A Particular Circumstance (18 page)

Hugo observed her expressive face as it revealed all her doubts and her unwillingness to do as he’d decided. As he watched the rebellious expression on her beautiful face, he longed suddenly to take her into his arms and kiss the
mutinous
red mouth into submission.

But he revealed none of these thoughts as he said smoothly, ‘So that is agreed then. We shall be ready to depart within the hour, Mr Bunfield. I shall take you up a little distance from here, halfway along Brook Lane, in fact. It would be more
discreet, I think, and we will assume a much more lowly appearance when we visit Cromer.’

‘But you will be careful!’ Charlotte begged him.

‘Yes, of course, Miss Grayson,’ he said and gave her his most winning smile. ‘But I am determined to solve the mystery of my grandfather’s death, whatever the cost.’

‘It has already cost you a severe blow to the head,’ Charlotte said caustically.

Exasperated, Hugo forgot his imposed calm and, turning to Bunfield, he said, ‘The presence of a woman always means trouble at a time like this, Bunfield.’

The Bow Street Runner preserved his own bland
expression
with admirable self-control, but Charlotte said
passionately
, ‘And what about you? What sort of trouble are
you
in when you take off on such a venture? You will not be treated as Mr Hugo Westbury when you are mixing with the low life of Cromer, dressed as a lowly common peasant! How will Sir Benjamin and . . and … your … other friends react when you are murdered by some ruffian!’

Hugo opened his mouth to give an equally forceful answer to her challenge, but when he looked into those brilliant
grey-green
eyes, he realized she was mocking him, and yes, flirting with him. He wanted more than ever to accept her challenge and kiss away all her resistance.

Instead, he said mildly, ‘Steady, Miss Grayson. It would not do to scare poor Bunfield away from his investigations. As for me, you may be sure that I shall do my best to come out of it unscathed, and when I return, I shall hold you to your promise of another outing with Lucy Baker.’

If Hugo had dressed down for his first foray into The Black Lion, his attire had been princely compared to what it was this time. He had obtained rooms for himself and Bunfield and they had effected their disguises in secret, slipping out of The Royal Oak under cover of darkness.

Both were unrecognizable except in build and stature. Hugo had even rubbed chimney soot on to his well-kept gentlemanly hands and wiped them across his face to heighten the illusion of being a down-at-heel labourer. They entered The Black Lion as unobtrusively as possible and although they were obvious strangers, they were mingling freely in the company of murderers, rogues and vagabonds. Strangers were common in this place, in which felons were up to every criminal ploy known to man in order to earn a dishonest penny, and so no one gave them a second glance.

Bunfield had found his clothes for him. God alone knew where he’d acquired them, Hugo thought ruefully. They were not just poor, they were the rags of someone utterly destitute, their patches and darns bearing mute testimony to the abject poverty of their former owner. Bunfield was similarly attired and both men wore knotted scarves and had secreted pistols in the capacious poacher’s pockets of their jackets as a
precaution
against attack. Their boots were the hard tough boots of farm labourers, cracked with age and caked with dried mud.

Hugo felt that in this disguise, only his drawling
upper-class
voice would give him away and resolved to let Bunfield do most of the talking. To help him with his rough
approximation
of an uneducated ruffian’s accent, he imagined the cadences and pronunciation of some of the estate labourers and tried to keep them in his brain while he formulated some questions for Rudkin.

He let Bunfield order two tankards of ale and looked round quickly to see if he could see Ted Rudkin. There were all sorts and conditions of criminals in The Black Lion. He could see a couple of common prostitutes, standing just inside the
doorway
and eyeing up the men, but they were both fat, ugly and raggedy girls and as yet none of the patrons of the inn were drunk enough to become their clients. Crouched in one corner was a one-legged beggar, his face eaten away by ulcerated sores, his shoulders slumped in resigned misery. Some of the men, with rough kindness, had thrust a coin his way and the man was waiting patiently to be served with some gin. In spite of the almost frenetic liveliness of The Black Lion’s atmosphere, Hugo felt keenly the despair and misery
underlying
the falsely convivial atmosphere. Here, he realized, was the flotsam and jetsam of sordid humanity. A most suitable place for Rudkin, he thought.

At that moment, sure enough, he spied his quarry sitting alone in one of the booths furthest from the door. He seemed just as nervous as last time, his eyes darting all around as he drank and his arms and legs jerking as though he could hardly keep a limb still. When Bunfield returned with the drinks, Hugo indicated Rudkin with his eyes and both men approached him very casually.

Nothing could be further from the popular idea of a Bow Street Runner at that moment, as Bunfield lapsed into the coarse speech that was expected in a place like The Black Lion. He adopted a faintly threatening manner towards the surly Rudkin as he growled, ‘You and me ’as got a bit o’
business
to finish off, Ted Rudkin.’

Rudkin looked alarmed but tried to stifle it and appear
confident. ‘Wot’s your game, cully? I’ve met this ’ere cove who’s wiv you before, and I knows he’s a gent. Wot you two want wi’ me?’

‘We need you to talk to us,’ Bunfield said softly, ‘and, if a bird don’t sing, Rudkin, this same gent ’as ways ter persuade ’im.’

‘I don’t know what you mean. I know naught, I tell you.’ Obviously nervous now, Rudkin had begun to babble, an expression of terror flitting across his weasel-like features.

‘We’ll soon see about that,’ Bunfield said menacingly. ‘Drink up, Rudkin, and then on your feet; this gent and I will walk you to somewhere quiet, where we can talk. Start
resisting
and it will be the worse for you.’

From above the pewter tankard, Rudkin’s bloodshot old eyes darted to right and left in an agony of indecision. It was obvious that he wanted to flee, that he could not stay and fight such opposition as either the tall, muscular Hugo Westbury or the stockier but equally formidable Bunfield. It was equally obvious that he could expect no support or succour from the rogues and vagabonds who frequented The Black Lion. No honour among thieves and no help there. He deliberately made his last swigs of ale as long drawn out as he could until, hand in pocket and holding the gun, Bunfield nudged the cold steel into his ribs.

‘On your way, Rudkin,’ he muttered and the trio made their way outside into the filthy, mean alley behind the inn.

‘Now, Ted, lad,’ said Bunfield sarcastically. ‘We can either do this nicely or we can do it nastily. Which is it to be?’

Rudkin began to shake. ‘I don’t know what you mean. As God’s my witness….’

‘Oh, He is. Be in no doubt about it, but so are we.’ Bunfield slammed him up against the wall and said brutally, ‘Some answers, if you please, Rudkin. First, who were the survivors of the
Golden Maiden?’

Rudkin’s pathetically few teeth were chattering now, but he was too nervous even to rub the lump on his head caused by
its contact with the wall.

‘I … I told you, there was only me and Mr Charles Westbury.’

Hugo stepped forward and pressed one of his hands to the wall on each side of Rudkin’s neck, trapping him in an iron cage from which there was no escape. ‘But this is not strictly true, is it, Ted?’ he said quietly menacing. ‘We know, do we not, that there was at least one other passenger who did not perish on the night of the storm?’

‘I … I … well, perhaps.’

‘Perhaps?’

‘There were a gen’leman walked free an’ all.’

‘His name?’

Rudkin squirmed and Hugo’s hands tightened. ‘His name, I said.’

‘It … it were … the schoolmaster. Mr Todd.’

Hugo let out a long breath. ‘And what happened to Mr Charles Westbury? Where did he go after he had survived the sinking of the
Golden Maiden
?’

‘I … he….‘

‘He what?’

‘He were given shelter in The Jolly Sailor. After that….’

Hugo took hold of him by the scruffy collar of his jacket. ‘And after that?’ he said, between clenched teeth.

Rudkin was silent for a few seconds, which seemed to stretch for eternity. His lips worked nervously, but no sound came. Then suddenly the words poured out of him as though in a torrent. He said in his whining voice, ‘It were nowt to do wi’ me. Mr Charles Westbury had lost his wife, see, and ’ad been injured wi’ a falling mast. Mr Todd reckoned as he knew Mr Westbury’s brother, George, and could get help for ’im. He sent word to Lunnon an’ a carriage came to fetch the three of us. We looked after Mr Westbury on the journey to Westbury Hall, him being very weak wi’ loss of blood an’ o’ course losing his young wife … I had naught to do wi’ owt. George Westbury met us at the ’all and paid me for me trouble an’
gave me a ticket for the stage back to Cromer … I never saw any of ’em after that….’

Bunfield now stepped forward. ‘And this Tobias Todd you were in league with, did you know his real name was William Ingram?’

‘No…. I swear….’

‘What happened to him after the rescue?’

‘I don’t know, guv. I left ’im wi’ the two brothers. I swear I had nowt more to do wi’ ’em. I went back home and then I were taken on by Captain Mason on the
Pride O’Wells
. I ne’er set eyes on any of ’em agen.’

Bunfield thrust him away in disgust. ‘Pah! You’re a worthless rogue, Rudkin. You must have known what was to be the fate of that hapless Charles Westbury when you left him with Ingram.’

‘I … no … I never….’

‘He was a murderer, Rudkin. After you had been paid off and was away on the
Pride O’Wells
, the law finally caught up with him and he was hanged.’

‘I knew naught, I tell you.’

‘Well, mark this, Rudkin. After he was dead, his body was hung on the gibbet at Norwich for twelve years, to warn other felons. Think yourself lucky you were rescued by Captain Mason.’

‘I’m just an old tar, sir. Never meant anyone harm, so ’elp me….’

‘Get out of my sight, you’re the scum of the earth. If it were not for your age, Rudkin, I would have you before the
magistrate
and hanged as an accessory to murder. Go, before I do you a mischief.’

Rudkin scuttled off and both men returned to their rooms at The Royal Oak and discreetly changed their appearance before meeting up once more in the parlour. They ordered brandies and Bunfield lit up a long, old-fashioned pipe. He caught Hugo looking at him questioningly and said, ‘Yes, Mr Westbury, Rudkin’s confession has given me cause for
thought. During my enquiries, I searched the records in Norwich for any mention of Ingram and Rudkin. It is quite true that Ingram was a seemingly respectable schoolmaster at the Lynn Grammar School and he became popular with the boys. He went under the name of “Todd” and was a frequent visitor to the vicarage at Heacham. It was noticed that he was a man of loneliness and mystery, fond of taking solitary rambles along the cliffs, but all who knew him attributed this to his scholarly nature, no one suspecting that he had anything to hide. But William Ingram was a murderer, quite famous in his time as it happens. Some five years before the sinking of the
Golden Maiden
, he had murdered and robbed Daniel Theaker, a wealthy merchant, and had hidden his body in some caves near Heacham. The foul deed only came to light when the body was discovered by a sweep digging for stones to supply his lime kilns. Ingram’s young accomplice turned King’s evidence and his testimony was enough to condemn the schoolmaster to death. He was arraigned and executed. His body was indeed hanged in chains by the
roadside
at Norwich, where the gibbet remained for several years as a warning to other wrongdoers.’

Hugo listened in horror to the tale and then said slowly, ‘But does that mean, then, that Rudkin and Ingram, or Todd as he called himself, were the last people to see my
grandfather
alive?’

‘And your Great-Uncle George perhaps,’ Bunfield said gently. ‘Rudkin did indeed go back to sea, but after his voyage with Captain Mason, he never managed another voyage. He’s a very old man now, and has not worked for years.’

Hugo said nothing, thinking of Bunfield’s horrifying
revelations
. Until the macabre discovery behind the panelling at Westbury Hall, no one even suspected that his grandfather had not perished at sea. His own parents had died very young, in America, so would have heard nothing of William Ingram. His Great-Uncle George was dead and Sir Benjamin had lived most of his life in India.

He sighed and said, ‘It was all so very long ago. Perhaps we will never know the truth of it.’

‘Yes, perhaps,’ Bunfield agreed and knocked out his pipe against the chimney breast Both of them were silent for a time, each thinking his own thoughts.

Finally, Bunfield said quietly, ‘If you agree, sir, I feel we should leave Rudkin for the time being and return to Felbrook. He was never accused of anything when Ingram was arraigned for murder. My guess is that we will not get much more out of him than what he has already told us, unless he has to appear in a court of law, that is, but I think it unlikely. If you agree, Mr Westbury, I think I should continue with local enquiries, especially as regards to that Jim Butler, the man mentioned by Miss Grayson.’

‘Yes, very well. I agree,’ Hugo said. ‘And meanwhile, we should both be discreet but vigilant in gathering information from my cousin’s activities.’

And so it was decided and, having settled the tally with the landlord of The Royal Oak, they journeyed home, both of them still deep in thought.

The next day was Sunday and began pleasantly enough. Latimer had discreetly handed Hugo a note from Charlotte as soon as he was dressed and had tactfully disappeared while his master was reading it.

Seeing Hugo’s mobile mouth curve into a most joyous smile,
the normally taciturn Latimer ventured to ask, ‘Good news, sir?’

‘Yes, Latimer. Very good news.’ And Hugo went down to the dining-room, whistling.

It being Sunday, there was no sign of his obnoxious cousin Alfred, but Sir Benjamin, despite his frailty, was immaculately turned out and was even partaking of a little breakfast.

‘Ah, Hugo,’ he said. ‘How went the journey to Cromer? Did Bunfield find any more clues to this ghastly business?’

‘Some,’ Hugo said cautiously. ‘We talked to one of the last people to have seen my grandfather alive. He is a very old man now, but was rescued along with Charles Westbury, when the
Golden Maiden
capsized.’

In spite of his frailty, Sir Benjamin’s eyes were still keenly intelligent. ‘You said “one” of the last people, my boy. May one ask who the others were?’

‘Well, unfortunately, a notorious Norfolk murderer and …’ Seeing his great-uncle’s stricken look, Hugo lowered his voice and said gently, ‘And the other one may have been my
Great-Uncle
George.’

There was a pause as the implication of what Hugo had said sank in, but then the old gentleman squared his
shoulders
and said firmly, ‘But you do not know for certain who was with Charles when he … when he met his end….’

‘That is true,’ Hugo said even more gently. ‘Ted Rudkin is very old himself and a proven liar. He may or may not have been there when my grandfather was killed. We do not know for certain, sir. Mr Bunfield is still pursuing his enquiries.’