Page 22 of Loyalty (The Chaplain’s Legacy #5)

I t was a gloomy group that gathered in the parlour at the Black Swan at Pickering after Miss Peach’s funeral. Her sister from Harrogate had retired to her room, but Luce, Pettigrew, Sandy and James Neate sat around the table with Michael, sipping wine and nibbling unenthusiastically at the last remains of an extensive repast.

“What next?” Sandy said brightly. “Are we going to look at this tower over at Welwood?”

“What is the point?” Michael said morosely. “Miss Peach was never there.”

“Ye cannae be sure of that,” Sandy said.

“Wrong bag.”

“Ye’ve only Mr Kent Atherton’s word for that,” Sandy said. “Maybe he lied.”

Michael heaved a sigh. “Of course, but unless we can catch him out, what is the use? We have no specific suspect — anyone might have murdered Nicholson or Miss Peach, and, more to the point, we have no reason for murder. We have been in Yorkshire for more than four months, and we have discovered nothing. This has been my year of utter failure. I failed to protect the viscount in Westmorland, and I have failed to find the chaplain’s murderer. It is time to admit defeat and return to London, and maybe time for me to give up pretending to investigate murders altogether. I am clearly useless at it.”

The others all protested, but Michael shook his head. He had never felt so inept in his life.

“Michael Edgerton, I’m ashamed of ye!” Sandy cried. “What kind of cowardice is that? Giving up? When have you ever given up? To start with, ye can check if the man’s lying by asking Miss Parish.”

“Who is in love with him, so she is bound to support his version of events.”

“She’s also the lassie who reported his smuggling to the magistrate. She’s a fine Christian lady who’ll not lie to ye, but if ye’ll not go yerself, maybe I will. Aye, and I’ll ask her about Daisy Marler, too, and find out what’s troubling her conscience. She swore she was with Eustace Atherton the night of the murder, but maybe she lied about that. And someone needs to look properly at this tower place, to see if there’s any trace of Miss Peach there.”

“I admire your enthusiasm,” Michael said, “but I cannot see what good it will do. All our efforts so far have just been so much flailing about. We have nothing at all to show for it.”

“Nonsense, Michael,” Pettigrew said. “Your efforts have uncovered all the nasty little schemes set up by the supposedly virtuous chaplain, and you have recovered a great deal of the earl’s lost income and found Miss Nicholson’s fortune, too.”

“But look at the damage caused by going through Nicholson’s papers. We learnt that he had never been ordained, and thus threw the earl’s entire family into the most distressing situation. That was an appalling shock for them all, and they need never have known.”

“It would have come out when the earl died, and his son attempted to claim the title,” Pettigrew said sombrely. “Better to know the truth now rather than later. Michael, if you want to slink away to London, then go, but I for one am not ready to give up yet. You have said many times that we are missing something crucial, and I agree, but if we stop looking we will never find it. We must keep going. Give it until the end of the year — six months after Nicholson’s death. If we still have nothing, then I think we will all be ready to concede defeat, but while we still have new tracks to follow, we owe it to the earl and his family, and to Miss Peach, to pursue them.”

Michael sighed. “Very well. Miss Parish, Daisy Marler and the tower.”

“And the mule,” Sandy said. “There is a missing mule to be found, too, and I for one would like to know if there are any mules in that field beside the tower. Oh, and two keys on Miss Peach’s keyring that wouldnae fit anything we could find.”

Michael laughed. “What a very persistent Scotsman you are, Sandy Saxby.”

Sandy grinned. “Aye, ye’ve taught me well, my friend.”

***

M ichael went alone to see Miss Parish. Sandy was wild to go with him, having been the one to persuade Michael of the necessity, but Michael wanted to see Miss Parish alone, and Sandy was far too young and personable to pass muster with the lady’s cautious aunt and uncle.

He went first to Mr Cathcart in his study, and put the case to him. As he had expected, Mrs Cathcart was then summoned for her approval.

“Alone? Is that necessary, Captain? She was not alone when you spoke to her before.”

“On that occasion, ma’am, I only required Miss Parish to confirm what everyone else had already told me. This time, I need her to describe everything she can recall about the interior of the tower, and in such cases, the presence of another person can be a great distraction.”

“Oh, but I could sit quietly in the corner with my embroidery, you know. I should not say a word.”

“Even so, ma’am, Miss Parish will be able to concentrate her thoughts more fully if she is alone. She will speak more freely without an audience, even one so benign as your good self, and that is what I hope for, you see — those little drops of information that arise unbidden when one has nothing to distract one. It may be that Miss Parish, if her mind is left to roam freely, will light upon the one vital clue that resolves this case once and for all.”

It was tosh, of course, and Mrs Cathcart would have pressed the point, but her husband said quietly, “We must allow Captain Edgerton to know his own business best, my dear. Katherine is a sensible girl, and the captain is a respectable man of some standing in the community. His wife is cousin to the Earl of Morpeth, remember, and he has been a guest of Lord Rennington these many months.”

“Oh yes! I never meant to suggest otherwise,” she said, flustered.

“Katherine cannot get into the slightest difficulties in here with the captain with Davis in the hall outside. Or you might wait out there yourself, in case Katherine should call for you.”

“Of course,” she said, rather pink. “I beg your pardon, Captain, if you thought… I intended no offence.”

“And none was taken, I assure you, ma’am,” Michael said, rising to bow to her. “Your concern for Miss Parish’s welfare is commendable.”

And finally, after only three more apologies, she left and Michael awaited Miss Parish. She had rather high colour when she arrived, but he knew that was her habitual state, so he took no notice. One could not be ascribing every young lady’s blush to guilt or the gaols would be overflowing.

“You wished to talk to me, Captain?”

“I do, ma’am. I understand that you were recently inside the tower over at Welwood, and I should like you to tell me everything you can remember of the interior.”

Her colour came and went, and for a moment he was afraid she was going to burst into tears. But he busied himself with pulling out his notebook and pencil while she composed herself, and by the time he looked at her again, she had straightened her spine and lifted her chin.

Sitting on the nearest chair to the door, she said, “The interior? All of it?”

“I am particularly interested in the top floor.”

And so she told him essentially the same tale as Mr Kent Atherton, of the disordered bed, the candlestick, the food remains and the bag. Every detail was the same, even the green leather bag. There was only one new piece of information, that the brazier was cold.

“You checked it?” Michael said, looking up from his notebook in surprise.

“I was curious about whoever was staying there, for the tower was chilly even in the daytime, but at this time of year it would be very cold overnight. But the brazier was stone cold. I do not think it had been lit for some time.”

“Hmm. Interesting. And the bag was definitely locked?”

“Yes.”

“And no sign of a key?”

“No. Oh, that reminds me. The key for the door to the balcony and roof was missing, too. The door was unlocked, though, yet Mr Atherton said it had been locked on his previous visit, and the key was missing then, too.”

“Now, that is very curious,” Michael said thoughtfully, for when he had visited the tower, the door had again been locked. Who was locking and unlocking it, yet keeping hold of the key?

When he had exhausted every aspect of the tower, he said, “I understand that you have engaged Daisy Marler as your lady’s maid. Could you tell me how that came about… how you met her?”

“Daisy? Oh… let me see… we met in church… not at a service, though. I had never seen her at a service. I had gone in one day to pray, and there she was, weeping at the altar rail. She told me her conscience was troubling her, I advised her that she would feel better if she corrected her transgression, although she did not seem to want to. She told me she had too little to do, and as I was sharing a maid with two of my cousins, I saw a way to improve all our lives a little. She has never been a lady’s maid before, but she is proving to be a quick learner.”

“She has not caused any trouble in the household?”

“Daisy?” she said, sounding surprised. “No, not at all. She is a willing worker, and gets along with everyone.”

Michael chewed his lip thoughtfully. It was not for him to warn Miss Parish against talking too intimately with Daisy, a girl who had made a useful additional income by being obliging to Eustace Atherton, and no doubt plenty of other men. And perhaps Daisy had repented of her former ways, and only hoped for a fresh start in a more respectable occupation.

Still, he had to ask the obvious question. “Did she tell you anything of her… transgressions?”

“Not in detail, and I did not like to pry, naturally.”

“In general terms?”

“She said that she had told a lie.”

Michael sigh of relief was almost audible. “Oh, a lie! That is… interesting.” But his next thought was that perhaps Sandy was right again, and she had lied about being with Eustace Atherton on the night of the murder. That would be a far worse transgression, all things considered.

“Is it? I told her that the best way to ease her conscience was to tell the truth, and later she said the lie no longer troubled her, so perhaps she did so.”

And perhaps she had merely stopped worrying about it.

“Do you suppose I might talk to Daisy? If you have no objection?”

“I shall ask my aunt.”

Within moments she was back, Daisy was sent for, and they talked for some time of the tower and all she had seen there. After Michael had exhausted that subject, he took the opportunity to ask about mules, and whether she had noticed any in the field beside the tower.

“I did not notice particularly, no. I am not sure I could identify a mule unless it— Oh, look! Daisy is running down the drive!”

Michael was out of his chair instantly, tearing out of the house in pursuit. Daisy was a little too plump for speed, and was besides hampered by her skirts, so Michael caught her just at the end of the drive and grabbed an arm.

“Stop right there, Daisy!”

To his astonishment, she dropped to her knees at his feet, tears cascading down her face. “Oh, please, sir! Please don’t have me transported! Me ma would be that upset. Or lock me up, neither. Them gaols are foul places where people die, and the colonies are hot and nasty. Please don’t send me there!”

Michael dropped to one knee beside her. “Daisy, I promise you no one intends to have you transported, but I do need to talk to you, and you must tell me the truth, do you understand? All the truth, nothing left out. If you can do that, you will not be transported or put in gaol or punished in any way. Is that clear?”

Mutely, she nodded. It took some little time to gently urge her back into the house, and then to persuade the hovering Mrs Cathcart, much inclined to scold, from the room. Then a glass of something and several more minutes of reassurance before Michael could begin his questions. But the first one got right to the point.

“Daisy, when I talked to you before, you told me that you were with Mr Eustace Atherton on that night in June when Mr Nicholson was murdered. Was that the truth?”

A long silence. Then she whispered, “You won’t send me to the colonies?”

“Not if you tell the truth, but this is a question of murder, and lying about anything at all when asked is a very serious matter. People have been gaoled and even transported for that. But if you tell me the truth—”

“I weren’t there!”

Michael sighed. “Mr Eustace paid you to say so, I suppose.”

She nodded. “Twenty pounds! I never had so much money in my life before, and he said it weren’t a real lie because I’d stayed the night there before, and he did have someone staying that night, but she were a real lady, and he didn’t want it to get about that she stayed the night with him. She’d be ruined, he said, and he didn’t want her name brought into it, but everyone knows I’ve obliged him from time to time, don’t they? But then me pa found out about the money and wanted to know what I’d done to get so much, and he was that angry with me and told me I’d be transported if it came out. So he sent me to me uncle in Birchall and I were that upset to be away from home, sir, and nothing much to do, but Miss Katherine’s been so kind to me and I really don’t want to lose my place here, sir, truly I don’t.”

“And is this the complete truth, Daisy?” Michael said gently. “Mr Eustace told you there was a lady with him that night?”

“He did, sir, a proper lady, but he didn’t want her ruined. Ladies can be ruined, can’t they, sir? Then they can’t never get married. Not like me! I’m just a farmer’s daughter, and Jack Benson says he’ll wed me as soon as he’s got his own place and he don’t mind me obliging anyone ’til then, cos it’s good money for us, ain’t it? But a proper lady can’t oblige a gentleman without being ruined.”

“That is so,” Michael said gravely. He pressed Daisy a little harder, but although she prattled on at great length now that her fear of transportation had receded, she had nothing new to say, and Michael let her go. He made sure that Mrs Cathcart knew that the girl had been helpful to him, and could only hope she would not suffer too severe a scolding for trying to run away.

And then he sent for his horse, and rode as fast as his mount could manage to Welwood-on-the-Hill. It was just as well that a groom emerged at once to attend to the horse, for Michael was not minded to wait. He strapped on his sword and stormed up to the front door.

He had left Birchall mildly cross that he had been lied to by Daisy Marler, but the greater lie had gradually risen up in his mind and brought him to a boiling rage. Daisy was not the transgressor here. That crime lay at Eustace Atherton’s door, who had bribed the poor girl to say she had been with him when she had not.

So he strode into the hall as soon as the manservant opened the door.

“Where is he?”

“I am not sure if the master is at home, sir.”

“He had better be, because if he skulks in a hole to avoid me, I am liable to tear this place apart brick by brick to find him.”

“Perhaps you should make an appointment, sir,” the manservant said frostily.

“And perhaps you should be thrown off the roof for insolence. Where is he? Oh, never mind.”

He stomped across the hall and began opening doors, yelling, “Atherton!” at each. The third door brought results, for there was Mr Eustace Atherton sprawled at his ease in a chair beside the fire, a wine glass in his hand, with a man in the attire of a bailiff or gamekeeper sitting opposite him.

“Edgerton?” Atherton drawled, not moving. “What is the meaning of this unseemly row? As you see, I am engaged at present.”

Michael crossed the floor in a few strides, and hauled Atherton bodily out of his chair, spilling wine everywhere. “You lied to me, you snivelling little snake! You lied to me and bribed that poor girl to lie, too.”

“Really, Edgerton, what a fuss!”

“What a fuss? A fuss, is that all this is to you? Your own uncle by marriage was slaughtered in his bed, and you lied to me about your actions that night. Give me one good reason — just one — why I should not have you arrested for murder right now and thrown into York Gaol to rot.”

“You cannot arrest me.”

“Do you want to put it to the test?” Michael hissed, drawing his sword and levelling the point at Atherton’s throat. “Do not dare to defy me, Eustace Atherton. You paid Daisy Marler to say that you were here all that night, she has confessed that she lied and now you have no one to vouch for you.”

Silence fell. The bailiff, or whatever he might be, was edging out of the door, while the manservant stood motionless, his eyes flicking from one man to the other.

“Oh, put away your sword, Edgerton,” Atherton said tiredly. “Your posturing does not impress me. You,” he said to the manservant. “Get out and shut the door.”

The room fell into silence again. Atherton produced a handkerchief and dabbed at the wine stains on his waistcoat.

“Look at this!” he said, gesturing at the stain. “A good waistcoat ruined. Do you have to be so damnably melodramatic?”

“You lied to me, when I am investigating a murder in your own family. What interpretation am I meant to put upon that?”

“The obvious one,” Atherton spat. “You purport to be a gentleman, Edgerton. Surely you can think of an honourable reason why I might have asked Daisy Marler to say she had spent the night here — which she has done many times, in fact.”

“I am not minded for guessing games.”

Atherton sighed. “Are you going to sheathe your sword, Captain? I am not going to run away.”

Michael reluctantly acceded, for it was obvious that Eustace Atherton was not intimidated.

“There was someone with me that night, but she is a lady and I did not want her name bandied about by the likes of you. Everything that Daisy told you happened was true, except that it was not Daisy but someone else.”

“Her name?”

“Did you not hear me? I do not want her talked about as if she were nobody.”

“She is gentry, then? Or nobility?”

“Not noble, but a very respectable family. Her father would be appalled to know that she spent a night with me.”

“That I understand, but I can be perfectly discreet, when I choose to be. I must have a name and direction, Mr Atherton. Under the circumstances, you cannot expect me simply to take your word for it.”

Atherton walked across to the window, and stood there gazing out at the neat gardens. Welwood was a modest estate, but he kept it in good order.

Eventually, he turned. “I am not sure I can tell you. I promised her that no one would ever know.”

Michael moved to the side table where the wine decanters stood and poured two glasses of Madeira. “Mr Atherton, I do not seriously imagine that you crept out in the middle of the night, rode the twelve miles to Corland, murdered your uncle, and calmly rode home again with no one any the wiser. For one thing, your grooms all assure me that no horse or saddle was removed overnight, and I believe them. I also know perfectly well that you had someone in your bed that night, because your cook showed me her records of the dinner that evening, and breakfast the next day. So I am not here to trip you up. But you lied to me, and nothing less than perfect honesty will satisfy me now. I must have the name and direction of the lady.”

Atherton chewed his lip, but then took a deep breath. “Her name is Rosamunde Wilkes. Her father’s estate is beyond Newcastle, but she often stays with her aunt in Scarborough. That is how I met her. The aunt is… helpful, shall we say in the matter of overnight visits.”

“Is Miss Wilkes at Scarborough just now? I shall need her direction, so that I can talk to her.”

“No! You must not!”

“I shall avoid her father, naturally, but you must see that I have to talk to her. You can bring her here, if you prefer.”

Atherton was breathing heavily, but after a moment he nodded, curtly. “Very well.”

“And soon,” Michael said. “York Gaol is still an option, Mr Atherton. You have one week to produce the lady.”