The Hanging Cage (The Northminster Mysteries Book 4) Read online

  “Making and supplying a poison?” Carswell said.

  “A clever counsel might argue it. Miss Barker had also been seduced, and wanted to end her life, and so turned to her friend, who having been in the same position was willing to help her. Almost an act of mercy.”

  “It’s you who are being merciful,” Carswell said, gulping down the remains of his coffee. “She wasn’t showing any sign of admitting anything, at least when I last spoke to her.”

  “Perhaps Mrs Connolly will get the rest out of her. Now, let us go and talk to Mrs Rivers. I want to see what she has to say about Latimer.”

  -o-

  “Mr Latimer?” said Mrs Rivers.

  “She was quite definite,” said Carswell.

  “Is it likely, do you think, ma’am, given what you know of him?” Giles said. Mrs Rivers glared at him, as she resented his implication. He decided he would press on. “There has been some intimacy between you, yes?”

  Eventually she spoke: “My daughter is ill – how can you take what she says seriously? She may have a fever, and goodness knows what is going through her mind these days.”

  “You don’t think it is at all a possibility?” said Giles.

  “No, no, not at all. He would not, I am certain. He is not that sort of man.” She added an emphatic shake of her head, and Giles hoped her faith in him was rewarded. That would leave Louisa Rivers guilty of a serious misdirection, but if what her mother had admitted was the truth, she was guilty of a great many things.

  “That will be all today, Mrs Rivers,” said Giles, thinking it was best to pursue some other avenues in the immediate future. “You are free to go.”

  “And when will I be allowed to see my daughter again?” she said.

  “As soon as it can be managed,” Giles said. “But you understand she is a person of interest to this investigation. Given what you have just told me.”

  “She is still just a child,” she said. “Please remember that.”

  When Mrs Rivers had left, Giles said, “About this accusation, there is no corroborative evidence, I take it? No helpful witness?”

  “There rarely is in such cases,” Carswell said with a sigh. “Regrettably. Those commonly supposed signifiers mean nothing in truth. The presence or lack of the hymen tells us nothing. I suppose the presence of certain diseases might signify it – if he infects her, for example, but who is to say it was not some other man who did the deed?”

  “We need to talk to Earle and to Latimer,” Giles said.

  “I have to go and see Mrs Yardley now,” said Carswell. “I will leave that dubious pleasure to you, sir, if I may.”

  -o-

  Felix was surprised to find Mr Yardley in attendance on his wife when he arrived at the castle. The occasion was the arrival of a new cradle which to Felix’s eye was a quite ridiculous object. Suspended on a frame, it resembled a small ornamental boat laid up for the winter. It had a wooden canopy finished with crockets, and the whole was further ornamented with flowing silken curtains, while a gilded pennant topped the whole edifice.

  But Mrs Yardley, sitting on her Gothic nursing chair, glowing in pink and gold damask robes, seemed as pleased with it as her husband. She made a charming picture, her crinkled pale hair still down, as she peered over the side at the sleeping infant. The Squire also gazed fondly down, his hand on the side of the cradle, as if about to set it rocking.

  “What do you think, sir, what do you think?” he asked Felix.

  “Very handsome,” said Felix.

  “German,” said the Squire, caressing the wooden frame. “Had it made in Bamberg. Such craftsmanship. One might take it for an original. In fact, there is a fragment of a cradle of similar design remaining in the Schloss there, but I believe this surpasses it.”

  “One could put five babies in it,” Felix said.

  “And note the armorial paintings, here and here. My wife’s, and my own.”

  “Very apt,” Felix managed to say, looking down at the occupant. “He looks comfortable. But might I have a look at him? All well with him, do you think, ma’am? Is he feeding as he should?”

  “He is feeding well,” said Mrs Yardley. “Yes, do take him, Mr Carswell.”

  Felix reached in and lifted out the child, and walked over to the window to see him in daylight. He stirred from his sleep and gazed up at Felix in such a way that he could not resist smiling down at him.

  “Too well,” said Yardley. “I have found two good women to take on the business. You cannot advise that my wife continues with such an indelicate task?”

  “If you are happy to continue, and there seems to be no difficulty with your milk, then I recommend it, ma’am,” Felix said, sitting down with the boy on the window seat. He laid him on the cushion beside him and began to check him over. “He is wonderfully strong already,” he added, as the baby grasped his finger. “Everything is looking very promising.”

  “God be thanked!” said Mrs Yardley. “And I shall continue to feed him.” She rose from her chair and came to see what Felix was doing with the baby.

  “Do not be hasty, my dear,” said Yardley.

  “I am not being hasty,” she said. “Mr Carswell recommends it. It is practically an order.”

  “Mr Carswell is not your husband,” said Yardley. “His ‘orders’ are not yours to obey.”

  “I shall feed him, Yardley, and that is that,” said Mrs Yardley.

  “My dear –”

  Mrs Yardley, her back to her husband, her gaze all on Felix and the baby, put up her hand to silence Yardley. She threw Felix a giddy smile, as if she was well aware of the pleasure and novelty of her defiance.

  “I have decided,” she went on. “And that is that.” The baby now began to howl. “Oh, you are hungry, my sweetheart,” she said and picked up the child. She then confidently and modestly latched him onto her breast, as if she were the most practised wet-nurse in the world. She settled herself in the nursing chair, the child still guzzling blissfully.

  “Oh, and Mr Carswell also advises,” she began, “that we do not resume intimacy for at least six months. Was it not at least six months, sir? For the sake of my health and for any future children I might bear.”

  Felix tried to be pleased that she had decided to broach this difficult subject herself, but he was not sure that being so to the point was quite the way to deal with a man like her husband. Yet he had to appreciate her courage and find his own.

  “What?” exclaimed Yardley. “Sir?”

  “It was a difficult labour,” Felix managed to say.

  Yardley marched over to him.

  “That is not the point,” said Yardley.

  “It is entirely the point!”

  “On what authority do you speak?” he said. “You are a police surgeon, sir, not an established accoucheur. Why should I listen to your opinion? You work with cadavers, do you not?”

  “I have also been responsible for the health of the constables and their families. Many of the men are married. I have plenty of experience, I assure you, and given the difficulty of Mrs Yardley’s labour, I would advise,” he took a breath, “no, strongly advise, that she does not conceive again for at least six months. Another pregnancy too soon might be dangerous. You do not want to leave this child without a mother!”

  Yardley scowled, and then getting Felix by the elbow hustled him out of the room, saying, “Let us take this conversation elsewhere, sir.” On the landing at the top of the stairs, he said, in quite another tone, “Of course she’s a charming creature, Carswell, and you can’t help getting a little tender for her. Many men do, and she’s a shocking flirt, all in, but I quite forgive her that. After all, she is my wife. But you mustn’t let her twist you about your finger, really.”

  “That is not the case, I assure you,” said Felix.

  “You aren’t married,” said Yardley. “And your attendance on her has been assiduous.”

  “It was neither more nor less than was necessary,” said Felix.

  “Whatever
, you are letting her lead you astray. I quite understand. Of course I might have expected a man of science to be a little more impartial, but with your interesting heritage...” He shrugged. “The hot blood of the Haraalds is quite an established thing, is it not? Blood will speak, even through a polluted line. Sir Roderick Haraald, the Steward of the North, was such a fellow, I believe. There is an account in an old chronicle that – well, I am sure you are familiar with it.”

  “Mr Yardley,” Felix said, with as much firmness as he could manage, “I have no interest at all in your wife and she is not manipulating me. I speak for entirely medical reasons. She has a delicate frame and if she is to bear more children for you, it must be done with consideration for that. You cannot risk intimacy until she is properly recovered. Six months at least, sir. I cannot advise less, and would recommend more.”

  Shaking his head, Yardley went on: “I believe that some women go stark raving mad after giving birth? Yes? Is that not the case here?”

  “Mrs Yardley is not showing any signs of that.”

  “But she is not being rational.”

  “She is being a perfect mother,” Felix retorted. “She is determined to do her best for your son, and for any future children you might have. That is no small thing. You should be grateful for it. Her mental state is completely unclouded. It is her physical well-being you must think about. To be blunt, you would not put a prize mare to stud so soon, would you?”

  “That is blunt!” exclaimed Yardley, and grabbed him by the forearm. “Too blunt! I should throw you down the stairs! But you are not worth the trouble. I will content myself with asking you to leave at once and you should be properly grateful for the mercy of your betters! And you will not come back again! You are dismissed forthwith!”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Returning to the Falcon, Felix found Major Vernon in the ballroom where they had first seen Miss Barker’s body. He was sitting on the edge of the platform, surveying the room.

  “I’ve been thinking about that ball,” he said, seeing Felix. “Let us imagine that something happened that evening to make Miss Barker take the poison she had procured from her friend, Louisa.”

  “A double dose,” said Felix.

  “Why did she give her so much?”

  “Because she didn’t know how strong it was? It had to be a haphazard process, even accounting for the skill she had. A distillation of crushed laurel leaves in spirit – there was no way she would have known how strong it would be – she had no means of testing it. So she gave her the lot, in the hope it would be enough.”

  “It must have been more than enough. Gosforth died within moments, assuming he was drinking from the same bottle that he found in her hand in her bedroom.”

  “I should attempt to make some prussic acid in a still of the same size,” Felix said. “And see how much I can yield at that strength. The fact that both bodies had exactly the same concentration suggests that the source is the same. But the same bottle – why do you say that?”

  “I am just hypothesising. There was so little evidence in Miss Barker’s room. Someone had been over it. In fact, two people might have been over it. Firstly Gosforth, making his nocturnal husbandly visit, finds her dead, flask in hand. Does he remove the flask and whatever else he considers incriminating or damaging? Then Mrs Ampner arrives in the morning, with ample chance to remove and destroy any evidence that does not cast her in a good light. I keep wondering if there were not a note or a diary or some such. Young women confide their secrets to each other or failing that – to paper.”

  “If there was, we would be lucky to find it,” said Felix.

  At this moment, a waiter came in.

  “Can I help you, sir?” he said.

  “Yes, Ned, you can,” said Major Vernon, getting up. “You were at work during the assembly ball on Tuesday last?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So, I imagine from my experience of these things, that the dancing happens in here, with the chaperones and the young ladies sitting along the wall, there.”

  “Yes, sir, that’s the usual thing.”

  “And which room is the card room?”

  “That one through there, sir.”

  “And supper is served where?”

  “Back there,” Ned said, pointing behind him.

  “And is there a room where the men go for a smoke and something stronger to drink? And perhaps for a hand of cards, and to talk business?”

  “I suppose there might be,” Ned said after a moment.

  “Might be?”

  “I shouldn’t really say, sir,” said Edward.

  “Does someone in particular take this room?”

  “There are a few gentlemen who subscribe, sir. I don’t know if I should say who.”

  “Show me the room, will you?”

  “Now, sir?”

  “Yes, now.”

  Ned went reluctantly and opened the door to the supper room.

  “This way, sir,” he said.

  They followed him into the supper room, and into the kitchen passageway beyond. There, tucked away, was a tight little staircase, on the half-landing of which was a door leading to a nicely furnished sitting room.

  “This is convenient,” said Major Vernon, looking about him at the card tables and velvet benches. “I suppose there is a door to the backyard down near the kitchen?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Ned.

  “I went through it myself to go to the castle,” Felix said.

  “So if a few gentleman wished to bring a little entertainment to the ball, other than cigars and spirits, they could easily do so. Yes, Ned?”

  “Yes,” said Ned. “And they do.”

  “Girls from the town?” the Major threw in carelessly. “Yes?”

  “Light girls, yes, sir, sometimes,” said Ned, after a long moment. “Master says we are to turn a blind eye because the gentlemen pay him to turn a blind eye.”

  “And who are these gentlemen, Ned?” said Major Vernon sitting down on one of the velvet couches and stroking the cushion. “Who like these comforts?”

  “I shouldn’t really, sir –” Ned began.

  “It won’t lose you your place,” said Major Vernon. “You need to tell me.”

  “Are you sure, sir?”

  “Yes,” Major Vernon said. “Tell me.”

  Ned took a deep breath and then said, “The Squire, and Mr Earle, and Mr Baines – well, at least before he went away from town for his health. I believe he got the clap.”

  “And anyone else?” Ned shook his head. “You’re sure about that?”

  “Those are the only men I’ve seen in here,” said Ned.

  “Mr Latimer?”

  “Oh no, sir,” said Ned. “He likes to dance too well for that. He never leaves the ballroom, nor Mrs Rivers’ side for that matter.”

  “And you are quite sure these were light women going up there?”

  “Well, once I saw a couple of them. But on that night, the night you’re asking about, sir...” He glanced away.

  “Sit down, Ned,” said Major Vernon. “Something is troubling you.”

  “I’ve said too much already,” Ned said, not sitting down.

  “Come now,” said Major Vernon. “You need to tell me. No harm will come of it.”

  Ned perched on a chair and said again, “I don’t want to lose my place.”

  “What did you see?”

  “Miss Barker.”

  “Alone?”

  He shook his head.

  “The Squire was there. I was taking in some wine. She was sitting where you are now, sir, and she was –” He continued in an embarrassed whisper. “Arranging her skirts – well, pulling them down to cover herself. As if, well, you can guess what I thought, sir.”

  “And how did she seem? How did she look, I mean?”

  “I don’t know, sir. She was staring away, at the floor. Like I suppose, she couldn’t bear anyone to see her, which is no surprise, if he’d just –”

  “Q
uite,” said Major Vernon. “Well, Ned, that is excellent information and you should not worry about telling me anything else you saw. You are certain this was the occasion last week?”

  Ned nodded, and then blurted out, “The Squire will kill me,” he said, “if he finds I’ve told you. He beat a man senseless out Barsford way. It’s common knowledge, but Mr Earle hushed it all up. He hushes it all up for him, being the coroner and that.”

  “Do you know why he beat the man?”

  “It was about some lass. It was her brother.”

  “You don’t know his name?”

  Ned shook his head.

  When Ned had gone, Felix said, “And Yardley just threatened to throw me downstairs.”

  “It is time I finally met this man,” said Major Vernon getting up and looking around the room. “What’s that?” he said, pointing over Felix’s shoulder. Felix turned and saw a tiny scrap of white fabric caught between the closed doors of a corner cabinet.

  Major Vernon opened the door, and retrieved the object. He held it up – it was a delicate gauze scarf, that was easy to imagine draped around the bare shoulders of a lady in a ball dress.

  “Should be easy to find who this belongs to,” said Major Vernon. “It looks expensive, don’t you think?”

  -o-

  “The Master has gone out, sir,” said Squire Yardley’s butler.

  “And when will he be back?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, sir.”

  “This evening?”

  “I really can’t say, sir.”

  “Do you know where he went?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Tell Mr Yardley that I called,” said Major Vernon. “Here is my card.”

  “Of course, sir,” said the butler.

  “Oh, and could you pass this about the servants’ hall?” Giles added, taking from his pocket one of the ‘Missing Person’ bills that O’Brien had printed up for him. “Any information about this would be of great interest. Even the slightest bit of gossip.”

  “As you wish, sir,” said the butler, and was about to turn and go, but Giles beckoned him back.

  “How long have you been with the family, Mr...?”