The Dead Songbird (The Northminster Mysteries) (24 page)

“You have spoken to Mr Carswell?” she said quietly.

“Yes.”

She nodded. “Of course you have. Is he... very distressed?”

“He is certainly confused. He does not like to malign you, Miss Pritchard, but he feels you have maligned him.”

“I have,” she said. “It’s true.” She pressed her finger tips to her mouth and closed her eyes. “Oh, it is all so... so...” She sighed.

“Perhaps we should start at the beginning,” said Giles, taking out the key and the rosette from his pocket and laying them on the table. She flinched at the sight of them. “Do you recognise these things?” She nodded. “Perhaps you could explain to me what they are.”

“That is the key to the gatehouse chapel,” she said. “And that is a rosette from one of my dresses.”

“And the ribbon?”

“It is the same ribbon, yes, Major Vernon.”

“So the key, which was given to me by Mr Watkins has a piece of ribbon on it that matches the ribbon on your dress – that is even finished in exactly the same manner.”

“Yes, it is the same.”

“And is that because you put it there?” he asked. She nodded. “You put a piece of ribbon on a key belonging to Mr Watkins?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Why?”

“To mark it.”

“So he would remember which it was?” Giles asked.

“No,” she said and then went on after a pause. “It was so that I should.”

“Because you had the key in your possession?”

“Yes.”

“And why was that?”

“So that... so that I could go and wait there for Mr Watkins. Because – well, you have guessed, surely sir, that he and I...”

“Are lovers?”

“We are engaged to marry, yes.” She looked away.

“And the chapel tower was your trysting place?”

“Yes.”

“And you met there often?”

“Yes, often. As often as we could.” She looked away. “You must understand sir, we were desperate. I would not have done this had not my father – he is impossible! Quite impossible!”

“I am not here to judge you, Miss Pritchard. I only want the facts.”

“But you will judge me. You already have.” She covered her face with her hands again. “I know what you must be thinking. How can you not think it?”

“Let us concentrate on the facts,” Giles said. “Tell me when you last went to St Anne’s Chapel to wait for Mr Watkins.”

“A day or two ago.”

“Can you be more precise?”

“Yes.”

He gave her an enquiring, prompting glance. She twisted up her mouth.

“Yes,” she said again. “It was on Wednesday morning.”

“And did you find anything unusual there?”

She looked across at him.

“Yes, yes I did.”

Giles picked up the key and turned it in his fingers.

“What was that?”

“I... I... found Mr Barnes. Or rather I found his body,” she spoke quietly, avoiding looking at him directly.

“What time was this? Can you remember when you got there?”

“It was some time after eleven. We had arranged to meet at half past eleven, but I left earlier, because my father had gone out and my mother was busy. I had the opportunity to get away.”

“Did you see anyone at all on your way to the tower?”

“I don’t remember seeing anyone. The precincts are quiet that time of day.”

“So you found the door locked?”

“Yes. Just as it always is.”

“And you went straight upstairs?” She nodded. “Describe what you saw.”

“He was stretched on the floor. For a moment I didn’t know what to think. I thought he was asleep – well, I don’t know what I thought.”

“Did you touch Mr Barnes?”

“Yes, yes, I suppose I did. I wanted to see if he was dead. I shook him a little.”

“And was he warm when you touched him?”

“Yes, he was. But it was obvious he was dead.”

“And you did not think of raising the alarm?”

“No,” she said, after a long moment. “I knew that if I did that, then... No, I went and waited at the bottom of the stairs for Geor – for Mr Watkins to come in. And then we decided...”

“You decided you would tell a slightly different story?”

She got up from the table and walked away, her arms wrapped about her.

“What was I to do?” she said. “It seemed the only thing to do at the time.”

He watched her as she stood over the fire. A lover’s tryst interrupted by a dead body. Was it really as simple as that?

“How well did you know Mr Barnes, Miss Pritchard?”

“I knew him a little. We both studied with Mr Watkins – at least we did before my father stopped me going for lessons with him.”

“Did Mr Barnes know about you and Mr Watkins?”

“No,” she said. “No-one knew.”

“Are you sure?”

“As far as I know: no-one.”

“These things have a habit of becoming known. You would be surprised. Perhaps Mr Barnes saw something.”

“What are you implying?”

“That he was trying to make trouble for you and Mr Watkins. That he was not dead when you found him. That he made accusations to you and when Mr Watkins arrived, there was an argument.”

“No, no, no. He was dead, please Major Vernon, believe me, he was dead. That is not what happened. He was dead!”

“Your word is a little unreliable, Miss Pritchard,” he said. “I must test it.”

“What has Mr Carswell said to you?” she said.

“That your father thinks you are a ruined woman because of him. Did you imply that to him?”

There was a long silence and then she said, “Sometimes when a person is angry it is better to give them the answer they want to hear. And I wanted to put him off the scent. I wanted him to think that it was someone else. If he was to be angry with someone else then... Mr Carswell has friends and position, and I thought that...”

“Kate!” Watkins’ voice echoed out through the empty house. “Kate, are you there?”

“I am here,” she called back.

A moment later Watkins came in. He stopped in his tracks at the sight of Major Vernon.

“He knows everything,” Kate Pritchard said simply.

Chapter Thirty-one

“But I’ve told you all this before,” said Watkins.

Giles had taken him into his music room. He wanted to speak to him alone before Miss Pritchard did.

“Hardly,” Giles said.

“Does it honestly matter which of us found the body?” said Watkins.

“It matters a great deal,” Giles said. “Now tell me, what state was Miss Pritchard in when you arrived?”

“She was upset! Of course she was. She’d just found a dead body.”

“Where was she?”

“Upstairs. I went upstairs and there she was – with Barnes on the floor. Kneeling over him.”

“You are certain of this?” Giles said.

“Pretty certain. Why?” said Watkins with some hostility.

“That needn’t concern you.”

“Why – what are you implying sir? Has Miss Pritchard said something different? If she has it means nothing, I’m sure of if it. She may have forgotten what she did. She was distressed.”

“Describe it to me, won’t you? Was she hysterical?”

“No, not exactly. But she was in a state of shock. She was shaking and agitated, naturally enough.”

Giles nodded. “About Mr Barnes – do you think he might have been aware of your meetings with Miss Pritchard? He hadn’t come upon you together at some point? I understand at one time you were giving lessons to Miss Pritchard – that they were not so much lessons as courtship.”

“I do not like your implication, sir.”

“It is true, surely, Mr Watkins? You are engaged to her.”

“Yes, well, I suppose...” There was a long pause, then Watkins spoke again. “He may, perhaps, have seen us once.”

“Perhaps? Did he or did he not know about you and Miss Pritchard?”

“He did see us once – together – as it were.”

“And the upshot of that was?”

“I told him to hold his tongue about it, of course! And he said he would.”

“How did you ask him?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you ask him humbly as a favour, as a fellow musician, asking for his discretion or did you speak to him as you might speak to a servant?”

“He was practically spying on us!” exclaimed Watkins. “How was I supposed to speak to him?”

“Spying on you? Then you were angry with him.”

“Of course I was! Any man would have been angry at such impertinence!” Watkins exclaimed.

“Especially a man conducting an illicit courtship with a young woman of superior rank,” Giles said. “A man who felt he was on dangerous ground in the first place.”

“What do you mean by that, sir?”

“If you had openly declared your intentions to Miss Pritchard’s father, as I am sure you know you ought to have done, then you would have nothing much to fear from Barnes seeing you. It would have been a minor annoyance, not a threat to your secret. And he
was
a threat to your secret if he saw you.”

“I told him to hold his tongue. I have said that already!”

“And as far as you know, did he hold his tongue? He didn’t speak to Miss Pritchard about it?”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because she has more to lose than you? Because she was the weak point? A man who sees something of that nature might well be tempted to take advantage of it, and who is the easier prey in this case?”

“You think he spoke to Miss Pritchard about this?”

“It is possible.”

“What are you implying? That... no, I won’t have that, sir!”

“I have to consider all angles, Mr Watkins. And I have evidence that Miss Pritchard has been behaving strangely – in some respects like a desperate woman.”

“What do you mean by that? Desperate? Do you mean to imply that Miss Pritchard killed Barnes? She could not hurt a flea!”

“Are you sure, Mr Watkins?”

“If you are so determined to find your murderer, sir, well, you may have me! I will confess to killing him and go to the gallows for it. But you shall not accuse Miss Pritchard of this. I will not have that!”

“That is noble, Mr Watkins, but I am after the truth, not the stuff of old romances. If there is anything about her behaviour that disturbed you that day, that seemed not quite right, I ask you to tell me it. Put aside sentiment – for your own protection. You are not yet her husband.”

“In the eyes of God I am!” he exclaimed. “And I will not have her insulted like this!”

“You are actually married?” Giles said.

There another pause.

“We have made our promises to each other before God. That is a wedding contract in all respects.”

“But these promises were not made in front of a clergyman, with witnesses present? Nor with a licence or the banns having been read?”

“It was a marriage in eyes of God,” said Watkins. “She is now my wife in all respects.”

“All respects?” Giles said. Watkins looked away. The implication was clear enough. “That is interesting, Mr Watkins.”

Watkins sat down and covered his face with his hands. His shame was palpable.

“It was not what we intended,” he said rather quietly. “Not for the world would I have chosen it to be this way. It is simply that her father would never hear of it. He is impossible, Major Vernon. He would have separated us for ever and that I could not bear. I was half a man before I met her. I was nothing.”

***

Giles went back to the kitchen where he had left Miss Pritchard to wait. He half expected her to have slipped his grasp, but she was still there, but she was holding her bonnet as if about to put it on and leave. She looked as if she had been crying again. Had her conscience been preying on her? Was it possible that she had murdered Charles Barnes in a fit of angry passion, to conceal her love affair?

“May I speak to Mr Watkins?” she asked.

“Not at present, Miss Pritchard, I’m afraid. I am going to take you home now.” She nodded and put on her bonnet. “Tell me, Miss Pritchard – and do not take it as a liberty – do you think you are with child?”

“It is possible,” she said after a long silence.

“And that is why you took Mr Carswell’s name in vain? You wanted to conceal the identity of the real father?”

“Yes. Mr Watkins has told you that we...?”

“And a great deal more besides,” Giles said. She screwed up her face for a moment. He went on, “It does not matter to me whether you tell me the truth now or later, Miss Pritchard – but for the sake of your own peace of mind I urge you to consider a speedy confession.”

“I have nothing to confess,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. “You have got all our secrets, Major Vernon.”

“Have I?” said Giles, who knew well enough from experience that a pause before a statement often indicated a lie. She avoided his gaze. “Well, Miss Pritchard, I will take you home now, and I want you to think very hard about all that has passed between us.”

She nodded, and then said, “What will you say to my father? Will you tell him about this?”

“It is not my place to do that.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I would rather he did not know – not yet, at least.”

“You would do well to tell your father everything as soon as possible. He will, I’m sure, be far more understanding than you imagine.”

“You do not know him, sir,” she said a little sharply. “You really do not.”

They walked back to the Deanery in silence. He took her to the front door and rang the bell. The moment the maid appeared, Miss Pritchard ran in, and went straight upstairs, without another word or a backward glance.

Chapter Thirty-two

Felix left his consulting room to attend to a prisoner in the cells, and returned to find two women waiting to see him.

For a moment he was annoyed, for the usual custom was that prospective patients waited on the benches outside in the passageway. However, a quick glance revealed that these were not wives or relatives of any of the constabulary seeking his advice. They were both handsomely dressed. The woman who was seated was wearing an ornate black lace veil which entirely obscured her face, while the other, standing in attendance, had the look of a superior lady’s maid.

The veiled woman rose as he came in, and addressed him. “Mr Carswell?”

For a moment he did not know what to say. Who she was he had not the least idea.

“Ma’am,” he said. “How may I help you?”