The Keeper of Secrets Page 20

  We were still drinking coffee after breaking our fast on eggs far from as fresh as those we were used to when a servant brought up a card. To our astonishment, it was Mr King’s.

  As one, Jem and Turner rose and cleared the table, disappearing from the room as if by evaporation, before our honoured visitor had climbed the stairs.

  Mr King, as immaculate as Mr Brummell even at this hour of the day, consented to accept a dish of chocolate, and sat down, clearly full of news. But not until the courtesies were exchanged did he explain the reason for his call. ‘I have just this moment seen Lady Templemead’s coach arrive at her lodging in Milsom Street,’ he said, ‘and since you thought that she might hold all the information you needed, I made haste to come this way.’

  We said all that was proper.

  But he had not finished yet. ‘I understand that Lady Elham’s butler may be beyond your immediate reach. I am told that he found a post with the O’Malleys, and is now bound for the West Indies. However, in consultation with some of the servants in the Upper Rooms, I have put together a list of Lady Elham’s more intimate friends.’ Without saying so, he contrived to suggest that Mr Guynette, Master of Ceremonies at the Lower Rooms, would not have been matched such efficiency.

  We spoke for a few minutes longer, promising to put in an appearance at the Upper Rooms as soon as our pressing business permitted, and with another graceful bow he left us.

  ‘Lady Elham’s servants seemed to have dispersed themselves far and wide,’ I observed.

  ‘They have indeed – though poor John Coachman has done so the most convincingly.’ He coughed, and looked me shamefacedly in the eye. ‘Tobias, in the blur of the recent days, I seem to have lost sight of our original purpose, which was simply to inform Lady Elham of the death of her former abigail.’

  ‘And to watch her expression as we did so!’ I reminded him. ‘Had it not been for Dr Toone’s calling into question the period of Lizzie’s demise, we should never have insisted on that. And it is hardly surprising that unspoken suspicions should have arisen as a result of her peregrinations hither and there. But we do seem to have become ensnared in a web of suspicion and enquiry. Do you think that we should write to the good people back in Moreton St Jude and explain the reason for what may be a protracted absence?’

  He flushed. ‘I have already done so,’ he said gruffly, as if caught out in something shameful.

  To whom would he have written but to Mrs Beckles? ‘I am glad of it,’ I cried.

  He retired in silence behind the barricade of his newspaper, and I said no more. Instead, I cast my eyes down Mr King’s list of Lady Elham’s friends and intimates in the area. There were few, as was to be expected of a lady in the first months of mourning. I looked in vain for people with addresses north and east of the city to explain her many journeys, and could only draw one sad conclusion, that she must be visiting young Lord Elham in the asylum that Turner and Jem had found.

  I had always regarded him as an unpleasant young man, of course, with an unruly temper, with no regard for the niceties of social intercourse or respect for the processes of law. Furthermore, if Matthew were to be believed – and I knew of no reason to doubt him, having seen some evidence with my own eyes – he possessed a vicious streak that delighted in not simply slaying but also torturing animals. But was that sufficient to have him incarcerated in an asylum? Were viciousness of temper always thus punishable, then there would be few sons left to populate the upper ten thousand. Dr Toone himself would scarce have escaped. Yet from being a vilely savage youth, he had grown into a responsible doctor, whose expertise Edmund valued above his own. What excesses could Lord Elham have committed – unless he were guilty of murdering our beloved Lizzie? In that case, he should be tried by his peers and hanged by the neck. And how had his mother found out about her abigail’s death, and contrived to smuggle her son to a place of comparative safety? What implications did this have for the truth of all her ladyship’s letters giving Lizzie’s whereabouts?

  My head reeling, the last thing I wanted was the announcement of another visitor. When I saw from her card who it was, however, I changed my scowl to a beam of surprised delight and ran to the top of the stairs to greet her.

  ‘Lady Salcombe! How more than kind of you to call!’ And how strange of her to risk censure by calling on two men, with only her abigail to attend her. But perhaps such freedom was these days permitted in Bath.

  Her bright eyes took in Dr Hansard’s ill-concealed newspaper as he struggled to his feet, but she contrived to ignore the slippers still on his damaged feet.

  She too accepted a dish of chocolate, sitting primly opposite me and watching me over the rim as she sipped. ‘I had to come myself,’ she said, ‘because I have a terrible confession, which has to be made in person.’

  ‘Your servants have found no trace of John Sanderson’s burial?’ Hansard prompted her.

  She turned towards him. ‘But, Dr Hansard, however did you guess? When they came back empty handed, I sent them out again. Only this time I sent them to churches that their fellow servants had visited, lest in their hurry they had overlooked something the next man might easily find. But all report, a second time, that there is no record of his burial, not within Bath. So – and I pray you, tell me if I have done wrong – I have despatched the two most trusted servants to all the parishes within riding distance of the city, and they will tell me this evening what they have found. Can you wait that long? I am sorry if this inconveniences you.’

  ‘My dear Lady Salcombe,’ I said, ‘you have not inconvenienced, but indeed helped us a very great deal. Imagine the length of time it would have taken two strangers to the city to ilicit the information! Pray, may we—’ I had almost said, may I – ‘call later and speak to your servants?’

  She stood up, giving a bob of a curtsy. ‘That would be delightful. Mr Campion, Dr Hansard – I fancy you do not have a great acquaintance in Bath, and it would give my husband and me enormous pleasure if you were to dine with us. Shall we say at seven? Nothing formal, of course,’ she added, ‘just three or four couples.’

  Delighted with the invitation, we both escorted her to the door, where we found her dimpled maid whiling away the time by flirting with the singularly ill-favoured Boots.

  I was aware of Hansard’s ironic eye upon me as we closed the door. ‘What a pleasure that will be,’ he said, in a tone I did not wholly understand. ‘Well, Tobias, I believe we must venture out to the shops again – unless you propose to wait on her lovely little ladyship in your boots and breeches?’

  Equipping ourselves with evening dress must be our priority. Fortunately in the elegant emporia of Bath, a gentleman might soon be made presentable. Even if the fit of the coats might not have passed muster in the ranks of the dandies, we felt that we should not disgrace ourselves.

  ‘Your pretty ladyship will think you a fine fellow now, if she did not before,’ Hansard observed, as we stood side by side before the tailor’s mirror.

  ‘She is not mine!’ I said, blushing hot as a schoolboy.

  ‘Let us just say that she finds you agreeable now, and that nothing in your appearance this evening will spoil that opinion.’

  ‘Nor in yours, provided that you dispense with that damned wig of yours, and have your hair cut properly!’

  A gleam of deep satisfaction spread over Turner’s face at the sight of his master’s new coiffure. It was almost as deep as Jem’s as he presented us with a list of the inmates of Lymbury Park, written in some haste in pencil on the back of an old shopping list.

  ‘We were able to find our informant again,’ he said, ‘and as before found him partial to a drop of heavy wet. But he wasn’t so cast away that he couldn’t recall all these names, or to hint that some of the people within might be better known by other names. Mr Mortehoe, now, Toby – might not that be the family name of the Earls of Hartland? And as I recall, wasn’t that lad of theirs, the one who smashed all the windows in the orangery back home, always a bit of a loose
screw?’

  ‘You may be right – well done! But this one here, Mr Dumbrill – I think that might be his real name. I knew him at Cambridge. He tried to jump a horse over High Table and was duly rusticated. Then they found out he was more than just a peep-o-day boy, but a real rum ’un, who would as soon batter and bruise his barques of frailty as bed them.’

  ‘In-breeding,’ Hansard remarked, strolling over to read the list over my shoulder. ‘Lord Elham has a variety of estates, both great and small, to call upon as aliases. I don’t suppose there is anything as obvious as a Mr Moreton on your list?’

  ‘Alas, no.’ I passed over the list so that he could peer through or over his spectacles, as the whim took him. ‘But there is a Mr Bossingham there.’

  ‘Bossing ’em? Surely a hoax!’

  ‘Possibly not. The Elhams take their name from their main estate in Kent, do they not? Now, I had an aunt living near Canterbury when I was a boy. She was an autocratic old lady, and soon became known amongst us children as Lady Bossingthem. We thought we were terrific wits, because she actually lived in a village called Bossingham. And this village – hamlet, rather – was some five or six miles from Elham. I could send for a map if—’

  He shook his head. ‘I do not doubt your memory, especially one involving tyrannical aunts. So you think that this Mr Bossingham and Lord Elham may be one and the same?’

  ‘I do not so much think as surmise,’ I said.

  ‘But it need not be a fallacious conclusion. I think it is now time for me to enlist the help of a fellow justice, Tobias. And tonight’s engagement may furnish me with a name to whom I may apply. Let us go and prepare ourselves!’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  When we saw the elegance of the Salcombes’ other guests, all bang up to the nines, our guilt at our sartorial extravagance was somewhat diminished. Unsociable though his lordship might be, his good lady’s charm and the superiority of her table had attracted the cream of Bath society, and we sat down at dinner with no fewer than six other couples. More came in afterwards and my dinner partner, a remarkably well-read lady near forty, obliged us all by sitting down at the piano and opening a sheaf of music. With a whist table the only other attraction, there was no doubt that Hansard would dance, and I joined in with a will. Perhaps I hankered for a moment after a pretty Moreton miss hanging out for a suitor with no less than ten thousand a year, but all my partners were agreeable and light on their feet. It seemed no more than a matter of minutes before the tea tray was brought in at ten-thirty.

  ‘A most agreeable evening,’ Hansard declared, as we strolled home, under the bright light of a full moon. ‘And I cannot help commend the Bath habit of early hours. How absurd to think that twenty years ago I should have been setting out for an engagement at this time, not returning from one.’

  ‘But it must be this very respectability that has driven away the majority of the ton,’ I said, registering as I rarely did the difference between our ages, and wishing I could have enjoyed many more hours in such company. But it was not for me to carp. ‘Did you learn of a suitable justice?’

  ‘Indeed I did, and Salcombe was kind enough to dash off a letter of introduction to him. Sir Hellman Dawlish.’ He patted his inside pocket reassuringly. ‘Salcombe tells me the man is of a gouty disposition, and keeps even earlier ours than our new friends, so we may set out betimes tomorrow morning without fear of incommoding him.’

  Perhaps it was the amount of champagne I had consumed that emboldened me to say, ‘If we find Lord Elham there, if indeed he seems guilty of the ghastly crime, will not his mother be reluctant to return to the Priory?’

  ‘In her place I would retire to the most remote of her estates, or even seek a watering place abroad,’ came his guileless reply.

  ‘In which case,’ the champagne and I continued, ‘the Priory will be shut up, perhaps even sold. And what will happen to all the staff and servants?’

  His pace slowed, as did mine. ‘Why do you ask? You were not thinking of establishing a home for indigent footmen?’

  ‘Because, my dear friend – nay, I speak out of turn as a friend, but within my rights as a clergyman,’ I stuttered.

  ‘This sounds like a very solemn end to a convivial evening,’ he prompted me. Perhaps he had an inkling of what I wanted – what I had – to say.

  ‘Mrs Beckles is a very proud lady,’ I said, aware I was rushing my fence. ‘If she were left without employment, she would see any offer for her hand as an act of charity, not an assurance of love – as the offer of a home, in your own words, for an indigent gentlewoman. Dear Edmund, for God’s sake, swallow your pride, if you can, and do not wait until your house is perfect before you speak to her.’ When he turned from me, without speaking, I continued, ‘Why, a woman of her taste and discernment would positively enjoy making her mark on it. Think what pleasure she would take in choosing paintings and china for her own use, not that of an employer. Consider the pleasure she would take in sitting with you in your library, reading the latest volume of poetry while you peruse your scientific journal.’ I confess I was moved almost to tears by my own eloquence. By that, and by the champagne.

  Was he offended? His silence boded ill. But at last he turned back to me, a smile on his honest face. ‘As a friend, I would tell you to mind your own business. As your parishioner, I admit the sense of what you are saying. I have been stiff-necked, believing I had the luxury of as much time as I wanted to offer the lady the home she deserved.’

  ‘Before you opened my eyes to the reality of country life,’ I reflected, ‘I would have said the lady would have been happy in a cottage with you, with a couple of hens and a garden. But since I have seen the true state of many of our cottages, I find I cannot recommend life in a damp hovel with a mud floor.’

  ‘Nor shall I ask her to share that sort of existence with me,’ he laughed. ‘I get out of reason cross when my rheumatism plays up.’ Soberly, he continued, ‘Do you think she will accept my offer?’

  ‘There is only one way to find out.’ But in my mind’s eye I saw the tendernesses that had so often passed between them, the glow on her face as he singled her out. Could a woman of such sense, indeed such sensibility, deny the delights of a marital home to herself and to the man I was sure she loved?

  Having explained our plans and told Jem and Turner that they might consider the day theirs to do as they wished, we presented ourselves at eleven sharp at the residence of Sir Hellman Dawlish. It was situated on none other than the Royal Crescent, and was furnished with style and opulence in the very latest fashion, at which we could scarce forbear to gasp. The first-floor parlour overlooked the Crescent’s gardens, a view we had a few minutes to enjoy before our host joined us. The room itself was furnished in the antique classical mode, with a fitted carpet and marble fireplace. Pier glasses between the windows added to the general sense of space and light.

  Sir Hellman was a man of Dr Hansard’s age, but spare of build and with what hair he had left cut most modishly. His coat was clearly cut by Weston, and his cravat was in its own way a masterpiece. He greeted us as if we were long-lost friends, bidding us sit on what proved to be remarkably uncomfortable Egyptian chairs. He took another, giving no indication that he might be suffering from gout. However, he was very ill-complexioned, his skin almost yellow in hue.

  Preliminaries over, he sat back, inviting Dr Hansard to open his budget. ‘For you must know,’ he said, ‘that it is not every day that I am asked to authorise entry into a lunatic asylum.’

  ‘Nor do I ask every day. In fact, I do not recall ever having to seek a possible murderer in such a place,’ Hansard rejoined. ‘But when a young woman has been hideously done to death, and violated post mortem, one feels the conventions must be ignored.’ He explained poor Lizzie’s fate, and had the satisfaction of watching that sallow complexion pale still further.

  ‘Her murderer did such a dreadful thing after killing her?’

  ‘I hope and pray that it was after, not before, she died. Bu
t decomposition was so advanced that I could not tell.’

  I thought I was inured to all the horrors of my loss, but the idea – one I had not permitted myself to consider before – that Lizzie might have been eviscerated while still alive brought bile to my throat. It clearly had the same effect on Sir Hellman, who walked swiftly to a side table and in silence poured us all a glass of Madeira.

  ‘Surely,’ he said at last, sitting once more, ‘such an act must be the work of a madman indeed. Not only will I authorise your visit to interrogate the young man in question, but I will also accompany you. I am not unknown in the area, gentlemen, and I fancy my personal authority will open even more doors than a simple letter.’

  ‘It is not just the man himself that we wish to talk to,’ Hansard said, ‘because I cannot imagine for one moment that he would confess. But his keepers, those in charge of the institution, would be able to confirm or deny whether he was at liberty during the salient periods.’

  ‘I take it speed is essential?’ Without waiting for a reply, he rang for a footman, giving orders for his carriage to be brought round within the half-hour.

  * * *

  Never had I set foot in an asylum before, the fashion for people from the beau monde to while away tedious hours by observing the misfortunes of others having long since passed.

  There was no hint of Lymbury Park’s function at its gatehouse, guarded by nothing fiercer than an apple-cheeked dame engaged, when we summoned her, in hoeing her vegetable patch. She admitted us with a curtsy and a smile, closing, but not locking, the gates behind us.

  ‘That augurs well, at least,’ I said, sinking back against the very comfortable squabs of Sir Hellman’s carriage.

  Dr Hansard shot me a look. ‘In what way?’

  ‘I expected to see Gog and Magog on guard, preventing demented patients from roaming round the countryside. But it seems to be an altogether more liberal regime.’