Page 28 of The Fortunes of Ashmore Castle

Sebastian hesitated. ‘It was idle curiosity,’ he said. ‘I’d heard about the area, I thought I’d go and have a look for myself.’

‘Heard about it? Interested in slums, are we?’

‘I’d heard that young bucks like to go there and carouse.’

‘Carouse?’ He tasted the word like an unusual potion. ‘At eleven o’clock in the morning?’

Sebastian took the battle to him. ‘Why am I being held here, Inspector?’

The inspector raised his eyebrows. They were very bushy and, what with the Dundrearies and a large moustache, didn’t leave much of his face uncovered, except for his chin, which was like a knob of pumice.

And his eyes, which were uncomfortably sharp.

‘A man is dead, Mr Tallant, that’s why. And you’ve got some explaining to do.

How do you know Jack Hubert, or Hubbard as he’s sometimes known? ’

Sebastian had prepared for this question. ‘I’ve never met him before in my life, and that’s the truth.’

The inspector stared at him for a long time, and Sebastian stared back.

His ribs ached. The knife that had been intended to stab him had, thanks to his jump backwards, only skittered across his front, but it was a long slash, and it hurt.

It had ruined his shirt, of course, and he hated to sit here in cut and bloodstained linen, but they had not offered him a change.

A doctor had been summoned to examine the cut, had put half a dozen stitches in the deeper end, and bound it up, after which Sebastian had had to resume the ruined shirt.

And then there had been a long wait in this room until the inspector came in.

‘But you killed him all the same,’ the inspector said at last.

‘I did not, sir. His death was an accident. And there were plenty of witnesses who saw him pull out the knife and try to stab me.’

‘Yes, and that’s the thing that’s bothering me. Why would Jack Hubert, or Hubbard, want to stab Mr Sebastian Tallant, who he’s never met before in his life?’

‘The man was drunk,’ Sebastian said. ‘I could smell it on him. He just came at me like a madman. I had to defend myself.’

‘Hmm,’ the inspector said. As if in acknowledgement of his job title, he went on inspecting Sebastian in silence.

At last Sebastian said, ‘Can I go now? I’m not feeling very well. And I need clean linen.’

The inspector seemed to come to a decision. ‘You will have to remain in the area for the time being. There will be an inquest, and you’ll be called as principal witness. Where are you staying in Brighton?’

‘At the Grand.’

‘Of course you are. Well, one of my constables will take you there and see you safe to your room.’

‘There’s no need.’

‘Not for your sake, but for ours. So we know where you’re stashed.

And I do advise you, Mr Sebastian Tallant, to stay put, and not to think you can go wandering off before the inquest, because that would be a very bad idea, and put you in bad odour with – what did you call it?

– the forces of law and order. Which at the moment is me.

I’m a patient man, my wife tells me, but I don’t take kindly to being messed around. ’

‘I have no intention of going anywhere.’

The inspector stood. ‘Very well. Wait here and I’ll send a constable to see you home.’ He got to the door, and then turned quickly, as though wanting to catch Sebastian at something. ‘One of the witnesses said they heard you asking Hubert about his wife, just before the fight started.’

‘They must have been mistaken,’ Sebastian said, keeping his gaze steady.

‘How do you know Hubert’s wife?’

‘I don’t. I didn’t even know her name. I’ve never met her or heard of her before.’

‘Really? Because she’s known as a bit of a gay girl, if you get my drift.

Free with her favours – or not exactly free but, say, for half a crown she’ll be as friendly as you like.

Are you sure you’ve not heard of her? Maybe you asked Jack Hubert for an introduction, not knowing he doesn’t like her to engage in trade. ’

‘I’ve never met Hubert or his wife before. He was drunk and attacked me and I defended myself, that’s all,’ Sebastian said desperately.

The inspector stared in silence, then nodded and went out.

Sebastian held himself together a moment longer in case he popped back in to catch him out, then groaned and put his aching head into his hands.

How much trouble was he in? Hubert’s death had been an accident, but his blow was a contributory cause.

Supposing witnesses said he was looking for him, supposing they said he started the fight, would that make it manslaughter?

Would he go to gaol? Prison would kill him – he couldn’t go to prison.

Perhaps he should consult a lawyer. And, oh, God, what would the scandal do to the family?

He didn’t allow himself to think about Dory. Not just then.

* * *

‘Oh – Rose?’ Mrs Webster called from her room as the head housemaid passed the door. She came in. ‘I was thinking while Mr Sebastian’s away we should give his room a good spring cleaning.’

‘All right. I’ll organise it.’

Mrs Webster saw Dory beyond the door, listening, and called her. ‘Did you hear? I said we should thoroughly clean Mr Sebastian’s room.’

‘How long is he away for?’ Dory asked.

‘He said a few days. He didn’t take Mr Crooks with him, so he probably went to London – he doesn’t take a servant when he stays at his club.

What I was going to say was that there’s that worn place in the carpet in front of the wardrobe – do you think you can mend it?

Otherwise we’ll have to turn the carpet, and that means taking all the furniture out. ’

‘I can mend it,’ Dory said. ‘Did he say he was going to London?’

Mrs Webster frowned. ‘He wouldn’t tell me where he was going, would he?’

‘No, of course not,’ Dory said, and moved on out of sight.

‘Strange thing to ask,’ Mrs Webster said.

‘If you ask me, she spends too much time alone,’ Rose said, ‘up in the sewing room or the upstairs linen room. You ought to tell her to do her work down here. It’s not healthy to be alone all the time. Makes you go queer in the head.’

‘She sees enough people at mealtimes,’ Mrs Webster said. ‘She’s a sensible woman. I wouldn’t interfere.’

Rose shrugged. ‘The heavy laundry’s come back, by the way.’ They sent out the sheets to the Ideal Laundry in the village. ‘I was just going to put it away, and then I’m going out.’

‘Oh, it’s your afternoon off, isn’t it? Can you check the sheets as you put them away? The binding on one was torn last week. I don’t want any torn sheets when we’ve got visitors.’

‘They’re only old friends of his lordship’s. Arky-whatsits. They won’t complain – if they even notice.’

‘We have standards at Ashmore Castle,’ said Mrs Webster. ‘And a tear in a sheet only gets bigger. Someone always puts their foot through it. Besides, Lord and Lady Denham are coming, and it would be just my bad luck if the one torn sheet ended up on their bed.’

‘How are they going to get on with the arkies?’ Rose asked. ‘Funny mix, isn’t it?’

‘Lord Denham has a herd of prize cattle, and Mr Richard wants to talk to him about them. And Lady Denham, apparently, is keen on gardens, so her ladyship can chat to her while his lordship talks about archaeology.’

‘Arki-ology, that’s the word,’ Rose said. ‘Why they can’t just call it digging I don’t know.’ She turned to go.

‘Going anywhere nice for your afternoon off?’ Mrs Webster asked absently, going back to her ledgers.

‘No,’ said Rose, without turning.

A kindly chambermaid found Sebastian an aspirin, and he went to bed early and slept heavily.

His first movement on waking caused him to wince as it jogged his wound, and brought the situation rushing back to him.

He groaned at the thought of the trouble he was in.

Was there no end to the pain Jack Hubert could cause?

His head felt stuffed with cotton-wool, and he thought longingly of the clean sea air outside.

A walk along the front would do him good – he had some thinking to do.

He got up, slipped along to the bathroom to wash and shave, came back and dressed.

Putting on a clean shirt was painful – any move that required raising his arms pulled at the wound.

When he slipped his watch into his fob pocket, he discovered it was after ten: he must have slept for twelve hours.

Down in the hotel lobby, an unremarkable character was propping up the desk talking to the clerk in the manner of a bosom friend.

As Sebastian walked to the street door, the unremarkable character righted himself and followed.

Outside, Sebastian hesitated, looking left and right, then turned left, and a few yards along, as he paused to check if the road was clear to cross, he saw the character was still behind him.

It was a breezy day, the air was full of the smell of salt and seaweed and the cries of gulls.

He walked slowly along the promenade, breathing as deeply as was comfortable, and his shadow followed about ten paces behind him.

So that was it. The inspector was making sure he did not abscond.

For a moment he wondered what would happen if he broke into a run.

Would there be a hue-and-cry? He imagined himself running to the station, jumping on the first available train and abandoning his luggage at the hotel.

Would they physically stop him? But he couldn’t have run in any case – his wound was too painful.

And, besides, they knew where he lived. No, he would have to stay, face the inquest, and establish his innocence.