Instruments of Darkness (50 page)

Read Instruments of Darkness Online

Authors: Imogen Robertson

Tags: #Historical fiction, #Crime Fiction

BOOK: Instruments of Darkness
9.7Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
The Squire was open-mouthed. Hugh shrank back into his armchair as if stung. So Shapin had told him. Wicksteed was very pale. Lady Thornleigh silently drummed her fingers on the table, looking at the floor, and apparently rather bored. Crowther continued.
‘Hugh Thornleigh was told as much in America by the former servant of this house, Shapin. And I suspect Claver Wicksteed overheard. What happened to him, by the way, Mr Thornleigh?’ Hugh seemed struck dumb and Crowther noticed a tight smile on Wicksteed’s face. ‘You killed him yourself, didn’t you? Is that the murder you are willing to hang for now?’
The Squire lifted his hands. ‘I really must protest. How dare—?’
Wicksteed spun round on him. ‘Shut up, Bridges.’
The Squire recoiled in shock. Crowther nodded to Harriet. She continued.
‘Wicksteed, you blackmailed your way into this house, knowing both its masters were sickening.’ Some last vestige of sympathy was present in her face as she said this, looking at Hugh. ‘You had Hugh, but when he saw your friendship with Lady Thornleigh developing, he made one last struggle and asked Joshua Cartwright to find someone to track down Alexander Thornleigh. In doing so, he gave you a chance to make your hold here complete. You murdered Brook in my copse, stole the address he had provided for Hugh, and sent a hireling of your own to rid Thornleigh of the only heir not under your control.’ She looked up at him. ‘When did you find out it was Alexander who had sent Nurse Bray to care for Lord Thornleigh?’
Hugh struggled upright in his chair, and looked about him amazed. Wicksteed did not move. Harriet shrugged.
‘She wrote a note to Hugh and you found it, did you not? Just as you found Brook’s note to him? I doubt any piece of paper has crossed these halls without you taking a look at it since you arrived. Perhaps she tried to speak to Hugh, and you intervened. In any case you removed her, and for good measure you sent Hugh off with the arsenic to poor Joshua, to make sure that no news of Alexander’s whereabouts could be found, and to put his head in the noose for your crimes.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘And while you are causing all this slaughter you are campaigning with the College of Arms to have your name and heritage recognised! Presumably you wish to marry Lady Thornleigh when she becomes a widow. I am sure if Lord Thornleigh survives to see Hugh hang, he will not live long thereafter. You have already carved a score of the bodies mounted up into his arms. No doubt the final mark will be for his own murder.’
Wicksteed coloured a little at these last words. Then he walked across the room to where Lady Thornleigh still lounged against the trestle, took her hand and pressed it to his lips with great delicacy. She gazed into his eyes, and for a moment every other person in the room felt that strange exclusion in the presence of two people who see only each other. Harriet watched them; there was something perfect about them in that moment and part of her was jealous.
Then Wicksteed straightened, and turned back to them, his voice soft and even.
‘You cannot prove anything. And no one will listen to the ravings of a madwoman who has deserted her family, and the brother of a parricide.’ He sneered at Harriet. ‘You saw my arms during our interesting chat in your woods the other day. Where are the marks of Nurse Bray’s hands which you insisted would be there? You are storytellers, that is all.’
Michaels shifted out of the shadows behind Harriet’s chair.
‘Oh, a fair amount of it can be proved, Claver.’
Wicksteed looked vaguely amused. ‘You dare call me by my Christian name?’
‘I dare call you a murderous dog, Claver,’ the big man told him.
Wicksteed laughed, and swung his hand in Lady Thornleigh’s; she smiled up at him warmly.
‘I always liked you, Michaels,’ Wicksteed said. ‘Why don’t you come and stand with us? I could make you a rich man. Why cast your lot in with
them
?’ He nodded towards Crowther and Harriet. ‘They may be civil to you, but they will always expect you to stand while they sit, and never ask why that should be.’
‘We shall see, Claver,’ Michaels said calmly. ‘But for all your smarts - and I’m not saying you aren’t a sharp lad - I know something you do not.’
Crowther could see the tension appear in Wicksteed’s face; it pulsed just under his jawline. Michaels nodded to Crowther, who waited till he could feel the tension in the room like a beat on a distant drum.
‘You have miscalculated. Lady Thornleigh’s son is not the only heir. Alexander had two children - a boy and a girl. Both legitimate and recorded under their true names. Both safe and under good supervision in London. Your murderer failed to cut off the line, and is dead himself.’
Hugh leaped to his feet and at once stumbled to his knees in front of Harriet.
‘It is true? He had children? They live?’
He looked up at her, his face a pattern of confused joy. She put out her hand and touched his cheek.
‘They live, and are well, and have precedence. The Hall will be theirs. And we can prove Wicksteed arranged for the murder of their father. He wrote a letter, and it will hang him.’ Her tone was soft, comforting.
Crowther turned to Wicksteed. The latter had dropped Lady Thornleigh’s hand and looked at the flagstones in front of him. His hands closed into fists at his sides. There was a laugh, and Harriet twisted to see Lady Thornleigh, her body trembling. She put her hand up to the jewels in her hair and began to tear them out, throwing them to the stone floor of the hall.
‘Then they should have this, and this!’
Wicksteed tried to grab hold of her wrists but she tore away from him and spun round the far end of the table. Her lazy humour had evaporated; her body seemed to thrill, lit within with rage.
‘Poor old yellow-faced Moore!’ she said. ‘Who killed him? God, there were enough times he was selling me on the streets when I wished I could have stuck a knife in him, but I was only twelve, and he seemed as indestructible as a god!’ She laughed again. ‘Now he’s dead! Burning in hell, just as I always knew he would! Oh, I shall go down there now and pull his hair for playing us such a trick!’
Wicksteed seemed to startle awake and tried to reach her, his face white and sweating.
‘My love! Dear God! Say nothing.’
Lady Thornleigh pulled the diamonds from around her throat and sent them skimming across the floor, where they came to rest at Crowther’s feet.
‘Take ’em! Clever boy! Justice be done! Get away from me, Claver. It’s done and I will speak.’
She looked wild-eyed into Harriet’s pale face.
‘What? You thought I just sat here and let Claver do my work for me?’ Her loose hair curled over her bare shoulders. ‘It was old Moore, the bastard was a hundred even then, who sold me to my first old man before I could even bleed - though he made me, and others after. I knew who to turn to when Claver got that note out of Brook’s hand. And you think those wounds on Thornleigh are for his sad, pretty wife, and his servant?’ Her voice rose. ‘What do I care about them? No, they are for the little girls like me, younger even than I was, who he raped in London since I knew him. Almost every week he’d have some poor kid brought to him, always dark, always in a plain grey dress to remind him of his first love - just as I did once. I used to see them being bundled out of the back of my fancy house afterwards, crying and stumbling - and I’d get pearls for my silence. I’ve worn that locket! Each of us did. Perhaps he even put it round his wife’s neck. She was a young one too when he got hold of her, I hear. He knew I’d be waiting to pay him back! But he never suspected I’d have the chance. It amused him to have a whore who hated him as a wife. He never dreamed he’d be cowering under my knife.’
She stared up at Crowther again; she had bitten her lip and the blood welled up in her mouth. Her voice dropped a little.
‘Wonderful, isn’t it, Crowther, how the flesh gives and opens under a blade?’
Harriet looked at her. ‘You helped kill Nurse Bray.’
Lady Thornleigh lifted her hand to the shoulder of her dress and tore the sleeve open at the seam. Across the soft white of her upper arm were four deep scratches, just beginning to heal. Crowther thought of the paper in his pocket. He could tell they were a perfect match even at this distance.
‘She came to me! To tell me she thought she might know where Alexander was - though she never mentioned the children, I’ll give her that. She said she thought it best to speak to the woman of the house. Lord knows, that has always been Hugh!’ Lady Thornleigh groaned and spun around on her heel. ‘We burned all her papers! How did you know about the children?’
Harriet’s voice was trembling as she replied.
‘She made a will. She left a cameo brooch to Alexander’s little girl.’
The groan became a laugh again, and my lady tore the jewelled bands from her wrists.
‘All of this! All of this lost, for a cheap cameo!’
Wicksteed managed to reach her and seized her. ‘Stop! Stop! Jemima, why do you give yourself away? My love! Think of your son! Eustache! Please, my darling - stop.’
She seemed to grow suddenly calm at his touch. She lifted one hand to his face, and with her thumb wiped away the tear from his cheek.
‘Oh, Claver. I have buried two children, given away another. What should I care for that runt of Thornleigh’s, unless he could do you good?’
Claver let his head drop to her shoulder. She rocked and shushed him, letting the fingers play at the back of his neck where his dark hair touched his collar.
‘It’s all over, my darling.’ Claver dropped his head towards her and kissed her mouth hungrily. She slipped her hand into his waistcoat pocket as they embraced. ‘But I can do one last thing for you. I shall not let them hang you.’ She smiled very softly. ‘“Thumb on the blade, boy, and strike up”.’ He pulled away from her a little, confused. Harriet saw her remove her hand from his pocket, saw a twist in her wrist, an evil flash in the air .
‘Crowther! She has his knife!’
Wicksteed turned towards Harriet as if unsure what was happening. Before Michaels or Crowther could hurl themselves at the couple, Lady Thornleigh threw her arm back and forward again.
‘Jemima?’ His tone was one of surprise, then he fell forward on his knees at her feet, his forehead resting on the silk of her skirts. She let her free hand rest briefly on his head, as a woman might pet a child or lapdog, then stepped back, shaking her lovely head slightly. Now she turned and began to run from the room, the knife still in her hand. As she passed her, Harriet reached out from her chair to try and stop her. As her hand closed on the rich fabric of her dress, Harriet fell forward, Lady Thornleigh stumbled, turned and saw Harriet clinging on to her. For a brief moment, Harriet looked into her eyes: they were black and dilated. And then my lady was up again, pulling herself free as a country girl does from a bramble, and had fled the room.
Hugh came to himself and went to lift Harriet back to her feet. She managed to stand. The Squire stood white and shaking, unable to comprehend what had happened in front of him. Michaels lifted Wicksteed under his arms as if he were a toy and placed him almost tenderly on the oak table. Crowther joined him. As Harriet looked to where they stood over Wicksteed, the body on the table groaned and shuddered. Crowther caught her eye and shook his head, though he had taken off his coat and was trying to staunch the flow of blood with it. Servants came at a run from within and were sent for linen and water. As Crowther worked, he could feel the body dying under him. At the last, he chanced to look into Wicksteed’s deep black eyes. The man had turned to fix them on the arms of Thornleigh Hall, and he was smiling at them as his last breath rasped and faded.
Harriet was not sure if what she was seeing or hearing was real. The cries of, ‘Fire!’ were repeated many times before the sense of it reached her.
 
Other servants were tumbling into the hall. Michaels strode into the midst of them.
‘What? Where?’
The footman who had tried to deny them entry came running down the grand stairway.
‘In the state rooms and above. Everything is aflame! Everything! My lady will not come down! She has her son!’
Michaels began to tear up the stairway, Crowther and Hugh on his heels. Harriet dragged herself after them, pausing by the footman as he reached the base of the stairs, hissing with the pain of her ankle.
‘Get the people out,’ she instructed him. ‘We’ll go after her.’
Crowther turned to Hugh as they reached the level of the state rooms.
‘Thornleigh, your father!’
He nodded and raced ahead of them. Michaels and Crowther paused on the main stair. They heard a laugh, and a cry. Smoke billowed along the corridor in front of them - already the flames raced along the draperies and sucked at the ceiling above their heads. A maid stood in front of them like a guardian to the flames.
‘She has locked herself in her room with little Master Eustache! I have not got a key!’
Michaels turned back and raced down the stairs again. Crowther turned to the girl.
‘Go - get out.’
The maid paused then screamed as one of the windows cracked behind her and sparks showered across them. Crowther threw his weight against the door, but it would not yield. Harriet reached his side and they heard the high wailing of a child in the room. Crowther looked at her.

Other books

The Family Men by Catherine Harris
Open File by Peter Corris
Blind Run by Patricia Lewin
Dead Won't Sleep by Anna Smith
Only Human by Candace Blevins