Death at Knytte (15 page)

‘We’re wasting time,’ Docket said impatiently.

Beddowes went to look out of the window. ‘I’ve no right to become involved unless the local man requests help. Even if this crime is the work of our jewel thief, I should ask for Inspector Tremayle’s agreement before taking part in the investigation.’

They weren’t kept waiting long; Tremayle came to them, and was almost effusive in his welcome, his face positively beaming. ‘I’m happy to say there’s no need for you to exert yourself, Sergeant Beddowes. The murderer is caught. I have him locked up and under guard. In view of the serious nature of the crime, and the risk that the culprit might attempt to escape, I have sent to Hagstock for the secure carriage.’

‘Congratulations,’ Docket said. ‘How did you achieve such a speedy conclusion to the case? Did the villain confess?’

‘No. In fact he insists he’s innocent, but he’s the only person who could possibly have committed the crime.’ Tremayle smiled broadly, obviously very pleased with himself. ‘Would
you care to come and inspect the scene? Nothing has been moved, and I would be interested to hear your observations.’ He led the way from the room, and for a few moments the frenzied screams became more audible.

‘I’m afraid Lady Pickhurst is quite beside herself,’ Tremayle remarked. ‘Her maid and the housekeeper are with her, but they seem unable to comfort her. The doctor is expected soon.’

‘I’ve found a large amount of cold water usually works well in cases of hysteria,’ Beddowes said. ‘And the sooner it’s applied the quicker the cure.’

Docket looked shocked. ‘Sergeant, you can’t throw water over a member of the nobility!’

‘Hmph,’ Tremayle said non-committally. ‘I’m afraid what you’re about to see is rather gory, gentlemen.’

‘Did Lady Pickhurst see the body?’ Beddowes asked, thinking that might have caused the attack of hysteria.

‘No. His lordship was found by Henson, the butler. The sight was too much for him. Two footmen carried him to his room in a state of total collapse. He’s not a young man, of course.’

Docket made a small sound, and Beddowes glanced at him in concern. His young companion managed a weak smile. ‘At least my stomach can’t betray me. I’m in no danger of losing my breakfast, since I rid myself of it some hours ago.’

The old library was dimly lit, only two of the shutters covering the windows that extended along one wall having been opened. A long table stood before the two men as they entered, with a broken chair lying on its side at the far end. Close to the chair, something dark lay sprawled in the shadows. The sergeant screwed up his eyes in an attempt to make out more detail, but he had to move closer to recognize it. Lord Pickhurst lay face down. From the side of his head ran a stain that shimmered in the uncertain light. Tremayle had
gone to the windows, and as he opened another shutter, the splashes acquired colour, and became deep red, creamy white and grey. The contents of his lordship’s skull, blood, bone and brains, were splattered across the dark pattern of the Persian carpet.

Behind him Beddowes heard a kind of sigh, then a slight thud, as Docket fainted.

B
eddowes helped Docket to a sitting position, prudently keeping between the young man and the gory mess on the carpet. ‘There’s no need for you to stay. Go outside.’

Docket shook his head. ‘No. I’m here as Sir Martin’s representative. I’ll do what I must.’ He rose to his feet, visibly steeling himself before taking a step to the side so he could see what remained of Lord Pickhurst. ‘What did that?’ he asked, swallowing hard.

‘We thought at first it must be a shotgun,’ Tremayle replied, opening yet more shutters. ‘But we were wrong. The murder weapon is over here.’ With the morning light streaming in through six tall windows, the full horror of the scene was exposed.

Averting his gaze, Docket made his way around the long table to join the inspector, while Beddowes carefully traced the shorter route past the still damp patches which extended almost to the wall. He moved slowly, his eyes missing nothing.

The men met by the object which lay halfway between the windows and the upturned chair. It was the bust of a man, with a large strong-jawed head, and broad shoulders, modelled considerably larger than life-size. Beddowes stared at it with disbelief; it had the unmistakable look of solid marble, and he had never seen a less likely murder weapon. However, the evidence was plain enough; the side of the base
and the right shoulder were horribly smeared with flesh, skin and blood.

‘You see?’ Tremayle was triumphant. He put his two hands around the neck of the bust, bent his knees in the classic strong-man’s pose, and attempted to move the huge piece of marble from the floor. Exerting all his strength, the inspector could barely raise it an inch. Beddowes measured the man with his eye and frowned thoughtfully, flexing his injured arm; it wasn’t sufficiently healed to risk the attempt, yet he was intrigued, wanting to test the weight of the bust himself. He placed his one available hand beneath the bearded chin, where he could get a good grip. The burden was greater than he’d expected, and he felt his muscles protest; they’d been weakened by the enforced inactivity of convalescence, following his injuries, not to mention the spell of near-starvation.

Beddowes managed to lift the bust two inches from the floor. ‘With two good hands I believe I could carry it,’ he commented, ‘but something like that isn’t easy to use as a weapon.’ He looked at the damage that had been done to Lord Pickhurst’s skull and shook his head. ‘He’d have to be a giant.’

‘Exactly,’ Tremayle said, rubbing his hands together, whether from glee or to remove the sting caused by his attempt at lifting the bust, Beddowes couldn’t guess. ‘Not a man in ten thousand could pick that thing up, let alone swing it over another man’s head. It was immediately clear to me that this case was unconnected to the jewel robberies; I only had to ask if there was a particularly strong man known to be nearby, and the answer came. Jonah Jackman, a giant by comparison with the rest of us, has been employed at Knytte as a stonemason for nearly a year. I have a dozen witnesses who can swear they’ve seen him manhandling slabs of stone even larger than this during the course of his work.’

‘But that’s not the same,’ Beddowes said. ‘To lift is one thing, but to swing that great weight with enough power to do this –’ he gestured at the body. ‘It hardly seems possible.’

‘Do you have any other suggestion as to how Lord Pickhurst met his death?’ Tremayle asked. ‘Perhaps three or four assailants joined together and threw the bust at him.’ He pointed at the table, which was heavily scarred, his manner cheerfully sarcastic. ‘Perhaps they jumped onto the table carrying the bust and dropped it, while he sat helpfully tilting his head to one side.’

Beddowes didn’t answer. With the spread of blood and brain matter this last suggestion was plainly nonsense. He had seen that sort of damage done to a man’s skull before, but only ever on the battlefield. Since joining the police force he’d encountered violent death many times; he recalled the case of a madwoman who battered a man to death with a sledge hammer. Slight in build, and apparently too weak to have committed the crime, she’d broken her victim’s skull in a dozen places. However, she had rained down many blows upon her victim, and doctors at her trial had maintained that the insane were often possessed of exceptional strength.

The sergeant opened his mouth with the intention of making some comment, and then closed it again. Tremayle had made his position clear; this was nothing to do with the jewel robberies, and an outsider’s opinion wasn’t wanted.

‘I wonder if we might go outside?’ Docket suggested.

‘By all means.’ Tremayle took another complacent glance around the room. ‘There is nothing more to learn here, and the wagon may have arrived. I must get my prisoner safely locked up. Once he has seen how the evidence speaks against him, he’s bound to confess.’

‘I hope the doctor has come,’ Docket put in, his spirits clearly lifting once they’d left the scene of the crime, although
the hysterical screams from the floor above had become clearly audible again. ‘Poor Lady Pickhurst. I hate to hear a woman suffering so gravely. There were those who said the marriage was ill-matched, but I think the gossips got it wrong.’

‘Since Inspector Tremayle has everything in hand, perhaps we should go,’ Beddowes suggested.

Docket nodded. ‘Sir Martin will want a report. I suspect he’ll be happy that this matter has been so speedily resolved.’ He gave Beddowes a sideways glance. ‘I intend no slight, Sergeant. Sadly your own case has been dogged by bad luck.’

Outside, a one-horse phaeton stood in the drive. Wooden-faced, a footman informed them that Dr Pencoe had arrived, and was attending Lady Pickhurst; the sounds of distress from within had grown no less. The distant rattle of wheels could be heard; a Black Maria, with two constables on the box, turned the corner around the yew hedge and bowled up to the house.

‘Excellent.’ Tremayle beamed at Docket and Beddowes. ‘Gentlemen, I’ll confess my prisoner concerns me. He’s a strong cove, Jackman. If he decided to attempt an escape we might have our hands full. I’d be obliged if you would remain while we move him to the wagon, just as a show of extra strength, as it were.’

‘Perhaps it would be wise for us to arm ourselves,’ Docket suggested.

‘I don’t think that’s necessary,’ Tremayle said. ‘My lads carry nightsticks, and we’ve got the manacles on him, but I’d be grateful if you’d stand by, just in case.’

Docket bit his lip, half turning to Beddowes. The sergeant said nothing, content to leave the decision to the Lord Lieutenant’s secretary. He suspected Tremayle merely wanted an audience for his triumphal departure.

The man who was led from the stables attended by four constables was indeed a giant, several inches taller than Beddowes, who stood over six feet, and a great deal more powerfully built. The suspected murderer towered over his escort, but he walked slowly, looking straight ahead. It seemed he had no intention of attempting to escape.

Beddowes looked at the man’s face, and felt a jolt of recognition. In battle Beddowes had seen both men and horses reach a point when they removed themselves from a reality that was too awful to be borne. They no longer wished to live, even though they’d suffered no acute physical harm, because life itself had become intolerable.

There was an obvious conclusion; Jackman must have committed the murder in a moment of madness, and now he was filled with horror at what he’d done. Perhaps he couldn’t escape that terrible scene in the old library; it would haunt him, waking and sleeping, until he met his end on the gallows. Disliking his morbid thoughts and knowing the prisoner would need no further restraint, Beddowes turned towards the stable yard, eager to leave. A woman’s voice stopped him, lifted in a heart-rending cry.

‘No, oh no!’

Beddowes turned back. The captive was about to step into the Black Maria. A woman, small and slight and dressed in a plain grey gown, was running towards him.

‘No!’ she cried again. ‘This is all wrong! Jonah, you can’t let them take you. Tell them the truth.’

Inspector Tremayle stepped forward, the smile wiped momentarily from his face. He caught the woman by the shoulder before she could reach his prisoner. ‘Come now, miss, this is police business. Step aside if you please.’

‘But you’re making a mistake!’ She shook off his grip, but made no further move. ‘Whoever killed Lord Pickhurst, it
can’t have been Jonah. He’d never hurt anyone, he’s the gentlest person I know.’ Jackman kept his gaze fixed on the ground as if he was unaware of her presence.

‘Are you saying you know where this man was when Lord Pickhurst was killed?’ Tremayle had assured himself that this was a person of no position in the household and his tone was rough. ‘Was he with you?’ He shot the words at her like an accusation, making her recoil from him. ‘This rogue’s a single man, so I understand,’ he went on relentlessly, ‘but perhaps you were keeping him company last night.’

The woman stared at him in horror. ‘I was in my room next to the nursery,’ she said, finding her voice at last, ‘as I am every night.’ She faltered under the inspector’s gaze. ‘You don’t understand. Jonah is my cousin. I’ve known him since we were children. He’s not a violent man.’

‘You’re wasting my time,’ Tremayle said. He brushed past her as the door at the back of the wagon was closed and locked. ‘All right lads, take him.’ With a nod to Docket he hurried to the carriage which had brought him to Knytte. There was the jingle of harness and the creak of springs, followed by the crunch and hush of wheels on gravel. The noise faded as the two vehicles went down the drive, until all that could be heard was the hysterical wailing floating from an open window above them.

Some instinct propelled Beddowes across the dozen yards that separated him from the young woman; he reached her just as she crumpled. She didn’t weigh much; even with the use of only one arm, he was able to prevent her from falling. He half carried her to a stone seat, set beside the steps into the house.

‘I’m quite well,’ she was saying, as she sank onto the seat, ‘a moment of weakness, that’s all.’ She turned her head, so that she could see who held her, and with a little gasp, she fainted.

Lucille flung out an arm, as if in a paroxysm of grief. She lay face down upon the bed, her pillow soaked with tears. For a while she’d relished the part of a widow driven mad by the loss of a beloved husband, but her hysterical shrieks had made her throat sore, and now she had a headache. Weary at last of her play-acting, she allowed her sobs to quieten, and heard her maid whisper to Dr Pencoe.

‘Please sir, is there nothing you can do?’

‘It’s difficult while her ladyship refuses to allow me near her,’ the man said testily. ‘Physical force is a last resort in such cases, and since I understand Dr Long is expected, it may be best to await his arrival.’

‘I believe her ladyship is close to exhausting herself,’ the housekeeper put in. ‘Should I order a fresh posset? We may be able to persuade her to take it now.’

‘If you can persuade her to take anything it should be the medicament I have here, but since two doses have already been spilt there seems little point wasting another.’

Biting at the bedclothes to keep from laughing, Lucille moaned and thrashed about again. This time she felt her hand connect with soft flesh, though which of the women she’d struck she couldn’t tell. A hysterical laugh burst from her lips. She would continue the charade until Dr Long witnessed her prostration. He was both older and more widely respected than the local man, Pencoe; she wished to convince as many people as possible of the sincerity of her grief, for plenty of her neighbours would be sceptical.

‘My Lady, please, try to be calm. I think I hear a carriage coming.’ The maid ran to the window. ‘Yes, at last! Will you not allow me to bathe your face and brush your hair before Dr Long comes upstairs?’

By way of answer Lucille gave another hysterical wail, flailing wildly. Stupid girl! What would be the point of working herself into this state if she was prinked and tidied before the old fool arrived? She lifted her head and immediately felt dizzy; that might be useful, for she felt a grand gesture was needed.

As the door opened a few minutes later Lucille rolled across the bed. ‘My husband,’ she sobbed, ‘I must see my poor dear husband.’ She rose to her feet before the two women could reach her and stood swaying; exhausted as she was, this required no play acting. ‘Help me, Doctor,’ she wailed, ‘please, if you have any compassion, let me hold my sweet love in my arms one last time!’

Phoebe pushed herself upright, forcing the man who held her to let go. ‘I am quite well now,’ she said, painfully embarrassed. She watched her rescuer as he withdrew, to stand a few feet away; he seemed almost as ill-at-ease as she was.

‘Miss Drake,’ Docket came to take the vacant space beside the governess; they had been acquainted when she worked at Clowmoor Manor, and he felt himself obliged to assist her. ‘Should I send indoors for a maid? You’ve been badly shaken.’

‘I need no help, thank you,’ she replied, her chin lifting suddenly. She stared at the sergeant’s back. ‘Seeing a man alive and well, having been assured that he was dead, was a great shock, that’s all.’

‘It was a villain by the name of Fetch and Carry Cobb who died.’ The tall man turned again, and came to stand before her. ‘I apologize for giving you such a shock.’

‘Allow me to present Sergeant Beddowes, Miss Drake,’ Docket said hastily. ‘He’s a detective from London.’

Phoebe rose to her feet. Her eyes were still a long way below those of the sergeant, but she met them fearlessly; this
was the man of her dream, but that was a secret she wouldn’t disclose for the world. ‘It was you,’ she said. ‘The tramp. And don’t tell me I’m mistaken. I suppose there must have been a good reason for the deception, but I fail to see what it could be. Excuse me, I should return to my charges. They were fond of their uncle, and I’ll not risk them seeing or hearing things that are best kept from them.’

‘Of course,’ Docket said, offering her his arm. Beddowes quelled him with a look.

‘No, Docket, I believe this has to be set right. Miss Drake, I beg you will allow me to make a proper apology. I’m sure Mr Docket will carry any message you wish, regarding the care of the children.’