The Truth-Seeker's Wife Read online

  He muttered, ‘Of course, quite so.’

  It was how it would look to anyone, I thought. Beresford could be excused assuming, on first sight of the body, that was what had happened. But there was something about that tiny, bloodless injury that made me uneasy. I was already very worried by this new death following so quickly on the earlier one.

  ‘I shall have to visit the scene myself,’ I continued. ‘But it has grown rather dark.’

  ‘Under the trees where the path runs it will be impossible, this late, to see much, even with lanterns,’ Beresford said. ‘But I ordered the area secured. There are barriers at both the entrance and exit from the path to prevent anyone using it. And I sent out word to the farms that no one is to go near the woods. I don’t think anyone will. They will all be too terrified.’

  ‘Hm,’ I murmured. Having the area so secure also meant that if anyone wanted to tamper with the scene, they could do so without fear of being disturbed. ‘I will come early tomorrow,’ I said. ‘Perhaps Tom Tizard could fetch me from the Acorn at around nine? And now perhaps I should go back to the inn before it gets any darker. Would Mr Pelham be ready to leave, do you think?’

  ‘I’m sure he is.’ Beresford moved to the bell to ring for the butler.

  Warton appeared so quickly he must have been loitering in the hall. He appeared reasonably sensible and was not promising us the end of the world. Beresford asked him to tell Tizard to bring the berlin round to the front of the house.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Warton. But he still lingered and seemed to have something on his mind. Were we, after all, to hear more from Revelations? ‘I beg your pardon, Mr Beresford, but Tizard asks if, before the two gentlemen leave, both yourself and the police inspector could go out to the stable. There is something there he feels you should see.’

  ‘Tonight?’ asked Beresford, frowning.

  ‘Tizard is most anxious, sir. It concerns the horse Mr Harcourt was riding this morning. Tizard fears there may been have foul play, sir.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Inspector Ben Ross

  Tizard and the boy, Joe, were waiting in the stable yard, both carrying lanterns.

  ‘What’s wrong, Tom?’ Beresford asked sharply.

  ‘There is something you should see, sir, and the inspector, too.’ Tizard turned and led the way into the stable block. It was in the form of a large brick barn with the stalls in a row along the wall. It was warm and stuffy and smelled strongly of horse. At our entry, all the horses came to the front of their stalls, ears pricked, curious to watch what we would do. They moved restlessly, stamping their hooves, snorting, aware that something was amiss. The horse Tizard wanted us to see was in the last stall on the right.

  ‘This is Whisper, gentlemen; she’s the mare Mr Harcourt took out this morning. She’s calm enough now but a little wary of strangers.’ Tizard nodded towards me.

  Whisper tossed her head and fixed us with rolling eyes. Joe, the stableboy, slipped into the stall and spoke to her soothingly, running his hand down her neck.

  ‘She’s all right with Joe,’ said Tizard. ‘He looks after her.’

  ‘She seems to have scratches on her withers and neck,’ I said. ‘That would be from trees or undergrowth?’

  ‘She does, sir, but that’s not what I wanted to show you. Just hold her steady, Joe. I want the gentlemen to look at her front legs.’ He held the lantern so that the light fell on the animal’s lower legs. ‘See there, sir?’ he asked Beresford.

  I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to see but also peered at the places Tizard indicated. There were clearly marks and they looked to my untutored eye like cuts, rather than the scratches on the animal’s neck.

  ‘Good grief!’ gasped Beresford. ‘Wire!’

  ‘Yessir, wire right enough. All right, Joe.’ Tizard nodded at the stableboy, who released his grip on Whisper’s leg. The mare stamped her feet and began to move restlessly again. Joe stroked her neck and she quietened.

  ‘Who the devil is responsible for that? I’ll have no wire fencing on my land and Sir Henry allowed none on his!’ Beresford spoke with controlled fury.

  ‘No more he did, sir, lest any rider should set his horse at a hedge to jump it. Neither horse nor rider can see the wire, and it brings them both down.’ This explanation was addressed to me.

  ‘Do I understand this rightly?’ I asked Beresford. ‘Harcourt’s fall came about because someone had fixed wire across the path he would take through the wood, about a foot above the ground? Was there any sign of wire when you saw the body, Mr Beresford?’

  ‘No, dammit! I’d not have missed that. It’s a miracle the horse wasn’t injured, as well as Harcourt.’

  ‘A word!’ I said to Beresford and walked out of the stable. Beresford followed and waited with me in the yard. ‘Forgive me asking you more questions about your discovery of the body. But if you could think, sir, and be certain before you answer,’ I asked. ‘Are you sure there was no sign of any wire, or there having been any wire, when Evans led you to the body?’

  ‘No, confound it! I told you, I’d not have overlooked that. The horse must have had a crashing fall and, as Tizard says, it’s amazing that the animal wasn’t injured. She could have broken a leg as easily as poor Harcourt broke his neck. The horse could’ve broken her neck, come to that.’

  ‘So,’ I continued, ‘whoever set the trap did so calculating that either on his way to that last farm, or on his way back from it – depending in which order Harcourt visited the farms – Harcourt would use that track. The wire was set; and the person who set it must have hidden in the trees and waited. Harcourt came through – how fast do you think he would have been going?’

  ‘Probably at a canter.’

  ‘Fast enough to have no time to spot the trap. Down go horse and rider. The horse scrambles up and bolts away from the scene. Harcourt is left lying dead on the path. The trap-setter hastily removes the wire and makes off. I need to see the spot, Beresford, but it’s too late and too dark now. Can Tizard fetch me even earlier from the Acorn, say around eight, tomorrow morning?’

  Beresford nodded. ‘Of course. He can bring you here and I’ll be here waiting with horses saddled for both of us. We can ride out to the place.’

  ‘I want Davy Evans to be there also. He found the body, and there are questions I’ll need to ask him.’

  ‘He did. I’ll arrange it. I’ll send someone to find Evans at first light.’ Beresford hesitated. ‘My whole attention was on Harcourt, lying in the path. I saw the rock that’s been mentioned, though it seems not to have played any part in what happened. I didn’t examine the area in detail. But, now I think about it, the bushes growing by the path were crushed and damaged. The mare must have fallen against them, landed among them. It broke her fall and saved her from serious injury, if so. Poor Harcourt wasn’t so lucky. He came off and hit the surface of the path. But we’ll check all that tomorrow.’

  I did not discount the importance of the rock; but I needed to see the place Harcourt had died for myself, and think the whole thing through. And Evans, too, I needed to talk to him. Of all the people who might have discovered the body, I disliked it being Davy Evans. Oh, yes, I understood the explanation, but I still didn’t like it. Evans had been working as a groom that day at the Hall. He’d done so before, so that wasn’t strange. But it gave him an alibi and somehow that irked me. Often, in my past experience, the innocent often can’t produce an alibi, simply because they have no reason to provide themselves with one.

  On the other hand, I’ve heard some wonderful alibis from crooks in my time. And if ever you have it in mind to commit a murder in, say, St John’s Wood, then make sure half a dozen witnesses will swear you were playing cards with them in Bow at the time.

  What time had Evans arrived at the Hall that morning and begun work? Why had Sir Henry allowed the fellow to come and go in that casual way, helping out when needed or being called upon for a single job – like taking the dogcart to Southampton to bring back the luggage
for Lizzie and Mrs Parry? I thought I had an idea why that was so. But I couldn’t prove it; that was the trouble.

  ‘I’d like to go back to the inn now,’ I said, ‘and take Mr Pelham with me, unless you have further need of him.’

  ‘Tizard!’ shouted Beresford and the coachman appeared in the stable doorway. ‘Put the horses to the berlin. The gentlemen wish to return to the Acorn.’

  To me he added more quietly, ‘Take Pelham with you, by all means. His hanging about the place is beginning to annoy me. I suppose he’s anxious as to the progress of the investigation into my uncle’s death. After all, if you were to decide I killed him, it would rule me out as heir. I didn’t kill him, by the way. He was a man it was difficult to feel much affection for, but he was always decent to me.’

  He paused. ‘Harcourt’s belief he was my cousin could be irritating, too. Not that he referred to it when talking to me. But I realised he told others, as he told you. It made things awkward. Poor fellow, he is lying dead in this house, so I won’t say more against him. But you should know that, although it is true that I wanted him to remain as estate manager here, I would have made it a condition of his staying that he spoke no more to anyone of this— delusion of his.’

  ‘It’s awkward to talk about him at this moment,’ I agreed. ‘But given this “delusion”, as you call it, would it not be better if Harcourt had not remained here to run the estate for you?’

  ‘And have him go elsewhere and take the story with him?’ Beresford shook his head. ‘No. At least here people were aware of it and, like all old news, it had lost its interest for them.’

  Perhaps so, I thought. All the same, Harcourt was dead: and the accusation had died with him. That, at least, Beresford could not regret.

  A little later, Pelham and I set off. Carriage lamps were fixed to the berlin to light our way, but it was gloomy within. Pelham, seated opposite me and wearing his customary black coat, was a shadowy figure with a pale oval marking his face. I sensed, rather than saw, that he studied me. I waited for him to speak, as I knew he would, if I didn’t volunteer any information. There was a question he was bursting to ask. He asked it now, unable to wait until we reached the Acorn.

  ‘There was something of interest to be seen in the stables, I take it?’ His voice echoed in the darkness, the individual words hard to catch against the background rattle and scrape of the wheels.

  ‘There was, sir,’ I said. ‘But I am not yet ready to discuss it, you understand. It’s a matter that has to be thought over.’

  ‘Quite,’ said Pelham; and if he was displeased, his voice was as it always was, dry and unemotional. I wondered whether the fellow ever sounded pleased about anything.

  I did not alert him to the fact that the berlin would be coming back to the inn in the morning to collect me; I didn’t want him tagging along. To make sure he did not, when we descended at the inn door I whispered to Tizard, who held the carriage door as I climbed down, ‘Say nothing!’

  ‘Sir!’ replied Tizard simply. He’d understood. ‘Goodnight to you both, gentlemen.’

  It was the first time Tizard had addressed me as ‘sir’. I was climbing the ladder in his esteem.

  Pelham must have been longing to question me again about what I’d been shown in the stables but he accepted it would be in vain, so he only bid me ‘Goodnight!’ in a very grumpy voice; and stalked off upstairs to his bed.

  I remained in the study for a little, a jumble of thoughts running through my brain. Then I began to think again of the tale of William Rufus, slain by a rogue arrow. What brought that scrap of history back to mind now? I asked myself. The answer came to me. It was because Harcourt’s body had been brought back to the Hall on a cart. The body of William Rufus had been abandoned by all his companions, left lying where it fell. The dead king had been brought to Winchester on a charcoal burner’s cart. That body, too, must have received a few knocks along the way, together with a liberal staining of charcoal. So, if the broken skin on Harcourt’s forehead were due to a jolting cart, well, that would be feasible. Beresford thought so. But I didn’t believe it.

  Elizabeth Martin Ross

  The tragic news of poor Robert Harcourt’s death did not reach The Old Excise House until late that day, and unfortunately reached it while I wasn’t there. The day itself had been uneventful for Mrs Parry and only mildly eventful for myself. She complained about her ankle and said she would rest and finish The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. I walked along the shoreline and thought long and hard about all that had happened since we arrived. One conclusion I arrived at was a worrying one.

  On my return I wrote a letter for Agnes Beresford. The letter was to thank Agnes for her hospitality and to offer that of The Old Excise House in return. If she would like to come, we should be delighted to see her. In any case, I thought, a letter would be a friendly word and poor Agnes needed friends just now. Also, she needed to be away from Oakwood House for an hour or two. In my opinion it was stupid beyond belief for Andrew Beresford to have ordered the coffin to be stored, pro tem, in the disused icehouse. I liked and respected him. But because he would not have fancies about ghosts himself it had not entered his head that his wife might do so.

  I could not dismiss altogether her fear that Sir Henry’s ghost wandered about the grounds as due only to an overactive imagination. But, I had thought to myself that morning, what if Agnes’s belief was founded on more than superstition or nerves? Of course, I did not believe for one moment that Sir Henry stalked the grounds of Oakwood House, wrapped in his burial shroud. Rather, some ill-natured person might like to scare Agnes while her husband was away from the house. In addition, there was the mystery of the roses and the fan left on the piano. That was an act directed at Agnes herself, not at her husband.

  Agnes struck me as a complete innocent in all this. Nevertheless she was Beresford’s wife and he was Sir Henry’s heir. Someone had committed murder. That someone was still out there, undiscovered. Was the next target to be Beresford himself? Was someone lurking in the grounds of Oakwood House with murder in mind? Was the first part of the plan to frighten Agnes Beresford away from the house, perhaps to stay with a friend? She was an orphan, but she could not be friendless. I would have offered to spend the day with Agnes at Oakwood House, if that would help her. But Mrs Parry, though inconvenienced by the twisted ankle when it came to taking any exercise, would have insisted on struggling to her feet and accompanying me to Oakwood House in the Beresfords’ landau if it were sent for us. Agnes needed a friendly presence, not Mrs Parry with her theories of desperate villains lurking on the heath. Nor, come to think of it, with her suggestion that the vicar might be called in to drive away any ill-intentioned spirit. Possibly the vicar might not be very keen on the idea, either.

  It was now past four o’clock in the afternoon but the light would be good for another three hours. I could walk down to the village and post my letter.

  ‘But we are about to take tea!’ complained Mrs Parry. ‘What a very odd idea to walk to the village now, and just to post a letter. If the letter must go today, why not give it to that girl, Jessie? She can run down to the village with it.’

  ‘To be honest, Aunt Parry,’ I told her, ‘we made an excellent luncheon and I am sure Mrs Dennis will produce a generous dinner. I think I will go without a meal in between today.’

  ‘Really?’ asked Mrs Parry doubtfully. ‘I never miss a cup of tea and just a little slice of cake at this time of day.’

  ‘I think I need the walk,’ I said firmly.

  ‘But you walked this morning, Elizabeth, all along the beach here. I was quite concerned that you were gone so long, scrambling your way across the pebbles. You might have had the misfortune to turn an ankle as I did.’

  Her last pronouncement, just as I was leaving, was: ‘You know, Elizabeth, you can be very thoughtless about the feelings of others!’

  I pinned up my skirts to avoid the brambles and set off down the pathway to the village. It seemed very quiet everywhere. Not ev
en the birds were chirping. Perhaps, with the evening coming on, they were preparing to roost. I did feel a little guilty at refusing to stay and take tea with Aunt Parry, but I was finding her company rather wearing. I was no longer her paid companion, as I had once briefly been, and I was entitled to time of my own.

  Automatically, as I emerged from the shaded path into the open and reached the Dawlish sisters’ cottage, I looked for the pair of them, expecting to see them both seated in their usual place. But only one of them sat there, Cora.

  She watched me approach with sharp little eyes in her round, rather doughy, face. She did not smile.

  ‘Good afternoon, Miss Cora,’ I said to her.

  Her reply was unexpected and far less civil. ‘Well, truth-seeker’s wife, so now your man has more work on his hands,’ she retorted in her dour way. If, during our meeting on the heath, I had sensed her mood to be conciliatory, that had quite vanished now.

  ‘How so?’ I asked.

  Now a smile touched her lips, but it was not a pleasant one. ‘Death follows you about, it seems to me.’

  My heart sank. ‘Who has died?’ I asked. As I spoke I was searching my brain for a possible answer.

  ‘Mr Harcourt,’ she said. ‘Thrown from his horse this morning and broken his neck.’

  This was not an answer I could have expected. It was so shocking I was truly horrified and reluctant to believe it. ‘Who told you of this?’ I asked sharply.

  She looked sullen. ‘Davy Evans came by and told us, half an hour ago. It was Davy found him. Harcourt rode out from the Hall this morning and the mare came home without him. Tom Tizard started the search for him, and Mr Beresford from Oakwood House came to take over. But it was Davy found him.’

  I looked towards the cottage door, firmly shut. ‘Is Evans here now?’ I asked. ‘I would like to speak to him, if he is.’

  ‘He has ridden back to the Hall,’ she replied. ‘They are all waiting for your husband, the truth-seeker himself. But he has gone over to Southampton. Maybe he is back now and someone will have fetched him from the Acorn.’