Lessons in Discovery (25 page)

befallen him.”

“Befallen
him
?” Miss Peters seemed shocked. “He was a

cold-blooded murderer, Dr. Coppersmith, what did he feel had

caused him trouble?”

“He felt he was the victim all through. Unable to do what his

heart desired, being spied and reported on, feeling as if his steps were being planned outside of his accord. He saw his plan to

murder Gaveson as a means of escape and even then he was

cheated. Gaveson had been given warning of what was afoot and

fled.”

“Then who was in the well?”

“We believe it’s the same man who warned Gaveson, the

one who’s name Shaa took, Johan Breton himself.” Jonty sighed.

He’d grown attached to this nebulous figure and was saddened at

what had befallen him, the real victim in this tragedy. He

motioned for another round of drinks. “Apparently Breton had

cold feet and made sure that Gaveson had plenty of notice of the threat to his life. He and Shaa had a row over it and came to

blows. Breton was loathe to fight his friend, given that the man was himself possessed of a broken arm, and no doubt held off.

Shaa knocked him out—I guess that no skull bones were broken

in that process so the injury didn’t show up later—and while

Breton was unconscious, our dear Woodville Ward smothered

him.”

“And how did he get the body in the well?” Peters, like his

sister, asked few questions, but each hit at a key point.

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“Stephen helped him. We know all this because Shaa left a

final—well, not quite final—letter that detailed much of it.”

Orlando tapped the file. “He’d wanted to pass Gaveson’s body off as his own, then he’d decided on Stephen, but when Breton

wouldn’t kill him either and subsequently confessed to alerting

the spy, Shaa snapped.”

“This Stephen. What happened to him?”

“Disappeared. We suspect he went with Shaa to Lowestoft,

perhaps as his servant, and probably took a tumble overboard at

the dark of the moon. Shaa assumed Johan Breton’s identity lock, stock and barrel. He was even clever enough to write a letter,

ostensibly from Breton to himself, asking why Shaa hadn’t turned up to board ship.”

The Master closed the tips of his fingers together, almost as

if he was in prayer. “That would explain why the cache of

documents included those addressed to Breton. If Shaa took over

his life, then he’d have had access to anything Johan had kept.

When he returned from sea and saw that his ruse had succeeded,

he could have assembled whatever he wanted to leave for

posterity and have the stuff hidden away, perhaps when the lodge was altered.”

Miss Peters frowned. “I can’t help feeling that there’s

something badly amiss here. Let’s assume that the Woodville

Ward and his friend were broadly similar in age and build. That

would account for him being a possible match once the body was

found, and Shaa was very lucky that event didn’t occur for such a long time. Let us also assume that the master of the ship he sailed in didn’t realise he’d been duped, perhaps he had not met the men, or only one of them. But surely he couldn’t have taken in Breton’s sweetheart or her father? Even after ten years away, they must

have noticed?”

“We both have something to say on that score and I’ll take

the father. We know very little about Mr. Paget except for the

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Charlie Cochrane

story about not wanting his daughter to marry a poor suitor. We

don’t know whether he had a physical reason for not recognising

Shaa—he may have had poor sight, he might have had a poor

memory. Whatever it was, his daughter’s claim that this was

Breton himself, now returned from sea with a sackful of money,

should have settled the matter. We might also infer that his

newfound wealth came from something bordering on piracy, or

from speculation using the resources that Shaa possessed. As to

identity, no man would expect his daughter to lie, would he?”

Orlando tried to give the impression that he knew all about men

and their daughters.

“As for Mistress Paget,” Stewart took up the tale, “I suspect

that Shaa had his eye on her for a long time. There was something in one of the first letters which Orlando deciphered that said
Were
I not to survive this winter, I would have my lady know the

troubles I have borne
. We assumed, as anyone would have, that his lady was Elizabeth of York but from what he said about the

queen in his later missives, we presume that he didn’t mean her. I would claim that he meant the local girl, who now lies at his

side.”

Ariadne Peters was still not satisfied. “Dr. Coppersmith, Dr.

Stewart, you’ve disappointed me. You promised that all your

theorising would be based on facts, as hard evidence as you could get at this remove. And so your explanation started but this last part has been full of words like
assume
,
infer
,
claim
. Historians’

terms.” She was flushed, although whether from her second hot

toddy or her annoyance at a lack of an adequate resolution none of those present were sure.

“My dear.” Her brother patted her arm. “You’re being rather

unfair.”

“No,” said Orlando, smiling enigmatically, “Miss Peters is,

as always, absolutely right. While we have Shaa’s testimony to

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Lessons in Discovery

about the Pagets was correct. Or I should say we hadn’t, until

yesterday, when we came across a real jewel of a find.”

Jonty reached into his pocket for a stiff little envelope,

which he opened with great care. “I brought this from home—

father accumulated all sorts of old tat when he was an

undergraduate. It’s a book about various families from Swavesey

and speaks with reverence about the patriarch of the Bretons, one Johan, the first of his family to make money or achieve prestige. It states clearly enough that he was said to have been troubled with pain in his arm all his life,
from a break he suffered weeks before
he put to sea, but which he struggled with regardless, determined
to pull his weight aboard ship.
I suspect that last bit is rather over-egging the pudding, although the point about the arm is

significant.”

“I’ll concede that.” Miss Peters’ face had lost its rosy hue

and was returning to its normal freckled-even-in-winter

appearance. Soup had arrived, steaming and aromatic, guaranteed

to help improve everyone’s temper.

“There’s more, you know.” Orlando carefully opened the

little tome, revealing a small fragment of parchment. “It’s rather stupid. We set out to solve this case on logic alone—analysis of evidence, breaking of codes, refusing to enter into idle

speculation. And we ended up with the certainty of our case

relying on something entirely serendipitous.” He indicated the

scrap of vellum. “Would you like to read it?”

Ariadne Peters chuckled. “I’ve not brought my spectacles, so

all I’ll see are blurs and squiggles. Perhaps Lemuel will oblige?”

The Master took the book, noted its thick padded covers and

made sure not to actually touch its precious content. “It’s a family tree. Where did it come from?”

“The inside of the cover had a few frayed stitches which had

worked even looser on the journey back here, and we noticed this paper had been folded and put inside the lining and then, I guess, www.lindenbayromance.com 179

Charlie Cochrane

sewn back up again. We rang Papa this morning and he could

only say that he was unaware of it. He’d not noticed anything in all the years he’d had it, although I suspect he’d not looked at the book since he was up at Bride’s.”

Miss Peters was bouncing with excitement. “Whose family

tree? Tell all now.”

“Johan Breton and his issue’s.” Dr. Peters read on slowly. “It

says at the top Johan Breton married Eleanor Paget in 1508 and

that they had five children, fifteen, I think, grandchildren and—”

he began to count, “—twenty seven, no tw—”

“Stop teasing. None of that is significant—tell me what is.”

“Under Eleanor Paget it says
my mother
and under Johan

Breton it says in very small letters, you’d need a microscope to see them, dear,
the Woodville Ward
.”

“Dr. Stewart, do you have a moment?” Miss Peters was

looking flushed from the cold, despite her thick furs. Winter was returning with a vengeance and this day was degrees colder than

the one two days back when they had stood at a draughty

graveside. Bride’s college might have thick walls, but the wind

seemed to be able to cut straight through them.

“I do indeed, several should you need them.”

“Perhaps you would come and take a cup of tea in the

lodge?”

They walked across the court and through the huge oaken

door that separated the sanctum of the Master of St. Bride’s from the hoi polloi. The housekeeper produced, at seemingly a

moment’s notice, a steaming pot, which implied that the meeting

hadn’t been as spontaneous as Jonty’s hostess was trying to

suggest.

“Dr. Stewart, I won’t mince my words. I’ve seen the

enormous affection you and Dr. Coppersmith have for each other

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and I believe it’s more than just friendship. If I’ve got this wrong, then please tell me now and I won’t continue. But let me first

assure you that I’m not going to make any judgements upon you. I wish everyone to find the sort of love I believe you’ve attained with our mathematical genius, although I suspect I’ve missed
my
chance on that front.” She smiled kindly and offered a stunned

Jonty a slice of Battenburg cake. “Time was a young sailor caught my eye, although he died weathering the Lizard in a gale and I’ve not been inclined to give my heart again.”

“Thank you.” Jonty took the sweetmeat with eagerness, he

being particularly fond of marzipan and because taking a bite

would give him a moment to think. How many more revelations

were there to be? “I won’t lie to you, Miss Peters. We are much

closer than the normal bounds of propriety should allow and I’ve long suspected that you knew this already.” He grinned. “Do you

know I said as much to Orlando the day he took his tumble down

the stairs? It rather shocked him.”

“I hope it wasn’t the cause of his fall?”

“No, indeed, be assured of that. Does your brother know?”

Ariadne laughed her earthy, masculine laugh. “Lemuel

regards your friendship as a model of manly comradeship. I

suspect that you’d have to molest Dr. Coppersmith in broad

daylight to penetrate his consciousness on that point.”

“That gives me great relief—I wouldn’t want to think we

were
that
obvious. Was there something you wished to raise, apart from just confirming my suspicions?”

“I wanted to offer some advice, if that wouldn’t be

inappropriate, and my particular thanks, something I couldn’t do with Lemuel present.”

“My mother gives me guidance endlessly and I’m always

happy to receive some more.” Jonty was curious as to just what

this unusual woman would have to say. He hoped she wasn’t

going to advise that he should always wear his vest.

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Charlie Cochrane

“You should get a house, you and Dr. Coppersmith,

somewhere out of the college environs where you can have some

privacy. I could even find you a sympathetic housekeeper. Oh,

have you scalded yourself?”

“No, nothing crucial affected.” Jonty managed a rather

forced grin and mopped at his trousers, which were awash with

tea. “It was just such a shock. That’s exactly what I suggested to Dr. Coppersmith the day he came a cropper. Perhaps the shock of

the proposition was what made him fall.”

Miss Peters resisted all temptation to help Dr. Stewart with

the swabbing. “And does the possibility remain a viable one?

There are plenty of properties which will come available over the next few months, I’m sure.”

“I’ve not discussed it with him again just yet. I felt we

needed to regain our equilibrium first. Needed an even keel.”

“Very wise. He’s always been a delicate flower, our Dr. C,

requiring gentle nurturing.” She smiled maternally, re-filling her guest’s cup. “You might have to tackle this rather gently, too. I wanted to offer my gratitude for having solved the case before
he
got a chance to attempt it. Not that
he
would have been so gifted as to have managed it, not without pretending he’d solved the

codes and producing all sorts of rubbish.”

“Miss Peters.” Jonty laid his hand on his hostess’s arm,

steadying its shaking. “Whatever is the matter?”

“Promise me you’ll never tell my brother, but I have more to

hold against that ogre Owens than theft or plagiarism or even his being a historian. He—” Miss Peters blushed fiercely, “—tried to take advantage of me one evening out in the Fellows’ Garden.”

“The swine.” Jonty meant it. If Miss Peters wanted to give

her heart to a one-legged sailor or whoever the mysterious lad was she’d fallen for, that was her business, but unwanted advances

were another matter altogether. “What did you do?”