Page 18 of Loyalty (The Chaplain’s Legacy #5)

K atherine had known from the day at the tower that her hopes of marrying Kent were entirely gone, but it was not until she saw the raw anger in his face and heard his words of contempt that she understood just what she had lost. When he spoke of betrayal and lack of trust, she saw it for the first time from his point of view. He hated her! He had kissed her so tenderly, and now he hated and despised her, and she was not sure that she did not despise herself.

Grief rose up inside her until she felt as if she were drowning. Weeping bitter tears, she walked home as fast as she could, heedless of the rest of the family. Behind her, she heard Aveline’s shrill voice asking what had happened, followed by her aunt’s low murmur, and after that they followed her in silence.

She went straight to her room, and threw herself onto the bed in despair, her tears an unstoppable flood. Her aunt came into the room a little while later, persuading her out of bonnet and pelisse, and closing the curtains.

“I have brought some wine, dear,” she said, her voice so soft, so sympathetic. “You will feel better if you have a little sip now and then.”

There was no wine on earth that could make her feel better, but obediently she sat up and took a mouthful, as her aunt held the glass for her.

“There now, that will do you good, I am persuaded. Dearest, do you want to talk about it?”

Katherine shook her head.

“Very well. I will not press you, for I can see that something serious has occurred. I must ask one thing, however. Has Mr Atherton behaved at all improperly towards you?”

“No. No, aunt.”

“He has not asked you to do anything which would make you uncomfortable?”

“No.” She sniffed, accepted a handkerchief proffered by her aunt and blew her nose. How could she explain it? “We had… a difference of opinion… a fundamental difference.”

“Do you think in time, perhaps, that there might be second thoughts? A reconciliation?”

Katherine shook her head vehemently. “Impossible!”

“Your uncle and I would be happy to intervene if—”

“No!” Katherine said with some force. “All friendship between us is at an end, and that is all there is to it.”

“Very well. I believe you will not need to see him a great deal, for he will not call here again or ride with you, and once people know of your… difference of opinion, no one will invite both of you to the same event. If he comes to church again… well, if he does, he will ignore you, I expect. Poor Katherine! And everything seemed to be in such a promising way. I thought for certain there would be a spring wedding. But there, one never can tell. I shall leave you to sleep for a while now, but Daisy will sit outside your door, so if there is anything you need, you have only to call. Drink your wine, my dear. You will feel better by and by.”

Katherine was quite certain she would never be better again.

***

I n Pickering, Captain Michael Edgerton was at his wit’s end. His investigation into the murder of the earl’s chaplain, Mr Nicholson, had run into the ground. For four months he and his team and followed up every possible lead, and a few that had even seemed to verge on the impossible, but they were no nearer to finding the solution to the case. Even when a man had confessed to the murder, it had turned out to be false, serving only to hinder them.

And now he had another problem, for one of his own investigators was missing. Miss Peach was a lady in her middle years, a former governess now retired and finding a new lease of life searching for murder clues. She had taken off on her own, insisting that it was the best way to uncover nuggets of information, but she had not been seen or heard from now in almost two months, and Michael was beginning to fear the worst. He had returned to Pickering in desperation, one final push to ensure that every possible clue had been thoroughly probed.

He kept returning to the last place she had been seen, the chandlery shop where she had lodgings. He had interviewed all the residents individually, so now he planned to gather them all together to go over every detail one last time.

“And if nothing new comes from this, then I am afraid we must abandon poor Peachy,” he said to his wife.

“Anyone but you would have abandoned her long since, Michael,” Luce said sadly. “It is so long now since anyone last saw her that we must accept, I fear, that she has met with an accident somewhere.”

There were five people gathered in the modestly proportioned parlour above the chandlery shop. The chandler’s wife, Mrs Stroud, presided over the teacups, while Mr Stroud himself handed round thick slabs of rich fruit cake. Mr Cartwright, a portly gentleman rather reticent about his profession, nursed a glass of sherry. The widowed Mrs Tasker sat primly upright, as far from Mr Cartwright as possible. The final lady was Mrs Clegg, whom Michael knew to be the former mistress of the present earl’s father.

He had brought Luce with him, and at first she led the conversation, since Miss Peach had been her governess when she was a girl. When Michael had brought Luce to Corland Castle at the start of the investigation, Miss Peach had come in the guise of Luce’s companion. Michael had hoped that Miss Peach would sit quietly with her needlework in a corner of the castle drawing room, listening in to all the gossip. Instead, she had gone off on her own to pursue her own enquiries.

The five went over everything that they could remember of Miss Peach, although there was nothing that Michael had not heard already.

“I must confess,” Mrs Clegg said, “I was somewhat concerned about the poor lady. It was hard to tell whether she genuinely knew something significant, or was simply muddled in her head.”

“She were very excitable,” Mrs Stroud said. “If you ask me, she just wanted to feel important. She’d had a dull time of it, by the sound of it… no offence, Mrs Edgerton, but being a governess ain’t much of a life, and then she lived with her sister in Harrogate.”

“Oh, I know,” Luce said easily. “She was so happy to feel that she was useful, and she was convinced that if she were on her own, she would become just another harmless elderly lady and could glean all manner of helpful information, but I am afraid she became rather carried away. After I left her here in Pickering, her letters became increasingly garbled.”

“What was the last letter she wrote to you?” Mrs Clegg said. “Perhaps it might jog our memories a little.”

“Of course.” Luce handed over the now rather bedraggled paper, and they passed it from hand to hand. Michael had pored over it so many times that he knew it off by heart.

‘My very dear Mrs Edgerton, So much new to tell you, but I cannot speak too openly, for fear of our communications being intercepted. I shall be brief, therefore. I have seen a Person of the Greatest Interest here, which has sent me in a new direction. I have been experimenting with a Substance of Interest, but with little success so far. I have received aid from an Unexpected Quarter, which will be of the greatest benefit. More details when I see you next. My regards to your charming husband, and all your friends. Yours most respectfully, Philomena Peach (Miss).’

Mrs Clegg laughed as she read. “Oh dear! It is not very informative, is it?”

“Does any of it suggest anything to you?” Michael said eagerly. “The person of interest, perhaps?”

Mrs Clegg shook her head. “She never mentioned a specific person to me. Mrs Stroud? You talked to her more than any of us.”

“No. It’s all nonsense, ain’t it? Poor lady, she hardly knew what she was doing, I’ll wager.”

“The substance… that might be laudanum,” Mrs Clegg said thoughtfully. “She told me she was having trouble sleeping, and wondered how much laudanum would help her obtain a full night’s sleep. Perhaps she was experimenting with that?”

“But why would she tell me of that?” Luce said. “It is hardly relevant to the investigation.”

“Perhaps she thought it was,” Michael said. “Mrs Stroud, Miss Peach talked to you of laudanum and mule droppings, did she not? Can you remember what was said? The exact words, if you can recall.”

“Ooh, it were a long time ago, Captain. Months, now. All I can remember is what I told Mrs Edgerton when she came here asking after Miss Peach. She mentioned laudanum and mule droppings together… something about laudanum being the key, and then… then… oh, I forget. She made the mule droppings sound like one of those puzzles… charades, maybe.”

“So she was puzzling over it?” Michael said.

“No… no. She were right pleased with herself. She’d worked it out… that’s it, she said she’d solved it… the mule droppings, that is. And then she clamped a hand over her mouth, as if she’d said too much, and laughed. One of those silly little laughs, like a girl. I thought then she weren’t right in the head, and I still think it, if you want to know the truth. Laudanum and mule droppings indeed! How ridiculous!”

And that was as much as Michael could get from them. It was not much, not much at all. If only Miss Peach had been less secretive! If she had confided in anyone, he would have discovered where she had gone and could have gone after her, and then whatever accident had befallen her could perhaps have been prevented. It was frustrating, but then everything about the chaplain’s murder was frustrating. None of it made any sense to him. It was like a wooden puzzle which was meant to slot together, but some of the pieces were missing so nothing fitted.

They walked back to the inn in silence, both aware that this was the end of the search for Miss Peach. They had met a solid wall and could proceed no further.

The innkeeper met them at the door as they arrived. “Beg pardon, sir, madam, but there’s a gen’leman awaitin’ for you in the parlour.”

“I will see him,” Michael said.

“No, sir, he said it were the lady he wan’ed to see. Asked for Mrs Edger’on by name.”

“Very well. Send up some wine, will you, and whatever else you have.”

“Already done, sir.”

“Thank you. How very mysterious!” Michael said as they climbed the stairs to their private parlour, rather amused. “I will come with you, though, unless this is an assignation with a lover, in which case I shall tactfully disappear.”

“Oh, surely not! I should expect you to challenge him to a duel, at the very least. Pistols at dawn, my dear. Nothing less will do.”

“No, no! Rapiers at dawn. Much more the thing. Pistols are so unreliable.”

They were both laughing as Michael opened the door and ushered Luce inside.

Mr Eustace Atherton turned towards them and they knew at once from his face that he brought bad news.

“Oh, no!” Luce cried. “Not Peachy!”

“I cannot be certain, for I did not know her well enough to be sure, but… I believe so. There is… a body. In a field some two miles or so from here. It matches the description of your companion. Mrs Edgerton, I am so very, very sorry.”

Luce gave a little sob, one hand covering her mouth. “What happened? Did she suffer, do you think? Was it some kind of accident?”

Atherton’s expression hardened. “I cannot be sure… Captain Edgerton will confirm it, but I suspect she was murdered… strangled. Her throat is badly bruised.”

“Oh, poor Peachy!” Luce said. “Do you want me to come and identify her? Oh… was it some time ago? Is she… is she…?”

“No, no! It was quite recent, I believe. The body is not… disfigured. Even so, I believe your husband is the best person to look at her remains.”

“How did you come to find her?” Michael said. “In a field, you said?”

“Yes. I have been on the lookout for some sign of her for some weeks now, ever since you mentioned that she was missing. Not constantly, but whenever I had a few hours free. I know a great many people, so I thought to ask around in case anyone had seen her. An elderly lady on her own… one would imagine someone would have seen her, but no one had. So then I thought to examine some of the remote barns or sheds, places where someone who does not wish to be found might hide.” He pulled a folded paper from a pocket and unfolded it onto the table to reveal a map, with several points circled. “These are the likely places I identified, all within walking distance of Pickering, for I discovered early that she had not been seen on any of the public coaches.”

“You have been impressively thorough,” Michael said with genuine admiration. “I have covered some of this ground, but mostly I just asked at inns and the like. I never thought to check the barns.”

“She must have been sleeping somewhere,” Atherton said, “and since it was clear she wanted to remain out of sight, it seemed sensible to look in such places where she might have taken shelter. But I had no luck until today. This barn here… I discovered blankets, supplies of food, a bag of clothing. No sign of the lady, so I started looking in the nearby fields, and caught sight of what looked at first like a bundle of clothing under a hedge. It is quite near Tonkins Farm, so I have left a couple of Tonkins’ sons to guard the spot. They will not touch anything. I know you will want to examine the body and its surroundings carefully.”

“You have done an excellent job, sir,” Michael said. “If ever you want to take up a career, I should be delighted to take you in as a fellow investigator. Luce, will you mind if I leave you here for a while? You might start composing a letter to Miss Peach’s sister in Harrogate.”

Tears trickling unheeded down her cheeks, Luce shook her head. “No. I shall come with you. I want to see… where she met her end.”

They found the place to be just as Atherton had described it, the body in its old-fashioned round gown and ancient wool cloak half concealed by the hedge, with two sturdy farmers standing a respectful distance away, and a little cluster of children watching from the gate nearest to the farm. The smoke from the farmhouse chimneys could be clearly seen above a small clump of trees. The barn was visible on the far side of the field.

It took Michael only a moment to confirm that it was indeed Miss Peach, and that she had been strangled.

“Why would anyone kill her?” Luce said sadly. “Such a harmless lady, one would think.”

“A robbery, perhaps?” Atherton said. “She carries no reticule. Did she wear any jewellery?”

“No jewellery, and she was old-fashioned in her ways, so she still had pockets under her skirts,” Luce said.

“May I look for them?” Michael asked. “She might have written all her findings in a notebook, so if the pockets are still there…”

“Should you like me to look?” Luce said.

“If you feel able to do so, that would be helpful. I do not like to rummage under the skirts of a lady I knew so well.”

Luce moved the cloak aside and quickly found the slit in the skirt that concealed one pocket. It contained a few coins, a handkerchief, a small box of lozenges and an apple.

She hesitated. “Will you… roll her over a little? So that I can get to the other pocket?”

He obliged, but it contained only a prayer book and several keys on a ring. “No notebook.”

“Do you need to… examine the body?” Luce said in a low voice.

“The coroner will do that,” Michael said hastily. “He will tell me if there are any other injuries, or marks of interest. I should like to see the barn where you found signs of habitation, if you will, Atherton.”

The barn was full of hay. Just inside the door, where the hay was more spread out, Michael saw a pile of blankets arranged in the form of a rough bed, a paper bag containing a half-eaten loaf of bread and some cheese, a flask and a rather dilapidated portmanteau made of thick, woven wool, containing a few items of clothing.

“So this was how she was living,” Luce murmured. “Poor Peachy! And she was so fastidious about her person, as a rule. She was thrilled to be at Corland Castle where there was always hot water for washing.”

“I wonder why there is no notebook?” Michael said distractedly.

“There is not much here to go on, is there?” Atherton said sympathetically.

Michael could only agree. Atherton left, having other business to attend to, while Michael spent some time talking to Mr Tonkins and his family, but no one had noticed anything amiss or seen any sign of Miss Peach. After that, he allowed the farmers to carry Miss Peach gently into the farmhouse until she could be conveyed to Pickering. He gathered up all the belongings from the barn, and he and Luce rode slowly back to Pickering.

“I do not think she could have suffered,” Luce said after a while.

“No, I should imagine not. It would have been very quick, for a slight creature like that would have no defence against a man bent on mischief.”

“But why, Michael? Why would anyone want to murder poor Peachy? Even her few coins were not stolen.”

Michael pulled his horse up sharply. “Yes, why? And that is what has always bothered me about Mr Nicholson’s murder, too. Why would anyone do such a thing? It makes no sense, and Miss Peach’s murder makes no sense, either. Did you notice anything odd about her clothes, Luce?”

“They were very old, but that is hardly unexpected.”

“There was no straw on them. She was living in a hay barn, yet there was not a scrap of straw on her.”

“She was lying out in the open. Any stray wisps would have blown away.”

“No, for look at us. You have straw in your hair, I have it on my coat, and we were only in the barn for a few minutes, and not even lying down in the hay. She would have been coated in the stuff. When you pulled open her cloak, bits of it would have flown out.”

“What are you saying, Michael — that she was never in the hay barn at all?”

“I am not sure,” he said, frowning. “All I know is that there is something odd about all this. However, we have keys to identify, and her bag to examine thoroughly. Let us go back to her room at the chandlery and see what we can find out.”