The Regency Detective (9 page)

‘May I ask you a question?’ said Mary.

‘Certainly Mary, my dearest.’

‘Why did you have a change of heart about my coming here?’

‘My darling Mary, it was because you put me in a most troublesome quandary. I truly do applaud your action and would have stayed with my original intention of accompanying you, but I did not wish to contend with your brother’s possible disapproval. I believe very much in first impressions and I believe from your brother’s expression at the funeral that he was not aware of your coming tonight. It might be a matter of pride on my part, but I did not want to prejudice your brother against me.’

‘A most diplomatic answer Edmund, I do now understand. May I ask another question of you though?’

‘Please, go ahead.’

‘Did you return from London on the coach this morning?’ This was a question Lockhart had been half expecting since realising the other passenger in the coach had been Mary’s brother.

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Because my brother believes you travelled in the same coach as him from London, but that you continued on to Bristol.’

‘Then your brother is obviously mistaken.’

‘My brother is most certain it was you on the coach yesterday and it is not like him to be mistaken.’

Mary studied Lockhart with an expression that searched his face, his eyes, and his whole demeanour for the answer she wanted to hear. Lockhart sighed.

‘My dear Mary, I do own it then. I did travel in the same carriage as your brother, as I found myself unexpectedly summoned to Bristol, and the Royal Mail coach afforded the quickest option. I cannot disclose to you why I was summoned, but it was awful my dear, I saw you from the coach as you welcomed your brother, yet I could not alight and greet you because I could not risk being seen in Bath at that particular time.’

‘Thank you Edmund, although I am sorry I persisted.’

‘My dearest Mary, you know I wish I could tell you about my business affairs but I cannot at present.’ Mary had not mentioned the two women that Lockhart had been accompanying, so he had chosen not to bring the subject up either. His attention, however, was now taken by the appearance of a gentleman standing at the entrance to the ballroom. ‘You have been so patient with me, my love,’ he said, ‘but I have to beg your indulgence once more. Believing you were not to attend this evening, I had made other arrangements to meet a business associate and that person is now requesting my presence and I fear I cannot ignore him.’

Although disappointed, Mary nodded understanding and once the music had finished, Lockhart escorted her off the dance floor and then went off toward the entrance and the waiting business associate.

‘Henry, have you seen my brother?’ asked Mary, after Lockhart had gone and she had found Fitzpatrick, standing by himself near the entrance.

‘We were talking together but a Miss Isabella Thorpe had herself introduced to us. Not long after, however, your brother politely excused himself. I last saw him over there, by the staircase leading downstairs. It looked like he was intending to go down there, although I would not venture as to the why.’

Mary thanked Fitzpatrick and headed over toward the staircase. She smiled. Fitzpatrick seemed puzzled, even perplexed, as to why her brother might have descended a staircase which only led to the servants area. But Mary was not. If there was anywhere her brother might be in a social gathering such as this, it would be downstairs. That seemed to be where he had always found solace, ever since they had been children. She could not understand it as a child, but from this perspective she could see that he felt more comfortable, more at ease perhaps, in the company of those of the same standing as his father had been, than those he had found himself adopted into. She had never talked to him about it, but the amount of times that he had been found in the servant quarters seemed to speak for itself. And no matter how many times he had been gently reprimanded, it had seemingly made no difference.

On reaching the staircase, Mary looked around to make sure she was not being observed and then descended it. The air began to get cooler and by the time she reached the bottom and began to walk along the corridor, the air was decidedly cold and she felt a chill run down her spine. As she continued along, her mind returned to another time and place; a place she called home and a time when she felt alone and went looking for the adopted brother who had proved so elusive.

The five year old Mary made her way tentatively but indomitably along the long basement corridor which ran under the family’s country residence. She felt the cold air against her cheeks and goosebumps rose on her legs and arms. The stoned walls were rough to the touch, whenever she placed the palms of her hands against them, in order to stop herself stumbling on the uneven floor. She had never been in this part of the house before. It was a strange new world to her, a world of shadowy shapes, unfamiliar smells and indistinct voices further down the corridor. She was straining to hear those voices and the sound of that one voice she was trying to locate. She felt alone but would not be put off.

Mary had seen Jack enter the building and was determined to find out where he went. She had gained a playmate for the vast gardens and numerous rooms she played alone in before, yet no sooner had she found this companion, he had abandoned her. In the last few months she had made several attempts to find out where he had gone but he had always seemed to get the better of her; but not this time. Not today, of all days. Mary had deliberately pretended to be asleep when Jack passed her room, but as soon as he had gone, had stepped out of bed and gone to her bedroom window. From here she watched as her brother strode across the garden towards a particular building and entered a small doorway that led to what she had been told was the main kitchens and servants’ area.

By the time she had reached the building herself, there was no sign of Jack but she instinctively knew where to go. Now she would find out where he went and then perhaps he would stay with her for the rest of her birthday. She pulled her thin clothes tighter around herself and carried on along the corridor until she neared an entrance where the voices seemed to be coming from; one of which she recognised as Jack’s. She edged closer and cautiously peeped around the corner. Inside she saw her brother sitting with two servants. He had three cups in front of him on a table and was moving them around each other. As she continued to watch, a voice came from behind her. It was Mrs Hunter.

‘Mary. What are you doing here?’ her nanny said.

Mary turned toward her but remained mute.

‘Is Master Jack down here, as well? He shouldn’t be below stairs now he’s part of your family. And nor should you. What would your father think of such a thing if he knew you were down here?’

At that moment another voice called her name. ‘Mary? Mary!’

She turned her focus back into the kitchen and now saw a present-day Swann sitting at the kitchen table alongside a couple of servants.

‘Is everything alright, Mary?’ Swann asked.

‘I wish to go home now,’ replied Mary, ‘if you are agreeable.’

Swann said goodbye to the servants and came out into the corridor. There was a look of concern about his face.

‘Are you sure you are okay?’

Mary nodded. ‘It is merely the cold, I believe.’

Swann took his sister’s arm and they walked back along the corridor.

‘I thought you might be down here,’ she said, as they reached the staircase. ‘You always did prefer the company below stairs.’

‘It was not that,’ smiled Swann. ‘Indeed, I was engaged in the most rewarding conversation with Fitzpatrick. It was just that it was interrupted by a seemingly most demanding girl, who had herself introduced to us and then preceded to ask the most personal questions regarding my income and single status. When she asked for a dance, I politely refused and excused myself. I could see she was not to be dissuaded, however, and so felt downstairs was the best place to withdraw. I would have been more direct with her, but she said she was your dear friend.’

‘Isabella is a social acquaintance, that is all,’ Mary said, a little annoyed.

‘So where is our Mr Lockhart?’ asked Swann.

‘He had a prior engagement, a business associate,’ replied Mary.

‘Your Mr Lockhart seems to have many such associates,’ said Swann.

Back upstairs, they collected their outer garments and then looked around for Fitzpatrick, in order to bid him a good night. They could not see him. Swann did, however, notice Lockhart playing cards in a side room, whilst in a somewhat earnest conversation with a fellow card-player. He said nothing to Mary though and escorted her outside.

As it was still early, the sedan chairmen were gathered in large groups, sharing the latest gossip, moaning about their lot and generally waiting around to be hailed, so they could earn their money. Swann looked over at one large group and saw the pickpocket from the day before conversing with them. Even in the semi-darkness and the crowd of chairmen around him, there was no mistaking the man. Swann saw Mary safely into a sedan chair and after telling her he would see her at home, caught the attention of two night-watchmen. Swann discharged one of them back inside the building to find Fitzpatrick, while he went with the other in the direction of the thief.

By the time Tyler realised what was happening, it was too late. He took a step forward and threw a punch but Swann ducked and then bundled the other man to the floor. The sedan chairmen were not happy but before they could react, the other night-watchman had appeared with Fitzpatrick and several other men.

‘If any man interferes in this matter,’ announced Fitzpatrick, ‘it will mean their licence.’

The assembled chairmen knew the consequences of Fitzpatrick’s threat and so they all stood back as Swann handed Tyler over to Fitzpatrick and his men.

‘You’ll pay for this,’ snarled Tyler at Swann, as the night-watchmen led him off.

Fitzpatrick stepped torward Swann. ‘My wallet returned and now the criminal apprehended. Are you sure you will not consider staying on, Swann?’

Swann merely smiled. The two men bowed to each other and then Swann got in the nearest available sedan chair and followed his sister home.

As soon as the melee had ended, one of the chairmen with whom Tyler had been talking to, took off unseen at a running pace towards the Avon Street district. By the time Swann reached Great Pulteney Street, the running chairman had also reached his destination. He entered the Duke of York public house and went straight upstairs to tell his boss, Wicks, what had happened.

After the emotionally draining day and evening Swann and Mary had shared, a resemblance of normality had descended once they returned home from the ball and a contemplative calm now prevailed in the drawing room. Swann reclined in a chair by the windows, reading his book by candlelight. After years of solitude on his island, Robinson Crusoe had seemingly come to terms with his isolation and created an ordered, coherent existence with comfortable surroundings and even domesticated animals. But as Swann read on, a terrifying event shattered this idyllic world. ‘It happened one day around noon,’ recounted Crusoe. As he was going to his boat, there, on the shore, was a footprint in the sand. The imprint had been made by a naked foot and its presence on the shore struck Crusoe as if hit by a thunderbolt. He looked and listened but could not see or hear anything. Having checked the surrounding area and found nothing more than that solitary print, he had returned to ascertain it had not been his imagination. But there it was still in the sand; a footprint with every part of the foot visible.

Swann laid the book on his lap and contemplated what he had just read. He felt as invaded as Crusoe must have done. This was his island. An island he had not wanted to be stranded upon but having realised there was no other choice, had used the resources available and created an existence which, if not perfect, was at least tolerable. But now, this appearance of a foot print on the shore, representing the presence of another human being and signifying his isolation ended, meant that nothing would ever be the same again. In many ways Swann felt betrayed by its author Defoe, as if through writing this particular scene he had somehow invaded Swann’s own seclusion as well, a seclusion he had built up over the past twenty years and which he had taken solace from in the memory of the pages of this particular book.

Swann now became aware of Mary and the piece she played on her pianoforte. After her own return, Mary had chosen to play a selection of pieces by Bach that she felt best reflected her present mood. She had begun with the opening piece from the composer’s
Aria with Diverse Variations
, as she had done so the previous day, especially for her brother, but had continued with a selection from the variations themselves. As she reached a particular one, however, it had come to the attention of Swann.

‘You play the twenty-fifth slower than I remember it,’ he said.

‘It is not pleasing to you?’

‘No, merely different in its own way,’ he replied.

‘Yes, I prefer it like this,’ said Mary. ‘The other way seemed to draw too much attention to its own melancholy. But now it seems to have a more introspective quality about it, as well. Do you not agree, Jack?’

‘The tempo is certainly well suited to the piece. I am certain Johann Sebastian would have approved,’ said Swann, and they exchanged an affectionate look.

Meanwhile, at the far end of Great Pulteney Street, a carriage travelled slowly along, as its driver looked for a particular house. When he had found the right address he pulled on the reins and brought the horse to a standstill. He bent down and retrieved something from beneath his seat. He then stood up and steadied himself. The rock left his hand with great force, as he hurled it toward one of the windows. As it reached its target, the driver snapped the reins again and the horse set off at a gallop down the street.

Inside the drawing room, the window shattered from the rock and a shower of glass fell on to the floor beneath the now bellowing curtains. Swann leapt from the chair and instinctively shielded his sister from any further attack.