The Sudbury School Murders (8 page)

"I have no idea," I said. "It is merely a
suggestion."

"A suggestion." The coroner wrote something
on the ivory colored paper before him. "And I have noted it. Thank
you, Captain."

He turned his back and prepared to address
the jury. I remained standing a few seconds longer, then realized
there was no point. I sat down as the coroner began his summing up
and instructing the gentlemen on their duty.

I waited in the chill room with everyone else
while the jury conferred in low voices in a corner. I felt
Rutledge's glare on me, but I did not acknowledge him. I simply
coughed into my handkerchief, the dampness getting the better of
me.

The jury at last returned, and their verdict
was no surprise. They found that Oliver Middleton, head groom to
the stables of the Sudbury School, had been deliberately murdered,
and they named Sebastian D'Arby, a Romany, as the one who should be
examined by the magistrate for the crime.

The constable came for him. Sebastian, on his
feet, clenched his fists and shouted, "I did not kill him. I did
not!"

The constable and another large man subdued
him and led him away. The magistrate would try him, and very
probably hold him until the assizes, where he would face a criminal
trial. The inquest was at an end.

* * * * *

Chapter Six

I found myself plagued on all sides the rest
of that day and into the next. I rode back to the school, annoyed
at what I'd learned at the inquest, that Sebastian had quarreled
with Middleton. I wondered why Sebastian had omitted this crucial
fact when he'd told me his story, and I wondered why I had not
heard the stable hands speaking of it. I supposed the stable hand
could have invented the quarrel--Sebastian had seemed surprised and
adamant that it had not happened. But why should the man, Thomas
Adams, invent the altercation? I had no answer. I also had no
satisfactory answer as to why Sebastian had not told me of it.

My thoughts bothered me, and so I was in no
frame of mind to contend with all that came next.

The first plague to set upon me was Rutledge.
As soon as I entered the quad after leaving my horse at the
stables, Rutledge bellowed to me.

I forced myself to turn and meet him. He came
striding through the gate, plowing through boys in their dark robes
like a cat scattering sparrows. He stepped up to me and spoke in
thunderous tones.

"Damn you, Lacey, why did you not tell me
about James Denis?"

I sensed the lads' curious stares all around
us. I said to him, "Perhaps we should speak of this privately."

Rutledge opened his mouth to roar again, but
just then young Timson strolled by, his mild brown eyes fixed on us
with obvious interest. Rutledge noted him, snapped his mouth shut,
and commanded me to follow him to his rooms.

Once in the study, Rutledge commenced
shouting. I sat down, relaxing my stiff leg, and balanced my sword
stick across my knees. I waited until he ran out of breath before I
attempted to speak.

I said, "I had not met Middleton here until
this Sunday afternoon. And I could not be certain he was the same
man I'd seen in London. Before I had time to discover anything, he
was dead."

"You ought to have come to me at once,"
Rutledge growled. "How did you know him in London? Were you in
league with the man?"

"I did not
know
Middleton in any
sense," I said impatiently. "I had seen him during my dealings with
James Denis. That is all."

Rutledge's face grew still redder. "James
Denis is not a gentleman with whom another gentleman has dealings.
That you do speaks volumes. I cannot fathom why Grenville never
mentioned this. He has sorely deceived me."

"Perhaps he did not think it relevant," I
said.

"Not relevant? Denis is . . ." He spluttered.
"He has a foul reputation. No one can deal with him and maintain
his respectability. Why the devil did you seek him out?"

"I did not," I said. "He came to me. You
flatter me if you believe I can afford his services."

"He came to you?" Rutledge gave me an
incredulous look. "Explain what you mean."

"I cannot explain. He has assisted me in
several small ways and sometimes requests my assistance. I avoid
the man as much as possible, believe me."

"He asks for
your
assistance?"
Rutledge exclaimed.

"Yes."

In fact, Denis had once told me, in his cold,
calm way, that he wanted to own me utterly. He wanted me in his
power, under his obligation, wanted me bound to him. Needless to
say, I resisted with all my might. Still, he had manipulated me
more than once to do what he wanted. It was a tense game between
us.

Rutledge was looking at me as though he
needed to reassess me. The look in his eye, I was delighted to see,
was one of trepidation, almost fear. I wondered very much whether
he had crossed James Denis in the past.

Rutledge did not press me. He told me to go
away in his usual irritable manner, but his tone was wary.

*** *** ***

My second plague was Belinda Rutledge. She
accosted me, or rather her maid Bridgett did, and bade me follow
her.

Bridgett led me up several flights of stairs
to a darkened hall, the servants' quarters, I surmised. She took me
to a servant's room containing two plain bedsteads and a
washstand.

Belinda sat on one of the beds. She rose when
I entered. Her eyes were red and puffy, her face wet.

"Miss Rutledge," I began, trying to sound
severe. Her insistence on meeting me in clandestine places would
not help matters.

"They arrested him." She sniffled. "They
arrested him, Captain. You said you would help him."

I grew irritated. "I cannot simply make the
coroner or the magistrate do as I like, Miss Rutledge."

She looked at me, wide-eyed, then her face
crumpled.

I tamped down my annoyance and gentled my
voice. "I told you that I would assist you, and I will. I am
putting things in motion even now. I assure you that we will have
him free before the assizes."

My voice rang with confidence, but even I did
not much believe it.

"He cannot bear to be confined," she
whispered.

"I know. But you and he must be patient. I
have friends in London who can help."

"My father wants him hanged. He hates
Sebastian."

I had to admit that had Sebastian cast his
eyes at my daughter, my attitude toward him would not be as benign
as it was currently.

"Many do not like the Roma, Miss Rutledge.
You must be prepared for that." I paused. "I suggest that even when
I do get him released, you steel yourself to send him away."

She looked up at me, eyes wide, tears on her
face. I saw, though, behind her immediate pain and worry, that she
knew I was right. Though Belinda was downtrodden by her father, she
was not stupid. She knew that an association with Sebastian would
ruin her. Her hesitation in sending him away would only put off the
inevitable.

"Think hard on it," I said. "Imagine yourself
at my ancient age and decide what would have been best."

She sniffled again, gave me a watery smile.
"You are not ancient, Captain."

I would have been flattered, had I not
suspected she spoke out of pity. "I will do what I can, Miss
Rutledge. And I will let you know of any outcome. Do not seek me
out again. Your father will not like it."

Her misery returned. "It is difficult to wait
and do nothing."

"Yes, but it must be done." I made her a bow.
"Good afternoon."

Bridgett made to lead me back downstairs
again, but I told her I'd find the way. I left her to comfort
Belinda and made my way back to the lower floors.

Boys were pouring up the east staircase when
I strolled down it. I spied Sutcliff the prefect giving a dressing
down to one of the younger boys, who listened in sullen
resentment.

Sutcliff, turning away, saw me, and gave me a
curious look. Then he moved his lanky shoulders and swung away down
the hall, his black robe billowing behind him. I had not forgotten
Ramsay's conviction that Sutcliff had followed Middleton the night
of the murder. I wanted to speak to him and moved to follow him,
but I lost sight of him in the sea of boys.

*** *** ***

The third plague did not come upon me until
the next morning. I woke early, determined to continue my
investigations. I wanted to find Sutcliff and ask him why he'd
followed Middleton--if indeed, Ramsay had been correct. I wanted to
find Sebastian's elusive family, and I wanted to question the
stable hand Thomas Adams myself about the quarrel he'd
overheard.

I downed some bread and coffee and set off
for the stables through a thick white fog. Thomas Adams was not in
the yard when I arrived. A younger stable hand was there to help me
saddle the brown gelding I usually rode.

"Did you hear them?" I asked him. "Middleton
and Sebastian arguing?"

The young man looked phlegmatic and shook his
head. "I was round t'other side. Drawing water. Didn't hear a
word."

I questioned the other two stable hands, but
they, too, had not heard the quarrel, neither of them having been
in the yard at the time.

I gave up, mounted my horse, and rode
off.

The fog became denser as I approached the
canal, but the towpath was clear. I followed this path past the
Sudbury lock and the lockkeeper's house. The lockkeeper was just
opening the gates for a barge heading south, toward Bath. Several
men stood on the deck of the narrow barge, but they were not Roma,
not Sebastian's family.

The countryside was quiet, the muddy path
muffling my horse's footsteps. The silent canal flowed on my right;
high hedges and trees lined the path to my left. Sometimes the
hedges broke, allowing me to glimpse green fields brushed by
tendrils of fog. Sheep wandered across the greens, trailed by
spring lambs.

As I neared Great Bedwyn, the trees became
larger and more evenly spaced, the terrain flattening somewhat. I
began to pass boats drifting up from Great and Little Bedwyn, the
bargemen and their families continuing their journey toward Reading
and the Thames.

When I reached Great Bedwyn, I saw, on a flat
path on the other side of the canal, the woman I'd seen in
Hungerford, the one I'd mistaken for Marianne. She wore a bonnet,
and her was head bent so that I could not see her face. The
gathered curls at the back of her neck were bright yellow, and her
dress was fine, too fine for muddy walks through the Wiltshire
countryside.

At the next bridge, I turned the horse across
the canal and urged him into a trot. The woman glanced over her
shoulder and saw me. She hurried off the road and into a stand of
trees.

Marianne or not, her mysterious behavior
intrigued me. I slowed my horse and ducked under the trees. There
were enough saplings and overgrown brush here to make going
precarious. I quickly spied the woman, and she spied me. She broke
into a run.

"Stop," I called. "You will injure
yourself."

She did stop. She stooped to the ground,
dropping her basket. She came up, her hands full of mud and
pebbles, and she flung them at me.

I swore. The horse, struck in the face,
bucked and bolted. I strove to hold him, but my injured leg gave,
too weak to help me. I lost my balance and fell heavily to the
ground.

I found myself on my back, the wind knocked
out of me. The horse trotted off, empty-saddled, my walking stick
hanging from its pommel. As I struggled for breath, the woman
loomed over me, her hands filthy, her eyes wide with alarm.

"For God's sake, Marianne," I gasped.

Under the bonnet, Marianne Simmons' doll-like
face was as sharp as ever, her pretty eyes wary. "Lacey! What are
you doing here?"

I pushed myself into a sitting position. My
left leg throbbed and hurt. "I ought to be asking you that. I have
taken employment at Sudbury. Did you not know?"

"Yes," she snapped. "I have heard the full
details from
him
. I thought that if I bought myself a deep
bonnet and only went about in the small hours of the morning, I
could avoid you. I might have known."

"Why should you avoid me?" I demanded. "And
why should you be here at all?"

She looked away. "I have told you so many
times, Lacey, it is none of your business where I go and what I
do."

"At least assist me to rise, please. Else
I'll have to crawl all the way back to Sudbury, to the ruination of
my trousers."

"They are already ruined," she said,
unsympathetic. But she reached down to help me stand.

Once I was on my feet she said, almost
contrite, "I would not have flung the mud if I'd known the horse
would throw you. I thought I'd killed you for a moment."

"He did not throw me," I said. "I fell
off."

"There is a difference?"

"Yes."

Even a very good horseman could be thrown by
an unruly horse; an incompetent one simply toppled off. The horse
had not been that frightened.

"I will have to lean on you," I said.

"Oh, very well." She retrieved her basket and
allowed me to drape my arm across her shoulders. Surprisingly, she
snaked her arm about my waist, supporting me while I hobbled
painfully out of the trees and back toward the path. My horse,
sadly, was nowhere in sight.

"I suppose you will rush home and write to
him
of this," Marianne said. Her words were muffled by the
huge bonnet. "And tell him where I am."

"I do not report to Grenville," I said. "He
will arrive in Sudbury soon in any case, because he wants to know
all about the murder."

"Yes, I heard of it, and of the arrest of the
Romany. My landlady in Hungerford speaks of nothing else."

"Things are not as straightforward as the
landlady in Hungerford believes." I glanced down at her. "Did you
walk all the way here from Hungerford? I must ask why."