Hawke's Tor (19 page)

W
HEN AMOS REACHED police headquarters the next morning he was met by a concerned station sergeant who had been anxiously awaiting his arrival.

‘That prisoner you and Sergeant Churchyard brought in yesterday evening, sir, I'm worried about him.'

‘Horace Morgan? Why, what's he done?'

‘I'm not altogether sure, but when I went to look at him when I came on duty this morning I found him sitting on the edge of his bunk, shaking like a leaf and sweating as though he'd just been in a prize-fight. I've kept an eye on him and when I last went down to the cells he looked so ill that I was about to send for a doctor when Sergeant Churchyard came in. He's down in the cell with him now.'

When Amos arrived at the basement cell where Morgan had spent the night he found Tom seated beside the Trelyn estate steward on the hard wooden ledge that served both as seat and bed.

Morgan had gained some control over himself now but as Amos entered the cell he began shaking uncontrollably and only ceased when Tom gripped his arm in a sympathetic gesture.

When the trembling had stopped, Amos asked, ‘What's wrong with him?'

‘He's had a nightmare about his time in India,' Tom replied, ‘He says it's something that happens quite often, but the one he had last night was particularly bad, brought about by being shut up in the dark in a windowless cell. It seems it brought back memories of a similar situation he was in during the mutiny out there.'

Morgan had begun trembling once again while Tom was speaking and Amos said, ‘Bring him up to my office, it's brighter up there. I'll have some tea brought up for him – although he looks as though he's in need of something stronger.'

Once in the office Morgan asked shakily if he might have the pipe and tobacco that had been taken from him when he was placed in the cell. Amos agreed and Tom went to fetch it.

After a few minutes spent puffing at his pipe and looking out of the office window at a rookery in the nearby trees, Morgan appeared to relax and gain control of himself once more, although he was still looking drawn and haggard when Amos said to him, ‘Do you mind telling me what that was all about, Mr Morgan?' Amos and Tom had agreed the night before that Morgan should not be told that his wife and children were alive and well in India until they were satisfied he either had, or had not been informed of the fact.

The estate steward's thoughts had been far away but now, after breathing deeply a few times he gathered his wits together and said, ‘For almost three weeks during the mutiny in India I was hiding in a dark roof space in a native's hut after seeing many of my colleagues murdered, all the while listening to the sound of mutineers' guns pounding the entrenchment where all the Europeans – men, women and children – were desperately striving to survive. Then …' Here he choked on his words before gaining some control once more and continuing in a
barely audible voice, ‘… Then they were all taken out and butchered.'

Morgan ceased talking abruptly and Amos said, ‘We already know a great deal about your life in India, Mr Morgan, including the fact you were married and had two children there – something that you seem to have kept secret from everyone here. Suppose you tell Sergeant Churchyard and me something of your life there and
exactly
what this recurring nightmare is all about….'

Horace Morgan seemed about to dispute what Amos had said to him, but then his shoulders sagged and after a number of false starts and more than one break in the narrative when it appeared he might break down completely, Horace Morgan told his story. It went on for almost half an hour during which time both policemen listened in silent horror, occasionally exchanging sympathetic glances, and looking down at the floor when he was reduced to tears when talking about the massacre of the women and children at the bungalow, carried out on Nana Sahib's orders.

Both policemen felt deeply sorry for all that Morgan had suffered in India, but this was a murder inquiry and it had become evident that Horace Morgan was no stranger to violence and murder. There was also a very strong motive for killing Kerensa if he had been made aware that his Indian wife had
not
died in the massacre at Cawnpore. This remained the key factor in their questioning of him.

‘Your last weeks in India must have been horrific, Mr Morgan.' The observation was made by Tom. ‘It is little wonder you have nightmares about it even now.'

‘They are
worse
than nightmares,' Morgan declared, fiercely. ‘When they come I relive everything all over again. There are
times – many times – when I have wished I died with my family out there.'

‘But you had Kerensa and baby Albert,' Tom pointed out. ‘Didn't they bring some happiness back into your life?'

Horace Morgan seemed to be struggling with his thoughts and feelings, then his shoulders sagged again and with resignation in his voice he said, ‘Albert made me very happy, at least, at first he did. It's difficult not to be happy when there's a baby in your life.'

When he fell silent once more, Amos prompted him, ‘You say he made you happy “at first”, what happened to change it?'

Now Horace Morgan had told the two policemen about his experiences in India, it seemed he intended holding nothing back. ‘I suppose when Kerensa said she would marry me I felt flattered. She is, or was, half my age but I let myself believe she loved me. I soon learned there was very little love for anyone in her make up. I knew nothing about the type of girl she was when I married her, but to be perfectly honest it wouldn't have mattered very much anyway if she hadn't thrown her past life up in my face whenever we had an argument – and our marriage was never short of those. It soon became clear she'd only married me to give herself some respectability, but she found respectability boring and began having affairs. This wouldn't have mattered too much either if she'd been discreet about it and been a good wife in other ways, but that was too much for her.'

Morgan paused again and when he felt the silence had lasted for too long, Amos asked, ‘What did you do when you learned about these affairs?'

‘I lost my temper one day when she bragged about them to me. It was the only time I did so, mind. To be perfectly honest I struck
her. It made her cry and that hurt
me
so much I think I'd have forgiven her anything. I swore I wouldn't ever hit her again, and I never did.'

‘When she was bragging about these affairs did she ever lead you to believe you might not have been Albert's father?'

The question took Morgan by surprise and he looked at Amos sharply, but when he replied it was with a curt, ‘Yes.'

‘That would have been enough to make most men feel they wanted to murder their wife!' Tom said sceptically ‘Are you telling us you never felt that way?'

‘To tell you the truth, I don't know how I felt. I didn't really believe her. When she became really angry she would say the first thing that came into her head, whether it was true or not.'

‘Did she say anything about who the father of Albert could be if it wasn't you?'

With the shift of the questioning away from his past life in India Horace Morgan seemed to have regained control of himself and now he said, ‘I think I've told you more than enough about my personal life with Kerensa. I never had anything to do with her death because I saw more violence in India than anyone should witness in a lifetime and I never expected it to follow me to England. No matter what Kerensa did I would never have done anything like that to her – and I would never ever have harmed baby Albert. That's the truth, I swear to it. All I'd like to do now is go back to Trelyn and try to pick up the pieces of my life as much as I can.'

‘Are you still in touch with the East India Company, Mr Morgan?' Amos put the question.

‘Not really, although I've had two letters from them since I came to Trelyn. Once to acknowledge the change of address I gave them and the second time three or four months ago asking
me to confirm that I was still alive. That's because I have a pension paid by them into a London bank.'

‘You've heard nothing else from anyone there?'

‘No, why should I? I'm an
ex
-employee now and belong to a part of their history they'd rather forget about.'

‘Had it not been for the massacre at Cawnpore would you have still returned to this country, or remained in India?'

‘I would probably have stayed in India, but not with the Company. My wife's father was a very rich and important man in Northern India, a younger member of a maharajah's family. He owned a vast amount of land and always said he'd like me to manage it for him.'

‘Have you never considered going back there and working for him anyway?'

Horace Morgan shook his head. ‘There would be far too many memories. They were very happy ones until the end and there would be far too much to remind me of them every day of my life.'

‘What if you were to learn now that your wife and family are still alive? What would you do?'

Horace Morgan's expression of pain could not have appeared more genuine had Amos struck him a physical blow and he said, ‘That is a cruel thing to say at a time like this, Superintendent. I think I would like to return to Trelyn Hall now. Indeed, I can think of nothing you have said that is sufficient reason for bringing me here in the first place. Certainly nothing that couldn't have been said at Trelyn and saved me from suffering the torture I went through last night.'

Instead of replying, Amos took Verity Pendleton's letter from the file that was on the desk in front of him and handed it to Morgan.

‘I think you should read this, Mr Morgan. It will give you a
great deal to think about, as it did me, but for very different reasons. It should also satisfy you that I did have cause to bring you here to Bodmin for questioning.'

Horace Morgan was puzzled, but he took the letter and, after glancing at the address on the envelope, opened it. Verity's letter had been removed and only the copy of Shabnam Morgan's letter to the Honourable East India Company was enclosed. He was about to say something to Amos, but he was actually reading the first line when his mouth opened – and it remained wordlessly open as he continued reading.

Amos and Tom exchanged glances frequently while Morgan's face expressed a kaleidoscope of differing emotions as he read and both policemen arrived at the same conclusion without a word being spoken between them. They had considerable experience of interviewing criminals who had something to hide and if Horace Morgan had known the contents of the letter before today then he was a remarkable actor.

When he came to the end of the letter, Morgan returned to the beginning and, turning the pages, re-read some of the passages again. When he did look up there were tears in his eyes and a look of utter bewilderment on his face. ‘When…? Where…? How did you come by this? Is it true? Is it
really
true? You're not just playing a cruel hoax on me?'

‘It's true.'

‘Then why haven't I seen it before? Who kept it from me … and why?'

‘It was turned up when I asked someone to make enquiries with the East India Company about your time in India. If you
really
knew nothing about the letter until today, it makes wonderful news for you and I can assure you nobody will be more delighted than Sergeant Churchyard and me. However, if we
find the letter
was
sent to you then you are a very strong murder suspect indeed, especially as there is a rumour going around that you are not the true father of baby Albert. If it could be proved the rumours reached your ears there's not a jury in the land would find you “not guilty”, however much they might sympathize with you.'

‘But I've never seen the letter before! Had I done so do you think I would still be in this country … or would ever have married Kerensa? Why
was
the letter never sent on to me?'

‘I'm told it was addressed to the East India Company offices in London and that the clerk who dealt with correspondence was an alcoholic who failed to keep proper records. When he was dismissed, and someone was put in to clear up the mess he'd left behind, the letter was found, but it was assumed you'd been notified of the information it contained.'

‘If only I'd known before I left India … but after seeing the carnage around the bungalow where the women and children had been slaughtered … and the well choked to the top with their bodies, I was told there had been no survivors. Oh God! How I've suffered all these years thinking they were dead and of the manner in which they died…!'

At this point Horace Morgan broke down in tears and, bowing his head and covering his face with his hands he wept noisily, much to the sympathetic embarrassment of the two policemen in the room with him.

It was a long time before he regained control of himself but every so often he sucked in a deep breath of air and his body shook with an uncontrollable sob.

‘How long ago was the letter received?' he asked, eventually.

‘I can't be certain, but from all I've learned it would be no more than six months and probably much less than that.'

‘All those wasted years! I must let them know
I'm
alive … and get back to India as soon as I can.'

‘I am confident you'll be allowed to go back there, Mr Morgan and that you knew nothing of the letter before today, but I can't allow you to leave the country right away. Do you have any idea where your family might be staying?'

‘Shabnam will have taken the children to the family home near Simla, in Northern India. As I told you, she belongs to a royal family which rules one of the smaller states there.'

‘If you write a letter informing your wife that you are alive and well and will be travelling to India as soon as is possible, I will send it off to London with a covering letter and ensure it's delivered to her through the Viceroy's office.'