Fool's Gold (A Lord Ambrose Mystery) Read online

  “Yes,” I agreed, “and Cyriack’s violent behavior toward her was another good reason why she should want him dead, for what sort of treatment might she not have to bear after Sir Antony’s death? It might be that she has more to gain than anyone by Cyriack’s demise. And after all, who else would have an interest in poisoning Cyriack?”

  “Not his father, who is plainly shattered with grief!”

  “It is a most extraordinary business. And have you discovered what Charnock is doing in that household?”

  “No, but I can tell you one thing.”

  Murdoch Sandys leaned forward across the scrubbed wooden table of the inn parlor.

  “It happens at night!”

  Before he could say more on the subject of Charnock, there was a sudden interruption. The landlord’s wife Naomi burst into the parlor, her face flushed with excitement.

  “Oh gentlemen, here’s news! Do you know who has just ridden past? He must be making for Jesmond, for there’s nothing else in that direction except the moor!”

  I had indeed registered the sound of horses clipping past the parlor window, and the shadow that fell briefly across the light.

  “Who was it? I did not see the coach.”

  “Sir Edward Knellys!” She added, in a whisper: “He’s the Justice of the Peace!”

  Sandys said fiercely, “Knellys is no fool, I’ve heard. But he’s said to be the most unmerciful of men!”

  The landlady clasped her hands to her throat. It was like some instinctive protective gesture.

  In spite of all I had said to Elisabeth, I began to fear for that fading blonde beauty at Jesmond Place, with her distracted husband and the mysterious weakling Charnock as her principal companions and defenders.

  “I think we should follow Sir Edward, and see what he requires of Sir Antony and his lady.”

  It was a short ride to Jesmond Place, and I held Zaraband in check. I did not want us to overtake Sir Edward, in case he would not disclose his purpose fully in front of strangers. And I was fairly certain what that purpose might be.

  The house, with its blackened beams and stained yellow stonework, seemed to loom up as we approached; the jutting little mullioned windows appeared made for retaining secrets rather than for letting in the honest light of day. I detest a dark house. Even in summer, Jesmond Place had a disturbing air—as of something old and decayed that has endured beyond its natural span.

  I could see a carriage standing before the entrance, and a liveried coachman gazing impassively into space—clearly, the visitor had just arrived. Suddenly, from within the house came a long, piercing cry, a wail that echoed despairingly to the outer world, as if the mere appearance of the visitor engendered fear.

  Dashing up the steps, we entered the hall. A tall, cadaverous man, whom I conjectured to be Sir Edward Knellys, stood within. He had a distinctive big jaw, and an unpleasant mouthful of bulldog teeth. Facing him, at the top of the stairs, was Lady Jesmond, who seemed almost fainting with fright. She was leaning against the stair-post, and behind her in the shadows stood the housekeeper.

  Clara Jesmond had one hand to her mouth, and the other was tearing frantically at her own hair, the long fair hair that hung down over her back and naked shoulders; she was wearing a white silk bedgown, crumpled from her sleep. It was apparent that she had just emerged from her room and had not stopped to throw on a cloak or robe.

  As we watched, it was impossible not to wince, such was the pain she must be inflicting on herself as her long fingers pulled and twisted amidst her tangled locks, her diamond ring flashing in the few rays of sun that penetrated through a window on the upper landing.

  Suddenly, we were aware the agitated movement had stopped. Mrs. Romey had emerged from the shadows and taken hold of her ladyship’s hand, which she held now in her own, crooning gently as if to a child.

  “There, my pet, my honey. There, nothing can get ye.”

  Sir Antony was already in the hall, “Knellys, what is the meaning of this?”

  “I have a duty to perform, Jesmond—you must know that. From information that has been laid—”

  “That old devil of a lawyer!” Mrs. Romey’s voice rang out in indignation, and I was reminded of her former career as an actress. “Candless has been to see you, Sir Edward, I’ll be bound! Stirring up trouble with lies and falsehoods!”

  Knellys ignored this outburst. His voice was low, unforced, yet as cold as ice.

  “Sir Antony, the information against your wife is of the gravest kind. I have a warrant to take her up on the most serious of charges.”

  “What is it?”

  Sir Antony’s voice was dry, brusque. No instant defense of his wife, no springing to assist her at this terrible moment.

  Knellys’ voice said the word we were all expecting to hear, yet one can seldom believe one’s ears when that word is uttered. It came like freezing cold on the north wind, and echoed in a chilling gust through the dark hallway.

  “Murder. The murder of Cyriack Jesmond.”

  Lady Jesmond seemed to be whimpering, rather than weeping. There was the sound of her sobbing breath, and nothing else, for a few moments.

  Knellys moved forward, his long figure outlined against the light of the open doorway. “Clara Annabelle Jesmond, you are hereby charged with the murder of Cyriack Douglas Antony Jesmond, that on the twenty-third day of May in the year of our lord eighteen hundred and thirty-three you did encompass his death.”

  There was a long pause. Sir Edward was staring at Lady Jesmond, and in his face there was almost a touch of fear. The last word he spoke was uttered in a whisper.

  “And, madam, think yourself fortunate you are not charged with witchcraft!”

  At this, even Sir Antony seemed to recoil in horror.

  “Witchcraft, Knellys? How can you bring such a charge against my wife?”

  And Sandys, behind me, starting forward: “Aye, man, ’tis barbaric! D’ye believe in witches in these parts still, ye poor fools?”

  Knellys was as cold as the grave and cut through their protests. “I have evidence, gentlemen, else I should not act in this fashion. Things have been brought into this house that can only serve for terrible purposes; whether for science or for witchcraft, they have accomplished certain death. And who, besides Lady Clara Jesmond, would profit by the decease of the heir? Madam, I must ask you to accompany me.”

  A fearful picture rose up in my mind, of Clara Jesmond thrown into prison, into a filthy stinking cell shared with the mad, the sick and the villainous. And then a worse one, of Clara Jesmond at the scaffold with a rope around her neck and her hands pinioned behind her.

  I stepped forward from the shadows in the hallway. Knellys, I think, had not realized that I was present at all.

  “Ambrose Malfine, at your service, Sir Edward. You will, I believe, have heard of me. Let me remind you that the law of this country has not recognized witchcraft as a crime for nearly a hundred years, and if you believe in such rubbish, it is all the more to your discredit. If the charge is that of murder, are you truly determined to remove Lady Jesmond to prison? What is this evidence of which you speak?”

  Knellys seemed astonished at this apparition. Clearly, whatever he had planned for this scene, he did not expect the presence of a stranger who might stand between him and the arrest of Clara Jesmond. Especially not a stranger of wealth and status. Most especially not a damned tricky radical with no respect for legal pipsqueaks.

  “Yes, of course, the whole county knows of you, Lord Ambrose.”

  There was no need to say more, but he did. People always do.

  “I understand that you have been instrumental on a previous occasion in helping an accused man cheat the gallows.”

  “Cheat, Sir Edward? If you refer to the affair of the gypsy who was accused of the murders at Crawshay’s farm, that man was innocent! But at least there seemed to be some real evidence against him—”

  “The law does not require me to disclose the evidence which I have against La
dy Jesmond. Not yet, and not to you. I have the powers of Coroner and Justice. Inquests will be held on these two unfortunate men, but there is suspicion enough upon this woman to already implicate her in the second death. You, Lord Ambrose, are not a lawyer, nor do you have any official role in these proceedings. I must ask you to step aside. This woman is under arrest.”

  But I moved forward as he did, and blocked him.

  “You would be unwise to try to resolve this matter with force, Sir Edward, upon this occasion. No doubt you expected that in this house there would be no one to resist your removal of Lady Jesmond. Her husband appears disinclined to make a gallant stand in her favor—you must have been pretty sure of that in advance, or else you would have brought a couple of men with you. Sir Antony does not seem likely to defend his wife—at all events, he is shrinking back at this very moment.”

  Here there was an uncomfortable shuffling as Sir Antony, thus detected in the act of slipping backward, safely away from any possible conflict, became aware that eyes were turning to him. Behind him, there was a kind of scuttling up the stairs. Unimpeded, Charnock was making good his escape.

  “But here am I, Sir Edward, I stand here, and I desire you to reconsider. Be reasonable, man. Do not take her ladyship straight away—allow her to remain here, confined to her room, until you have made further scrutiny of this ‘evidence.’”

  I moved a little closer to Sir Edward, and tall though he was, I towered above him. My damned long shanks!

  “Malfine, you have no right—”

  “None whatever, Sir Edward. Nor do I claim one. I merely ask a favor of you. There would be nothing contrary to law in this—house arrest is a perfectly well-known procedure. Let Lady Jesmond remain here on that basis.”

  Still, he seemed inclined to dispute.

  “How do I know she will not pursue her damned devices if she is left here?”

  Murdoch Sandys now played his part in our little drama.

  “Sir Edward, I am a medical man, and surely you may regard me as being independent in this matter—I barely know any members of this household. Would you not allow me to consider any evidence you may have from a professional viewpoint, before you take Lady Jesmond from her home?”

  And here the good doctor introduced a delicate tact, which I must confess was at that moment beyond me.

  “After all, Sir Edward, you are an educated man. You will not yourself believe in this village gossip, these tales of witchcraft. I am sure you take an interest in scientific matters, a man of such wide learning as yourself! I believe you to be a rational man, sir, and not in thrall to country superstitions.”

  He took the bait, of course. Flattery is a sure snare. I have fallen for it myself many a time, with women.

  As he left, I caught up with him in one or two strides.

  “Malfine?”

  “These charges against Clara Jesmond, what possible evidence can you have? Witchcraft! Such matters are for village gossips and country parsons.”

  Knellys seemed reluctant to answer me, but drawled out a reply, from the side of his mouth, as it were. It seemed an unpleasant habit with him never to speak straight to your face.

  “No, Malfine, of course I have no belief in witchcraft! And yet there are witnesses who can give evidence of strange occurrences here—flames seen leaping from the chimneys at night, and cartloads of goods brought from the town which I made it my business to examine.”

  “What sort of goods?”

  “Some quite ordinary, such as coals, yet even when summer is almost here, brought in quantities. Some most strange: lumps of glass, small flasks of powder and liquids.”

  “But why connect them with Lady Jesmond?”

  “These things are brought here—and young Cyriack dies. Surely we must suspect poison, or some devious attempt upon his life which succeeded, by whatever means. This cannot be an accident and the first question to ask is, who would benefit by his death? Why, his stepmother, Lady Jesmond! The whole district knows that there was no love lost between them! Besides, there have been two deaths here.”

  “But why should Clara Jesmond have murdered young Kelsoe?”

  He laughed abruptly and climbed into his coach.

  “Haven’t you figured it out? I have. She had the best of reasons, Malfine. And I don’t mean love!” Incomprehensible then, but the meaning of this remark would become apparent.

  He turned his head away, slammed the carriage door and the waiting coachman cracked his whip.

  “I am sure that she is not guilty of murder, Lord Ambrose,” said Sandys, as I turned back into the house, “but Knellys seems to me implacable. He will not allow her to remain at liberty for long, especially not if there is some outcry against her. What was that accusation? Not merely murder, but—”

  “Witchcraft! What an absurdity! Yet there is no doubt there are many in the countryside who still believe in such powers, in foretelling the future and casting spells and the like. Lord knows, I encountered old medicinal remedies—some kill, some cure—when my wounds were healing. What was it Cyriack said—about seeing smoke from the chimney? That was odd, was it not?”

  “Yes, I suppose it was. I do not think any fires had been lit. The weather was quite warm.”

  I was silent for a few minutes. The scrap of paper which Elisabeth had found in Kelsoe’s room came into my mind. What had it said?

  Coals of fire.

  Quicksilver.

  Cakes of glass.

  Coals of fire might certainly relate to the smoking chimney which Cyriack had seen, presumably as he rode toward the house in the early hours of that May morning. But what of the other things, the quicksilver and the cakes of glass? “Lumps of glass”—had not Sir Edward Knellys claimed these were among the mysterious contents of the cartloads brought to Jesmond Place? Evidently there had been more than the one of which I had heard at the Green Lion. Were these the ingredients for a witch’s potion? Perhaps Clara Jesmond was intending to add “eye of newt and toe of frog” to them, and bubble it all up in some noisome cauldron.

  “And she committed murder by magic?” My question was rhetorical. “That seems to be what Knellys believes. That Clara Jesmond killed Cyriack with one baleful curse or spell, knocked him clean off his horse with her black arts. There is the solid scientific evidence of prussic acid in his hip-flask, which Daubeny found in his experiment in Oxford.”

  “I do not think Knellys himself would believe in witchcraft. He is an educated man, not a country bumpkin. It’s time we talked to Lady Jesmond herself.”

  And I agreed. “Tell me, Sandys, did you learn anything useful while I was away?”

  “There is nothing I can particularly describe, my lord, yet this household is not one I care for.”

  “Everyone here seems to have their own secretive life,” I concurred. “Belos has learned that Mrs. Romey was an actress at some time in the past—and may still be, for all we know, though it seems she left the stage many years ago.”

  “That would certainly account for some things about her,” said Sandys. “Her speech, for instance, which is not always that of the ordinary countrywoman.”

  “Very true. But if she wishes to keep her theatrical life a secret, why, I see no reason to disoblige her. It was all long ago and seems to have little bearing on the present.”

  “I quite agree,” said Sandys. “Sir Antony might not care it to be known that he had a former actress in his employ. It would be unkind if Mrs. Romey were to lose her place.”

  “Very well, we’ll say nothing for the present. But there is one person of whom we might make some inquiries—the clergyman at Cyriack’s funeral service. A parson is supposed to know something of the local activities, and to meddle away, keeping an eye on his flock and so forth.”

  “He was from Otterhampton, which I believe is the next village to Combwich. Less than half an hour’s ride, I would estimate.”

  It was about a quarter, on Zaraband, even allowing for an uphill stretch at the end. On the other side o
f the hill was a small tower of rough stone, which when we descended toward it proved to be that of a tiny church, sleeping like a mouse in the sun. A huge yew stood in the churchyard, which was overgrown, rich in wild flowers, overhung with trees. I stepped onto the cool porch, looked up, and saw a martin’s nest in the roof.

  The door was locked. The lock looked ancient, a huge iron affair that had probably deterred generations of would-be worshippers and plain nosy-parkers, and would still not yield an inch.

  The place was not quite deserted. As I turned back toward the lane that ran alongside the church, there was a movement round the other side of the churchyard; I moved swiftly toward it and through a gap in the hedge came pushing a small family of sheep, placidly clipping the long grass. Nature appeared to be landscaping after its own fashion. I thought of the story of the rector who had kept his horses here.

  There was a house behind the church that was like to be the rectory, where I thought I might find the young curate or his master the rector, but like the church it was all locked up, silent, deserted. Absenteeism reigned in Otterhampton.

  CHAPTER 16

  Clara Jesmond’s room was a large oak-beamed chamber, where some recent attempt had been made to lighten the effect of the wooden paneling by giving it a wash of pale paint. But the room seemed dark and stuffy: the furniture was evidently a legacy of the past, heavy stuff, with a great black-posted bed, and a massive armchair with carved feet, like those of some big animal. Over the fireplace hung the portrait of some previous mistress of the house: a thin severe face, floating palely above the gray ruches and drapery of her dress. Hardly the picture for the bedroom of a nervous young wife, but no doubt it was some aristocratic ancestress of the Jesmonds.