Michael Cox (47 page)

II
Return to North Lodge

A REPLY TO my note to Mr Wraxall had been immediately sent back, saying that he would be delighted to see me at North Lodge the following Sunday afternoon.
‘Come in, come in, my dear,’ he said brightly, as he opened the front door to my knock. ‘You’re just in time. You’ll take some tea, won’t you? And some of Mrs Wapshott’s famous cake?’
‘Gladly,’ I replied, stepping inside the dark little hallway. Soon I was sitting once more, tea-cup in hand, in the cramped but cosy sitting-room, with its distant view of the western woods.
‘Now then, my dear,’ Mr Wraxall began, ‘I have to tender my apologies. You must be cross with me, for not writing to you in Florence.’
‘No, indeed,’ I insisted. ‘I knew you would send word of anything you wished me to know.’
‘Well,’ he replied, ‘there were such things – I can admit it now; but I thought it prudent not to commit anything to paper, at this critical juncture in our affairs. But here you are, and now I can tell you everything that has happened in your absence. We’ve made great progress, my dear, great progress!’
As we conversed, in a general way, I asked whether Inspector Gully’s feet had been itching. Mr Wraxall laughed.
‘They have! They have! And with good reason. So now, my dear, if you’ve finished your tea, and had quite enough of Mrs Wapshott’s excellent spice-cake, I’ll begin.’
This, in summary, is what he told me.

IN THE YEAR 1851, through a mutual friend, Mr Armitage Vyse had been introduced to a rising young poet by the name of Phoebus Rainsford Daunt.
The mutual friend was none other than Mr Roderick Shillito, Daunt’s old Eton school-fellow. Vyse and Daunt had hit it off immediately, and had soon become close confederates. The bond between them was cemented when they discovered that they shared both a love of the Turf and an aptitude for what Mr Wraxall described as ‘activities of a decidedly criminal character’.
Mr Vyse having been recently called to the Bar, his legal knowledge proved invaluable to Daunt in the prosecution of various financial frauds, of which his new friend was the principal instigator. As a consequence of this collaboration, both gentlemen made a considerable amount of money, although the world suspected nothing of their double lives.
This extraordinary disclosure – which, I confess, I would have hardly credited, had it not come from the unimpeachable mouth of Mr Montagu Wraxall – had been obtained by Inspector Gully from a gentleman by the name of Lewis Pettingale, another former legal man and a junior accomplice of Daunt’s, lately returned from an extended residence in Australia, and to whom Mr Wraxall and the inspector had been directed by means of a letter, hand-delivered to King’s Bench Walk, and signed ‘A Well-Wisher’.
‘God bless this well-wishing person,’ said Mr Wraxall. ‘We continue to wonder who it can be. At any rate, he – or possibly she – has given us a good deal of most useful information concerning both Vyse and Daunt – his, or her, knowledge of the latter, in particular, is certainly close, and extensive. But to return to our friend Vyse.
‘Continuing to practise the Law from his chambers in Old Square, he was in due course introduced by Daunt to his patron, the late Lord Tansor, and to Miss Emily Carteret. His Lordship was impressed by the shrewd and ambitious young barrister and, through his legal advisers, Tredgolds, Mr Vyse was soon being instructed to act for Lord Tansor in a number of actions arising from his many business interests. Later, after Daunt’s death, he was also involved in the legal work connected with Miss Carteret’s assumption of the Duport name, and with her being constituted as his Lordship’s successor.
‘At the beginning of January 1855 – as we already know – Miss Carteret left England for the Continent, with the full blessing and support of Lord Tansor. Her purpose, unclear at the time, became the subject of much speculation and gossip.’
Here Mr Wraxall paused, his face taking on an expression of the utmost gravity.
‘What I shall shortly put before you,’ he said, ‘is of so serious a character that I must ask you to swear that you will not divulge a single word – not the merest hint or suggestion – to anyone. Can you swear, my dear, on your very life?’
Of course I assured him that I would so swear, and that I would keep whatever information he saw fit to vouchsafe to me completely confidential. I did so at some cost to my conscience; for of course I knew that I must break my word by informing Madame of what I was about to be told.
‘Thank you, my dear,’ said Mr Wraxall, gratefully patting my hand, before continuing with his story.

WHILE MISS CARTERET was away, in order to reduce, if not eliminate altogether, the risk of her correspondence with Lord Tansor being opened and read, it was arranged that all communications between them would be directed, in the first instance, to Mr Vyse in Old Square. He would then place each letter, unopened, in a new envelope, which he would forward to the appropriate recipient.
‘Why was it necessary to take such elaborate precautions?’ I asked.
‘All in good time, my dear,’ replied Mr Wraxall, before proceeding with his story.
These arrangements having been made, their trusted intermediary, Mr Vyse, began laying plans of his own. Employing the practical skills acquired during the course of his criminal career, he expertly removed the seals of the letters that passed through Old Square, adding replicated substitutes after having made copies of each letter. But he was even cleverer than this; for in addition to these handwritten transcriptions, he arranged for the originals to be photographed, thus providing him with unassailable evidence of the accuracy and authenticity of the copies.
Following Phoebus Daunt’s death, Mr Vyse immediately began – in a quiet but determined way – to ingratiate himself with his late friend’s fiancée, his aim being to secure the good opinion and gratitude of the prospective 26th Baroness Tansor. He now had in his hands a powerful weapon to wield against her, should coercion be required; for – as I was soon to learn – several of the letters from Emily to Lord Tansor revealed the true reason for her leaving England in the midst of mourning the death of Phoebus Daunt, and why secrecy had been so necessary.
Mr Wraxall paused once more.
‘And so we come to it at last,’ he said. ‘But before going any further, perhaps you’d like some more tea?’
‘No, thank you,’ I replied, agog beyond words for him to continue. ‘I’m quite refreshed. Do please go on.’
‘Very well. You may be wondering how we have come to know so much about Mr Armitage Vyse and his schemes. All will now be made clear. So, if you are sure you are comfortable, then I think it’s time to introduce you to Mr Titus Barley.’

III
What Mr Barley Knew

RISING FROM HIS chair, Mr Wraxall walked across to a door leading through to the back parlour. Opening it, he said a few words to some person within. A moment later, a man appeared in the doorway carrying a black tin box – a very small man, not more than four feet and a few inches tall, of about fifty years of age, but trim of form, and rather handsome in his way, with a large head topped with thick, snow-white hair, and wide, thrust-back shoulders.
He cut a most extraordinary figure, dressed in a tight-fitting, dark-blue tail-coat, with gleaming brass buttons and a stand-up velvet collar, matching old-fashioned knee-breeches, dark stockings, and a pair of buckled pumps, the whole ensemble making him seem like some elfin courtier come fresh from attending the Queen of the Fairies herself.
‘May I introduce Miss Esperanza Gorst?’ said Mr Wraxall to the little man, who instantly gave me a low, unsmiling bow, but made no reply, nor even offered his hand by way of greeting.
‘Mr Barley was formerly clerk to Mr Armitage Vyse,’ explained Mr Wraxall, who appeared not in the least surprised by the gentleman’s offhand manner. ‘He served him for many years—’
‘Man and boy,’ Mr Barley interjected petulantly, in a resonant baritone voice – more impressive even than Perseus’s, and almost comically at odds with his minuscule person.
‘As you say, sir,’ smiled Mr Wraxall, ‘man and boy. And as
I
was about to say, as a result of his long-standing service, Mr Barley has come to know a great deal about the character and affairs – both professional and private – of his employer. Would you like to say anything, Mr Barley?’
‘Not I,’ he replied, with tremendous emphasis. ‘But I’ll take some tea – and some of that spice-cake, if you please.’
Laying the black box on the floor beside him, Mr Barley sat down to his refreshment, while Mr Wraxall, still smiling indulgently at his eccentric guest, began to speak again.
‘You’ll remember, Miss Gorst,’ he said, turning towards me, ‘at the last council of war of our triumvirate, that you asked how we suspected a certain ennobled person of being implicated in the murder of the unfortunate Mrs Barbarina Kraus. I indicated then that we had received the information from an anonymous informant. Mr Barley has been good enough to allow me to tell you today that he was that informant.’
To this statement, his mouth full of cake, Mr Barley gave an affirming nod.
‘Of course, discretion has been Mr Barley’s constant watchword over the years,’ Mr Wraxall went on; ‘but circumstances have now arisen, which have – if I may so put it – encouraged him to lay before the authorities certain documents, and other items, which go to the heart of the investigation into the death of Mrs Kraus. So far, so good, Mr Barley?’
Another nod.
‘May I go on? Very well. Mr Barley is a single gentleman. For the whole of his life, he has lived in Somers Town with his mother, an estimable lady, to whom he has devoted his life. It is with great sorrow, however, that I have to tell you, Miss Gorst, that Mrs Barley has recently passed away.’
At these words, Mr Barley placed his plate on the lid of the black box and reached into his pocket to draw out a large handkerchief, with which he proceeded to dab away the tears that Mr Wraxall’s statement had summoned up, whilst continuing to say not a word.
‘While his mother – widowed at an early age – was alive,’ continued Mr Wraxall, ‘Mr Barley took exceptional care to shield her from all distress or discomfort, of mind as well as body, as a good son ought. Unfortunately, some few years ago, he found himself, through no fault of his own, I am assured, caught up—’
‘Enmeshed,’ corrected Mr Barley.
‘Enmeshed, I should say, in an incident, of a rather delicate – not to say dangerous – character, which, had it become known publicly, would have brought contumely, and much worse, upon both himself and his family. This dreadful possibility had to be kept from Mrs Barley at all costs.’
Mr Wraxall cocked his head on one side and looked at Mr Barley with inquisitively raised eye-brows, receiving another nod by way of his guest’s consent for him to continue.
‘I do not intend to elaborate on the nature of the –
ahem
– incident. Suffice to say that it came to the knowledge of Mr Vyse, through one of his many London informers.
‘Now Mr Barley, as I have said, is a man of the utmost discretion and probity. I have also suggested that, in the course of his employment, he had become aware of certain irregularities in the conduct of Mr Vyse’s affairs. Being a thoroughgoing professional man, and the most loyal of employees, he could not at first bring himself to unmask these to the world; but, as time passed, and the iniquities grew in scope and seriousness, he began to overcome his scruples. Finally, he went to Mr Vyse to say that he could no longer, in conscience, continue in his employment, and that he wished to tender his notice forthwith and go immediately to the proper authorities, to inform them of the various criminal schemes in which he knew Mr Vyse had been involved. Right so far, Mr Barley?’
‘Right enough,’ replied that gentleman. Then, looking down at his empty plate: ‘Is there more cake?’
Mrs Wapshott was duly called up from the back regions of the Lodge, and a second cake was soon produced, from which Mr Barley cut himself a mighty slice.
‘Pray continue, sir,’ he said to Mr Wraxall, with a sniff of majestic condescension.

MR VYSE’S REACTION to his clerk’s announcement was perhaps not unexpected. He sat Mr Barley down and told him, no doubt in his sinisterly smiling way, that he ought perhaps to reconsider his position, for the sake of his dear mother.
Mr Barley then realized that his employer knew of the ‘incident’ to which Mr Wraxall had just alluded, and that he was fully prepared to bring it to the attention of both Mrs Barley and the world at large – a thing the former’s son simply could not countenance – should the clerk carry out his threat.
Following a little further discussion on the subject, Mr Barley was persuaded to withdraw his decision to quit Mr Vyse’s employment; and so, with the utmost reluctance, he continued in his duties for several more years, until the passage of time, and the death of his mother, gave him the opportunity to liberate himself from his employer’s power over him.
Free now to follow his long-suppressed conscience, Mr Barley accordingly put in motion a plan that he had been harbouring for some time.
He secretly gathered together the copies that Mr Vyse had made of the letters sent by the then Miss Emily Carteret to Lord Tansor during her time on the Continent in the years 1855 and 1856, together with the photographs of the originals. These, with some other items, he put in a black tin box – the same box that he had brought with him to North Lodge, and which he had placed on the floor beside him while he took his tea and cake.
‘I’d thought to relate, in
précis
, the contents of those letters,’ said Mr Wraxall to me. ‘On reflection, however, perhaps the best thing would be for you to read them through for yourself – if you have no objection, Mr Barley? Good.
‘Well now, before you do, and to bring things quickly up to the present, after removing the box to a safe place, away from Old Square, Mr Barley then removed himself, both from the employment of Mr Armitage Vyse and from his former home in Somers Town, to an equally safe place: to wit, a small, but comfortable, attic room above my chambers in King’s Bench Walk.
‘What next? Ah, yes. Master Yapp. He has now been taken, and has spoken out against Mr Vyse. We were sure that Yapp had killed Mrs Kraus – Gully had two costers ready to swear that she’d met Yapp in the Antigallican. No doubt Vyse had sent him to obtain the letter she’d found in Conrad’s room and made a show of paying the woman off. The costers had then seen Yapp follow her down Dark House Lane towards the river. We don’t need to conjecture what happened next.
‘All this, however, was circumstantial. We needed solid proof of Yapp’s guilt. And now we have it.
‘Gully had put a man on Yapp; but then, it seems, Yapp left London, and for a time nothing was heard of him. A week or so ago, however, Gully received word that Yapp had been seen again in one of his old London haunts, and so the inspector put the business of keeping him in sight in the capable hands of your friend, Sergeant Swann.
‘Last Thursday afternoon, Swann followed Yapp to Deptford, where he attempted to pawn a watch inscribed with the name of Mrs Kraus’s father, and which both our witnesses will swear that she took out on the day she met Yapp in the Antigallican. It was her one precious possession, of which the poor unfortunate seems to have been inordinately proud.
‘As Yapp left the pawnbroker’s shop, Swann immediately apprehended him – and not a moment too soon. He’d been about to make his way to Liverpool, and from there to take ship to America. It seems that he’d come back to London to settle his few affairs, and to demand money for his passage – as well as for his continuing silence regarding the killing of Mrs Kraus – from Mr Vyse. It takes a brave man to face down Billy Yapp; but Mr Vyse, not taking kindly to Yapp’s threats, had turned him down flat, and there had been an unpleasant falling out. The consequence was that Yapp had no hesitation in telling the police all they needed to know concerning his former employer’s part in the murder of Mrs K. With Yapp’s confession in his pocket, so to speak, Inspector Gully now intends to call on Mr Vyse, to pay his compliments, and to request him to step round to the Detective Department. Well now, my dear, do you have any questions?’
‘Just one,’ I replied. ‘You identified Mr Barley as the anonymous correspondent who supplied you with information concerning Mr Vyse; but was he also the person who signed himself “Well-Wisher”?’
‘Excellent!’ Mr Wraxall cried. ‘The answer is that he was not. We appear to have another, invisible, assistant on the case. Whether we shall receive further information from this person, we cannot say; but we now have in our hands sufficient evidence to bring charges against Billy Yapp, Mr Armitage Vyse – and, of course, Lady Tansor – for the murder of Mrs Barbarina Kraus.’
The starkness of Mr Wraxall’s assertion shocked me. I cared nothing for Mr Vyse or for Billy Yapp; but to hear Emily’s name in such wicked company distressed me terribly. I berated myself for my weakness in feeling sympathy for her, and hesitated for a moment before revealing what I had been about to tell Mr Wraxall. But at last I did speak, reaching into my pocket as I did so to take out the letter from Mrs Kraus that Sukie had given to me.
‘Well, well,’ said Mr Wraxall after reading it. ‘This, I think, clinches it. The whole business is now crystal clear. Blackmail and murder. Blackmail and murder. Just as we thought.’
‘And do you have other evidence against Mr Vyse for his part in the murder, as well as Yapp’s confession?’
‘Assuredly,’ replied Mr Wraxall.
‘Assuredly,’ repeated Mr Barley, rather crossly; and then, suddenly roused to volubility: ‘I have eyes to see, and ears to hear. I heard what I heard, one rainy afternoon, when a certain noble lady kept her appointment in Old Square. Mr V sent me away to Blackett, our law stationer, but I didn’t go immediately, as he thought.
I lingered
.’
He looked first at me, then at Mr Wraxall; and then, with a kind of belligerent emphasis, he leaned forward and said:
‘
I used my ears
. I wrote it all down, in shorthand. Word for word. Transcribed instantly, signed, and dated. Then straight off round the corner to Blackett’s – ink hardly dry – for it to be witnessed. It may, or may not, be admissible; but it all adds weight, you know, and weight’s the thing with a jury.’
And with this oracular pronouncement, he cut himself yet another slice of spice-cake.
‘And Lady Tansor?’ I next asked Mr Wraxall. ‘You have the evidence you need to – to—’
‘Implicate? Certainly. Convict? I believe so. Shall I run through the main points?
‘
Item
. A letter, found in one of Lady Tansor’s gowns by Sukie Prout, housemaid, from the victim to Lady Tansor, demanding money for the return of a letter, written by her Ladyship twenty years ago, in which certain matters were set out that were, and remain, inimical to her Ladyship’s interests, and requesting an immediate interview, at which the aforesaid demand for money was no doubt to be pressed home.
‘
Item
. The testimony of Miss Esperanza Gorst, then maid to Lady Tansor, that, on 6th September last, she was instructed by her Ladyship to take a letter to the Duport Arms in Easton for the attention of “B.K.”, who could have been no other person than Barbarina Kraus, come to Northamptonshire by prior arrangement with Lady Tansor –
vide
the previous point.
‘
Item
. The signed and witnessed statement of T. Barley, Esq., legal clerk, of Old Square, Lincoln’s Inn, to the effect that, on the same day, 6th September last, he overheard, and concurrently committed to paper in shorthand, a conversation between Lady Tansor and his employer, Mr Armitage Vyse, during the course of which it was explicitly agreed that Mrs Barbarina Kraus would be a perpetual threat to her Ladyship’s interests if she was allowed to live. The meeting concluded with Lady Tansor’s consenting to “any means necessary” (her exact words) to remove what she then called “this appalling shadow that has fallen over my life”. Mr Vyse’s last words were: “You will leave the matter with me, then?” To which her Ladyship replied: “Yes. Gladly.” Mr Barley will further swear that he distinctly heard the name “Yapp” mentioned by Mr Vyse as a person “suitable for the job”.
‘Mr Barley will also testify that Lady Tansor paid a further visit to Old Square soon after the murder of Mrs Kraus. Although he was unable to inform himself fully on the particulars of her conversation with Mr Vyse, he did hear a sarcastically expressed reference by the latter to “the late-lamented Mrs K”, to which her Ladyship replied, “Thank God!”
‘
Item
. The testimony of Mrs Jessie Turripper, landlady, of Chalmers Street, Borough, that a gentleman answering Mr Armitage Vyse’s description had called to see Mrs Kraus on the morning of 15th September last, and that, happening to pass by the door of her lodger’s room ten minutes later, she distinctly heard the words “on behalf of Lady Tansor” uttered by the gentleman.
‘These, together with Yapp’s confession, constitute the principal evidential pegs on which Inspector Gully will hang his case against Lady Tansor. I believe they are more than sufficient for his purpose.’
‘What will happen to her?’ I asked, breaking the grim silence that had fallen over the room.
‘The jury will decide,’ came the barrister’s stern reply. He then fell silent again.
‘And who will act for the Crown?’ I asked.
‘Sir Patrick Davenport. A most accomplished prosecutor. No man better. He’ll see that justice is done.’
I knew then that there was no hope for her, and I shuddered to think of the terrible price that she would be required to pay for her desperate folly.
‘But, my dear,’ said Mr Wraxall presently, his grey eyes now twinkling genially, ‘you still don’t know what it was that Lady Tansor wished so much to conceal – the very reason why Mrs Kraus was killed. Are you not just a little bit curious?’
It was true. My imagination had been so seized by a dreadful vision of the judgment that must now fall on Emily that I had altogether forgotten to ask what had impelled her tragic actions.
‘Mr Barley, if you please,’ said the barrister, nodding to the elfin clerk, who was sitting in his chair blithely licking cake crumbs from the tips of his fingers.
Setting his plate on the table, Mr Barley bent down to pick up the tin box, and handed it to his host.
‘I suggest, my dear,’ said Mr Wraxall, ‘that the back parlour would be a good place for you to peruse the contents of Mr Barley’s box. You won’t be disturbed, and you have a fine view of the house from there.’