A Particular Circumstance (23 page)

She was gracious in her best wishes to Aurelia and Bertram for a refreshing and healthy walk. After all, thought Augusta, a trifle cynically, a bird in the hand and all that. And Hugo Westbury had proved more than disappointing, not only not coming up to snuff, but also sustaining a mysterious and violent attack which had confined him to his bed….

Hugo, in fact, was not confined to bed. He was in a
comfortable
chair, reading Miss Austen’s novel and concentrating well, in spite of his distracting thoughts about the adorable Charlotte, while Latimer hovered in the dressing-room, putting away some of Hugo’s clothes and keeping a watchful eye on his beloved master.

Sir Benjamin had informed Hugo that Miss Charlotte Grayson had not attended divine service this morning. Only Miss Kitty and her mama and uncle had been in the family pew. ‘But they asked after you, dear boy, and hope to visit later,’ he said, before going to the library for a brandy and a snooze before lunch.

Latimer entered the bedroom and put out clean linen. He asked Hugo if he could get him anything, but Hugo smiled and said, ‘No, nothing. Unless you could arrange a new pair of eyes for me. Mine feel strangely tired.’

‘Perhaps the print is a trifle small,’ Latimer said soothingly and went back to his duties.

Neither of them noticed Bennett’s departure or knew anything about a note which had been delivered for the personal attention of Mr Hugo Westbury. The butler had 
refused the request of the rough type who’d delivered it to ‘make it snappy’ and instead had closed the door and placed it on his silver tray for later, telling him that there was no reply and that he could clear off.

Quite by chance, Bertram and Amelia strolled along the
selfsame
path taken by Josiah Bennett and Lucy Baker, which led them past the imposing gates of Westbury Hall. Bertram noticed Alfred Westbury’s servant, Bennett, creeping slyly through the trees in a decidedly furtive manner and wondered what the man was doing. Surely he should be indoors, attending to his master’s needs? He decided to follow him, but Bennett seemed to have disappeared. In the presence of the maidservant, Bertram had to confine his wooing to ardent glances, gallant remarks and the occasional meaningful pressure of his large hand on the diminutive fingers in their lace mittens, but Miss Casterton was shyly responsive and returned his touch demurely. The scene was an idyllic one, the verdant grass and fine trees of the Westbury estate, the singing of the birds, the wild flowers, all contributing to lend a romantic atmosphere to Bertram’s
skilful
courtship.

Suddenly, there appeared the dishevelled figure of Josiah Bennett, running away from Westbury Hall and closely followed by the Bow Street Runner. In her fear and
nervousness
, Miss Casterton clung to Bertram most deliciously and he felt compelled to put a protective arm around her. As they watched the dramatic scene enacted before them, it became obvious that Josiah Bennett was well and truly caught. Bunfield tripped him expertly and then held him by the simple expedient of sitting on him.

Panting a little, the portly Bunfield warned him, ‘Josiah Bennett, you are wanted to answer some questions and I think you know why and wherefore, but if you want me to tell you….’

Bunfield blew three short blasts on his whistle and two of 
his scouts appeared, as if by magic.  

Desperately, Bennett managed to escape from beneath him and leapt up again, in a last bid for freedom, but he had
reckoned
without Bunfield’s toughness and strength. He was overpowered and Bunfield soon had him lying on the grass again, dazed and winded while his men proceeded to tie his hands behind his back.  

Bertram was behind Bunfield and looking along the expanse of the dark green tunnel of foliage, which led to Westbury Hall, he had an idea. Perhaps this was the so-called secret entrance to Westbury Hall, the entrance that led to the hidy-hole where Charles Westbury’s body had been, found.  

Taking Aurelia firmly by the hand, he sauntered casually along the green leafy tunnel, which led to a small wooden doorway. Aurelia didn’t seem too concerned when Bertram tried the door, and finding it locked, put his broad shoulder against it. He had no qualms about involving an innocent young miss in the crime of breaking and entering and as far as Aurelia was concerned, he guessed she would view this as an adventure on a par with some of the romantic novels that she devoured so avidly. They would explore the secret room and he would impress her with his bravery….  

But even Bertram was unprepared for what they found.  

Charlotte was still lying on the floor, now too weak and hoarse to shout and kick any longer. Aurelia, overcome with compassion for poor Miss Grayson and all her former
antagonism
forgotten, gave a little cry and swooped down to kneel on the stone floor beside her. Swiftly, she untied the blindfold and Bertram released Charlotte’s hands from their cruel bonds and helped her to her feet.  

‘Uncle Bertram. Miss Casterton,’ she said faintly. ‘How delighted I am to see you both. But how did you know…?’  

‘By following that wretch Bennett,’ Bertram said grimly, and as they led her out into the sunlight, Charlotte blinked back her tears of relief, for there was Lucy holding her father’s hand, come to look for her dear Miss Grayson.

Forgetting all her own troubles, Charlotte immediately swooped on her precious little Lucy and picked the child up in her arms.

‘Did that wicked man hurt you, Lucy, dear?’

‘No, miss. Only my froat,’ Lucy said bravely, although her blue eyes were bright with tears at the memory of the cruel Bennett.

‘You poor little darling,’ she said, kissing her cheek. ‘Your papa will take you home to your mama and give you
something
nice to make you better.’

And so a few minutes later, with Bennett bound securely and being escorted back to Westbury Hall by Mr Bunfield and his men, Bertram and Aurelia escorted Charlotte home to Felbrook Manor to her mama and Kitty.

When Mr Bunfield’s men reached the quiet stable yard at Westbury Hall, Josiah Bennett was made to await questioning by Mr Bunfield. He sat huddled against the door of Gypsy’s spacious stall, his shoulders hunched, glaring down at his shackled hands, his discarded valise lying at his side.

Mr Bunfield’s man sat on an upturned feed bucket nearby and puffed calmly on his pipe. The church bells had long since finished their peal to call the congregation to Sunday prayers. Nothing seemed to be stirring at the Hall and Mr Bunfield’s scout stared straight ahead at the idyllic scene before him.

Then he sat up with a jerk and removed his pipe for he heard his boss’s footsteps and a deep sigh as Mr Bunfield came to stand beside him. ‘No luck, my lad,’ Bunfield said. ‘I thought I might ’a got the felons as did for Mr Westbury, but they seem to have got clean away, apart from one, that is, and for ’im, it’s too late.’

‘Dead, is he, Harry?’

‘Ar! Jim Butler. Dead as a doornail, Sam. But ’ow about me laddo ’ere? He’s looking a bit worse for wear.’

‘Resisted arrest, Harry, and tried to run away, sir.’

‘Did he, Sam? The nasty lad. Can he talk?’

‘Dunno. He groaned a bit back, but hasn’t said nothing yet.’

Harry Bunfield walked over to the wretched prisoner and peered down at him. ‘Josiah Bennett, can you hear me?’ The miserable heap, huddled near to the stable door, remained silent and motionless and Mr Bunfield poked at him with the toe of his boot. ‘Are you listening to me, Bennett?’

The prisoner nodded slightly.

‘Good. Now, Josiah Bennett, you are apprehended for
planning
the murderous attempt on Mr Hugo Westbury’s life, by setting up villainous rogues to attack him, whereof he was left like to die and this against the peace of our sovereign lord the king and furthermore you are accused of luring away and attacking an innocent child, on purpose to aid the kidnap of Miss Charlotte Grayson. Have you aught to say?’

Bennett’s head moved slowly from side to side and then fell on to his chest.

‘No? Then listen again, Josiah Bennett. As sure as eggs is eggs, you shall be strung up on the gallers, Bennett. Hanged, Bennett. You are heading for the nubbing cheat, the Tyburn jig, caught in a noose, rope gargling, while you kick and jump your nasty life out…. Unless you turn’s King’s Evidence, that is…. Unless you names your evil accomplice…. The dastardly villain as aided and abetted you in all this and put you up to it…. You only has to name him to save your own bad and worthless life….’

Bunfield paused to give Bennett time to speak but there was no reply. Bennett drew a deep shuddering breath, but remained silent.

‘Nothing to say, Bennett? Well, let me tell you what’s going to happen. You will be stood on a cart and dragged through the streets, for all to revile you and spit on you. Your arms will be bound and the hempen necklace will be put round your scraggy neck. When the cart’s drove away from you, you’ll be left to dangle and choke for long agonizing minutes, until all 
the evil life is squeezed out of you. Now, are you goin’ to testify?’

Bennett squirmed and groaned.

‘Very well, Bennett. After your long choking death, you will be cut down, stripped and coated in tar, to be hung at some crossroads gibbet as a warning to other felons. If you is lucky, you might be given to the surgeons, to be used for practice … to be sliced into pieces, Bennett, and your body parts given out to students … to cut up and examine, Bennett. For the last time, will you testify, and save your wicked life and miserable body?’

‘Yes … yes …’ Bennett groaned at last. ‘Yes … I’ll tell you everything you want … I’ll speak . . I’ll tell you how he drove me to it … how he tormented me night and day….’

‘Good man,’ Bunfield said with satisfaction. ‘Come on, Sam, help him up and let’s take him to the house.’

In Westbury Hall, all was quiet. Hugo Westbury had dispensed with his valet and was engaged in trying to dress himself. He pulled on his clothes, wincing a little, because although his wound was healed it was still a little sore. Even putting on his shirt was very testing and he rested after getting one of his arms in the first sleeve, before groping behind him for the other. The twisting of his body set the scarred flesh at his side singing with pain, but he was
determined
to persist. This morning, he had ordered his valet to direct the small hand mirror from his dressing chest to his wounded side so that he might see the progress of his injury. He had been pleased and delighted at the sight. Doctor Armstrong had removed the stitches and there remained only a narrow red line to show where he had been injured. Armstrong had assured him that, unless he indulged in undue exertion, the flesh should now be completely knitted together.

‘It will eventually fade into a fine silver line and no one will know of it but yourself, sir,’ the good doctor had said.

In spite of the discomfort, Hugo smiled. Now he was ready to be up and about and the long tedium of bed rest and medication would be forgotten. Soon he would be back to overseeing the repair of the estate cottages, he would even be able to see Charlotte…. This thought made him pause even longer over his attempts to shape his starched cravat into an
acceptable arrangement. He gazed into the mirror. His face was still pale with the sort of pallor which was induced by confinement indoors and he was looking somewhat gaunt because of lack of appetite. What he needed, he decided, was a gentle ride along the lane which led to Felbrook and if he should reach Felbrook Manor, why, he could call in and greet his friends, the Graysons. But the very effort of dressing and standing before the mirror was too much and he was obliged to sink into a chair and rest.

This was only a temporary defeat. Tomorrow, he would call for his groom and have him saddle up Gypsy and bring him round to the front door. He was determined to try to ride.

In the library, Sir Benjamin was sitting alone, gazing down at a letter he had just received from Harry Bunfield. He took his paper knife from the desk and slit open the envelope.

Having read the note twice, Sir Benjamin stood up stiffly and walked with some difficulty over to the great carved
fireplace
, which had been completely restored after the damage of the thunderstorm. He released the secret opening of the panelling which had recently been Charlotte Grayson’s prison and set it wide open. Then he sat down at his desk and began to write.

He sat for a few moments with bowed head, studying what he’d written, and then sanded and folded his letter as he heard a discreet tap on the door.

‘Come in, Alfred,’ he said expressionlessly.

As Alfred stood gazing at him silently, Sir Benjamin said, ‘Yes, come in and close the door, if you please, and be seated. You are just the man I want to see.’

‘Oh, really? Any particular reason, sir?’

‘Only that Mr Bunfield informs me that your man, Josiah Bennett, has been arrested in connection with the vile attack on my heir, Mr Hugo Westbury, and I know that you have personally been involved in that and also in the attempted kidnap of Charlotte Grayson. I wish to hear all that you know of the matter.’

‘I? What should I know?’ He sat down in the chair opposite to Sir Benjamin and began to fiddle with an ornate Indian curio which was lying on the desk. It was a slim silver dagger from Benares, which Sir Benjamin used as a paper knife.

‘What should I know?’ Alfred repeated and began to stroke the silver knife between his fingers.

‘You know why, how and wherefore you set those rogues on to your cousin Hugo and left him for dead,’ Sir Benjamin said quietly, ‘and why you kidnapped Charlotte Grayson and hid her behind the panelling there.’

‘Oh no, Sir Benjamin, not I, you are mistaken.’

‘No, I am not mistaken,’ Sir Benjamin replied calmly. ‘I 
know you are as guilty as hell,’ Sir Benjamin continued as though Alfred had not spoken, ‘but I would like you to have this chance to make your final peace with Almighty God, before you die.’

‘Before I die? What the devil do you mean?’

‘I mean that I am going to kill you, Alfred.’

Alfred Westbury stiffened. His knuckles gleamed white as he grasped the knife in both hands and glared at Sir Benjamin.

Then he consciously relaxed and made to appear at his ease, lolling back in his chair and observing Sir Benjamin through viciously narrowed eyes. ‘Why, what talk is this, sir? You speak as though your brain is disordered. I fear that you are out of your mind….’

‘Not so,’ said Sir Benjamin softly. ‘I was never more sound of mind and as for my body, it has not always been old and feeble. Once, I was as tall and strong as an oak, and can be again. Just as long as it suits my purpose, Alfred,’ he said serenely.

To Alfred Westbury’s horror, Sir Benjamin rose to his feet and straightened up to his full height. Suddenly, the years fell away from him, his shoulders expanded, his head was erect as though his strength was restored to him.

Alfred leapt to his feet and raised the only weapon he had near at hand, the glittering, enamelled knife. ‘You must be insane. Stand back,’ he snarled, ‘or it will be the worse for you.’

‘Oh no, Alfred.’ Sir Benjamin’s voice was quiet but deadly. ‘On the contrary, it will be the worse for
you
.’

He stepped even closer to Alfred, as though he wished to clasp him in his long arms and Alfred, pale with fear, leapt at him with the knife, driving it into the old man in a vain attempt to halt his inexorable advance. Then with a scream of terror, Alfred turned and made for the priest’s hidy-hole, with Sir Benjamin staggering after him, his hand now pressed to the wound which pulsed in his chest. Alfred sped along the secret tunnel, with Sir Benjamin staggering after him, to the 
place where it came out into the woods. There, Alfred turned, ready to strike again, but Sir Benjamin, with a final effort, wrested the weapon from his grasp. There was a terrible gurgling scream as with his last strength, he thrust it
unerringly
into Alfred’s throat.

Then silence. Sir Benjamin collapsed on the floor and tried to drag himself back along the secret tunnel, but after a while, he sank on to his face, his silvery head laid on the ancient stone, and he was still.

It was Harry Bunfield who found him. Once Josiah Bennett had been safely bestowed in Lynn Gaol, he made his way up to Westbury Hall and once admitted by the butler, he presented his card and insisted on being shown into Sir Benjamin’s library. The butler remained impassive as Bunfield followed the trail of blood and devastation to Sir Benjamin and Alfred Westbury, but as he told the
housekeeper
later, he had been all of a tremble at the sight of the open panel and all that gore.

He’d had to retire to the sanctuary of his pantry and seek a well-known alcoholic restorative to calm his jangled nerves. But when the full horror of the day’s events had finally been revealed, all the servants were equally affected, Sir Benjamin being a loved and popular employer.

It only remained now to inform Mr Hugo Westbury of the deaths of his two relatives and here, Harry Bunfield
uncharacteristically
engaged the help of the good Doctor Armstrong in this mournful task.

Hugo was lounging on the day bed in his room, restless, bored and still listless with the enforced inactivity of the last few days. Sunday was always so confoundedly dull. Charlotte would be busy with her Sunday school and would not be visiting. Sir Benjamin would no doubt be at church and then would have his lunch and an afternoon nap during the long hours before dinner. He was allowed downstairs for 
meals, but the devil of it was, he never felt hungry. Tomorrow, with or without Armstrong’s permission, he would take Gypsy out. He felt strong enough now and, with a groom in attendance, could manage a short, gentle ride in the grounds of the Hall. He might even meet Charlotte. This possibility occasioned such a pleasant reverie that he was surprised when the butler knocked on the door to announce Doctor Armstrong. There was no doubt in his mind that the good doctor was pleased with his progress. He could leave off the sleeping draught now there was no need to have the wound looked at. Even the slightest precautions against any
overexertion
were unnecessary. And there was no objection to healthful exercise, provided he did nothing foolhardy, of course.

All this was a source of quiet satisfaction to Hugo, but then he was further surprised when at the end of his visit, the doctor walked to the door and invited Harry Bunfield to come in, before taking a seat at the side of him.

Both men were very grave and Bunfield said softly, ‘I have something to report, sir, which is of a very serious nature, Mr Westbury.’

‘Oh yes, and what can that be, I wonder?’

‘Well, Mr Westbury, brace yourself for a shock, sir,’ Harry Bunfield said. He paused for a long moment and then said, ‘Today, Alfred Westbury’s manservant was apprehended for being involved in and organizing the attack on yourself, Mr Westbury. The said Alfred Westbury returned to Westbury Hall this afternoon and he and your great uncle, Sir Benjamin Westbury, fought to the death…. Both are deceased, Mr Westbury.’

Hugo looked at him uncomprehendingly. ‘Fought to the death? Deceased?’ he asked in a wondering voice.

‘Yes, I am afraid so, sir. I have arranged for both parties to be laid out on trestles in Sir Benjamin’s library. The servants are forbidden to enter until they have your permission, sir.’

Doctor Armstrong clasped Hugo’s hand and said gently, ‘I 
am so sorry about this, Mr Westbury, and I only hope this tragedy does not set your own recovery back.’

Hugo nodded slightly, totally bemused at the turn the interview had taken and unable to either take in the
information
or make any reply.

‘It is a bad business,’ Bunfield said, shaking his head, ‘and if I had acted sooner, mayhap I could have prevented it….’ He gave a long sigh. ‘But the best thing about it is that the mystery of the dead body is now solved. When I takes down the full statement of that villain, Bennett, all will be explained and I hopes as then you will be able to get on with your own life in peace, Mr Westbury.’

‘Meanwhile,’ interposed Doctor Armstrong, ‘I shall arrange to have your great-uncle and your cousin taken away for a coroner’s inquest.’

He looked more keenly at Hugo and said quietly, ‘If I were you, I should forgo horse-riding for the time being. I shall give you something to calm your nerves and shall visit you again tomorrow.’ Hugo nodded and leaned back against the sofa cushions, his brain unable to take in what Bunfield and Armstrong were saying to him. Only after they had departed and he was finally alone did his weary mind begin to process the information it had received.

That his hateful cousin Alfred had wished him dead, nay, even plotted his murder, was bad enough, but that Sir Benjamin Westbury, his benefactor and the one source of kindness and affection in his life, should also be no more, hurt him to his innermost core.