Page 11 of The Peculiar Incident at Thistlewick House

Edward made his way back to the Sailmaker’s Arms, to wait for Carl out of the storm.

He hadn’t noticed before but the snug to the right was a coffee room.

Jacob Palmer informed him that the current vicar, Reverend Fallow, was a temperance advocate who’d tried to enforce complete abstention on the village a few years back but there had been quite the revolt.

Lord Felthorpe had suggested turning part of the Sailmaker’s into a coffee house and supported the change financially when it turned out that limiting alcohol, rather than banning it, was far more effective.

And running the two businesses made his hostelry sufficiently profitable.

Edward ordered a strong coffee to warm himself and tried to thaw out by the fire, as Banjo came to sit by his feet.

‘You’re quiet tonight,’ Edward observed, and the landlord stared at him in disbelief.

‘That’s because you’re the only one mad enough to venture out in this obscene weather!’

‘Myself and Maude Grimmer,’ he said, settling on a wooden bench and patting the adoring dog. ‘I’ve just seen her on the beach.’

Jacob shook his head. ‘She’s bad news, that one.

No one likes her coming into the village but there’s nothing we can do about it because she lives beyond our boundary.

Even Lord Felthorpe has given her up as a lost cause.

He’s always looked kindly upon the unfortunate, like when he made sure Noah Garrod was given a house with his brother when others wanted him sent to an asylum.

’ He leaned forward on the bar to stress his next point.

‘But he’s also not afraid to root out trouble.

When he’s had lazy or dishonest tenants in the past, he’s evicted them.

In the case of one particularly undesirable family, God intervened and they all came down with some mystery illness that lasted weeks, becoming so sick, they eventually left of their own accord.

Sometimes, there is no helping those who won’t help themselves.

Unfortunately, Maude’s property is her own; we can’t make her leave.

Although, as she gets older, she keeps herself to herself more. ’

‘Did she have any quarrel with the Shaws?’ Could she have been responsible for Emma’s death? Edward fleetingly wondered.

‘She’s generally been unpleasant to everyone for her twoscore years. I even remember her being spiteful as a child, but I don’t recall any specific quarrel with them. Why d’ya ask?’

Edward knew of old not to reveal his hand.

He trusted no one. But would a drunk like her really have the cunning to creep about Thistlewick House?

Even if she had, as someone prepared to snatch a gold chain from his hands, she’d surely have pocketed small items of value to fund her drinking. His cousin had reported nothing stolen.

‘Because I came across her on the beach just now and she was rude to me again. I’m not sure she even knows who I am.’

Mr Palmer shrugged. ‘She might have overheard talk in the grocer’s. Mrs Drayton’s brother owns it, so they’ll have been told of your stay and, as Silas made clear, we’re wary of strangers.’

‘She was collecting some bones that have fallen to the shore from the cliffs this side of the woods, as there’s been a landslide up towards Sheringham.

I think it might be an unmarked grave of some description because she picked up a human skull.

Who should I report it to? I feel the authorities should be notified, even if the burial is ancient. ’

Palmer frowned. ‘Can’t think a pagan burial would be of any interest to the police, but that’d be Constable Lovett. Leave it with me and I’ll tell him in the morning when I take Banjo out.’

The dog heard his name and opened his eyes, swivelling them hopefully towards his master without moving his head. Neither walk nor treat were forthcoming, so he closed them again.

When the mail coach finally arrived shortly afterwards, Edward braved the storm to meet Carl, pleased to find the driving rain had eased somewhat.

His man had a small trunk with him, containing some more of his master’s clothes and his spiritualist paraphernalia.

Together, they lugged it into the post office and the postmaster arranged for someone to drop it down to Thistlewick House first thing in the morning.

Carl’s more modest belongings were in a large canvas haversack that he slung over his back, so the pair of them turned up their collars against the biting wind and headed for Copperpenny Lane.

‘Lady Temple has organised a very public memorial service for her husband,’ Carl said as they walked, updating him on events back in London. ‘Looks like the old girl fell for it. I reckon you could squeeze more out of her. Get her along to another meeting when we’ve tied up this nonsense.’

‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ Edward replied, realising his man had not yet been apprised of his recent good fortune. ‘Because if we play our cards right, there will soon be more money in the Cattisham Orphanage Fund than I could have ever hoped for…’

* * *

The funeral of Mrs Shaw was held two days later.

Edward tentatively suggested to his cousin that a human hand was responsible for Emma’s death, but he wouldn’t have it.

The perpetrator had been an evil child not of this world, he insisted, who had threatened to kill everyone.

Had Edward come to Thistlewick when he’d first written, he would know this.

As much as it pained Barnabas, however, he would not approach the coroner to reopen the inquest, because even he recognised that there was no ruling that would cover such a cause of death.

‘It breaks my heart that she’ll forever be thought of as taking her own life,’ he said.

‘But the Reverend Fallow has been very kind about it all. With the recent change in the law, she can be buried in daylight hours with the full Christian burial rites, as she was deemed not of sound mind. He’s insisting the grave is tucked away in the far corner, however, but as I accept that technically it was her own hand that administered the dose, it’s the best I can hope for.

I anticipate that your spiritual enquiries will at least uncover why the child did such a heinous thing… ’

Edward was part of the simple procession that followed the hearse, drawn by two black-plumed horses, up Copperpenny Lane, around the edge of the common and across to the small Norman parish church.

After the service, the Reverend Fallow left the handful of mourners to linger at the graveside – all sobered by the injustice of a death undoubtedly brought on by the insanity associated with her illness.

A very elderly lady, introduced as Mrs Cleyford, and assisted by her spinster daughter, tottered over to Barnabas to pay her respects.

She expressed her sorrow at having outlived someone so young.

Barnabas later confided, she was the oldest woman still living in the village, having recently celebrated her eightieth birthday.

The Benevolent Committee had organised a small tea party in the church hall back in the summer to mark the occasion.

She eyed Edward suspiciously but did not address him.

‘Everyone that passes away in Thistlewick is younger than me now. I’ve seen them all grow up and she was one of the best. Gave much of her time to planting flowers in the village and spent that whole summer looking after the butcher’s children when they lost their mother.

Such a shame she never had any of her own. ’

Barnabas, who was on the brink of tears, found her kind words too much and merely nodded before steering Edward over to Dr Appleby and his father, making the introductions.

The older man had been the village doctor for two generations before his wandering mind had required him to retire, and had brought Mrs Shaw into the world, so was naturally deeply upset to witness her leaving it.

He might not know what he’d eaten for breakfast, the son confided, but historic events, like delivering Emma in the middle of a heatwave thirty-four years ago, were firmly etched into his withering brain.

‘Should be me in that box. I’ve done bad things.’ The old man raised a wrinkled hand and pointed to the hole before them.

His son put his arm out to calm his father and offered gentle words.

‘Now, now, you’re getting muddled again, Dad.

Reading too many newspapers.’ He turned to Edward and lowered his voice.

‘It’s his infirmity of the mind. He gets confused about what is real, what’s a dream and what he’s read somewhere.

He told me not ten minutes ago that one of the tastiest things he’d ever eaten was a meal of zebra…

Honestly, I don’t know where his brain even goes these days. ’ He rolled his eyes.

‘Damn fine it was, too,’ the old man said and then raised a finger to his lips to signify the secretive nature of his words. ‘But we mustn’t tell anyone. Keep it just between us.’

Barnabas took his arm and led him to the lychgate, keen to hear his recollections of Emma as a child, whilst the doctor and Edward trailed behind.

‘I hear you’re one of those fellows who claims to contact the dead,’ the son said, as the two men fell into step.

‘Ah, as a man of science, you suspect me to be a charlatan.’

The doctor shrugged. ‘As a man of science, I never rule anything out. Whilst it’s not something I announce, I’m genuinely interested in spiritualism.

I would, however, appreciate your discretion in this regard.

In your professional opinion, Mr Blackmore, could the spirit of some long-dead person possibly have possessed Mrs Shaw? ’

Edward felt flattered that the doctor saw his line of work as a profession.

There was no recommended training or formal qualification you could take in order to set yourself up as a medium, which was part of the problem – anyone could claim they were a channel between this world and the next.

He also wanted to laugh at the doctor’s enquiry – the very idea that Emma had been possessed was preposterous.

But as his whole reputation was built on similarly abstract ideas, he trod carefully, especially as Carl had arrived with news that the cynic Dr Doyle – who’d attended his recent séance – had been so intrigued by what he’d witnessed, that he, too, had made a sizeable donation to the Cattisham Orphanage Fund.

‘I’ve never come across a person possessed before,’ he replied.

‘The souls I communicate with have lost their physical bodies, and their spirit merely awaits entry to the next world. As you know, I arrived too late to properly investigate Mr Shaw’s claims, but I suspect the fever had altered his wife’s mind in some way.

He has, however, insisted that I perform a séance to establish this.

If her spirit is willing to speak to me then she may well have the answers he seeks. ’

‘Which aligns with my professional opinion – Emma Shaw had a raging fever, and such high temperatures inevitably harm the vital organs. She’d clearly suffered some damage to the brain, leading to her extreme psychosis, and the name she gave was undoubtedly one from fiction.

Her tales of waggons, dancing horses and men on fire were equally likely from storybooks.

I am, as you rightly suspected, not a man easily given to flights of fancy, and so spiritualism is an uncomfortable bedfellow alongside my strong faith but, in the interests of research, I’d be keen to attend should you conduct such a session. ’

Edward considered the man’s request. The doctor was being surprisingly frank with him, admitting that he was at least open to spiritualism, so he decided to trust him with his concerns surrounding Emma’s passing.

‘I understand you gave evidence at the inquest but perhaps I might ask why you believed Mrs Shaw’s death to be self-inflicted?’

The doctor shrugged. ‘She was highly agitated and was violent towards myself, and later Mrs Drayton, with no provocation – a woman who’s served her family faithfully for years.

We believe she stole the morphia box from my bag the previous evening but didn’t know what she was doing.

It may even be that she was trying to alleviate her own distress and simply overdosed.

Whatever the truth, I’d isolated her, and the housekeeper was outside the bedroom for the duration of the night.

When I checked on Mrs Shaw at six o’clock the following morning, it was immediately obvious that she had been dead for several hours, clearly choosing a time to leave this world when the household were asleep. ’

‘But my cousin informs me that his wife was left-handed, despite many years of forcing herself to adapt, and the syringe was injected into her left arm.’

Dr Appleby’s head jerked in Edward’s direction.

‘Now that I do find interesting. I’d no idea she favoured the left hand and wish Mr Shaw had shared this information with the coroner.

’ He looked about to see if anyone was close enough to overhear their conversation and lowered his voice.

‘It throws a very different light on events. If what you say is true, then I would agree with her husband – in a moment such as that she would have instinctively picked up the syringe with her left hand.’ He frowned.

‘Do you think someone else administered the fatal dose?’

Edward returned the shrug.

‘My cousin cannot conceive of anyone who would wish her harm and it’s why he remains adamant in his conviction she was possessed, and that it was the spirit of the child who executed the heinous deed.’

The doctor frowned. ‘But why on earth would a long-dead little girl wish Mrs Shaw harm?’

It was a question Edward couldn’t answer.