The Duke's Agent (15 page)

‘Why don't you just set there and guard his door, Nat Broom, since you've such a mind to become Mr Justice's watch dog?'

As he prepared to shave, Jarrett found to his amusement that Mrs Bedlington had left him a message written in the mist on his shaving mirror. It appeared to read: ‘Bee of good hart laddie.' If there had been more it had vanished as the heat of the steam cooled on the glass. It was not a turn of words he had heard in these parts before. Perhaps Mrs Bedlington had Scottish blood as well as a gift for the dramatic. He wandered to the window as he removed his shirt, enjoying the light after his spell in the shadows. He saw two men in the street below watching him. Mr Raistrick was taking
great pains to make sure he spoke to no one. He gave an internal shrug. Either Charles or Tiplady had to arrive soon. At the very least Sir Thomas would return to identify him and put an end to this farce. In truth he was intrigued to see how Lawyer Raistrick was going to handle the investigation. Before long his enemy was bound to let slip some further clue as to his interest in the Duke's affairs.

Time soon passed and as eleven o'clock approached Jarrett was escorted once more to the tollbooth. A considerable crowd had gathered about the arcade. As he was led up the winding stone staircase to the council chamber he caught a brief glimpse of a familiar yellow dog. So Duffin was not far away. The thought was strangely comforting.

The octagonal chamber was a muddle of people. A long table stood along the far wall. At one end Raistrick's clerk, Pye, was laying out a familiar bundle of clothes. His escort eased Jarrett through the crowd and Constable Thaddaeus drew him up a chair so that he might sit facing the space where the witnesses would stand. Each of the remaining seven walls was filled with people, standing or sitting on the raked benches that lined the room. Captain Adams left him to join a group of eight or ten men. They looked to be a mixture of the better sort of tradesmen and artisans along with a sprinkling of the lesser sort of gentry. Seeing Jasper Bedlington standing among them, Jarrett surmised that these were the vestrymen.

The two justices walked in together. Mr Prattman made to shake Jarrett's hand but catching sight of Mr Raistrick's fierce expression he veered off at the last minute to hurry head-down to the table. The chamber quietened, attentive with anticipation.

‘Pye,' ordered the lawyer, ‘open proceedings.'

The pale-faced clerk stood and, reading from a paper, announced in a carrying voice, ‘Order! Order in the chamber! In the presence of their honourable Justices, the Reverend
Justice Prattman and Mr Justice Raistrick, this investigation is called to examine the circumstances of the death of Sally Grundy, eighteen years, laundrywoman of this parish of St John's Woolbridge, in the night of Wednesday, the last day of July in the fiftieth year of the reign of His Majesty King George the Third. The corpse being found with neck broken, laid out below the rock they call Lovers' Leap.' The clerk called the first witness. ‘Let Mrs Munday come forward.'

A muscular woman with a secretive face detached herself from the front row of the crowd and came to stand before the Justices' table. Her eyes flicked between the two magistrates. She seemed wary rather than in awe of her situation. Justice Raistrick addressed her from his seat behind the table.

‘Mrs Munday, you own the house in which Sally Grundy lodged. When did you see her last?'

‘I was dipping candles this Wednesday night in my kitchen and I heard her go down the passage. She called out to someone above as she came down the stairs. She lodges with Maggie Walton.'

‘What time was that? Had the rain started?'

‘I was too busy to watch the weather!' responded Mrs Munday tartly. She considered the question, then relented. ‘It seems to me the rain started after dark. There was still light enough as I heard her, but I recall thinking: I'll have to be lighting up soon.'

That appeared to be the sum of Mrs Munday's evidence, yet when Mr Raistrick asked his final question, ‘Have you anything more to tell us?' Mrs Munday looked undecided. She glanced across at Maggie Walton who stood waiting to be called with wet cheeks and scared eyes. She closed her lips and folded her hands across her stomach decisively. ‘No, your honour. I've said my piece.'

Next the clerk summoned Maggie Walton, Sal's fellow lodger. She came forward with stooped shoulders as if trying to fit herself into the most insignificant compass possible. She
was of a similar age to the dead girl. Maggie had protuberant pale blue eyes and a rosy button mouth. Mr Raistrick took some pains to put her at her ease. He favoured her with a friendly smile and asked his questions in an informal, easy way.

‘Sally Grundy was your friend?'

‘Oh, yes, sir!' Maggie answered fervently, nodding her head. Her friendship with Sal was the sole thing that had made Maggie Walton's existence in any way remarkable.

‘And you and your friend talked together, shared secrets – as girls do?'

Maggie's round eyes were eager to please but perplexed. ‘We talked, sir,' she agreed eventually.

‘And can you tell us where Sal was going on Wednesday night last?'

Maggie looked down at her feet. Her first response was indistinct and the magistrate had to instruct her to speak up.

‘Sal wouldn't say,' the girl confessed. ‘She said she was off to meet someone and she'd have a tale to tell when she came back. She made a mystery about it and laughed at me.'

‘And was it a man she went to meet, do you think?'

Maggie looked quite surprised at the question. Who else would Sal be going to meet if not a man? The lawyer smiled.

‘And at what time did she leave for this meeting? Had the rain started, do you think?'

‘No, sir. I heard thunder, and I said: Sal, you're not going out? Storm's coming. And she said: Never you fret. I loves a storm on the moor.' The wistful expression on Maggie's face was one of wonder at the exotic mystery of Sal. ‘Then she left.' The wonder faded to be replaced by a sad, anxious expression.

‘And you never saw her again?'

Maggie glanced nervously towards Mrs Munday. The
landlady's narrowed eyes were fixed on her. When Maggie answered there was a whining note to her reply. ‘No! No, sir!'

‘And was Sal in the habit of going out at such strange hours? It must have been nine or half past nine o'clock at night.'

Maggie appeared to find such comings and goings usual. She merely commented that Sal liked to go out.

Maggie was dismissed to scuttle thankfully back into the anonymity of the crowd. Turning to his fellow Justice, Mr Raistrick's comment was audible to the chamber.

‘So our mystery is who Sally Grundy was going to meet at Lovers' Leap.' He turned the beam of his gaze on to the gentleman seated to the left of the table. ‘And thus we come to you, Mr Jarrett.' Ignoring his clerk, the lawyer abandoned formalities. He continued as if addressing his fellow Justice and the members of the vestry sitting beyond.

‘Mr Jarrett has told me that he left his cottage – the windows of which look out on to Lovers' Leap – on Thursday morning to conduct His Grace's audit in Woolbridge. He left early and did not look down from the bridge before his door and so did not see the victim, but went directly to the Queen's Head where I and my officers found him. Together we went to inspect the body, which was laid out on its back, with arms folded thus,' the lawyer folded his arms across his breast to illustrate his words, ‘on a shelf above the line of the flood that swelled the river on Wednesday night. Laid out by human agency. The victim herself never died that way. A few spots of blood, and two bloody imprints – one complete of a man's boot lying half under the body, and one partial mark in a foothold below – indicate that a man carried the victim, bleeding from a wound in the head, to the shelter of the ledge. Her clothes were damp but not wet through as they would have been had she been out in the heavy rain of last night for any length. This leads to the conclusion that the victim died and was laid on the ledge just before, or soon
after, the storm broke. Now Mr Jarrett denies he knew the victim. And yet,' the lawyer got up and went to the pile of items that lay on the table beside his clerk, ‘while the body was being laid inside to await the arrival of a cart, this was brought to my attention.'

With a dramatic flourish the lawyer displayed a piece of brownish wrapping paper, perhaps a foot square. The sketch on it was unfinished but unmistakable. Black-Eyed Sal smiled mischievously out at the chamber. Mr Raistrick cocked his head to contemplate the drawing.

‘Your work, sir? Accomplished – and detailed. Are we to believe you did not know the subject of it?'

The agent met the lawyer's eyes, his posture relaxed. ‘If you would care to produce that personal notebook of mine which you took into your possession yesterday, Justice Raistrick,' Jarrett leant forward to point out the edge of a leather notebook peeping from under the clothes piled on the table, ‘you will see that it is my habit to sketch any figures of interest I come across. This Sally Grundy made a striking subject. I laid eyes on her twice, and drew her from memory. As I have sketched many in this town. Anyone may see if they will but examine the book.'

The Reverend Prattman asked to be handed the notebook. Several members of the vestry craned to look over his shoulder as he flicked through its pages. One of the vestrymen gave a snort of surprise and pointed something out to his neighbour with a barely suppressed smile. Jarrett hoped the gods would be kind and prevent the book opening at a particularly successful caricature of the reverend parson depicted as a well-meaning bull in a china shop.

The parson deciphered a phrase or two and coughed. He put the book down hurriedly, a pained expression on his face. ‘And how did Mr Raistrick come by this
personal
notebook of yours, Mr Jarrett?'

Jarrett answered the parson evenly, his eyes still fixed on
the lawyer who stood facing him. ‘He searched my person and took it from my coat, Mr Prattman. Mr Raistrick carried off several of my possessions. He was not the only one. It was quite a day for it. Thieves carried off several items while the magistrate pursued his investigations.'

Mr Prattman was shocked. ‘Can this be true, Mr Raistrick?'

‘A crowd had gathered,' replied Raistrick dismissively. ‘Crowds attract thieves and pickpockets. The only officers I had with me were the constable and Mr Bedlington, the parish overseer. I was not prepared for a disturbance. Constable,' he demanded, turning his mesmerising gaze on Thaddaeus Bone, ‘did you recognise any of the malefactors?'

Constable Thaddaeus stepped forward blushing. Conscious of his boldness, he spoke out a little overloud. ‘Indeed I did, Mr Justice, your honours. And saw what they took, too,' he added, daring to throw an accusing look at the lawyer.

Mr Raistrick sneered back. ‘Then why did you not do your duty, Constable? What if Mr Jarrett wished to prosecute?'

Jasper Bedlington intervened in support of the flustered constable.

‘As the Justice says, I was also present, Reverend your honour. There was but little either Constable Bone or I could do at the time. I am sure I speak for many here when I say all honourable men would wish to support the constable in pursuing the villains. It was a shocking sight, if I may be so bold, your honours.'

Raistrick lost interest in this diversion. He picked up the muddy garments lying on the table.

‘As you say, Mr Jarrett, some clothes of yours came to my attention – a coat, a pair of breeches and some long boots.' As he named each garment he held it up for the crowd to see. ‘These are yours, are they not? And what is the condition of these items, would you say?'

‘I would say that they are soiled with mud, sir.'

‘They are soiled with river mud, are they not, Mr Jarrett? I believe it was you yourself, Mr Jarrett,' the voice continued silkily, ‘who pointed out to me that Wednesday night was a terrible stormy night. Most of us were glad to be in our beds on such a wild wet night. And yet you, sir, you were not in your bed – you were out in the rain, down by the river – were you not?'

The chamber was hushed. The ordinary, every-day sounds that are made by a hundred human beings confined in one space stilled as every person present bent their attention to the confrontation being played out before them. The Duke's agent was at a disadvantage. He was seated before the imposing figure of his interrogator, his posture stiff. His voice was haughty as he answered.

‘Mr Raistrick, I repeat: I did not know the victim. I have no connection with this affair and yet my possessions have been ransacked, my privacy violated and I have been forced to spend a damp and uncomfortable night in your gaol. I see no reason to answer your questions until you can produce a solitary witness who can in all honesty swear that he has seen me exchange even a single word with this poor unfortunate girl.'

Mr Raistrick swept a mocking bow. ‘Very well, sir.' He spun dramatically to the crowd, making the skirts of his riding coat fan out around him. ‘Bring a chair for Mrs Hannah Grundy!' he ordered.

Hannah Grundy was handed forward, cossetted by murmurs of sympathy from the audience. The cook was in a bad way. Plucked from the familiar surroundings of her kitchen, her bearing was robbed of its authority. Yet despite her confusion grief endowed the solid figure with a certain dignity.

‘Mrs Grundy, you are Sally Grundy's aunt?'

The grey woman nodded. ‘My only family, since my man died.' The voice was dull as if her personality had been drained by the blow that had fallen on her.

Raistrick's features formed a mask of condolence. He performed a solemn half-bow, his eyes never leaving the blank face. Mrs Grundy blinked. The lawyer's voice was mellifluous, faintly caressing. ‘Tell us of the last time you saw your niece, Mrs Grundy.'

‘It were at the house – Longacres. I am cook-housekeeper there. My Sal did the laundry. She came Monday as usual. She left an hour before supper. And that's the last time.' Mrs Grundy took a deep gulp of air and stopped.