Page 15 of Secrecy (The Chaplain’s Legacy #4)
T ess had hoped that Captain Edgerton would help her to return to Durham and Ulric, but he had other plans.
“Since you are currently at the top of my list of potential suspects,” he said, “I should like you to return to Corland with me. I need to talk to the magistrate about releasing Mr Shapman, and I shall hope to persuade Lord Rennington to allow me to continue my enquiries, in which case I shall want to talk to both you and Shapman at some length.”
“What about Peachy?” Mrs Edgerton said softly.
The captain shook his head sorrowfully. “I cannot myself undertake to continue the search for Miss Peach. My duty is to Lord Rennington and the murder of Mr Nicholson. However, I shall leave Sandy and James in Pickering — and you, if you wish it.”
“I had sooner be with you,” she said quietly, and the two exchanged a look that Tess could interpret all too well.
Oh, to be so well loved that it was imperative to stay together! For a brief moment she envied them that, and grief for the loss of Tom gnawed inside her like a physical pain. But that would never be her fate now, so there was no point in repining. Her fortune — that was the door to her future freedom, and another journey with Captain Edgerton would be an opportunity to wheedle the safe key out of his pocket and into her reticule.
She found that the captain was too wily to be wheedled out of anything. Whenever she raised the issue of the gold bars and whether perhaps her property ought to be in her own hands, he would merely say, “We shall see,” and deftly change the subject. Only one small piece of information did she coax out of him. When she asked how he had just happened to follow Edward up the tree and into the office where the safe was held, he laughed and said, “We were watching him. We discovered who you were very quickly — you really should teach your servants to watch their mouths. Since you were using false names, we knew you were up to something, so we watched you both. There is no mystery about it.”
On the other hand, he was adept at drawing information from Tess.
“Have you no brothers or sisters, Miss Nicholson?” he said, with his ready smile.
“No, none. Plenty of cousins, however.”
“Mrs Edgerton is in the same case,” he said. “No brothers or sisters but vast numbers of cousins. And you have grown up with yours. They have been there all your life. You shared the schoolroom with the three girls, I expect.”
“That is true. Josie and Izzy were a little older and Olivia is two years younger than I am. We did everything together, just as sisters do, but… it gradually dawned on me that I was different from them.”
“In character… or circumstance?” the captain said.
“Both, I suppose, but mostly it was that our destinies were very different. They were to be given grand come-outs in London, with no expense spared, and would marry into the peerage, and I… well, I was the chaplain’s daughter. No grand come-out for me.”
“Did you want one?” he said gently.
“Heavens, no! All that fuss, and eyeing up every man as a potential husband, and knowing that he would be looking at me in the same light. How horrid that would be! That and having to be chaperoned every moment.”
“You do not like being chaperoned, Miss Nicholson? Yet you have your maid and a manservant always with you.”
She chuckled. “Oh, yes! My faithful Betty and Harold! Mama thinks they give me consequence and protect me from pickpockets, and perhaps they do. They are also supposed to tell her what schemes I dream up, and perhaps they do that, too. But their great advantage to me is that they allow me to go wherever I want, and do what I want. At first, I was very cross about Harold in particular. Why should I need a manservant dogging my footsteps everywhere? But I soon saw how useful he is, organising the hire of post chaises or buying tickets for the stage coach.”
“Do you often travel by stage coach?”
“Not often. Only when I want to be an ordinary person and not the niece of an earl.”
He laughed, and said, “What fun! Being an ordinary person myself, I have travelled on stage coaches more times than I care to remember, and mail coaches, too, and as a consequence I am always deeply grateful for the comfort of a private carriage.”
“That is true, but one meets with such interesting people on a public vehicle. All my best ideas come from passengers on public coaches.”
“Such as?”
“The idea of being a housemaid. That was how Betty and I insinuated ourselves into Apstead House.”
The captain sat forward so suddenly that he almost fell off the seat. “You were inside the house? As a housemaid?”
“Well, yes. How else do you think Lord Tarvin knew where the gold bars were hidden?”
“I just assumed you knew… or your father had told you. Tell me about the house. Tell me everything , Miss Nicholson.”
Tess could see no reason not to comply. She told him all about her stay there, and if she skated over any details, he asked questions until he knew everything. He was interested in the recent improvement in finances, and the gentlemen callers in the evenings, but when she reached the episode of Miss Rochester, the captain was astonished.
“It was Eustace Atherton’s carriage? Are you quite sure?”
“Positive. I recognised the coachman, and the footmen’s livery.”
“Footmen on the back? How many?”
“Two, and two coachmen, and four horses. Eustace was doing her proud — no expense spared. He is not noted as being free with the readies, so it must be quite a romance.”
The captain rubbed his nose thoughtfully. “As to that… I do not think he is courting Miss Rochester.”
“Then why else send his carriage for her?”
He exchanged a glance with his wife. “We have heard, Miss Nicholson, that the ladies of Apstead House are… Luce, how would you describe them?”
“They are not of the first respectability,” she said crisply. “Not the sort of female that any gentleman would marry.”
“Oh, like opera dancers,” Tess said.
They both burst out laughing. “What does an innocent young lady like you know about opera dancers?” the captain said.
“Only that they are not at all respectable. Are they like mistresses? Grandfather had an opera dancer in London, once, and a mistress in Yorkshire, and Walter had a mistress, too, but the earl and countess put a stop to it.”
The captain laughed even more, but his wife frowned. “I cannot approve of anyone telling you about such things. It is most improper.”
“No one told me,” Tess said, with a wry smile, “but when one is small and insignificant and likes to hide away behind the curtains or sofas with a book… well, one hears things.”
The captain chuckled. “You are a lady after my own heart, Miss Nicholson.”
“So Miss Rochester is… a mistress? Or an opera dancer?”
“Well… something of the sort,” the captain said, waving an arm vaguely. “Most likely all the young ladies in that house are of that type, and Mrs Mayberry manages them, but on no account should you mention that to anyone, and especially the connection to Mr Eustace. What tricks he plays are entirely his own affair.”
“Not a word shall pass my lips,” she said, but she chuckled all the same. What a delicious titbit of information to discover about Eustace! She had never particularly liked him, for he had teased her unmercifully when she was a child, but she could respect a man who had his own little secrets.
***
N othing had changed at Corland Castle, Tess speedily discovered. The Dowager Countess lingered on, asleep for most of the day, and not fully aware even when she was awake. Olivia was still weepily miserable. The earl was still oddly distracted. Kent was still annoyingly cheerful. And her mother was as cool and composed as ever. Apart from the occasion when she had found her husband hacked to death in the marital bed, Tess could not remember her ever showing the least emotion. Sometimes she wondered if she was devoid of the capacity for it, but then she remembered the way her voice had softened when she spoke to her husband, just as his had. But neither of them had ever spoken to Tess that way.
“So you are back, are you?” Lady Alice said, when Tess first arrived. She was sitting in the library while Mr Alfred Strong read extracts from the newspaper to her.
“I am back, Mama, for a while. Captain Edgerton wished me to return. There have been developments in the matter of the murder.”
“We heard all about the developments ,” she said, her mouth making a moue of distaste.
“We thought that business was all settled,” Mr Strong said. He was a neighbour, a genial man of about Lady Alice’s age. He held a government position at the Treasury, but with Parliament not currently sitting, he lingered in the north. “Now the fellow has retracted his confession, and we still have not the least idea who might have killed poor Nicholson.”
“So you know of it already?” Tess said, surprised.
“Lord Tarvin told us,” Lady Alice said.
“Oh, him! He is here, then.”
“He was at Corland, but I believe he left this morning. He has been very helpful,” Mr Strong said. “He went straight to my brother to inform him, as magistrate, of the new information, and he has also talked to these people who say Shapman was with them on the night of the murder.”
“Gowland’s Farm,” she said in disgust.
“That is the place. A good ten miles from here, and Shapman did not leave there until about six and then walked home. He could not have reached Birchall before eight at the earliest.”
“It was a little after that,” Tess said. “I remember now, I had gone to see him very early, well before breakfast, to tell him that Papa was dead, but Tom was not in his workshop. He came in with a bag a little while later and would not say where he had been. It must have been half past eight, at least.”
“There you are, then,” Mr Strong said, triumphantly. “You have verified the truth of it yourself.”
“Tess, whatever were you about, going to see this man in his home?” Lady Alice said sharply. “I thought you had given up all thought of that foolish business. An earl’s niece cannot marry a common labourer.”
“He is a woodworker, Mama,” Tess said indignantly, “not a common labourer — a cabinet maker with his own business. You need not worry about me marrying him, for he is betrothed to a poultry maid at Gowland’s Farm, but he is still my friend. He is the only true friend I have in the world, for he was prepared to hang to protect me, and there is not one gentleman who would even have thought of it. Tom is a hero.”
“I would not call making a false confession of murder especially heroic,” Lady Alice said. “Time has been lost that could have been employed in pursuing the real murderer.”
“His family must have been distressed by it, too,” Mr Strong said. “Imagine the feelings of his mother and father! How grievously they must have suffered.”
“That is hardly likely,” Tess said. “They must have known, as I did, that he could not have done such a thing.”
“Yet he was still in York Gaol awaiting a judge to condemn him to be hanged,” Mr Strong said sharply. “Indeed, there remains a possibility that my brother may not be able to get him off. A confession is a powerful matter, Miss Nicholson, not lightly to be set aside. A man says one thing and then he says another, and who is to say which is the true version of events?”
“But he was not even there! Mr Gowland and his family will vouch for him.”
“If he is betrothed to the poultry maid at the farm, they are hardly impartial witnesses.”
“But I saw him return that morning.”
“From somewhere, and carrying a bag, but you cannot know where he had been and you are by no means impartial yourself,” Mr Strong said.
Tess felt as if she stood on a sandbar in the midst of a fast-rushing stream, with the water rising all around her. She had been so happy that Tom was to be freed! Angry and hurt that he preferred a poultry maid to her, but still, he would be released and his life would return to normal.
Yet now there was no certainty at all! His retraction might not be believed, the testimony of the Gowlands might be set aside, and everyone might say, ‘He confessed, so let him hang.’ And it would save the bother of trying to find the elusive real murderer.
But Mr Strong, seeing her distress, reached forward and patted her hand. “Not to worry, Miss Nicholson. Happily for Shapman, the parson was also at Gowland’s Farm that evening until close to midnight, and his word must carry weight. Since no one imagines that anyone could walk over those hills at night, your friend must be released from suspicion.”
He smiled at her and she thanked him for the thought, but she had a vague memory that the moon was close to full that night. Surely by moonlight the track would be clear to see? And if Tom could walk the distance in two and a half hours, he had time to walk to Corland, kill her father and then walk back to Gowland’s Farm afterwards.
“Tell me a little about this Ulric Frith that you propose to marry,” Lady Alice said.
For once, Tess was happy to talk about Ulric. Anything to turn the conversation away from Tom and the murder and the nagging fear that he might have murdered her father after all.
***
C aptain Edgerton did not look forward to explaining Shapman’s retraction of his confession to the earl. At least, he had to attempt an explanation. Lord Rennington had been cross that Michael had failed to identify Shapman as the murderer and it had only been known when he confessed. He was even more cross that the confession might not even be true.
“How can this happen? How could you not know?” he spluttered. “You accepted his word without a second thought?”
“Not at all, my lord,” Michael said. “I made him explain every detail of it at great length, but his story was perfectly consistent with the facts.”
“Yet he just made it all up? Every word?”
“So he says, my lord. He claims to have an alibi, which needs to be verified.”
“Yes, yes, so Tarvin said, and Strong has been looking into it, but why were you not doing so?”
“You dispensed with my services, if you recall, my lord,” Michael said mildly. “If you would like to re-engage me, then—”
“Of course, of course, but so much time has been lost. Do you really believe you can find the murderer after so long? Three months, Edgerton! Three months since my poor brother-in-law was slaughtered in his bed, and do you have any more idea of the perpetrator’s identity now than you did when you arrived?”
That was not a question Michael wished to address, for the answer could not possibly reflect well on him. However, he gamely said, “I have a few matters on which to make further enquiries, my lord. The illegitimate son, for instance. I did not pursue that path after Shapman’s confession. Then there are Mr Nicholson’s Pickering businesses, and his house there — I should very much like to have a look round inside. I also hope to talk at greater length to Shapman, and to Miss Nicholson, for I feel certain they can shed more light on matters.”
“Talk to Shapman and my niece? Well, I cannot see why. Shapman had nothing to do with it, seemingly, and my niece is an innocent girl, not to be dragged into this affair.”
“I only wish to talk to her, my lord. It may be that she has some information about her father — quite unwittingly, of course, not realising it might be significant — that would help shed light on events.”
“You have already talked to her, I recall.”
“Indeed, but that was before I knew of her friendship with Tom Shapman and she has been away from home since then. His confession put her in a curious position, and it would relieve my mind to determine that she knows nothing about the murder, and is completely innocent of any involvement.”
This was the right note to strike, for the earl nodded sagely. “Ah yes, determine her complete innocence. That would be acceptable, but the house… I cannot see the need to enter the house. The respectable widow who lives there is entitled not to be importuned and Nicholson was never there, you know. Everything was done through the attorneys.”
Michael made no attempt to explain that the respectable widow ran a not at all respectable brothel, so instead he said, “It is a question of leaving no stone unturned, of settling once and for all that the house is not connected in any way with the murder. Then, you see, we may restrict our investigations to more promising lines of enquiry.”
“Yes, yes. Very well then, but you must ensure that the widow is not unduly inconvenienced by it all. The minimum of disruption, mark you, Edgerton, the very minimum. You have turned Corland upside down, and one understands that and makes allowances, but a respectable widow… one would not wish to unsettle the poor lady. Hmm, so I suppose we shall have all your associates here again, shall we? That Scotsman who flirted so outrageously with Olivia, for instance.”
“My wife is with me, my lord, and Mr Willerton-Forbes is still here, I believe, looking into some legal and financial affairs on your behalf. Mr Alexander has remained behind at Pickering to continue the search for Miss Peach.”
“Miss Peach?”
“My wife’s companion, my lord. An inoffensive lady of middle years. She vanished about four weeks ago.”
“Ah, I remember now. A quiet creature, as I recall. Well, I hope you find her soon, Edgerton. I shall see you at dinner, no doubt.”
Thus dismissed, Michael made his way upstairs to the old school room, where his friend was hard at work.
“Hail, Pettigrew, and well met!”
“Michael! Where have you been? Mrs Edgerton looked in an hour ago, at least.”
“I have been with the earl, who offered me not a drop to drink and made me stand for the entire time,” Michael said, pulling a wry face. “But he did not throw me out, and he has agreed to let us go into the Pickering house.”
“At last!” Pettigrew said, pouring glasses of Madeira for them both. “Although I am not sure what good it will do. Even if it is a bawdy-house, I cannot see how that might be connected to the murder.”
“Oh, it is definitely a bawdy-house, although with only four light-skirts it must be rather exclusive. One of them was collected in Mr Eustace Atherton’s carriage, replete with four horses, two coachmen and two footmen on the back.”
“No!” Pettigrew’s face lit up with amusement. “How diverting! But we know he is that way inclined, since he had a woman with him on the night of the murder. But is it certain?”
“Quite certain. I did not see it myself, but I have it on very good authority. Also, there is more money about the place than there used to be, so I suspect the charming Mr Nicholson was taking all the profits.”
“Oh, very likely,” Pettigrew said. “That would be the purpose of the chandlery and the ironmongery Nicholson owned, to take in the immoral earnings and turn them respectable.”
“Of course. How ingenious. But what of your own investigations?” Michael said. “Are the earl’s affairs coming into sharper focus?”
Pettigrew sighed. “Yes and no. Yes, in that I now have a much clearer idea of how deep Mr Nicholson dipped into the late earl’s pockets, thanks to Lord Farramont. He suggested that the tenant farmers would know to the penny how much rent they paid, and he was quite correct in his advice. Nicholson recorded lower amounts and pocketed the difference. But no, in that it is such a large amount of money that it should have turned up by now.”
“How much?”
“Altogether? Taking into account his spurious charitable activities, and his wife’s jewellery, replaced with paste and the gems sold, it would be above forty thousand pounds, and perhaps as much as fifty. Yet his bank account held only ten thousand with another thousand in the safe here. That leaves perhaps forty thousand pounds unaccounted for, and where can such a sum be hidden?”
Michael laughed and said smugly, “I might have an idea about that.”
By the time he had told Pettigrew the whole story of the safe with the gold bars, and how Tess Nicholson had masqueraded as a housemaid to discover them, the Madeira decanter was seriously depleted.
“What on earth am I to do about these gold bars, my friend?” Michael said. “Hand them over to Miss Nicholson and pretend I never saw them? Give them to Lord Tarvin to deal with? Or tell the earl about them, whereupon they are whisked into Nicholson’s estate, giving the trustees full control over them, and Miss Nicholson must marry to have any access to her own money?”
“It is worse than that, Michael,” Pettigrew said sadly. “The sainted chaplain stole that money systematically over many years. By rights, it belongs to those from whom it was stolen — the earl, principally, Lady Alice, for the jewels, and the generous benefactors to Nicholson’s non-existent charities. If that were to be done, then there might very well be nothing left for Miss Nicholson at all.”
“She would be penniless!” Michael said, appalled. “That is dreadful! Yet… it must be so, must it not? Luce told me I must do what is right, and now I understand what she meant. Poor Tess! She has lost the man she loved and now she has lost her fortune, too. But at least she need not be told just yet. When I go back to Pickering and get into that house, I will discover the safe and the gold bars, as if for the first time, and that will be the time to tell the earl of their existence. Until then, let the poor girl keep her dreams.”