Shadow of the Past Page 26

  And the attack on poor Gundy, no doubt.

  Before I could put that to him, however, Furnival said, ‘Take me to gaol if you will. I shall answer no more questions.’

  Vernon ignored him. ‘I can see that you must have killed Henry Monger, but cannot see why. Did you have a motive?’

  There was no response.

  ‘Did someone pay you to kill Monger? Are you simply acting as someone’s agent?’ Vernon pursued. ‘Sir Marcus Bramhall’s, for instance?’

  ‘That leech!’ Indeed, the thought appeared to repel him. ‘Have you any idea how much of Lady Chase’s fortune he has contrived to waste?’

  I suddenly recalled the bad wine we had had one night. Was that after all Furnival’s doing, not the butler’s? Now was not the time to ask, however. There were more important questions to be asked.

  ‘You did not want her to waste her blunt on further advertisements, did you? You have been a remarkably efficient employee, Furnival. In fact,’ Hansard mused, ‘you even put her interests before those of Miss Southey. You could easily have overridden Sir Marcus’s fuss about the fire in her room. You could have made her altogether more comfortable. But you did manage very well to obfuscate the matter of her previous employment. Did you ever send for those references that Lady Bramhall required? I thought not.’

  It seemed to me even as my colleagues pressed home question upon question that Furnival was no nearer confessing. We had no evidence, no proof. All we were doing was baiting a man clawing the last shreds of dignity about him. Perhaps Willum felt the same unease.

  ‘What I can’t make out,’ he declared, having been admirably quiet hitherto, ‘is why you should want to smash my leg and jump on my head. I never did nothing to you, any more than ’Enry did. And he’s dead and I might have been, but for Dr Hansard and his mates wot saved me. No wonder your granddaughter’s family was scared stiff of you. Was you going to kill them too? Or just your granddaughter – a taking little thing, by all accounts. Did you ever see her? Hang on, you must have. ’Cos they said they found a lock of her hair in that trunk what was nicked.’

  The silence became intense. Willum had put questions none of us would have dared ask.

  ‘I told you. Take me to gaol.’

  The satisfactory apprehension but equally unsatisfactory interrogation were the subjects of most of our conversations for the rest of that day. At last Willum was forced to admit that he needed his bed, and Jem, hearing the chaos in the inn yard when several young bloods in sporting curricles all demanded service at once, felt obliged to resume his duties there.

  Despite the fact that our village was left doctorless and parsonless overnight, we agreed to sup together.

  ‘So now that it is safe to do so, will you encourage Lady Chase to return, bringing Lord Chase with her?’ Mrs Hansard asked, as if keen to break the pointless repetition.

  ‘I see no reason why not. I shall write to her before I retire for the night, but it will hardly surprise any of you if I advise her to hire armed outriders,’ her husband responded. ‘As far as Chase’s recovery is concerned, I would have thought it would have an altogether beneficial effect, would not you, Toone?’

  ‘Provided that he was happy at the Hall.’

  ‘He hunted, fished and shot. He danced at balls. He did everything a young man ought.’

  ‘Let him return, then.’

  ‘And what of Bess?’ I asked. ‘She saved his life, and must be rewarded. What shall we recommend to Lady Chase?’

  ‘There are many cases of men marrying their nurses,’ Toone mused.

  ‘But such a nurse?’ Edmund asked. ‘There is no doubting the goodness, the kindness, the self-sacrifice of the creature. But try as I may I cannot see her as a future Lady Chase.’

  ‘Poor Bess herself hardly knows what she wants,’ I pursued. ‘If her ladyship gave her money, she fears she would drink it. If a regular allowance, a regular drunken spree. And each time a return to the only occupation she knows.’

  ‘Could she ever better herself?’ Mrs Hansard asked.

  ‘No, my love, no. A thousand times no. ’Tis one thing to occupy all your spare time alleviating the problems of the village, quite another to take a stray like her into such a small household as ours. Willum, yes, because he is sharp-witted and biddable, and I do not think his lameness any impediment to becoming my apprentice, once he has learnt all his letters and been to school. If so he wishes. With Willum one never knows.’

  ‘In any case, the poor doxy is hardly your problem, Mrs Hansard. It is the Chase family who owe her such a debt of gratitude. And from what Campion says, she is more than capable of having an opinion too.’

  ‘She says she has never had choice before. Life has happened to her,’ I recalled sadly.

  Now all the drama was over, there was not one of us who did not express a wish to retire early. It was fortunate for me I did, because well before it was light the next morning I was awoken by a vigorous beating on my chamber door.

  ‘He’s hurt mortal bad, your honour, and the gaoler would have me come for you!’ a young urchin announced as I opened the door a crack. ‘He says he’s like to die, and—’

  ‘Who is like to die?’

  ‘Why, yon murdering monster, of course. Mortal bad, he is. Come quick, your reverence.’

  ‘Bid them call Dr Hansard, too,’ I called, struggling into my clothes.

  ‘Why would that be, Father?’

  ‘Because if he is injured he needs medical care,’ I declared with an asperity somewhat allayed by my various appellations.

  ‘But he’s a wicked man, and is a-deserving of the gallows. That’s why they beat him up, a-hurting an innocent lad like that. His fellow-prisoners, your honour.’

  And why had the gaoler not stopped them? But I did not ask. Best it would be for the man himself to die now, but if justice were to be done, he must stand trial and take his much-deserved punishment.

  I picked up the little case in which I carried the sacrament – these days, with sickness in the village and Willum’s precarious state, I had it about me always.

  ‘Call Dr Hansard,’ I snapped, and ran down the stairs.

  They had moved the injured man into the condemned cell, not so much anticipating the verdict of a trial not yet held but, they said, to spare the other inmates the sound of his groans. As the messenger had declared, he was seriously ill, his body as bruised and battered as Willum’s had been. Hitherto his appearance had been neat, even finicking. Now his sober suit was torn and covered in blood and God knew what else.

  He recognised me, but turned his face to the wall.

  ‘Mr Furnival, I am not here to seek justice, let alone vengeance. I am here as your vicar, to offer you the sacrament. You may make a confession to me if you so desire.’ Obtaining no response, I added, ‘Are you a Catholic? I can send a priest to you, I am sure.’

  He shook his head dully.

  ‘Very well. But I would hope that you will unburden yourself – you would not wish to meet your Maker, as I believe you are likely to do very soon, with all your sins on your shoulders. Ask His forgiveness, at very least. And then we can share Communion.’

  He blinked wearily. ‘You’re determined to worm everything out of me one way or another, are you not, Parson? Yes, you’re as nosy of the rest of them.’

  I laughed gently. ‘So I may ask you if you chose the name Chamberlain for the reason I surmise: because chamberlain is a synonym for steward?’

  ‘Why will you not leave me alone? But you were kind to…to Miss Southey, and I honour you for that.’ He managed a painful smile.

  ‘Anne is your daughter, is she not?’ I asked gently, at last catching a shade of resemblance.

  ‘She is. And she disgraced me! Her bastard child… I spent everything I earned on her education, Parson, sent her to the most exclusive seminaries. She was fitted to be better than a governess, by talent if not birth.’

  ‘Indeed she was. She is a fine musician.’

  ‘And what
does she do? I find her a position at a great house and she lets a grand young man…get her with child. My granddaughter. The one who is even now afraid of me.’

  ‘Nay, nay, she is not afraid of you. Her parents fear losing her to you. There is a difference. Did you once lodge with them?’

  ‘Not I, but Anne. They were not so prosperous then. They let out rooms to respectable young women, and it was there that Anne went when she discovered that the handsome young visitor to her employers’ house…that she was carrying his child. When they discovered my daughter’s condition, I expected the Larwoods to throw her out, but they suggested…They had been childless for years. Perhaps they were heaven sent. I knew they were kind and honest. That is how my granddaughter comes to be in their hands. But the price was their total secrecy. Something I insisted on too.’ His eyes closed, and I feared I was losing him. But he forced them open again. ‘How did you find out? She changed her name…’ His breath came short and shallow.

  ‘I guessed. Your hair is snow-white now, but that often happens when it was very dark in one’s youth. Like your daughter’s, and your granddaughter’s. She is a good and pretty child who sings like an angel. Your daughter gave her up and returned to her profession?’

  He nodded.

  ‘A new employer would ask for references. How could she provide them?’

  ‘I wrote them. As if from my then employer, the Earl of Consett. The Bramhalls were too stupid to question them. But you will quite see that when you asked me to send for them I had to make sure they did not arrive. With these false papers she found a post with the Bramhalls. Believe me, I would never have put her name forward had I known that she would have to endure the insolence and viciousness that you have seen. And such an irony…such a vicious coincidence…that they insisted on visiting the house of the very—’ He stopped, coughing blood.

  ‘Do I infer that it was Hugo, now Lord Chase, who seduced her?’ My heart wrung with compassion. ‘So when you heard that he was still alive you must have wanted to everything in your power to prevent their meeting.’

  ‘I wanted him to die in the same gutter as he left her.’

  ‘But why kill the messenger? Henry was innocent of anything except kindness.’ I regarded him closely.

  He shook his head. ‘You know that I am a calm man, Parson, but when I lose my temper I fear for the consequences. I could not bear the thought of such a man inheriting all I had worked for. And so…I am sorry about that lad, too,’ he added. ‘I was like one possessed. Parson,’ he groaned, grasping my hand and looking me in the eye, ‘it was I who killed that man. Can I ever hope for forgiveness?’

  ‘Let me give you Communion, Mr Furnival, so that you may meet your Maker with your spirit refreshed. You have done wrong, and He, not your fellow men, will Judge you. But He is Merciful, and sent His Son to die upon the Cross that you may have eternal life…’

  EPILOGUE

  The notice sent to the Morning Post announced that the marriage would be a quiet one. It was indeed. The church was still almost empty as it awaited the bride. There were very few villagers standing along the path from the Hall to the church, and those that were had the air of idling away a pleasant spring morn rather than awaiting an event involving the Quality.

  After a slow start, the relationship had blossomed so swiftly that I was hard put to credit it. Gossip declared that Sir Marcus wanted to get his sister off his hands before he was put to the expense of his daughters’ coming-out ball, which Lady Chase had gently but firmly suggested should take place at his own London home. Although the Bramhalls had found every excuse to stay on at the Hall, by the end of the week they would at last have decamped. I understood that Mrs Hansard and Mrs Sandys had joked bleakly about counting the spoons. Mrs Sandys had been lucky to keep her post, but Lady Chase had considered that life at the Hall would be insupportable with not just a new steward having to learn her ways but a new housekeeper too. Mrs Sandys had swiftly realised that an interest in her ladyship’s charitable concerns was a means of more permanently establishing future employment, and was now busily promoting a scheme distributing to villagers’ cottage gardens spare seeds cadged from the Hall gardeners.

  Willum had already become a firm fixture in the Hansard household, where he was reluctantly applying himself to the task of learning skills in one year what other more fortunate children acquire in five. As yet he evinced not the slightest interest in learning Edmund’s medical skills, but attached himself to Matthew, daring all to laugh at the concept of a one-legged gamekeeper.

  Jem too still enjoyed his work with horses, but was applying himself to extra reading. He had already taken it upon himself to visit other villages’ model schools, and he too now occasionally joined Lady Chase’s charitable committee, though the wedding preparations kept her ladyship away from many meetings.

  The bride was late. It was her privilege, of course.

  I tried to keep my thoughts from her. I fiddled with my bands, looking about my beloved church, decked for the occasion with daffodils and more exotic blooms from her ladyship’s succession houses. At last I exchanged a wry smile with Dr Hansard, who had volunteered to be best man. Nonetheless, I thought of Lady Dorothea’s first visit to the church, the evenings of music we had shared – even the time when she had played for our watch night service. She had greeted the returning Lord Chase coolly enough. I was, I admit, surprised. Despite the uneven growth of hair, and considerable scarring abut his neck, he was a personable enough young man. One could imagine how attractive he had been to the young governess whose life he had ruined. But Lady Dorothea had flirted more and more insistently with me, until I believed our understanding had reached the point when I should apply to Sir Marcus for permission to address his sister.

  I did so after dinner one evening.

  Sir Marcus was waiting for me when I quitted the drawing room.

  ‘It gives me great pleasure to hear you and my sister perform at the fortepiano together,’ he began, drawing me into the library and closing the door, ‘but you must know, Campion, that I am looking for a better marriage for her than to a country parson. A lady of her looks, accomplishments and birth should be looking for a far more distinguished alliance. Do I make myself clear?’

  I felt the blood rush to my face. Whether it was anger or embarrassment I could not tell. ‘I assure you, sir, that any intentions—’

  ‘I see that I did not make myself clear. You are, Mr Campion, to have no intentions. Good evening to you.’ He rang the bell for the footman, who contrived not to look astonished that such a regular visitor was suddenly subject so such formality.

  And within three days the engagement between Hugo, Lord Chase, and Lady Dorothea Bramhall was announced.

  The following morning I sought out Bess, still the young man’s nurse – and more. She seemed cheerful enough. ‘He’s already made a will naming this little feller.’ She patted her belly. ‘Oh, yes! I’m increasing, Parson. Having Lanky’s brat. And he was conceived with love, not out of duty, so he’ll be a happier kid than any of hers.’ She jerked her head towards the Hall.

  ‘But he is not going to marry you,’ I said sadly.

  ‘Lor’ bless you, Parson, it don’t bother me! Why should it? It’s not what my sort are used to, and I’ve done better than most. He’s promised me – or rather, this nipper of his – a nice little cottage on one of his estates. He ain’t half rolling in lard, Parson.’

  ‘If you are happy, he has done exactly what he ought, and I honour him for it,’ I declared, though I thought I detected the hand of his compassionate mother, who had at last managed to overcome her repugnance of Bess – but only now that her son was firmly promised to another. As I turned to leave, I could not forbear to ask, ‘And Lady Dorothea – what does she say?’

  ‘Have to ask her that yourself. ’Cept I heard as how you was sweet on her, which makes is a bit awkward for you, don’t it? I reckon a decent geezer like you can do better nor that. It’s different for the nobs, though, ain’t
it? Have to marry to suit their families.’

  Hardly knowing that I spoke out loud, I said, ‘She is prepared to marry in those conditions?’ I was aghast. ‘And he…?’

  ‘He thinks he’s in love with her. But I’ve been talking to that nice old biddy what guards the gates, and she says she’s such a cold fish…Well, I knows what I knows, Parson, and I’ll say no more ’cos it’s you what they’ve got to make their vows to, ain’t it? And I reckon you’d be all squeamish if you didn’t think they meant them. So all I’ll say is that Lanky’ll make a good husband and father. So there. And that’s the last you’ll get from me. Except to say you might christen my lad when he’s born.’

  I bowed, and found myself smiling, despite the turmoil within. ‘I shall do so with the greatest pleasure, Bess. And if I were you I would ask Mother Powell to stand as his sponsor. She is as kind a woman as you’ll meet.’ And, what I did not add, was that if Mother Powell approved of Bess, she would not find it so hard to survive in her very unusual – and many would think deplorable – circumstances.

  How could Lady Dorothea consent to the marriage, knowing that her husband’s love child was not to be tucked away in an obscure corner but living openly on his land? She must know that her husband was merely infatuated with her, that this was to be a simple dynastic marriage. I sighed – a lady whom I had wanted for own my true wife, agreeing to such a match!

  Mrs Hansard happened to drop by, with a recipe, she said, for Mrs Trent. In the event she tucked her arm in mine and drew me into the vegetable garden, from which the gardener had mysteriously absented himself.

  ‘You must understand that for some families marriage is still a business, Tobias.’

  ‘I think that they prefer to call it duty,’ I said. ‘However, my sisters and brothers have been fortunate enough to follow where their hearts, not their purses, lay. And I hoped that such – such prostitution – was a thing of the past. Maria, think of it – a woman of sense, of taste, marrying a man knowing that his heart is engaged elsewhere.’