Shadow of the Past (11 page)

‘My logic tells me,’ Hansard began slowly, ‘that anyone – man or woman – carrying such a weight would walk more slowly and make deeper footprints. Can we see any such?’

‘Those there. Probably male? But they could equally well be Matthew’s, staggering under the weight of his dog.’

‘Let us see where they go.’ He picked his way alongside them, tangling with brambles that he swished away with his whip. ‘Ah, to the main ride. So they could be Matthew’s. But are there any others, leading in another direction?’

Following his lead, I peered this way and that. ‘If the miscreant did not wish to be followed, he would surely have made for the main ride too, knowing that the ground was beaten hard and would not betray him.’

‘Would he be thinking so clearly? He would not have enjoyed the encounter with Gundy, and might in his panic…’ Slowly Edmund returned to the clearing. He stood regarding my rope, as if it might hold the answer. Perhaps it did. ‘Was there any blood on that fabric?’

‘Not that I recall. Were you hoping for a trail of blood to lead us?’

‘It would have been helpful. But perhaps it is not to be.’ He lifted his arm, as if to fend off an assailant. ‘How high do you think an enraged dog might jump?’

‘Gundy? For the throat, I should think. And his intended victim would protect himself thus—’ I crossed my arms in the air, a few inches from my face.

He sighed. ‘If only we could inspect the forearms of all the men – and women – in the village. Well, Tobias, I cannot see anything to help us here. May I suggest we retrieve your rope
and that we make our way back to our homes? We have daily duties to pursue, after all, and I have to sober up Toone for the inquest this afternoon.’

I coughed with embarrassment. ‘The evidence about the mud in the dead man’s nostrils – will Mrs Hansard…?’

‘Take the witness stand? Have you taken leave of your wits, man?’

‘I was going to say, be mentioned in Dr Toone’s evidence? You must know that the villagers do not approve of “cutting decent folk up”, Edmund, even when done by a man. And were word to get out of her part in finding such information, no matter how valuable, her reputation would be seriously damaged.’ I did not add that there was enough unworthy hostility towards her from some of the village women, jealous of her translation from being a servant, no matter how elevated, to being the mistress of Edmund’s not inconsiderable property.

He put his hand on my shoulder. ‘You are right, Tobias. I must point this out to him. Thank you.’ He spoke with perhaps more emotion than the occasion warranted. He made an effort to regain his composure. ‘It seems to me that there is something else that should be kept out of the public domain for Lady Chase’s peace of mind, indeed, her safety – the business of the ring and the newspaper advertisement.’

I hung my head. ‘Much as I would like to agree,’ I said at last, ‘I do not see how we can avoid mentioning them – if asked. We swear, do we not, to tell not just the truth, but the whole truth?’

‘Of course. But I tell you now, I fear the consequences.’

Breaking what threatened to become a long silence, I said tentatively, ‘Edmund, there are others in the village with eyes
more skilled than yours or mine. Should we not ask them to look along the rides? And more important even than tracks, might they even locate the trunk itself, discarded once its contents were removed?’

He clapped me on the arm. ‘And who knows what else they might find? Well done, Tobias. Let us set some men on to it immediately.’

Although I had not neglected my duties as the world saw them, as a clergyman I had indeed fallen short: there is more to being a good parson than simply hatching, matching and despatching. So, once back in the village, I made my way to the church, there to kneel and lay my anxieties before the Almighty. Then I praised His Name with a psalm and the Collect for the day. I concluded in what I always found the most wondrous part of my prayers – simple, silent worship. Whatever this search might uncover, whatever the day held, my friends and I would not face it alone.

Mr Vernon, the coroner, did not give the grand surroundings of Moreton Hall a second glance, as if used to conducting proceedings under the blind eyes of Graeco-Roman gods, and was inclined to regard the gawping of some of the bucolic jurors with a slightly irritated amusement. He was a fashionable-looking man of some forty years,
broad-shouldered
and erect, with still-dark hair. He was dressed with elegance, his coat surely cut by Weston. He had been provided with an oak refectory table and a handsome but viciously uncomfortable Elizabethan straight-backed chair, both from the gun room. His clerk, sitting a few feet from him, occupied a much lowlier – but probably more comfortable – stool.

Vernon noted with apparent approval and a respectful bow the presence of Lady Chase, whom I had not expected to attend the proceedings. Presumably these would be very short, a question of my giving evidence of finding the corpse, a brief account of our attempts to identify the man, Toone’s evidence that he met his death before he fell into the water, and then – pending other information – an adjournment.

I was indeed the first called to the witness stand, but scarcely had I begun my account than Mr Vernon interrupted me.

‘You tell me you were not first on the scene, Mr Campion. Might I enquire who was?’

‘Two young ladies were beside the swollen stream, your honour, and a third, their governess, was actually in the water.’

‘For what purpose? Did she have some idea of assisting what she presumed was a drowning man?’

‘I do not think so, your honour. She became exceedingly distressed when I indicated her proximity to him.’

‘So what was she doing in the water? Where is she?’ he demanded tetchily, looking round as if she might step down from one of the niches. ‘Let her answer for herself.’

I coughed. ‘Miss Southey is not present, your honour. It seems she left the Bramhalls’ employment and indeed the district the same day. She has yet to be found.’

‘This is disgraceful. Stand down, sir. Stand down this minute. And let Mr Bramhall step forward.’

His clerk whispered a swift correction.

‘Very well, let
Sir Marcus
Bramhall step forward. Not here? Not here? Where the devil is he? He and his governess, flouting the court like this. Parson Campion, a moment, please.’

Halfway to my seat, next to the Hansards, I turned.

‘These young ladies you spoke of – their names. And are they present? No need for the witness stand, sir – aye or nay?’

‘I do not see them here, sir.’

‘Where might they be? And what are their names? I warn you, sir, if you do not reply I shall hold you in contempt.’

Had I had a quizzing glass, I fear I would have raised it at
that moment. Humble country parson I might now be, there was still enough of my father in me to resent such Turkish treatment. I permitted myself a frigid bow. ‘Your honour, a simple enquiry would have sufficed. The young ladies are Sir Marcus Bramhall’s daughters, Lady Honoria and Miss Georgiana. As I said before, they are not present in this court.’ I bowed once more and sat down.

‘And who might be representing Sir Marcus and the rest of his family?’ Vernon demanded, scanning the courtroom.

Lady Chase rose to her feet. Tall, and still elegant, she cut such an imposing figure that I heard gasps. ‘I do not claim to represent my late husband, Lord Chase’s, family but I may inform the court that, though they are my guests, they do not appear to be at home today.’

Furnival got to his feet and scuttled from the room.

‘Indeed,’ she continued, ‘I understand that there was talk of a carriage journey. My steward is even now seeking news of them.’ She bowed slightly and resumed her seat.

‘Thank you, Lady Chase,’ Vernon said, clearly mollified. ‘Now, although this will throw the narrative out of order, I would like to ask Mr Campion to return to the stand. If you would be so kind, Mr Campion? Thank you. So would you continue your account of what happened next?’

I had completed my evidence, and so had Hansard. The only information that caused a frisson was that the poor man had hair resembling that of an African’s.

‘And was his skin of an appropriate hue?’

‘It was no darker than that of a man regularly exposed to the elements, your honour.’

‘So he might have been of mixed blood?’

‘He might indeed.’

‘So the victim could not in fact have been the missing Lord Wombourn?’

‘Indeed not, sir. The man in question had, apart from his unusual hair, perfect teeth. I happened to attend Lord Wombourn after a hunting accident in which he chipped an incisor – a front tooth,’ he added, touching his own lest there be any doubt.

‘What else can you tell us about the man?’

‘He was poor. One of his boots was leaking, and he had stuffed it with folded newspaper. His clothes, once excellent, I would say, were threadbare. His drinking flask, which was located in a tussock of grass, was humble pewter, badly dented.’

Vernon looked up. ‘Two questions, if I may? How was it found?’

Edmund told him about the search party.

Vernon nodded his approval. ‘But I may deduce that this flask was not in fact upon his person?’

‘No, sir. Further upstream, where I presume he originally lay.’

‘Presume? Presume? Dr Hansard, you are a physician with an enviable reputation, but I must ask you to stick to the facts, not venture into the realms of speculation.’

I dared not catch Edmund’s eye lest I explode with unseemly laughter. But, having been rebuked, would he then mention the ring?

He bit his lip, as if acknowledging his fault, and perhaps wrestling with his conscience. Would he tell the whole truth or protect Lady Chase? In the event, he did not have to make the decision for himself.

‘Without indulging in theories about how it might or might not have arrived at the scene, did you find anything else, in what sounds like a commendably thorough search?’

‘Not I, sir, but the village lad I have already mentioned. He found a leather bag containing a ring. The ring was subsequently identified as one belonging to Lady Chase’s son, Lord Wombourn.’

Even the solemnity of the occasion could not prevent uproar at this point. Several women burst into tears, and two men threw their hats into the air with a loud cheer.

‘He is alive! Thank God, he is alive! Her ladyship was right!’ The room buzzed with comment.

With a most compassionate glance, at last Vernon insisted on silence. ‘Let us pray God that this is one assumption that we can indeed make. However, all we may record is that such a ring was found. My profound apologies, your Ladyship.’

Now Dr Toone was speaking of the state of the deceased.

‘Mud in his nostrils! What bearing does that have on the case?’ Vernon demanded, clearly taken aback.

I shot a surreptitious glance at Mrs Hansard, who responded with what in anyone else I would have said was a wink.

‘In my opinion,’ Toone responded, ‘it shows that the deceased lay face down in mud while he was still alive, dragging mud into his nose as he breathed. Whether he simply lay in the mud, or had his face pressed into it until he expired, of course I cannot speculate,’ he added with a seraphic innocence that made me briefly warm to him. ‘What I can add was that his lungs contained no water, which they would have done had he drowned.’

‘And how did you discover this?’

Toone regarded him steadily. ‘In the usual way, your honour.’

‘By a post-mortem examination?’

The words cast a chill on those capable of understanding them. As comprehension dawned, a murmur of anger arose. Pray God that for Maria’s sake Toone guard his tongue.

He continued, addressing Vernon, ‘I should add that decomposition had already begun, of the facial features particularly. Perhaps it is fortunate that the young ladies left the scene before the body was recovered.’

‘Very well, Dr Toone – you may step down. But do not leave the room. You may be needed later.’

Indeed he was – but not as a witness. He and Edmund were required in their capacity as physicians, both Lady Honoria and Miss Georgiana succumbing to the vapours as, having returned to Moreton Hall from their carriage-drive, they were summoned one after the other to give their evidence. In public, neither seemed able to explain why Miss Southey should have been in the stream; both retreated into hysterical spasms I for one considered entirely feigned. It seemed I was not the only cynic. Wafting the aromas of Hungary water and lavender vinaigrettes from his nose, Vernon ordered the girls from the hall, bidding the two medical men do what they could to silence them.

As their cries rang down the corridor, mercifully muffled by the huge mahogany doors, Vernon summoned their father to the stand. Clearly it was not to ask for evidence.

‘I cannot understand how a man of sense, such as I supposed you might be, should allow a material witness to leave your household – I do not say house, as I understand that you are the guests of Lady Chase. Pray make every effort
to find the young lady in question. I understand that Moreton has no village constable to assist in uncovering the identity of the deceased. Is anyone making an effort so to do? No? I am adjourning the case now, ladies and gentlemen, until a later date, but once the session is closed, I would like to speak in private to Mr Campion, if you please.’

Vernon sat in the armchair opposite me, sipping the sherry Mrs Hansard had swiftly provided before she excused herself and left us on our own. A tray of her best savoury biscuits lay at his elbow. It had been suggested that he pass the night at Langley Park, though the reason – it being less difficult socially than Moreton Hall, with the family he had so roundly castigated – was not spelt out. He had no sooner crossed the threshold, however, than Edmund had been summoned to a difficult childbed, and Toone had chosen to go with him, keen, he said, to learn from a master.

‘Are you the only sane man in the village, Campion?’ Vernon asked with a dry smile.

I shook my head firmly. ‘Dr Hansard is both a fine scholar and an excellent doctor. We have a remarkably low mortality rate in this area, his skill in childbirth especially being exceptional. The mother he is attending now could not be in finer hands were Sir William Knighton himself available. If a man like that considers Toone his superior in matters dealing with the dead we must respect his judgement. Meanwhile, Hansard and I have not been inactive since poor Miss Southey disappeared,’ I explained, concluding with the information that the search of the woods Edmund and I had yesterday set in train had so far proved fruitless.

‘So why should anyone wish to run off with the young
woman’s trunk?’ he demanded at last, having listened without interrupting. Little by little he was shedding his abrasive manner. ‘And risk losing some of his sleeve,’ he added with a distinct twinkle. Perhaps I might come to like him.

‘As to that, poverty is so rife in the countryside that many folk – and I do not exclude my parishioners – would be tempted by its contents, not to mention by the article itself. And a desperate man might well have tried to kill the dog he saw guarding his potential booty. However,’ I continued, adding a further log to the fire, ‘I think this is too much of a coincidence. All our enquiries about the young woman’s departure have come to naught, and while Lady Bramhall has sent to the steward in charge of her London residence for all the details of Miss Southey’s employment – her family, her references, and so on – as far as I know she has had no reply: certainly none that she has vouchsafed to Hansard and myself. You, of course, may have more success.’

He nodded grimly. ‘I had wondered why Hansard suggested I return here. But I think he was right to do so. There is something altogether havey-cavey about the doings of the Bramhalls. And one can hardly dine
en famille
with a family of whom one harbours profound suspicions. However, I do think that tomorrow I should press Sir Marcus on the matter of Miss Southey – Lady Bramhall too, perhaps, reluctant as one is to question the fairer sex. But I believe our enquiries must spread further afield.’ He rose, smiting one fist against another in exasperation, and took a turn about the room. ‘I cannot believe that in these enlightened times you do not have a parish constable. Mind you, I suppose that even if you did anything more than a little poaching and minor theft would be beyond his powers.’

‘The missing trunk would fall into such a man’s purview,’ I suggested. ‘Both Hansard and I are professional men, with other responsibilities we cannot shirk. I for one would fain be on the road to London, to make further enquiries about the missing Lord Chase, but in all honour, even if I can provide my flock with a temporary shepherd, I would not know where to start.’

Vernon resumed his seat. ‘There are the Runners, of course.’

‘But with such a paltry reputation. And with such indolent magistrates in charge of the law.’

‘Indeed. I had great hopes that Colquhoun might achieve something, but when he was overlooked and Richard Ford became chief magistrate at Bow Street the chances of turning London into a law-abiding city disappeared. Now all everyone looks for is Napoleon’s agents! Oh, I grant you that the horse patrols and the river police have had successes, but where are the means to control those criminal refuges, the rookeries? To rid the streets of petty theft? Of prostitution?’ He continued in the same vein for several minutes, reminding me that once I would have had, as the son of a rich household, such interest in the maintenance of the capital’s law and order.

Now my concerns were parochial indeed, and perhaps in the worst sense of the word. Somehow, moreover, I needed to return the conversation to my main concerns. Who was the dead man? Where was Miss Southey? And, above all, did the young Lord Chase live?

It was Toone, at dinner served perforce late enough for the most fashionable London taste, who provided me with a sudden spark of inspiration. Or perhaps it was the Almighty, to whom I was able to give thanks not simply for the
wonderful repast Mrs Hansard and her cook had conjured from nowhere but for the safe delivery of a lusty son to a mother neither doctor considered in any danger.