Dread Murder (15 page)

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Authors: Gwendoline Butler

BOOK: Dread Murder
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Slowly, Charlie said: ‘I went to see Spike. You know who Spike is?'
‘Yes, I know Spike. And the dog.'
They smiled at each other.
‘I like Spike. There's a lot in him,' said Charlie. ‘He needs a proper home. I might take him with me when I go.'
‘Are you going then?' He wasn't surprised. Who would be? Charlie wouldn't be a boy to stay in a place like this. ‘But do you suppose he could cope with your life?'
‘But I am easy.'
‘But you might create a dangerous world for you both,' thought Mearns, but did not say it aloud.
‘I have been thinking I ought to go back to London. I never meant to stay so long in Windsor. But it's full of interesting people like Mr Pickettwick and Denny, and Miss Fairface and the Theatre, and you of course. I suppose I'd be one too, if I stayed around.'
‘But not so interesting if you go away to London and make your life there.'
There was a decision in Major Mearns' voice; he had seen a lot of young men grow up (and die), and thought he knew what was best for them.
 
After leaving Charlie, Mearns went back to his rooms where he found Denny having a drink.
He sat down beside Denny and took a drink himself.
‘I like that boy Charlie.'
‘So do I. Shall I ask him in for a drink?' said Denny sleepily. This was his usual method of making friends.
‘He's only a lad.'
‘Lads like a drink, and he's had one already, I'd say.'
The Major did not argue with his judgement. He had known too many soldiers to find it hard to believe. He might even have been a tipsy one himself long decades ago.
‘I won't be the one to encourage him; nor will you, Denny.' He held out his own glass, though. ‘Fill up, please, Denny. The red wine.'
‘The white is better,' said Denny.
Mearns leaned back against the cushions on his chair. ‘Do you remember when we had Miss Fanny Burney here as Lady-in-Waiting to the Queen, and we had that trouble?'
‘The murder?'
‘She dealt with it. I reckon she was cleverer than our Crowner.'
‘I always used to bolt my food,' said Denny, ‘so I was in time to see her on the afternoon walk with the Queen and the Princesses.'
‘I did too,' admitted the Major. ‘Only, as I don't eat so much as you it wasn't such a struggle.'
Wistfully Denny said: ‘She's a married lady now and lives across on the Continent.'
‘She was very clever about the murders we had then. We could do with her now. Our Crowner accepts the bodies, but doesn't do much about finding who put them there.' The Major poured himself more wine. ‘I mean to find out.'
‘We could start guessing,' said Denny.
‘I've been doing that and not getting anywhere.' The Major spoke over his wine, but Denny could tell he was
enjoying himself. Also, he thought the Major could probably make a pretty good guess at who was sending the body parts.
‘People don't realise what a dangerous place a castle can be,' said Denny. ‘Think of the history it's got. It's bound to tell. In the stones.' Denny was a great believer in the past influencing the present.
‘Well, don't go and retire on me,' said Mearns with good humour. ‘I need you, Denny.'
‘I'll stay,' said Denny. ‘Couldn't afford to go.'
From the corridor outside they could hear loud voices.
Denny looked alarmed. ‘What's that?'
‘That's not a quarrel. Don't you recognise His Majesty's voice? All that family talk loudly when they are excited.' The Major added thoughtfully: ‘And he sounds more excited than usual. Wonder why?' The Major was pensive. He knew one of the voices: it belonged to Maken, one of the Gentlemen-in-Waiting.
Denny took a furtive glance around the door. He sometimes got the gentlemen-in-waiting confused, but this one was Lord Maken of Muirhead. No one could forget a name like that, especially when allied to rich red hair. And he always had lovely clothes. Rumour had it that he was a ‘friend' to Mrs Fitzherbert, and there were some red-haired children in the town.
Behind Maken stood the King. He was wearing one of the beautifully tailored dark cloth suits that Brummell had converted him to. Even Denny admired its stylish, unostentatious elegance. He knew, of course, that it
came from the tailor at the end of Bond Street and that, plain as it was, it cost as much as one of the silk jackets that His Majesty had previously admired.
Lord Maken seemed to have visited the same tailor and probably got his silk cravat there too.
Lord Maken said, ‘His Majesty would like to speak to Major Mearns, please.'
‘Shout at him, you mean. Bellow like a cross lion!' thought Denny. But he knew better than to say anything, because there was His Majesty a little way down the corridor and the Major was in the room behind, acting as if he had heard nothing.
‘This was how you behaved at Court,' Denny thought. ‘Natural, you were not!'
The Major stood up and bowed. ‘Sir.'
His Majesty smiled. ‘I want you to kill someone for me.' Mearns allowed himself to look surprised. He had killed enough men in the professional way as a soldier, but once he had retired, he had not killed.
‘Is it anyone I know, Sir?'
‘My wife.'
Lord Maken made a soft noise like a moan. ‘His Majesty is joking.'
Mearns was silent; he did not know what to say. Perhaps if he laughed it would prove it was a joke.
‘Yes, poor joke,' said the King, sadly.
‘Come back to your rooms, Sir. Let me take you,' said Lord Maken. He mouthed silently to Mearns, ‘Drunk, too much wine. You know how it takes the King sometimes.'
Mearns nodded. Scenes like this were not uncommon. He was not always involved. It was part of Castle life that was not often talked about.
‘I haven't finished with Major Mearns,' was the answer. ‘But I'm not quite sure what I want.'
‘You will remember, Your Majesty,' said Lord Maken.
‘Would you like me to come with you, Your Majesty?' said Mearns politely, hoping the offer would not be accepted.
The King went quiet for a moment.
‘Later,' he said finally. ‘I will see you get a message.'
 
Two days passed.
‘He may have forgotten all about it,' said Denny. ‘He's a funny fellow.'
‘He usually remembers what he wants and, being who he is, usually gets it.'
 
The King was dressed in one of his sombre dark suits. In a low voice he said a name. ‘Mrs Fitzherbert. I want you to kill my wife.'
Major Mearns sat quietly, then he said, ‘Yes, Mrs Fitzherbert is your wife.'
Charlie had heard what the Major said but he did not know what it meant. Who was Mrs Fitzherbert? And how could she be the King's wife? He already had a wife and a daughter, married and about to give birth.
He took himself off for a cup of coffee, which he was training himself to like.
He would not go to Ralli's, which even to his simple palate served the best coffee, because it was too expensive. Moreover, he might meet there the people he did not wish to meet while picking up information about the King and Mrs Fitzherbert.
So he went to a quiet little place, a mere hole in the wall, which he knew.
He slid into a seat at the back, close to where old Mrs Cheasle usually sat when she wanted a drink – which was often but, as she owned the place, no one stopped her.
He fumbled in his pocket, just enough for a cup of her weak coffee. Sometimes if she was in a good mood and felt generous she cut the price a fraction. On this day,
however, she gave him a not unfriendly look before going back to drink her own tea.
Finally, he decided to ask her outright.
‘Do you know Mrs Fitzherbert?'
Mrs Cheasle looked surprised. ‘Not to say “know”.' She took a quick swig of her tea. Mrs Cheasle was an eccentric figure even in this Windsor hole. Charlie thought of it as a hole because it was down a flight of steps and underground. It had a kind of cosiness though, and it was cheap.
‘Does she live in Windsor?'
There was a pause. ‘I might have seen her here once. I think it was her – we all thought it was her … Why?'
‘I wondered if she lived in the Castle.'
Mrs Cheasle said thoughtfully: ‘If she did live in Windsor it would be in the Castle, I suppose, although she was seen in a house by the Theatre. I heard she was long gone, though.'
‘Not dead?'
‘Oh no, not dead; we'd have heard about her dying.' She sounded almost regretful.
‘Oh, would you,' thought Charlie.
‘Why?' he asked hopefully. There was something here he wanted to know. From what he had observed of Mrs Cheasle, he guessed she had plenty to tell him.
She gave him a hint now. ‘We used to say – how was it? – her husband fell off his horse when he was riding home and killed himself.'
‘Did he?'
‘So we heard.'
‘Wonder how much she makes up?' he thought, ‘or embroiders?'
Mrs Cheasle gave him a long, thoughtful, but not ill-humoured look.
‘She's enjoying this,' he thought. ‘Well, if she can, then I can too. I must remember when I start writing.'
It was amazing, and puzzling, and deeply satisfying how his life was opening up in front of him.
His father would be pleased to see him back, even if it meant asking for some money so he could pay for some schoolwork. But he could imagine his mother's face; she would not be happy, as she had thought he was off their hands – no great career, but earning his own living.
He could understand it; she had carried him around for nine months, then given birth, and then fed him and trained him in the ways of the world, yet he had never felt any love there.
The interesting thing was that he suspected she would treat him exactly the same when he was rich and famous (as he was determined to be) and he respected her for that.
He sat in thought for several minutes. Not everyone had a mother whom they did not like and who did not much like them, but he must come to terms with it.
‘I will buy her a present.' He had very small savings from his work in Windsor. ‘A present from Windsor.'
‘But what?' he grinned. ‘I can't afford a crown.'
 
At the bottom of the Castle hill there was a small square of shops, next to the church and facing old Windsor – which
was there back in the Anglo-Saxon times, decades before Norman William came blasting over the water from France.
Charlie had not known this before he came to Windsor, but he had been told it by Major Mearns who, although he was a Royal servant, was not averse to making it clear that there was an England – and a rich and settled one – before the present Royal House.
It was the Major who took him round the shops, advising him what to use: ‘When you've got any money,' with one of his large smiles; but he knew that, one way or another, Charlie had managed to earn something, even if not much.
‘I like to earn when I can,' admitted the boy.
‘And why not!'
There was a shop that sold silks and velvets in lovely colours – such lovely colours that he imagined the ladies of the Court shopping here, but he had never seen one go in there and come out with a bundle. For that matter, he had never seen anyone go in, let alone come out having shopped. But the shop had an air of quiet prosperity.
Suddenly he knew; this was theatre stuff – not for women to wear for everyday life, but on the stage, in a play; men too in some plays – say, Shakespeare.
He longed to touch and stroke the silks, but he also knew that he could not afford to, or not yet. Some time in the future – oh yes, he intended he should!
Next door was a smaller shop still, which sold the most delicious sweetmeats and chocolates. The Major
had taken Charlie in and bought some chocolate. The owner of the shop, a man of kind heart, saw Charlie and came out to him.
‘Here — try one of these.' He held out a handful of bright green balls. ‘I had them sent to me from Scotland. They are called Soor Plums.'
Charlie put a ball in his mouth. It seemed to bite a hole in his tongue, but at the same time he liked it. He could tell that you could get fond of Soor Plums, acidic though they were.
As he stood there, sucking away, a small tabby cat sidled up beside him, and then went into the shop.
‘Oh, there you are, Grissy,' said the shop man. ‘Thought I'd lost you.' He looked at Charlie and smiled. ‘Only joking. She doesn't go far.'
Charlie looked at the cat, which had a certain plumpness about its figure.
‘She eats well – plenty of rats round here.'
But Charlie was a worldly-wise little Londoner. He smiled at the man and cocked his head sideways.
‘Oh yes.' It came with a sigh. ‘You're right. Another litter.'
‘What will you do with them?'
‘Oh, there's always the river.'
‘No! You don't mean it. You couldn't …' Charlie paused; he didn't want to say the words.
There was a sigh, or perhaps a groan. ‘No, I never have yet, but it gets harder to find good homes. Fortunately, she has very small litters. I have wondered if she eats some of them.'
‘Surely not!'
‘She might drop one or two in the river.'
Charlie could not believe it.
‘It's what animals do,' said the man. ‘Want another sweet?'
But Charlie was still sucking the bright green ball. Soor Plums were both powerful and long lasting.
‘Lovely stuffs in the shop next door,' he commented. He had a good view from where he stood of the velvets and silks in the window.
‘You can go in and have a look round if you like. It's my shop.'
‘Is it?' said Charlie with surprise. ‘I would love to, if you are sure.'
Dombey and Son, said the name above the door.
‘Dombey was my father. He left me the shop. I'm the son.
Not sure if he was being laughed at or not, Charlie agreed he would like to go in. ‘Seems a good name.'
‘Mostly sold to Theatre folk.'
Charlie gave himself a mental pat on the back for getting it right.
‘Not that they pay their bills,' said the Son of Dombey. ‘Or not very fast. Just go in and look. Door's not locked. Don't touch though.'
‘No, I won't. Thanks, Mr Dombey.'
‘He has got a theatrical look at the back of the eyes himself,' thought Dombey. ‘Be an actor himself, I wouldn't wonder, when he grows up. He has grown up already, in a way.'
‘Did you ever see Mrs Fitzherbert?'
Dombey was surprised. ‘What made you think of her?' ‘Someone mentioned her.'
‘I saw her once. She didn't come to the Castle much – or, if she did, she was kept hidden; that's how kings manage things. She may have lodgings here. A lovely lady; she'd have made a beautiful queen. Some people say he did marry her, but I don't know about that. We see and hear more in Windsor than is realised.'
‘So do we in London,' thought Charlie.
As he wandered round the shop, Charlie wondered if Miss Fairface had been in here. Then to his great pleasure he saw her walking down the road. He wondered if she was coming into the shop where he was. But her eyes moved forward, further down the street – not into the sweet shop either; Miss Fairface was very careful about what she ate. But no, she was looking in the window of the jewellery shop. Yes, she liked to glitter; he had noticed that already.
Then he saw Felix coming down the road.
‘I hate that man. I'm sure he would mistreat Miss Fairface if he got the chance, and I know he mistreats Spike and the dog. I'm going to rescue that boy before I go from here and if I can't do it myself I know who can; I shall ask Major Mearns.'
Then Felix stopped and looked straight at Charlie's face. For a moment he hesitated between him and Miss Fairface, then she marched on, undisturbed, towards the jewellery shop and Felix came towards the boy.
Charlie did not like the look in his face. He thought,
‘I knew he didn't like me, but that look says he wants to hurt me. I must get the dog and boy away from him.'
Charlie stepped backwards into the black velvet hanging in folds. He peered out.
‘Trying to see how you will look when you die?' said Felix grimly.
Charlie just stared, trying not to feel frightened.
For a whole minute they remained there, eye-to-eye, then Miss Fairface half-turned her head and gave a smile to Felix. He at once shot after her, smiling back. Miss Fairface went into the goldsmith's and Felix followed her.
‘You fool!' thought the cynical young Londoner. ‘She's an actress and will follow the rules of the world. She can smile and take, and give nothing back except her smile. But she will do it so gently and politely that you won't know what she's doing. You think you are clever and worldly wise, Felix, but Miss Fairface is in a way you would not understand.'
The pair were still in the goldsmith's shop. Charlie decided it might be sensible for him to get out from behind the velvets in case Miss Fairface fancied doing some shopping here.
He walked briskly out, and waved cheerfully at the kind donor of the sweet, which was still in his mouth, stuck to his teeth.
He knew he must go and talk to the boy before he did anything else. And talk to the dog; he might be able to tell the dog what to do if the boy got in trouble. The dog might be the more sensible one of the two.
 
 
Major Mearns was sitting in his room in the Castle, comfortable in his big armchair with a dog at his feet and a cat on his lap. He was drinking a glass of good burgundy, of which there was always plenty in the Castle cellars as it was the King's favourite wine too.
‘Where did this cat come from?' he asked Sergeant Denny, who was sitting on an upright chair at the window.
‘Walked in. Took a fancy to you and stayed. The dog you've always had.'
‘I know that,' said Mearns irritably.
‘He might have brought in the cat. They seem friendly.'
The Major looked with doubt at the friends. ‘Perhaps Mindy knows something about the creature.' He did not dislodge the cat, but gave it a gentle stroke as he thought of Charlotte Minden.
‘Anyway, you can ask her yourself.' Denny, from his window seat, had seen her arriving.
Mindy knocked on his door and walked in.
Mearns took his hand off the cat. ‘Is this your cat, Mindy?'
‘No, of course not. I don't have a cat.'
‘You can have this one.' But the Major knew the cat was here to stay. He would have to find a name for him –
if
it was a ‘him' — but, yes, this creature was surely male.
‘Felix Ferguson has been calling on me these last weeks,' she announced. ‘Oh, don't worry, he only wanted to talk – about himself, mostly. He thinks it makes me admire him.'
‘No judge of a woman's nature,' said Denny. ‘He never was. Knew his type in the army.'

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