Airs and Graces (9 page)

‘Looking for valuables,’ Hugh said.

‘Then why leave the candlesticks?’ I pointed to the mantelshelf.

It was the same tale upstairs, in the bedrooms. The stained bedding had been torn off the beds and the mattresses slashed, feathers lying in little drifts about the floor. Gaudy ribbons, almost the only sad remains of Sarah Gregson, were trampled and dirty on the floor. Upstairs in the attic, the little girl’s bed had been overturned; beyond the partition, Alice Gregson’s trunk had been emptied, and the contents scattered over the floor: the stylish dresses, dancing pumps, cobweb-thin lace, handkerchiefs, nightgowns  . . .

I frowned at the tangle of clothes. ‘He was obviously looking for something but I’m damned if I know what.’ I glanced at Hugh; he shrugged. I sighed, scrubbed at my eyes. ‘We’d better be thorough and look in the cellar. I haven’t been down there at all – there didn’t seem any point last time I was here.’

We went back down the stairs to the shop, found a door that led to a narrow stair built into the structure of the bridge. Unsurprisingly, the cellar below smelt damp; I held the candle higher in an effort to see into the dark corners. Hugh took a branch of candles from a table in the middle of the room and lit them from mine; the room brightened.

It was a moderately-sized room, full of boxes, and furniture in various states of repair. The boxes had been disturbed, although not, in most cases, completely turned out; it looked as if the thief had merely glanced in and lost interest when he found china tea-sets and painted shepherdesses. On the table stood a moneybox, with the lid thrown back, empty except for a scrap of paper. A receipt:
Rec’d £112 11s 6d of William Threlkeld
. The signature was Gregson’s. Threlkeld: that name was familiar too. But my head was throbbing ever more fiercely, and I was beginning to long for sleep with a rare passion.

Something caught my attention – a gap on a shelf. ‘This is presumably where the box was kept.’ The shelf was dusty and the place where the box had stood was obvious, a rectangular clean spot. With another identical space next to it.

‘There were
two
boxes,’ I said.

Hugh inspected the shelf. ‘Maybe our thief took the other one just now. There was probably more money in it.’

I shook my head and winced. ‘The watchman at the inquest said he’d searched the entire house and there was no money left anywhere. This must have been taken at the time of the killings, or before.’

‘Maybe Gregson moved the box himself.’

‘That would be a coincidence, and I don’t much like coincidences.’ I looked at the empty box on the table. ‘Alice could have emptied one box into the other, leaving the empty one behind.’

‘That sounds more like it.’

‘But Fleming said Gregson didn’t keep much money in the house and in any case there’s no point in having two money boxes unless one is full. And if one
was
full, she couldn’t have emptied the other one into it.’

Hugh sighed. ‘It’s probably not in the least important.’

‘I still say she wasn’t weighed down by anything heavy when she fled.’ That reminded me of the foreign coin Alice had dropped; I reached into my pocket. ‘Damn it, he’s taken that as well!’

‘Charles,’ Hugh said with heavy patience. ‘The fellow was a common thief – he took everything he could find.’

‘No, he didn’t,’ I retorted. ‘I’ve still got my neckerchief and my coat. Any thief worth the name would have taken as many of my clothes as he could manage.’

‘He was disturbed,’ Hugh suggested, ‘and had to run off.’

‘Maybe. But surely anyone disturbing him would have come to my aid.’

Hugh gave another sigh. I shook my head in an effort to clear it. ‘Let’s say Alice took the missing box, but didn’t have it on her when she slid down the rope. That means she must have removed it from the house
before
the murders but not long before, because Gregson might have missed it. Supposing she came down here, took the box, passed it to an accomplice—’

‘Wait, wait!’ Hugh interrupted, eyes wide. ‘An
accomplice
? Where did
he
spring from?’

‘The man who attacked me.’

‘He was a common thief ! And you were talking about a burglar before, not an accomplice.’

‘No,
Mrs Fletcher
was talking about a burglar, but that plainly doesn’t make sense. The rope, Hugh, think of the rope! Alice made that in advance, and she couldn’t possibly have anticipated she’d need to escape a chance burglar. This was all planned, Hugh!’

‘Any accomplice or burglar,’ Hugh pointed out, ‘must have made his escape at about the same time as Alice. We’d have seen him.’

‘Not necessarily. He had time to run off while we were watching Alice slide down that rope. And, in any case, the snow was so thick, I could hardly see a yard ahead when I ran on to the bridge.’

I walked about the cellar, restless and frustrated. ‘And now he’s come back. He must have thought there was something that would implicate him. If only we’d found it!’

Hugh repeated, ‘It was an opportunist thief, Charles. He’d heard you had the keys of the shop and was looking for valuables.’

‘Who’d know I had the keys?’

‘The watchmen. And Philips could have told half a dozen people.’

That was true enough. I gave in to the pain in my head. ‘I’m going home. I need sleep. Hugh – don’t tell anyone about this. Not at least until I’ve had time to tell Philips and Armstrong what’s happened. They ought to know first.’

He nodded and blew out the branch of candles. Shadows gathered around us. With the single candle, we climbed the stairs to the shop. I checked the shutters, particularly the one with a broken bracket, then locked the door behind us. I couldn’t resist glancing about the bridge in case I saw the woman from the other world again, but there was only the snow, falling steadily now, and a passing dog that gave us a curious look.

I wished I could rid myself of a growing suspicion we’d accused the wrong person of the murders.

Eleven

In the homes of the poor, you will see many old things, still used out of necessity. In the houses of the rich, you will see many old things, displayed for their antiquity, which is often great, and their beauty, which is often non-existent.

[Letter from Louis de Glabre to his friend Philippe

Froidevaux, 19 January 1737]

‘It’s a long way from being robbed in the street, to believing in an accomplice,’ Heron said, running his fingers over the stem of his wine glass. We were sitting in the elegant Chinese beauty of his newly redecorated library; looking at the flawless taste and quality of the wallpaper, the vases and the little statuettes, I knew for certain that Samuel Gregson’s hand had never come anywhere near it; Heron had had London men up to do the work. Gregson had been good but not up to gentry standards.

After a tolerable night’s sleep, my head still ached, but I felt a great deal better. Esther had been exasperated when I arrived home, muddy and thick-headed; she’d gone straight to a cupboard for one of her cordials. I drank it under her eagle eye and felt compelled to apologize.

Esther laughed. ‘I knew when I married you that you would never live a quiet life.’

‘I do
try
not to get involved into anything untoward,’ I said meekly.

She sighed. ‘Yes, I know. Charles—’

‘Yes?’

But she shook her head and said merely, ‘Do be careful.’ I wondered what she’d been about to say – and why she’d changed her mind.

I sent messages to both Armstrong and Philips about the robbery and gathered from the extreme politeness of the replies that neither was very pleased. Heron, in his library, had listened in near silence, interrupting only to clarify some small points, but went at last to the core of the matter.

‘An accomplice?’ I sat back in my chair. ‘There’s no definitive evidence, I agree, but there are some suggestive points. Several people have said Alice was watching for someone, for instance. You yourself said that she’s an unlikely murderer from the physical point of view. And Mrs Fletcher, who seems to know her better than anyone else, thinks she wouldn’t be capable of it.’

Heron considered this for a moment in silence, tapping a finger against his glass. ‘Nothing was taken from the shop?’

‘Not that I could see, but I can’t be certain. I don’t know the house well enough.’ I’d probably end up applying to Armstrong for permission to take Mrs Fletcher round the premises. ‘He must surely have been searching for anything that might incriminate him – papers and the like.’

Heron stared absently at the roaring fire. ‘Are you sure your attacker was not the girl?’

I was startled. ‘Alice Gregson?’

He raised an elegant eyebrow at my incredulity. ‘I merely wondered.’

‘I was attacked by a man. In greatcoat and breeches.’

‘Your wife dresses in breeches,’ Heron pointed out.

‘He was too tall. And I heard him grunt – it was certainly a man.’

Heron nodded, conceding the point. The gilded clock on the mantelshelf chimed; he put down his glass. ‘Time to go.’

We’d agreed to meet with Balfour to talk over the plans for the Assembly Rooms. It was only a few streets to the George but Heron had ordered his carriage; he was not a man to relish walking in snow. We went out into the hall.

‘The girl is not yet caught?’ Heron asked.

‘I suspect she will never be.’

Heron smiled slightly. ‘I suspect she will. I know your obstinacy.’

I considered telling him where I thought she was; Heron knows about the other world; he has accompanied me there on occasion. But I was still unsure of my conclusions and by the time I’d dithered over the matter, the servants were around us. Footmen loomed; Heron’s manservant Fowler hovered by the servants’ door. Heron took his coat from the butler.

Outside, the snow was coming down in a light but steady shower. It was very pleasant to sit in the comfort of Heron’s carriage with a warm brick under my feet, looking out on the less fortunate who had to walk. Like the horseman from the previous night, who caught my attention as we drove down through the Bigg Market. I remembered his name now: Joseph Kane. He was a sailor who had worked on the boat I came home on from London some years ago. We’d not been on good terms – Kane wanted vails and I had no money to give.

From the George’s yard, we went straight to the warmth of a parlour. A fire was burning in the grate and a bowl of mulled wine steaming on the table, but neither Hugh nor Balfour were there. Heron, not a man used to being kept waiting, was not pleased and sent a servant in search of Balfour.

There was an uncomfortable silence while we waited. I said, ‘We looked at the site for the Rooms the other day. Demsey found an ancient ring.’

Heron was interested at once. ‘There were Roman buildings in the town just about there. A skeleton was found in the next street – oh, eighty years ago, now. What is this ring like?’

Trust Heron to know such things. I did my best to describe the ring – fortunately, just at that moment, Hugh came dashing in full of apologies. ‘Sorry I’m late! A cart overturned on the High Bridge and it was absolutely impossible to get past!’

‘I hear you found a ring,’ Heron said.

Hugh had it with him; I left them exclaiming over it and went to see if I could find Balfour. The servant was in the passageway, looking embarrassed. ‘He’s – er – otherwise engaged—’

A door opened behind him and a woman swaggered out, grinning; I’d no doubt whatsoever of her profession. The servant gave me an apologetic grin. Cautiously, I pushed the door wider. There was another parlour behind it, with a large fire and a table loaded with the remnants of a substantial breakfast. Across the other side of the room, Balfour, in shirt sleeves, was just buttoning up his breeches.

His face lit up with pleasure when he saw me. ‘Patterson, my dear fellow! Do come in.’

‘I think not,’ I said, trying not to look disapproving. I wouldn’t deny a man some pleasure, but to keep Heron waiting while he took it was folly. As one of the Directors of the Assembly Rooms, Heron was Balfour’s employer, and Balfour would be wise to keep him sweet. ‘Mr Heron’s here.’

Balfour grabbed a tankard from the table and gulped down beer. ‘A man needs a little breakfast, Patterson!’

He was remarkably cheerful this morning. He grinned. ‘I like this snow. No getting out of town at all now, the ostlers tell me. Good job there are so many attractions, eh?’ He winked at me, then frowned. ‘You have a bruise on your forehead.’

‘Have I? I had an encounter with a thief last night.’

‘Really!’ He didn’t look particularly shocked. ‘Some shady rough?’

‘I don’t know – I didn’t get a good look at him. Will you please come?’

He grumbled but reached for his coat.

‘The plans?’ I suggested. He looked round, puzzled, then spotted a roll of parchment on a sofa and swooped to grab it up.

I needn’t have been so anxious. In the larger room, the wine had been neglected; Heron was engaged in examining Hugh’s ring. He angled the cameo so he could see the figure more clearly. ‘This is extremely valuable.’

Hugh was taken aback. ‘I thought it was just a trinket.’

Heron shook his head. ‘I’ll give you twenty guineas for it.’

There was a moment’s respectful silence. Twenty guineas was extremely generous. Hugh cast me a surreptitious look. ‘Actually,’ he said, a trifle nervously, ‘I’d rather keep it. The dancing connection, you see.’ I fancied I heard a distinct note of regret; Hugh’s an excellent businessman and not in the practice of turning down large amounts of money.

Heron gave the ring back at once. ‘If you change your mind at any time, let me know.’

The plans were unrolled and the proposed building was revealed in section, plan and other views I couldn’t name, beautifully drawn, with annotations in impeccable copperplate. Balfour became enthusiastic and launched into explanations. I let the details wash over me, disturbed a little by Heron’s demeanour; he was surprisingly distracted. I saw him glance at the window once or twice; following his gaze, I saw the snow was beginning to ease.

The servant came back in again and signalled to me. I went across and was treated to a voice lowered conspiratorially. ‘Lady to see you, sir.’ He winked.