Letter from a Dead Man Read online

  ‘Shall I fetch them for you?’ I asked, laughing.

  ‘Would you?’ She bestowed her best smile on me, and I went off to do her bidding, as I had so often before, happy that she liked my solution to her problem. For, in a day or two, I would have no time for trivialities, and I wanted to keep her mind occupied. As for the murders, I would withhold the truth from her as long as I could. And I wished with every fibre of my being that I could do so for ever.

  On opening the door of her dressing room, I was greeted by the familiar smell of roses, from her favourite perfume. Her maid wasn’t in the room, but I found the bandboxes in a corner of a clothes closet, and removed the bundle of letters tied up with blue ribbon, written in Vincent’s unmistakable handwriting. Returning to the sitting room, I watched her go through them, until she eventually found the right one.

  ‘I have a lock of Giles’s hair that is very similar,’ she said, smoothing Piers’s hair with her finger. ‘I cut it during one of his dreadful illnesses. I was so afraid he would die, and I wanted something I could touch and-----’ She broke off, looking up as Parker entered the room.

  When he informed her the parson had called, begging the favour of a few moments of her time, she groaned, ‘On a Sunday?’ She turned to me. ‘You’d think he’d be too busy to bother me, wouldn’t you.’ With a sigh, she told her butler, ‘I had better see him, I suppose. It’s bound to be about the wedding. Where have you put him, Parker?’

  ‘In the green room,’ he told her. Which amused us both, for it was the coldest room in the house, and not one where visitors cared to linger. ‘The fire has not been lit,’ Parker added.

  ‘Good,’ Marguerite said, rising from her chair and pulling her shawl tightly round her shoulders. ‘I won’t be long, Drusilla.’

  ‘Shall I return the letters to your dressing room while you’re gone?’

  ‘Would you? I’d be so grateful.’

  In her search for the lock of hair, she had let many of the letters fall onto the floor, and I picked them up in order to fold them. The one that had contained the hair was still spread open on the couch, and I glanced at it again. Reading the loving descriptions of Vincent’s wife and son, and his financial difficulties of that time, I saw how right Marguerite was not to remind him of what he had written long ago.

  Packing up the letters, I retied the blue ribbon and took them back to her dressing room. When Marguerite returned, she was in high dudgeon. ‘That dreadful man only wanted to know why I wasn’t in church to hear the banns read.’

  I felt my lip quiver. ‘What did you tell him?’

  ‘Oh, I soon put him in his place. I told him I hadn’t thought it wise to go when I could feel a sore throat coming on. I said I hoped he wouldn’t catch it.’ I laughed, asking how long he stayed after that. ‘Not more than a minute. He couldn’t wait to get out the door.’

  I left soon after, for pretending everything was perfectly normal when it was far from it, was an increasing strain. I kept thinking of all Marguerite had gone through this year, and what I now knew lay ahead of her. I longed with all my heart to spare her the pain of it, but there was no way out. No way at all.

  CHAPTER THIRTYTWO

  On Monday, I woke to some pleasant hazy sunshine, but that had disappeared by the time Mudd and I left for East Cowes, and I arrived at the Customs House in a torrential downpour. This building stood close to the water’s edge, as it had done for more than 200 years. There was very little else here, apart from wharves and warehouses, and I remembered Mr Arnold saying how inconvenient a situation it was, when he, and most of his men, lived at West Cowes. But that was how it had always been, and such things were not easy to change.

  The Customs House had been extensively altered in recent times, Mr Arnold having gained the Commissioners’ approval to have the work done, provided so he’d told me, he shared in the expense. He seemed a little disconcerted at my visiting him alone, but quickly placed a chair for me, expressing his concern that I had ridden there in such bad weather.

  ‘I do trust you won’t catch cold—’

  ‘Luckily, I am rarely ill,’ I smiled ‘And I came because I need your help.’

  He inclined his head. ‘I am always at your service, ma’am.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I explained first about the Gosport man, and my fear that he might now be dead. After a slight hesitation Mr Arnold admitted, ‘A smuggler was found stabbed to death in an alley in Ride a few days ago.’

  ‘An Island man?’

  ‘No, ma’am. Jake Blandford came from Gosport. He was about thirty, muscular, dark haired with a badly pock-marked face.’

  ‘That sounds like the smuggler we met.’ As Giles had told Jacob, the man had indeed been dealt with. ‘Do you know who killed him?’

  Mr Arnold shook his head. ‘The local constables are doing their best, but it’s thought to be a case of thieves falling out.’

  I told him then what I’d overheard Giles say to Jacob, what I meant to do about it, why I needed his help, and why I did not want to involve any other authorities. It took a long time, and he agreed the courts wouldn’t convict anyone on the evidence I had. It was too circumstantial, and he sat staring at me, a shocked expression on his face. After a few minutes, he asked one or two sensible questions, shaking his head in sorrow at my answers. ‘It pains me greatly to learn that a man I like and respect is nothing but a common murderer. But, as I have observed all too often in my profession ma’am, greed can make decent men do things they would never consider normally. Nonetheless, no man is above the law, not even the King himself.’

  Getting up, he walked to the window, where he stood looking out for a while without speaking. When he turned back, he said, ‘I believe you are right, ma’am. The plan you described to me may indeed be the only way to get evidence that would satisfy a court of law.’ He heaved a heartfelt sigh. ‘Well, you can rely on me to do everything possible. But I must beg you not to put yourself in danger.’

  I promised I would try not to. ‘I shall have Mudd with me.’

  He bowed. ‘Then I must be content.’

  Thankfully it did not rain on the day of the Farewell Party, although there a stiff south westerly breeze blowing when we rode to Ledstone.

  Marguerite had surpassed herself with a delectable meal, the two courses embracing a vast number of dishes, including such delights as soup Lorraine removed with salmon, beef olives, lobster pie, stewed soles, a variety of roast meats, fricassee of chicken, stuffed calves ears, oyster loaves, her own favourite blackberry pie, a lemon tart, orange creme and even mince pies. Sitting down to the first course of this huge repast, much praise was heaped on my godmother, who confessed that Vincent had helped her choose the dishes.

  I turned to him with a smile. ‘Should I ever decide to hold a Venetian breakfast, then I shall know where to come for advice.’

  He looked at me, an amused glint in his eyes. ‘I am, of course, always at your service ma’am, though I must say I cannot imagine you indulging in any such fanciful entertainment.’

  A favourable comment by my aunt on the merits of French cuisine led to a discussion on foods from other countries. The conversation moved on to travel in general, during which Marguerite stated that, in her opinion, there was nowhere like the Isle of Wight, and she didn’t mean to leave it, ever.

  Once the laughter this remark produced had died down, Lucie said she had never gone beyond Normandy and announced, her eyes shining, ‘I should so like to travel.’ She turned to Vincent, saying she envied him his year in America. ‘Tell me, what kind of weather did you encounter there?’

  ‘All kinds,’ he replied in his pleasant fashion. ‘Stifling heat in the south, cooler in the north, of course. When we first arrived in New York the summer heat was truly oppressive, but returning at Christmas, it was bitterly cold. Great extremes of weather, of a kind we do not see here.’

  ‘No, thank heaven,’ Marguerite agreed. ‘The climate on the Island is usually very agreeable. We see very little in the way of
snow----’

  ‘And not much sun either,’ Giles cut in with a laugh, as the servants finished removing the remains of the second course.

  When Giles then began to talk of the war, his mother protested, ‘Oh must we discuss the war today? I’m sick and tired of hearing about it. And that wretched revolution, with all those dreadful French peasants. Sans— oh whatever they call themselves----’

  ‘Sans-culottes,’ Giles said, and looking across at Parker, quietly gave permission for the servants to leave the room.

  ‘Yes. Them. They are ruining their beautiful country and----’

  Piers interrupted curtly. ‘You are mistaken, madam.’

  ‘My son always sides with the underdog,’ Vincent sighed, reaching for his glass of wine.

  Piers retorted, ‘French peasants have been starved and oppressed for too long, and now they are fighting in the name of liberty---’

  ‘Liberty?’ Marguerite echoed in disgust. ‘For whom, pray?’

  Giles said, ‘No, Piers is right---’

  ‘Right?’ came a chorus of disapproval.

  ‘Yes,’ Giles insisted. ‘The French aristocracy only have themselves to blame. Neither they, nor the middle classes, ever paid their fair share of taxes, which placed the burden, most unfairly, on the peasants. And some noblemen treated their workers like cattle. I’ve seen the hovels they were obliged to live in, and believe me, my pigs enjoy better conditions. Many peasants were forced to bake their bread in the landowner’s ovens, grind their corn at his mill, use his wine press for their grapes, and pay handsomely for the privilege. Such families were literally starving.’

  Appalled, we sat dumbfounded, and Marguerite dabbed her eyes. I commented, ‘No-one can justify that Giles, but you don’t approve of what is going on now, surely?’

  ‘No. Of course, those are not the only reasons behind this revolution, but if the aristocracy had paid fair taxes and not made life insupportable for their dependents, perhaps it might not have happened, and we wouldn’t be at war now. The sad thing about the revolution is that the good are condemned with the bad, the innocent with the guilty.’

  Lucie burst out indignantly, ‘Like Papa, who is not capable of treating his dependents badly. He harmed no-one, and yet he only just escaped with his life.’

  Aunt Thirza nodded in agreement. ‘If Giles hadn’t got him out of that dreadful prison, he’d----’ She broke off, realising too late what she had said.

  A stunned silence followed, broken by Marguerite demanding in bewilderment, ‘Whatever do you mean?’ Aunt Thirza chewed her lip, but did not answer. Vincent looked baffled, while Piers sat twisting the stem of his wine glass.

  My uncle broke the silence, speaking in contrite tones. ‘I’m sorry, Giles. Since you arrived home safe and sound, I haven’t watched my tongue as I should have.’ I wasn’t really surprised, for my aunt would have latched onto any careless remark, and in a marriage it must be difficult to keep such a secret.

  ‘No matter,’ Giles murmured quietly.

  Marguerite turned a worried face to Giles. ‘Why won’t anyone answer me?’

  ‘It’s not important, Mama.’

  ‘What do you mean, not important. I want to know what----’

  My uncle broke in, ‘I think it best Giles, if I explain.’

  Giles gave a slight shrug. ‘Very well.’

  Looking round the table, my uncle said, ‘Well, we are all friends here, and just between ourselves, the truth is I owe my freedom to Giles.’

  Marguerite spluttered, ‘But I don’t understand.’

  ‘Nor I,’ agreed Vincent, brows raised in curiosity. ‘What have you been up to, my dear boy?’ Piers sat staring at Giles too, but Lucie’s lack of concern suggested she also had been enlightened.

  Giles said modestly, ‘I did very little. Indeed, anyone could have done it. There was no danger.’

  Marguerite whispered in a frail voice. ‘You mean, it’s true? You helped Charles to escape?’ The colour drained from her face and Aunt Thirza quickly took some smelling salts from her reticule, left her place and wafted them under Marguerite’s nose, begging her not to distress herself. ‘None of us knew what he meant to do and, thankfully, he’s quite safe now. Believe me, I cannot express to you how grateful I am.’

  ‘Yes, but----’ She turned to her son, her eyes wide with fear. ‘You could have been killed.’

  Giles lied calmly, ‘There was never a chance of that, Mama. Or I wouldn’t have done it. Now let us talk of something more interesting.’

  Unsurprisingly, no-one was prepared to talk of anything else, until Giles explained how the escape had been accomplished. He did so reluctantly, skilfully skimming over the risk to himself, making it appear that his role was a minor one, and that his French accomplice was the real hero. Which slowly brought the colour back into Marguerite’s cheeks, and apart from admonishing him for taking such risks, she said very little more. I guessed that now he was safe and about to be married, she saw no further cause for worry. And I suspected that once over the initial shock, Marguerite would be really rather proud of her son.

  ‘Well, my boy,’ commented Vincent jovially, ‘you won’t return to France in a hurry, eh?’

  Which, not unnaturally, reactivated Marguerite’s fears, until Giles answered in a decisive manner, ‘No, you can be very sure of that. I mean to settle down to a happy married life, looking after my estates and tenants, as a man in my position should. In fact, I doubt I shall leave the Island, except to take my beautiful wife to London. Or wherever else she desires to travel.’

  ‘I’m very thankful to hear it,’ Vincent remarked. ‘Not every young man is as wise. Or I might add, as fortunate to win the hand of such a lovely girl as Lucie.’ He winked at her, making her blush furiously. ‘Talking of the wedding,’ he went on. ‘Is Mr Arnold invited?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘He has been a good friend to the Davanishes of Westfleet. Why do you ask?’

  Vincent chuckled. ‘Well, I bumped into a very worried sexton this morning. The brandy that should have been removed from its hiding place in the crypt, is still there, and can’t now be shifted until after the wedding.’

  Laughing, I said, ‘I hardly think Mr Arnold will be looking for contraband during a wedding ceremony.’

  ‘That’s what I told him, but the fellow is already a bag of nerves. As he said, he has his position to consider.’

  From smuggling, the conversation turned to wines chosen for the wedding breakfast, which led to other subjects concerning the happy occasion. Marguerite seemed in no hurry to leave the gentlemen to their port, and even when she did signal to the ladies, the gentlemen rejoined us within half an hour. It was altogether a memorable occasion, and even Piers was seen to smile from time to time.

  Mr Reevers returned to the Island the following morning, and came over to Westfleet that very afternoon. Determined to keep him at arms length, I nevertheless couldn’t resist his offer of a ride across the Downs. I sent a message to Mudd to have Orlando saddled, instructing him he was to accompany us.

  Amused, Mr Reevers mocked, ‘Observing the proprieties, ma’am? Your aunt will be pleased.’

  ‘True,’ I said, pulling on my gloves. ‘I must make a point of telling her.’

  Some minutes later, crossing the courtyard to the stables, he said, ‘Are you afraid to be alone with me? Is that it? You need not be you know.’

  He spoke in such soft caressing tones, my heart began to thump alarmingly. I made the mistake of looking up at him, and the expression in his eyes made me catch my breath. I looked away, answering in as dignified a voice as I could manage, ‘If you remember, after that business with the cliff fall I promised my aunt I would not ride anywhere without Mudd.’

  ‘So you did.’ He carefully removed a horse hair from his sleeve. ‘But surely Smith was behind that? And he’s in prison.’

  ‘I did think it was him, only I was wrong. Smith has a cast-iron alibi.’ I did not tell him how willingly I was sticking to my promise to my
aunt, or how hard it was to appear outwardly calm, for I knew there would be another attempt on my life, that being the only way to stop me investigating these murders. And the next one might not fail. I literally shook every time I thought of it. Reinforcing the sad fact that, far from being the brave person I’d hoped I was, when it came down to it, I was really rather a coward.

  Yet I had to go on, no matter what the cost. If I sat back and did nothing, I would have to live with the consequences for the rest of my life. But, for the moment, I forgot all that, revelling in the delight of a gallop across the Downs with a man who enjoyed riding as much as I did.

  We made our way back along the cliff top, and on reaching the highest point above Hokewell bay, Mr Reevers asked if I would care to walk a little. ‘Mudd can stay here and look after the horses.’

  ‘Provided,’ I insisted in my primmest voice, ‘we don’t go out of his sight.’

  He looked all around, and raised an amused eyebrow at me; from here we could see a considerable distance in every direction. ‘That would be difficult.’ Handing the horses over to Mudd, we set off toward Hokewell village, and he began telling me about the beautiful mare Giles had bought for Lucie as a wedding present. He spoke of the animal’s good points and perfect behaviour when he brought her over the Solent, but I was only half listening, my mind on what I knew must happen before the wedding.

  Suddenly he stopped talking and asked, ‘Am I boring you?’

  I gave a slight start. ‘I do beg your pardon.’ Pointing to the beach immediately below us, I reminded him that was where I had been knocked out by a piece of cliff. ‘I was thinking it was fortunate you came along when you did.’

  ‘Mudd wasn’t far behind. He would have saved you.’

  ‘I could have drowned by then.’

  He hesitated, then asked, ‘Did you know who tried to kill you?’

  Unable to trust myself to speak, I simply shook my head.

  He didn’t comment, merely saying, ‘I came over today as I doubt I’ll have the pleasure of seeing you again before the wedding. Giles has a list of things for me to do, and I have to work on my speech.’