Dread Murder (9 page)

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Authors: Gwendoline Butler

BOOK: Dread Murder
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They walked up the road together, side by side, not speaking.
Eventually, when they got to the hill that led to the Castle, the Major said: ‘So what were you doing down the hill?'
Charlie was silent.
‘You were following me?
‘So I was,' the boy said after a pause. ‘I wanted to see where you went.' He considered telling Mearns about Spike and the dog, but decided to wait. He liked the Major, but life had taught him to be cautious about confiding in anyone.
‘You saw where I went. Any good to you?'
‘Yes,' said Charlie. ‘I wanted to know where Felix lived.'
‘He works from there. Can't say where he lives.' In fact, he did know; he made it his business to know that sort of thing. So he could have told the boy that Felix lived – perhaps with a woman, but no wife or family – near the river, by what had been the town of Windsor before William the Norman and his son built the Castle. They had even built the hill on which it stood, making
the unfortunate English labour and dig to make the hill.
‘The English got the better of William in the end,' thought the Major. ‘Not many years ago, the descendants of the Norman lords were calling themselves Englishmen. And speaking English.'
‘You still look a bit hungry,' said Mearns, giving the boy a searching look.
‘I am hungry.' Charlie was already regretting his sausages.
The Major made up his mind. ‘Come up to the Castle with me, lad, and I'll see you get something. I could do with a meal myself. We eat when we feel like it, Denny and I.' He gave his generous smile. ‘I don't know what we have in our larder, but I can go down into the kitchens where I will be given something. They are easy there and eat well, so we shall get something good: cold meat, a grouse or a chicken – something of that sort.'
‘Won't the King mind?' asked Charlie, running to keep up with the Major's long strides.
‘His Majesty? Generosity itself. Besides, he would not know. Much goes on in the Castle that the King knows nothing of, and for certain all he wants from the kitchens is excellent food – which he has got by hiring a famous French chef. But he has no notion of what goes on in his kitchens.'
‘Oh, poor old King!' said Charlie with genuine sympathy.
The Major took him straight to the kitchens, where Charlie saw with surprise that there was not just one kitchen but a sequence of them, one after the other.
He said nothing, but his eyes widened.
The Major spoke to a tall, thickset man in a white overall and tall hat. In return he got a bow and a
‘Bonjour'.
‘François,' he explained to Charlie. ‘A Frenchman. His Majesty thinks all the best chefs are French. François worked for the Emperor Napoleon.'
Charlie took it all in with an interested gaze. ‘The King knows that much about his kitchens then.'
‘You are a sharp one, you are,' said the Major, with some admiration. Yes, he knows about the food he eats. Not what I'd want though. Fancy, you know. All looks and no flavour.'
‘You've eaten it then?'
Mearns shrugged. ‘Only what comes back to the kitchens.'
The boy had left his side to wander between the long tables at which white-coated men were working.
‘It's a big meal tonight. Do you call it a “banquet”?'
Mearns pursed his lips. ‘I think it is always like this.' He could see that his friend, François, had nodded for a tray to be prepared; he saw the slices of beef go on together with slices of some paler meat, which might be chicken. He was just thinking that something sweet would be welcome when a pie, certainly fruity, was deposited on his tray. ‘Enough for six,' he thought, ‘but it would never be noticed out of this kitchen. After all, that was what kings were for, wasn't it? Charity to the hungry.'
One of the chefs was talking to Charlie; then Mearns
saw that the man leaned forward and took Charlie's arm in a gently caressing way.
The Major frowned. Charlie was an attractive boy. Better get him out of here. Then he saw the boy's heel come down heavily on the chef's foot. Charlie did not apologise — just went on smiling as if nothing had happened.
The Major stopped frowning and gave a small grin. There was no doubt that Charlie knew how to look after himself.
By the time they reached the Major's set of rooms, the tray had arrived and been surveyed by Sergeant Denny with satisfaction. He gave Charlie a nod, but spoke to Mearns.
‘They do us well.'
Mearns flicked his eyes towards Charlie. ‘I think we owe some of the riches to Charlie here.'
‘Oh aye; they'd eat him alive down there, some of 'em.'
‘Frenchmen,' said Charlie with decision. ‘Any Englishman can beat two of them. Can I have one of those pies?'
The careful Denny held out a plate. ‘Just the one.'
While he ate his carefully selected pie, crisp and brown, Charlie looked round the room. It was not large, but it was cosy – a favourite word with Charlie, and a quality he prized. In the middle of the room stood a large, well-polished, dark oak table of some age. A smaller table was in the window recess. Pens and paper indicated it was used by the Major for writing on,
although what writing he did was, as yet, a mystery to Charlie. Four dark oak upright chairs to match the centre table stood about the room. One big leather armchair with a matching footstool was near the window, looking out. Charlie instinctively admired it all, but the Major was oblivious, not knowing and not caring that he was using a table at which George I had eaten his breakfast. The Castle was filled with such treasures owing to the magpie hoarders of the Hanoverian House. The more fashionable and delicate mahogany had swept away the solid oak from the Royal suites – but not out of the Castle.
‘There was blood in the Theatre. They found it.' Charlie's tongue was loosened by the delicious pie, which gave him a mood of ease and hope.
There was a moment of silence. Denny looked at the Major's face.
‘How do you know that?' he asked, speaking for the Major, in whose face he could see knowledge of the blood.
‘Yes,' said Mearns, his voice stern. ‘How do you know that, my boy?'
Charlie considered; should he tell the two men about Spike and the dog? Caution won. Wait and see what happened, he argued to himself.
‘I listened at a window.'
‘I don't shout,' declared the Major.
Charlie smiled, then spoke the truth, which was handy for him. ‘You're a bit deaf, Sir …'
He turned towards Sergeant Denny. ‘Ask your friend.'
The Major turned to Denny who hung his head and muttered something.
‘All right, so it's true,' said the Major to Charlie. ‘So you listened and heard about the blood. Yes, some blood has been found. Now forget it and don't say anything to anyone or you will be in trouble.'
Major Mearns had an honest heartiness about him that made you believe him. ‘He matches his furniture somehow,' Charlie thought, ‘and both are in good order.'
The Major stood up. ‘I'm going to the Theatre. If you have finished eating, come with me.'
Charlie wanted both to go with him and to continue his conversation. He did so as they walked together.
‘But the dead lady was strangled …no blood,' said Charlie. He had managed to get a look at her, and had been able to observe this much at least.
The Major thought it best not to answer this, so he went on in silence. Charlie continued for him.
‘Those parcels that I carried up to you … I was paid …but they were heavy.'
‘So they were,' agreed the Major.
‘And the second one smelt.'
‘Did it now?'
‘I remember thinking that it was a leg of lamb that had hung around too long and had gone a bit high.'
The boy was gazing hard into the Major's face. ‘So what were they?'
‘Don't you think about it, lad. Leave it to me.'
‘They weren't really pieces of meat, were they? Not from an animal, anyway.'
Mearns gave Charlie a sharp look.
‘Were they human legs?'
The Major did not answer.
‘Why were they sent to you?' asked Charlie quietly.
This was a question the Major had been asking himself, and now he thought: ‘Perhaps whoever sent it thought I ought to know. Wanted me to know.' But the Major did not say this aloud.
‘And the other bundle, the one that was round and heavy …' Charlie could guess what was round and heavy. He lost a little colour.
‘Forget it, boy.' He was only a boy, thought the Major. ‘This is all rubbish.'
But Charlie was thinking, a deep frown creasing his forehead. ‘Am I right? Are they bits of a body? Where's the rest of it? Is it on the way? Where is it now? Where the blood is? Is that what you're going to the Theatre for?' Charlie thought of Miss Fairface. What would she say? A body in her Theatre. Because it was ‘her Theatre'. While she was performing in it, no one else counted. Mr Thornton – or whatever he was called – did not exist.
Charlie prodded Major Mearns further. ‘Is that what the woman who was strangled saw? Did she see something?'
‘I have no idea,' said the Major. ‘Or not much of one. Dol knew something. Whether she had seen anything or not is another matter.'
‘She might have seen the killing. Or she might have known where the rest of the body is.'
‘We can leave that to Felix,' said the Major, trying to end the boy's line of questioning.
But Charlie read in the Major's face that he intended to sniff around. ‘You need a dog for that,' he thought, ‘and I know one. You need a keen sniffer who wants to find food. The lean, hungry and nameless dog with Spike was such a one. But I shan't tell you that; it's my secret.'
The two of them walked to the Theatre side by side. They passed through the front of the Theatre, which was being brushed out, although to Charlie's young nose there was still that smell of cheap wine, ale and tobacco smoke, not to mention body odours – smells that were less pleasant.
The Major passed through without comment; old soldiers had smelt everything.
Charlie cast an assessing eye over the rows of narrow, wooden seats that faced the stage. He had stood at the back last night on one of his wanderings round the Theatre.
‘Don't look comfortable,' he said.
‘Not meant to be comfortable.' The Major strode on.
‘Keep you awake – that's the idea. Drink too much and get comfortable, and you're off.'
‘I wouldn't go to sleep; it's exciting.' Just how exciting the Theatre, plays and the performers were, Charlie was beginning to realise. He wanted to be part of it.
The Major turned and looked into the boy's face with a sympathetic smile. ‘No, I don't think you would do,' he said. Then he marched on, through the backstage area to where the woman had been killed.
The Major had protected the boy from a good sight of the dead woman; but Charlie had seen a strangled woman near the blacking factory, so he knew what she would have looked like.
A swollen, flushed face with the eyes popping out, the lips drawn back over the teeth in a smile that was not a smile – he had indeed caught a glimpse of Dol's face.
‘You'd better get back to see Miss Fairface – see if you can do any errands for her. She may want something.'
‘And you want me out of the way because you are going to look for the blood in the yard,' thought Charlie.
 
They both saw the stain. The blood had been cleared away with sawdust thrown over the area, but the deep redness showed through like a shadow. It looked like a map of the world.
‘Traddles' blood,' thought the Major to himself as he took in the scene. ‘Must be. So he was killed here, poor bugger. Who was he after then? He must have been accusing someone of something. He never did have much sense. Spoke out of turn. Thought he was safe here with all the theatre people around. Unless it was one of the theatre people.'
He looked up from the bloody stains to see Miss Fairface come out of the Theatre.
‘Look after your own doublet and trews,' she was saying over her shoulder.
‘Only a press with a hot iron – a wash, if you can manage it.' It was Beau following her.
He had a pair of silky black pantaloons over one arm. ‘It's for
Hamlet
tonight.'
‘I'm an actress, a performer – and a better one than you are, my friend, so don't ask me to do your washing.'

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