A Corpse in Shining Armour (25 page)

‘I came across another example of your work the other day.’

I unrolled the sketch of the boy Handy and put it down among the tea things, weighting it with the sugar tongs. She leaned
forward to look at it, simply curious at first, then with an intake of breath and a flinch as if I’d hit her.

‘Where did you get this?’

After the first shock, she was angry with me.

‘Handy was friendly with a woman named Violet in the village,’ I said. ‘He’d given her some papers to keep for him. This was
among them.’

She picked it up with the sugar tongs and held it in the flame of the spirit lamp. The thick paper was reluctant to burn at
first and writhed and twisted, but she held it steady until it fell to the table in curled leaves of ash.

‘You didn’t always hate him,’ I said. ‘There was kindness for him in that sketch. And when he was wet and cold at Antwerp
you had him wrapped in a blanket and made tea for him.’

When I’d first seen the sketch in Violet’s bundle, it had reminded me of something. Hours later my mind had made the connection
with the boy in the journal, ‘wet as a herring’.

‘I didn’t know him properly then,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know until later.’

‘He was with you on the honeymoon tour, the boy riding on the back of the coach. I suppose he’d have been no more than twelve
or thirteen then.’

‘Yes, clinging on the back of the coach like a demon in a nightmare. All the way to Italy and back.’

‘How could a boy that young be a demon?’

‘It was born into him, I think. My husband saw that in him. That’s why he chose him.’

The fierce energy was draining out of her, as if burning the picture had taken it away. She lay back on the couch, eyes half
closed. I offered again to call Betty, but she shook her head.

‘I want to tell you, I think. You’ve guessed so much already. Only, give me a moment.’

A sudden breeze came through the open windows from the river, whipping the light curtains into the room, then died away as
rapidly as it had come, leaving the air feeling even more heavy. Still with eyes half closed, she started speaking.

‘He was a birthday present to my husband. When he left school, his father told him he could have his own servant. His father
thought he’d choose somebody from their estate in Northumberland. Instead, he picked out this ragged boy pulling a truck in
a coal mine they visited.’

‘A generous impulse,’ I said.

‘There wasn’t any generosity about it. He saw Handy playing some mean practical joke on one of the other boys. Cornelius’s
sense of humour was always childish. It appealed to him and he took the boy on a whim. When he got his own carriage, he called
Handy his tiger, dressed him in a suit of livery and had him riding on the back. Naturally, he came with us on our tour. Cornelius
would no more have left him behind than one of the wheels. But Cornelius wasn’t always kind to him. Some days he’d cuff him
for no particular reason, other days he’d be feeding him cakes and letting him drink wine as if he were some kind of pet.
I was sorry for him at first, as you saw.’

‘What made you change?’

‘It came gradually. I noticed him looking at me side-long, and grinning as if he knew something I didn’t. Then Suzy came to
me one day and said he’d tried to put a hand up her skirt–a boy of that age. I spoke to Cornelius about it and he only laughed
and said that’s what you’d expect a boy to do and Suzy was making a silly fuss about it. It was almost as if he was pleased
to hear about it. After that, I tried to keep a distance between Handy and myself, but I couldn’t help noticing things.

‘What sort of things?’

‘If we stayed in a place for more than a day or two, Cornelius would always go out in the evenings. He seemed to find acquaintances
everywhere, though he wouldn’t always introduce them to me. Handy would invariably go with him.’

‘That was natural enough, I suppose. He’d need a boy to carry a torch and so on.’

‘It was more than that. Sometimes they’d come back very late. I’d hear them laughing and singing, as if they were equals rather
than master and boy. Then, next day, they’d be catching each other’s eye and grinning as if there were some secret between
them.’

‘Did you say anything to your husband?’

‘I tried not to think about it and to focus all my mind on the places we were travelling through. Even then, I had a presentiment
I was seeing them for the first and last time.’

For a woman in her early twenties, that seemed intolerably sad. Perhaps even then she had a tendency to melancholy.

So you didn’t ask questions?’

‘Not until some time after we’d arrived by Lake Como. There was one occasion when they weren’t back till dawn. Cornelius didn’t
get up till the afternoon. I told him that he was corrupting the boy and he’d have it on his conscience. I’ll always remember
what he said: “The boy was born corrupt, that’s why I like him.” I told him it was indecent to make a joke of something so
serious, but I believe now he was telling the truth. Handy was born corrupt, and so was my husband.’

She lay back on the chaise longue, eyes closed. Telling all this seemed to have exhausted her, but I knew it was only half
the story. Bad though it was, it couldn’t explain the intense hatred she’d felt for Handy.

‘You must have been furious when he arrived with that note from your husband saying he must be employed here,’ I said.

‘I believe it was Cornelius’s final piece of malice against me. His mind was going, but he used this last spark of rationality
to humiliate me after his death. Whiteley was trembling when he told me about it. I said he must send Handy away, pay him
off, do anything. But Whiteley’s a fool in some ways. His master’s orders must be obeyed, even if the master’s malicious and
mad.’

‘So you were relieved when you knew Handy was dead?’ I said.

Her eyes stayed closed.

‘I thanked God for it, and I bless the hand of whoever killed him.’

‘Do you know who killed him?’

‘I don’t, but if I did, no power on earth could make me tell anybody. It was an act of justice. It took more than twenty years,
but it came in the end. I’m glad I lived to see it.’

‘Justice for what?’

‘For something he and Cornelius did.’

‘What?’

‘I’m not going to talk about it. There’s no need now. The devil has driven Cornelius off where he belongs, with Handy clinging
to the back of the coach as he used to do.’

The curtains billowed again in an isolated gust of breeze, like a breath from some sleeping monster. The heavy feathers of
ash shifted on the tablecloth.

‘There’ll be a thunderstorm tonight,’ she said. ‘I used to love thunderstorms when I was a girl.’

Until one particular thunderstorm by the shore of Lake Como. I waited, but she said nothing. I thought she’d fallen asleep
and was about to get up and go, alerting Betty on the way out, when she spoke again.

‘I haven’t told you why I wanted to see you, have I? I want you to do me a favour.’

‘If I can, yes.’

‘Will you come and stay with me, here at the house?’

Her eyes were open now. She swung her bare feet to the floor and made an effort to go into hostess mode.

‘Just for a day or two. It would be so much more comfortable for you than the cottage and we could talk about pictures and
flowers and so forth.’ She stretched out a hand to me. It was trembling just perceptibly, betraying her attempt to speak lightly.
‘Please, do say you will.’

‘What are you scared of?’ I said.

Tears came into her eyes. She looked away.

‘Somebody came into my bedroom the night before last.’

I stared at her, puzzled.

‘Betty, perhaps?’

‘No. I asked her this morning. But I knew it wasn’t her. It would have felt different.’

‘Felt? Did whoever it was touch you?’

‘No. A feeling in the air, I mean. I woke up suddenly. It was dark, but I knew at once there was somebody in the room with
me. I said, “Who’s there?” It didn’t answer, just went out of the room quite quietly.’

‘Didn’t you see it go?’

‘No. I’d drawn the curtains most of the way round the bed.’

‘A man’s footsteps or a woman’s?’

‘A man’s.’

‘Could it have been Mr Carmichael, looking in to see if you were all right?’

I was trespassing there. It would have been very peculiar behaviour in a librarian, but she’d as good as admitted he was more
than that.

‘No. I had the strongest feeling that…’ she hesitated, ‘…that whoever it was didn’t wish me well. And then the message came
from London that Cornelius was dead.’

After the hesitation, the last words came out in a rush.

‘You thought there was some connection?’ I said.

‘I think it was Cornelius’s spirit, making a last check on his property on his way to hell.’

Anger and misery came together in her voice.

‘Have you said anything about this to anybody else?’

‘I told Robert. I’m not sure he believes me. He’s been telling me I’m taking too strong a sleeping draught, you see. But even
with the sleeping draught, I still wasn’t sleeping. I’ll go mad if I can’t sleep.’

I thought of the bottle and medicine glass beside her bed. Laudanum, for a certainty. Liquid opium. Plenty of people took
it to help them sleep or to calm the pain of toothache or indigestion. But taken habitually and in large quantities, it brought
strange dreams. I remembered one man had been haunted by visions of monstrous crocodiles. It might explain both Sophia’s nervous
state today and the visitor of the night before. I wondered if she’d taken laudanum that night by Lake Como.

‘If you really want me to stay with you, I will,’ I said.

I was certain that there’d been no intruder, but my agreement didn’t stem entirely from kindness. I was sorry for her, but
I sensed that she still hadn’t told me the entire truth. She was on the edge of confiding something, but still couldn’t bring
herself to take the risk.

‘Thank you. Thank you so very much.’

‘But I’ll have to bring my maid. I can’t leave her in the cottage on her own.’

‘Of course. There’s a spare bed in the maids’ room. I’ll have the gig sent round at once. You can go and fetch her and your
luggage.’

She jumped up and ran to the bell-pull by the fireplace, decisive again now she’d got what she wanted. When Betty appeared
she gave clear orders for bringing the gig to the front door and having a bed made up in the room where we were sitting. If
the maid was surprised at this arrangement when there must surely be a spare bedroom in the house, she gave no sign of it.

Within ten minutes I was bowling up the drive and an hour later coming back down it, with Tabby by my side and my hastily
packed trunk on the back. Tabby had been unimpressed by our entry into society.

‘We’d just got comfortable here.’

‘You’ll be comfortable at the hall as well. Just watch what the other maids do, don’t talk too much, and don’t ask questions.’

I couldn’t keep her with me all the time, so would have to trust her to the mercies of the servants’ hall. The look she gave
me when we parted in the hall and she was led away by Betty was as resentful as an abandoned terrier’s. Lady Brinkburn came
to meet me and take me upstairs. A bed was already made up for me in the corner of the sitting room and a table for two set
up by the window, laid with a damask cloth, silver and glassware. I imagined the concealed resentment of the servants at having
to take such extra trouble.

‘I’ve ordered supper to be sent up here,’ she said. ‘It’s cooler than downstairs.’

I doubted that, but was relieved at not having to meet Robert Carmichael again that day. Now that Lady Brinkburn herself had
confirmed the story about him and her husband, I’d have some trouble looking him in the eye.

‘I’ve told Robert you’re staying with me,’ she said, as if guessing my thoughts. ‘He’s very grateful to you.’

‘He has no need.’

A man brought up my small trunk and, on Lady Brinkburn’s orders, deposited it in her bedroom. She asked if I’d like my maid
called to help me unpack. When I said I’d manage by myself, thank you, she seemed relieved.

‘So pleasant, just the two of us.’

From her voice, we might have been two schoolgirls on an escapade, but the strained look was on her face all the time. I asked
if her head was still aching.

‘Yes. It won’t be better until the storm’s broken. It’s building up, look.’

I followed her to the open window. A cloud bank the colour and shape of a bunch of black grapes had appeared in the west,
its edges outlined in gold by the horizontal sun. Thunder sounded, so far in the distance that it was felt as a vibration
in the body rather than heard. She shivered.

‘Once it gets in the river valley it rolls on and on for hours.’

Like a storm in the mountains. I guessed she was thinking about a late summer night by Lake Como. We stayed silently by the
window until there was a knock on the door and Betty wheeled in the supper trolley and laid out dishes and a wine cooler on
the table.

‘That will be all, thank you,’ Lady Brinkburn said. ‘Leave the trolley. You can clear away in the morning.’

I caught a surprised, even concerned, look from Betty. More disruption to the routine. We sat at the table and Lady Brinkburn
helped me to trout in aspic with cucumber, asparagus, chilled Muscadet. I was hungry and ate with a good appetite, but she
only picked at her food. Her spaniel, Lovelace, sat under the table with imploring eyes and got more of the trout than she
did. The storm was coming closer, the rumbles of thunder louder and more frequent. She winced at every one of them but kept
up a determined and entirely conventional conversation, mostly about travel, encouraging me to talk about the places I’d visited.

‘Oh, you are so fortunate to have seen the Bay of Naples,’ she said. ‘I should have loved to visit the south.’

She put it in the past tense, as if she were an old woman already.

‘There’s time, isn’t there? You could travel where you liked.’

She would presumably have some allowance from the estate and could, if she wished, marry her young librarian and fly south
with him as freely as a swallow. The tutting of English society would mean nothing to them in Naples or Athens. But her husband’s
death, which should give her a widow’s freedom, had brought the question of succession to a head. It could tie her down with
legal proceedings for years and put her name in the mouths of gossips round every tea table and parish pump in England. She’d
dug a deep ditch between herself and any chance of happiness. Perhaps I could help her step across it.