The Keeper of Secrets (18 page)

‘Nor in yours, provided that you dispense with that damned wig of yours, and have your hair cut properly!’

A gleam of deep satisfaction spread over Turner’s face at the sight of his master’s new coiffure. It was almost as deep as Jem’s as he presented us with a list of the inmates of Lymbury Park, written in some haste in pencil on the back of an old shopping list.

‘We were able to find our informant again,’ he said, ‘and as before found him partial to a drop of heavy wet. But he wasn’t so cast away that he couldn’t recall all these names, or to hint that some of the people within might be better known by other names. Mr Mortehoe, now, Toby – might not that be the family name of the Earls of Hartland? And as I recall, wasn’t that lad of theirs, the one who smashed all the windows in the orangery back home, always a bit of a loose screw?’

‘You may be right – well done! But this one here, Mr Dumbrill – I think that might be his real name. I knew him at Cambridge. He tried to jump a horse over High Table and was duly rusticated. Then they found out he was more than just a peep-o-day boy, but a real rum ’un, who would as soon batter and bruise his barques of frailty as bed them.’

‘In-breeding,’ Hansard remarked, strolling over to read the list over my shoulder. ‘Lord Elham has a variety of estates, both great and small, to call upon as aliases. I don’t suppose there is anything as obvious as a Mr Moreton on your list?’

‘Alas, no.’ I passed over the list so that he could peer through or over his spectacles, as the whim took him. ‘But
there is a Mr Bossingham there.’

‘Bossing ’em? Surely a hoax!’

‘Possibly not. The Elhams take their name from their main estate in Kent, do they not? Now, I had an aunt living near Canterbury when I was a boy. She was an autocratic old lady, and soon became known amongst us children as Lady Bossingthem. We thought we were terrific wits, because she actually lived in a village called Bossingham. And this village – hamlet, rather – was some five or six miles from Elham. I could send for a map if—’

He shook his head. ‘I do not doubt your memory, especially one involving tyrannical aunts. So you think that this Mr Bossingham and Lord Elham may be one and the same?’

‘I do not so much
think
as
surmise
,’ I said.

‘But it need not be a fallacious conclusion. I think it is now time for me to enlist the help of a fellow justice, Tobias. And tonight’s engagement may furnish me with a name to whom I may apply. Let us go and prepare ourselves!’

When we saw the elegance of the Salcombes’ other guests, all bang up to the nines, our guilt at our sartorial extravagance was somewhat diminished. Unsociable though his lordship might be, his good lady’s charm and the superiority of her table had attracted the cream of Bath society, and we sat down at dinner with no fewer than six other couples. More came in afterwards and my dinner partner, a remarkably well-read lady near forty, obliged us all by sitting down at the piano and opening a sheaf of music. With a whist table the only other attraction, there was no doubt that Hansard would dance, and I joined in with a will. Perhaps I hankered for a moment after a pretty Moreton miss hanging out for a suitor with no less than ten thousand a year, but all my partners were agreeable and light on their feet. It seemed no more than a matter of minutes before the tea tray was brought in at
ten-thirty
.

‘A most agreeable evening,’ Hansard declared, as we strolled home, under the bright light of a full moon. ‘And I cannot help commend the Bath habit of early hours. How absurd to think that twenty years ago I should have been setting out for an engagement at this time, not returning from one.’

‘But it must be this very respectability that has driven away the majority of the
ton
,’ I said, registering as I rarely did the difference between our ages, and wishing I could have enjoyed many more hours in such company. But it was not for me to carp. ‘Did you learn of a suitable justice?’

‘Indeed I did, and Salcombe was kind enough to dash off a letter of introduction to him. Sir Hellman Dawlish.’ He patted his inside pocket reassuringly. ‘Salcombe tells me the man is of a gouty disposition, and keeps even earlier ours than our new friends, so we may set out betimes tomorrow morning without fear of incommoding him.’

Perhaps it was the amount of champagne I had consumed that emboldened me to say, ‘If we find Lord Elham there, if indeed he seems guilty of the ghastly crime, will not his mother be reluctant to return to the Priory?’

‘In her place I would retire to the most remote of her estates, or even seek a watering place abroad,’ came his guileless reply.

‘In which case,’ the champagne and I continued, ‘the Priory will be shut up, perhaps even sold. And what will happen to all the staff and servants?’

His pace slowed, as did mine. ‘Why do you ask? You were not thinking of establishing a home for indigent footmen?’

‘Because, my dear friend – nay, I speak out of turn as a friend, but within my rights as a clergyman,’ I stuttered.

‘This sounds like a very solemn end to a convivial evening,’ he prompted me. Perhaps he had an inkling of what I wanted – what I
had
– to say.

‘Mrs Beckles is a very proud lady,’ I said, aware I was rushing my fence. ‘If she were left without employment, she
would see any offer for her hand as an act of charity, not an assurance of love – as the offer of a home, in your own words, for an indigent gentlewoman. Dear Edmund, for God’s sake, swallow your pride, if you can, and do not wait until your house is perfect before you speak to her.’ When he turned from me, without speaking, I continued, ‘Why, a woman of her taste and discernment would positively enjoy making her mark on it. Think what pleasure she would take in choosing paintings and china for her own use, not that of an employer. Consider the pleasure she would take in sitting with you in your library, reading the latest volume of poetry while you peruse your scientific journal.’ I confess I was moved almost to tears by my own eloquence. By that, and by the champagne.

Was he offended? His silence boded ill. But at last he turned back to me, a smile on his honest face. ‘As a friend, I would tell you to mind your own business. As your parishioner, I admit the sense of what you are saying. I have been
stiff-necked
, believing I had the luxury of as much time as I wanted to offer the lady the home she deserved.’

‘Before you opened my eyes to the reality of country life,’ I reflected, ‘I would have said the lady would have been happy in a cottage with you, with a couple of hens and a garden. But since I have seen the true state of many of our cottages, I find I cannot recommend life in a damp hovel with a mud floor.’

‘Nor shall I ask her to share that sort of existence with me,’ he laughed. ‘I get out of reason cross when my rheumatism plays up.’ Soberly, he continued, ‘Do you think she will accept my offer?’

‘There is only one way to find out.’ But in my mind’s eye I
saw the tendernesses that had so often passed between them, the glow on her face as he singled her out. Could a woman of such sense, indeed such sensibility, deny the delights of a marital home to herself and to the man I was sure she loved?

Having explained our plans and told Jem and Turner that they might consider the day theirs to do as they wished, we presented ourselves at eleven sharp at the residence of Sir Hellman Dawlish. It was situated on none other than the Royal Crescent, and was furnished with style and opulence in the very latest fashion, at which we could scarce forbear to gasp. The first-floor parlour overlooked the Crescent’s gardens, a view we had a few minutes to enjoy before our host joined us. The room itself was furnished in the antique classical mode, with a fitted carpet and marble fireplace. Pier glasses between the windows added to the general sense of space and light.

Sir Hellman was a man of Dr Hansard’s age, but spare of build and with what hair he had left cut most modishly. His coat was clearly cut by Weston, and his cravat was in its own way a masterpiece. He greeted us as if we were
long-lost
friends, bidding us sit on what proved to be remarkably uncomfortable Egyptian chairs. He took another, giving no indication that he might be suffering from gout. However, he was very ill-complexioned, his skin almost yellow in hue.

Preliminaries over, he sat back, inviting Dr Hansard to open his budget. ‘For you must know,’ he said, ‘that it is not every day that I am asked to authorise entry into a lunatic asylum.’

‘Nor do I ask every day. In fact, I do not recall ever having
to seek a possible murderer in such a place,’ Hansard rejoined. ‘But when a young woman has been hideously done to death, and violated
post
mortem
, one feels the conventions must be ignored.’ He explained poor Lizzie’s fate, and had the satisfaction of watching that sallow complexion pale still further.

‘Her murderer did such a dreadful thing after killing her?’

‘I hope and pray that it was after, not before, she died. But decomposition was so advanced that I could not tell.’

I thought I was inured to all the horrors of my loss, but the idea – one I had not permitted myself to consider before – that Lizzie might have been eviscerated while still alive brought bile to my throat. It clearly had the same effect on Sir Hellman, who walked swiftly to a side table and in silence poured us all a glass of Madeira.

‘Surely,’ he said at last, sitting once more, ‘such an act must be the work of a madman indeed. Not only will I authorise your visit to interrogate the young man in question, but I will also accompany you. I am not unknown in the area, gentlemen, and I fancy my personal authority will open even more doors than a simple letter.’

‘It is not just the man himself that we wish to talk to,’ Hansard said, ‘because I cannot imagine for one moment that he would confess. But his keepers, those in charge of the institution, would be able to confirm or deny whether he was at liberty during the salient periods.’

‘I take it speed is essential?’ Without waiting for a reply, he rang for a footman, giving orders for his carriage to be brought round within the half-hour.

Never had I set foot in an asylum before, the fashion for people from the beau monde to while away tedious hours by observing the misfortunes of others having long since passed.

There was no hint of Lymbury Park’s function at its gatehouse, guarded by nothing fiercer than an apple-cheeked dame engaged, when we summoned her, in hoeing her vegetable patch. She admitted us with a curtsy and a smile, closing, but not locking, the gates behind us.

‘That augurs well, at least,’ I said, sinking back against the very comfortable squabs of Sir Hellman’s carriage.

Dr Hansard shot me a look. ‘In what way?’

‘I expected to see Gog and Magog on guard, preventing demented patients from roaming round the countryside. But it seems to be an altogether more liberal regime.’

Hansard laughed. ‘Sir Hellman, forgive my young friend. He is a Cambridge man, and it seems they do not teach logic there. He sees no gaolers, so assumes that the prisoners are free to wander at will. I see no gaolers, and deduce that the inmates are so carefully restrained within doors that there is no fear of them ever reaching the gates.’

Sir Hellman, most truly the gentleman, smiled. ‘Let us suspend judgement.’

The house dated from Tudor times, with matching wings added during the reign of Queen Anne. The aspect was pleasing, with sheep grazing quietly on a great meadow, separated by a ha-ha from a circular gravelled area quite large enough to turn a carriage. As soon as the coach stopped, liveried footmen appeared, promptly letting down the coach steps and handing us down, and we were welcomed into the house by a grave butler. Everything spoke of civilised normality.

‘We are here to speak to the superintendent,’ Sir Hellman announced.

‘I will see if Dr Brighouse is available, sir,’ the butler said, with a perfectly judged bow. He might have been Pemberton’s double, so closely did he resemble the butler at my family’s London house.

Nonetheless, we sent our cards in with no explanation – however discreet the man appeared, we tacitly agreed to reveal our business to no one except the superintendent himself. After a moment, during which we cast our eyes on an undistinguished set of family portraits, we were ushered into a spacious study, complete with not only a fine set of bookshelves but also a pair of globes. The furniture looked to me like examples of Hepplewhite’s craft.

We were soon joined by a round-faced man in his early sixties, soberly enough dressed to be a man of my calling, and with a wig that predated Hansard’s in fashion. To my delight, my friend touched his own scalp, in an unconscious gesture of
self-satisfaction
at having had his hair dressed more fashionably.

‘Dr Brighouse at your service, gentlemen. Please be seated,’ he said, rather curtly for a man whose business might well be to soothe and reassure relatives that their ailing loved one would be safe in his care.

‘Dr Brighouse,’ Dr Hansard said, having introduced himself and us, ‘I understand that families unfortunate enough to find themselves with an offspring who is – shall we say – unstable, may seek help here.’

‘Indeed they can. But I fail to see why you need the presence of a clergyman and another gentleman to discuss my avocation.’

I forbore to glance at Hansard, but surely there had been a
slight emphasis on the word
gentleman
?

‘It is not your very noble calling we wish to discuss. Sir Hellman and I are here in our capacity as justices of the peace. But,’ he continued, as Dr Brighouse’s arm shot to the bell, ‘for the time being we merely wish to make the most discreet enquiries about one of your inmates.’

‘Which one?’

‘I believe that Lord Elham may be in residence.’

A ghost of a smile flitted across Brighouse’s face. It seemed that he filed away the phrase for future reference, much as Widow Jenkins did, though in markedly different circumstances. ‘He is indeed
in
residence
, Dr Hansard. But why should you wish to know?’

‘Dr Brighouse, I am sure that you deal in the confidential all the time. So, in this instance, do we. You may rest assured that it as a matter of considerable moment, however.’

The other medical man nodded. ‘Do you wish to speak about him or to him?’

‘Both, in time.’

An expression of strong reluctance crossed Brighouse’s face. ‘I cannot think it would improve his health and temper if he were to receive such a deputation.’

‘You make an interesting distinction, Dr Brighouse,’ Hansard smiled. ‘Do I infer that while some of your patients are indeed mad, some are simply bad?’

‘You may infer what you wish. Indulgent parents, inadequate nurses and timorous governesses kow-towing to the heir all contrive to spoil headstrong children – and, believing that their wayward children are oversensitive, the parents then decline to send them to school. Some of their waywardness would be
beaten out of them at Eton or Harrow for sure,’ he added.

Was I the better for all that pain at Toone’s hands? At least my subsequent path in life, though far from that my father would have chosen, had not led me here as a patient.

‘And in which category does Lord Elham fall?’ Hansard asked.

Brighouse stroked his chin, a gesture designed but failing to make him look wise. In fact he looked more like one of my chubbier pupils trying to make sense of simple arithmetic. Any residual apprehension I might have felt in the man’s presence melted away.

‘It is hard to say,’ Brighouse finally admitted. ‘Certainly there has been a want of discipline, with no inculcation of morals or manners. But there does seem to be an innate and at times uncontrollable violence underlying his boorishness, which is why, of course, he is a frequent visitor here.’

I was impressed, despite myself.

‘And how are you treating him?’

‘He is no longer under restraint, though there have been occasions when that has been necessary. Indeed, the lowering diet and regular bleeding I prescribed at the start of his present sojourn here appeared to have done the trick. I am always pleased, gentlemen, when one of my patients can return to his home.’

‘Despite the detrimental effect this must have on your income?’ Sir Hellman put in.

‘There are always others in need of treatment,’ Brighouse replied, adding belatedly and rather unctuously, ‘alas.’

‘Alas, indeed. Is there any likelihood that Lord Elham will ever return home permanently?’ I asked.