Hill of Bones (46 page)

Doll shrugged.

‘I don’t now, Joe. But we better do it soon, because Orford just pulled a cart up next to the duchess’s tent.’

Malinferno yelped, and turned to look where Doll’s gaze was aimed. A cart had indeed been positioned close to the opening of the tent where the queen had spent the night. They ran across the encampment, and into the tent, Malinferno in the lead.

Orford was crouched over the crate.

‘What are you doing? Leave that crate alone.’

He went to grab Orford’s shoulder, but suddenly the ground collapsed beneath his feet, and he fell into a pit. He scrabbled at the sides of the hole, but the soil was loose and poured in over him. He fell back, and felt something hard hit his cheek. He turned his head, and gazed into a leathery face with staring blank orbs in the sockets and a gaping mouth of rotten teeth. He screamed.

‘Doll, help me.’

His saviour’s face appeared overhead, her full lips pulled back in a wide grin.

‘Ozymandias! There you are.’

Malinferno realised she was talking about his partner in the grave. It was the mummy that had previously occupied the crate where Sacchi now lay. But how had it got in the ground? A red-faced Orford appeared, holding out his hand to help Malinferno free of the pit.

‘I think I had better explain.’

He heaved Malinferno back to terra firma, and pointed out the gaping hole into which the heavy bed belonging to the duchess was already slipping.

‘I was excavating the land right here on the basis of an old map I had drawn up by someone obsessed with King Arthur.’

Malinferno thought of the parchment he had in his pocket, guessing that Orford also had a copy of the Hawkins map. He said nothing though at this stage. He looked at Doll, who winked at him.

‘Go on.’

Orford rubbed his soil-covered hands together. ‘It had several crosses on it. I had tried some of the others over several months and found nothing. Then I started digging here. From the beginning, this trench looked promising – hobnails, and rusty blades. I was sure I would find bones, and maybe even gold ornaments. And I was right. Then the duchess said she had plans for a grand event on the hill to which the gentry would be invited. It would be the social event of the year. I tried to dissuade her, but she was adamant. I had to erect a virtual military encampment on the hill top, as you saw when you arrived.’

‘But what was your problem? You could leave your trench covered and wait until afterwards. Then begin again.’

Orford grimaced. ‘Partly it was impatience. I felt I was so close to a great find, and to have it trampled over by lords and ladies was intolerable. And I had been observing the barometer as part of my management of the estate. The weather was due to change, and storms were forecast. Heavy rain would have been disastrous for my excavation. The only thing I could think to do was to site the duchess’s tent right over the trench, which I had covered with planks.’ He looked at the hole. ‘Rotten planks, it would appear.’

Doll wanted to ask a question. ‘But that would still not allow you access until after the site had been cleared. And the rain had started.’

As if on cue, they heard the first pitter-patter of light rain on the roof of the tent.

Orford groaned. ‘It is too late already. But if my plan had worked, I could have removed much of what I had already found during the night. You see, the duchess is devoted to the delights of laudanum. She sleeps like a log, and even my exertions beneath her bed would not have disturbed her.’

Doll immediately understood his dilemma. ‘But then one of the special guests – Mrs Vaughan – took over the tent.’

‘Yes.’ Orford frowned. ‘I would never have imagined the duchess giving up her comforts for anyone but royalty. So I was surprised by this old trollop taking her bed. Who is she?’

He looked quizzically at Doll, but it was Malinferno who answered.

‘Shall we say, someone very close to the King.’

Orford nodded, thinking he understood the implications of Malinferno’s comment. The whole of England knew of the former Prince Regent’s fondness for women.

‘I see. Well, I tried to sneak in the tent several times. But that Italian was posted outside like a sentry. And there were such comings and goings, I can tell you. I debated bribing the fellow like some others seemed to do to gain access, but it was essential that I was not seen. I took a turn round the camp, thinking of what I could do. But when I came back, I saw my chance.’

Malinferno tensed, ready to spring at the tall man. If this was to be a confession, then who knows what the outcome would be for Doll and himself ?

‘You resolved to kill the sentry in order to carry out your plans.’

Orford’s face went a delicate shade of green, as above their heads the rain got heavier.

‘Good Lord, no! You can’t think that of me, can you?’

Malinferno thought only of the murderous stance of Orford behind Doll as she peered into the other excavation. And the conveniently falling tent pole close to his head. But Orford did now look truly shocked, holding his hand over his mouth as though he could hardly prevent himself from being sick. He looked at Malinferno with a tear in his eye.

‘I am in a hole. I see that now.’

Malinferno grabbed his arm, and shook the man. ‘Tell me.’

Orford took a deep breath, steadying himself.

‘I have done a very foolish thing . . .’

Doll and Malinferno were standing in front of Queen Caroline, who was now dressed in the most modest of silk gowns. Her own fair hair was just visible underneath a dark red turban that complemented her dress. This most becoming of decorous ensembles was only slightly spoiled by the surroundings. She was sitting not on a throne, but the edge of the duchess’s bed, which was tilted at the precarious angle it had adopted when sliding into Daniel Orford’s excavation. The central area of the tent was occupied by the crate that had transported the mummy to Solsbury Hill the previous evening. Most of the site had now been cleared, though persistent drizzle had hampered affairs. Inside the duchess’s tent, those present heard another gust of rain sweep across hill, giving the place a gloomy, depressing atmosphere. With the tents gone and the clouds low, Solsbury Hill was bare and open to the worst of the elements.

The Queen, however, was happy, and her short, plump legs swung free of the grassy sward below them. She scanned the others in the tent.

‘I am glad I could persuade you all to remain a little while longer. There is a matter needs settling, and each of you can help. Professor Malinferno, will you proceed?’

‘Thank you, Mrs Vaughan. We are here, as you know, to plumb the depths of the disappearance of your equerry, Signor Sacchi.’

Though everyone present knew exactly who the portly German woman was who occupied the duchess’s bed, the secrecy of her identity was to be preserved. As was the fact that Sacchi was dead – a fact known only to Mrs Vaughan, Malinferno, Doll Pocket, Lieutenant Houghton. And the murderer. Malinferno turned to scan the faces of those present. He prayed he had got the interpretation of the previous night’s events correct. Orford’s confession had provided him with the final clue to the identity of Sacchi’s murderer. Now, he just had to extract the truth from the murderer’s own lips. He looked first at the sweating, red face of the Honourable Member for Plympton Erle – with an electorate of thirty.

‘Sir Ralph, you spoke to Sacchi when you came to the . . . shall we call it the duchess’s tent.’

‘I did indeed, sir. And he taxed me for money in order to see the . . . lady over there.’ He indicated the smiling Queen, and returned her smile obsequiously. ‘I told you that the Italian was still at his post when I left last night. He was not present when I came back this morning. I can tell you no more.’

Malinferno nodded sagaciously, though he did not feel all that confident of his next step.

‘Yes. Mr Houghton . . .’ He indicated the pasty-faced naval lieutenant hovering near the tent flap. ‘. . . confirms he saw you arrive. As I believe did Mr Powell, who also saw you leave. Did you not, sir?’

Powell, true to his role as government spy, was skulking in the shadows, apparently uncomfortable at being in the same place as his quarry, the Queen. He cleared his throat, and made a considered speech.

‘All I can say is that Sir Ralph can have nothing to do with the disappearance of Sacchi. The man was still at his post when Sir Ralph left the tent.’

Malinferno knew that getting information out of Powell was going to be like extracting teeth. He would be volunteering nothing. And so he threw a speculative card on to the table.

‘Mr Powell, may I ask what you meant, when you wrote in your notebook that you had to “deal with” Sacchi?’

Powell’s face turned bright red, and he spoke through gritted teeth. ‘That is a private document, sir. And I will not comment on what I may or may not have written in it.’

‘You were seen talking to Sacchi. Mr Houghton saw you. Did you
deal with
him afterwards?’

There was a sudden commotion, and Houghton leaped across the tent towards Powell, his dress sword clanking on the wooden crate.

‘It was you who killed him. You wanted to get to the Queen, and he wanted money from you, as he did from St Germans.’

Houghton grabbed Powell’s collar. But before he could do the man any damage, Malinferno wrapped his arms around the naval officer, and wrestled him away. Houghton slumped on a campaign chair beside the bed, his head in his hands. It was St Germans who realised first what Houghton had said.

‘Sacchi is murdered?’

Doll glanced at Malinferno, and whispered, ‘Well done, Joe. Now they all know.’

He shrugged. The cat was out of the bag, and there was nothing he could do about it. St Germans was livid, his jowls wobbling as he berated Malinferno.

‘You were trying to get us to implicate ourselves in a murder, sir? That is . . . that is . . . unconstitutional.’

Malinferno was convinced that the Member of Parliament had no idea of the meaning of the word, only that it sounded good. But he stood his ground.

‘Only one man is guilty of the murder. The rest cannot be implicated in a murder as they are innocent. Mr Powell, in the circumstances as they now present themselves, are you prepared to explain yourself ?’

Powell sulkily straightened his collar, but then sighed. ‘I had intended to deal with Sacchi, in the sense that I was prepared to offer him money for information about . . . well, you know what about. He was alive when I left him. I will swear to that in a court of law, if forced. But I did see that man enter the tent later, with no Sacchi in sight.’ He pointed a long, slender finger at Daniel Orford. ‘Ask him where Sacchi was when he entered the tent.’

All eyes turned on the tall figure of the duchess’s managing agent. Malinferno smiled, knowing where Orford’s confession, which he had heard earlier, would lead.

‘Tell them where Sacchi was, Mr Orford.’

Orford straightened his shoulders. ‘When I entered the tent on private business, I saw Sacchi lying in a trench in the ground, his throat cut. The soil was soaked in blood.’

There was a gasp from all those assembled, except for Doll and Malinferno, who had heard this tale already.

Orford continued, ‘I panicked, as I did not wish it known that I had been in the tent. I should have just left, but there were . . . items I needed to recover.’

He had told Malinferno of the objects he had found in the trench below their feet, and how he wanted to recover them before someone else did.

‘I transferred the body into this crate . . .’ he tapped the box, ‘. . . having first removed the contents. I then gathered the items I was intent on recovering, and left. It was foolish of me. I should have alerted the authorities, but I panicked.’

He pressed his hands down on the crate, and lowered his head in shame at his actions.

Doll patted his shoulder. ‘I understand the difficulty of your position, Mr Orford. I might have done the same thing, in order to avoid being embroiled in a murder investigation by the magistrate.’

Houghton looked up at Doll from where he sat. ‘You do not believe the man, do you? Whatever these “items” were he was removing from the duchess’s tent, they did not belong to him. He was a thief, and Sacchi caught him at it. He killed him, and tried to conceal the body. He must be arrested. I will go and call for the magistrate.’ He rose to his feet, but Malinferno swiftly took his arm.

‘You are going nowhere, Lieutenant Houghton. Isn’t it strange how you wish to cast the blame for Sacchi’s murder on everyone and anyone you can? You see, I have to remind myself how shocked you were when you saw the body in this crate. You fainted.’

Houghton spluttered with indignation. ‘I opened the lid and saw the body of my friend Sacchi. Who wouldn’t feel faint?’

‘But to actually swoon like a lady? A navy man, who in battle must have seen dead comrades before? No, sir, you fainted because you weren’t expecting to see the body in the crate. You expected to see it on the ground, where you had left it when you killed him. May I see your sword? I am sure you have not yet managed to clean the blood off it.’

Houghton roared, startling everyone, and sprang for the exit to the tent. He was outside before Malinferno could react. When he did manage to scramble out of the tent, he saw Hougton running across Solsbury Hill towards one of the few carriages left behind. One was Powell’s Tilbury gig, but the horse was not in the shafts rendering it useless as a means of escape. The only other conveyance close by was the Trevithick Flyer.

John Smallbone had laboured long and hard to make the steam engine work and, despite the rain, had stoked the boiler with coal. Steam burst from every seam of the Flyer, and the carriage shuddered as though it were alive. Clad in a heavy and rain-soaked felt overcoat, Smallbone resembled a large toad. He was perched on the driver’s seat bent on releasing the power of the steam engine. He didn’t see Houghton leap up on to the seat, and was pitched unceremoniously by him to the ground. His assailant then released the brake, and the carriage began to trundle down the hill, the piston at the rear clanking faster and faster. Malinferno ran over, and helped the dwarf up, brushing his muddied coat. Smallbone seemed unconcerned by his tumble, though he was more worried by the Flyer’s madcap departure.