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

  “So he could have been thrown and be dead in a ditch,” said Carswell. “That would be convenient.”

  “Yes, very. However, his head groom reckons Yardley is a skilled horseman. He is also assiduous, not to say extravagant, in the care of his horses. I saw that for myself on my visit to the stables. He is not going to entrust such an expensive animal to just anyone. So, the livery stables will be our first point of attack. If we can find the horse, we raise our chances of finding him. Oh, and there is a Yardley monogram on the saddle – the letters ‘Y’ and ‘W’ entwined, as we saw on the sheets.”

  “Well, that is certainly memorable,” said Carswell.

  “The other thing we know is that he has a definite taste for very young women,” Giles went on, “an area of the vice-trade which, despite all our best efforts, seems to persist in Northminster. It may be one of the reasons he comes here.”

  “He could be propping up that business to some extent,” said Carswell, “given he has money.”

  “Quite. So with luck he will be known here, by someone in the trade. Not that they will want to tell us that, given their livelihood may depend on it. However, Holt may be able to help us. I have had him looking into this problem for me, prior to this business. He has been developing sources of information.”

  Carswell looked a little surprised at this.

  “He’s on the books of the office?” he said.

  “Very discreetly,” said Giles. “None of the men we have at the moment have his talent for this kind of work, though one or two of them may learn it in time. He has. He’s back from his holiday today, fortunately. I am meeting him later. We are going to make a tour of some of the less salubrious districts.”

  “Do you think you should, sir?” said Carswell, going to the window and looking out at the rain. “It looks as if it will be a foul night.”

  “I have brought the Whithorne weather with me, haven’t I?”

  “It might be best for you to take stock for an evening and get some rest. And what difference will an evening make, in all truth? He does not know we are after him yet.”

  “Unless Earle has warned him.”

  “You think that possible?”

  “Yes,” said Giles. “Anyway, I have put a watch on his office and his house, just to see there is no attempt at flight. And if you can continue your good work with Miss Rivers, and get her to admit to his name, then we have grounds for arrest.”

  “That might take a day or two,” said Carswell.

  There was a tap at the door. It was Sukey Connolly.

  “The Professor is in a bad way again,” she said. “Will you come down? I took in his tea, and he was almost rolling around on the floor in agony.”

  They left without another word, and Giles followed, in case he could be of any assistance, which was just as well for he was needed to help lift the old gentleman onto the chaise under the window. He was in a very sorry, distressed state, describing his condition in a voice hoarse with pain, as like being stabbed by a hundred daggers. Carswell gave him something for the pain and suggested he retire for the night.

  “It is the same as before,” he said. “An acute gastric acid attack. This type of condition is a little out of my present area,” he said. “You might send for Dr Pooley in the morning. He has quite a practice in this sort of thing. In fact, I will call on him tonight and tell him to come tomorrow, if you like?”

  “That would be very kind, thank you,” the old man gasped. “You are all so very kind.”

  “Where is your son?” asked Giles. “Perhaps we should get him for you?”

  “Still at his work, I think. He has taken to it very well.”

  “What does he do?”

  “He is in the counting house at Mr Hardie’s manufactory. Mr Hardie is a distant cousin of my late wife. She was from Northminster. He has been very kind to us and I hope Georg is repaying him a little with his labours.”

  “I’m sure so,” said Sukey who was gathering up the teacups. “So no dinner for you tonight, sir, I’m afraid.”

  “It is this lady’s excellent cooking,” the Professor said. “That is what we must blame!”

  “I think that is a compliment,” said Sukey with a smile, going to the door. “I’ll get the fire made up in your bedroom, sir, and the bed warmed. It will be more comfortable for you then.”

  “Would you like me to send your son home?” said Giles. “I shall be going that way shortly.”

  “You are very kind,” said the Professor. He was struggling to sit up. “And Mrs Connolly, what a good woman! I am amazed she is not a wife, or shortly to be one, especially in this houseful of likely bachelors. Yes, Herr Doctor? Some of us more likely than, others, I think, Herr Major?” he added with a conspiratorial chuckle. “I am feeling much better now. It will not be necessary to fetch Georg. In fact, it is better perhaps that you do not.”

  “But you will still go to bed and rest, sir?” said Carswell.

  “Ja, ja. I promise that. But tell me, Herr Doctor, did you remember that tale? The one that your nurse quarrelled with the cook about? Although that sounds like a tale in itself, do you not think?” Giles found himself smiling at that.

  “I cannot, I’m sorry,” said Carswell.

  “Oh well, another fish lost from my net. Perhaps you, Herr Major, have a tale for me? Where is your home?”

  “Northumberland. Near Alnwick.”

  “Near the Scottish border, I believe?”

  “Not so very far.”

  “Then you will have some excellent tales. That is a good country for them. What sort of family are you from, if you do not mind me asking?”

  “Nothing very remarkable,” said Giles. “But we have been there a long time, if that means anything.”

  “For stories, yes. In the same house?”

  “Yes.”

  The Professor glanced around him. “I must get my notebook ready.”

  “You are going to bed, sir,” said Carswell. “Remember?”

  “And I must go to work,” said Giles. “But when you are feeling better, you ought to talk to my sister, Professor. She probably remembers them better than I do. And there is another lady, Mrs Maitland, who has ghost stories from her nurse. We were talking of them the other night, were we not, Mr Carswell?”

  “Yes, but they will have to wait until you are rested, and certainly until Dr Pooley has seen you,” said Carswell.

  “Ach, yes, of course, of course,” said the Professor, staggering to his feet. “You are very right. But I worry that I shall never get them all, and there is so much still to be done.” He gestured across the room which was littered with scholarly detritus. “So much...”

  When they were alone together again, Carswell said, “With any luck Pooley will send the pair of them off to Stanegate to take the waters.”

  “Surely he will have to stay and work?” said Giles.

  “Not if I lay it on thickly enough with Pooley,” said Carswell. “The son will be a necessary part of the recovery.”

  “Has he offended you?” Giles said.

  “Yes,” said Carswell. “In regard to Mrs Connolly.”

  “Surely –”

  “Ask Mr and Mrs O’Brien,” said Carswell. “They seem to be quite convinced by his attentions. And Mrs O’Brien thinks that Sukey...”

  “That is nonsense,” said Giles. “And you know it.”

  “I think I do,” said Carswell. “But sometimes, how can one ever be certain?”

  “That’s a bad habit,” said Giles, shocked that Carswell could even entertain such an idea. “To be uncertain in such matters. It has to be an article of faith.”

  “You sound like my father,” said Carswell.

  “But it should not enter your head. Especially in such a case. Mrs Connolly is –”

  “Even when the evidence suggests otherwise?”

  “Is not a person to be doubted,” Giles said. “She is your wife, Carswell.”

  “But she is not.”

  “In all
but name, she is.” said Giles. “What you have between you is a marriage, you are bound together now, and no good will come if you allow such foolish thoughts to enter into you head. I would have thought you would have more sense. To doubt the character of such a woman as Sukey? What the devil are you thinking?”

  He had not meant to express himself so strongly but there was something about Carswell’s petty quibbling that infuriated him. He could not imagine, had he been the lucky recipient of Sukey’s affections, that he would ever have doubted them.

  “You didn’t see them together,” said Carswell. “He was teaching her the damned polka, and she was...” He went to the door. “I’m going to see Pooley,” he added, and left, banging the door behind him.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  “After you’d gone home, sir,” said Holt, coming in the next morning with Giles’ clothes, “I did have a bit of luck. Remember what I was saying about the woman they call Mrs Hill? Got myself an introduction. Or at least an address. Whether she will speak to me or not, I don’t know. But it’s a house up in Bull Lane, you know, behind the Rag Market. Somewhere called Bridle Yard. Not heard that name before, I have to say.”

  “I’ve heard the name plenty of times,” said Giles, putting down his razor and going to the large plan of the city that hung on his bedroom wall. “But I have never found it on any map. It is an alias. I suspect it might be this one, Martins Lane, in reality, but I have never been able to prove it.”

  Holt came and stood beside him.

  “They told me it was to the left of the Green Dragon. Which is about there, isn’t it, sir?” he said. “Martins Lane is as likely as anywhere.”

  “That would be interesting if it is the case. Well done, Mr Holt, an excellent bit of work. You were right to send me home.”

  “One fellow is easier to trust than two, sir, with all respect,” Holt said. “In this line, at least.”

  “A good maxim,” said Giles, returning to the looking glass and his half-shaven face. “So you will attempt to talk to her?”

  “If I can sir,” said Holt. “Now, which cravat today, sir? The black figure or the navy?”

  -o-

  When Giles arrived at the office, he discovered Mrs Maitland waiting for him. She was sitting on one of the benches in the hall with a small portmanteau on the floor by her feet. She had the look of someone who had run away from home.

  “You did give me your card,” she said, rising to meet him.

  “Certainly,” he said, a little surprised at her direct manner.

  “Charles has gone missing,” she said. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Let’s go into my office,” he said, taking up her bag.

  She nodded and followed him upstairs.

  His two clerks in the outer room leapt to their feet as they came in. Both had papers and information to press on him, but he waved them away and steered Mrs Maitland through to his office.

  He closed the door and saw her glance about. Unlike his rooms at the Unicorn which had had a certain picturesque charm about them, his room here was small and strictly utilitarian.

  “He’s here in Northminster,” Giles said. “At least, he was yesterday.”

  “He was?”

  “He called at my house yesterday and the day before. I did not see him, but Mrs Connolly my landlady, did. He came to see Miss Rivers. He did not talk to you or leave you any sort of communication?”

  “No! He simply left, having bribed Imbray to stay silent about it, which makes me extremely angry. To bring a servant into a family quarrel! I shall have to think of giving him notice now.”

  “I see,” said Giles. “So he did not confide in you at all?”

  “No!” she said. “He certainly did not. And why you thought that he might –”

  “My apologies,” he said.

  “So where is he now?”

  “Still here, I think. He has a reason to remain.”

  “Which is?”

  “That is for him to tell you,” said Giles.

  “Why are you protecting him?”

  “I gave him my word.”

  “Yes, yes, of course you did,” she said. “That wretched conversation. Your gentlemen’s agreement.”

  “I don’t like to break my word. The circumstance was a delicate one.”

  “What on earth was it that passed between you?” she said. “You must tell me!”

  “I don’t think I may,” he said. “He must do that.”

  “Have you any notion how infuriating this is?” she said.

  “Yes, and I apologise for my part in it. Look, let me talk to him again. Let us see what can be done,” he said. “You can be sure he is no danger. He’s here and that is as much as can be managed.”

  “Where is he staying?” she said.

  “That I don’t know. He may have mentioned it to Mrs Connolly.”

  “Then I will go and talk to her,” she said, going to the door. “After all, I cannot take up any more of your time. Your clerks looked eager for your ear.”

  “I will send someone to find him,” said Giles, blocking her way. “It will be easy enough.” Certainly he supposed it would be easier to find Lord Milburne than Yardley. “Yes?”

  She hesitated for a moment, and then collecting herself, said, “Yes, yes, I suppose you are right. And in all likelihood he has gone to the same hotel we stayed at when we came here before to see the lawyers.”

  “The Mitre or the Blue Boar, perhaps?” Giles said.

  “The Mitre,” she said. “And why did I not go straight there and ask? You must think me quite the fool now, Major Vernon, wasting your time.”

  “You were worried.”

  “I was angry,” she said. “A far more dangerous condition.”

  “You have every right to be angry with him,” Giles said.

  “But it does not mean I should indulge myself,” she said.

  “Do you want me to rebuke you for it?” he could not help saying.

  “That would imply an intimacy that we have not quite...” she said, and gave a nervous laugh. “Or have I charged down a fence or two, coming here, unbidden and asking you to deal with my difficulties when previously I should not have dreamt of asking anyone for help?” Her voice wavered as she finished this speech, and she turned away. “I cannot...” she stopped, and then attempted again. “Perhaps you should rebuke me for other things – though the Lord knows there will be quite a list!”

  He could not resist taking her hand. Her discomfort moved him intensely.

  “You told me yourself that you believed that the difference between sinners and saints is that the latter never face real temptation. Remember? As a sinner myself, I found that consoling.”

  She twisted her hand so it was about his, and squeezed his fingers for a moment before releasing herself.

  “I will go and find him for myself,” she said. “And you will not send one of your men for him. You have more serious business to deal with than this, at present.”

  “Might I suggest something?” Giles said. “That you hold your fire a little, and let him alone for now?”

  “There may be some advantage in that,” she said. “I do need to compose myself.”

  “Quite,” he said. “Now, I have some business this morning on the far side of town, and that will take me in the way of a lady I should very much like you to meet.”

  “Yes?”

  “My sister, Mrs Fforde.”

  “Your sister?” she said.

  “She lives in the Minster Precincts. Her husband is the Canon Treasurer. I think you will like each other, and her house is a better place to wait for your recalcitrant boy. He can come and find you. I will have Mrs Connolly send him there if he comes calling again.”

  “Will she not mind being imposed upon?” said Mrs Maitland.

  “She will not,” said Giles. “In fact...” He stopped, for she had given his arm a brief, light touch.

  “Are you sure?” she said.

  “She wi
ll be glad to know you. And, she will have to know you soon enough.”

  “You think so?” she said, in a manner that attempted to be arch, but she could not disguise the tremor in her voice.

  “She will like you,” he said. “I am sure of it.”

  “She may think...” she said. “After all, I have nothing.”

  “I have nothing either,” he said. “And she is used to my wilfulness.”

  She shook her head and began to laugh. He could not help laughing as well and they stood there for a moment, in a state of what could only be described as nervous hysteria, until there was a brisk knock at the door.

  “I shall have to deal with them,” he said. “Give me ten minutes.”

  -o-

  Half an hour later found them walking through the Minster Precincts in the direction of his sister’s residence, the Treasurer’s House. Giles was pointing out the famous array of carved saints and apostles that decorated the west entrance to the Minster, as a polite host was bound to do, and Mrs Maitland, the equally polite guest, stopped and looked up at them.

  “And that, I think, is St John – the Evangelist, not the baptist.”

  “Yes, I see him – how well they have lasted all these centuries,” she said. “Not a broken nose among them!” She gave a sigh. “Really, I do not think I should impose myself.”

  “It will not be an imposition,” Giles said. “And it’s too late now – that’s my brother-in-law coming out of the door.”

  Lambert Fforde was not alone. Accompanying him was a taller, slighter younger man, also in clerical dress, who strongly resembled him. Giles now remembered that Edward Fforde, Lambert’s younger brother and a rising man at Oxford, was visiting. They spotted Giles with Mrs Maitland and at once came over to them.

  “Giles, how good to see you!” said Lambert, shaking his hand. “I thought you had been carried away on business for some time.”

  “I was carried back, fortunately,” Giles said. “Mrs Maitland, may I present my brother-in-law, Canon Fforde, and his brother, Dr Fforde? Gentlemen, this is Mrs Maitland. We were on our way to call on you, as a matter of fact.”