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

  “You say they were eager?” said Carswell.

  “Yes,” said Earle. “All women are, at heart. They say they don’t like it, but they are as bad as us fellows, if not worse.”

  “So there were several occasions when this took place?” said Giles.

  “Two or three at most. And I promised her marriage, sir, remember that.”

  “And was it only Miss Barker with whom you had congress?”

  There was a little silence.

  “Miss Rivers as well?” Giles prompted.

  “As I said – they were not unwilling.”

  “How did this business begin, Mr Earle? Presumably these young ladies were in a state of innocence at some point before you and Yardley set to debauching them.”

  “They were not virgins,” said Mr Earle. “I had no hand in that.”

  “But Yardley did?”

  There was a silence, then Earle said, “I am sure they were quite happy to give him that. He had a way with them.”

  “That did not amount to coercion?” put in Carswell, incredulously.

  “There was no coercion. Absolutely none. Good God, what sort of man do you think I am?”

  “A man of thirty who preys on a fifteen year old girl of his own class is a –” began Carswell.

  “We will let Mr Earle’s conscience speak to him, Mr Carswell,” said Giles, feeling that Carswell’s temper was about to get the better of him.

  “If he has one,” said Carswell.

  “Oh, I do believe he has one. Miss Barker’s death is a heavy weight, sir, is it not?”

  “I would have married her,” repeated Earle.

  “Tell me about your friendship with Mr Yardley. This business with the young ladies – presumably there were other adventures, previous to this one?”

  “There may have been,” said Earle.

  “But those were common girls – not so interesting, perhaps,” said Giles. “Not so piquant. There’s no fruit more sweet than that which is forbidden.”

  “Yes, I suppose so, if you put it like that. And as I have said, I was prepared to marry the girl.”

  “A great sacrifice, I’m sure,” said Giles. “Considering how wealthy she was.”

  “That has nothing to do with it.”

  “You did not propose to Miss Rivers,” he pointed out.

  “She was nothing more than a child.”

  “Whom you tupped just the same?”

  “I would not have laid a finger on either of them if I had thought they did not want the attention. But the fact they were there in the first place – they were eager, sir, I tell you, eager and willing.”

  “Does the name Mary Taylor mean anything to you, Mr Earle?” said Giles.

  Earle shook his head.

  “She was a kitchen-maid at the Falcon,” he said. “A girl of fifteen or so. Very pretty. You don’t remember her upstairs in that sitting room, as an amusement, perhaps last winter? Supplied by Yardley, of course.”

  Earle shook his head.

  “Yardley is away from home. I understand from Miss Yardley that he often goes away for days at a time without telling a soul. Perhaps he told you where he goes, since you seem to be in close association.”

  “I really wouldn’t know,” said Earle, with a shrug.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course.”

  “And you have told us too much already,” said Giles. “He won’t be pleased with you.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” said Earle.

  “Come now, a man like Yardley would not admit you to such a dangerous enterprise without being sure you could keep quiet. Which you cannot, it seems. He is not going to be amused if he finds out about this. Loyalty, I suspect is important to him. However, the more you tell us, the better for you, Earle, because I want you to understand Yardley’s day is over. He is a dead man. Time to change your allegiances.”

  Earle went and sat down, his head in his hands. He was breathing hard.

  “I believe,” he began slowly, “though I cannot give you any evidence for this, that he goes to Northminster. He has some property there. But he goes incognito. That is all I can tell you. I swear it.”

  -o-

  “Do you believe him?” Carswell said as they walked back to the Bridewell.

  “I don’t know,” said Giles. “But it is at least a glimmer of a direction we can follow. Though not to the exclusion of others. It is certainly a place where he could lose himself and wallow in vice for a few days, despite all our efforts. And it will be easy enough to discover where his property is.”

  “Would he be so stupid to stay there?” said Carswell.

  “He was stupid enough to think that no-one would look in the farmhouse. Perhaps he believes himself invincible and has been getting away with monstrous behaviour for some time.”

  “I can believe it. And as for those poor girls,” Carswell said, “I do not believe they were consenting for a moment. That is why she gave Latimer’s name – she was too afraid to tell us the real culprit. Yes?”

  “Very likely.”

  “Mrs Connolly made the observation,” continued Carswell, “that in such cases the victim is always blamed.”

  “That’s unfortunately often the case.”

  “I can easily believe that Yardley bullied them into supplying sexual favours, threatening to expose them as whores if they did not continue to comply. Perhaps he was sweet and charming, and then...”

  “You think he raped them?” Giles said.

  “What about during those tea parties with Mrs Yardley? Could he not have lured them off into another room, for a while? He’s strong enough, and wily. I understand that this is how these things happen.”

  “Oh, yes?” Giles said, glancing at him.

  “It was something Mrs Connolly said,” said Carswell after a moment. “She –”

  “A painfully gained insight,” Giles said, feeling angry to think what she might have suffered. “Well, at least we can put a stop to this animal.”

  “And the other man, the man in the white duster coat?” said Carswell. “Not Earle?”

  “No, I don’t think so.That’s another puzzle for us but that may not be a bad thing. It is a source of weakness for an enemy when he does not act alone. It may be the key to unlock a great deal more when we find him.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Felix arrived back in Northminster on the first mail coach from Whithorne, acting as a postman himself, with a sheaf of reports to be delivered to Captain Lazenby and various other officers at the Constabulary. Major Vernon was remaining in Whithorne for the rest of the day in order to quiz the household at the castle, and discover if he could find the names of any other known associates.

  Having taken his post to the Unicorn, Felix walked back to Silver Street. It was the Saturday market in Northminster, a small affair covering only a few streets, and nothing like the larger market on Thursday which was a great event. But this one was notable for the variety of things sold, including cheese and, in one corner by the old market hall, a small poultry market.

  Felix noticed an old woman sitting with a pen of guinea fowl, the birds which his mother set such store by and which had amused him in his childhood. Seeing them now, and thinking to please Sukey and restock her hen house, he went and picked out two likely creatures: one silver-grey, the other a pale buff.

  “Those are the best ones,” the woman said, as he handed over his money. “You have an eye for them, sir. Not everyone likes a glinner.”

  “Too good for the pot, that’s the trouble,” he said, watching as she packed them into a basket.

  “You’re right, sir,” she said. “Companions they are. I hope your lady likes them.”

  “I hope so too,” said Felix, and he set off with his peace offerings making their distinctive chirps.

  Margaret was sweeping the hall when he came in.

  “Where is Mrs Connolly?” he asked.

  “What have you got there, sir?” she asked, indicating
the now noisy crate under his arm.

  “Guinea fowl,” said Felix.

  “She’s in the kitchen, sir.”

  He went along the passageway and saw her through the open door. She was standing by the kitchen table, frowning over the open cookery book in her hand, while Martha the cook stood behind her at the range, stirring a pot.

  “Good morning, Mr Carswell,” Sukey said. “I didn’t think you would be back today.”

  “We have had a development,” he said, “and...” He pointed at the crate.

  She put down the book and came out into the passageway. There were servants observing them on both sides. There was no way of greeting her the way he wished.

  “I wonder if you have room for some more lodgers,” he said. “I know there are vacancies in the hen house.”

  “Let’s go into the garden,” she murmured, and went towards the back door. He followed her.

  “Guinea fowl,” he said, holding out the basket to her, when the door was safety shut and they were alone.

  “What?” she said, not taking the basket.

  “Guinea fowl. Much better than chickens. Able to scare a fox off.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. And these are beauties – come, let me show you.”

  He started off down the path to the hen house.

  “Glinners, the old lady called them,” he said. “How is Miss Rivers?”

  “Much better.”

  He put down the basket and took out the silver bird.

  “Good. What do you think of her?” he said, holding up the bird.

  “Oh, she’s strange,” said Sukey. “But very pretty.”

  “I thought you would see it,” he said. “And they don’t grub up the plants. So my mother says.”

  Sukey had taken the other bird from the crate and was admiring it, a broad smile on her face, which filled him with relief. To see her happy and at ease was, he realised, all he had wanted. She glanced at him, still smiling, and shook her head.

  “What?”

  “You,” she said.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You do like them, though?”

  “Yes, yes, I love them! Thank you!” she said, popping the bird into the run and watching it trot away. “Here, put the other in,” she said added.

  “You cannot eat them, of course,” said Felix. “Well, you can, but I defy you to do it. And the eggs are small.”

  “So not very sensible, then.”

  “There is more to life than that,” said Felix, grinning now as the silver bird rushed around exploring her new domain. “That one is such a character.”

  “Oh, I must tell you,” Sukey said, as they stood watching the birds. “Miss Rivers had a visitor.”

  “Who? When was this?”

  “Lord Milburne, yesterday afternoon. She was asleep, so I sent him away and told him to come back today. Was that the right thing to do?”

  “He did ask me where she was,” said Felix. “Yes, absolutely.”

  “He seems a nice enough fellow.”

  “The Major and his mother are old friends,” said Felix.

  “Really?”

  “Really,” said Felix, thinking of Mrs Herne giving them her blessing. He reached for Sukey’s hand, and she permitted it.

  “Your headache went away?” he said.

  “Yes,” she said, but took her hand away. “I must to get back to work,” she said. “Though I could stand here for hours looking at these ladies.”

  “You will have to find some names for them.”

  “That’s always a mistake. What if that fox comes back?”

  “Foxes are scared of them. In Africa they scare away lions, you know.”

  “I don’t believe that for one minute. And I won’t give them names, just in case. I can only stand so much heartbreak.” With which she went back into the house.

  He went back inside a few minutes later, having made sure the coop was secure, and its new occupants quite comfortable.

  He went up to Miss Rivers’ room, and found her in a stable condition. Agnes, one of Sukey’s maids, was sitting with her, knitting diligently in the lamplight.

  “You’ve eaten well, I see,” he said, noting the tray of empty plates which Agnes took away with her when he dismissed her.

  “Suppose so,” she said, assuming her usual sulky expression with him.

  “May I have a look at the wounds?” he said, drawing back the covers. “I shan’t be long.”

  “If you must.”

  He did so, and was pleased to see that they were healing satisfactorily.

  “When will I be able to go home?” she said, when he was done.

  “That depends,” he said. “Major Vernon will want to talk to you, and you probably know that things cannot go smoothly with you, given that it seems –”

  “Yes?” she said, with some hostility.

  “The best way you can help yourself is by being absolutely honest. About everything. That is my advice.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” she said.

  “For what it’s worth,” Felix said, “I was impressed. Practical chemistry isn’t the easiest branch of the sciences to master, and you managed quite a feat. The distillate percentage was remarkable. How did you do it? Triple distillation, yes? You must have been meticulous.”

  “What if I was?” she said, looking at him warily, yet he could see that her vanity had been piqued a little.

  “I am just saying that it was a nice piece of work. Professor Baxter, who taught me at Edinburgh,would have commended that to the class.”

  “Girls are not allowed to take chemistry classes,” she said.

  “No, and perhaps they should be,” he said.

  “In cloud cuckoo land,” she said, and he felt her bitterness – it was as strong as the prussic acid she had brewed. In her world, girls were repeatedly assaulted and bullied into silence instead of given books and lectures and a useful purpose in life. Bullied, he realised, into brewing destructive poisons which they gave to their friends to end their sufferings and bullied into tearing their own flesh up with broken glass.

  “Still,” he said, “there are books. One can learn a lot from the right books. You clearly did. I’ll get you some of mine. It will help you pass the time.” He got up and went towards the door.

  “Until you hang me,” she said.

  “What?” he said, turning back to her.

  “Well, surely that’s what you want?” she said. “To hang me? For giving the poison to Bel? Isn’t that what Major Vernon wants? Assisting in self-murder – it’s a capital offence, I understand.”

  “You don’t just read chemistry books, do you?” he said, sitting down. “And, no, we don’t generally hang fifteen year old girls in this country.”

  “They might make an exception for me,” she said, pulling herself up a little. “To make a proper example of me.”

  “You will have a defence counsel and he will make such a case that it will not come to that. No matter how much you might want it.”

  She looked across at him furiously.

  “But, what else am I to do?” she said. “What else has this world got for me? I would rather die! And at least I shall be famous for brewing poison. No, I shall be notorious.”

  “You might marry,” he said, at which she scowled.

  “Marriage!” she said. “No, I would rather hang.”

  “Lord Milburne called yesterday, asking after you, I’m told.”

  “How shallow do you think I am, sir?” she said. “No, I should rather hang. I told Bel I would not mind that. That was the only way she agreed to it.”

  “You don’t like him?” he said.

  “Have you met him?” she said.

  “Yes, briefly,” he said.

  “Did you like him?”

  “He seemed...” Felix searched for the word. “Inoffensive enough. And –”

  “And handsome and with a title? It is what every girl is supposed to want, isn’t it?”
r />   “All right, not Milburne,” said Felix, getting up again. “But some fellow may come along and you might revise your opinion of the whole business. Someone not at all like Lord Milburne. In the mean time, you are going to distract yourself with a solid course of reading, Miss Rivers. That is your best defence against these destructive thoughts, and you are intelligent enough to know you are wounding yourself with such attitudes.” She did not answer. “Botany, chemistry and physical science? Yes?” he said. “And I’ll quiz you on them. That should focus your mind.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “That’s entirely your business,” he said. “But I don’t think you are that stupid.”

  -o-

  “Well done,” said Giles, after he had read through the account of the conversation that Carswell had had with Miss Rivers. “That is a straightforward admission of guilt. But what we do with it, at this point, is another matter.”

  “Exactly,” said Carswell. “If we catch Yardley, and get him to admit to the rape of Miss Rivers and Miss Barker, her defence will look much stronger. If she can be persuaded to take counsel’s advice and admit she is a victim.”

  “You seem to have a high opinion of her intelligence. Self-preservation will have to come into play, once she realises she has a life worth preserving,” Giles said, laying down the paper.

  It was early evening and Giles had come back to Northminster. It was pleasant to be in his own sitting room in Silver Street with a pot of coffee made exactly to his liking. He poured out another cup, thankful for Sukey Connolly’s genius at such things.

  “Any new leads?” said Carswell. “No sightings?”

  What we have so far is this,” Giles said. “Yardley left Whithorne Castle on horseback yesterday morning, shortly after you last saw him, but his destination is unknown and he didn’t take any luggage. He did visit his banker in Whithorne five days ago, on the nineteenth, and withdrew twenty five pounds in small coin. So he’s solvent, and he may have other resources. He owns quite a lot of property in Northminster, but they are all good addresses and according to the rent roll, they are all let. But we shall check them all as a matter of course. His horse is perhaps our most useful lead. It is a young thoroughbred called Prince, a chestnut with a white blaze, sixteen and a half hands, and worth upwards of one hundred and fifty guineas. Somewhat temperamental, the groom at the castle told me.”