The Keeper of Secrets (15 page)

I nonetheless stood my ground. ‘I believe Miss Woodman to have been a modest and decent young woman, and that somewhere in Cheltenham or London there may be even now a bereft young husband wondering why his wife has not returned.’ My voice sounded as confident as it ought. It was supported by my better-hearted parishioners, one of whom, Farmer Gates, rose to his feet.

‘Begging your pardon, your honour, shouldn’t someone be searching for this poor lad?’

‘I will undertake to set the matter in train,’ Dr Hansard said, perhaps to spare me further speech, or even to take such an impossible task from my hands.

‘In that case we can return at last to the business of this inquest. Now, in such cases there is usually a jealous ex-lover,’ Sir Willard declared so complacently that I swear that it was only the House in which we sat that prevented me from wreaking violence upon him. ‘With whom was Miss Woodman – in the absence of any proof to the contrary I shall continue to refer to her thus – walking out at the time of her death?’

Matthew rose to his feet, manly in his declaration. ‘That was I, your honour. I am proud to say so, begging the pardon of my present sweetheart.’

‘And were you responsible for Miss Woodman’s – er – condition?’

He winced, but said, ‘I wanted to wed the maid, not just bed her. And maid she was, as far as I was concerned.’ He made no attempt to meet his current inamorata’s eyes. ‘I have not seen her since before Christmas. She quit the village without even leaving me word, sir, and my affections have since turned elsewhere.’

The coroner stared at him, as if trying to cow him into a confession, but Matthew held his gaze, head proudly raised.

Mrs Beckles gave evidence as to the day of her departure. She looked as if she might have said more, and rarely had I seen her face so troubled.

‘I repeat, you may stand down. You have given all the information I need.’

She opened her mouth once more, but closed it with a snap, and retired to her pew.

‘Very well, jury members, it is time to bring in your verdict. And I beg leave to inform you that death by misadventure is not appropriate.’

It took the jury less than a minute to record a verdict of murder by person or persons unknown.

As soon as the yeomen farmers and other neighbours departed, one kindly taking up poor Mrs Woodman in his cart, Toone approached me, urging me away from any stragglers. ‘Yesterday you said that the dead girl’s sister—’

‘Susan—’

‘—that Susan was afraid her sister might have frozen to death. Did she say why?’

I shook my head. ‘We have had one of the coldest winters
the villagers can recall – almost as cold as those I was used to in Derbyshire,’ I added with a smile.

Still he did not place me. ‘Did the frost lie long?’

‘As far as I recall from two or three weeks before Christmas till about two weeks ago.’

‘Indeed!’ Looking over his shoulder for Edmund, deep in conversation with a still anxious-looking Mrs Beckles, he summoned him with a jerk of his head. ‘Parson Campion has the same recollection of the hard weather’s duration as yourself. So our theory might be correct.’

Lest Edmund take offence at having to have his word corroborated, I intervened quickly. ‘It would be more fitting to have any further conversation in the privacy of my study. Mrs Beckles, would you do us the honour of accompanying us?’ As I introduced her to Toone, I offered her my arm, receiving an ambiguous smile from Hansard for my pains. What Toone might make of a society where grooms and housekeepers were accorded such courtesy I no longer cared.

Possibly Mrs Beckles’ sense of rightness coincided with his and Jem’s. Once in the rectory, she withdrew immediately to Mrs Trent’s room, there, no doubt, to regale her with the day’s doings. As for Jem, I had seen him withdraw to the stables, where he would almost certainly be giving Titus the brushing of his life.

Rightly assuming that Mrs Trent would have laid out a cold collation of abundance and excellence in the dining room, I led the doctors there.

Once more, Dr Toone seized on the wine I poured with more haste than manners. He looked about him, at the plainly furnished but well-proportioned room, frowning and
occasionally shooting glances at me as if he were searching the recesses of his memory.

I waited until their plates were laden and their glasses once again full before broaching the matter that had so intrigued me and which Mrs Woodman’s collapse had prevented our hearing.

‘Yesterday and again today you referred to matters which caused you to be unsure of the time of Lizzie’s death. Would you now care to enlighten me?’

Hansard said, ‘To be blunt, Tobias, it is not impossible that Lizzie was killed just at the start the cold weather. The frost came so swiftly, you will recall, and was so intense, that her corpse might have been frozen in a near-perfect state. It was only when the warmer weather arrived that decomposition began.’

‘So while she might well have died only two weeks or so ago,’ Toone concluded, emptying his glass yet again, ‘she might equally have died before Christmas.’

‘That is surely impossible,’ I said. ‘She left with her ladyship, took employment with Lady Templemead and took up with a suitor. Lady Elham documents all that in her letters.’

Toone nodded, with surprising humility. ‘It was a mere supposition. I once saw a man who had fallen in the Alps at the beginning of winter. When his body was retrieved it was in almost exactly the same state of decomposition as Lizzie’s. A sad business, whenever it happened.’

‘Indeed,’ Hansard said slowly. He stared into his glass of Burgundy as if it would provide him with the information he clearly sought. ‘Have you yet apprised her ladyship of these sad events, Tobias?’

‘No, but I will write immediately. And if there is a poor relict, then he must be sought out too.’

‘I wonder,’ he said slowly, ‘if such news might not better be delivered face to face, than by means of a cold letter, both to her ladyship and Lizzie’s supposed husband or paramour.’

‘Is this because you think it would be kinder, or because you may glean something from their reactions?’ I asked.

The answer was a gleam in Hansard’s eye and a throaty chuckle.

It was not until our repast was completed that we all took a stroll in the wilderness at the south end of my garden. Hansard dawdled behind as something caught his eye.

Toone took my arm and drew me to a halt. He inspected my face. ‘By God, I do know you, don’t I?’

‘Indeed, I thought you were far too exalted a personage at Eton to notice, let alone recall, someone as junior as myself.’ I was reasonably sure that neither of us would forget the beatings he had administered, but I would not be so
rag-mannered
as to remind him of those.

Perhaps I did not need to. I would have sworn that he blushed slightly. Perhaps he had taken up the healing arts not to pay his racing debts, but to assuage the guilt that his cruel violence had caused. After all, I had not been the only lad who had had to sleep on his belly for days after the punishment – and I had had the protection of my older brothers.

‘But I’d have thought with your family you would not need a career to support you, youngest son though you might be. Why the Church, for God’s sake?’

I smiled. ‘It was precisely for that reason. I had the honour of taking Holy Orders not to embark upon a career, but for the sake of God, or,’ I added, ‘more accurately for the love of God.’

As if it was bad manners to speak of one’s religion, Toone flushed, and changed the subject. ‘And when do you and Dr Hansard propose to carry forward your inquiries?’

‘I must conduct the funeral before I leave my flock,’ I said. ‘And I must find a curate to take divine service while I am away.’

Toone snorted with laughter. ‘What a queer cove you’ve turned out to be, Campion! Everyone knows that country clergy are the greatest idlers known to man, sitting in their sinecures and making as much money from God as most make from Mammon!’

‘I fear I cannot contradict you,’ I said. ‘But I have had two good examples in good works. The first is Dr Hansard.’ Overhearing, he came over and bowed in acknowledgement. ‘The second is my groom, Jem Turbeville, whose instinct for what a man ought to do is the strongest I have ever known. Neither would let me sit twiddling my thumbs when I could be doing God’s work.’

‘Are you also turned Methodist, Edmund?’ Toone asked my friend.

‘Not I! I work to lay down treasure in this life, not the hereafter, as Tobias will tell you.’

‘Tobias will tell you,’ I corrected my friend with an affectionate smile, ‘that often the good doctor works for precisely the same rewards as the pastor. But I hear the voices of some of my flock, gentlemen. Edmund, may I call on you this evening to discuss our way forward?’

With that they could scarce do other than take their leave, and so it was arranged.

‘Do I hear you aright?’ I thundered, gripping the top of my desk as if to overturn it and throw it at my visitors. ‘Not bury Lizzie in hallowed ground? How dare you make such a suggestion!’

Miller glanced briefly at Bulmer. ‘After all, her mother’s a Methody. Don’t hold with the proper church.’

‘That is completely irrelevant.’ Perhaps some of my fury was as a result of Toone’s earlier needling, but I was truly enraged by their lack of charity. ‘Lizzie Woodman was baptised as an infant and later confirmed into the Church of England. She attended every service her mistress permitted her to and took Holy Communion whenever she could. And yet you are telling me that I must deny her a Christian burial.’ I took a turn around my study. ‘An innocent girl, victim of the most horrible crime,’ I said, pointing an accusing finger at both in turn.

Bulmer coughed, not deferentially. ‘It’s on account of that crime, Parson, that we knows she’s not innocent. Out of the bonds of wedlock that child was conceived, and that no one can deny.’ He had gathered confidence as he spoke, and now stood straight, his chin jutting.

As calmly as I could, I said, ‘As you heard at the inquest, it
may well be that Lizzie was married. Her employer in London—’

‘None of the doctors mentioned her wearing a wedding ring,’ Miller put in slyly.

Nor had I seen one. Hoping to disguise my dismay, I said sharply, ‘Her fingers were much decayed. I doubt if one would have stayed in place.’ I had the satisfaction of seeing both men change colour.

‘I don’t see why the parish should have to pay for her burial, not if she were married to a Londoner,’ Bulmer said, recovering.

Miller’s hand was still to his mouth.

‘Are you proposing to journey there – or perhaps to Bath – to seek out this poor bereft man and dun him for a few shillings? Pah! Gentlemen, I will pay for her burial myself. And now, may I have the honour of bidding you good day?’ I rang the bell.

As her grim smile showed, Mrs Trent would be pleased to show them out.

It was of course only men gathered around the graveside to hear the mighty words of the funeral service. As the acknowledged sweetheart, it fell to Matthew to scatter the first earth on the coffin. At least Annie Barton was not there to see him do it.

Jem and I exchanged a sad half-smile. We knew better than to enter the sort of competition that Laertes and Hamlet engaged in over Ophelia’s corpse. How many years was it since we had enacted the play with the rest of my brothers and sisters one wet day in the hayloft? Jem had taken a part with
manly confidence – the first gravedigger, by some twist of irony. But though the memory was vivid, our present pain bleached all the pleasure from it.

The final prayer said, we went our separate ways. I saw Jem drawing Matthew in the direction of the Silent Woman, while I sought consolation with Edmund in the privacy of my study. Toone had departed the previous evening, the better to prepare for his sojourn here. Hansard could no more leave the villagers without a medical man than I could leave them without a curate. I doubted if either of us was satisfied that our deputy could fulfil the role to our satisfaction.

‘When do we start?’ I asked the moment I had poured Madeira for us both. ‘And for where? Have you ascertained where Lady Elham might be?’

‘Mrs Beckles understands that she is in Bath,’ Edmund replied formally. He added, ‘Tobias, something is troubling…my friend…and I know not what it might be.’

‘Mrs Beckles looked anxious at the inquest,’ I agreed. ‘Would you prefer me to ask her? I have promised to collect young Susan later today – I could take her to see the Priory fowl and raise the matter then.’

‘I am sure that Mrs Trent would also be delighted to rear some chickens,’ I assured Susan, ‘especially if you were to make them your especial care. And Jem would make them a coop, I have no doubt of that. Go and choose your chicks now.’ I waited until she was out of earshot before I turned to Mrs Beckles. ‘You are worried about something, are you not? I saw your face when you tried to give evidence.’

She nodded, biting her lip.

‘I know you told the truth and nothing but the truth, Mrs Beckles. But I think the coroner himself prevented you from telling the whole truth.’

She met my eye. ‘Indeed, I sometimes believe that Catholics are fortunate to have to go to confession!’

‘The Church of England has always taught that you
may
confess. Does what you have to say require the secrecy of the confessional?’

She shook her head. ‘I know you will need to tell Dr Hansard, but that neither of you will spread it further. Mr Campion,’ she said, very stiff and resolute, ‘one of my unwelcome…duties as housekeeper is to ensure that female servants do not…are not…’ She blushed painfully, but continued, ‘I had a terrible fear that Lizzie might have been with child before her ladyship left the Priory. To be completely frank, I was relieved not to have to say that in public.’

In my mind’s eye I saw the wan face of poor Lizzie the morning she asked if she could speak to me in my capacity as a clergyman. I had assured Jem that I thought she wanted to speak about breaking off her betrothal to Matthew; now it occurred to me that she might have had an altogether more formidable problem to discuss. Nonetheless I prevaricated. ‘Surely not! Not Lizzie! Why, Matthew took his oath that they had not…not anticipated marriage.’

‘There are other young men than Matthew.’

‘And Lizzie need not necessarily have wanted their attentions,’ I agreed with feeling, recalling the day that we first met.

To my surprise, she took both my hands in hers, as if to comfort me. I returned the firm pressure before releasing them.

‘Had Dr Toone no idea how advanced her pregnancy might have been?’ she asked, businesslike again.

‘I did not ask. I confess to finding myself squeamish, Mrs Beckles. But Dr Hansard would surely enlighten you – if it was possible to determine such a thing. I know nothing of natural science.’

‘Nor want to, I dare swear,’ she said, with a warm and understanding smile.

No wonder Dr Hansard was enamoured of her. Why was he so stiff-necked about his financial situation? Mrs Beckles would care not a whit that the house was not completely furnished – indeed, I suspected that she would have enjoyed putting the remaining rooms in order. Certainly nothing in this world could have given me more happiness than to marry them in St Jude’s. Never would two better or kinder people have been united in matrimony.

‘You know Dr Hansard and I are to leave for Bath to break the news to Lady Elham?’

I thought she blushed. ‘I do indeed. What if you do not find her at home?’

‘Then we shall have all the longer to execute any commissions with which you care to entrust us. Come, Mrs Beckles, surely you cannot let us venture into such a fashionable city without demanding we purchase lace or ribbons or gloves? I know my sisters would never have let me stray to within ten miles of it without producing a list.’

I thought her laugh was forced. Leaning closer, I asked, ‘Are you still troubled by your evidence?’

‘No. But I am worried about what I hear of young Lord Elham. They say he is wild to dissipation.’

‘Indeed. I am surprised his mother does not try to influence him.’

‘And how would he react if she did? He always had a temper, Mr Campion, so strong that it was hard to impose one’s will on him. You saw how he behaved to you simply for interfering with his friend’s pleasure.’

‘And I have seen the remains of animals he has tortured,’ I agreed. We looked straight into each other’s eyes. It was clear that she too suspected he might have had a part in Lizzie’s demise. I shivered; it was one thing to utter such a thought in anger, another to find such a sensible and loyal family retainer sharing it.

She referred obliquely to our fear. ‘I have furnished Dr Hansard with details of his lordship’s comings and goings. You realise how very little time he has spent here? I hope and pray… Ah, are those the ones you have chosen, Susan?’ she asked, interrupting herself as the girl returned with another trug seething with pretty chicks. ‘Mind you ask Jem to build them a strong coop – the foxes are always hungry at this time of year.’

As we made our farewells, I uttered a silent prayer that he might be sober enough to hit a nail straight.

Susan was so pleased to have birds of her own to care for that she hardly registered my announcement that I must go on a journey to break the news of her sister’s death to Lady Elham. I made no mention of a possible widower. She skipped off to watch Jem assemble her new chicken run and coop; after his visit to the inn his usual deft touch was quite missing and he fumbled with the nails she insisted on handing him.

Mrs Trent came out to watch the proceedings, looking at them with troubled affection. ‘That’s how it is with young girls – they must lose their heart to the first handsome man they see, however unsuitable he might be,’ she said. ‘At least he’s a good reliable man who will let her down gently,’ she added, as we watched the two brown heads together. ‘Or will make her a good husband if he’s that way inclined.’

‘But—’ I nearly exclaimed that it was the other sister that Jem had loved. ‘But he is more than twice her age.’ I corrected myself.

‘And how many marriages do you know that are perfectly happy despite such a difference of years?’

I smiled my acquiescence, but went to my bedchamber, vaguely troubled. And it was not the thought of packing for myself for the very first time that was the problem, though that soon proved almost an impossibility.

A discreet knock on my door announced a surprising but more than welcome visitor. It was Turner, Dr Hansard’s valet. He declared that he was on loan for the rest of the day, his master being downstairs in my drawing room. Without using so many words he implied what I knew all too well to be true – that my endeavours had already made his task as valet more difficult and that I should recruit myself with a glass of sherry with Edmund before dinner. It was clear that he assumed he would be accompanying his master.

‘I think we should travel in comfort and in style,’ Edmund announced. He was warming his back at the fire Mrs Trent had had lit to take the chill off the evening air. ‘After all, I have a perfectly good travelling-chaise that needs no more than fettling up. We’d need a groom, but I promised Toone I’d
leave my George here – he knows the lanes and by-roads like the back of his hand. Do you think Jem would care to come? I cannot think he would prefer to cool his heels here.’

Neither could I. ‘Nothing would do him more good than quitting the place.’ Would it ease Susan’s alleged
tendresse
for him? I knew not.

Knowing it would offend him if we went down the kitchen in search of him, I rang the bell, bidding Susan send him up to us. He came with a pale weariness I’d never seen in him, and with the most perfunctory of smiles. Hansard pressed a glass of claret into his hand, observing him closely.

‘Jem, Dr Hansard has thoughts of using his own equipage to get us to Bath. Would you have any objection to taking charge of it?’

Jem’s eyes lit up, but the clouds soon returned. ‘That’s George Deakins’ job.’

‘Dr Toone needs George to guide him round the district,’ Hansard said. ‘Imagine trying to find a patient without a local man to help. Would you come in George’s stead?’

He was clearly torn, but looked at me shrewdly. As if we were lads, he said gruffly, ‘Don’t get any maggots in your head about – well, being kind to me.’

Hansard stepped in. ‘For goodness’ sake, Jem, how can we manage without you?’

‘You could travel post.’

I was sure his apparent reluctance was an attempt to conceal a great desire to quit, even for a short time, the site of so much distress.

‘We prefer not to,’ I said, with, I hoped, just the right amount of chill. In fact he smothered a grin. ‘And though we
could hire a man to do your work,’ I added more conciliatingly, ‘he could not do it as well as you. Moreover, he could not help us in other ways as you certainly could.’

Had he been a dog, his ears would have pricked. ‘In what way help?’

‘You could obtain backstairs information where we could not. In her hurried journeys, her ladyship will have left disgruntled servants behind, and irritated grooms. Would you use your eyes and ears where we cannot?’ And – if of course he indeed existed – poor Lizzie’s husband was likely to be a fellow servant, so it might well fall to Jem to find him. ‘And, I should warn you, we may all have to proceed to London.’

Grudgingly he said, ‘As it happens, I’ve got cousins in both Bath and London I wouldn’t mind seeing again. How much work does your chaise need before it’s ready? Not that I can imagine that George would neglect it in any way,’ he added quickly. ‘We’ll have it ready by ten.’ And, downing his wine in one gulp, he replaced the glass on its tray and left the room without further ceremony.

Hansard and I drank a great deal more though at a leisurely pace.

‘It seems to me,’ I grumbled, though with a twinkle in my eye, ‘that we are ruled by our servants. Why not give them the slip and travel post?’

‘And have them pursuing us on the stage coach, as if we were lovers eloping for Gretna Green? I think not! And, to be honest with you, Tobias, there are few things more needful to a man’s comfort than a valet like Turner watching over one’s clothing.’

He was right, of course – I was never more aware of my
recent sartorial inadequacies than now. But I responded with a jest. ‘And necessary for giving one status at an inn, of course. You or I would not bruit ourselves abroad, but rely upon it, our two men between them will convince any landlords that we should be given the best bedrooms, the best private parlours.’

‘And properly aired sheets – do not forget those… A toast, Tobias, to our journey!’