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

Surprisingly, given the care lavished on the labels and the extravagance of the ribbons, the name of the supplier was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps it was discretion on the part of the maker, or Miss Barker had amused herself making up her own concoctions and decorating the containers. But why would Fellowes at once suspect an apparently harmless-looking tonic?

  Whatever the case was, Carswell would no doubt wish to test them all.

  -o-

  “And you are certain it was this bottle that was full when you left Miss Barker?” Giles asked Susan, Miss Barker’s maid. He had asked her to come up to the bedroom.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And did she say anything to you about it, what it was for?”

  “No, sir.”

  “But you saw it there and saw it was full?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Was it there when you were helping Miss Barker to dress for the ball?”

  “I think so, sir,” said Susan.

  “Did you tidy up the dressing table after she had left?”

  “Yes, as I always do, sir.”

  “Were there pots and bottles all over the table?” said Giles, indicating the contents of the baskets.

  “I don’t really know, sir. I suppose so.”

  “But you are certain the bottle was there when Miss Barker was getting ready for bed?”

  “Are you saying I didn’t see what I saw, sir?”

  “No, I just want to get it straight for myself. How many candles were lit?”

  “I can’t remember sir,” she said, with anxious despair in her voice. “I just know what I saw: that the bottle was full that night and in the morning it wasn’t. And that my mistress was...”

  “Yes?”

  She hesitated and glanced away.

  “Nervy,” she said at last. “Definitely.”

  “But not melancholy or crying?”

  “No, no. Worried, maybe. Not that she said anything about such things to me. She was a good mistress, but not that sort. I wish I could tell your more, sir. She told me to go to my bed after I’d unlaced her, and that she could manage the rest. She told me to remember to say my prayers. And so I went and that – was that.” She sighed.

  “Were you with your mistress when Dr Fellowes came in?”

  “Yes. I didn’t want to leave her, sir.”

  “And when did he first ask you about the bottle on the dressing table? Or did you point it out to him?”

  “I did. I told him that it had been full and now it was empty. I was thinking all sorts, that she – well, she was so...” She made a pantomime of agitation. “I didn’t know what was in that stuff. I mean people don’t just die, do they, not without a breath of sickness first?”

  “You don’t know where she got any of these things from, I suppose?” he said, holding up one of the beribboned bottles.

  “No.”

  “She didn’t make any of these up herself?” He held it out to her and she took it and stared at it.

  “No, no, I don’t think so.”

  “You said she did not confide in you, Susan, but from your observations of her, would you expect she would take her life?”

  “No, sir,” she said, emphatically. “That is what I can’t understand – why are they all saying that, sir? She was very good, always reading her Bible and telling me to do the same. She knew it was a terrible sin. I can’t imagine she’d do it. You mustn’t think that she would sir, I beg you. She was very kind and such a good mistress to me.”

  -o-

  Giles questioned the other servants, all of whom confirmed Susan’s account of things. There was a sense of incredulity at her death, as well as considerable and perhaps uncommon respect for the late Miss Barker. Her virtue was never doubted and her piety much spoken of. Yet intimate with the servants she had not been. They apparently knew nothing.

  When he was done, he asked his driver Jack Smith whether anything had been said about Miss Barker that was less complimentary, when he been drinking his tea in the kitchen. Smith shook his head. He was a good driver, and had an excellent way with horses, but he was taciturn and lacking in curiosity about his fellow men. It would have been better to bring Holt with him on such an expedition, but Holt was taking a week’s holiday, visiting his sisters and various other relatives in the north of the county.

  Although it was still raining when he had finished his business at the Ampner residence, Giles sent Smith with the carriage and the evidence back to the Falcon without him. He wanted to walk alone. He felt the need of some exercise to start his mind working on the various problems that Miss Barker’s death had thrown up.

  The rain had eased up a little as he set off, although it was still not by any means enjoyable to walk through.

  Giles tried to distract himself with the puzzle that the situation presented, but he could not help but feel as if the cold, dank hand of Death himself was leading him along the deserted streets of Whithorne. He could not forget the youth, beauty and apparent virtue of a woman who now lay in her coffin at the undertakers, her mortal remains awaiting the violation of a post-mortem. He hoped her spirit had found some kind of rest; that her piety had not been in vain and that there was some kind of deliverance for her.

  Chapter Three

  An hour or so hour later, Felix was beginning to feel some despair. Kneeling on the floor, stripped down to his shirt sleeves, he had with difficulty managed to turn the child. As a result, there had been a passage when the contractions had begun again, and he had hoped that Nature would assist with the delivery of the child. But they had been feeble and not prolonged, and child remained stubbornly in vitro. Neither was the feeble state of Mrs Yardley at all encouraging. She was managing to sip a little brandy and at least remained conscious, but Felix was now wondering how much time they had left for a successful outcome.

  He would have to resort to the forceps, that was clear enough, and do the job as quickly as he could. He did not even have his preferred set with him. He had lent them to Peterson, the new police surgeon at Northminster, who had more work in the accoucheur’s line – not least with Mrs Lazenby, the wife of the new Chief Constable, who was expecting twins. He had only a short pair with him, and he was not sure the head had yet descended far enough for them to be much use.

  However, he went and warmed them by the fire, and gave directions to one of the maids to ready a bath of warm water.

  “We ought to fetch Mr Yardley,” he said to Grace.

  “He won’t be any use,” she said.

  “I am not sure I should go on without his –”

  “Just do what you must, sir,” Grace said, “and the master can wait.”

  So he went back and set to work, attempting to achieve that delicate balance between gentleness and force necessary for the procedure, and after some long, laborious minutes, he managed to dislodge the child from the womb.

  He fell back on his heels, a little surprised that he had achieved it. He had the child, a boy of reasonable size, in his arms now, and he was able to cut the cord. Although the child was breathing, it was shallow and laboured. He was, in short, struggling. Felix turned and placed him into the bath of water, unsure that it would do any good, but without recourse to anything else. For a long moment he was certain that all was quite lost, but the warmth of the water worked some reviving magic on the child. He began to scream quite lustily, even with a sense of outrage at this treatment. Grace, who had been crouching down beside Felix, took charge of him, smiling broadly at this sudden show of life.

  Felix staggered to his feet and went to see to Mrs Yardley. These moments were as critical for the mother as the child. He was pleased to find she was comfortable, although now quite exhausted.

  Grace said, “It’s a boy, ma’am, a handsome boy!”

  “Thank God!” Mrs Yardley managed to say.

  “Yes, he’s going to be quite a handful,” said Grace, as the screaming continued.

  “And he’s hungry,” said Ellen, the other maid.

  Felix busied himself
with the delivery of the placenta, which naturally caused Mrs Yardley some further distress, but she seemed to gain heart and fortitude from the sound of her screaming child.

  “Will you nurse him, ma’am?” he said, when she was finally settled back in bed, and able to take him into her arms for the first time. “It will be a struggle for you perhaps, when you have lost so much blood, but with care it could be managed. It is always better if a mother can.”

  “Yes, yes,” she said, gazing down at the child. “Oh, what a darling. Thank you,” she said, glancing up at Felix, her eyes wet with tears. “I thought he was quite lost. I felt sure of it and yet – oh, thank you!”

  Felix turned away, for Grace was now wished to get the child latched onto the nipple. He could only hope that fatigue did not overwhelm Mrs Yardley completely and that her determination to feed her child would pull her through the next few hours. She would be in a precarious condition for some time, and would need to be watched carefully, but the signs, although weak, were hopeful enough.

  He discovered he was in a shocking state after his work, his bare arms and shirt front covered with blood. He was also tired and hungry. He gathered up his instruments and Ellen took him into the adjoining dressing room where there were cans of hot water and towels. Here he was able to make himself a little more respectable, although he could do nothing about his shirt. His waistcoat covered most of the damage but it was stained irrevocably. It was a little irksome to have spoilt it, for it was the first Sukey had made for him. She had even embroidered, in red silk, a heart containing the intertwined letters ‘F’ and ‘S’ in the corner of the tail.

  It had been sacrificed to a good cause, he told himself, as he retied his cravat.

  “He’s sucking well now, Doctor,” Grace said, coming into the dressing room. “And plenty of milk by the look of it.”

  “Good,” Felix said, getting his coat on. “I must go and speak to Mr Yardley. If he is at home?”

  “I wouldn’t know about that, sir,” said Grace and departed.

  There was another door in the dressing room, left slightly ajar. Taking up a candle, Felix could not resist the temptation to glance in. He saw a large, gloomy room containing a huge bed constructed from dark wood, every surface of which was covered with carving. Was this Mr Yardley’s room, he wondered, a little shocked by the paintings on the walls: they were ancient, clumsy pictures of saints and martyrs meeting various horrible ends, with spurts of blood flowing out of them in a physiologically incorrect manner. An odd choice for a bedroom, he thought, and supposed Mr Yardley must either be unnaturally pious or have a morbid temperament.

  It was a relief to return to Mrs Yardley in her brightly lit bedroom. Mother and child were doing as well as could be hoped given the circumstances. Mrs Yardley’s natural excitement at the event had given her face a pleasant colour, and she was sitting up in bed taking some broth. The smell of this was delicious and made Felix feel even more hungry. He was on the verge of asking Grace if he might have a cup as well, when the door was flung open and a gentleman came striding in.

  From the manner of his entrance, Felix surmised this could only be Mr Yardley.

  The new father was dressed in a fur-trimmed, red velvet dressing-gown and on his head was a flat cap, also of velvet, with a tassel dangling from it. This outfit, combined with his neatly trimmed red beard, made him look as if he had stepped down from one of the family portraits. Felix expected him to be wearing doublet and hose beneath his gown, but instead he wore a gaudy silk waistcoat and a skin-tight pair of inexpressibles.

  “Deo gratias!” Yardley exclaimed. “What wonderful news! And I was cursing this weather for keeping me from the chase! But it was meant to be – otherwise, I should have missed this most auspicious event! My dear Julia, you have surpassed yourself!” He went over to the bed and seized her hand rather roughly, and kissed it extravagantly. Then, abruptly he let go of her hand, as if he was casting away a glove, and turned away from her with a flamboyant swish of his gown. “Let me see him!”

  The boy now washed, neatly capped and gowned and carefully swaddled, was handed to him and at once began to bawl at the top of his lungs. The noise for Felix was a reassuring one – the child was doing well and he could not help smiling at it and at the comical expression on the father’s face, as he dealt with this ungracious greeting.

  “Is that anyway to speak to your father, sir?” said Mr Yardley, who did not look comfortable with a child in his arms. “What a fine noise, though! Very fine! And he has the look of a Yardley. Quite pronounced, I should say.”

  “He was nearly lost,” Mrs Yardley said. “If Dr Carswell had not been here – how shall I ever thank you, sir?” She sounded tearful.

  “He needs feeding again, ma’am,” said Grace taking the now red-faced and furious child from Mr Yardley who was all too glad to relinquish him.

  “Yes, yes,” said Yardley, now heading to the door. “Let us leave the women to their business. We must go and drink a toast, sir!” he added, with a sweep of his arm to indicate that Felix was to go with him. “Ah yes, a bumper is in order!”

  “Fetch me at once if there is any change,” said Felix to Ellen. He was a little uneasy about quitting her so soon. “The slightest weakening or discomfort, yes?” The maid nodded. “You only have to call, ma’am,” he said, to Mrs Yardley. Mr Yardley was already gone, leaving the door open and a great draught behind him. She gave him a nod and a slight wave to dismiss him.

  Yardley was now running down the stairs and so Felix followed.

  Then Yardley stopped in his tracks, turned and pointed up at Felix, his hand formed into the shape of pistol.

  “Carswell!” he said. “Yes, yes, of course! The master of Ardenthwaite, am I correct?”

  “Yes,” said Felix, slightly irritated he had made this connection so quickly.

  “What a most excellent thing for the birth of my boy! We are fortunate indeed,” he said with a slight bow. “It is rare one can say one’s medical attendant is nearly one’s equal!” he added with a laugh, then carried on down the stairs, at the same speed as before.

  Felix wondered whether he was supposed to be insulted or flattered by this. He was too tired and thirsty to care much, and too anxious about the state of his patients upstairs.

  “Fellowes, now,” Yardley went on. “Fellowes. Well, what can one say about such a rogue? I suppose he sent you here?”

  “No. It was quite by chance. Your servant Grace came and asked for me when she could not find him. I’m putting up at the Falcon. I’m here on some other business entirely. It was lucky I was here, all in all.”

  Felix followed Mr Yardley into a library. Here again was the same profusion of clutter: weapons, armour, skulls, taxidermy as well as heaps of books of every size and age. A stuffed bear on his hind legs loomed over the table where the footman was laying out the punchbowl. An antique gold goblet had been placed in his claw.

  Seeing Felix staring at it, Yardley gave the bear an affectionate pat, and said, “Do you like my drinking companion? He is a fine fellow, isn't he? I am very lucky to have him. He killed three people!”

  “He did?”

  “In a little place in Germany. He came out of the forest and went to dine in a village.” Yardley rubbed and patted the bear again. “Excellent company he is – and he never takes a drop!”

  The manservant left and Felix hoped he might return with something more substantial than the plate of biscuits which lay on the table. Mr Yardley now proceeded to pare lemons and crush lump sugar into the punchbowl.

  “I always prepare this myself,” he said. “There is a knack to the mixing of it. When I was at up at the University,” he gave a little chuckle, “even the fellows of my college attempted to purloin my recipe and my method. They sent a scout to spy upon me at my alchemy but he did not succeed in learning it! No, of course he did not! I could not allow that.” Another little chuckle, and he stirred the punch with a flamboyant gesture. “Could I?” He took from his pocket a silve
r box and from it scattered a few crumbs of some unknown substance. “A touch of ambergris,” he said. “Most essential. And of course, freshly grated nutmeg. Also Batavian arrack. Very hard to get, but necessary. And brandy – French for preference – and of course champagne!”

  Felix eyed this concoction with some suspicion. He would have preferred to be sent below stairs to the housekeeper’s room for a glass of bad sherry and some bread and cheese. But he could not offend his host, so had to accept the silver tankard that was offered.

  “No, no, do not sip it like a woman!” Yardley said. “Drain it, sir! You will not got the full effect.”

  Felix hesitated, watching Yardley down his bumper, and then took courage, despite his empty stomach, and drank deep. It was delicious, very sweet and aromatic but he doubted how much of it he could manage to drink.

  “To Mrs and Master Yardley,” he managed to say, making a vague toast.

  “Yes, yes, indeed!”

  “I think they will both do well,” Felix said.

  There was an awkward pause.

  “Was there much blood?” Yardley asked suddenly. It was not said soberly, but with a touch of ghoulish curiosity.

  For a moment Felix could not to think what to say. He took another sip of the toddy and said, “Mrs Yardley did have severe flooding, yes. But her strong maternal feelings carried her through the worst of it. She was determined. That is always a great advantage.”

  “She is from good stock, of course,” Yardley said. “The daughter of Baron de Warke – they trace their lineage back to Charlemagne himself! You can see that in her cheekbones, I think. You see?” He indicated a portrait of Mrs Yardley that was hanging on the wall. It was rather a stiff image, Felix thought, with the lady dressed in odd medieval-style garb.

  “A wedding portrait?” he said, not being able to think of anything complimentary to say. He put down his tankard and reached for a biscuit, determined to get a little ballast inside him.

  “Yes,” said Yardley. “I had her sit to Axelmann in Germany on our wedding journey. The costume and pose was my suggestion – Axelmann was pleased with it! In fact so pleased, he wished to keep it for himself. I let him take a copy of course.” Yardley refilled Felix’s tankard and his own. “Are you married, sir?”