17 A Wedding
C aptain Edgerton retreated to the old schoolroom with mixed feelings. Luce lifted the Madeira decanter, but Michael shook his head.
“Brandy, I think.”
Pettigrew chuckled. “So is she telling the truth?”
“About the axe in the urn? Possibly. The fact that she and Shapman chose different urns speaks to her honesty, for if they had arranged their story together, they would surely have named the same one. No, it is what she knows about her father that worries me.”
Pettigrew passed him a brandy, and settled down with his own glass. “You think she is aware of what he was involved with?”
“He was involved with a great deal, and none of it recorded officially, so I am not sure she could have known anything about it. Taking a share of the rentals, the paste jewellery, the brothel — none of that was written down. The chaplain had no drawer labelled ‘My illegal activities’ , sadly. The charitable contributions were public knowledge, but no one knew that no such charities existed. She knew about the existence of the gold bars because she saw them in his safe, and she knew about his winnings at cards because there was no secret about that. The late earl no doubt grumbled about it. ‘Another bad night at the card table. Nicholson took twenty pounds off me this time.’ That sort of thing. And that is all legal, a debt of honour, paid without the least protest or hint of cheating. So it seems to me that she would naturally assume all that gold came from the card tables. But I wonder… she wanted that gold so badly that she went into the house as a maid, which cannot have been easy for her. And when that scheme failed, she recruited Lord Tarvin to break in. Why the urgency? If she knew that her father had been systematically stealing from the late earl, she might have wanted to get the gold safely spirited away before it was reclaimed by her uncle.”
Luce had picked up her needlework again, but now she laid it down. “It seems to me that Miss Nicholson’s desire for independence is sufficient to account for all she has done. Having control of her own money would give her the freedom to live as she pleases, without the need for a husband.”
“I agree,” Pettigrew said. “I also think Miss Nicholson’s money is a distraction from our principal objective.”
“But I have to decide what to do about it!” Michael said. “I could still give her the key and let her take what is hers.”
“It is not hers,” Pettigrew said quietly. “My investigations are not yet complete, but I have done enough to show that most, if not all, of that gold was stolen from the Earl of Rennington.”
Michael deflated at once. “You are correct, of course. Luce told me to do what is right, and so I must. The earl must be told of this.”
Pettigrew beamed. “That is more like yourself, Michael. You are too soft-hearted sometimes, especially when a pretty young lady is concerned. In another week or two, I shall have an accurate calculation of the amount stolen from the earl, and you will be able to send someone to the Pickering house to value the entire collection of gold bars. Then we shall know how large a fortune Miss Nicholson has inherited.”
“If any,” Michael said sadly.
“Yes, if any. But the earl will not necessarily decide to recover all that was taken from the estate. He might choose to leave some of it as a dowry for his niece.”
“So he might,” Michael said, brightening. “He is a generous man, after all, and fond of her, I am sure. As soon as I have accurate estimates of the amount stolen and the amount of gold, I shall see the earl and put that point to him.”
“And then we can all get back to looking for Mr Nicholson’s murderer.”
Michael sighed. “That man! He has caused us so much trouble. It is fortunate that he is already dead, or I should be tempted to murder him myself.”
***
T ess emerged from her talk to Captain Edgerton with a feeling that she had done her duty, and given him some useful information for his pursuit of the murderer, without revealing too much of her father’s thievery. Not that she knew precisely what he had been up to, but he had not amassed such a fortune by legitimate means. If she had only been able to rescue her gold bars before anyone knew about them! But that ship had now sailed, and her fortune was in Captain Edgerton’s hands.
Tom’s future, too, was in other hands now. Despite the poultry maid, Tess still loved him, but unless she had her fortune, he was beyond her reach. Still, there was one way she could help him, and that was by helping the captain to find the real murderer. She had been too shocked at first to consider possible murderers, assuming like everyone else that a stranger must have broken in. Only later, when she remembered the axe in its hiding place, had she realised that the murder was planned.
And now that she had remembered the platform inside the urn, it was obvious that the murderer was someone who knew all about it. An empty urn of that size would not normally be a suitable place to hide a short weapon like an axe. A sword, perhaps, or a spear, but an axe would slide to the bottom and be out of reach without tipping the urn onto its side. But with the platform filling the full width of the urn, it rested with the handle conveniently just below the rim.
So the murderer must be someone who knew about the platform, and must be tall enough to reach inside to retrieve it. A man, most probably, or a very tall lady, and she could not think of any female who would be tall enough. But who knew about the platform?
Here she shivered, for surely only the family would remember a time when flowers were placed inside the urns? The footmen, possibly — they were always tall. Male servants of shorter stature were sent to be grooms or gardeners. Only the two butlers, she thought, Simpson and Wellum, had been at the castle long enough.
She retreated to her room and drew a sheet of paper towards her, and began a list of possibilities.
‘Uncle Charles…’
Immediately she stopped. Her uncle? The earl himself? But she must include all possibilities.
‘Uncle Charles,
Walter,
Eustace,
Kent,
Simpson,
Wellum.’
It was a remarkably short list, and she could cross three names off immediately. Uncle Charles had no need whatsoever to murder her father, since he employed him. If he had ever had a serious disagreement with him, he could simply have asked him to leave Corland. Eustace was at his own house on the night in question, twelve miles away. Simpson was married, and lived with his wife in the village. Besides, it was hard to see a man of his age and with his arthritic knees creeping about in the middle of the night. That left just three names.
‘Walter,
Kent,
Wellum.’
Walter? He had been very quick to arrive on the scene that night, and very quick to push her and Olivia away, so that they would not see the dreadful sight of her father’s body. Such quick thinking might be because he had not just been woken that minute by Mama’s screaming. Could he have crept about the darkened castle, retrieving the axe, slaughtering her father in his bed, then quietly creeping away, only to emerge at the first scream?
Yet the planning involved in hiding the axe seemed unlike Walter. He was an idiot who had drifted into his engagement to Bea Franklyn because he had not the wit to avoid her, so the jump to calculating murderer was too great to be believable.
As for Wellum, his father and grandfather before him had both been butler at the castle, and he was hugely proud to be the third generation to achieve such a distinction. His parents and his grandfather still lived in the village, and he had a sweetheart at Birchall that he hoped to marry in a year or two, so would he jeopardise all of that? Could he truly hate a man so much that he would risk throwing away everything just to be rid of him? It seemed unlikely.
That only left Kent, the perpetually cheerful man who never disliked anyone enough even to utter a harsh word about him, let alone kill him. What reason would compel him to do so?
That was, of course, the ultimate question — why? Why would anyone want to kill her father, who was not a good man by any measure, but his transgressions were not such as to call for murder, one would have thought.
Disgusted, she crumpled the paper and threw it forcibly into the fire.
***
T ess was curled up in an armchair in the library one afternoon pretending to read, but in reality wondering where Lord Tarvin had gone and how she might find out, when Betty sidled in looking big with news.
“I’ve just been downstairs pressing that green gown of yours, Miss Tess,” she hissed excitedly, so as not to disturb Lady Alice and Mr Alfred Strong, who were chatting on the other side of the room.
“And?”
“That lad of Mr Parker’s came by with a turkey for Sunday, and you’ll never guess what he said.”
“Yes?”
“He’s seen Mr Shapman!”
“What!” Tess sat up abruptly. “Tom? Where? When?”
“Yesterday, in the village. He’s home, seemingly. Micky said he only glimpsed him in a big crowd outside Tom’s Ma’s house, but it were definitely him.”
“So he is out of prison,” Tess said with satisfaction.
“Aye. I just have to hang up that gown and put away a few things, then I’ll find Harold and fetch my cloak.”
But Tess could not wait even those few minutes. As soon as Betty had gone, she raced down to the garden door in the basement, retrieved her old cloak and bonnet, and she was gone, scurrying away to Birchall village in the greatest excitement. Tom home at last! Sir Hubert had accepted that he was innocent, then, and let him go. She would see him again and surely she would be able to distract his thoughts away from his poultry maid? What was so attractive about a poultry maid anyway?
She raced down the path to the village, and surely her feet had never flown there so fast. In no time, it seemed, she was in the little lane where Tom’s workshop was and lifting the latch to go inside.
He was not there. Her disappointment was so acute that for a moment she could not breathe. Yet clearly he was expected, for the fire in the kitchen was burning merrily, the kettle was on its hook ready to swing over the flames, and there were teacups set out on the table, together with an uncut cake and a small vase of field flowers. There were new curtains at the window, she noticed, a cheerful yellow colour which made the tiny kitchen seem sunny and warm despite the grey skies outside.
She waited for a few minutes, but Tom did not appear. It occurred to her then that if he was but newly out of prison, he would have wanted to spend time with his parents. Perhaps she could look for him there, although Mrs Shapman disliked her, she knew that. She had muttered disapprovingly of ‘you grand ladies and your games with humble folk’ , as if Tess were just amusing herself with Tom! So she had avoided the rest of Tom’s family as much as possible. But this was different. Surely she could presume on her long friendship with Tom to ask for him there?
She made her way back to the main road through the village, where she saw a great crowd of people filling the street, laughing and cheering and making their way slowly towards her. She saw Tom at once, for even though he was at the centre of the group, he was tall enough to tower over most of the others.
Eagerly she set off towards him, as the crowd flowed down the street towards her. Gradually, one by one, they noticed her and the excited chatter slowly died away as the crowd parted. And there she was, face to face with Tom, various members of his family at his back, and on his arm a girl with flowers in her hair.
“Miss Tess!” Tom said, his face a picture of guilt. He licked his lips, and shuffled his feet, but the girl rested her other hand on his arm and looked up at him with a troubled expression. As if she had spoken, he nodded, then patted her hand. “Miss Tess, this is… this is Ruby… Mrs Shapman… my wife. We were wed this morning. I hope you’ll wish us joy.”
There were occasions when it was a great inconvenience to be brought up as a lady, and be coolly polite at all times, no matter the provocation. Tess’s mother was an expert in such manners, but Tess had never before been put to such an extreme test. How much more satisfying it would be to scream and rant and hit out and slap faces and pull hair. It took all her twenty years of training to plaster a smile on her face.
“I will… I do… I felicitate you, Mrs Shapman. Both of you. May you enjoy a long and happy marriage.”
“Thank you, milady,” the girl said, with a beaming smile, bobbing a little curtsy.
“Where will you live?”
“We’ll live over the workshop just at first,” Tom said. “Then when my little sister Sally goes into service after Christmas, we’ll have a room with Ma and Pa, just until I can afford a place of my own.”
“May I send you a wedding gift?” Tess said, the smile stiffening her face.
“That’d be right kind, Miss Tess,” Tom said. “Will you… I mean, we’re going to show Ruby her new home. You’re welcome to—”
“No,” she said quickly. “No, I must get back to Corland.” Then, with genuine feeling, she added, “I wish you every happiness, Tom.”
“Thank you,” he whispered, flushing a little.
And then the procession flowed on down the street and away, leaving Tess stranded like a starfish on the beach after the tide has gone out.
She fled, reaching the blessed privacy of the path back to Corland where, hidden by the sheltering trees, she allowed the tears to flow unchecked. Striding along, her eyes too full to see where she was going, she crashed headlong into a figure pelting down the track towards her. She would have been bowled clean over by the impact had not the person grabbed her forcibly and kept her upright by holding her tightly against his chest.
“Tess! Oh, Tess, I am so sorry!”
Edward’s voice! Not a stranger, not a neighbour who must be fobbed off, and best of all, not Betty or Harold, who might relate the whole to her mother. It was Edward, her friend, who understood.
“He is married!” she sobbed, burying her face in the shoulder of his greatcoat.
“I know,” he murmured. “I have been looking everywhere for you to tell you myself, so that you would not find out in this horrid way. Did you see him?”
She nodded. “And her.”
“Oh, Tess darling, I am so, so sorry.”
For a long time he held her tight while she wept and wept, making a soggy mark on his coat. When the storm had abated somewhat, she lifted her head to look at him, and saw his face filled with compassion for her.
“My poor darling,” he murmured, and somehow, she could not tell how, they were kissing and it felt so right, so infinitely reassuring that she had no mind to push him away. With his arms around her and his lips warm and gentle on hers, the world did not seem such a hostile and painful place as it had just a short while before. There was strength in those arms, one around her waist and the other wrapped firmly around her back, pulling her close to him. Nothing could hurt her when Edward was there to take care of her!
That was a strange thought. She had never needed or wanted anyone to take care of her before. She had been fiercely proud of her independence, gleefully following her own path. Yet in Pickering, it had been good to have Edward’s enthusiastic support for her plans, to plot and plan and do things together.
With a sigh, she rested her head on his shoulder.
“Better now?” he said, still holding her tightly.
“A little,” she said. “But where were you? You were here and then you disappeared. Now here you are again.”
“I went to York to get Tom Shapman out of gaol.”
Her head shot up excitedly. “ You did that? How good you are!”
“Sir Hubert wrote the letters of authority to have him released, but I undertook to make the journey. I got back with him yesterday.”
“But then… how is it that he is married today? When were the banns read?”
“No banns. He was married by licence.”
“By licence? But how? That must be expensive…”
For the first time his expression slipped into a tiny frown. “Well… I paid for it, of course. We got it from the archbishop’s office in York. Shapman would not have known how to obtain such a thing.”
She pushed him away angrily. “So you did this! You arranged for him to be married to that… that female . A poultry maid! When he could have married me!”
“He would never have married you, Tess,” he said in a low voice. “Believe me, he did not want it. All I did was to make it possible for him to marry the woman to whom he was already devoted.”
“He was devoted to me!” she cried. “He loved me , not some stupid poultry maid.”
“No. He never loved you, although you dazzled him so much that he would do anything you asked. He even jeopardised his own life to please you. Believe me, everything I have done is for the best, for Shapman and his wife, and also for you, Tess, and one day you will understand that.”
“You are an arrogant, overbearing, interfering man. I wish you would just stop meddling in my life!”
“If you give up this foolish idea of marrying Ulric, then perhaps I will.”
“How else am I to get my hands on my own fortune?”
He gave a quick laugh. “You could always marry me.”
“Never! Never, never, never! I hate you so much, I would sooner die a penniless spinster than marry you.”
Pushing past him, she ran on up the track towards Corland. Oddly, she was crying again, and this time, it was not for Tom.