The Shadowcutter (14 page)

“Oh excellent! I will try and persuade Mama. Since Mr Syme is not here to pour cold water, we stand a chance. It is a favourite thing with her – well it always was, until he put the idea into her head that it was sinful. Which it cannot be, surely?”

“No, I don’t think so,” said Giles.

Lady Maria went to make her petition and Giles was alone with Lady Charlotte.

“Your wife is very beautiful,” she said.

It felt like a criticism rather than a compliment, as if he had suddenly acquired a beautiful wife in order to hurt her feelings. He wondered what fantastical notions had been running through her head
.

“I shall need your help tomorrow,” he said. “I need to talk properly with Lady Warde.”

“Would you not rather I looked after Mrs Vernon?”

“I think Mrs Vernon will have all the attention she needs,” said Giles, noticing how Lady Maria was talking animatedly at her.

“She is like a child playing with a new doll,” said Lady Charlotte, then sighed. “Oh, that was cruel of me, I know. It was jealously. Maria is so easy with people, so warm-hearted, so good.”

“And you think you are not?”

“I know I am not.”

“You have been listening to Mr Syme too much.”

“He may have a point.”

“Do not judge yourself by his standards.”

“And what other standards am I to abide by, if not those of a clergyman?”

“By those that you discover for yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

“One must apply one’s intelligence and work out what is the right thing to do. It is not easy, of course –”

“It is impossible!” she said. “Well, it might not be for you, but for a foolish young woman like me, who is all at sea. Ever since Papa and I found poor Eliza, I have not been... it is as if my house of cards has collapsed. Mr Syme says that I am resisting the call of my Saviour, and that I need to acknowledge him and be saved or I will never find peace again. Perhaps he is right.”

“It is too simple. There are plenty of clergymen who would disagree strongly with that view, Lady Charlotte. My brother-in-law, Canon Fforde, for example.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “He is so relentless with it. He would not stop talking at me this afternoon. No wonder I cannot think straight. I think he gave himself a headache with his sermonising.” She laughed which relieved him.

“You must take care not to let him do that again,” Giles said.

“I know,” she said. “It was unwise. He caught me at a moment of weakness. After you left –”

Fortunately the conversation could go no further. Lady Maria had come bounding back to tell them she was showing Mrs Vernon up to their rooms.

“You are in the Indian Chintz rooms now, Major Vernon,” she said. “But I think Papa wants to speak to you first. Come, Chartie, let us go and make sure Mrs Vernon is comfortable.”

“Yes, of course. Excuse me,” said Lady Charlotte and went with her sister.

Soon only Giles and Lord Rothborough remained on the portico.

“You cannot imagine how glad I am you decided to come back to us tonight, Vernon,” said Lord Rothborough. “The strangest thing has happened, and I think you are the only man I know who might get to the bottom of it. Not only have we have a murder to deal with, but this afternoon I discovered that some extremely valuable jewellery has gone missing.”

Giles took a moment to digest this information and reached for his notebook and pencil.

“How distressing,” he said. “How did you discover this?”

“Every year I have a jeweller come over from Northminster to check everything over – Hammersly, you probably know the fellow?” Giles nodded. “He looks for loose stones and so forth, to see if anything needs cleaning or restringing, that sort of thing. He is expected tomorrow. So what usually happens is that Woodward, my secretary, gathers up all the various pieces – some are kept in a locked cabinet in my wife’s dressing room – the pieces she wears frequently; others are in the care of my daughters, while the bulk are kept in the strong room, off the plate room in their own cabinet.”

“So do you know exactly what is missing and from where?”

“Yes – the Rothborough parure.”

“That is a set of matching jewels?”

“That’s right – in this case a tiara, two bracelets, earrings and a stomacher, I think it is called, worn on the bodice. Diamonds, rubies and pearls. My wife doesn’t care for it – she has family pieces of her own she prefers – so it does not often see the light of day, and is kept in the strong room. Which is the greatest mystery. How could it have been done?”

-0-

By the time Giles found his way up to the Indian Chintz room, he found that Laura was asleep in the great bed. Sukey was still there, hanging up clothes in the adjoining dressing room.

“I am almost done, sir,” she said.

“Are they looking after you?” he asked.

“Very well, thank you. I am just along the passageway, next to Lady Rothborough’s maid. It’s quite grand, all in all.”

“That’s good,” said Giles. “I have a job for you, if this isn’t enough. As well as this poor girl being murdered, a quantity of jewellery has vanished from its cabinet in the strong room, presumably stolen. Now the household don’t know about this yet – only Lord Rothborough and Mr Woodward his secretary – and I’d like it to stay that way.” She nodded. “But I want you to tell me if you see anything downstairs that makes you think someone is keeping secrets, or is up to anything unusual. I think Mrs Hope the housekeeper has a sewing circle for the ladies maids?”

“Yes, she said I was to come and join them,” Sukey said. “Do you think it was someone in the house?”

“Possibly,” said Giles. “Is that a fresh pot of tea?”

“It’s camomile,” she said. “And it’s not been sitting there long. Mrs Vernon had her usual cup and went straight to sleep.”

“How did she seem?”

“Happy,” said Sukey.

“Truly?”

“Lady Maria was very kind to her,” said Sukey. “So would you like a cup of this, Major Vernon?”

“Yes, thank you. Now, where am I to sleep?” he said, glancing back into the large bedroom from the dressing room doorway. There was no bed there. “Is there another dressing room?”

“I don’t think so, sir. I think they thought –” she broke off, embarrassed. Sukey knew well enough that Giles and Laura did not share a bed. “Well, you know. Holt has put your things in here.”

She busied herself with the tea.

“You had better get to bed, Sukey,” he said. “You look tired.”

“Yes, I am a bit,” she said, and closed the trunk. “This can wait.” She went to the door and stopped. “I hope you don’t mind me asking this, Major, about Mr Carswell?”

“What about him?”

“Is it true then, that he’s Lord Rothborough’s natural son?”

“Yes. I suppose you noticed the likeness?” She nodded. “Why do you ask?”

“Just for that reason. It is striking.” she said, quickly. “Goodnight sir.” she added and left, closing the door quietly behind her with her habitual care.

Giles finished his tea, which was tepid but pleasantly refreshing, and got into his nightshirt, which he found laid out for him on a chair. He went through to the bedroom and climbed up into the great canopied bed, and for the first time in many years lay down beside his wife.

Laura stirred and woke a little. She rolled onto her side to face him.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said.

“No,” she said.

She turned and pressed herself against him, letting him put his arms about her. He felt her relax in his arms.

He felt ashamed then of all his own moments of weakness: of his betrayals, mental and real. She had not been unfaithful as he had. He wished he might confess it all to her, but that would be for his benefit, not hers. She had suffered enough without having to know of his cruelty.

Chapter Thirteen

Felix returned to the house in Stangate and found that the Vernons and Sukey had already left for Holbroke. He ate a melancholy supper of cold-boiled mutton, runner beans and stewed apricots, too sharp to be pleasant. It was served to him by the resident housekeeper, Mrs Bolland, who was put out by the sudden departure. Having brought the tray in, she stood asking him questions in a surly manner about what and when she was to do this and that, questions that he could not readily answer. He wished Sukey were there. She would have dealt with it and got the irritating old hen out of the room.

“So you will be here tomorrow night, sir?” Mrs Bolland, pressed on. “For your dinner? I need to know.”

“I don’t know,” Felix said. “It depends on when a man is buried. I shall let you know as soon as I can. Is there any more wine?” She had given him a solitary glassful.

“Major Vernon didn’t say anything about your having his wine,” said Mrs Bolland.

“I don’t think you need to worry about that,” said Felix. “Bring up the rest of the bottle.”

“Whatever you like, sir!” said Mrs Bolland, irritably.

Alone, he lit a cheroot and pushed the apricots about the bowl, wishing again Sukey were there and not just to bring domestic peace and comfort. He wanted to feel her close to him. That kiss had been a tantalising prelude – not to something sordid and transitory but to something so profound that it frightened him as much as it gave him joy. Just to have had her sitting there with him, smoking a cheroot would have been enough. To kiss her again would be an extraordinary privilege.

In his mind’s eye he pictured her calmly negotiating the strange oceans of Holbroke, her neat dark-skirted figure walking the crimson carpets. She would of course take the whole thing easily in her stride: that was one of the glories of her – he had noticed a hundred times her calm competence in the face of whatever life chose to throw at her. Yet for all that, he wanted to ride through the night and fetch her away from there. The thought of those powdered flunkies who had such a high opinion of themselves leering at her, as pretty women servants always were leered at, disturbed him not a little, and he had no idea to what unpleasant licentiousness she might be exposed in the Servant’s Hall.

Was she thinking of him, he wondered, thinking of that kiss, and the half-smoked cheroots and that afternoon’s conversation? Would she even have time to consider what had happened, as she climbed into her strange new bed? Was she, like him, feeling exhausted and lonely and yet too stirred up to sleep?

When, after a few more glasses of the claret that Mrs Bolland deigned to give him, he went to his own bed, he lay tossing and turning. The events of the day clung to him, keeping him from sleep with their painful potency – not just the taste of Sukey’s sweet lips, but Don Xavier’s miserable death and Dona Blanca’s peculiar manner and puzzling words: “He was taking the trouble not to be found.”

-0-

Felix had arranged to meet Don Luiz at the White Horse the next morning to settle the matter of his burial and hand over his possessions. He had the key to his room in his pocket, and he was seized with a desire to look over his things in a more thorough fashion. Dona Blanca’s words and manners had piqued his curiosity.

The landlady took the opportunity to ask his opinion about a rash on her son’s arm – an entirely trivial matter which took up rather more time than Felix would have liked. He went upstairs, and began his nervous search, hoping he had enough time before Don Luiz appeared.

There were footsteps on the stairs and he heard the voice of the landlady saying, “This way ma’am. The door on the left.”

“Thank you,” the distinctive voice of Dona Blanca replied.

Felix went to the door, wondering if she had had the same idea in coming there. He opened it and saw her on the landing, dressed in fresh mourning and heavily veiled. She saw him, and came towards him, putting up her veil. At the same time, her scent came wafting towards him, as if fanned by the action of putting up her veil: a powerful mixture of violets and carnations that made him slightly dizzy. As she slipped past him into the room, it surrounded him, and he found himself swallowing hard, astonished at the strange memories it provoked in him. An image of a pile of pink silk cushions on the floor and a toy horse on wheels flashed into his mind, the latter a toy from his childhood which was no doubt still in the press in Pitfeldry. Why on earth should he think of that now, he wondered.

“Mr Carswell, I am glad to see you again,” she said, looking about the miserable room. “Your kindness to him will not be forgotten by his family.”

She went to the bedside table where the little image of the Virgin and Child remained, and took it up and looked it.

“It is a shame he could not be with his people at the end,” Felix said. She nodded and carefully put the picture down again.

“There was a family squabble, if you like,” she said, after a moment. “He had difficult feelings, quite inappropriate for a man who had renounced the world. But it is the case, sometimes, that the world will not allow us to renounce it. He was young and all the prayers in the world cannot stop a young man from – well, you cannot always dam a stream.”

“I’ve always thought celibacy for the clergy was a foolish thing. It makes sinners out of good men.”

“A man who is called to be a priest is not like others,” she said. “He must try and live up to that calling. Many do succeed.”

“Many fail. Like your brother-in-law,” Felix said. “He had scars all over his back, from flogging himself. Self-mortification, I understand it is called.” She nodded. “For a man in his state of health to do that to himself –”

Dona Blanca turned away.

“Poor Xavier,” she said. “Oh the poor, poor boy. It is all so wretched.”

There was a silence then as she mastered her tears.

“It is all my fault,” she said, turning back to Felix. “That is clear enough. I didn’t encourage him, you must understand that, but he would be encouraged. Perhaps you are right and celibacy is not a good thing. He might have been married and happy instead of forming such a desperate, wild, unnatural attachment –” She broke down utterly then. “Oh dear God, forgive me!”

Felix felt his cheeks burning with embarrassment. Did she mean that Xavier had been in love with her, and if so, why the devil did she think him a fit person to whom to confess?