Death at Knytte (4 page)

‘Then why would he run off?’ Docket said.

‘Well, he’d know he was in trouble, with the game flushed and nothing in the bag,’ Woodham replied.

‘How old was this man Bragg? Was there anything of note in his appearance that would help to find him again?’ Beddowes asked.

‘Aye, he had a scar across the side of his chin,’ Woodham replied, drawing a finger along his jaw. ‘You could see it through his beard, that being a bit on the thin side. He wasn’t a young man, forty maybe.’

‘Where does that get us?’ Docket asked, turning back to Beddowes.

‘I’m not sure,’ Beddowes confessed, ‘I’ll let you know if I find out.’

Docket sighed. ‘If you’re not coming back with me, I suppose I’d better go and report to Sir Martin. You’re sure you don’t want to spend a few hours in a comfortable bed and get a good meal inside you while there’s a chance?’’

‘Best not, sir, thank you,’ Beddowes replied stolidly. ‘I’ll bed down somewhere of my own choosing if you don’t mind. No point risking being seen with you. It’s bad enough having to trust your men to keep their mouths shut, especially in light of what’s just happened.’

‘Don’t worry about that,’ Docket looked grim. ‘Sir Martin will put the fear of god into Woodham over this, we’ll have no more mistakes.’

‘Nevertheless, I’ll be better leaving by myself,’ Beddowes said. ‘I’ll be in touch when I have news.’ As he turned away he seemed to shrink, and it was an old hunch-backed vagabond who went slinking away into the dark.

‘Odd sort of man,’ Docket commented, speaking as much to himself as the gamekeeper who stood at his side.

Woodham snorted. ‘Can’t say I was sorry he decided not to come with us, Mr Docket. I’m no bed of roses, but I’ve an idea that stench could carry half a mile.’

A
fter a disturbed night Phoebe made up her mind; she must visit the ruins. If Annie, the nursery maid, wasn’t the worst kind of gossip, she might have left the children with her for a while, but Annie was the kind of girl who wouldn’t believe there could be such a thing as a perfectly innocent meeting between a governess and a young working man. At least it was a fine day, and that gave her an idea.

‘It’s time Master Rodney learnt a little more about the history of Knytte,’ Phoebe said, as Annie finished fastening Eliza’s coat. ‘We shall begin with the ruins of the monastery. Not many children are fortunate enough to have so much of the past at their fingertips. Once you have finished your duties here you may come and join us if you wish, Annie, it would be a treat for you. The development of the monasteries is a fascinating subject.’ She knew from past experience that the nursery maid hated listening to any sort of lesson.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, Miss, but I’ve orders to help with the downstairs, once the nursery is done.’

Not wishing the girl to guess at her relief, Phoebe looked disapproving. ‘Suppose I should need you?’

‘I’m sure one of the gardeners would send a boy with a message, Miss Drake. I don’t think Lady Pickhurst would approve of me trailing round with Master Rodney and Miss Eliza half the morning if it’s not necessary.’

Pleased with her little subterfuge, Phoebe nodded. ‘I expect you’re right.’ Annie was a lazy girl; she’d have been more than willing to accompany them if they’d been bound for a stroll by the lake, rather than a lecture.

They didn’t linger on the lawn for long. The children were eager to run ahead, but Phoebe kept them by her side, knowing they would probably be overlooked from the house until they reached the ruins. She held their hands as they stepped under the ancient archway, where the regular tap of metal on stone told her the stonemason was at work.

‘Good morning, Mr Jackman,’ Phoebe said, brightly impersonal.

The young craftsman hadn’t seen them coming and his thoughts must have been far away. At the sound of her voice he jumped violently. The chisel slipped on the stone and the hammer thudded on his thumb. Eliza giggled, swinging on Phoebe’s hand.

‘That must have hurt,’ Rodney said, abandoning the governess and coming closer with a child’s curiosity, perhaps hoping for the sight of blood.

‘I’ve had worse, and thank you for your sympathy, I’m sure.’ Jonah Jackman straightened. He towered over Phoebe, six feet ten to her five feet two, a huge handsome giant, despite the covering of stone dust that whitened his fair hair. Phoebe had always been able to read her cousin’s expression, even when they were children, but today his face was closed to her; there were secrets behind his wide blue eyes, and the knowledge was weighing heavily on them both.

‘We are here to study the monastic system,’ Phoebe said. ‘Master Rodney is to find all the features in the old buildings I have told him about, while Miss Eliza will see if she can identify any of the herbs they used, for medicines and seasoning. I’ve noticed several, growing among the old stones,
so I shall be disappointed if she doesn’t find four at least.’ She directed this last comment to the little girl, giving her a serious look.

The child beamed back at her. ‘I shall find six,’ she declared, freeing her hand from Phoebe’s clasp and running off to start her task, followed more sedately by her brother.

‘Jonah, I had to speak to you.’ Phoebe said, half turning away and fiddling with the buttons on her glove. ‘I have never attempted to influence you, how could I, being younger, and a mere female, but I owe you a great deal, and I hate to see you …’ she broke off, too embarrassed to go on.

‘Don’t say any more,’ Jonah said, bending to retrieve his chisel, then standing back to check that his error hadn’t damaged his work. ‘You mustn’t listen to gossip. I’ve never known a place with so many vicious tongues. Knytte’s more full of lying rumours than Buckhaven fish market.’

‘I just don’t want to see you hurt, Jonah. Against my father’s wishes I became your friend, and I’d like to think we’ve stayed friends.’

‘And I appreciate that, Phoebe, you know I do. When I was apprenticed I wouldn’t have survived without the food you used to bring me. Fact is though, folks don’t expect a lady to associate with the likes of me, for all that we’re related. Your father being a clergyman and mine a mason, that’s reckoned cause enough to keep us apart. I reckon that’s where all this chatter started. They’re jealous, that’s all.’

She turned her back on him completely to face the cloisters. The children were still busy with their tasks, and it was easier to talk to Jonah if she didn’t have to face him. ‘If the talk was of you and me I shouldn’t be concerned. You’re as close to me as a brother, and I don’t care who knows it. But if talking to me is seen as wrong, what happens when they find out who—’

‘That’s enough!’ he said angrily. ‘I’ll not listen to any more of this. Keep your place an’ I’ll keep mine. You’d better fetch those littl’uns and get out. I’ve work to do.’

Phoebe blinked back the tears threatening to spill from her eyes, but she stood her ground. ‘Somebody from the house was out in the garden last night,’ she said abruptly. ‘And I know who passes by the nursery at midnight when all decent folks are in their beds. You’re right, it’s no concern of mine, but I’d hate to see you in trouble, Jonah.’ She started towards the children, but a large dusty hand was laid on her arm.

‘You’ve got me wrong.’ He swung her round and studied her face. She was alarmed by the fury in his eyes. ‘I was in my bed and sleeping sound last night.’

She pulled free and backed away. ‘I hope you’re telling the truth. I’m not blind, nor deaf, nor stupid, and that goes for others at Knytte. If you’ve any sense you’ll leave, Jonah, before you get yourself into serious trouble.’

Thomas Beddowes had made good time across the moors, despite stopping for a nap in a haystack. He was heading for Trembury. With no obvious way to contact the men he’d so narrowly missed arresting the previous night, he was looking for Bragg instead. Since it had been his warning that allowed the jewel thieves to escape – and he’d then vanished – it was logical to assume he knew them.

A lucky coincidence had led to the arrest of Fetch’n’carry Cobb three months before; he’d been caught in possession of a priceless necklace belonging to the Countess of Bisworth. Questioning the villain with the use of none too subtle threats, Sergeant Beddowes had wheedled a great deal of useful information from him. At his age and with his body already crippled, Cobb wouldn’t last long if sentenced to hard labour.

The notorious fence had admitted his part in handling the stolen jewellery. He’d been selling loot from robberies carried out by two audacious thieves who were working their way across south-west England.

Even before Cobb was on his way to prison, Sergeant Beddowes had decided to take on his identity. Armed with the date and time of the next meeting, he would see these men for himself; they’d only met Cobb in person once, a year before, in the murky back room of a London pot-house. Since then all transactions had been through a third party, different each time. Beddowes’s confidence in the deception had seemed justified, until Bragg had coughed and ruined things.

Reaching inside his rags and fetching out an unripe apple stolen from a wayside orchard, the sergeant sighed; in turning down the offer of a bed, he’d also forfeited the chance of a decent meal. The previous night there’d been hope that the days of near starvation were coming to an end. Beddowes shook the thought aside; as a soldier he’d been used to short commons. At least here in the English countryside nobody was trying to kill him. The thought brought a smile to his face. That may no longer be the case. If he located the jewel thieves again he’d be hard pressed to persuade him that he hadn’t attempted to betray them.

Beddowes, hunched and limping as befitted his part, reviewed what he’d learnt about the two men from the previous night’s encounter as he plodded towards Trembury. Both were gentlemen, well spoken and well dressed enough to pass in the best company. They were excellent horsemen, aged about thirty at a guess, and the animals they rode had been decent mounts, not nags hired from some roadside livery. The man who’d taken him by the neck had a powerful grip; it had taken all Beddowes’s resolve not to betray himself by fighting back.

It was midmorning when Beddowes came to the King’s Arms, some five miles from Trembury. The place was busy; a coach had just arrived and the team of horses was being changed. Some passengers had rushed inside to have a hurried meal, others watched as the fresh horses were put to the shafts. One man was grumbling loudly about the failure of the railway to reach Buckhaven.

Beddowes skulked on the edge of all the activity. He was hungry; the scent of meat and onions wafting from the kitchen made his mouth water, but although he had a couple of coppers hidden among his rags, strange bedfellows for the fortune in jewels tucked alongside, he wouldn’t attract attention to himself by paying for a meal. He found a stone to perch on; he’d try begging for a scrap or two once the coach had left.

His eyes upon the bustling ostlers and potboys, Beddowes didn’t notice he was being watched. By the time he saw the two men approaching him, it was too late to evade them. One, a stocky character with a bulbous nose, had a thin beard which didn’t hide the long scar on his chin, and when the other spoke, Beddowes’ suspicions were confirmed. ‘You sure this is ’im, Bragg?’

‘That’s the man,’ Bragg replied, and before Beddowes could do anything to prevent it, two more men had moved in from behind him and taken a grip on his arms. He was pulled to his feet and dragged out of the yard.

Beddowes could have broken free. Despite odds of four to one he had a good chance of escape; they wouldn’t expect resistance from a lame hunchback. He let the opportunity pass. He’d set out to find Bragg, and here he was.

As they hustled him through a narrow doorway behind the stables, one of the men slipped away, reducing the odds even further, but Beddowes had made up his mind to see the encounter through, and he allowed himself to be pushed into
a poky little room, lit only by a single small window, and very dim once the door had been pushed shut behind him. Almost at once he began to wonder if it had been a bad decision, as one of the men landed a solid punch on the side of his skull, making his head ring and knocking him to the floor.

Beddowes rolled away from the boot that was aimed at his ribs, curling himself into a corner. ‘What you want wi’ me?’ he whined. ‘I ain’t done nothin’.’ The pouch with its fortune in jewels felt suddenly heavy against his ribs.

The door opened again, and the man who had dodged away entered, followed by another. It seemed this man was in charge, for the rest of them drew back. In the poor light, Beddowes couldn’t make out what the newcomer looked like, but he looked to be a little better dressed than his supporters.

Doing his best to look like a penniless vagrant with nothing on his mind but surviving until his next meal, Beddowes crept from his corner, eyeing the opposition and measuring his chances.

Lord Pickhurst had gone to Middlebar, and would not return until the afternoon. Before he left he had given his wife careful instruction as to the entertainment she must offer their guests.

‘Really, my dear,’ he said, placing a proprietary hand on her shoulder as she sat at her dressing table, ‘you were barely civil at dinner last night. I thought the company of two young men would please you.’

‘By now you should know there is only one man whose company I care for,’ she replied, rising to give his wrinkled cheek a kiss, ‘but I shall spend the morning with Mr Mortleigh and Mr Laidlaw, if you wish it.’ Sighing, but with a smile, she made her reluctance plain; it wasn’t wholly manufactured, for she considered Laidlaw a boor, and she could
think of better ways to spend time with Mortleigh than a stroll in the garden.

‘Such a pity Laidlaw is indisposed this morning,’ Mortleigh said idly, as they made their way across the terrace. ‘He has a great interest in architecture, and he was particularly looking forward to inspecting the ruins of the monastery.’

‘There isn’t a great deal left to see,’ Lucille replied. ‘You heard my husband’s plans; apart from the tower, what remains is being made into a folly, with archways that lead nowhere, and artful arrangements of fallen masonry where plants may be trailed among the stone.

‘I trust Mr Laidlaw is not seriously ill,’ she went on. ‘It will be a shame to be denied his company at dinner this evening. Perhaps I should send for a physician.’

‘No, he’s well enough, a day’s rest is all he needs. My man Tomms is looking after him. There’s no need to show me these ruins if you don’t wish it, Lady Pickhurst.’ He stopped as if to admire the herbaceous border, which enabled him to face her for a moment. ‘Would you prefer to seek some other society?’ His eyes danced as they met hers, a dangerous light in their depths.

Lucille did her best to retain her composure, but the previous night was too recent; there was an ache between her thighs which was hard to ignore. Looking away from him, she spoke lightly, as if commenting upon the flowers, but kept her voice low, in case anyone was within earshot.

‘Why dissemble, Mr Mortleigh? We can both think of better ways of passing the time, yet we can do nothing but dally in the garden.’ Lucille’s lips lifted in their smallest catlike smile. ‘Perhaps you shouldn’t abuse my husband’s hospitality too far; he is almost as proud of his folly as he is of his wife. It would be ungrateful in you not to spare a little attention to the one, before you cuckold him again with the other.’

At that he laughed aloud. ‘Admirably put. Show me the wonders he is creating, and tell me of the plans for a ballroom. It is rare for such an old man to have an interest in dancing. But then again, perhaps being married to a young wife can truly bring about a miracle and rejuvenate a man, even if he’s old as Methuselah.’

Lucille led him under the arch, where a roof had been fashioned to make a narrow covered entrance some six feet in length. As Mortleigh followed her into the passage he put a hand upon her buttock and squeezed it, hard enough to hurt. She drew in a sharp breath, torn between anger, amusement and lust; much as she wanted him, she wouldn’t conduct the affair entirely on his terms. While they were still hidden from view, she swung round and grabbed for the spot where she knew men were at their most vulnerable. Exerting all the strength she could, she was gratified to hear him gasp as she inflicted a little pain on her own account.