Page 26 of Word of the Wicked (Murder in Moonlight #5)

Because everyone knew everyone else’s business and it was too easy to be caught? Or was that too cynical a way of regarding a law-abiding village?

“What sort of things have been lost?” Constance asked. “Apart from the shawl and the Gimlets’ hen.” And the school funds embezzled by Miss Fernie.

“Oh, just little things. A small wooden box of Mavis Cartwright’s.

A Book of Common Prayer from the vicarage.

Miss Mortimer lost a bracelet years ago—that was probably the most valuable, but she reckons she probably left it up in London.

That was a long time ago, mind you, just before the old squire died.

Must have been thirty years ago and more.

I wasn’t even a constable then, just a child, but I recall it being talked about. ”

Not exactly a plague of thefts over thirty years, and she could not really see how they might be related to the anonymous letters, except in so far as Miss Fernie was a known thief.

“Has anything ever gone missing from the school?” she asked on impulse.

“Not that I ever heard.” He frowned. “Why?”

Constance smiled ruefully and rose to her feet. “I don’t honestly know. I think I’m just clutching at straws. But thank you for your time and your help, Mr. Heron.”

The constable jumped to his feet to accept her offered hand and bowed as far as he could with the desk between them. “My pleasure, ma’am. You’ll let me know before you go making accusations, won’t you? Just in case of trouble…”

His sudden anxiety was not lost on Constance, though she merely replied, “Of course. Good morning!”

From the police house, she walked on to the Keatons’ shop, which she found surprisingly empty.

“Good morning, ma’am. How are you today?

” Mr. Keaton greeted her so professionally that she had no idea whether he was pleased to see her or not.

There was no sign of his wife or of any other customers.

As though he saw her looking, he added, “You have caught us at our quiet time, after the morning rush and before the afternoon surge. Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“Just information again, I’m afraid. We are trying to establish a more definite delivery time for the letters, which could make identifying the culprit a bit easier. Your letter was pushed under the shop door, was it not?”

Keaton nodded.

“Do you have a separate entrance to your house?”

“Yes, by means of the outside stairs round the corner.”

So the shop was by far the easier to access. “And you found the letter when you opened the shop in the morning?”

“Well, my wife found it when she opened the door to Mavis Cartwright, who cleans the step and the windows for us each morning.”

“Does she?” Constance didn’t know why she was startled, except that Mavis’s name had been mentioned several times this morning. No doubt the woman’s pension didn’t stretch very far and she would need some kind of work. A bit of a comedown from a lady’s maid at the manor to a village shop cleaner.

“Has done for years,” Keaton said, watching her.

“I see. What time does she come?”

“About a quarter to eight, so that we can open at eight o’clock.”

“An early start for you all, then. So Mrs. Keaton found the letter at about a quarter to eight or so?”

Keaton nodded.

“Could it have been put there the previous evening?”

He appeared to think about that. “Well, it wasn’t there when I locked the shop at ten o’clock.”

“You are open so late?”

“Oh, no! I was at a church meeting and tried the door on my way home. My wife had left it unlocked, so I had a quick look around the shop to make sure all was in order, and then left, locking it behind me. There was no letter underfoot.”

“Why had Mrs. Keaton left it unlocked?” Or was her husband simply blaming her?

Keaton shrugged. “She is a little forgetful sometimes.”

Like forgetting she had put a shawl away and accusing Nell Dickie of stealing it?

“There is little danger of theft in the village,” Keaton said quickly. “Our neighbors are honest.”

“Apart from the Dickies?”

Keaton colored slightly. “It was of no moment and no harm was done. Faye had been doing some work in the shop during the evening and come up to the house by the internal staircase in the back.”

The explanation was not really necessary, so Constance moved on. “I believe I saw your children coming home from school yesterday. Twins, are they not?”

“They are,” Keaton said proudly.

“They must be a handful—double the trouble, as I have heard it said. Mr. Grey is a twin.”

“Is he? Ours are no trouble at all.”

“Do they enjoy school?”

“They do.”

Something in his voice made her look at him more closely. “Are they academically inclined?” she asked.

“They’re bright. Paul is clever enough to expand the business in many new and profitable directions.”

“Forgive me, but you don’t seem pleased.”

Keaton gestured with one hand. “Of course I’m pleased. And proud. But he doesn’t need his head filled with unnecessary learning. University is not for him—how would we afford that?”

“I believe there are scholarships for the cleverest. Was Mr. Ogden himself not such a recipient?”

“We have no need of scholarships and universities. Ogden earns a pittance for all his degrees and hard work. Paul will be a gentleman.”

Again, Constance let it go. “And your daughter?”

“I have been persuaded to allow her one more year at school. After that, she will learn more from her mother.”

“Who are their best friends in the village?” Constance asked.

Keaton blinked. “They are friends with all the children. Though perhaps they are better friends with each other. Being twins.”

Or being forbidden from playing with the poorer children. “Then there is no one they dislike? No one they have fallen out with?”

“Nothing serious enough to upset them. Why are you so interested in the children?”

“Feelings run high over children,” Constance said. “I am really crossing off possibilities in my mind. We have to consider everything.”

“Then I gather you are no closer to finding the culprit?”

“We know more than we did,” Constance said vaguely. Though it was a pity she could not see the relevance of that knowledge.

*

Solomon, having quizzed his staff and many business acquaintances on the subject of Captain Jordan Blake of the Mary Anne , found himself outside a modest house in Bloomsbury.

There may or may not have been a maid, though it seemed to be the lady of the house, dressed to go out, who opened the door to him.

No doubt she was the married daughter with whom Blake apparently lived.

She looked surprised.

“Mrs. Tanner?” Solomon touched his hat and offered his card. “My name is Grey. I was hoping to speak to Captain Blake.”

“What about?” she asked suspiciously, glaring at the card. “He doesn’t keep well, which is why he’s living with us.”

“I understand you are his daughter? Perhaps you would be so kind as to ask if he is able to receive me? I am particularly interested in his days as captain of a ship called the Mary Anne .”

“Well, I’ll ask him,” she said dubiously. “Come in for a moment.”

She left him in the hall while she opened a door on the right toward the back of the house.

A small maid and a boot boy poked their heads out of what was no doubt the kitchen and watched Solomon with blatant curiosity.

Mrs. Tanner returned. “He says he’ll see you. Come in. Ring the bell when you’re ready to leave and the servants will show you out. I have to be elsewhere. Don’t tire him out.”

Solomon bowed to her retreating back and walked into the room she had just left.

Captain Blake did indeed look like an invalid. Huddled in a chair by the fire, his legs covered by a tartan rug, he wheezed when he spoke, and his face was beset with lines of chronic pain.

Solomon bowed and went forward to offer his hand. “Captain Blake? Thank you for seeing me.”

Blake dropped Solomon’s card in his lap in order to grasp his hand with thin fingers.

“Mr. Grey.” He gestured to the chair on the other side of the fireplace, but Solomon brought it nearer, while avoiding blocking the heat from his host.

“Your daughter tells me you don’t keep well.”

“Master of understatement, is my Elsie. I’m dying, Mr. Grey. Lungs are shot. A tumor, they tell me. Doctor says it’s not the sea air but the smoking is the cause. Something gets you in the end, eh? Elsie said you were asking about the Mary Anne ?”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“I’m investigating the death of the owner, a Mr. Herbert Chase.”

“Chase is dead?” Blake’s eyes had widened with genuine surprise, if no obvious grief.

“He was murdered earlier this week. Which must seem odd to you, considering he also died seven years ago aboard the Mary Anne , according to witnesses.”

“Must have been a different Chase.”

“Not according to my witness. Captain Blake, what took place on that ship?”

The captain gazed past him and slowly shook his head. He sighed. “Nothing good. I left the Mary Anne after that voyage, swearing secrecy to Chase—it was the only way he’d let me out of my contract. I kept my bargain. But I suppose it doesn’t count if he’s really dead this time.”

“I suppose it doesn’t.”

Blake leaned forward, peering at him. “I know you, don’t I?”

“It’s possible, though I don’t recall it. I am a ship owner.”

“A ship owner who investigates murder?”

“I have many strings to my bow. So, I believe, did Herbert Chase, and not all of them were legal.”

Blake wheezed out a bitter laugh. “Not remotely. We had a hold full of spices on the Mary Anne , enough to make everyone’s fortunes.

I genuinely didn’t know it was stolen—from several different merchants, I found out later.

I doubt Chase had paid for any of it. He had legitimate partners in the venture, one of whom was known to me.

That’s why I sailed for Chase. I don’t know if he ever meant to buy the spices.

At any rate, I didn’t suspect a thing until that night Drayman stole a couple of pocketsful. ”

Blake reached for the glass of water beside him and swallowed. He kept hold of the glass.

“What was Chase’s plan?” Solomon asked. “To give his partners an expected share of the profit and keep the rest for himself? Having spent nothing on acquiring his cargo in the first place?”

“Something like that. He was a greedy little… Anyway, Drayman was a lot more savvy than me.”

“Who was Drayman?”

“Just a rough seaman with a nasty temper and a bad reputation. I only took him on because one of my men was ill and useless and I didn’t think he’d last the voyage home.

” His eyes fixed on Solomon and began to widen.

“That’s who you remind me of! The sailor who was ill!

What was his name? Johnston or something… ”

“It wasn’t me,” Solomon said, “though I might know who you mean. He does look a bit like me.”

“Only around the face. Perhaps it’s just the—Johnny. That was his name. Decent man, but he had brain fever. He lasted until Marseilles, where we left him at the hospital to die. I should have checked back on him, but I never did. I was too busy trying to break my ties with Chase.”

“Because you had discovered the theft. Through Chase’s fight with this sailor, Drayman?”

Blake nodded. “Chase caught Drayman with his pockets full of saffron and pepper. Like most thieves, Chase hated to be stolen from, and he was furious enough to attack Drayman. I could have told him that was a mistake without at least three other men to watch his back. Drayman disarmed him and beat him unconscious with his own club. He looked dead by the time I got the club off Drayman and we managed to get him locked up. That was when Drayman told me the whole cargo was stolen. I didn’t believe him at first, but Chase actually confirmed it. ”

Blake’s lips twisted. “No, he wasn’t dead.

He came to when he was carried below. In a hell of a state, though.

Broken ribs and shoulder, blood everywhere…

He said we shouldn’t hand Drayman over to the law because it would draw attention to the cargo, and the fact that it was stolen.

Drayman wasn’t going to keep his mouth shut. I was in a bad position.”

“Because no one would believe you didn’t know,” Solomon guessed.

Blake nodded. “And Chase was quite prepared to swear that I did if I opened my mouth. I’m not proud if it, but I didn’t dare speak out.

We reached the agreement that I would remain silent and break all ties with him and the Mary Anne .

Then we separated Drayman from his spices and, without paying him for the voyage, bundled him into a ship sailing back east. We pretended Chase was dead and we were saving Drayman from hanging.

But it was undoubtedly a rough ship with a bad captain and a worse reputation.

I daresay Drayman deserved it. What Chase deserved was another matter.

He certainly got a nasty beating, but the law never touched him. ”

“What happened to Drayman? Did you ever hear of him again?”

“I never saw him. But Chase did track me down about a year ago to tell me he’d seen Drayman down by the Pool of London. He wanted to make sure I was keeping my word about silence. I was already ill by then and didn’t much care, except I don’t want my family thinking bad of me when I’m gone.”

Blake began to cough, and Solomon rose to take his glass before it spilled all over him.

When the paroxysm stopped, Solomon offered him the glass back, but Blake waved his hand weakly toward another bottle.

Sherry. With a sizeable tumbler beside it.

Doubting it could do a dying man much harm, Solomon poured him a glassful and brought it to him.

Nodding his thanks, Blake said huskily, “Chase wasn’t doing so well either, when he came to see me. He’d risen high in the business world and was falling fast. Unsound investments, he said.”

“Very unsound,” agreed Solomon, who had discovered a great deal from Lenny Knox’s list and from his own inquiries.

“At any rate, he left me alone.”

“Do you think it’s possible Drayman caught up with him? Would he have borne a grudge for the lie that he’d killed Chase?”

“Oh yes. And for us keeping his pay and the spices he stole from the original thief. You think Drayman did catch up with him?”

“At the Crown and Anchor,” Solomon said. Or was that wishful thinking because it put David, with his unstable mind and memory, in the clear? “I don’t suppose you know where Drayman can be found?”

“Some dockside brothel, I shouldn’t wonder. Men don’t change much, as a rule.” Blake lifted the glass to his lips and drank it all down, then lay back and closed his eyes as if waiting for some ease.

Solomon rose again and took the empty glass from him. “I’m sorry. I’ve tired you out with bad memories.”

“Will you make it right?”

“Yes,” Solomon said. He owed the captain for taking David to the hospital in Marseilles.