The strangled servant, p.14
The Strangled Servant, page 14
She blinked and tried to look at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see it.”
He frowned. “Have a care.” He tipped his hat and left.
She was soon joined by her aunt, who said, “Poppy, who was that young man?”
“I do not know.” She watched Tom walk away with the young red-haired woman.
“A handsome fellow. But who is that with your Tom?”
“He is not my Tom, Aunt. That is Miss Hawkes, from Oxfordshire.”
“Well never mind that. Did he speak to you?”
“Only to introduce us.”
Her aunt faltered. “I know something that will cheer you up. We are invited to dine at the Grants’ tonight.”
“Me too?”
“Of course. Why ever not?” she looked at Poppy’s face and saw the answer. “You’ve been listening to our private conversations, haven’t you?”
“No, not intentionally. I was in the hallway when I heard uncle say how he’d received invitations to dinner without me…” she reddened.
“People are silly and love a scandal. Things will quiet down soon enough.” She began walking with Poppy down the side of the road, keeping clear of carriages. “And besides, there is nothing to do but show yourself clear of all guilt. There is no sense hiding yourself away, that will only add to the gossip. I mean for you to join us tonight at dinner. Mrs. Grant has a lively tongue and once she sees you are innocent she will no doubt spread it to her neighbors.”
Poppy only wished that were true.
That night Poppy, her aunt and uncle took the horse and cart to the Grants’, a simple home boasting two young sons and a daughter. Mr. Grant was in trade, while the children were very young. The Grants welcomed the reverend’s family into their home as if nothing had happened, and when Poppy was presented, Mrs. Grant surveyed her closely. “You are very welcome, Miss Morton.”
The visitors noticed a young man new to the party and Mrs. Grant said, “Pray, allow me to introduce my nephew, Mr. Nicholas Turnbull, who has lately returned from Cambridge for a visit.”
The company all bowed and curtseyed to one another, and the young man eyed Poppy. He looked to be an amiable fellow with light sandy hair, a burgundy colored redingote, starched white cravat above an orange-striped waistcoat and dark trousers. He looked very fashionable, and Poppy felt quite low to be sat beside him at dinner. If it weren’t for the fact that the only other females available were either younger than age ten or older than fifty, Poppy was certain she never would have attracted his notice at all.
At dinner, he chatted pleasantly enough, but it took no longer than a moment for Poppy to discern he had no interest in her.
After a brief conversation about the spring English weather, and whether the Frenchman Napoleon could really be considered a threat, for who could take a man seriously who proclaims himself emperor, yet not match the height of even an average soldier, the company turned to more trifling discussions over watercress and pea soup, boiled mutton, and new potatoes with fine red wine.
Poppy bore all these discussions with grace, but was bored, and could tell her companion was also.
After a moment he said, “I have not heard much since my return, but my aunt is full of news. Is it true a young woman was killed not far from here?”
“Yes. Miss Mary Pendle, her servant was killed. It was a carriage accident.”
He nodded. “And Miss Pendle?”
She knew he looked to her to divulge in gossip, but she could not bring herself to play the part he so desired of her. She was not up to being like so many other gossiping young women. “She is missing. No one knows where.” She took a sip from her wine glass. “She is my close friend.”
“Oh.” He gave her his full attention now. “I am sorry, I did not mean to pry.”
“No, not at all. There is no way you could have known.” She cut into another piece of mutton. “You are lately returned from Cambridge?”
“Yes. I have another term before I finish.”
“I wonder, do you happen to know Thomas Maddox or Neville Conn?”
His eyebrows furrowed briefly. “Why do you wish to know?”
“I grew up with Mr. Maddox.”
“And Mr. Conn?”
“Not so much.”
He returned to his mutton and wine. She said quietly, “I have heard that Cambridge has had its own share of unpleasantness lately.”
“How so?”
“I’d heard rumor of a young woman, a dean’s daughter who became indisposed…”
“Yes, I know of it.” He promptly turned away from her and engaged her uncle in conversation.
Slighted, Poppy let out a little noise of annoyance and drank more wine. She became engrossed in her food and did not look up until someone addressed her. She caught the eye of her aunt, who frowned at her, no doubt wondering what she had said to drive poor Mr. Turnbull away.
The next day Poppy walked into Panshanger Park, a delightful greenery that boasted deer, lakes, a waterwheel as well as an orangery and even a large tree planted by Queen Elizabeth. She missed her walking stick but felt the exercise would do her good.
With the sun beating down on her she walked along the dirt paths, grateful for what shade her straw bonnet and the trees offered her. But it wasn’t long before she recognized the form of a young man coming her way.
They approached one another, the distance between them was too short to ignore the acquaintance now. “Mr. Turnbull,” she greeted politely, feeling her cheeks warm.
“Miss Morton,” he tipped his hat. “I have been walking this grove for some time looking for the great tree. They said it was planted by Queen Elizabeth. Do you know it?”
“Yes.”
“Might you show me the way?”
It wouldn’t be quite proper as she was unaccompanied, but there was no harm in her giving directions.
She agreed, and they walked together in the direction he had come from. She was quiet, leaving him to start a conversation if any was to be had.
“Miss Morton, I wish to apologize for my behavior toward you the other night. You were enquiring after a young lady of my acquaintance, and I reacted harshly.”
“Oh no, it was my fault. I spoke rudely and did not mean to –”
“No, do not trouble yourself. The fault is mine, I should have informed you of my relationship with the young woman.”
“Who was she?” Poppy asked.
“Miss Maria Langland. She was the dean’s daughter, a very well-bred and accomplished young woman. We knew each other well, we had practically grown up together as children.”
She remained quiet, conscious that the man was partly speaking aloud for himself.
He added, “She was a bright, amiable young girl. She was only fifteen when I went away to visit family over the summer. I was in Northampton at the time. I used to visit her very often. When I heard what had transpired, I cut my visit short and came back to Cambridge immediately. But the worst had happened. I heard it from her mother herself, Maria was with child, and rather than ruin the promising future of a Cambridge scholar, she remained silent on the matter of whose child it was.”
“That is very kind of her.”
“Too kind. But she always thought of others first, rather than herself,” he said fondly. “But it was a disgrace. The dean’s daughter, her honor besmirched by one of his own students? It was not to be borne. The dean is a very proud man and holds his reputation highly. For his daughter to soil her family’s good name was more than he could take.”
Poppy knew the rest, but let him relive the tale. He said, “Maria was cast out. She had no family nearby to take her in, no money, no connections. It was but a week before her body was found in the river.”
“I’m so sorry,” Poppy said.
He looked at her, his eyes wet. “I feel their loss keenly. They would have taken her back in time. I am sure they would have come to see reason. If only I’d been there…” he shook his head. “I despair that such a good young woman of strong character should have found herself friendless at so lonely a time.”
“Did you have an understanding?” Poppy asked.
“Of a sort. We had not exchanged any words of love aloud, but it was with every look, every breath. Every laugh and smile she gave was confirmation of our mutual affection.”
“And you know not who behind it?”
“No. He is a blackguard to be sure. No honorable man would let a young lady take the fall for his mistake. If I were able to find him I would demand satisfaction.”
Poppy swallowed. Dueling was illegal but she knew it still happened. “I am sure it is a credit to Maria’s memory that she was able to excite such honorable feelings in a gentleman.”
He smiled at her. “Your words do you credit, Miss Morton. You are very kind. Let us be friends.”
“I would like that.”
They walked a little farther, past great looming trees and shady groves as they approached the tree. It was surrounded by iron fencing, much like the black iron fences that surrounded great family plots in the cemetery.
“So, this is the tree,” Mr. Turnbull said.
“Yes.”
“It is very big.”
“It is some three-hundred years old.”
“Aye.” They started to walk back when she heard a laugh and turned around.
There was Tom and on his arm, Miss Hawkes. Tom’s gaze flew to her and eyed Mr. Turnbull. He said something to Miss Hawkes, who laughed as they began walking down the path toward them.
“Do you know that couple?” Mr. Turnbull asked.
“Yes.”
Tom soon stood before her and said, “Hullo, Poppy.”
She stiffened at the informal use of her name. Mr. Turnbull’s eyebrows rose.
She said, “Allow me to introduce Mr. Turnbull. This is Mr. Tom Maddox and Miss Hawkes.”
“Harriet Hawkes,” the red-haired woman clarified.
The couples exchanged the requisite bows and curtseys as befitted new acquaintances and parted ways.
As they left the tree, Mr. Turnbull said, “I have told you about my unpleasantness. Now it is your turn, Miss Morton.”
She smiled. “It is no great secret. My close friend Mary is missing.”
“What happened?”
“Her carriage had an accident in the night. Her maidservant perished but we think Mary escaped, although no one knows where.”
“You make it sound so simple. I think you are hiding something,” he teased.
“We had words the night before her disappearance.” She blushed.
“And let me guess, you have been troubling yourself all this time, feeling guilty, as if you had driven her away.”
“Yes.” She looked at him. “How did you know?”
“It is easy enough to guess once you have an idea of the particulars. My father is the rector in St Neot’s and I fancy I’ve learnt a thing or two about human character. I especially know how easy it is for people to feel guilt from others. You should not dwell on it.”
He bid her adieu and they parted ways.
She watched him go and wondered aloud, “But what if it was me that drove her away?”
Chapter Nineteen
The next morning Betsey ran into the drawing room, her face wet with tears. “Mrs. Greene, Miss Morton… It’s Margie. Her grave…someone’s dug it up.” She fell into a faint.
“Oh, my word!” Aunt Rachel sprang into action. “Poppy, fetch my smelling salts, up in my room on my dressing table.”
Poppy ran upstairs to fetch the bottle of salts. When she returned, her aunt and uncle had put a pillow beneath Betsey’s head and tried to make her comfortable.
“Give them here, girl,” her aunt said. She took the bottle of salts and took out the stopper, holding them beneath Betsey’s nose. In a few seconds, her eyelids fluttered and she became wide awake. “What’s happened? Did I fall?”
“You fainted. What did you mean about the grave?” Aunt Rachel asked. “Who is Margie?”
“Margaret. Mary’s maidservant at the Potters,” Betsey said.
“Did you know Margaret?” Poppy asked.
Betsey shrugged. “A little. We sat in church together.”
That made sense. Due to her friendship with Mary, her family and the Potters often sat near each other in church. While Poppy suspected that Mrs. Potter sought out their company partly due to the social standing it would give them in church, she knew that the servants often sat together.
Betsey started and sat up. Her eyes wide, she wiped her cheeks and said, “Margie’s grave… someone’s dug it up.”
“What?” Uncle Reginald said. “Speak plainly, girl, are you certain?”
“Yes. With all my heart. I was walking by and brought some flowers to lay at Margie’s grave when I saw the ground disturbed and when I looked, the grave had been dug up and her body…” she looked pale and wavered.
“Good lord. Reginald, you’ll have to notify the constable and send a man immediately to set it right,” Aunt Rachel said.
“Yes. Yes, I’ll go now.” He went to fetch his hat and coat. He left a moment later.
Betsey burst into tears and Poppy and her aunt tried to console her, but she was in mourning. “I never got to say goodbye. I knew she was making a mistake. She never should have left. And now she’s gone, and her spirit is trying to walk the earth.”
“What?” Poppy said.
Aunt Rachel crossed herself. “Shush child, you know there’s no such thing as spirits.”
“Then what else could it be? Her grave was all dug up and there weren’t no shovel nearby. Her coffin was open and I could see her hand…” she shivered.
“There, there, don’t worry. We’re here and Reginald is going to investigate this right now. What you need is a stiff drink. Poppy, fetch some wine for Betsey.”
Poppy hurried to do her aunt’s bidding. She brought back a little glass and some sherry. Betsey took it with a shaking hand and downed it all in one gulp. Her eyes widened and she handed the glass back. “Thank you. I am better now.”
“I should think not. You’ve had a fright. You’d better sit down.”
Aunt Rachel helped Betsey into a chair as Poppy said, “I’d better go see how Uncle is getting on…”
“Yes, yes, go. He may need you to be a messenger.” She rose and joined Poppy in the corridor as Poppy took down her bonnet from a wooden peg and put on her walking coat. “Poppy, I do not believe in shades or spirits walking the earth, but this is very troubling news. Do you think…”
“I don’t know what to believe, Aunt.”
“Yes. Find your uncle, and don’t tell anyone. The fewer people that know about this, the better.”
Poppy ran as fast as she could to the gravesite, which was very slow indeed, for she had no walking stick and her uncle had taken their horse. She had only made it half the distance when she was soon joined by Constable Dyngley. “Hello, there,” he said, his face serious. “I assume you’ve heard.”
“Yes. I am going to the gravesite now.”
“Allow me to shorten your journey.” He held out a hand.
She bit her lip and then accepted. He lifted her onto his horse and they took off, riding quickly into the graveyard. It was a sorry sight that greeted them, quite at odds with the cheerful daylight and morning birdsong.
They dismounted from the horse and as Dyngley tied up the animal, Poppy walked over to see. Sure enough, Margie’s grave had been disturbed. The meager stone was overturned and the coffin dug up. Flies buzzed around it in a great cloud as a putrid stink scented the air, far more noxious than what had been in the cool chamber of Mr. Crabbe.
“Stand back, Miss Morton,” Dyngley said.
She snorted. “I don’t think it’s going to attack, Constable.”
He smiled. “So you don’t believe it is her spirit walking?”
“No. But I dread other people’s remarks. I am sure it will be around town that her shade was trying to take revenge for her death.”
“That’s like out of a gothic novel.” He walked around the site and leaned over the grave, looking closely. “I do not like this. Someone has clearly disturbed her grave, but why?”
“What could she have that anyone would want?” Poppy asked.
They looked at each other. “Fifty pounds.”
Dyngley’s eyebrows furrowed. “I cannot believe a person would actually dig up a grave and disturb a body for that amount.”
“I can. It is horrible, but I can believe it. Fifty pounds is a lot of money.”
“It is, but to dig up a body? Who needs so much that badly?”
“Perhaps when we figure that out, we’ll have our killer,” Poppy said.
Despite their efforts to keep the news quiet, it spread like wildfire around town, and for a few days it was all anyone could talk about, was the rumor of Margie’s spirit seeking revenge from beyond the grave for her murder. Candlelight vigils were held at her grave, with at least one man attending armed with a hammer and nails, to ensure her newly closed coffin remained shut.
While Betsey briefly enjoyed the novelty of becoming a celebrity overnight, she quickly grew despondent at the curious morbidity of her followers and refused to speak of it. Poppy’s uncle urged the entire family not to engage in idle gossip, with the hope that the rumors would die down. He said, “Poppy. It is unfortunate that this news has connected our household once again with infamy and malicious rumors. I would ask that you remove yourself from society until things return to normal.”
“But Uncle, it is not my fault. I had nothing to do with Margie’s –”
“I know. But for your reputation, which is only lately restored, I think it is best not to tempt the gossips.”
And that was that. Two days later Poppy felt sick of being indoors and was determined to get some fresh air. She did not want to see the constable. She half hoped that he would show up looking for her so that she might have the satisfaction of refusing to see him. But he did not come, and so she sat at home.
Until she could stand it no more. She had to tell him what she knew or at the very least show him. She walked into town, relieved at the short country roads that were near enough to the parsonage.
