Shadow of the Past (23 page)

Why I should ever be surprised by Mrs Hansard’s talents or ingenuity defeats me. She was a lady whom only one man could ever come close to deserving, and that, of course, was Edmund.

The good doctor had left his patient for a few hours, to warn his staff at Langley Park to prepare for their mistress’s return and to consult with Toone, whose opinion he valued more than I could ever do, on how his young patient might best be conveyed to Shropshire. Now, since Mrs Hansard had expressly forbidden him to journey back after dark, despite Simon’s stolid presence, the four of us – for Mr Vernon seemed reluctant to quit the rectory until our problems had been resolved – were sitting late over one of Mrs Trent’s excellent repasts. I fancy that Dr Hansard had also been forbidden to do anything to interfere in Simon’s courtship of their cook, even if that meant the master of the house eating his mutton elsewhere.

Not that mutton had figured in Mrs Trent’s extensive menu, far from it. But four happy men were considering a fine Stilton and some excellent port Hansard had procured in Warwick.

‘How soon do you think I may question William?’ Vernon demanded, cracking a walnut between his fingers.

‘Very soon. But I would prefer it if you could travel over to Warwick to do it.’

‘You still fear for his life if he were to return here?’

‘I do indeed.’

‘Would Sir Marcus attempt any violence in a village where he is known?’ Toone demanded.

Edmund smiled enigmatically – and, I must confess, irritatingly. He took another sip of port before he replied. ‘Did I say that I feared Sir Marcus?’

‘Who else?’

‘Let me tell you what my dearest wife has been doing.’ He looked around the table; no one objected. ‘Now that Willum is over the very worst of his ordeal, and beginning to recover, she is the one who mainly occupies him. At first he could be beguiled only by fairy stories and legends, of which she has an immense fund. Then she found that they might play simple games, such as a child in the nursery might enjoy. You might expect a great boy of ten to find them pitifully easy, far beneath his dignity, but you will collect that Willum has never had such a childhood as we. His mother might have inculcated him with a certain amount of low cunning, but I fear she had neither time nor aptitude for rhyming games or geographical jigsaws.’

‘In that case, might not Mrs Hansard try to teach him his letters and numbers? Were he able to read, he might occupy himself some of the time,’ Vernon said. ‘Furthermore, a hitherto active lad the height of whose ambition has formerly been to be a tiger will need to find other means of making a living.’

‘He might be naturally quick-witted, but the concussion has rendered him slow to learn certain skills. We do not wish to inflame his brain, after all. But he is able to recognise some and remember their sounds, on a good day at least.’ He took another sip of port.

I sensed he enjoyed prolonging his tale – certainly none of us had the temerity to interrupt.

‘Progress in all areas is slow and fitful, but he has shown, now his poor bruised and broken hands have healed, some dexterity with a pencil. But, ever in pain, his powers of concentration are weak. And when he fails at what he knows to be a simple task, he become fretful and we become anxious. At times like this, there is one story that never fails to quiet him. It is a real one, one featuring himself. It is one Jem has to tell him, however. Yes, Jem still spends a great deal of time in the sickroom – it is our great fortune that the rightful ostler has recovered from the influenza! While he is on duty, Mrs Hansard rests or walks – often in my company,’ he added with a charming smile. He continued, ‘It is my earnest wish, as you can imagine, that Mrs Hansard should not sacrifice
her
health for that of another, however dear. Jem tells him of the handbill that had brought his search for Bess to such a satisfactory conclusion, always stressing Willum’s heroic role in the venture. He especially enjoys hearing how he had had to control Bess’s desire for finery, the search for which could have taken an hour, and how he bought his own respectable outfit in a matter of minutes.’

Four men could quite understand that, and Vernon proposed a toast to male attire.

‘One day,’ Hansard said, resuming his narrative, ‘hearing laughter from the sickroom, although she was supposed to be
resting herself, Mrs Hansard could not resist seeing the cause of such a welcome sound. Willum’s eyes rounded as she went in, and he looked at her with new respect. “You really looked at ’Enry’s corpse and drew them pictures from the dead?” Willum demanded. “I did indeed,” she said. “And they were so like that people could tell it was ’Enry?” It was clear he thought this miraculous. Nothing would do but that she should use the pencil and paper originally bought to teach
him
to draw Jem. And then she drew Willum himself – though you may imagine that Maria drew the old chirpy Willum, not the thin young invalid she saw before her. Then it was you, Tobias, and then me. Maria has arranged the sketches about his bed so he may look at them and know himself always surrounded by friends. Even you, Vernon, and Toone here feature – it is known that you are going to bring the villain to book. Which reminds me, Vernon – it was kind in you to send that huge basket of fruit to him—’

‘What are succession houses for, if not to supply sustenance to one’s friends? Besides, I like the boy’s spirit.’

‘How are we to bring anyone to book if we do not know who it is?’ Toone demanded.

‘Because my wife is going to sketch a face, which you, Vernon, will show him.’

‘Two faces, if you please.’

‘Two?’ I demanded. ‘When it is clear that Sir Marcus is the villain?’

‘If you show him but one portrait,’ Vernon said, as if to an imbecile, ‘he will have to identify his assailant as Sir Marcus. It is therefore necessary to produce an alternative.’

‘Sir Marcus’s pimply sons?’

‘Away, thank goodness, at school,’ Hansard said. ‘What
about that cold fish, Furnival? Though at the sight of his Friday face poor Willum may have an instant relapse.’

‘Meanwhile, I will pen another letter to this man Chamberlain. This time,’ Vernon reflected, ‘perhaps I should say that after all Knightley is prepared to convey the information designed for Miss Southey to him. But this time we will have someone – I have a handy-man suited to the task – on hand to apprehend him.’

‘What if he refuses to betray this Miss Southey or whatever her name is?’ Toone demanded. ‘Will your man be able to persuade him?’

I had a sudden unpleasant memory of Toone’s methods of
persuasion
. Perhaps he had been inspired by the Spanish Inquisition. I hoped he would not volunteer for this duty.

Vernon gave a curt nod. ‘I hope so. We must do whatever we can to ensure that Justice will be done.’

There was an unwontedly sober silence. I could see Hansard’s hackles rising. To prevent what might become an unseemly altercation, I raised an unwise glass. ‘To Justice.’

Alas, this last bumper saw Toone sink slowly under the table. It was clear that Hansard would have been happy to leave him there, but instead we hauled him out to Hansard’s gig, in the hopes that Simon would be at leisure from his courtship to help remove him at their journey’s end. ‘And if not, he may sleep it off in the stables,’ Hansard declared.

I did not know who had provided the funds to procure a private upstairs parlour at the Hansards’ disposal as long as Willum remained at the Rose and Crown. Perhaps it was Lady Chase, ever ready to dip into her purse, or the deep pockets of Mr Vernon. It might even have been the Hansards. The room, whoever its donor, had provided a welcome haven for those seeking a few hours’ respite from the taxing care of the little invalid, and now, filled with all his well-wishers, from Toone to Jem, it was the scene for his first venture from the confines of his bedchamber. He had demanded a crutch, and sternly eschewed any offer to carry him. Hansard and I stationed ourselves at either side, but he waved even us away.

‘I seen lots of lads worser than me in London. You know, run over by carriages, or trod on by a horse, or even burnt in a chimney. If they can do it, buggered if I can’t do it too.’ Pale as wax and stick thin he might be, but Willum had more pluck than I could imagine.

All the same, it was clear that even the few yards between the rooms had taxed him, and he did not argue when he
was invited on to the sofa next to the fire.

‘Now, Willum, we know how brave you have been throughout. We want you to do one more brave thing: to identify your assailant.’

Vernon meant well, but Willum writhed under the combination of patronage and vocabulary. He said nothing, however; none of us did.

Mrs Hansard had placed two sketches face down on a table. She had labelled on A, the other B.

Willum’s eyes lit up. ‘Them’s your A and your B,’ he declared.

‘Excellent. Now, my dear, pray turn the pictures so that Willum may see them,’ Hansard asked.

She obeyed. ‘Willum, do you see there the man who hit you and hurt you?’

‘’Course I do. You aren’t half a dab hand at this, Mrs Hansard.’ He pointed with a skinny finger. ‘There he is. There’s the cove what done it.’

Before we could register the full import of what he was saying, there was a commotion in the hall below, and raised voices demanded the Law.

Toone was out of the room first, hotly pursued by Vernon, who, after all, was the Law’s highest representative in the area. The rest of us followed with more dignity, leaving Jem in Maria’s care.

From the top of the stairs it was hard to see who was at the centre of the mêlée. But Toone was already fighting his way through, assisted by Vernon’s suddenly stentorian tones: ‘Make way. Make way, in the name of the Law!’ Hansard, Jem and I halted halfway down the stairs – from there we had a better viewpoint, we reasoned, than if we joined the mob.

‘Over here, your honour.’ This was the parish constable, whose acquaintance I had briefly made when Willum had first been assaulted. ‘Me and your man have apprehended your miscreant.’

As Vernon pushed his way through, the press of men eased. Forelocks were tugged, hats removed. Someone pulled the hat from the man they had apprehended, since he was in no position to do it for himself.

‘That’s him.’ A shrill voice rang out from the landing above us. ‘That’s him. That’s the cove what beat me and broke my leg. I told you. It’s the cove from the Hall. Mr Furnival!’

It is hard to convey the strength of the outcry. At the heart was Furnival himself, protesting his innocence, while the sight of the valiant crippled lad moved several to tears. Others would verily have strung Furnival from the nearest tree, were their threats to be believed. But our burly landlord, used to restoring calm in his patrons, demanded – and obtained – silence. With considerable presence of mind he suggested that those would had accompanied the constable might find themselves good ale in the snug; the constable and those accusing Furnival might find adequate space in his public parlour, which he would close to everyone else. Willy nilly he surged up the stairs. Used to hefting barrels, he gathered up Willum with ease, carrying him downstairs as if he were no more than a feather weight. Maria darted back for pillows and rugs, and then followed in his impressive wake.

Willum was soon ensconced on a settle, the rest of us disposing ourselves about the room. Furnival tried to outstare us, one by one, but even his eyes dropped at the sight of the lad’s empty breeches leg.

‘You done this, Mister, and pay you shall!’ cried his diminutive accuser.

‘Willum,’ Vernon said quietly, but with such authority that the lad was silenced, perhaps allowing himself a smile of satisfaction that he had persuaded such a grand gentleman to use his preferred name. ‘Mr Furnival, you will surely be charged formally with this offence. Let me say that it will be in your interests to confess if you are guilty. But other things interest me too. Did you cause the death of Henry Monger?’

There was no response.

‘Are you Lady Chase’s steward? Surely you can answer yes or no to that.’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘And how long have you been in her employ?’

‘About six years.’

‘And you have been a true and faithful servant?’

‘I have.’

‘And have advertised regularly for information regarding the missing Lord Chase?’

‘The missing heir. Hugo. Lord Chase was still alive.’

‘So now he would be the missing Lord Chase.’

There was no doubting an alert response, quickly suppressed. But he did not give himself away by any exclamation or question.

‘Very well. And did you have any responses to your advertisements? Come, we know you had at least one. A man was found in a stream running through the grounds of the Hall itself, with a newspaper about his person carrying this advertisement.’

‘That man who died?’ Furnival’s tone implied it was of little moment.

‘The man who was
killed
. Think back to the inquest,’ Vernon continued. ‘Hard though it is to believe, someone pressed Monger’s face into the mud until he expired. We have evidence to show that he was making his way to the Hall with proof of Lord Chase’s existence and that someone would have found the news inconvenient.’

There was no response.

‘I put it to you that only you knew of his coming, and that you, therefore, are his killer.’

There was no reply. The constable moved as if to take him away. I had seen the inside of Warwick Gaol and I did not envy him his future lodgings.

‘No. Wait a while. I have further questions. Three young ladies, two of them very silly, one more sensible, discovered Monger’s body. The only one who could have given proper evidence at the inquest disappeared, apparently without trace. Could you explain?’

In face of Furnival’s continued silence, Hansard spoke. ‘There is a witness who would testify that Miss Southey was driven from the Hall by a man of importance. We know that that man was not Sir Marcus. That man was you, Furnival, was it not? And it is logical to deduce that you had a hand in that havey-cavey business over Miss Southey’s trunk, which so conveniently disappeared.’

And the attack on poor Gundy, no doubt.

Before I could put that to him, however, Furnival said, ‘Take me to gaol if you will. I shall answer no more questions.’

Vernon ignored him. ‘I can see that you must have killed Henry Monger, but cannot see why. Did you have a motive?’

There was no response.

‘Did someone pay you to kill Monger? Are you simply acting as someone’s agent?’ Vernon pursued. ‘Sir Marcus Bramhall’s, for instance?’

‘That leech!’ Indeed, the thought appeared to repel him. ‘Have you any idea how much of Lady Chase’s fortune he has contrived to waste?’

I suddenly recalled the bad wine we had had one night. Was that after all Furnival’s doing, not the butler’s? Now was not the time to ask, however. There were more important questions to be asked.

‘You did not want her to waste her blunt on further advertisements, did you? You have been a remarkably efficient employee, Furnival. In fact,’ Hansard mused, ‘you even put her interests before those of Miss Southey. You could easily have overridden Sir Marcus’s fuss about the fire in her room. You could have made her altogether more comfortable. But you did manage very well to obfuscate the matter of her previous employment. Did you ever send for those references that Lady Bramhall required? I thought not.’

It seemed to me even as my colleagues pressed home question upon question that Furnival was no nearer confessing. We had no evidence, no proof. All we were doing was baiting a man clawing the last shreds of dignity about him. Perhaps Willum felt the same unease.

‘What I can’t make out,’ he declared, having been admirably quiet hitherto, ‘is why you should want to smash my leg and jump on my head. I never did nothing to you, any more than ’Enry did. And he’s dead and I might have been, but for Dr Hansard and his mates wot saved me. No wonder your granddaughter’s family was scared stiff of you. Was you going to kill them too? Or just your granddaughter – a taking
little thing, by all accounts. Did you ever see her? Hang on, you must have. ’Cos they said they found a lock of her hair in that trunk what was nicked.’

The silence became intense. Willum had put questions none of us would have dared ask.

‘I told you. Take me to gaol.’

The satisfactory apprehension but equally unsatisfactory interrogation were the subjects of most of our conversations for the rest of that day. At last Willum was forced to admit that he needed his bed, and Jem, hearing the chaos in the inn yard when several young bloods in sporting curricles all demanded service at once, felt obliged to resume his duties there.

Despite the fact that our village was left doctorless and parsonless overnight, we agreed to sup together.

‘So now that it is safe to do so, will you encourage Lady Chase to return, bringing Lord Chase with her?’ Mrs Hansard asked, as if keen to break the pointless repetition.

‘I see no reason why not. I shall write to her before I retire for the night, but it will hardly surprise any of you if I advise her to hire armed outriders,’ her husband responded. ‘As far as Chase’s recovery is concerned, I would have thought it would have an altogether beneficial effect, would not you, Toone?’

‘Provided that he was happy at the Hall.’

‘He hunted, fished and shot. He danced at balls. He did everything a young man ought.’

‘Let him return, then.’

‘And what of Bess?’ I asked. ‘She saved his life, and must be rewarded. What shall we recommend to Lady Chase?’

‘There are many cases of men marrying their nurses,’ Toone mused.

‘But
such
a nurse?’ Edmund asked. ‘There is no doubting the goodness, the kindness, the self-sacrifice of the creature. But try as I may I cannot see her as a future Lady Chase.’

‘Poor Bess herself hardly knows what she wants,’ I pursued. ‘If her ladyship gave her money, she fears she would drink it. If a regular allowance, a regular drunken spree. And each time a return to the only occupation she knows.’

‘Could she ever better herself?’ Mrs Hansard asked.

‘No, my love, no. A thousand times no. ’Tis one thing to occupy all your spare time alleviating the problems of the village, quite another to take a stray like her into such a small household as ours. Willum, yes, because he is sharp-witted and biddable, and I do not think his lameness any impediment to becoming my apprentice, once he has learnt all his letters and been to school. If so he wishes. With Willum one never knows.’

‘In any case, the poor doxy is hardly your problem, Mrs Hansard. It is the Chase family who owe her such a debt of gratitude. And from what Campion says, she is more than capable of having an opinion too.’

‘She says she has never had choice before. Life has happened to her,’ I recalled sadly.

Now all the drama was over, there was not one of us who did not express a wish to retire early. It was fortunate for me I did, because well before it was light the next morning I was awoken by a vigorous beating on my chamber door.

‘He’s hurt mortal bad, your honour, and the gaoler would have me come for you!’ a young urchin announced as I
opened the door a crack. ‘He says he’s like to die, and—’

‘Who is like to die?’

‘Why, yon murdering monster, of course. Mortal bad, he is. Come quick, your reverence.’

‘Bid them call Dr Hansard, too,’ I called, struggling into my clothes.

‘Why would that be, Father?’

‘Because if he is injured he needs medical care,’ I declared with an asperity somewhat allayed by my various appellations.

‘But he’s a wicked man, and is a-deserving of the gallows. That’s why they beat him up, a-hurting an innocent lad like that. His fellow-prisoners, your honour.’

And why had the gaoler not stopped them? But I did not ask. Best it would be for the man himself to die now, but if justice were to be done, he must stand trial and take his
much-deserved
punishment.

I picked up the little case in which I carried the sacrament – these days, with sickness in the village and Willum’s precarious state, I had it about me always.

‘Call Dr Hansard,’ I snapped, and ran down the stairs.

They had moved the injured man into the condemned cell, not so much anticipating the verdict of a trial not yet held but, they said, to spare the other inmates the sound of his groans. As the messenger had declared, he was seriously ill, his body as bruised and battered as Willum’s had been. Hitherto his appearance had been neat, even finicking. Now his sober suit was torn and covered in blood and God knew what else.

He recognised me, but turned his face to the wall.

‘Mr Furnival, I am not here to seek justice, let alone vengeance. I am here as your vicar, to offer you the sacrament.
You may make a confession to me if you so desire.’ Obtaining no response, I added, ‘Are you a Catholic? I can send a priest to you, I am sure.’

He shook his head dully.

‘Very well. But I would hope that you will unburden yourself – you would not wish to meet your Maker, as I believe you are likely to do very soon, with all your sins on your shoulders. Ask His forgiveness, at very least. And then we can share Communion.’

He blinked wearily. ‘You’re determined to worm everything out of me one way or another, are you not, Parson? Yes, you’re as nosy of the rest of them.’