Chapter Five
Toby stood at the front gate and watched his father make his slow, uneven way towards the school.
The view was as beautiful as it had always been, the sky as blue, and yet the morning of Midsummer’s Day, when Toby had walked to West End with his father, seemed to have happened in another lifetime, to an entirely different person.
They ought to spend the money saved for his education on a dog cart and pony, he thought.
If it wasn’t enough, Toby could get a job and make payments.
He realised how selfish he’d been to aim so high; to gobble so much of the family’s income when his father was in pain, every single day.
And now, when they needed to travel to see Kit, they could not.
Not easily. Toby might be able to borrow the vicar’s bicycle from time to time, but neither of his parents could ride it.
They just had to wait, and hope to catch a lift with a neighbour.
Kit was to appear in front of the magistrate at the county court in Shaftesbury Town Hall at the end of the week.
If the charge of murder were upheld there, the case would be passed at once to be tried at the assize court, and that meant a move to Dorchester.
The assize court, held twice a year by a visiting judge, would sit in September.
So, Kit might be held in a prison thirty miles away for the next two months, and they certainly couldn’t afford to take rooms to be nearer to him.
Toby tried to believe it wasn’t going to happen.
The magistrate would see Kit’s goodness, his distress, and his .
. . reduced capacity. Everyone in Hallewell would speak for his character.
Then Kit would come home and they could focus on settling him down again.
Toby didn’t think about Durham University, or his degree, or his brilliant career.
He focused on the present, and did his best to ignore the despair in the pit of his stomach.
Once his father was out of sight, Toby went back indoors.
Mona now went about her work with her mouth set.
Scrubbing carrots and thumping her fist violently into bread dough; plucking the bird for dinner and sweeping the floors with short, angry strokes.
She continued to cook for four people, as though she couldn’t conceive of Kit’s absence.
Toby had taken over his brother’s gardening duties, and was standing between the runner beans and the Brussels sprouts when, at eleven o’clock, the bell of St Mary’s began to toll.
Mona froze at the washing line, a wet vest gripped in her fist. Toby straightened, and their eyes met.
They were burying Missy Cartwright that morning.
Toby supposed Theo would be at the graveside, all watery-eyed and remorseful.
His jaw clenched. When the tolling stopped, it took a while for them to resume their work.
Wordlessly hoeing, and hanging things to dry.
Toby was invaded by a memory of the dimple in Missy’s chin, and of her lazy, mischievous smile.
Dead and gone. His mind reared back from the impossibility of it all, and for a second his head was quite empty. Scoured out by shock.
Timothy Crudge called at teatime, dipping his grizzled head so as not to bash it on the door jamb.
He was sombreness itself, from the stoop of his shoulders to his bloodhound eyes, and even that put Toby’s back up.
Crudge had always indulged Theo in everything.
He’d known about the midsummer gathering, and could have put a stop to it as sheer tomfoolery.
Toby didn’t want to sit down and have tea, not with Mr Crudge, not with anybody.
He glared down at his clasped hands as the kettle boiled and Mona brought out a plate of scones.
‘And the . . . funeral?’ David asked.
‘It went as well as anything so sad may go. Her fellows from the girls’ home were distraught; it was pitiful to see. And Reverend Nimrod forsook his usual fire and brimstone. He talked a great deal about rebirth, and the gathering in of little children.’
David was sceptical. ‘Missy was almost fifteen, I think. Hardly a child.’
‘Well,’ Crudge said. ‘Perhaps he chose to allow, at the end, that she’d been more sinned against than sinning, in her short life.’
‘Ah.’ Mona watched the old man with eyes full of shameless need.
‘I received your letter,’ Crudge said. ‘And of course – of course I will speak for Christopher before the magistrate.’
David sagged, and Mona reached for Crudge’s hand. ‘You are very good. Thank you.’
‘There’s no need,’ he said. ‘The thought of any misfortune coming to that sweet boy . . .’ He shook his head slowly.
‘Missy’s death was tragic, but nothing can be done for the poor girl now.
To punish an innocent party would merely compound the tragedy with an outrage.
I find myself at a loss to understand how the lad came to be accused in the first place, given that the blow was clearly accidental. ’
‘Is that what Theo says?’ Toby broke in.
‘Yes, naturally.’ Crudge looked at him with mild perplexity. ‘Toby, you cannot imagine Theo would ever think ill of your brother?’
Toby returned his gaze to his knotted fingers.
‘Of course not,’ Mona answered for him. ‘It’s just . . . if only she hadn’t thought to bring them all together that night—’
‘Don’t blame her, Mrs Meriwether,’ Crudge said. ‘I beg of you, don’t blame her. The poor girl is already tormenting herself.’
Tears started in Mona’s eyes. ‘Oh! I don’t blame her. Not really. It’s just so difficult not to think . . . it might have happened differently. Or better yet, not at all.’
‘We are where we are,’ David said quietly. ‘It won’t help to dwell on what might have been.’
‘You’re quite right,’ Crudge said. ‘And I have a proposal to make, which I hope might lessen your fears somewhat.’
Three pairs of Meriwether eyes lit upon the old man in hope, and he found the trace of a smile for them.
‘There can be no guarantee of success, but . . . I have a brother – Augustus – whom I love dearly. I do not see him often. There were certain things . . . certain failings on my part, that drove a wedge—’ He cleared his throat.
‘In any case, though he is the younger of us by six years, he became the sole beneficiary of our parents’ estate when I failed to marry by the age of forty.
He pays me a perfectly adequate allowance, and from time to time has also been persuaded to fund specific expeditions, and other, more unforeseen expenses . . .’
Crudge looked around the table, and was met with incomprehension.
‘Indeed. Let me speak plainly. My brother is a barrister at law, in London; rather an influential one. I wrote to him immediately upon Christopher’s arrest. Now, whilst he is unable to come himself, he is sending a colleague from his chambers, by the name of Noah Cornwallis.
A junior, but a keen and wholly competent one.
’ Crudge checked his pocket watch. ‘He ought to be boarding the train at this very moment, in fact.’
‘Your brother is sending this man . . . to what end?’ David said.
‘To advocate for Christopher before the magistrate, and at any subsequent trial – though, let us hope no such trial occurs. There will be no charge – Mr Cornwallis will act pro bono, in the pursuit of justice. It is all arranged.’
‘Oh,’ Mona said.
David looked lost. ‘My dear Mr Crudge, that is very good news! How can we ever repay such generosity?’
Crudge shook his head emphatically. ‘My wish is to do all I possibly can to help Christopher. There is to be no sense of indebtedness whatsoever.’
Mona wiped her eyes with her fingertips. ‘Well, I shall feel indebted, whether you like it or not. You kind, kind, most generous man.’ She gripped his hand again. ‘Thank you.’
None of them could think of anything else to say, and after a while Mona brightened. She sat up taller, reached for the pot and poured the tea.
‘Have a scone,’ she told Crudge. ‘Have all the scones!’
Once again, Theo walked in Missy’s final footsteps to the hospital.
And there, she halted at the last doorway Missy had ever walked through – flushed from the exercise, eager to see Dr Anscombe again.
The building swam before her eyes. However much she owed it to Kit, the mission seemed hopeless, and she longed to go home.
Her hat was squeezing her head, her armpits were wet, and she didn’t know what she would say.
She struggled to marshal her thoughts; it had been days since she’d managed to sleep or eat properly.
The doctor hadn’t managed to get her a lock of Missy’s hair. He’d confessed as much at the funeral. Forgive me. It simply wasn’t possible. So, Missy was gone. Completely gone; underground, in darkness.
Woodenly, Theo carried on inside.
In the sudden cool of the foyer she was met by a woman with steel-grey hair, hard cheekbones and an immaculate uniform. ‘Excuse me, do you have an appointment?’
Theo shook her head.
‘Visiting hours are from two o’clock until three on Tuesday and Friday afternoons.’
The nurse put her hand on Theo’s shoulder, turned her, and she was almost outside again before she found her voice.
‘M . . . Melissa Cartwright,’ she said. ‘Please, I . . . I wanted to ask the doctor . . . The thing is, I know the young man who stands accused, you see, and he . . . I don’t believe he killed her, not at all! But he stands accused and I need to . . . I need . . .’
She ran out of breath, and clutched at the woman’s sleeve.
‘Young lady, that’s quite enough of that,’ the nurse said. ‘Calm down. I’ll get you a glass of water.’
The nurse sat Theo on a hard chair in the same comfortless room she’d been in before, and fetched the water, appraising her carefully all the while. ‘Now then,’ she said. ‘I am Sister Hendry, the matron here. And who might you be?’
‘I’m Theodora Hallewell.’