Letter from a Dead Man Read online

  ‘Very well, as you can see,’ Vincent answered with obvious pleasure. Glancing in my direction, he murmured courteously, ‘You must allow me to make you known to Lady Drusilla Davanish.’

  The captain turned to me, instantly begging my pardon for his rudeness in not greeting me on entering the room. A tall man, with weather-beaten features, he had a rather large girth which creaked when he bowed.

  ‘The truth is ma’am, I never thought to have the good fortune to meet up with Mr Saxborough again.’ Smiling, I assured him I understood perfectly how it was.

  Mr Arnold stood quietly watching, a broad grin on his face. Jeffel came in with a tray then, and I invited the gentlemen to be seated. ‘You’ll take a glass of wine, Captain?’

  ‘I’d be glad to, ma’am. Nothing like wine to sharpen the appetite.’

  As the wine was poured, Mr Arnold explained, ‘We’re on our way to visit Captain Wilson at Dittistone ma’am, so we mustn’t stay long.’ Captain Wilson, who had retired from the sea a year before, loved nothing more than to entertain officers whose ships brought them to the Isle to the Wight.

  Once the glasses were filled, and Jeffel had left the room, I looked from Vincent to Captain Kettlewell, murmuring politely, ‘I take it you gentleman are old friends.’

  ‘I like to think so,’ the Captain chortled. ‘Mr Saxborough and his son were passengers on my ship when we left New York at the beginning of July. It took us over six weeks to reach London, but I wish it had taken twice as long, for I have never enjoyed a voyage more. Mr Saxborough, as I expect you have discovered ma’am, has an endless fund of stories, and he kept us so well entertained that conversation round my dinner table has seemed very flat ever since. Very flat indeed.’

  ‘You are too kind sir,’ Vincent murmured modestly.

  The captain drank a little wine before asking Vincent, ‘Tell me, is your son with you?’

  ‘No, he’s gone off on an expedition of his own. You know what these young men are. He’ll be sorry to have missed you, Captain.’ And suggested hopefully, ‘Perhaps another day?’

  The captain heaved a sigh of regret. ‘I only wish it was possible, sir. But my ship lies anchored in Cowes roads at this moment, and we’re bound for New York on the morning tide if this weather holds, which I have to say I think it will.’ He paused. ‘Are you making a long stay on the Island? If you should still be here when----’

  Vincent shook his head. ‘I’m afraid we leave for Italy next month.’

  ‘In that case, please convey my respects to your son, and tell him how sorry I am to have missed him.’

  ‘I’ll do so gladly, Captain.’

  Mr Arnold, who had been sitting quietly, took the opportunity to explain the reason for his visit. ‘I thought you’d wish to know ma’am, that Smith’s trial is to be held next month.’ It was typical of him to bring the news himself rather than send a messenger, and I thanked him for his thoughtfulness. ‘Don’t give it another thought, ma’am. It wasn’t out of our way.’ He glanced across at Vincent. ‘Whereas Mr Saxborough went very much out of his way to show Mrs Arnold and myself a great kindness, bringing us a letter from my brother-in-law, John Delafield. Taking the trouble to deliver it personally the day after he arrived on the Island. You may imagine how grateful we were.’

  Before I could speak, Vincent said to me, a little embarrassed, ‘It was nothing I assure you. To be truthful ma’am, Mr Delafield talked so fondly of his family, I felt I almost knew them, and the letter gave me the perfect excuse to meet them. Since then, we have become the best of friends, for I found they were all as kind and welcoming as he had described. Even Miss Susan Delafield was just as I had imagined her; a delightful, if shy, young lady.’ Mrs Arnold’s sister had lived with the family for some years.

  Mr Arnold acknowledged, ‘She is a delicate creature I’m afraid, and easily upset by the slightest thing. We still tease her about the time she kept her clothes on all night during a hurricane, for fear of being blown out into the street in her night attire.’ He chuckled a little as he recounted the tale. ‘John wanted her to join him in America, but frankly, I doubt she could stand the voyage. I’ve even known her to become a trifle queasy taking the short ferry ride from West to East Cowes in rough weather.’

  Captain Kettlewell said bluffly, ‘It takes some folk that way. As Mr Saxborough here knows only too well. His poor son suffered very badly.’

  ‘He was ill?’ Mr Arnold inquired politely.

  ‘Seasick,’ the Captain pronounced heartily, in the manner of one who had never suffered a moment’s queasiness in his life.

  Vincent sighed. ‘He turned green the minute we slipped anchor.’

  ‘Mind you, it was a rough passage for summer,’ the Captain said. ‘But no son could have been better cared for, I promise you. They occupied the two most comfortable cabins on the ship, and Mr Saxborough looked after the young man himself. I had his meals brought to the cabin, which is always best, I find, in such cases. He encouraged his son to eat, to play cards, or to read, and take a turn round the deck with him when it was quiet.’

  ‘Luckily,’ Vincent said, ‘I seem to have an iron constitution.’

  Mr Arnold finished his wine and put his glass down. ‘Well, we must be on our way I’m afraid Lady Drusilla, or Captain Wilson will wonder what has become of us.’ Vincent expressed the hope he would see Mr Arnold again soon, before turning to heartily shake the captain’s hand once more.

  After Jeffel had shown Mr Arnold and the captain out, I took Vincent on a tour of the gardens as promised. Walking out onto the terrace and down the steps, he told me what a delight it was to see Captain Kettlewell again.

  ‘No-one could have been kinder to my son than he was on our long voyage. In fact, if we had sailed with him when we crossed to America last summer, I wouldn’t have had so much difficulty in persuading Piers to return home. The captain on that ship was most unsympathetic, and seven weeks is a long time to be at sea under those circumstances.’

  ‘Indeed it is,’ I agreed, looking across at him. ‘You didn’t wish to stay in America?’

  ‘Not for ever, ma’am. If I had been happy to do so, I think we would still be there, but I prefer to spend my last years in my Italian villa.’

  A pleasant hour was spent touring the gardens, which he much admired. At the top end of the orchard, we climbed the steep path up the hill, and stood looking down at Westfleet laid out below us. ‘This is one of my favourite spots,’ I said. ‘It’s the only place I can be certain no-one will disturb me.’

  ‘Perfect indeed,’ he agreed. ‘I have a similar hideaway in the grounds of my villa in Italy, where I sit and enjoy the sunshine.’

  After he had taken his leave I went into my workroom, where I noted down every detail I’d learned since Leatherbarrow regained consciousness, including the information about the man from Gosport.

  When I’d finished, having a spare half an hour before going to dress for dinner, I set about sorting out my father’s desk. He had been a tidy man, and deciding what to throw away and what to keep, was not difficult, except in the sense that destroying anything of his was hard for me. But it had to be done, I could not live in the past.

  I had almost finished, when I came across a piece of paper on which he’d written a reminder to himself. ’Solving a mystery is often a matter of asking the right question.’ Something I had obviously failed to do. I studied every scrap of information again very carefully, trying to work out what I could have asked, and hadn’t. But I still could not see anything I had missed. Not then, or after dinner, when I tried again. Yet it was there, as I was to discover much later.

  CHAPTER TWENTYSIX

  My impatience at having to wait six days before meeting the Gosport man had soon gone; in fact as we were to leave on Monday, I barely had time to prepare for the trip, acquire the money I needed, and make my plans for the crucial meeting.

  Nor could I leave without saying goodbye to Julia and my godmother. Thus, after breakfast on Saturday, I wa
lked over to Breighton House in the sunshine, carrying a basket of Westfleet’s best apples. Julia, who was out in the garden with Edward, greeted me with delight, thanking me for the apples. Sitting in an arbour, watching her son run about the garden, she asked if Giles was back yet.

  When I shook my head, she declared, ‘Surely it’s time he was. Has Lucie heard from him lately?’

  ‘She had a letter today.’ Letters had come for Lucie and Marguerite regularly, presumably written in advance, and sent by the valet awaiting Giles in London. Edward came running up then, wanting to play ‘all fall down,’ as he put. ‘Very well, young man,’ I said, ‘but may I point out I have a lot further to fall than you.’

  He responded with a gleeful, ‘Il-la fall down too.’

  Which, as I dryly remarked to Julia, showed a lamentable shortcoming in her son’s character, if he wanted to play Ring-a-Ring-a-Roses in order to see me fall from a great height. But, when he put his little hand into mine, I found I couldn’t resist. After the three of us spent a very tiring ten minutes chanting and falling down, Edward chased off after a red admiral, allowing me to tell Julia of my expedition to the mainland, and my official reason for going.

  She immediately nodded her approval. ‘Very wise, Drusilla. That hat does nothing for you. Indeed, I cannot imagine why you bought it. You wouldn’t have done either if I had been with you. Why, I could make you a better one myself. In fact, I will if you like.’

  I smiled a little ruefully. ‘That would have been perfect, but my uncle ought not to go to Portsmouth on his own. In any case, I haven’t been off the Island in over a year.’

  She began to chatter about the best place to buy a hat in Portsmouth, but I was only half listening. All I could think of was that at long last I might find out who had murdered the Saxboroughs.

  Awaking on Sunday to blue skies and warm sunshine, I enjoyed a gallop across Hokewell Down before breakfast. Tiny wisps of cloud floated against the blue sky, and slowing Orlando to a walk, I turned my face up to the sun, stopping to enjoy the view of Hodes Down, which with those sheer chalk cliffs running steeply down to Dittistone Bay, was at its most breathtaking on such a day. A man o’ war began making its way round the headland, a majestic sight with its sails billowing in the soft morning breeze.

  In this war, much depended on the success of our Navy; and it was vital to the Isle of Wight, with our position leaving us vulnerable to invasion. Yet, up here on the Downs, it was hard to believe that anything other than the bleating of the sheep, the sound of horses galloping, and the shrieking of gulls, could ever disturb the peace of our Island.

  Orlando gave a snort, eager to be off again, and I talked softly to him, running my hand down his neck affectionately, rather enjoying the pungent aroma of horses mixed with that of the sea. After today it would be at least a week before I could be up here again, and I would miss it. Yet I couldn’t wait to meet the Gosport man.

  I had told no-one how I meant to achieve this, and I knew father would have been horrified. But now he was no longer here, I had to make up my own mind. Thinking of the way young Tom’s life had been cruelly cut short, I knew I was doing the right thing, and I turned Orlando towards home.

  That afternoon, I visited my godmother, finding her talking to Vincent in the rose garden. The instant she saw me she clapped her hands in pleasure. Patting the place beside her, she urged, ‘Do come and sit down, Drusilla. Vincent was just telling me about Italy.’ He sat opposite, on a seat Marguerite had placed there purposely, as in her view, three or four people sitting in a straight line made conversation difficult.

  When I asked Vincent how long he’d lived there, he said, ‘About five years. After the gaming club was sold, I spent some time travelling and when I came across this charming villa, I knew at once I would be happy there.’

  ‘Did you never think of returning to England?’

  ‘My dear Lady Drusilla, England to me means Ledstone and this Island. And my home was barred to me.’ He spoke without bitterness, as if it no longer signified. ‘No, better by far to stay abroad.’

  Marguerite touched his arm in sympathy. ‘If you had written to Cuthbert, and told him your business venture was a success, I’m sure he would have relented.’

  He inclined his head. ‘Perhaps I should have written, but pride you know--’ And he shrugged.

  My godmother knew as well as he did, that his choice of wife was the real stumbling block, but she answered without thinking. ‘You should never let a silly thing like pride stand in the way of something you really want.’ She turned to me for support, ‘Should he, Drusilla?’ Marguerite was never intentionally thoughtless of the feelings of others, but I rested my hand briefly on her arm, hoping she would heed the warning. She glanced at me puzzled, and I answered with a good deal of constraint, that judging what other people should do was never as simple as it seemed.

  Vincent responded gratefully. ‘I knew at once you were a person with superior understanding, Lady Drusilla. But, if I had known Marguerite as well as I do now, I believe I would have swallowed my pride, no matter how difficult I found it. Still, we are what we are. To one’s own self be true.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘That is something I heartily agree with.’

  Marguerite looked from me to Vincent, her voice eager. ‘It’s not too late, Vincent. Won’t you reconsider returning to the Island? If only Giles hadn’t offered Norton House to Mr Reevers. Still very likely he won’t want it, and then you-----’

  Embarrassed, Vincent protested, ‘No, no. You are too good, but it is impossible----’

  ‘Why? I see no reason.’

  ‘Giles might not like it,’ he pointed out.

  ‘Why should he object?’ She appealed to me. ‘Do add your voice to mine, Drusilla. We cannot lose Vincent again, now he has returned to us.’

  In the weeks since Vincent’s arrival, Marguerite had blossomed to a degree I had never seen before. His presence so brightened her life, she told me later, that it helped her forget the terrible events of this year, and her worries about Giles. I understood how she felt, for I enjoyed Vincent’s company myself. His conversation was invariably amusing and always interesting. It was no wonder Captain Kettlewell missed his presence at the dining table; he was an asset at any social gathering.

  I asked. ‘Have you considered living on the Island again, Mr Saxborough?’

  He leant back in his seat, drew his snuff box from a pocket, and flicking it open, took a pinch, before answering, ‘At one time perhaps, but not now. I have become too fond of my villa in the sunshine. I’d forgotten how wet and windy this Island can be. Then I have my son to consider. He has no wish to settle in England, and I could not bear to be parted from him for long.’

  ‘No, indeed,’ declared Marguerite, as he returned the snuff box to his pocket. ‘That is something I do understand.’

  I inquired, ‘Where is Piers today?’

  ‘Out exploring again.’

  ‘If he grows to love our Island,’ Marguerite appealed ingenuously, ‘then will you stay?’

  Vincent lifted his shoulders. ‘Who knows.’

  Satisfied she’d set his thoughts in the right direction, she asked if Piers was making any progress with his sketching. Vincent wrinkled his nose. ‘Not in my opinion, I’m afraid. I find them too mathematical, but then I have always been a romantic. He’s gone to Blackgang today. I warned him to keep away from that dreadful place, but he takes no notice of anything I say.’

  Marguerite sighed. ‘So it is with all young people, I find.’ The mention of young people inevitably led Marguerite back to the wedding, and she revealed excitedly, ‘My gown has arrived at last, Drusilla. You must see it before you go home.’

  ‘I can see you ladies have much to discuss,’ Vincent said, rising to his feet, ‘and I have some letters I really must write, so if you’ll forgive me-----’

  Watching him stroll back to the house, Marguerite said wistfully, ‘I’m sure Vincent would stay if Giles hadn’t offered Norton House to M
r Reevers.’ Her mouth formed into a pout. ‘Do you think that awful man will want the house, Drusilla?’

  ‘I imagine so. If it solves his financial problems.’

  ‘Well, I wish he’d address his problems in some other way. I don’t want him at Ledstone, or on the Island.’ She twisted her handkerchief unconsciously. ‘I can never tell what he’s thinking. Nothing shows in his face--- whereas I always know what Vincent is thinking.’

  As we walked back to the house, I teased, ‘And to think you once said a Yarmouth inn was quite good enough for Vincent.’

  ‘Yes, I didn’t, did I,’ she admitted artlessly. ‘Still, how could I know he would be so perfect a companion. When I think how Cuthbert treated him, I could sink with shame. But Vincent says he forgave him long ago. He understands, you see. In fact, he admits that if Piers wanted to marry someone quite unsuitable, he would try to prevent it.’

  ‘Age brings wisdom,’ I surmised.

  ‘He is wealthy too. Which makes everything so much more comfortable.’ When I reminded her he’d made his money from gambling, she dismissed that with a wave of her hand. ‘He gave that up years ago. Anyway what does it matter how he made it? The important thing is that he’s no longer poor.’

  I teased, ‘A highwayman might say as much.’

  ‘Don’t be so provoking, Drusilla. That is entirely different. People who gamble do so by choice, no-one forces them to risk their money. And what else could Vincent have done? As a gentleman, he wasn’t qualified for any kind of occupation. Luckily everything has worked out very well for him.’

  ‘So it would seem,’ I murmured.

  ‘His clothes come from the top establishments, his valet is most superior, and he treats the servants generously. They all like him Drusilla, and indeed he is truly the gentleman. He’s a charming companion, and Giles likes him too.’

  Eager to take her mind off Giles, I asked quickly, ‘Does Vincent spend much time with Piers?’

  ‘Not really.’ She pursed her lips. ‘I can’t make that boy out. When he’s in, he says very little. When he and his father go riding together, Vincent always returns exhausted. He says the boy wears him out, and I can quite believe it. Vincent prefers a quiet life, you see. He rides a little, writes letters, reads, walks, but most of all, he enjoys conversation.’ She paused for a moment. ‘In fact, the only person who seems to get on with Piers is Mr Reevers.’