The Shadowcutter (20 page)

“I was not provoked!” said Syme.

“You would have felt quite justified in striking her, for that,” Giles went on. “If there was an accident of some description, Mr Syme, tell me now. I will do all I can to help you if that is what happened. Her behaviour was certainly shocking enough to make any man lose control, if only for a moment. But sometimes it only takes a moment for disaster to strike.”

“I did not lose control,” said Syme. “You are misunderstanding me, sir. I am not your murderer. I have sworn to you that I am not! I told her the time and left her there, living!”

“You told her the time?” said Giles.

“Yes, she asked me what time it was, just before I went.”

This little detail struck Giles as most intriguing. “And what time was it?”

“A little before eleven. Ten to. And then I left. I swear to you, sir!”

“I believe you,” said Giles.

“You do?” said Syme.

“Yes,” said Giles, various other interesting ideas forming in his mind.

“Oh merciful Lord!” Syme clasped his hands together and closed his eyes for a moment. Then, he opened them again.

“Will I be able to leave?” he said.

“I shall need to take a written statement before then,” said Giles. “A full and honest account of your relations with this woman, yes?”

“Yes, yes, of course.” He was a little delirious. “Oh thank you, Lord!”

“He might have spared you from the gallows, Mr Syme,” Giles could not resist saying as he went to the door. “But He may not save you from Lord Rothborough.”

-0-

“I’ve just heard a bit of talk, sir,” Holt said coming into Giles’ room with a pair of freshly cleaned boots, “that might be of use to us. There is a dog fight on tonight at the Three Horsehoes in Byrescough – apparently always attracts a good crowd, and is reckoned to be a regular thieves kitchen. I was thinking, if you didn’t need me, sir, I could go and have a rekkie, see what the talk is, if anyone is talking – who might be buying, that sort of thing.”

“A sound plan,” said Giles, reaching for the map of the district he had borrowed from Lord Rothborough’s library. “What was the name of the place again?”

“Byrescough – just beyond Low Arden. At the crossroads.”

“Show me,” Giles said unrolling the map on the writing table in front of him. Holt pointed out the village. “A promising spot,” he said, measuring the distances with his finger. “Five miles south of Market Craven and a dozen north of Stangate – just about close enough for the swell mob of either town to come for an evening’s entertainment.”

“Full moon and fine weather too,” said Holt. “It’ll be quite a draw.”

“Then we’ll seize the opportunity.”

“We, sir?” said Holt.

“I’ll come with you.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, for the liberty, but I don’t think that would be wise. In such company, you’d be, well –”

“I don’t intend to go as myself,” Giles said. “I’ll go incognito, as will you, Holt. I will rough myself up and you can be my master. We’ll invent some story.”

Holt did not look at all convinced by this plan.

“You look too much the gentleman, sir, you wouldn’t fool a babe. Especially if you open your mouth.”

“I know, it doesn’t seem likely, but I have a little experience of this. In Upper Canada I eavesdropped on a nest of rebels in the guise of a simpleton from Morpeth. That fellow might do the trick tonight.”

“If you say so, sir,” said Holt. “But I had better do the talking.”

“Aye, right you are, master,” said Giles, in the broad Northumbrian accent which had learnt from his nurse. “And I’ll swear off the hard stuff.”

Holt absorbed the impression for a moment and then, said, with a sly smile, “And you’ll speak when you’re spoken to.”

“Aye master.”

“You’d better not do that too long, sir,” Holt said, “or I’ll get used to it and forget my place.”

“For the purposes of getting good intelligence, the more convincing we are, the better. Do what you must, Holt. Now, we must find some suitable rig-outs. Lady Charlotte may be able to help us with that.”

Given the family’s fondness for dressing up and theatricals, Lady Charlotte was indeed able to help. She took them to the dressing room next to the theatre room. It contained trunks full of old clothes and accoutrements, gathered over the years, and Lady Rothborough and Lady Maria were already there, sorting through the treasure for that evening’s entertainment.

“Just in time, Major Vernon,” said Lady Rothborough. “Mrs Vernon is just trying on her costume.”

As if on cue, Laura, attended by Sukey, came out from behind a screen, dressed in a high-waisted, old-fashioned, silver and white muslin gown of the sort Giles remembered women wearing in his childhood. She stood barefoot in the centre of the room, the silver spangles flashing in the sunlight, while Lady Maria draped an amber gauze scarf about her. The dress was short on her long frame, increasing the impression of a classical tunic, and she wore a quiver containing real arrows, which added to her authority. Yet her expression was one of shy excitement as she scanned the room, anxious to see what they all thought.

He did not know what to say, but went and took her hand, squeezed it and then raised it to his lips. If they had been alone he would have taken her in his arms and kissed her.

How had this transformation occurred? How had they been so fortunate after so much misfortune? She had been so lost and now here she was, recovered, as beautiful as ever. For there was now in her something more, the core of her was stronger, more lustrous and more admirable because of what she had endured. Experience had made a woman of her. She been tried by the direst of afflictions and yet she stood here now, a dazzling, barefoot goddess, the object of every eye in the room.

“Your crown, Mrs Vernon,” said Lady Maria. “Your crown!”

Giles felt no further touch could improve her, but Lady Maria was intent on a coronation. The crown of brass and paste was styled like a classical diadem and Lady Maria was at pains to arrange it ‘just so.’ This involved some undignified stooping on Laura’s part, she being so tall and Lady Maria so small, but it made them all smile, and to see Laura smile in such an unforced way was another delight for him.

Lady Rothborough said, “We must look out your costume, Major Vernon – and something for your man, I think. He is a splendid looking fellow. What is your name?” she said to Holt.

“Edward Holt, my Lady,” said Holt and made a courtly bow. Giles wondered if he would soon lose Holt to the comfort and splendour of the Rothborough household. A lively, good-looking and intelligent servant like Holt would always be on the look out for a more comfortable situation.

“I believe we have some armour that would fit you well, Holt,” said Lady Rothborough.

“Oh yes, and the plumed helmet!” exclaimed Lady Maria.

“This will be very splendid,” said Lady Rothborough, clapping her hands. “We have never had a couple who will look so well as Dido and Aeneas before.”

“When are we doing the paintings, Mama?” Lady Charlotte asked.

“Tonight, after dinner.”

“Then I must apologise, Lady Rothborough,” Giles said. “Holt and I will not be able to participate. We have business tonight. I’m sorry.”

“Tomorrow then!” said Lady Rothborough. “We will defer our pleasures for a good effect. Holt, when you have finished your duties for your master, go and speak to Mr Bodley, my husband’s man about the armour. He will get you tricked out.”

“That’d be a great honour, my Lady,” said Holt.

“Now, I think it is time for us all to retire, ladies,” said Lady Rothborough. “This heat – the Spanish with their siestas are really so sensible! And Mrs Vernon, I think you look rather pale.” She stepped forward and with a gracious gesture, proceeded to wrap Laura in her own shawl.

They all left, except for Lady Charlotte who was sorting through the trunks of costumes.

“A filthy old coat for me,” said Giles, taking off his coat, “and something flashy for Mr Holt. Although that armour might come in handy where we are going.”

“Will this do?” said Charlotte, producing a much patched and stained fustian redingote. “This is our usual beggar’s mantle. It might just fit.” She handed it to Holt who took it with disdain and helped Giles into it.

“It does have a rather distinctive odour, I’m afraid,” said Lady Charlotte.

“Rather you than me, sir,” said Holt, stepping back as Giles settled into the coat.

“A beggar canna be a chooser,” said Giles, turning up the collar and burying his hands into the pockets, so that he was stooping. “My old faither’s coat does me well enough, my Lady.”

“Is there no end to your talents, Major Vernon?” said Lady Charlotte. “Even your wife will not know you.”

“That is the plan,” said Giles.

He remembered with a smile that night in Upper Canada. After having spent the evening in a low tavern pretending to be a common farm servant from Morpeth, he had appeared in their bedroom still in his disguise, and proceeded to stay in character, wooing Laura, as if she were a dairymaid and his sweetheart.

She had been delighted. They had only been married a month, and their eagerness for one another was entirely undimmed. It had been a passionate charade. He had promised ribbons in return for allowing him liberties and she had played up to her part, demanding a new bonnet for a full conquest. They had slept until noon the next day, earning Giles a dressing-down from the Colonel for missing parade duty, but he was soon forgiven when it became clear he had identified a nest of rebels as a result of his escapade.

Would Laura be as amused this time, he wondered, if he again appeared in disguise? Could those pleasant ghosts be raised and allow them again to be man and wife as they once had been? He would have to be made of stone not to feel moved to action, having just seen her so gloriously decked out in that spangled muslin dress, with her hair down. When Lady Rothborough had wrapped her shawl about her, it had been like the clouds obscuring the full moon.

Chapter Nineteen

Luck was with them. The night was clear and warm, and the full moon a great gold lantern to guide them on their way. There would be a good crowd on such a night and there was the sense of holiday in the air, as they made their way from the East Lodge of the park at Ardenthwaite.

Lord Rothborough, to whom Giles had been obliged to outline their plan, had suggested this strategy, knowing the district well. He advised them to leave their horses in the care of the farrier in Ardenthwaite village.

“Jem Harris – an excellent man, and a good friend of mine,” Lord Rothborough said.

Mr Harris was as obliging as Lord Rothborough said he would be. Giles described their intended exploit in terms of enforcing the recent Act of Parliament against animal cruelty, rather than searching for a fence. A breeder of fine water spaniels himself, the farrier was no friend to those who organised dog fights.

“I’ll take you to within sight of the place myself, sir, but I can’t trust myself to go in with you. I would do more harm than good,” he said. “I should get myself into a scrap.”

His caution was to be regretted. His trade had made a heroic figure of Jem Harris – he was decidedly brawny, and would have been a useful ally in a fight as well as a noble figure in one of Lady Rothborough’s tableaux. But Giles could not help but admire his good sense. “Anything to put an end to those dirty ruffians,” Mr Harris went on. “I could tell you some tales about what goes on, and I am glad to see the law taking an interest in it at last. The constables here, well –” He shrugged.

In this he echoed his noble friend. Lord Rothborough had been pleased to hear of Giles proposing to gather intelligence at an illegal dog fight. He had sponsored the Bill himself, and made a fair few speeches on the subject in the house. “It is an embarrassment that such a barbaric custom persists in my own country. It is another of the great failings of the wretched Sir Arthur – he does not like the legislation and as a result his lacklustre constables do nothing to enforce it. But this will be a great weapon for our cause, Major Vernon, if you are a witness to such an event. A full report from an impeccable source – arrests will have to follow.”

“You may be sure of that,” Giles had said.

“This will do that other cause I have in mind no harm either,” Lord Rothborough went on. “There are no dog fights in your domain, I suspect, Major Vernon. You would not tolerate such a thing.”

“That’s true,” Giles said. “But I think it has been driven elsewhere. That is the problem with criminal activity. It is like water. If you block the flow in one place, it will find an outlet elsewhere.”

“And that is a fine argument for universal, uniform systems of law enforcement, is it not? Not our present, antiquated, piecemeal system. Still, inch by inch, we do progress, do we not?” Lord Rothborough concluded.

“I hope so,” said Giles.

“All strength to your arm. And perhaps we may recover that bracelet!”

-0-

True to his word, Jem Harris led them across the field roads to the outskirts of the hamlet of Byrescough, which was not really worth the name of hamlet. It consisted of a few dirty looking cottages, a scrappy area of common which no local landowner had considered worth enclosing and the Three Horseshoes, which squatted, toad-like, in the corner of the crossroads, its ancient walls bulging and sagging under a badly-tiled roof. It was the sort of establishment that only the most desperate traveller would visit.

The crowds were there, as Giles had predicted. There was a group standing in the road drinking and smoking, as if the inn were already packed to the rafters.

“I hope you’ve got something to protect yourself with, gentlemen,” said Harris.

“Oh, aye,” said Holt, tapping his coat. “We have.”

“Only to be used
in extremis
, Holt,” Giles murmured, “remember.”

“Good luck to you,” said Harris. “I’ll be off now and leave you to your business.”

Giles and Holt made their way to the inn, with Holt assuming the jaunty stride of a professional ne’er-do-well who had done well for himself after all, his splendid silk hat flashing. There were plenty of other stovepipes in evidence – some perched on the heads of young men in fancy waistcoats. From their stance and manners, Giles recognised them as officers out on a spree. Other silk hats were sported by more solid, middle-aged characters, who might have been wool merchants, solicitors or manufactory owners. They were mixing comfortably with prosperous farmers in their low-crowned billy-cock hats and creating a rare and interesting mingling of town and country. All in all, there were many men that one would not have expected to find at an event which had so recently been declared by Parliament to be illegal. However, old habits died hard. What had been an acceptable entertainment in Giles’ own youth was now rightly outlawed. It had had its day and had no place in a modern, civilised country. Yet it often took time for custom to catch up with legislation.