A Murderous Affair, page 29
Silence descended on the table. Assorted relatives and staff halted in mid chew, eyes fixed ahead on anything but the two protagonists. I glanced at Lady Hardwick – her face had turned a bright pink but apart from that she showed admirable composure. The look in her eyes would have reduced many men to a charred heap, but not Hardwick, who stared back through hard, narrow eyes and dared her to speak. After the most excruciating of silences, Lady Hardwick rose stiffly but elegantly from her chair, causing the whole table to rise with her – except for Hardwick, who sat triumphantly in his seat, gnawing malevolently on a chicken leg.
‘I think I’ll take the rest of my dinner in my private rooms. I feel a slight chill.’
‘As you wish my dear. I’m sure the rest of us can manage without you.’ And with this final riposte ringing in her ears, Leticia Hardwick swept from the dining room, followed by an entourage of maids.
* * *
After dinner I was in the room I shared with Tichborne, listening to him snoring and perusing Don Alphonse’s story, when there was a slight tap on the door and a small piece of paper was pushed under it. Intrigued, I reached for the paper, which was a folded note with the single word Lovat writ large on one side. I opened it out – in Lady Hardwick’s hand it asked me to pay a visit to her quarters at once.
I took the candle and crept quietly through the corridors of the sleeping house. There were many unfamiliar stairs and passageways to negotiate and I wanted to make the journey without attracting anyone’s attention. I could hear the sounds of servants somewhere in the bowels of the house, presumably preparing the table for the morning, but I met no one along the corridors.
On reaching her door, I knocked quietly and heard the command ‘enter’.
I entered and went through the usual rigmarole of bowing low to my betters. ‘Your ladyship.’ Unlike before, Lady Hardwick was not draped elegantly across her bed but sitting at a writing desk to one side of the room, surrounded by an array of candlelit lamps and writing a letter in rounded handwriting. She had switched the elaborate dress she had worn at dinner for a long, patterned gown that made her look even younger and a lot more vulnerable than usual.
‘Lovat.’ She continued writing without glancing at me.
‘How can I be of service to you, your Ladyship?’
‘You can’t. I sent you that note because I wish to be of service to you.’
‘Your ladyship?’ I was in very real peril of misunderstanding her and kept looking at the ground. Without looking at me, she must have sensed what I was thinking.
‘Don’t flatter yourself, Lovat. I may think you handsome but my heart is beholden elsewhere.’
I began to blush, stammering that I had no idea what she meant. Leticia Hardwick finally looked at me.
‘You can stop calling my ‘your ladyship’. Leticia or Letty will do. Now, bolt the door and sit down, for goodness sake. Standing there, you look like an overgrown schoolboy.’ She indicated a chair at the desk. ‘A few days ago you asked me for information but I wasn’t inclined to humour your request. However, you heard how my husband spoke to me this evening. What is it you want to know? I find that I am suddenly only to happy to be of assistance.’
She was so direct that it took me a moment to order my thoughts. I looked at her face, which was wide-eyed and earnest.
‘What if your husband should chance upon us?’
‘There is no danger of that happening. The last time my husband visited me in the night was two years ago – and he found the door locked. Well?’
‘There are a number of things, your Ladyship.’ She looked at me sharply. ‘Leticia. Do you remember that morning when you first saw me at the Chancel House? When Anne pointed me out to you and said I would help you.’
‘Yes. I remember.’ She stopped writing and tilted her delicate chin towards me. Even in this light I could see that her cerulean eyes held something other than the usual mixture of beauty and disdain but I couldn’t quite pinpoint the emotion. What was it? Revenge? Regret? Anger? Whatever was causing it there was a new fire burning in her that only served to make her more beautiful. ‘How could I forget that day – it was that very night that Alphonse disappeared.’
I remembered that Don Alphonse had been the go-between twixt her and Cassangoe and realised that they must also have been close, although the way she said it one could have been forgiven for thinking that Don Alphonse was also her lover. I felt another irrational pang of jealousy.
‘That day, you came to the Chancel House with your husband?’
‘That’s right. He took me to London for the Queen’s parade and then had business at the house. I spent the evening and the next day with Anne. He went to the Ascension Day tilts, where his son was presented at court. A son by a previous marriage I should add.’ Whilst being in the house I had wondered where Hardwick’s son, Richard, was but had learnt from Tichborne that he had lodgings in London, was concentrating on soldiery and had very little dealings with his father’s business. I wondered if Hardwick was keeping him away from his nefarious businesses on purpose.
‘Had your husband had dealings with …,’ I stopped myself saying ‘my brother’. I had no idea what Anne had told Leticia about me. If she didn’t know I was Robert’s brother then it seemed prudent not to tell her in case it became common knowledge throughout the house. Once again I was reminded of the dangerous game I was playing ‘…Sir Robert Rokesby beforehand.’
‘No. And I must say it surprised me that he did.’
‘Wherefore?’
‘Because my husband despises Robert and all of the similar young upstarts, as he puts it, that hover about court and gain the ear of the Queen. It is common knowledge in this house and surely must be obvious to you after suffering only a handful of dinners.’
I changed tack. ‘But, in this case, Don Alphonse was a connection?’
‘Alphonse visits the country houses of Britain with impunity, although he certainly has business with my husband and I believe he has business dealings with Sir Robert also.’ Whenever she spoke of Don Alphonse she couldn’t keep a note of admiration out of her voice. Her use of the present tense made it suddenly occur to me that she had no idea that he was dead. I decided it was better not to tell her.
‘Do you know what your husband and Don Alphonse are involved in with Lord Rokesby?’
‘An adventure by sea I believe. They are always planning such schemes.’
‘Don Alphonse planned it?’
‘Yes. What is this Lovat? I thought you were interested in my husband.’
‘I am, only, Anne is worried about her husband’s latest venture and I thought I could help her in some way.’ I decided to leave that particular line of questioning and return to Hardwick. Not before thinking, however, how the fact that Don Alphonse had been involved in planning the shipping adventure was of the highest interest. I started to ponder Don Alphonse in a new light. Was he simply one of Robert’s silent partners or was he more immediately involved in the whole planning of the adventure as Leticia Hardwick thought, perhaps on Hardwick’s behalf? Another motive for murder raised its ugly head.
Returning to the subject of Hardwick was difficult as, despite her seeming willingness to help, I didn’t dare ask her if her husband was guilty of treason, or, for that matter, if she would help me break into his study. However, prompted by memories of my meeting with Cassangoe, my brain had finally come up with a less contentious angle that I could try.
‘Would you be aware of your husband’s involvement at all in smuggling?’
‘Smuggling.’ Leticia made the word sound like ‘a-ha’ as she curled her feet coquettishly under her body and gave me a conspiratorial smile. ‘So that’s what you are doing snooping around here is it? I wondered what it might be. Well I might just know something about that. Is her Majesty worried about her coffers?’
‘Is your husband involved in smuggling?’
‘Yes. I rather think he might be.’ She let out a short, musical laugh.
‘Could you elaborate at all?’ Rather than answering me, Leticia stood up and moved gracefully to the wide four-poster bed that took up a large part of the room. She sat down and patted a spot next to her.
‘Indulge me, Lovat. No. I can’t keep calling you “Lovat”. What’s your first name?’
I moved tentatively beside her, still nervous, despite her assurances, that her husband might come barging through the door at any moment. ‘John’.
‘Well John. Isn’t this fun?’
‘Smuggling is a serious offence.’
‘Oh don’t be stuffy. Half the country is at it. I’m surprised that my husband should be singled out. Although I imagine he is one of the most notorious.’
‘What can you tell me about his… er… activities?’
‘Oh don’t sound so serious or I will start calling you Lovat again. I don’t know exactly how it works but I can offer a theory.’
‘Go on.’ At this proximity, her beauty was intoxicating. I tried not to think of Cassangoe’s huge hands caressing that transparent, white skin.
‘I should say it is all about ships that pass in the night.’ Followed by that same musical giggle. ‘My husband owns or leases a whole fleet of ships. A few operate legally bringing their wares into ports like Rye where they can be checked by the authorities but, from what I have heard, my husband also has a number of ships lying off port that either bring the goods or collect them from other ships. The goods are then rowed ashore, stored somewhere along the coast, before being taken to London across the Weald. Sometimes they are even brought to the house in the dead of night. Before anyone is the wiser they are on the market in London and a rather large amount of money has come back the other way. There are also goods going in the other direction – to France – that is the Vaillons connection.’
‘How do you know all this?’
‘I have my spies. But I don’t really know it – not the details at least.’
‘Who is the London connection?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t really know.’
I thought of Walsingham’s suspicion that Hardwick had been prepared to smuggle the Babington conspirators out of England. ‘Is it only goods that get smuggled or people as well?’
There was hesitation before Leticia spoke.
‘I don’t know … possibly, there have been some strange goings on in this house … I do know a way of possibly finding out.’
‘How?’
‘By breaking into my husband’s study of course.’
‘I don’t think that’s possible – I’ve already considered all of the options.’ The matter-of-fact cynicism in my voice came out all too plainly.
‘Yes, my dear John, but, in your ignorance, you are not in possession of all of the facts.’
‘Such as?’
‘Who knows this house better than anyone? I do. I spent a large part of my childhood here as a ward to the previous owner. When Hardwick bought the house he practically bought me with it. I was already here.’ Despite her flirtatiousness she could not disguise a note of bitterness. ‘The beauty of it is that I know this house and its secrets far better than my husband does and I have one secret in particular that I think you would be very interested in.’
She came close to me and for the first time I was aware of the gentle scent of her skin. It was far from the alternatively sweet or stale stench, or both, of the women in London I was used to – the pomaded ladies, the sweating stall keepers, the perfumed whores. I was suddenly reminded of Mostellaria’s words as quoted by Montaigne: mulier tum bene olet, ubi nihilo let – A woman smells most perfectly when she does not smell at all. For the first time I understood the meaning of those words.
‘Well, do you want to know my secret?’
I let out a short chuckle to release the tension I was feeling – she was enjoying teasing me so much that it was infectious. ‘And what might that be?’
She moved in close until her lips brushed the hairs of my ear, causing darts of lightening all down my spine, and whispered:
‘Why, the secret passageway that leads right into his office, of course!’
Chapter 27
“I find my lust less depraved than my reason.”
(Michel de Montaigne)
‘Wait here.’
The bewitching Leticia Hardwick broke away from me and disappeared into a side chamber. I waited without moving, still savouring the scent of her skin, and the soft heat of her breathe that had coursed so enticingly into my ear.
A few moments later she returned, wearing her third outfit of the evening. The white lace dress had been replaced by leather boots, brown breeches and a black doublet that was buttoned tightly over her shapely figure. Despite being dressed as a man, the effect was just as arresting as the previous outfit and did little to cool my arousal.
‘Come on, John. What are you sitting there for? Grab some spare candles and that lantern and follow me.’ I did as I was told and followed her through the door and down a narrow set of wooden stairs that led down from her quarters.
Such was her enthusiasm for the task in hand that I practically had to run to keep up with her. This led to me tripping over a couple of steps and making a huge din, which in turn led to a huge, stage-like ‘Shhhhhhhhh’ coming back up the stairs. I cursed under my breath and picked myself up.
She led me downstairs to a side entrance that I hadn’t used before. Yanking it open we were immediately hit by a blast of cold air. The white garden stretched out in front of us, lit by a discursive moonlight.
‘Where in God’s name are you taking me?’
‘You’ll see. Now cover the lantern while we’re outside. We needn’t worry about our footprints in the snow. People have been trampling around here all day. Another pair won’t be noticed.’
She struck out ahead down a slight incline, towards the shadow of a low slung building, huddled in charcoal grey trees. I glanced around but the garden appeared deserted and hopefully anyone awake inside would be behind thick, closed curtains.
Slowly getting my bearings, I realised that the building ahead of us must be the small church that I had seen on my first arrival. As we approached, its low, arched bell-tower gradually became separated from the shadow of the trees and the church appeared numinously out of the gloom. It was short in length and looked more like the kind of chapel that a hermit from one of the King Arthur legends would live in.
The church had a simple porch to one side that protected the entrance to a low, panelled door with a point shaped like the ace of a playing card. As we reached it, I turned to check that no one had seen or followed us when I suddenly froze. To the side of the house, in the direction of the long entrance road, I could see a light. I motioned to Leticia and we both crouched in the porch watching the light swaying to and fro as it came closer to the house. After a moment, it split and became two lights, surrounded by a cluster of shadows.
‘A bit late for a visit to the house, isn’t it? Is this a regular occurrence?’
‘Probably a servant returning from Rye.’
‘Servants don’t usually drag goods around in the middle of the night.’ The shadows had now split out into a number of forms, two lighting the way, another two pulling what looked like a cart, the rumble of whose wheels was now quite clear across the still night.
‘There’s always something happening in this house. Come on, we had better get moving.’ I hesitated for a moment, eyes fixed on the small group that had now reached a hundred yards from the house. In the gloom, it appeared that the cart was carrying what looked like two separate sacks. Then one of the sacks moved its head towards the other – not sacks, people.
‘John! Come on!’
The door to the church was unlocked and opened smoothly. We found ourselves in a small, uncluttered nave, with a stone aisle flanked on either side by a range of smooth wooden pews. At the end of the aisle, Leticia led me past a small stone alter to the left of which was a concealed flight of stairs going down via a half landing into the depths. At the bottom, the space opened out to reveal a wide room with a vaulted ceiling running the length of the church. It was full of headstones and tombs all piled up on top of one another with no apparent deferment to the dead their inscriptions commemorated.
‘The crypt,’ Leticia said unnecessarily. ‘All of the headstones and tombs were dumped in here when my barbarian of a husband had the garden extended. Hence the mess.’
There were other remnants of the old graveyard too. All around the walls on wooden shelves were rows and rows of bones and skulls, far more than could be expected from the size of the Stavening estate. Many of the shelves had been broken by the influx of tombs and consequently the ground was littered with shattered bones.
‘Victims of the Black Death. There used to be quite a substantial village here – a thousand people or more but no longer. The remains of the houses were destroyed when the castle was built. There’s nothing left of the village now apart from this church.’
She asked me to hold her lantern, whilst she clambered over the pile of gravestones, then leant forward to take them both from me as I followed. After doing this a couple more times we made it to the far end, Leticia surveying an area at the back of the crypt.
‘I haven’t done this for a while. Let’s hope the entrance hasn’t been blocked in.’
Alarm bells went off in my head. ‘When did you last use the tunnel?’
‘When I was a girl – ten years ago or more.’
‘Dammit!’
‘Stop blaspheming and help me shift these.’ She indicated a row of headstones that had been piled up against the wall. With grave misgivings, I began to heave them one by one to a spot on the side, trying to make as little noise as possible, whilst also not breaking my back. There was little room for manoeuvre and Leticia and I were continually bumping in to one another, she cursing my clumsiness, I quite enjoying the proximity. Eventually, a space had been cleared to her satisfaction. Leticia knelt in the gap that we had created next to the wall.
