ferreting within for a strong box.

Forestalling another histrionic display, I said, in my father’s voice and tone, ‘I do not intend to wait all day, my man.’ Three pairs of eyes shot to my face. Was it shame or even – disgraceful in the circumstances – amusement that I felt at the impersonation?

At last the watch was placed ceremoniously on Hansard’s
outstretched palm. It was gold, shining unabated in the dimness of the vile room, despite the mud still adhering to it.

‘Is there an inscription inside?’ I asked, a resumption of my bored drawl masking my excitement.

‘I told you, there’s letters what you taught us!’ William put in eagerly. ‘But the writing’s all fancy.’

‘And in Latin,’ Hansard added, looking at me over his spectacles.

‘And what might it say? In the King’s English, if you don’t mind!’ said the gaoler.

‘I do mind,’ I snapped. ‘Dr Hansard, a translation might embarrass me and would make our friend none the wiser. The gist is,’ I added more graciously, ‘that my grandfather presented the watch to me, on the occasion of my twenty-first birthday.’ I gave the date.

Hansard opened it, carefully removing a scrap of
leaf-mould
. At last he nodded, amusement chasing interest around his craggy features. ‘The very same.’ He pointed it out for the gaoler’s benefit.

The gaoler responded by clipping William’s ear. ‘Steal from a man of the cloth, would you, you varmint! Well, I hope they hangs you good and high, that’s all I can say.’

‘On the contrary,’ I said, drawing William closer to me, whence he could reach for the bread, which, notwithstanding his filthy hands, he tore and crammed into his mouth. Mastication was inhibited by gaps where his milk teeth had not yet been replaced by an adult set. ‘In fact, far from being punished, William shall receive a reward. A footpad stole the watch from me some weeks ago. Clearly he realised that the inscription made it a liability rather than an asset, and threw
it into what was then impenetrable undergrowth on my glebe land. William was one of a party from the workhouse clearing scrub. He tells the simple truth when he said he found it.’

‘So why didn’t he hand it over to the workhouse master of his own free will?’

‘Clearly you did not hear him telling you that he wanted to show it to me so that I could decipher the inscription. Very well, I think we have completed our business here.’ William grasped my hand in terror. ‘Dr Hansard, you will know the procedure for securing William’s instant release. Gaoler, pray return the lad’s belongings.’

‘Belongings! Him! Came in just like this, didn’t he?’

‘He was wearing boots last time I saw him,’ I said. Then I thought better of arguing. The lad would have grown since he had first been equipped. ‘Find him some pattens, if you please. William, part of your reward will be a new pair of boots.’

Jem, who had been walking my gig’s horses during our visit to the gaol, greeted William as an old friend, rolling him up in a horse blanket and hauling him up to sit beside him. ‘Pshaw, lad, you stink,’ he said.

The child shivered violently, either reacting to the ordeal he had undergone or fearing cold water.

Jem rubbed his filthy head affectionately. ‘We’ll have to see if Mrs Trent or Mrs Beckles can’t find something warmer than pump water to wash you with. And then, with luck, more breeches from Lady Elham’s clothes basket for you.’

Dr Hansard caught my eye. ‘Perhaps not a bad suggestion,’ he said very casually. ‘Mrs Beckles has a way with children, no doubt about that.’

‘And she will have some nourishing broth at hand,’ I
agreed, with a serene smile, as if Mrs Trent had never produced such a comestible. ‘But first, I see a bootmaker’s over there…’

‘Not returning, Mr Campion! Not until the spring at the earliest!’ Mrs Beckles declared, busying herself with clothing from the poor basket that might fit William. We were all in the Priory scullery, where Jem was sluicing William with water heated in the washing boiler.

I stared at her, unable to believe my ears. ‘Such a long absence,’ I managed.

She nodded as if she herself did not believe what she was saying. ‘Only two days ago Lady Elham notified me that she had changed her mind and that she would after all spend the festive season here! The carol-singers, the mummers – thanks to you, all are prepared!’ she continued. ‘The chef, the kitchen staff – everyone is at sixes and sevens. First there was to be nothing to do, then we were to hold the usual feast. Now we are to put Holland covers over all the furniture and mothball the hangings.’ She spoke with a mixture of exasperation and disappointment. ‘So goodness knows when we shall see her or Lizzie again.’

‘Indeed!’ I managed to say.

Hansard declared, ‘I am sure that young William is clean enough now, Jem. Can you help him into his new clothes?’

Jem obliged.

A silence deepened around us. Hansard, his voice
over-bright
, said, ‘Good fellow. Now let us go forthwith. His mother must be in agonies waiting for our return.’

She must be indeed. So why had three grown men neglected
to give the poor woman a thought until now?

We had a curious, three-cornered conversation on the way home. William was wise enough to remain silent, and was in any case too occupied with the cold pie Mrs Beckles had pressed on him as a parting gift. But it was only right to involve Jem, who might have ideas of his own about the best form of reward for the boy.

‘You mustn’t spoil the lad, or raise false expectations,’ he said. I wondered if he spoke from bitter experience. ‘What I would do is this…’

‘A place of my own!’ I believe that had not Dr Hansard been at hand, Mrs Jenkins must have not only staggered but actually fallen. He guided her carefully to one of the few chairs in the workhouse master’s office, and wafted a vinaigrette under her nose.

I nodded. Jem had reminded us of a tiny cottage which my predecessor had once used as a byre. ‘It is not a fine palace, Mrs Jenkins, and I fear it will need a great deal of work before you and your family can move in,’ I told her. ‘I will waive the rent for a year and a day, after which, should you have the means, I shall expect a regular, if small, sum. There is enough land for an industrious family to grow sufficient food for themselves, and I will provide seeds and some hens.’ That was what Jem had suggested, in lieu of a financial reward, which, he averred, Mrs Jenkins would have no idea of managing. He had some doubts about her ability to run her tiny smallholding, but agreed that some of the men my steward employed on my behalf might be expected to do the heavier digging until William were able.

‘For the slops they’ve had to live on, it’s surprising young William can lift his hand to pick his nose,’ he had observed.

‘Please, your honour, can we not move in now, as it is?’ she pleaded.

I spread my hands. ‘The roof leaks, there is no door, there is no glass in the windows. The whole place is caked with cow dung. How could you possibly move in?’

She shook her head dumbly. After a moment, she whispered, ‘We’d be together, sir.’

‘How could she dream of living in what is little more than a hut?’ I demanded in something like irritation, as we tooled back from the workhouse, myself handling the ribbons. It was as if Mrs Jenkins’ disappointment had crept into my veins.

‘Impossible – in this cold!’ Hansard snapped.

‘Hard but not impossible, begging your pardons,’ Jem cut in. ‘If you pulled the men out of your woodland today and set them all to work on the byre, they could make it weatherproof at least.’

‘But a mud floor!’

Hansard stroked his chin. ‘Consider in what condition you first met them, Tobias. One might have said that animals would have disdained such a place. But she contrived to raise her little brood there.’

‘I cannot let it be said that I let anyone quit the shelter of the workhouse for such a place!’

‘It won’t be such a place if you accept Jem’s advice. Talk to Ford today, and they could be rehoused by Friday. I warrant Mrs Beckles could lay her hands on a few sticks of furniture and a pan or two. In fact, I’ll ride back myself to ask her.’

Jem pulled the gig to a halt by the stables. Dr Hansard suited the deed to his words, mounting his horse the moment Jem had saddled it and riding forth like a lover half his age. Jem and I exchanged a dour grin.

While he was rubbing down the horses, I brought him a tankard of ale. ‘A strange business, up at the Priory,’ I suggested.

‘They say her ladyship’s ever been prone to such fancies,’ he said, paying particular attention to the hind leg furthest from me. ‘And it isn’t as if she’s only the one place to live, is it, now?’

‘No, indeed.’ What we both hoped, but neither said, was that Dr Hansard might elicit more information from Mrs Beckles and indeed the other servants if he was on his own. ‘I must make arrangements about that cottage,’ I said, as another silence grew between us.

‘Aye,’ he said, as if he were as glad to be rid of me as I to be free of his – indeed, of anyone’s – company. What in my heart I wanted was a period of quiet reflection, or at least a physical vent for my feelings, like rubbing down a whole team of horses. What I must have was a colloquy with my steward, whom I eventually ran to earth in the Silent Woman, a
smoke-filled
den no larger than Mrs Trent’s kitchen.

‘So this is how you manage my lands, Mr Ford! This is how you supervise gangs of men and boys put to clear it. This is how a child finds a valuable item and knows no one to show it to – with the direst of consequences!’

He staggered to his feet. ‘Mr Campion – I—’

‘Outside, now! Unless you prefer I should drag you out myself? And then have the pleasure of horsewhipping you?’

I stood with my back to the sun, so he had the added disadvantage of having to squint at me. I could also see the deep creases and growth of stubble. He looked less like my man of business than one of the labourers he was supposed to be supervising. He shook constantly, and though he tried to cover his mouth with one trembling hand, I caught sickening waves of gin fumes.