The Path of the Wicked (3 page)

‘Grandstand?'

‘On the racecourse. Ten years ago, that was. Local preacher went around stirring people up about all the devilment that went on every July at the Gold Cup meeting.'

‘So did burning down the grandstand get rid of the devilment?'

He grinned. ‘What do you think? They just moved the racing to another course not far off, and the devilment went on as usual. Still does, I daresay.'

There was a faintly wistful sound to the last words.

‘I didn't know you knew Cheltenham.'

‘Place where I grew up was less than fifty miles away to the west. I worked for a while for a man who kept a racehorse or two. We used to lead them over.'

Amos came from Herefordshire and talked about it sometimes as if it were the Garden of Eden – with cider. In spite of that, he hadn't gone home for more than three years, since he set out with an employer to deliver a pedigree bull to a breeder near Paris. That was partly my fault. In Paris, our fortunes had come together and never quite parted. He was now the most fashionable groom in Hyde Park, with some high-class horse dealing on the side, and seemed in no hurry to return to a rustic life.

‘About time I went back for a visit, though,' he said. ‘Business has gone quiet enough for them to spare me for a week or two. I could lead her down with me and drop her off at Cheltenham if you liked.'

He nodded towards Rancie.

‘I'll be working,' I said. ‘What would I do with a horse?'

‘How are you going to get around without one?'

It was a fair point. I was thinking too much like a Londoner, with cabs or hired carriages always to hand. Also, the prospect of country rides on Rancie was the first cheerful thing that occurred to me since the quarrel with Disraeli.

‘It's a long way for you to ride and lead a horse,' I said.

‘Hundred miles or so. Five or six days. Of course, it would be quicker if I wasn't leading her.'

‘Then go by yourself and don't worry.' My voice sounded pettish from disappointment.

‘Quicker with you riding her, I mean. Probably do it in four days in that case.'

As opposed to around half a day by fast stagecoach. But a long ride through summer countryside was a more pleasant prospect than being cooped up in a rattling vehicle with strangers.

‘Start the day after tomorrow, if you like,' Amos said.

I could tell from his voice that he'd picked up my thoughts and knew he'd won.

‘Amos, that's far too early. I have things to do here.'

But had I really? A few hours' work would wrap up my current case. All I'd be doing in London was watching to see when the shutters came down on the Brinkburns' house. Better altogether to get away.

‘You can send Tabby in the coach with the heavy luggage,' Amos said.

‘I haven't seen her for days. I'm not even sure she'd come.' A sad admission since she was supposed to be my apprentice.

‘She'll come if you tell her to,' Amos said. ‘A bit of country air will do her good.'

I was certain that Tabby wouldn't see it that way, having no enthusiasm for life outside London. Still, by the time Amos and I parted at the gateway to Abel Yard it had been agreed that we should ride to Cheltenham together. The only change was that we should leave in four days' time instead of two, leaving early on the following Sunday. I had preparations to make and another letter to write to Mr Godwit.

By the magic of our new penny post, his reply arrived the day before we were due to leave.

Dear Miss Lane,

I am happy to agree to your terms as stated, including expenses, and look forward to your arrival, which, according to my best calculations, is likely to be in the middle of next week. You ask if I can recommend a nearby inn for yourself and your maid, with stabling for your mare. Since our local hostelry would hardly be fit accommodation and the hotels of Cheltenham are a good three miles away, I hope you may find it convenient to lodge in my bachelor establishment. My housekeeper heartily welcomes visitors, having so few, and is even now shaking the lavender out of her best sheets. My stables are modest and my groom fulfils a dual role as gardener, but I am sure we can accommodate your mare suitably and offer our own oats, hay and good grazing. If your maid would consent to share with our girl, Suzie, I am sure we could provide for her equally comfortably.

I entirely understand your warning that you are not able to guarantee success. I assure you that even in agreeing so kindly to take up the case you are contributing very greatly to the peace of mind of Stephen Godwit.

I liked the tactful mention of a housekeeper, giving respectability to the proposed arrangement. As for my maid, I'd mentioned in my letter that she would bring my heavy luggage by stagecoach, but Tabby had not reappeared. Tabby had been my assistant and apprentice, willing to be called my maid on occasion – though incapable of behaving like one – but in the last few weeks she seemed to have reverted to her street-urchin way of life. I'd seen her now and then in Abel Yard but could only get a word or two out of her before she disappeared again. I was worried, but knew that while she was in her present mood it would be no good trying to chase after her. I finished packing my small trunk with clothes, sketching materials and a few books, wrapped it in hessian, roped and labelled it with Mrs Martley's help and then went down to the mews to find two lads to carry it to the alcove under the stairs, ready for the carter. There, sitting on a mounting block, looking every bit as disreputable as the ragged lads around her, was Tabby. Her eyes were sunken, cheeks pinched and pale. She didn't look particularly pleased to see me, so I just said hello to her and offered twopence each to the two biggest lads. When they and I came back down with the trunk, Tabby was waiting in the alcove. She watched impassively as they set it down and were given their pay.

‘You didn't need to have paid them that much,' she said. ‘Penny was enough.'

I sat on a step of our staircase and signed to her to join me. From the smell, she'd given up washing. I resisted the temptation to move up several steps.

‘I'm going away for a while,' I said. ‘Not long, probably.'

‘Oh, you are, are you?'

‘I thought you might like to come with me.'

She considered.

‘D'you need me?'

‘I might. For one thing, I need somebody to see that trunk to a village near Cheltenham.'

‘Where's that?'

‘Quite a long way.'

She knew London down to the darkest basements and alleyways. Further than that was either not far or a long way.

‘What are you going for?'

‘A case. There's a man accused of murder.'

‘Did the one he murdered deserve it?'

Tabby's and the law's idea of justice seldom coincided. That was part of the problem between us.

‘It was a woman, a governess, so probably not. And I don't know if he did the murder. That's what we're supposed to find out.'

More consideration, then a grudging concession.

‘If you want me to, I'll come.'

Details were settled through the rest of the day. I booked a place for her, travelling outside, on the Berkeley Hunt stage from London to Cheltenham, leaving three days after Amos and I started, so that we should arrive at approximately the same time. She listened impassively to instructions from me about visiting the bath house round the corner, washing her hair in anti-lice tincture and getting out her respectable grey dress from wherever she'd stored it or pawned it. I gave her three sovereigns, broken into silver and copper coins, for the expenses of the journey and wrote Mr Godwit's address on a piece of card so that she could show it to people when she arrived in Cheltenham. It was a risk, sending her on her own so far from her usual haunts, but perhaps it would lift her out of her sullen mood. Amos came round in the evening to bring a couple of saddle bags for the things I'd need on our journey and to ask what we should do about Rancie's cat, Lucy. It was a problem that hadn't occurred to me until then.

‘We can't take the cat with us, but will Rancie settle without her?'

‘Need be, I could put her in one of my saddle bags,' Amos said. ‘But the cat's happy where she is. Rancie should settle, long as you're there.'

I was worried that the cat might pine without her companion, but Amos said she was on friendly terms with the little hackney in the next box, so we decided that Lucy could stay in Bayswater. When Amos had gone, I packed a few necessities into the saddle bags and reread a hurried letter from my brother Tom, sent from Cairo. He'd be at sea again now, on his way back to Bombay. I missed him dreadfully – another reason for wanting to be away from London.

As agreed, Amos was down in the yard at first light on Sunday morning, holding Rancie and a dark bay charger I hadn't seen before. It was a great heavy-headed beast, over seventeen hands high, and the first thing he did as soon as we'd mounted and were moving along the mews was snort in terror and perform a four-footed sideways leap at the sight of a small stray dog. Amos urged him on as if nothing had happened.

‘Does he often do that?' I said.

‘Only two or three times a minute.'

It turned out that the animal, named Senator, was a reject from the cavalry, with the looks of a war horse and the nerves of a white mouse. He'd have had a bullet through the brain by now if Amos hadn't bought him at a knock-down price and determined to cure him of shying. He thought a journey of several days cross-country, with the start of it being along some of the busiest roads in the kingdom, was just the prescription. By the time he reached his home county, he reckoned he'd have taught Senator enough manners to make a gentleman's hunter out of him and would sell him to pay his expenses for the journey. This made for a lively first day, first along the familiar main road route over Hounslow Heath, then turning north-westwards and stopping for the first night at an inn near the Thames at Cookham. When we arrived there, as always on our travels, Amos switched from friend to groom. As I followed the maid upstairs to my room, it was a respectful ‘Early start tomorrow, then, Miss Lane' from Amos down in the hall. It had worried me in the past, but I knew now that he preferred it that way. In any stable yard in the country, Amos was guaranteed to meet an old friend or find a new one among the grooms and ostlers and join that network of gossip from the horse world that was so much part of his life. There was another woman staying at the inn, which meant ladies and gentlemen could all, with propriety, dine together at the parlour table.

We were on the road early, after a breakfast of good coffee and yesterday's bread. The horses were fresh and rested. Senator was already responding to Amos's firm but gentle treatment and managed to react to oncoming carriages with no more than a rolling eye and an attempt to sidestep. This meant that Amos and I were able to talk about my latest case.

‘There were a lot of questions I didn't ask Mr Godwit,' I said.

‘Not usual, for you.'

Amos couldn't know that when I'd talked to Mr Godwit I thought I wouldn't be taking up his case.

‘As far as I can gather, the accused man, Picton, is claiming he was somewhere else when she was killed, but won't say where,' I said. ‘Two things could follow from that. One is that he's lying.'

‘And the other is that he was somewhere else, but it would be awkward for another party if he talked about it,' Amos said.

‘Exactly.'

‘Which usually means there's a woman in the case.'

‘There is anyway – the poor governess. There's gossip that she and Picton were meeting in secret. Or are you suggesting there's another woman?'

‘If a man won't talk about where he was, often enough it's because he was somewhere he shouldn't be, doing something he shouldn't do,' Amos said.

‘Not necessarily with a woman. He might have been committing some other crime,' I said.

But that wasn't logical because – unless the other crime had been a murder too – a man would surely prefer to be sentenced for the lesser one.

‘Any road, he'll have to talk about it come the assizes,' Amos said. ‘That's unless he thinks it's worth getting hanged for.'

Which was as far as we could get on the few facts as I knew them. The long day's journey was uneventful and we spent the night on the outskirts of Abingdon. The next day, by bridleways up the eastern slopes of the Cotswolds, was pure pleasure. The hills were patched green and gold, sheep pasture alternating with fields of ripe or ripening grain under a blue sky. It had been a good summer, with just enough rain to bring on the crops, and the farmers had started harvesting the barley. Lines of men with scythes moved forward in such regular rhythm that, from a distance, they looked like one great munching animal, laying swathes of gold smoothly behind them. I almost forgot why we were travelling, and what I was travelling from, in the sheer enjoyment of being back in the country. Even Senator relaxed and only tried to shy a couple of times a mile.

‘Country horse,' Amos said. ‘By the time I get him to Hereford, a lady could ride him in a silk bridle.'

The horse showed a fair turn of speed when we cantered, but had nothing like Rancie's stamina.

We came to Northleach as the sun was low and red in the sky and the air hazed golden with dust from the harvest. Here we were on the crest of the Cotswolds, with an easy ride down to Cheltenham next day.

‘What's that building?' I said.

It rose stark and black against the western sky, like a barracks. Amos asked a lad sitting on the gate.

‘House of correction, that is.'

I didn't know where Jack Picton had been sent, but it was probably some larger prison. Still, my good mood sank. Tiredness, perhaps.

The inn was surprisingly busy. I was lucky to get a room, Amos had to share with three other grooms, and the stables were so crowded that Rancie and Senator had to make do with stalls instead of loose boxes. It turned out that some grooms and jockeys, along with their horses, were making their way home from the Cheltenham race meeting that had taken place the week before. This time there were no other ladies present, so I had to eat my chop and drink my glass of wine at an unsteady table in my attic room, with the window open to let out the day's heat. The clink of glasses, male talk and laughter came up from the public bar. Outside in the yard, a dozen or so tobacco pipes glowed in the dusk. I guessed that one of them belonged to Amos and that he was in his element, getting the latest racing gossip. As we rode out next morning, I had some of the fruits of it.