The Path of the Wicked (16 page)

‘That mare's getting a grass belly on her as big as a pumpkin.'

I'd been thinking that and was mildly surprised that the observation had expressed itself in Amos Legge's voice. Then I turned and there he was, standing beside me. He was dressed for the country, in breeches, leggings and yellow waistcoat, but as spry as in Hyde Park and smiling broadly.

‘Where did you spring from,' I said. ‘I thought you'd be in Herefordshire by now.'

‘I was, but I came back. Business with a horse.'

That was nothing new, but I was surprised that he'd spent no more than a couple of days at home.

‘Heard there'd been a bit of bother here last night,' he said. ‘Something to do with you, was it?'

‘I didn't start it, but I was there, yes.'

He nodded, unsurprised and asking no questions.

‘Your business going well?'

‘No.'

We both stood, watching Rancie.

‘So, aren't you going to ask me about my business?' he said.

‘You told me. A horse.'

‘Bay gelding I picked up in Ledbury.'

A market town, about halfway between here and his home. It seemed a lot of journeying for one sale.

‘A bargain, was he?'

‘I reckon the man who sold him was glad to get rid of him. He was kicking the front of the cart into next week's firewood.'

‘A bad-tempered carthorse? That doesn't sound up to your usual standards.'

‘He had a fair bit to be bad-tempered about. For a start, he wasn't a carthorse.'

He waited, the grin broader than ever. I gave in.

‘So what was he?'

‘A racehorse, I'd say. Not the best but not the worst either.'

The world is full of racehorses, most of them bay, but his expression and tone of voice suddenly brought a picture to mind – an early morning in July and two farm workers watching a bay and his rider galloping in the distance.

‘You don't mean young Paley's horse?'

‘Could be.'

‘But what was he doing in Ledbury? As far as I can gather, Paley was going in the opposite direction.'

‘That's the point. I reckon whoever got his hands on the horse took him well away from where he found him.'

‘Stolen?'

‘I reckon.'

‘But how do you know? Young Paley might have sold him. We know he had no money.'

‘If he'd sold him, he'd have made sure he got something like a proper price for him and he wouldn't have turned up kicking the daylights out of a market cart. I asked the man I bought him off where he got him, and he was a bit shifty, like. I reckon he bought him at a knock-down price and guessed he wasn't the other man's to sell.'

‘So it doesn't mean that young Paley went to Herefordshire?'

It would have been surprising. London or even a Channel port would be a more likely destination for a fast-living young man down on his luck.

‘Just the opposite, I'd say. Suppose some tramp or tinker finds a good horse wandering on its own. He steals it, but has just about enough sense to take it a fair distance before he sells it. The man I bought him off had only had him a week. The horse was thin as a slice of toast, kibbled with botfly bites and missing one shoe. That says to me he was on the road for a week or two with a wandering man who didn't know much about horses.'

‘But why would young Paley abandon a perfectly good horse?'

‘Perhaps he had no choice.'

I looked at him.

‘You mean . . .'

‘Don't jump to conclusions. He might have been robbed, or taken a fall and stunned himself. Doesn't mean he's dead. Still, his family's got to be told.'

I thought of Colum Paley in a hail of pennies. Father and son seemed fated to trouble.

‘Are you going to tell him?'

‘And take him the horse. If he wants to pay me what I paid for him, and a bit over for my trouble, I won't refuse. If not, he can have him any road.'

‘Where is the horse now?'

He nodded towards the road. ‘Outside. Want to come and look at him?'

A boy was holding the horse while it grazed on the verge. One look at the animal confirmed everything Amos had said. He was a thoroughbred, fallen on hard times quite recently. Amos had got him a new set of shoes, but his ribs jutted and parts of his coat were worn bald from rubbing at fly bites.

‘Is that his own tack?'

‘No. I reckon whoever took him sold that off separately. I had to make do with what I could get.'

They'd spent the night in Gloucester. Amos intended to let the horse graze for a while longer and then ride him down to Cheltenham. I offered to fetch some refreshment for Amos but he preferred his pipe. While he puffed away at it, I gave him a summary of what I'd done so far. For once he didn't have much to add. I asked how he intended to get back to Hereford if he left the horse with Colum Paley.

‘I'll stay down in Cheltenham the night, see if I can pick up something to ride back. If not, I know the driver of the Mazeppa coach that goes through tomorrow night. He'll let me ride up beside him.'

‘I'd like to know if it really is Paley's horse,' I said. ‘I'll ride down tomorrow and find out what happened.'

‘Come with me today if you like. Your mare could do with the exercise.'

I was tempted, but today might be my one chance of talking to the Kembles' maid and that had become more urgent since I heard Joanna's story. We settled that I'd ride down the following morning and inquire for Amos at the stables of the Star Hotel, where he knew the head ostler.

‘I'll come as early as I can,' I said. ‘If you've found another horse, you'll be wanting to get home.'

‘No hurry, as long as I'm home by Sunday.'

I laughed. ‘I didn't know you were a church-going man, Amos.'

‘Not as a matter of course, only they're reading the banns so I ought to be there.'

‘Wedding banns? Whose banns?'

He took a pull on his pipe. ‘Mine.'

I staggered. My gasp took in a mouthful of his pipe smoke and made me splutter.

‘You're getting married? That's sudden. You've only just got home.'

‘Not so sudden.' Through my surprise, it struck me that he didn't look very happy for a man soon to be married. ‘The fact is, there was this girl I was more or less engaged to before I went away. Her father owns land next to my father, so it seemed a good enough arrangement. What with being away so long, and not being much of a hand at writing letters, I thought she'd have forgotten all about it. I always thought she liked my cousin better, any road. But when I get home, it seems I've been properly engaged all this time without quite knowing it, so naturally everybody's thinking I've come back to get married. She's a decent sort of girl and I don't want to disoblige her after all this time.'

I managed to smile and congratulate him, horrified to find myself so near tears. I'd known that Amos would return home at some point, and it was only to be expected that such a fine-looking – and now prosperous – man would marry. Only for three very tumultuous years he'd been so central to my life that I couldn't imagine things without him. Hyde Park itself wouldn't be the same without Amos in his hat with the gold lace cockade, riding out as the most popular groom in London. As for the morning rides on Rancie that had kept my heart up in some of the worst times, I couldn't see how they'd happen at all. From when I'd lost my father, Amos had been the man I'd brought my troubles to, and time after time he'd either solved them or made them bearable. Now a great blow had fallen and all I could do was stand there watching a horse crop grass. I think Amos felt something too, because he said no more until it was time to mount and go. When he was in the saddle, he spoke at last, though there seemed something forced about his cheerfulness.

‘See you tomorrow, then.'

‘Yes, tomorrow.'

I watched until they were out of sight along the road, not trying to hold back the tears any more.

T
abby arrived soon afterwards with a welcome distraction.

‘She's at her mother's now, only she can't stay long because she's got to be back to serve lunch.'

The Kembles' maid – Maggie by name – was allowed a few hours' leave now and then to visit her mother in the village. According to Tabby, the timing of that leave was unpredictable and it might be weeks before we had another chance to speak to the girl away from her employers. I collected bonnet and sketch pad from upstairs and we hurried to a line of rickety-looking cottages not far from the church. A stream ran past them with a stone slab across it by way of a bridge. On our side of it, a big black and white sow rootled with her snout in the grass. The church clock showed half past eleven. I hoped we hadn't missed Maggie, but Tabby glimpsed a white bonnet through the cottage window and said she was still inside.

‘I was keeping a lookout and saw her when she came. I said there was a lady who wanted a word with her on the way back, not mentioning your name.'

‘Was she surprised?'

‘Didn't seem to be. Perhaps she thinks you're looking for a maid.'

I took off my glove and scratched the sow's neck. Ten minutes later the cottage door opened and a girl in a maid's black dress and white apron came across the bridge, carrying an empty basket. She was about fifteen years old, small and plump, neat as a beetle. Tabby did the introductions, after a fashion.

‘This is the lady I told you about. We'll walk back with you.'

Maggie didn't seem put-out that she had no choice in the matter. I walked beside her on a footpath that ran past the church to the road. Tabby fell in behind us, but near enough to listen.

‘I understand you work for Mr Kemble,' I said.

‘For Miss Barbara, mostly. I was the parlourmaid, but now she's grown-up I'm her lady's maid.' Justifiable pride in her voice for having taken a step up the servants' ladder. Then she added, less happily: ‘I still have to do cleaning, though.'

A hint there, perhaps, that she was open to offers. I didn't want to take advantage of her.

‘I'm not looking for a maid,' I said. ‘What I'm looking for is some information.'

That puzzled her. She went on walking, biting her lip.

‘What about?' she said at last.

‘Mary Marsh.'

‘Oh.'

We turned off the footpath and on to the road. She glanced up at the church clock and started walking faster.

‘I'm supposed to be back by half past twelve.'

‘And about Joanna Picton,' I said.

‘Oh, her.'

When I'd mentioned Mary Marsh, she'd sounded wary. In the case of Joanna, her voice was openly contemptuous.

‘You didn't like her?' I said.

‘I didn't have much to do with her. She was taken on as scullery-maid and she wasn't even any good at that.'

‘A living-in scullery-maid?'

‘Of course.'

‘So you lived under the same roof. You must have seen something of her.'

‘No more than I could help. They should have hanged her, not just sent her away – drowning the poor little mite like that.'

‘I gather the Kembles dismissed her when they found she was pregnant.'

‘Not before time. We all knew.'

‘That she was pregnant?'

‘Yes.'

‘Did anybody know who the father was?'

‘Could have been anybody, the way she went on.'

Her voice and the expression on her face made her seem twice her age.

‘Was there any gossip about her and anybody in the household?'

She stopped and glared at me.

‘Her! None of the men would have touched her with a dish clout.'

She started walking again, faster. It was clear from her voice that she was talking about the male household servants. If it had entered her head that gossip might have involved a member of the family, she was disguising it very well.

‘So she had men friends?' I said.

‘Must have had, to get the way she was.'

‘But nobody in particular?'

‘She wasn't particular.'

‘How can you be so sure about that? You say there was nobody inside the household, and I don't suppose she had much chance to get out.'

For a scullery-maid, perhaps one Saturday a month if she was lucky.

‘She got out when it suited her,' Maggie said. ‘She was lucky she wasn't sacked before, 'specially when she sneaked off to the races that time.'

‘Races?'

‘There's a fair on when the races are. She'd made up her mind she was going to the fair, so off she went and came back drunk and her clothes all over the place.'

Jack Picton had told me to ask people about what happened at the race fair. But he'd said that in relation to Mary Marsh's death, not anything to do with his sister.

‘When was this?'

‘July, two years ago. She should have been sacked then, but it was when Mrs Kemble was ill, so everything was upside down.'

The roofs of the Kemble's house were in sight now. It was clear that if anybody from the household had been responsible for Joanna's condition, I shouldn't find it out from Maggie. In the little time left, I tried a different approach.

‘Do you like working with the Kembles?'

‘It's the only place I've ever had. I wouldn't mind going somewhere livelier. I'm hoping when Miss Barbara gets married and moves away, she'll take me with her.'

‘Is she going to be married soon?'

‘I expect so. She's eighteen and she's been engaged once already, only that was broken off.'

‘She was angry about that, wasn't she?'

Angry enough to throw things at her maid, but Maggie didn't mention that.

‘Terrible arguments they had about it, Mr Rodney and her. Colonel Kemble threatened to send her away if they didn't stop it,' she said.