Death at Knytte (16 page)

She had lowered her gaze and seemed not to want to look at him again. ‘I left them with the nursery maid, Annie, but the girl has rather lost her head this morning. It would be better if I were there.’

Docket sketched a little bow in her direction. ‘With your permission, I shall go to the nursery at once and speak to the children. I’ve met them before, I don’t believe they’ll be afraid of me. If they are, however, or if your presence is required, I shall return at once.’ With a sidelong glance at Beddowes he sketched a bow, ran up the steps and into the house.

‘Won’t you sit down again?’ Beddowes asked, gesturing at the seat. ‘You’ve had two nasty shocks this morning.’

‘No.’ She shook out her skirt and turned her back on him. ‘I prefer to walk around the lawn and clear my head. Mr Docket will find us easily enough if I’m needed.’

Beddowes hurried to follow her, a slight smile on his face. Miss Drake was not only pretty, she had a mind of her own.

‘First,’ he said, ‘let me apologize for giving you such a shock. I’d been playing the part of this rogue called Cobb ever since I arrived in this county. We planned to lure the jewel thief into
a trap, but it didn’t work. In fact it went badly wrong. It was fortunate that a courageous young woman came to my rescue. I sent my thanks, but I’m afraid they weren’t adequate. Please, let me repeat them in person.’ He placed himself ahead of her, so she had to come to a halt.

Phoebe met his look with a slight flush on her cheeks. ‘I assure you this isn’t necessary.’

‘On the contrary, it is. Miss Drake, thank you. I believe you saved my life. I really am sorry. I didn’t expect anyone to recognize me.’

She didn’t drop her gaze and for a long moment they stood motionless. He had been thinking what an attractive woman she was, but suddenly it was hard to frame any thought at all.

‘It was your eyes,’ she said simply. ‘I couldn’t believe you were a villain, despite your outward appearance, and what I was told.’

‘I think that’s the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me.’ He was the first to break the charged contact between them, turning away so they could resume their walk. They had almost reached the other side of the lawn before Beddowes spoke again.

‘Miss Drake, I owe you a considerable debt. This business with your cousin; is there anything I can do to help?’

She shook her head. ‘Not unless you believe poor Jonah is innocent, as I do. I suspect that being a policeman, you’ll be inclined to see things the same way as Inspector Tremayle.’

‘I understand his reasoning,’ Beddowes conceded, ‘but he may have been hasty.’ He thought about his visit to the crime scene, and his uneasy feeling that all was not as it seemed. ‘Why are you so sure Jackman didn’t murder his lordship?’

‘Because I know him. You called me kind, but I’m not as tender-hearted as my cousin. The trouble is, I can’t prove he’s innocent.’ She made a helpless gesture. ‘Things have been
happening in this house. Please, would you speak to Jonah? I made promises to him, and I can’t break them, but if you could persuade him to tell the truth, the whole thing might appear in a very different light.’

‘I’m willing to try,’ Beddowes said, intrigued. He said goodbye to Miss Drake without allowing himself to look her full in the face; he had enough to occupy his mind without getting entangled with a woman.

Fortunately Docket was silent as they returned to Clowmoor House, and Beddowes was left to his own thoughts; not all of them concerned the murder of Lord Pickhurst. Despite his best intentions, he was finding it hard to forget the soft voice declaring that he didn’t have the look of a villain.

Lucille accepted the sleeping draught Dr Lock gave her. She had known he would deny her request to see her husband, but it had been a nice touch. Worn out by her play-acting, she awoke some hours later feeling refreshed. She stretched her arms languidly; it was late now, almost dark. Her maid knew better than to enter until she was sent for, but nevertheless Lucille checked the joyous laugh that had almost come unbidden to her lips. She put up a hand to touch them, enjoying the sensuous softness of her own body; never again would she have to submit to the press of that hateful dry skin against hers.

On silent feet she rose and went to the window, careful to remain a little way from the glass; let the world think her in deep mourning and still prostrate upon her bed. It would be tiresome keeping up the pretence. Once the old wretch was buried she would summon the steward and begin to learn everything about her estate. She smiled to herself, planning her strategy; she would be pale and fragile but determined, a
woman left alone by fate, courageously taking the place of a man.

The Dower House was hidden by trees. She wondered if Mortleigh had returned there yet. The thought of him brought a warm tingle of pleasure. Throwing back her head, she imagined the touch of her lover’s lips, hard and demanding upon her neck. As her body responded to the thought she smiled. She hadn’t forgotten how he’d treated her that first time. His ruthless nature matched hers so well.

Lucille, Lady Pickhurst, sank down slowly upon her bed. She had promised to share Knytte with her lover. It was a great prize. She hadn’t yet made up her mind whether she would honour that promise. Freedom was inexpressibly sweet.

J
ust two days after he was murdered, Lord Pickhurst was buried in the family crypt. His young widow, wearing a black veil which completely hid her face, leant heavily on her father’s arm during the short walk to the chapel. The Honourable Mr Horace Gayne had arrived in a hired carriage. Sour-faced and breathless he told the assembled congregation that his wife was not well enough to travel, having collapsed when she heard about the death of her son-in-law.

Victor Mortleigh was among those to offer condolences, but said no more than a dozen formal words before withdrawing to the Dower House. Very soon after that Lucille returned home. Her father followed her into the salon. Those servants who hadn’t retreated behind the baize door were treated to the sound of a loud and vitriolic quarrel.

Lady Pickhurst rang the bell and ordered a carriage. Very soon after that Mr Gayne left, red faced and perspiring. It seemed he was no longer welcome at Knytte.

Left alone, Lucille looked idly through the letters and cards from solicitous neighbours. Mortleigh’s was among them. The note was as formal and uninformative as the few words he’d spoken at the chapel. A frown creasing her forehead, she stepped towards the fire, intending to throw both card and envelope in. Just in time she noticed there were a few pencil
lines on the inside of the envelope. At first glance Lucille thought they were random scribbles, but then she recognized the roughly outlined shape, and laughed aloud. Mortleigh had sent her a picture of the garden house, the location he had chosen for their first act of adultery.

Lucille kissed the drawing, then tossed it into the fire. Tomorrow she would find some excuse to call on her new neighbour. She decided she should pick a quarrel with him; let nobody say they had become friends too readily, or too soon after the death of her husband. As to meetings conducted at night, that was another matter.

Sir Martin Haylmer had requested his presence. Sergeant Beddowes was shown into a chilly parlour where he stood by the window looking out at the wide sweep of Clowmoor’s park. The trees were bright with autumn colour and fat cattle grazed among the first of the fallen leaves. It was a beautiful scene, but he wasn’t really seeing it; he had a great deal to think about.

His memory was improving; he’d recalled his encounter with the smugglers. After being tipped out of the rickety dogcart, he remembered deciding to take the road to the west and return to Clowmoor with the intention of speaking with Sir Martin. Beyond that it was still a blank, until he regained consciousness in the pit. Dr Long had warned him he might never remember those lost hours.

Immediately after Lord Pickhurst’s funeral, Docket had taken the train to London, carrying the ring that Beddowes had taken from the naked corpse on the moor. Silversmiths were notoriously secretive, but thanks to his local informant, Docket hoped to prise some information from the marks contained within the little silver band. Beddowes was grateful for the young man’s enthusiasm; but for that, he might have been forced to make an admission of defeat.

A footman came to summon him to Sir Martin’s presence. The Lord Lieutenant looked more cheerful than he’d expected, and waved the sergeant to the chair opposite his own. ‘Come in, Beddowes. I have some news for you. Good or bad, I’m not sure yet, but it’s interesting at least.’ He picked up a letter and handed it to the sergeant. ‘What do you think of that?’

It was a report from the young doctor in Hagstock, the man with a taste for dead bodies, no matter how decayed they might be. Beddowes scanned the first few lines. There was nothing new there; he already had a fair idea of the man’s height, weight and age.

He reached the second paragraph and his eyes widened; he read on swiftly.

‘Well?’

‘One of the rogues was winged after all,’ Beddowes said. ‘I owe that man of yours an apology, and a pint of ale to go with it.’

Sir Martin nodded. ‘One of the thieves died. His partner made sure he couldn’t be recognized before disposing of the body.’

‘I’m not so sure that’s how it happened,’ Beddowes said. Wrinkling his nose, he tried to remember his awakening next
to the naked corpse. ‘I don’t think that man died of the gunshot wound. It might have killed him in time; his arm was swollen but it hadn’t gone bad. I suspect his friend decided to get rid of him.’

Sir Martin scowled. ‘That’s pretty cold-blooded.’

‘The man at the crossroads fits the bill. He gave the orders. When his pal showed his nerves and almost let something slip, he took a fist in the face for his carelessness. I’d say after nearly being caught, and with an injured man on his hands, our jewel thief decided he’d be better off alone. He certainly didn’t trust Cobb, despite having dealt with him for several months. Obviously my attempts to convince him that I’d got nothing to do with the ambush at the crossroads didn’t work, but maybe that close call scared him. He decided to cut loose from anyone who could identify him.’

‘None of this helps us.’ Sir Martin sounded despondent.

‘Maybe not.’

The Lord Lieutenant was silent for a long moment. ‘As chief magistrate I was responsible for asking Scotland Yard for help, Sergeant. When you arrived with a plan ready formed, thanks to Cobb’s capture, I thought we’d soon be done with the affair, but here we are, weeks later and the rogue is still at large. I’m not saying it’s all your fault, but we’re no closer to finding him than we were a month ago.’

‘I know what you’re thinking, but there’s a chance Docket may bring us some news. I’d be grateful if you’d allow me another week.’

Sir Martin hesitated, and before he could frame an answer Beddowes hurried on. ‘I’d like to look into another matter while we’re waiting. The jewel thief never attempted to rob Knytte, and now a much more serious crime has been committed in that house. Can it be a coincidence? After all, we know the thief’s capable of murder.’

‘I’m inclined to agree with Tremayle,’ Sir Martin replied, ‘the case looks quite straightforward. The trial’s set for Monday, you know. I’m not expecting it to last long.’

‘I agree the use of the marble bust as a murder weapon implicates Jonah Jackman,’ Beddowes said, ‘but what was his motive? Why would a respected stone mason suddenly decide to kill his employer? At least let me ask him.’ He had Phoebe Drake very much in mind. He would hardly acknowledge it, even to himself, but his interest in the affair at Knytte had more to do with that young woman than a remote chance of connecting Lord Pickhurst’s death with the jewel thief.

‘I suppose that wouldn’t hurt.’ Sir Martin gave a decisive nod. You have your seven days, Beddowes, but no more. See Jackman. Tell Inspector Tremayle you’re acting on my authority.’

Beddowes sat in the dismal little room in Hagstock gaol. He had talked himself to a standstill, and had no idea what else he could do.

Jonah Jackman was refusing to speak. Perhaps after what he’d heard Miss Drake say he should have expected it. The stonemason had sat silent and unmoving for an hour, his large hands resting motionless on his knees. He showed no hint of nerves; he seemed unaware of the precariousness of his position. Even when Beddowes told him bluntly that his refusal to speak would be seen as an admission of guilt, Jackman wouldn’t say a word.

‘If you’ll not speak up for your own sake, what about Miss Drake?’ It was a low blow, but all he could think of. ‘She cares for you and thinks nothing of herself, but how will things be for her, if you’re hanged for murder? It would be disastrous for a governess to lose her post in such circumstances. Nobody would employ her. Would you die knowing you’re responsible
for leaving her destitute, or even that your refusal to tell the truth has seen her into her grave?’

Jackman looked up for the first time, as if this thought had never occurred to him.

‘Did you kill Lord Pickhurst?’ Beddowes stared into the man’s face, and saw nothing there to reassure him; the eyes retained that dead haunted look he’d seen when Jackman walked to the Black Maria. ‘Did you?’ the sergeant persisted.

Very slowly Jackman shook his head.

‘But you know something of what happened that night,’ Beddowes said. ‘Miss Drake begged you to tell the truth. What did she mean by that?’

Jackman let his head droop again. Guilty or not, it seemed he was determined to hang. He looked as if he was wearied to death by some intolerable suffering. Had that shake of the head been a lie? Crushing Lord Pickhurst’s skull might have been enough to unsettle his mind, but if so, why should he deny that it had been his work?

Riding the cob steadily along quiet lanes, Beddowes reviewed his attempt to interview Jackman. He could think of nothing else he might have tried. Still deep in thought he turned into the drive; ahead of him Knytte lay calm and unchanging amid the autumn colours, the afternoon sun lighting its walls and adding to its beauty. Handing the cob’s reins to a groom, he found the man willing to talk, and he worked the conversation round to the subject of Jonah Jackman.

‘Tain’t my place to say,’ the groom said, pulling the cob towards a stall. ‘Tis only gossip, when all’s said and done.’

‘What do you mean? What gossip?’

The man shook his head, and refused to say another word. Beddowes cursed under his breath. There was something to learn here.

Despite questioning two footmen, the cook and several maids, he had no better success in the house. The butler, Henson, still looking pale and shaken, answered Beddowes’s questions briefly, but gave nothing away.

‘Was Jackman working alone?’ Beddowes asked.

‘No. He had two men with him. They’ll be in the ruins now if you wish to speak to them. Since there’s still a great deal to be done, I took it upon myself to keep them at their work, until Lady Pickhurst has recovered enough to be consulted.’

‘And do you know when that will be?’

‘She has sent a message to the estate steward. I believe she intends to see him tomorrow.’

Beddowes nodded. ‘I’ll see the masons today, at least.’ If anybody here had known Jackman well, it should be these two. Henson summoned a footman to take him outside, by way of the tradesman’s entrance.

The stonemasons were brothers, similar to Jackman in age, but not his match in height or build. They greeted the sergeant’s questions with suspicion, the older brother taking it upon himself to give the answers. He said Jackman was a good man to work with, that they knew no reason why he should attack Lord Pickhurst. When Beddowes pressed him, the man said Jackman had never been overly talkative; if he had secrets they’d no way of knowing. Once or twice Beddowes noticed that the younger man looked ready to speak, but his habit of deference to his brother kept him silent.

‘Jonah Jackman seems determined to go to the gallows,’ Beddowes said, having grown tired of hearing nothing of any significance. ‘His cousin, Miss Drake, swears he’s innocent. If you’re his friends, won’t you at least say a word in his defence?’

‘If he done murder, I’d say ’tweren’t all his own fault.’ These were the first words the younger man had uttered.

‘What do you mean by that?’ Beddowes asked sharply.

‘Only that Jonah’s not the violent type,’ the elder man answered for him, shooting his brother a warning look. ‘I s’pose he’d need a powerful good reason.’

‘Whether it was Jackman or some other man, have you any idea how the murderer might have got into Knytte, once it was locked up for the night?’

The two men exchanged a glance; the elder brother shrugged. ‘There’s a door through the back here,’ he said. ‘Goes straight into the house. It were found unlocked once, a few weeks back, so we heard. Same thing must’ve happened again.’ At Beddowes request he led the way through the old refectory to the heavy oak door.

Looking around, Beddowes saw a piece of stone, similar in colour to the large blocks the brothers were working on. He bent to pick it up; it was wedge shaped, about two inches deep at its widest, and maybe five inches long. Its edges were sharp beneath his fingers. ‘This looks as if it was cut recently,’ he remarked.

‘Reckon somebody brought it from back there,’ the stonemason said, hitching a thumb towards the tower. ‘It’ll be a piece we split off, shaping blocks for the stairs. Jonah did some work inside, but that were months back.’

There was a deep mark on one of the longer sides of the stone, where the roughness had been worn off. ‘What’s caused this then?’ Beddowes asked.

The man shrugged ‘Dunno. Nothing we’ve done. Can’t see no point to it.’

Returning to the house, Beddowes asked Henson about the door. The butler looked distressed. ‘It’s usually kept locked but it was found wide open that morning,’ he said. ‘Inspector Tremayle saw that as more evidence against Jackman. When he was first employed here, nearly a year ago now, he repaired
the fireplace in the old library. He used that door to come and go.’

‘But whoever came in here the other night to attack Lord Pickhurst would have needed a key.’

‘There was a key left in the lock while Jackman was working indoors,’ Henson said, as he led the way down the corridor Beddowes had followed with Docket the day before. ‘Perhaps he had a copy made.’

At Beddowes’s request, Henson opened the heavy old door. ‘As soon as I entered the corridor the other morning I felt the draught of air. It’s dark along here, but I realized this must be open. When I came to investigate I glanced into the old library. That door was also standing wide open, and I saw his lordship’s body.’ Struggling to hold the door against the gusty wind, he picked up a piece of wood that lay on the floor nearby, and wedged it underneath.

Beddowes stepped through into the old refectory and recovered the scrap of stone he’d found before.