Black Gold (36 page)
Lady Margaret glared at him. “Extortionist! You're as bad as Roach, trying to force me to free your black friend.” Her lips curled with disdain. “I thought you were a man of honor.”
“Justice before honor, Lady Margaret. Sir Harry tricked Jeffery into signing an indenture of servitude before coming to England, since slavery is illegal here.” He held her eye. “As Charlie's guardian, you must legally revoke that indenture and free Jeffery. And, give him the two hundred pounds, the gate money from the boxing match, which Sir Harry wrongfully denied him. If you meet these two conditions, I swear on my honor, I'll burn the marriage certificate now.”
She crossed her arms, threw a contemptuous glance at him, then stared at Anne. “What do
you
say? Would you beggar my son Charlie with this certificate? Expose him to ridicule?”
“I love Charlie, but his fate is in your hands, not mine.”
Lady Margaret looked silently out the window, chin high, nostrils flared, fingers tapping angrily on the arms of her chair. Finally, she turned to Paul. “Have you something for me to sign?”
He produced a legal agreement declaring Jeffery to be free from the indenture and entitled to the sum of two hundred pounds. She read it, then went to her desk. “Burn the certificate,” she said, her pen poised over the agreement.
Paul sensed guile in her voice. “Sign first.”
“Goddam Frenchman!” She hurled the pen against the wall, tore the agreement to pieces, beat on the desk with both fists. She turned on Paul and shouted “Goddam whoreson!”
Anne started with alarm and began to rise from her chair.
Paul waved her down. “Wait,” he mouthed.
The litany of abuse gradually subsided. Lady Margaret sat still, staring down at the desk. She picked up another pen.
Paul walked over to her and placed a second copy of the agreement in front of her. She signed it without hesitation. Paul and Anne witnessed her signature, then Paul folded the agreement and put it in his pocket. He turned to Anne. She drew the package from her bag and gave it to him. He opened it and showed the certificate to Lady Margaret.
She glanced at it and grimaced. “Destroy it!”
He stirred the glowing embers in the hearth to a flame, then laid the certificate in the fire. In seconds it was reduced to ashes.
Lady Margaret rose erect from her chair and tossed her head scornfully. “Now I'm safely mistress of this house.” Her voice was low, her words measured. Fixing Anne and Paul in her gaze, she went on, “You will get out of Combe Park immediately and take Monsieur Charpentier and your black friend Jeffery with you. The steward will give him the gate money as he leaves. And you, Miss Cartier, will receive your stipend.” She pulled a bell rope.
Betty was outside the door as they left, having listened to what had gone on inside. As Anne and Paul passed her, she whispered, “You've done the right thing. I'll try to bring her around to a better frame of mind.”
“And take good care of Charlie,” said Anne, pressing the woman's hand.
Aftermath
Friday/Saturday, April 13/14
On a late Friday morning, three days after the deaths at Combe Park, an inquest was held at the White Hart Inn in Widcombe across the Avon south of Bath. Anne sat in the front row with Paul and Jeffery in the banqueting hall, a large simple room in the floor above the street. At the table before her sat a Mr. Bennett of Widcombe House acting as coroner. A justice of the peace whose estate lay near Combe Park, he knew Sir Harry and the circumstances there. A jury of thirteen local men sat to the left of the coroner, their faces alive with curiosity and expectation.
Anne had awaited this moment with apprehension. Little Charlie's future seemed to hang in the balance. Should the inquest reveal his mother's bigamy, the boy might face life as a pauper and not return to Braidwood's school.
A commotion erupted at the door. People standing there struggled to make way for someone to enter. Erect, veiled, and dressed in black, Lady Margaret glided into the room. Betty and Charlie accompanied her. All eyes followed the trio to reserved seats in the front row. A loud buzz rose from the crowd, then subsided at the coroner's command.
From her place, Anne had a clear view of Charlie slouched in his chair, staring glumly at his feet. He apparently had little idea of what was going on, and no one had explained it to him. Before Anne left Combe Park, she told him what had happened to Critchley, Fitzroy, and Sir Harry. He had seemed withdrawn, more confused than grieving. Had he begun to wonder who was his father?
At least he was no longer in danger. Lady Margaret had ordered William out of Combe Park as soon as she was its unchallenged mistress. He had vanished almost immediately, fearing Mr. Twycross and life in a debtor's prison. Peter Hyde claimed the young man had indentured himself to a ship's captain for passage to America.
The coroner rapped on the table and announced the first item of business: an inquiry into the deaths of Sir Harry Rogers, Captain Maurice Fitzroy and Mr. Edward Critchley.
“Will Colonel Paul de Saint-Martin come forward.”
Paul rose, faced the jury, and told them simply who had killed whom, without mentioning Lady Margaret's stolen package or alluding to the motives of the three men. The coroner asked him to describe the scene in the training room: was the light of the lantern sufficient for his observations? Where exactly was he standing? Where were the victims? Saint-Martin responded directly to the questions in clear correct English, prompting murmurs of approval from the crowd.
After Anne and Jeffery had supported the colonel's testimony, the coroner summoned Mr. Burton, who came forward with the aid of a cane. The crowd buzzed again at a high pitch of expectation, hungry for scandal. The jurors sat up alert. The coroner brought quiet to the room, then asked the Bow Street officer to explain what had happened.
Anne's chest tightened with anxiety. Burton could accuse Paul of concealing the stolen package, evidence of a scandal relevant to the case. The coroner might then call for further investigation and uncover Lady Margaret's bigamy. Burton could also bring up Harriet Ware's liaison with Sir Harry in order to account for his disturbed frame of mind. Her reputation could be stained.
The Bow Street officer stared at Saint-Martin and Anne with cool regard, his face ashen, his sabre scar livid. He acknowledged Lady Margaret with a slight bow, then approached the jury and met their gaze one by one. They watched him eagerly, some with mouths agape.
Leaning on his cane, Burton began to speak. The enmity between Sir Harry Rogers and Captain Fitzroy was common knowledge, he said, having to do with a private dispute. To a man, the jurors turned their eyes toward Lady Margaret and Charlie. Burton gathered their attention once more. Privy to certain delicate information, he continued, Critchley had apparently been caught between the two men and triggered their final bloody confrontation.
To the evident chagrin of the curious and the scandal mongers, Burton went no further into the tangled issues of the case or its salacious details. He ended his testimony with a few perfunctory remarks and turned to the magistrate, indicating he would receive questions.
The coroner requested some minor clarification and then inquired into the death of Jack Roach. A preliminary coroner's inquiry had led to a verdict of homicide, perpetrator unknown. Could Mr. Burton shed more light on that case?
Burton obliged with a brief response. Roach's killer was most likely Mr. Critchley, who had confessed while dying. He had acted alone in the course of a dispute over money. The coroner sought confirmation from Colonel Saint-Martin, then declared himself satisfied. He instructed the jury and sent them out. They came back promptly with a verdict of three homicides, whose perpetrators had killed one another.
The crowd stirred in their seats, grumbling, their desire for scandal frustrated.
Anne leaned back, breathing easier. Persons of authority and influence in Bath had chosen not to rake up the Rogers' household muck for public view.
Lady Margaret had risen from her seat, head high, when the coroner rapped for order. “Mr. Burton has just cast doubt upon the verdict of the original inquest into the death of Mary Campbell,” the coroner announced. He nodded to the Bow Street officer, who had joined him at the table. The crowd hushed. Lady Margaret sat down uncertainly. Anne and Paul stared blankly at each other.
“Now, Mr. Burton, explain what you mean?” The coroner's was waspish.
“Your Honor, I have only this minute received evidence strongly suggesting the death of Mary Campbell was a homicide, not an accident.” Burton sent a bailiff out. In a few moments he returned with a box. The crowd gawked as Burton reached into the box and retrieved something so thin Anne could barely see it.
“I submit to the court this piece of wire from an old harpsichord in the attic at Combe Park. Mr. William Rogers stretched it across the top step of the servants' stairway by means of these hooks.” Burton placed the items before the coroner. “In the dim light of a candle, the wire was virtually invisible. For several nights Mr. Rogers studied Miss Campbell's movements through hidden peepholes and learned when she went to the kitchen for Charlie Rogers' medicine. I believe that in the early morning hours of March 16, William Rogers hid in the darkened stairway to the garret floor above. As Miss Campbell approached, he raised the wire and caught her foot, causing her to fall.”
“His motive?” the coroner asked.
“She had accused him of excessive gambling, harassment of the young maids, cruel teasing of little Charlie and other misbehavior. According to the servants, William claimed that was none of her business and he would make her pay.”
“Why has it taken until now to bring the matter before this court?”
The investigation had been difficult, Burton explained. Several days ago, he had studied the stairs, found holes for the hooks, and guessed a wire had been used. Yesterday, he found a harpsichord with a wire missing. A painstaking search of William's room discovered the wire, as well as the hooks. Under a microscope, a medical doctor identified bits of blood on the wire where it had cut the young woman's ankle, a cut indicated in the original medical report.
“Do you believe the fall killed Miss Campbell? Or, if it merely injured her, could someone else have killed her while she lay unconscious?”
“She died of a broken neck. I have three suspects but cannot say which one of them caused it. Captain Fitzroy and Mr. Critchley are dead. William Rogers has vanished.”
The coroner remarked that a later court might determine who killed her and sent the jury out to deliberate. It brought back a verdict of homicide, overturning the earlier verdict of accidental death. The coroner thanked the jurors and quickly closed the inquest.
The crowd dispersed in a noisy rush to the doors. Anne stood waiting with Paul.
“Miss Cartier. May I have a word with you?”
Anne nearly jumped. In the confusion she hadn't noticed Burton. Suddenly, he was at her side.
“I shall leave Bath this afternoon. Becoming acquainted with you has been a bright spot in my visit. I heartily wish we might meet again.”
Anne replied in kind, then shook his hand. “Do you think William killed her?”
“Yes, though I'm not sure he fully intended to. Does that make sense?”
She nodded.
He stepped back and bowed to her, then turned to Paul. “Colonel, I leave Bath, grateful for our cooperation. You and your adjutant have helped make these, my last cases, successful. The good citizens of Bath have also made them financially rewarding. About the mysterious stolen package, I feel the lady in question does not deserve consideration but her son may. I presented my opinion in that light.” He offered his hand. Paul shook it. As Burton walked off, he remarked over his shoulder, “Henceforth, I'll hold the French police in high regard.”
***
Anne shut the lid of her trunk, then surveyed the room for articles of clothing she might have missed. Satisfied she was ready, she fastened the lock. Since her summary expulsion from Combe Park, she had stayed at the York Inn, together with Paul and Georges. Their business finished, they were preparing to leave for London today. Anne felt happy to put Bath behind her. A beautiful city, but tarnished in her mind by the evil she had encountered.
She put the key to the trunk in her pocket and began to pace the floor. Though she had packed, a sense of unfinished business nagged her. She was leaving Charlie without a tutor. Mr. Braidwood would be disappointed. She felt sad, but nothing could be done.
Paul had arranged for breakfast in one of the York Inn's small private dining rooms. Anne went there early to talk privately with Jeffery. Dressed in the hotel's red livery trimmed with black, he was setting out plates, holding them with his right hand and wiping them with his left. She noticed he favored his left arm. It was only ten days since he broke it, and it had not yet healed.
But he had to work nonetheless. Yesterday, at Mr. Woodhouse's request and on Paul's recommendation, the manager had grudgingly hired Jeffery as a footman. He had warned that the inn could not make allowances for his injured arm. The manager had also voiced concern that some patrons might hold the inn in less regard for having a black man in its livery.
Woodhouse had countered that most patrons would be pleased. A large handsome man like Jeffery was agreeably exotic and fashionable. Many of the “quality” included liveried black servants in their household staffs. The Quaker had proposed trying Jeffery for thirty days and the manager had agreed.
Anne took a step into the dining room. Jeffery became aware of someone watching him and turned around. When he recognized her, he smiled and bowed smartly, then flourished an arm over the table setting. He had laid places, he said, not only for her, Colonel Saint-Martin, and Georges Charpentier, but also for Mr. Woodhouse, Sarah Smith, and her mother. “And I shall serve them,” he exclaimed, “as a free man!” He smiled tentatively. “I can hardly believe what's happened to me.”
“Where are you living?”
He pointed upward. “In the attic. For now.”
“And your plans for the future?”
“Sarah and I would like to get married, but we'll wait for a while. Lay aside a little money. Sarah and her mother will still have the shop. Roach died before he could bring about their eviction. I'll learn to read and write better and look for a permanent position, perhaps in the house of one of the wealthy sporting gentlemen. Give him boxing lessons. Spar with him.” He gently patted his weakened left arm. “No more battles for me.”
Paul was the next to arrive, dressed for travel in a brown suit, his hair tied back with a brown ribbon. He embraced Anne, then smiled a greeting to the footman.
Jeffery left the table and approached them. “I've waited until now to thank both of you for helping me gain my freedom. I know Lady Margaret didn't want to give it to me. And I'm also grateful for the gate money!”
“It's yours. You earned it,” Paul said. “And you shall have another two hundred pounds that I won betting on you.”
Partial compensation, Anne thought, for the years of slavery Jeffery had endured.
***
After breakfast, Anne went to her room to oversee the removal of her trunk. It had just left when a maid delivered a message.
Please come to the parlor. I need to speak to you. Betty
Anne sat down to think. Why would Betty come here unless something had happened to Charlie? Anne felt a tremor of apprehension. She rose, squared her shoulders, and went downstairs.
Betty was standing in the middle of the small entrance parlor with Charlie close by her side. They smiled hesitantly when they saw Anne enter. She gestured toward the chairs. They sat down facing her.
“What can I do for you, Betty?” Anne asked gently.
“I'm embarrassed, Miss Cartier, to come here unannounced.” She put an arm on Charlie's shoulder. “The boy's mother sent me. She knows you're leaving Bath, now that the coroner has finished the inquest. She wants you to take Charlie back to Braidwood's institute in Hackney. His things are in the coach outside.”
Anne gazed at Charlie's expectant face. “Of course. I'm delighted to do it. We have room. Colonel Saint-Martin has hired a coach for the journey.” Anne wasn't sure the boy fully comprehended what she had said, so she repeated it to him. He broke into a big smile and threw his arms around her.
She hugged and kissed him. Holding his hand, she turned to Betty. “How is Lady Margaret?”
“Presently at sea, in a manner of speaking, though I think she's getting better. Leaves her rooms, walks in the garden. She loves Charlie and would like to keep him at home. But on her terms. She's not ready to accept him just as he is, deaf and all. And he's unhappy because he can't please her. Two days of them just staring at each other brought her to her wit's end. That's why we're here.”
