The Deathly Portent (38 page)

To one side of the door sat Pakefield, groaning and leaning a broken and bleeding head against the cold stone in an attitude of defeat, for he had fought like a tiger to prevent his wife being incarcerated until Pilton had dealt him a blow with his long staff. The constable now stood silent sentinel before the door, the large lock-up key attached to his belt.

Francis, keeping pace with Tillie, had arrived too late to aid with the landlord’s brief rebellion, and they were indebted to Mrs. Radlett, hopping up and down in intense dismay, for their information. Miss Beeleigh had elected to assist Tabitha Hawes to guard Cassie Dale in the Blue Pig, but Patty the maid was much in evidence, alternately weeping and hectoring at the stolid Pilton.

Tillie had lost no time in going directly to the source of the trouble, but her efforts had so far met with no success.

“Besides,” she pursued, “do you not remember that I thoroughly searched Hannah’s room this morning and found nothing?”

“Ha! Exactly why I set Pilton to do the same. Can’t trust a woman to do the job properly.” He glared at Tillie. “Didn’t find the knife, did you?”

Tillie’s gaze met Henbury’s with unblinking clarity, but Francis detected the underlying rage in the tautness at her cheek.

“I did not find it because it was not there.”

“Hey? Hey? What the deuce do you mean, woman? Pilton found the thing in an instant.”

“Yes,” said Tillie, and Francis could swear she was speaking through her teeth, “because in the meanwhile, someone had put it there to be found.”

Although how a person could have done so remained a question. So far as Francis was aware, Hannah Pakefield had been in her own quarters pretty well throughout the day, with Pilton outside, at least until the riot. Had Tillie thought of that?

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, woman,” snapped Henbury. “Know the Pakefield dame did the job. Have it on excellent authority that she said she’d be revenged on the Tisbury woman. Now we have the weapon, case is all sewn up.”

Francis watched Tillie’s face as she stared at the man. But before she could say anything more, there was an eruption from the Cock across the way. Looking up, Francis saw Kinnerton hurrying across with Lady Ferrensby on his arm, a crowd from the tavern falling in behind. He put out a hand to his wife’s arm.

“Rescue,” he murmured, nodding towards the approaching group.

Tillie glanced at him and then in the direction he indicated. Relief flooded her features. “Thank heavens!”

“I think you may have to change your tune, Henbury,” said Francis, not without a touch of satisfaction.

But Tillie shook her head, her glance flying to Francis’s face. “Oh, he won’t. Not for Lady Ferrensby. But I have a better notion.” With which, she moved a little to meet the new arrivals, calling out, “Mr. Kinnerton! Pray do me the kindness to go and fetch Doctor Meldreth.”

“Why do you need Meldreth?” asked Lady Ferrensby as they came up, removing her hand from the vicar’s arm.

Tillie did not answer immediately, instead addressing
Kinnerton again. “Pray don’t delay. Fetch him as swiftly as you may, if you please. And ask him to bring his bag.”

The last request was called after the vicar’s retreating form, and he flung up a hand in acknowledgement and hastened away on his errand. By this time, Lady Ferrensby had turned her attention to Lord Henbury, asking for an account of his actions. Nothing loath, the aged justice of the peace launched into a fresh recital of Pilton’s findings and the assumptions he had made.

Francis cornered his wife under cover of this discussion.

“Tillie, what is it? What are you planning?”

She looked round. “I am trying to get Hannah out of there, of course.”

“But why Meldreth?”

“That you shall see.”

An echo of her mischievous look flashed in her eyes briefly, and Francis rejoiced to see it. The contretemps earlier in the day had resulted in a dismaying feeling of distance towards him from his wife, and he’d had ample time to regret some of the things he’d said. Not that he had changed his mind, for her safety was still paramount with him and he determined she would go nowhere without his escort until this murderer was apprehended. But the effect of the argument upon the woman he loved was hard indeed to bear.

“Poor Hannah! Poor Hannah! Oh, Lady Francis, I am sure she did not do it.”

The widow Radlett had joined them. Francis noted an oddly intent look in Tillie’s eye as she turned her attention to the woman.

“What makes you so certain, Mrs. Radlett?”

Mrs. Radlett’s eyes widened, and her jaw dropped open. “But—but you have said as much yourself to Lord Henbury.”

Tillie’s clear gaze remained fixed upon the creature’s face. “Yes, but why do you think her innocent? Have you any reason to suspect someone else?”

An attack direct. Francis held his breath. Into his memory
leapt the instant just before he had been swept up into the argument about going or staying. What had his wife said? Something about having been blind? Had she fastened upon the identity of the murderer? He had missed it, and Tillie had said nothing of it since.

The widow was shaking her head with vehemence, setting the feathers on her bonnet adrift. “Gracious, no! How you do take one up, Lady Francis. Why should you think—? No, no, nothing of the sort.”

Running out of steam, she blinked rapidly, looking decidedly upset. Casting a glance at his wife, Francis noted how her clear gaze remained steady on the other lady’s face until Mrs. Radlett began to fidget, a delicate colour creeping into her cheeks.

At last Tillie gave one of those reassuring smiles of hers. “Ah well, no doubt I was mistaken.” But Francis was pretty sure the widow, as well as he, knew full well she did not truly think so. He was not surprised when Mrs. Radlett found an excuse to remove from the scene.

“Only look how the villagers are jostling. I had best go and warn Mrs. Dale not to venture out of the inn.”

Tillie watched her go, and Francis took a step in, speaking in a murmur. “You think she knows something?”

His wife’s eyes turned towards him, and he read the answer in her face even before she nodded. “Oh yes. Or she thinks she does and is terrified of discovering that she is right.”

F
rancis was conscious of a sliver of excitement and was about to ask for further enlightenment when the doctor’s name was shouted out and Kinnerton was seen to be returning, Meldreth at his side, carrying his medical bag. They were coming at a fast walk, and Tillie instantly moved to meet them.

The doctor, to his credit, did not bother to interrupt the argument in train between Lady Ferrensby and Lord Henbury, which was affording a deal of entertainment for the onlookers from the tavern.

“Kinnerton has told me the trouble,” he said, a trifle out of breath as he reached Tillie’s side. “How can I serve you, Lady Francis?”

“Pray will you insist on examining Hannah Pakefield, Doctor Meldreth? I meant to ask you to do so this morning, only in the press of events it slipped my mind.”

“Hardly surprising,” commented the doctor on a rueful note.

Tillie disregarded this. “I believe that woman has a heart
condition. If she is left in that awful hole, I dread to think of the consequences.”

Meldreth’s brows flew up. “Indeed, it is the worst possible place for her.” He nodded. “Leave it to me.”

Francis could not but feel sceptical of anyone succeeding with Lord Henbury where Tillie had failed, not to mention Lady Ferrensby. But it was quickly apparent that Meldreth had an authority that the old man was apt to respect, although he did indeed voice the strongest objections.

“Can’t see why you need to check the woman over now,” he complained. “Tomorrow will do as well.”

“Not if she is ill,” the doctor pointed out. “You could not wish her to expire before she has a chance to come up on charges before you.”

“Expire? Expire? Only expiring she’s going to do is on the rope, old fellow.”

“Indeed, but that must be after the trial, my lord. One would not wish to have to explain to the authorities at Warwick that the prisoner was unable to appear because we had not exercised due care and attention.”

This argument had a powerful effect upon Lord Henbury. He was, after all, a mere local officer of the law and had no further jurisdiction once he had committed the matter for trial to a higher court. It would scarcely sit well for him to lose an accused murderer prior to her appearance at the Assizes.

Pilton was ordered to unlock the door, a move that roused Pakefield from his stupor. The villagers, who showed a tendency to surge forward, were thrust back by the constable’s staff. Lady Ferrensby stood aside with Kinnerton, and Meldreth went into the dark interior of the lock-up, Henbury at his heels. Seeing his wife about to follow, Francis went quickly up to her and seized her arm.

“What are you doing?” he asked sotto voce.

“I am going in.”

“No, you don’t. Besides, there is scarcely room,” he added, poking his head inside.

It was dark, dank, and dismal. In the light from the open doorway, he could see Hannah Pakefield, a sunken heap on the cold stone floor. She was breathing stertorously, air heaving slowly in and out of her chest. Meldreth was already on his haunches beside her, while Lord Henbury, his head thrust forward on his neck like a chicken, was rocking on his spindly legs.

Francis moved back out and pulled Tillie aside. “We are blocking the light.”

“Did you see her?”

“She’s on the floor. Lord, I believe she is ill! I thought it was one of your tricks.”

Tillie was peering around the edge, trying to see inside. “No, I truly am concerned for her. She looked grey this morning, despite the wounds on her face, and her breathing was shallow.”

“It’s worse now,” Francis said frankly. “I hope to God the woman does not die on us.”

“If Meldreth gets her out and into her bed, I imagine she will recover presently.”

But it was several moments before the doctor emerged, and he was alone. He looked round and selected the vicar.

“Kinnerton, your aid, if you please.” Glancing at the shattered landlord of the Blue Pig, he added, “Pakefield, we are bringing Hannah out. Send your maid ahead, if you will. Your wife must be put straight to bed.”

There was a flurry of noise and activity as Patty raced off towards the inn, closely followed by several young girls who came out of the crowd, Bessy among them. Kinnerton disappeared inside the black maw of the lock-up along with Meldreth, and Francis pulled Tillie away a little to join Lady Ferrensby.

“We will but hamper the proceedings, my love.”

“Quite right, Lord Francis,” Lady Ferrensby said, turning at once to Tillie. “Thank goodness you thought of Meldreth. I could make no headway at all with that foolish old martinet.”

Tillie sighed. “I’m afraid he has developed the habit of old age where nothing will do but one’s own opinion.”

“Old age?” scoffed Lady Ferrensby. “Nothing of the sort. The man has been a mule for all the years I have known him. Though I admit his hardness of hearing has made him ten times worse.”

When Hannah Pakefield was brought out, obviously upright only by virtue of being closely held between the doctor and the parson, a loud cheer went up from the crowd. Amazed, Francis glanced round.

“Why in the world are they pleased?”

Lady Ferrensby’s brows were raised as she surveyed the villagers. “Oh, because Henbury has been bested. You will note, however, that Jeremiah Wagstaff looks less than happy.”

Which was true. The ancient stood champing his jaws, leaning heavily on his staff, his eyes vengeful as he watched the cavalcade moving slowly towards the Blue Pig, Pakefield jogging alongside, his eyes fixed upon his wife in her state of semi-collapse.

“Jeremiah knew this was happening, I surmise,” pursued Lady Ferrensby. “I daresay he would have told Tisbury and the rest if Will had not forestalled him.”

Evidently it would not have suited ill with Pa Wagstaff had Hannah Pakefield died in the lock-up, Francis thought cynically. Tisbury looked merely morose, which was scarcely surprising. But there was no sign of Will the tapster or the boys who had earlier occupied the lock-up, which afforded Francis a moment of grim amusement. No doubt they had made themselves scarce for fear of being put back in to replace the lost Hannah.

His ruminations were interrupted as Tillie’s hand slid into the crook of his arm. He glanced down at her.

“Back to the Pig?”

“Yes, for it occurs to me,” she said, low-voiced, “that if the knife found its way into Hannah’s commode, the back
door key may likewise have returned like a homing pigeon to its place on the window ledge.”

O
ttilia had perforce retired early, urged thereto by her careful spouse. In the privacy of their curtained bed, she felt safe enough from listening ears to rid her mind of the deepening suspicion that was now almost a certainty. Francis was at first incredulous, but as she outlined her reasoning, he slowly became convinced.

“You have done it again, my woman of wonder.”

She welcomed his embrace but felt compelled to whisper a caution. “None of it would convince a jury, let alone the villagers. I have not a shred of real proof.”