The Hanging Cage (The Northminster Mysteries Book 4) Page 30

  The amount in question had not seemed excessive at the time, indeed a necessity, but now he felt needled by her question, as if he had come home swaggeringly drunk. He was sure he was not in such a state, whatever she said.

  “None of your business,” he said, and at once regretted it. He had meant to say it lightly, with a touch of good humour, but he realised it had sounded petulant.

  “And so we both have our secrets,” she said, and glanced away biting her lip.

  “What do you mean?” he said, getting up.

  “I didn’t mean anything,” she said. “Really. Why don’t you sit down, and read to me? It’s been ages since...” Her voice died away. “Felix?” she said, a moment later and quietly, “Won’t you?”

  He stood there still, in front of her, and became aware that he had cast her in his shadow, and that she had shrunk back a little in her chair.

  “What happened?” he said again, aware he was being relentless but at the same time unable to stop himself. She hesitated a long while and said, “I will tell you if you promise me something.”

  “Yes?”

  “Promise me you won’t go daft on me.”

  “Oh, for the Lord’s sake, Sukey, what happened?”

  “I need to know that you will not –”

  “Will not what?”

  “Lose your temper.”

  “And why would I...” He broke off. “Was it Holzknecht? Did he do this to you? Yes?”

  “Promise me –”

  He shook his head.

  “He attacked you?”

  “No, no, nothing like that.”

  “Nothing like that?”

  “He just –”

  “Just? I can’t believe –”

  “It was nothing. I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you would take it all wrong. And I was right!”

  “What happened?” he said again.

  “He just tried to kiss me.”

  “He just tried to kiss you?” Felix repeated.

  “Yes, and it was nothing! And of course, I wasn’t having that. He was a bit enthusiastic, but I was the match of him, you can be sure. He won’t try it again.”

  “But now you have a sprained ankle, and a bruised wrist. Did you fall trying to get free of him?”

  “Something like that,” she said after a moment.

  “I will –” he said starting towards the door.

  “You will not! Felix, you will sit down and believe me, that it was nothing! Please! Promise me you won’t be daft and –”

  “Is it daft, to want give the brute a good thrashing?”

  “Yes!” she exclaimed. “It was nothing. You have to believe me!”

  “How can I? When you have told me that women never tell the real truth about these things? How the devil am I supposed to take your telling me it was nothing, when I can see with my own eyes it was not!”

  “Oh, for the love of God!” she exclaimed.

  “When you conceal rape out of shame!” he went on.

  “It was not that! He just tried to kiss me.”

  “What kind of a kiss leaves your wrist with marks on it like that? And makes you sprain your ankle trying to escape it? He attacked you – don’t deny that! And in fact, the more you deny it, the more I must believe it!”

  “Oh, believe all you like!” she said exclaimed. “I don’t care, I really don’t! Make a proper fool of yourself! Do you what you like! Kill the fellow if it makes you feel better.”

  “Don’t tempt me,” he said, and left the room.

  -o-

  “With respect, sir,” Lord Milburne said, “would it not be better to make a little more noise about the connection to Margaret of Angouleme? That will be the thing that draws him in, surely?”

  “Yes, yes, I quite see your point, and it has many merits,” said Dr Fforde, “but we must at first be sure that our fabrication is built on a sure foundation of possibility. If this man has any pretensions to scholarship, he will want to satisfy himself on all the points. We do not want him to rumble us too early – if that is the word, Major?”

  “Yes, and it’s a good point, my Lord,” Giles said, “but yours was too. We want dazzle and substance.”

  “This underworld language is fascinating,” Dr Fforde went on. “If one was inclined to make a study of it, I’m sure it would be rewarding.”

  “We are already compiling a sort of lexicon,” said Giles.

  “I should be interested to see that,” said Dr Fforde. “Now, where were we?” he said, taking up his pen.

  Milburne consulted his notes and said, “Connection with the library of the monastery of St Gordian, and the Abbé de Valsorges.”

  Giles walked over to the window, reminded suddenly of the evenings of his childhood. His father and brother had been fervent fly fishermen, and were adept at creating the most alluring and beautiful flies out of silk. In the evenings, the candles were lit and placed on the round table in the drawing room for the purpose of this fine work, rather than for the benefit of any woman who might want to sew. It was usually his mother or sisters who read aloud, while his father and brother bent over their coloured floss and feathers, constructing their tiny masterpieces to dazzle and tempt the fish on to the hooks. Lord Milburne and Edward Fforde now bent over their work in the same way. The lure was well in hand and the excitement of the chase had clearly caught them both.

  Through the window, rather charmingly, he could see Mrs Maitland and Cecilia taking a turn about the garden in the last of the afternoon light. They were having an animated conversation and seemed like old friends already.

  After some minutes, Edward Fforde got up from the table and left the room, in search of a book. Lord Milburne came and joined him at the window.

  “How is Miss Rivers this morning?” he asked.

  “Much better, I understand,” said Giles. “Physically, that is. But she is in some mental distress.”

  “Do you think I should call? My mother –”

  “You have discussed this with her?”

  “The other night. I laid it all out. All.”

  “And?”

  “You were right, sir, she was not angry. In fact, it was very good, but I feel...”

  “What did your mother suggest, if I might ask?”

  “She said she would not stand in my way if my feelings were genuinely engaged. That she only wanted my happiness.”

  “Of course.”

  “The thing is – about Miss Rivers. I do not know what I truly feel. I thought I was quite clear but now – oh, it feels so disloyal, especially when she has been in such distress and to walk away would be dishonourable of me, surely?”

  “No, given you never told her your feelings. You did not?”

  “No, but I felt them. I would have done anything for her and to abandon her now, because I do not feel so strongly. I do not like myself for doing it. I know she does not want to see me, but I wish I could somehow make it clear to her that she still has a friend.”

  “If perhaps not a lover?” said Giles.

  “Yes, quite. My mother was right to tell me to talk to you. Can men and women simply be friends, do you think?”

  “I hope so. And you are being a good friend to Miss Rivers in doing this for me. She has suffered because of Yardley, and catching Yardley is the most important thing.”

  Milburne nodded.

  “Do you think this will work?” he said.

  “I don’t know. But it is an approach. We shall try whatever works. The problem is he is wily. I wish I had your first-hand knowledge of him.”

  “From what has been said, I wish I did not,” said Milburne.

  “Did he ever say anything to you that might be of use to us? Taking you into his confidence about anything, perhaps? I imagine he would treat you with some respect.”

  “Yes, he did,” said Milburne, “but it did not feel comfortable. It was... George used to say that he was a talking gargoyle – but he was making light of it.”

  Giles went and sat do
wn, making an effort to remember every detail of the evening of George’s death: how Yardley had come into the room, and how his presence had seemed to terrify George.

  “Do you think George had any knowledge of Yardley’s activities?” he said. “He never hinted to you anything of the kind?”

  “I don’t know. I was lying awake this morning thinking about that. That there was something he did not tell me. I wish to God he had – he might still be alive now!”

  “Was this on the last time you saw him?” Giles said. “That night of the ball?”

  Milburne nodded.

  “My thought is,” Milburne said, after a moment, “that Yardley knew about his marriage to Bel. That George confided in him rather than me. Because I should have told him not to do it and I suppose Yardley told him he should. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes,” said Giles. “And thus he feared exposure from Yardley as Bel’s murderer?”

  Milburne gave a shudder and sat down at the table again. He picked up one of the pages of notes.

  “Will this work, sir?” he said. “Truly? I will happily go and search every cellar in Northminster until I find him. George and Bel deserve that much!”

  “Fight fire with fire,” said Giles, getting up and taking the page of notes from him. “That is the only way with someone like Yardley.”

  -o-

  As he was leaving, Cecilia and Mrs Maitland came in from the garden.

  “Can’t you stay for a cup of tea, Uncle Giles?” said Cecilia, grabbing his hand. “I shall make it for you. I am getting good at it.”

  He kissed her forehead and shook his head, although he was tempted.

  “Another time, I promise.”

  He was aware of Mrs Maitland’s quiet gaze upon him and her smile. He would have readily have kissed her forehead as well, wanting suddenly to feel the warmth of her skin on his lips.

  “Promise!” said Cecilia, departing and leaving him alone with Mrs Maitland, almost as if it had been prearranged.

  “You’re a great favourite,” said Mrs Maitland.

  “It’s perfectly mutual,” said Giles.

  “Have you just seen Charles?” He nodded. “The conversation we had the other night – I can’t begin to thank you, Major Vernon. It was...”

  She threw up her hands in surrender and in a moment, she had stepped up to him and kissed him on the cheek. It was the slightest gesture – no more than that of a kiss of greeting to a distant cousin, perhaps, but it made her turn away in embarrassment when it was done, and he felt himself colouring.

  “It was nothing,” he said, and felt moved to take her hand.

  “You saved his life.”

  He shook his head. “Your pointer, if anything, did that.”

  “She is a dear old thing,” she said, and detached her hand. “And much though I, like Miss Cecilia, would like you to stay and drink tea, I believe you have work to do.”

  “Unfortunately,” he said.

  “Another time then,” she said, and suddenly she kissed him again, this time on the other cheek. “And please be careful.”

  “Why do you say that?” There was something in her tone that suggested more than polite concern.

  “I had a wretched dream about...” She checked herself. “I am talking nonsense. Excuse me,” with which she briskly left him.

  He stood there for a moment collecting himself, wondering at her words and her actions. That he had apparently entered her dreams was both gratifying and disturbing. He imagined her waking in the night, distressed, and alone. It was too easy for him then to picture himself comforting her, taking her shaking form into his arms, and lying beside her until she slept again. He wanted to feel her pressed against him, to sense her fear subsiding into peace.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  “Is that you, Fe – oh, excuse me, Major.”

  Mrs Connolly had come out into the hall at the sound of his opening the door. In fact, she had come hobbling towards him, wincing as she did.

  “What on earth happened to you?”

  “I twisted my ankle. Have you seen Mr Carswell?”

  “No. Shall I go and look for him?”

  “I don’t know!” she exclaimed and then grimaced with pain and reached out to the wall to steady herself. “I need to sit down.”

  “Certainly you do,” he said and lifted her into his arms and carried her the small distance back into her sitting room. “This chair?”

  “Yes, thank you,” she said. “Oh dear Lord, what a business!” She was half laughing, half in tears, as she put her foot back on the stool.

  “What happened?” he said, turning up the lamp.

  “There was something between them. I don’t know what. An argument, a fight even. Shouting, and then the doors slamming. I wanted to go out and try and stop it but I tried to get up, and this wretched...”

  “Between who? Carswell and...?”

  “Holzknecht!” she exclaimed and then winced again.

  “Did you have some laudanum?” he said.

  “No,” she said.

  “I can’t believe he left you here in this state.”

  “Oh, I can!” Sukey said. “I said things. He said things.”

  “And there was a fight of some kind between him and Holzknecht?”

  “Yes. I knew I shouldn’t have told him. I was stupid to tell him. I knew he wouldn’t be able to deal with it like a sensible person. I knew he would...” She sobbed for a few moment. “And now it’s all – oh, excuse me.” She swallowed back her tears with some difficulty.

  “What exactly happened, if I may ask, to provoke all this?”

  “Holzknecht tried it on.”

  “Do you mean he tried to –?” Giles said.

  “It was just a stupid bit of goosing, that’s all. You know the sort of thing. All right, he was pretty determined, and he was very free with his hands, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t deal with. I was just stupid enough to trip myself up.”

  “And your wrist?” Giles said.

  “I bruise easily,” she said, with a shrug that seemed to Giles to be anything but careless.

  “I can see why Mr Carswell was concerned.”

  “Yes, but you’re not going to go and horsewhip him are you? Are you?”

  Giles considered for a moment. He could quite understand Carswell’s anger, and he felt his own annoyance growing in the face of Sukey’s distress. Now she went on, “Maybe you would if we were.. well, you know what I mean, Major. When this sort of thing happens, why does it always turn a woman’s fellow into a raging wild animal, no matter how much of a gentleman he claims to be? James was the same. Another man just had to look at me. Perhaps it’s just the men I get involved with,” she added. “Perhaps it’s me. And he’d been drinking.”

  “Carswell, you mean?”

  “Yes. And he can’t hold his drink; you know that as well as I do. Oh, why did I tell him, why?”

  “Because you were upset and you had a right to expect him to comfort you,” Giles said.

  “No,” she said. “It was because I was stupid. I should have known better. I brought out the devil in him, I did. Just like I always did with James. And maybe I shouldn’t have been so nice to him, to Holzknecht. Maybe it was all my fault.”

  “No,” he said, firmly, but gently. “This is not your fault. And Carswell could have managed a little self-restraint, by the sound of it. He should have considered your feelings and wishes first.”

  She gave a bitter laugh.

  “That’s the worst of it,” she said. “I was so angry I told him he could do what he liked. Murder the devil if he liked!”

  There was at this moment an urgent rapping on the door.

  “Ma’am, ma’am!”

  “Yes, Agnes, come in,” said Mrs Connolly. “What is it?”

  Agnes flung the door open and rushed in, saying, “There’s something on fire in the garden, ma’am!”

  “Stay here,” Giles said, for Sukey was attempting to rise from her chair. “Plea
se, I beg you.”

  She sank back, and he went with Agnes to the garden door to the garden, which stood wide open. The pair of guinea fowl came running into the house, making extraordinary noises of alarm and distress. How did they get out? he wondered, as he went down the garden path towards the blazing hen house.

  It struck him forcibly how quickly and evenly the flames were consuming the structure, and that the gate to the coop was wide open, which had allowed the glinners to escape. Had someone set the fire? Was that tang of lamp oil he could smell as he got closer?

  Anne the kitchen maid and Martha the cook were drawing water from the well and attempting to put out the blaze.

  “Anne, go and raise the alarm in the street,” Giles said, taking the bucket from her.

  “There’s someone in there, sir!” screeched Martha. It was then that Giles saw what she saw: two figures in the heart of the fire. “It’s the old man and his lad! Oh Lord above, sir, can you get at them?”

  The fire was so fierce and consistent, he did not know in truth if he could, or if it was wise to even attempt it, but like Martha, he could see that within the wooden shelter, there were two figures, one prone on the ground, the other crouching over. He reckoned if he dashed in, he might be able to pull the crouching figure, which he thought was the old Professor, out to safety. But he could not risk more than a few moments there.

  He plunged in, his breath held, and strode through the coop and into the shelter, grabbing the old man by the shoulders and hauling him back with him. He was a dead weight and the few yards distance to safety seemed like a few miles. He found he was choking and spluttering for breath, and was glad to see Carswell advancing to assist him.

  “Pulse is there, but only just,” Carswell said, crouching down and taking the Professor into his arms.

  “I’ll go back,” Giles said, although he found he was gasping for breath.

  “I don’t advise it,” said Carswell. “Look!”

  Giles glanced back. The hen house roof was collapsing, burying the body within it.

  “He’s gone,” said Carswell. Then he reached again for the pulse of the old man in his arms and felt it. He shook his head. “They both have.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  On the Major’s instructions, both father and son had been brought to lie in Felix’s dissection room in the basement.