The Dead Songbird (The Northminster Mysteries) (11 page)

“I shall send Superintendent Rollins to put the fear of God into the servants. He will get to the bottom of the situation.”

“You will not interview them yourself? Surely...”

“We have a murder investigation, Mr Carswell, that must take priority. Mrs Morgan will understand,” he added.

Chapter Fifteen

“So why are we calling here?” said Felix as they stood at the door of an elegant modern villa on the outskirts of Northminster.

“Mr Geoffrey hosted a supper party which Barnes attended the night before he died,” Major Vernon explained.

A liveried manservant opened the door to them and said, “The master is indisposed this morning.”

“Go up and tell him that Mr Carswell is here,” said Major Vernon. “And that he puts himself at your master’s disposal.” When the servant had gone, he added, “He’s bound to want to see you. He has a reputation as a professional invalid.”

“What on earth shall I say to him?”

“Just find out what you can about that party and what happened.” Felix frowned, not at all certain he had Major Vernon’s skill as an interviewer. “Don’t worry – you can send him a large bill at the end of it. You do need to build your practice after all.”

“And what will you do?”

“This time I am going to talk to the servants.”

The servant returned a few moments later and informed them that Mr Geoffrey would see Mr Carswell.

Felix was shown into a bedchamber of staggering opulence. It had apparently been designed to evoke the splendours of far more aristocratic mansions. Felix, who had now seen the glittering enfilades and painted ceilings of Holbroke, was none the less astonished by it. It was papered with exotic, brightly coloured paper, an oriental confection involving long-tailed birds and blackamoors in turbans. It also felt as hot as India with a huge fire in the grate, and the air was over-sweetened by burning aromatic pastilles. The room felt more like a feverish nightmare than a pleasant retreat.

Mr Elias Geoffrey was sitting up in a bed that was hung with swags of puce-striped silk. He had a cashmere shawl about his shoulders and an embroidered, tasselled cap covering his bald head. Through the open door to the adjoining dressing room Felix could see a luxuriant, curly wig sitting on a stand. It would look absurd upon him, Felix could not helping thinking, looking back at the thin, whey-faced man in the bed. He scarcely matched his extraordinary surroundings.

“Mr Carswell?” he said. “This is Providence at work! I was on the verge of sending for you. I am need of a fresh opinion – Woodcroft talks such nonsense to me. I fear he is trying to kill me.”

“What is troubling you, sir?”

“What is not troubling me? What?” said Mr Geoffrey. “Where shall I begin?”

“Perhaps I should examine you?” said Felix.

“That would be a great kindness, sir,” said Mr Geoffrey “Perhaps you would look at my right leg in particular. I have an excruciating inflammation on my leg. Woodcroft has given me plaisters to draw out the pain but they do irritate the skin. And then there is something seriously amiss with my bowels. I have not passed a thing for twenty hours, at least! Just ask Nickson.” He waved his hand to towards the valet who was in attendance. “Is that not so, Nickson?”

Nickson nodded solemnly.

Felix began his examination. As he expected, Geoffrey was a obliging patient, even over-obliging. Neither was there very much wrong with him, and Felix soon concluded that he was of a type well known to those in the profession: the patient who took excessive pleasure from a doctor’s attention and often faked symptoms to indulge further. It was usually reckoned to be a female trick, often practised by wealthy old widows who had nothing better to do than engage in medical flirtation.

“So, Mr Carswell? What is the verdict? You need not spare me the details.”

“I think you are perhaps low in your mind because of Mr Barnes. A depression in spirits can often have a physical effect on the body. He was an acquaintance of yours, I understand?”

Geoffrey gave a heavy sigh.

“Poor Barnes. Yes, it is a great loss. But the inflammation – do you not think –”

“I agree that the plaisters were unwise. But the inflammation will soon go down of its own accord.”

“But, but,” said Mr Geoffrey, thrusting his bony leg out towards Felix again, hitching up the long tail of his nightshirt. “That is not temporary, surely? That is persistent, do you not think?”

Felix swallowed his impatience. There was no need to examine the offending limb again, but he pretended to. He was not here so much to diagnose but investigate.

“How did you meet Mr Barnes?” said Felix, putting his hands around Geoffrey’s calf and pressing on down on it with his thumbs, with some pressure. He hoped this would feel reassuringly vigorous.

“I like to gather talent about me,” said Mr Geoffrey. “It is my pleasure to collect the brightest and the best that Northminster can offer.” He paused a moment. “Are you musical, perhaps, sir?”

“No, not very,” said Felix.

“Literary, then? A talent for verse? You look like a man who ought to have a talent for verse.”

“Hardly,” said Felix, glanced up and saw he was being gazed at by Geoffrey. “I am not sure I have any talents.”

“Nonsense, sir, you are talented. I sense you are a great healer. I am already feeling a great deal better. Your hands... ah, but...
omnium artium medicina nobilissima est
,” he added with a suggestive sigh and Felix stopped at once.

“Massage and exercise might be something to consider. Your man there might –”

“Nickson does not have your delicate touch, Mr Carswell,” said Geoffrey. “Really, I cannot believe that you think you have no talent. Every man has some aptitude or other, some claim to distinction. And a gentleman with your lineage, well...”

“I suppose Mr Barnes came here to sing,” said Felix, hastily getting back to the point.

“Yes, poor fellow.”

“I understand he was here the other night. That you had some sort of supper party.”

“My reputation precedes me, I see,” said Geoffrey. “Yes, he was here, at my
conversatzione
on Tuesday.”

“A
conversatzione
?”

“You should come, Mr Carswell. You would be more than welcome. I hold them once a fortnight. It is the best society in Northminster – a confraternity of talent. Yes, you must come. I am convinced of it now.”

“No ladies?” said Felix.

“Assuredly not!” he said. “I have nothing against ladies,
per se
, but for rational, philosophical conversation I find they are not useful.”

“So who was there on Tuesday with Mr Barnes?”

“We were very select that night,” said Geoffrey. “Harrison, Fowler, who plays the flute, and Mowbray, the antiquary. You know his establishment, perhaps?”

“I know of it.”

“He sells the most fascinating baubles. You should make his acquaintance.”

“Did you dine with them?” Felix asked.

“Oh, no, they are asked for half past eight. I only ever dine alone and I like to have a small rest after my dinner. It helps my digestion, I find.”

“Very wise, sir,” said Felix.

“I do think so,” said Geoffrey. “And I am glad to hear you agree with me.”

“So what is the usual programme for these
conversatziones
?”

“Usually we have a little music. I am fond of music. Are you sure you are not musical? Your voice is well modulated. I cannot believe that you do not sing.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“That is a pity, a great pity. But perhaps you would aid our other great amusement, hailing as you do from the Athens of the North. You certainly have the figure for it.”

“For what?”

“
Les pose plastiques
.”

“Oh, theatricals, you mean?”

“Theatricals – hardly, Mr Carswell. It is not so frivolous. It is the representation of the great classical myths, inspired by the nobility and beauty of ancient Greek Statuary. Need I elaborate? You have had a classical education, I am sure. You are an Edinburgh man, I have heard that.”

“It sounds a novel entertainment,” said Felix. “Do you take part?”

“I direct operations,” said Geoffrey.

“And it involves dressing up?”

“You speak as if it were tawdry costumes,” said Geoffrey, “not the pure and simple dress of the ancients.”

Felix could not decide whether to be amused or disgusted at the thought of naked men draped in bed sheets pretending to be statues for the entertainment of Mr Geoffrey.

“Forgive me,” he said, carefully, with a slight bow.

“You really should join us, Mr Carswell,” said Geoffrey. “You would make an excellent Ganymede. Or perhaps Daphnis, being instructed in the pipes by Pan himself.”

Felix strenuously ignored this and asked, “And all went off harmoniously on Tuesday? You were not aware of any tensions between any of your guests?”

“No. It was a delightful evening. Harrison and Barnes were in magnificent voice, and then we did scenes from the Iliad. Achilles lamenting for Patroclus, as I recall. Very effective, and in the circumstances rather prophetic and tragic.” He gave a heavy sigh.

“Did you know Mr Barnes well?” Felix said.

“A brief acquaintance, but a sweet one,” said Geoffrey. “It is pitiful.” He shook his head and fiddled with the edge of his bed sheet. “
Sic transit gloria mundi
, Mr Carswell,” he said. “
Sic transit
.”

Chapter Sixteen

Having questioned the other servants in the kitchen, Giles found the butler, Holt, polishing the silver in the pantry. His sleeves rolled up, he was vigorously buffing up the gleaming belly of a hot water urn and he did not stop when Giles came in. Like all the servants, he was a handsome man. Geoffrey obviously chose his staff for their looks.

“I hear from the hall boy you were with the Rifles, Mr Holt,” Giles said. “When did you leave?”

“Thirty-five, sir,” said Holt.

“And you like service better?”

“Do you, sir?” said Holt, glancing up from his polishing for a moment.

“And Mr Geoffrey, is he a good master?” Giles said, ignoring this.

“He’s the master, and that’s all there is to be said about it,” said Holt.

“But you’ve been in this place three years, so it can’t be so disagreeable.”

“It does me well enough. The food is good – that Frenchie cooks well, you can say that for him. I’ve a comfortable bed and the perks aren’t bad.”

“But you have no respect for your master?”

“I do what he wants, sir and he pays me for it. There’s nothing says I must respect him.”

“He offends you, then?”

“I shall not say either way. You will only twist my words, sir.”

“There is obviously something about this household that discomforts you, Holt. You must not be afraid to speak of it to me.” Giles had already encountered a certain reticence from the other servants and was beginning to draw his conclusions from it.

“As I said before, he pays me and I do what he says. That is all you people want of folk like me, surely?”

“What do you do, for him, Holt, other than polish the silver and wait at table? Do you turn a blind eye, is that it?”

Holt put down his cloth.

“It’s a good place, sir. That is all I will say.”

“Very well,” said Giles. “Tell me about Mr Barnes and Mr Harrison. Tell me what you can remember of them on Tuesday night.”

“They were at loggerheads. It wasn’t news, though.”

“You saw them quarrel?”

“Having words.”

“About what?”

“That I couldn’t say, sir.”

“Are you being discreet, Holt or was it genuinely unclear?” said Giles. “Give me a sense of what they were saying, if you can. A man has been murdered.”

Holt gave a long sigh and then said, “It was something about going to London.”

“And they left together?”

“Yes, they always left together.”

“But not with the other guests? Messrs Mowbray and Fowler?”

“They left earlier. That’s the usual way it happens.”

“And what state were Barnes and Harrison in? Drunk, sober, what?”

“Mr Harrison was as he usually is at these affairs – drunk as the lord he’d like to be, as full of himself as with wine.”

“And Barnes?”

“He’d taken a few. They always do. Otherwise well, how else could they...?”

“For Dutch courage?” Giles said.

“I’m not saying another word,” Holt said, picking up his cloth again and starting on another piece of silver.

“You’ve implied enough. You’ve been most helpful, Holt.”

Holt gave a grunt and said, “And what good will that do me when I’m turned out with no character? You’ve no notion of that, sir, I think.”

***

“That is not a comfortable household,” said Giles to Carswell as they walked away. “What did you get out of Mr Geoffrey?”

“I was invited to his
conversatziones
, which seem to involve dressing up like a Greek statue.”

“Yes, the servants mentioned the dressing up,” said Giles. “It’s interesting. Harrison talked of singing for his supper. I suspect they were not so much guests as paid to come here, and do as they were told, be it singing sentimental ballads, or dressing up as Greek heroes, and perhaps something rather more questionable than that.”

“Buggery, you mean, sir?” said Carswell.

“Perhaps. Certainly, something is going on there. Suppose Geoffrey has been taking liberties –”

“Undoubtedly,” said Carswell.

“If he has been indulging himself there, then he is at great risk of being blackmailed. He is the perfect target for blackmail – a wealthy man with unfortunate habits. Barnes had money to spend on expensive tailoring. I shall have to search his room again. There may be money stashed away. Ditto Harrison. Perhaps they were both getting cash from him.”

“And buggery – it’s a hanging offence, is it not?” said Carswell. “He has to worry about that, surely? Could he have murdered Barnes to silence him? Or have had him murdered? I can’t imagine him soiling his hands and he didn’t seem unduly upset that Barnes was dead. Regretful but not grief-stricken.”

“It’s an interesting theory. Certainly the man is playing a dangerous game. What did he say about Barnes’ and Harrison’s quarrel?”