Chapter Ten #2
Several things bothered him right now, including letting Mr. Bancroft down and worrying what Kate was up to, even if she and Grissy had made it safely back to Chadbon Court last night.
But the worst thing was that if the authorities were convinced Rupert had killed Dinah, the chances were that they weren’t looking for anyone else.
Which meant Dinah had no justice, and a murderer was still loose.
A murderer who might not be best pleased with Kate’s poking around. And she had always been a determined and inquisitive little thing. And deeply loyal, bless her. He knew that as soon as he was committed for trial, she would tell his father. And Winster would get him out, whatever the cost.
The cost, of course, apart from Winster’s trouble, would be all Rupert’s treasured hopes for the future.
His penance. His admittedly recent determination to make a difference to people’s earthly lives.
Instead, he would have some nominal role in Lambeth Palace and be earmarked for preferment before he could say, “I’m free!
” He wouldn’t be, of course, in any way that mattered, but most probably, Dinah’s killer would be.
Pacing the cell—which was very unsatisfactory for such a purpose, being barely large enough to stretch in—he felt both frustrated and helpless. Each time he turned, he saw the key to his cell hanging on its hook, tantalizingly out of his reach. It seemed to get bigger as he stared at it.
He even began to hear strange things, like distant singing outside his prison.
He halted his pacing to listen. A rich baritone grew louder, belting out a somewhat questionable song that sounded vaguely familiar.
The scuffling of feet outside mingled with another voice issuing irritable instruction, and that was Constable Boyle.
A key turned in the heavy outside door and two constables entered, holding up a staggering figure between them. One of the constables released the prisoner in order to close and lock the door again.
The prisoner, swaying in the grip of his other guard, stopped singing to peer owlishly around the room. “Very fine quarters, constable. Commendable.”
“I’ll be sure to pass your compliment on to the justice of the peace,” replied Boyle with heavy sarcasm.
He found the requisite key and waved Rupert back from the door with a glare.
Meekly, Rupert obeyed. “Now if you’ll step into your boudoir, general, I’m sure you’ll enjoy the godly company.
Whether the reverend enjoys yours is another matter. Like a singsong, do you, Mr. Grande?”
“Love ’em,” Rupert replied, somewhat distractedly, for the new prisoner looked and sounded very familiar.
The second constable shoved his charge into the cell and Boyle immediately slammed and locked the door again. The prisoner lurched, and Rupert instinctively caught him by the arm. His hand closed around an empty sleeve, and that gave him the clue.
Though it couldn’t have been much support, his new cellmate gazed up at him with wide-eyed pleasure. A string of foul and largely blasphemous words issued from the prisoner’s mouth.
“’Ere!” Boyle said, clearly shocked. “None o’ that. He really is a parson, even if you ain’t a general. Mind your mouth.”
Rupert, recognizing the obscenities as astonishment rather than displeasure, only grinned. “Well now, Sergeant Salter, what has the devil being doing with you?”
“Mr. Grande, as I live and breathe!” cried the old soldier. “They’ve never locked you up, have they? What’s this bleeding country come to when it’s locking up the clergy?”
“Everyone makes mistakes, eh, sergeant?”
“Sleep tight, gentlemen,” Boyle said, already walking away while his colleague opened the outer door.
Rupert caught the still-swaying, drunkenly smiling figure of Sergeant Sam Salter around the waist and lowered him into a sitting position on the unused pallet.
“Thank you kindly, sir. Still can’t quite get me balance without the arm.”
“Especially when loaded with a few gallons of gin.”
Salter snorted out a laugh. “That too.”
“That why you’re here, sergeant? Or are you accused of something else?”
“No, just drunk and disorderly. Expect they’ll let me go in the morning for a fine, once I’ve seen the beak. Not worth locking me up for longer.”
“Can you pay the fine?”
Salter turned out all his pockets in a hopeful kind of way.
But there was nothing in them save a handful of small stones.
He’d taken one pebble from the ground of every action he’d fought in, in several different countries.
Of course, sometimes the stones fell out of his pockets—which was probably just as well, as they’d otherwise have torn the seams of his coat by now.
Or perhaps they had. His old coat was barely recognizable as a uniform anymore, so worn and dirty had it grown since the last time Rupert saw him.
“Glad to find you’re still alive,” Rupert said.
Salter nodded, briefly serious. “Not many walked out of that hospital.”
“I know. When did you come home?”
“Month or so ago.”
“But you’re not from the south, are you?”
“No. Yorkshire. Truth to tell, don’t want to go home like this. And I had a duty to a mate. Took his kit to his widow in London. Don’t seem to like cities anymore, so I come out to the country.”
“Having fun, sergeant?”
Salter grinned. “Got any grog?”
Rupert dug his flask out of his coat. It was silver and engraved with his initials.
It had been a gift from his eldest brother for his eighteenth birthday, and it had seen much service on many a rollicking night—and among the wounded and exhausted in the aftermath of Waterloo.
Since then, he had carried it for emergencies, and the constables hadn’t bothered to take it from him.
Looking at this thin, inebriated version of Sergeant Salter, he diagnosed an emergency of a sort. He took a sip, wiped the top on his sleeve, and passed the flask to Salter, who swigged and grinned with delight.
“Damn, that’s the decent stuff! Don’t suppose you got it in here.”
“No,” Rupert replied, sitting cross-legged on the floor. “So how long have you been in Chadleigh?”
“Three days? Maybe four. Not sure. Not been terribly sober.” After another swig, Salter remembered to pass the flask back to Rupert, who set it casually beside him on the floor.
“Where have you been staying?” Rupert asked. “At the inn?”
“Nah. Mostly in barns and outbuildings. Truth be told, I don’t always remember how I got there, but I find my way back into town each morning. Walking’s good. Might walk on when I get out of here. Pretty country, this. Nice and flat. Mostly.”
“So you fall out of the tavern and walk outside the town to sleep for free?”
“Got chased by a dog once, but mostly, it’s easy enough. Even the dog came round eventually. He liked the company.”
Rupert smiled. “I daresay he did. You didn’t by any chance walk up to Chadbon Court, the biggest house around here, and camp in their barn, did you?”
“There’s a few big houses around here. Might know the one you mean… Got a glass building stuck on the back?”
“That’s the one,” Rupert said, trying not to raise his hopes, but he couldn’t stop the excitement tugging at him.
“I fancied sleeping in there,” Salter confided with regret. “Under the glass roof. Thought it might be fine to be warm and sheltered and still see the stars.”
“It is,” Rupert said. “I sat in there one night and never noticed anything but the stars.” And a girl who had once worn pigtails and a muddy dress…
Salter grinned. “I’d have come in if I’d known, had a drink with you.”
“Where did you go?”
Salter wrinkled his nose. “I did peer over the wall into a real neat garden, but I saw someone lurking there, and in any case, I couldn’t heave myself over the wall one-handed. So I gave up on the glass building and dropped back down to find a barn instead.
Rupert’s heart thumped. “What night was this, sergeant? Last night?”
“Maybe. No, ’cause last night I met the dog. Tuesday night. I think.”
“What time?” Rupert asked, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice.
“No idea. Time I was asleep. I knew that much.”
“Was anyone else in the garden? Apart from the lurker?”
Salter shook his head. “Not that I saw.”
“And what about the lurker? Did you get a good look? Would you recognize this person again?”
Salter’s eyes were suddenly in focus, as though the soldier had pushed the drunk aside.
*
Kate had spent a frustrating afternoon trying to engage busy servants in conversation without their noticing they were being questioned. She had learned precisely nothing new by the time she wandered into the library after tea.
The Chadbons’ guests were restless, she thought.
They had not planned to spend quite so much time in each other’s company, and the unnatural alliances and temporary truces were in danger of splitting apart.
Lady Chadbon believed their best hope was to keep everyone entertained and away from serious subjects—and preferably from each other, in some cases—until they left on the morrow.
Kate tended to agree and did her best to be entertaining.