Cut to the Quick (29 page)

“What did you hope to gain by going to his room?’’

“I’ve got to tell you, haven’t I? If I don’t, you’ll just keep digging, probing, ransacking us for guilty secrets— No! I won’t let you humiliate me any longer! You thought I’d given myself to a groom and borne him a child. Perhaps you even thought I murdered that child to keep my shame a secret. Well, you were wrong! It isn’t I who’ve brought our family to the brink of disgrace and put us in Craddock’s power. Geoffrey—Geoffrey is the criminal in our midst! And not just a murderer, Mr. Kestrel. Murderers are only hanged. Traitors are drawn and quartered, and their property taken by the Crown. That’s what would happen to Geoffrey if we didn’t conspire with Craddock to hide his guilt. And but for the dishonour it would bring on our name, I could see it happen and not even shed a tear!’’

V^olonel Fontclair committed treason?” Julian said dazedly.

“It was during the Peninsular campaign.” Lady Tarleton sat down and smoothed out her skirts, suddenly purposeful and calm. “Of course you know he served under Wellington in Portugal and Spain. He was decorated many times for bravery in the field. Until a few months ago, we were all proud of his achievements. We thought he was a worthy successor to the military heroes who've borne our name.

“What we didn't know was that he'd been ensnared by a Bona-partist spy—a creature named Gabrielle Deschamps. He met her after the siege of Badajoz. She was hiding in a church—of all places!—and he took her under his protection. A pity there was no one to protect him from her! By the time the army moved on, Geoffrey fancied himself in love with her. He saw her whenever and wherever he could. And he wrote her letters, some half a dozen of them. I don’t know what they said; none of us has seen them. But they passed information to her—information she sold to the French army! He gave aid and comfort to the enemy in time of war, Mr. Kestrel! Just to keep some harlot’s favours! Was there ever anything so contemptible? I can hardly believe he could be my brother, and a Fontclair!

“He thought his treachery would never be discovered. He lost

track of the woman after he was invalided out, and for a dozen years he heard no more of her. But there’s such a thing as retribution, Mr. Kestrel, and God saw fit to visit it on all of us, as well as on him who earned it. This past April, just after Hugh’s coming of age, Craddock came to Bellegarde and demanded to speak with Geoffrey, Robert, and me. He’d got hold of Geoffrey’s letters and threatened to make them public, unless Robert agreed to a marriage between Hugh and Craddock’s daughter.

“A pretty revenge, was it not? I had scorned him years ago; now he would marry his daughter to my nephew—make her mother to the next generation of Fontclairs. And imagine how he relished holding over our heads how Geoffrey*d disgraced us all! We’d always been so proud of our ancestors* military glories, and now to fall so low! It amazes me Geoffrey still lives. If he had a vestige of honour left, he would put an end to himself rather than bear the remorse and humiliation. But he held on to his worthless life—more than that, he begged Robert to accede to Craddock’s demands, to save him from disgrace and prosecution. Of course Robert agreed—not for Geoffrey’s sake, I trust, but to protect our family honour and pass on a spotless name to our descendants.”

Julian recalled how, on his first evening at Bellegarde, Geoffrey had bolted from the drawing room on hearing Lady Tarleton talk of their ancestors* military exploits. No wonder. Her every word had been a reproach, pointing up the contrast between their past glories and his own looming disgrace. “But how did Colonel Fontclair’s letters end up in Craddock’s hands?”

“By a circumstance some would call coincidence, but I call Nemesis. One of Mr. Craddock’s loathsome business interests is a string of pawnshops he owns in the City. He was visiting one of them when he found a woman’s jewelry casket, of black and gold japan work. Whoever pawned it hadn’t redeemed it, and the man who manages the shop for Craddock had put it out for sale. Craddock had a fancy to give it to his daughter. While examining it, he discovered it had a false bottom. He looked underneath it—and there he found the letters. At all events, that’s the story he told us.”

“Did the jewelry box belong to this woman Gabrielle Deschamps?”

“I have no idea. Geoffrey says he doesn’t remember her having such a box, but why we should believe anything Geoffrey says is more than I can conceive."

“Who pawned the box?"

“We don't know."

“But don't you want to find out? If it was Mademoiselle Des-champs who pawned it, she may be in England. Colonel Fontclair could buy Mr. Craddock's silence, only to face a new threat of blackmail from her."

“We thought of that. We're not fools, Mr. Kestrel. We asked Craddock who pawned the box, but he said the pawnbroker didn't know. The stupid fellow remembered nothing about the transaction at all."    .

“But pawnbrokers are required by law to keep the name and address of everyone who pawns goods with them."

“Well, this pawnbroker had lost the name and address of whoever pawned the box. Or so Craddock said. We couldn't very well go and question the man ourselves. We didn't dare let it be known we had any interest in the box or the person who pawned it. I shouldn't think it was the Deschamps woman. Why would she have pawned it with the letters inside? They were valuable—she could have sold them to Geoffrey for a high price. Most likely she's dead, or the box was stolen from her. It must have fallen into the hands of someone who either didn't know the letters were there or didn't think them of any importance. But when Craddock read them, he realized what they could be worth, and how he could use them against us.

“Now do you understand why I went to his room while he was out? I was looking for those miserable letters. I hoped against hope he might have brought them with him to Bellegarde. I waited in my room till nearly five o'clock, when I was sure all the servants would be at dinner, then I crept into his room and searched it. Repulsive though it was to touch his clothes, his shaving things, his bed linen—I searched everywhere. If I could only get those letters away from him, his hold over us would be broken. We could throw him out of Bellegarde as we did years ago, and his daughter with him.

“Now I'll tell you about my embroidery scissors—it's fascinated

you for so long. There was a strongbox on the floor of Craddock’s room. I tried to open it, but it was locked. I was convinced the letters were in it, and it maddened me that I couldn’t get at them. I tried to drag it away with me, but it was too heavy. Then I tried to pick the lock, using one of the blades of my embroidery scissors, but that didn’t work. Finally I jabbed at the lid with the scissors, trying to prise it open. That’s how I cut my finger. And just at that moment Craddock came in! Only conceive of my humiliation! To be caught in his room like that, searching his things!”

Her story rang true, thought Julian. The scratches on the scissors could well have been made by poking the blades inside a lock or under the rim of a strongbox. And it was easy to imagine her making such a frenzied attack on the strongbox that she cut her finger. He saw why she had lied: not only would it have galled her to admit Craddock caught her searching his room, but she would have had to explain what she was looking for, and the story of Colonel Font-clair’s letters would.have had to come out. Craddock had supported her lies in order to keep his hold on the Fontclairs—for a blackmailer’s power vanishes once the secret he knows is made public. Craddock and the Fontclairs had different motives, but their goal was the same: to keep Geoffrey’s misconduct hidden at all costs.

“Craddock came in from riding at twenty minutes past five,” he said, “and, according to my informant, you were still in his room half an hour later. Were you quarrelling all that time?”

“Who is this informant of yours?”

“I should rather keep—him or her—out of this.”

“Some skulking servant, no doubt. If I ever find out who it was, I shall have the wretch dismissed without a character. Listening at keyholes!”

“Lady Tarleton,” he said quietly, “what is it you’ve been regretting for more than twenty years?”

She looked at him sharply, warily. After a moment she said, “I’ve always wished I’d had Craddock punished for trying to take liberties with me. But Robert and I were anxious to protect my reputation. Of course I was blameless, but there might have been a scandal all the same. Malicious people might have said I*d encouraged Craddock

somehow. So Robert gave him a reference and wages in lieu of notice in exchange for his promise not to make known why he was turned out of Bellegarde. But afterward I was sorry we'd been so lenient with him. He—he practically tried to assault me. We ought to have had him arrested. That's what I’ve regretted all these years."

Julian frowned over this but made no comment. “In your quarrel with Craddock, you threatened to betray him about something, if he revealed something about you. What was all that about?"

“I didn't want him to tell my family he’d caught me searching his room. I was mortified enough without their knowing. I said— I threatened to make public that he was blackmailing us with Geoffrey's letters. He didn’t believe I would do it. He knew I didn’t want Geoffrey’s disgrace to come out.” Her eyes narrowed. “What else did your spy hear us say?”

“Mr. Craddock said you would sacrifice anything for the sake of your reputation. And he said he wished the rest of the world could have seen what he saw when he came in and found you—where?”

“In his room, trying to open his strongbox,” she said impatiently. “Where did you think he meant? In your room, murdering that girl?"

That was the crux of the problem, he thought ruefully. What, if anything, did all this have to do with the murder? Well, at least he knew at long last how Craddock had bent the Fontclairs to his will. And since it was only natural to suspect a link between blackmail and murder, both Geoffrey Fontclair and Mark Craddock had a good deal of explaining to do.

*

On returning to the drawing room, Julian asked to speak with Sir Robert in private. They retired to the small study at the back of the main house where, two nights ago, the household had filed by to look at the murdered girl. Julian wondered if anyone would ever care to sit on that sofa again.

“Senderby was here this afternoon," said Sir Robert. “He told me Morley’s story about seeing Bliss with the murdered girl. He said you already knew about that."

“Yes. Has Bliss been found yet?*’

“No. One of the special constables is making enquiries. It shouldn’t be difficult to find him. He*s too old and hasn’t the means to travel quickly, and he stops often along the way to beg and hawk his wares. But I shouldn't think he'd have much to contribute to the investigation. It seems he spoke with the girl only briefly, to give her directions on the road.**

Julian thought of the girl's earring and the strand of her hair, which he had wrapped in paper and buried in a container of tooth-powder in his dressing-case. Those clues certainly suggested that there had been more than a casual connexion between the girl and Bliss. But he could not bring himself to tell Sir Robert about his investigation at the old mill.

“It wasn't Morley*s story I wanted to speak to you about,** he said. “I’m sorry to bring up a subject that must be extremely painful to you, but Lady Tarleton’s told me about Colonel Fontclairs letters.’* He repeated her account of Craddock’s blackmail scheme, and of her attempt to break open his strongbox.

Sir Robert heard him out with surprising calm. “It’s something of a relief that you know,” he said quietly. “We’ve been finding it harder and harder to keep Geoffrey’s secret from you. I sometimes wonder if we were visited with this murder as a punishment for hiding his guilt. Just when we most wish to escape notice, the investigation’s shone a beacon on us, lighting up our every movement, thought, and feeling. It’s making a mockery of our secrecy, and Craddock's threats. Mr. Kestrel, my brother is a criminal, and I am a magistrate. My concealment of his crime is indefensible. If you choose to reveal it, you'll be acting as a British subject should, and I—I shall be the first to commend you for it!**

Julian thought: What must it cost a man like this to lie for his brother, to give in to the blackmail of a former servant, to suppress information that might be needed to apprehend a murderer? No doubt he's acting in part out of a desire to save his brother’s skin, but what really drives him is honour—the need to protect the name he cherishes. He has his ancestors to think of, and his descendants. Their claims on him are stronger even than his sense of justice.

He said, “The only crime that concerns me is the murder here two days ago. If Colonel Fontclair’s letters have nothing to do with that, then I count them no business of mine."

“Do you think the murder and this matter of the letters are linked?"

“Very possibly. Have you asked your brother and Mr. Craddock whether the girl might be connected somehow to Gabrielle Des-champs, or the letters?"

“I haven’t asked them specifically, no. I’m afraid I’ve tended to shun the very idea."

“I understand. But I think we ought to ask them now."

“And you are quite right, of course." Sir Robert pulled the bell-rope, and sent a servant to ask Colonel Fontclair to join them. “Mr. Kestrel, I don’t believe my brother had anything to do with that girl’s death. For all his prowess in battle, he isn’t cruel or brutal by nature. His sins are sins of irresponsibility and weakness. About Mr. Craddock, I can’t be certain. But I promise you this: If it transpires that the murder is linked in any way to my brother’s misconduct, nothing on earth will prevail upon me to keep it hidden any longer. I’ve already cheated justice by conspiring to suppress the letters. Further than that, I cannot go."

*

“I wish I could explain to you what she was like!" Geoffrey waved his hands helplessly. “She could make a man do anything. It was like—like being bewitched. She could torment a fellow until he went out of his senses. You could never be sure of her. Even when she was in my arms, she always seemed somewhere far away. Laughing at me, maybe. Thinking of someone else.