Stolen Lives (The Alice Chronicles #3)

11

I n the heat of the day, Alice makes for the cool of the hall carrying a sheaf of cut lavender in her arms. Sweet-bags are needed for the linen, Esther has told her, when she asked what she could do. Esther also offered to find some fine linen to make into bags, but Alice has suggested lavender sticks instead, adding, in the face of Esther’s puzzlement, ‘I’ll make a few to show you.’

She turns into the screens passage and a man’s tones sound from the hall. ‘You are the wife, I assume?’

Then a low voice, ‘Luella Goldwoode, at your service, sir.’

‘Stand there, then. No, there. Gold… wood. Née?’

‘Kemp, sir.’

‘Née Kemp.’ He says it slowly, giving a puff to the ‘p’, a man laboriously writing each letter of each word. ‘So, did you see the knife with which your husband was killed?’

‘Knife?’ Luella exclaims. ‘He was throttled, sir!’

‘Ah, how do you know that, I wonder?’

‘The landlady told me, sir.’

‘How convenient. Told you that which you already knew, perhaps. You had better give me an account of your movements the night before last.’

Alice hastens down the passage to the kitchens and sees the serving man who admitted Martyn and Helena. ‘Do you know if Mistress Cazanove is on her way to the hall?’ she asks him.

‘They seek her now, mistress. We are not sure where she is.’

‘Do you go yourself as well and find her most urgently,’ Alice tells him. ‘Please tell her that Constable Nutley is subjecting Mistress Goldwoode to examination.’

Alice hurries back and enters the hall. In the friendliest tone she can muster, ‘Master Nutley! How do you do, sir? It is some while since we last met, I believe.’ She drops as extravagant a curtsey as she can, her arms full of lavender. Abel Nutley, momentarily perplexed, half rises from the chair at the head of the table and dips his head. ‘Madam?’

‘It must have been early this year,’ Alice says, advancing to stand by the young woman before him. ‘In fact I do believe it was in this very house, was it not? Was it here in this hall, perhaps? Give me leave to reflect a moment, sir. No, I believe it was in a smaller parlour, was it not? Yes, I feel sure that is right.’ Alice prattles on, anything to distract his attention, to divert him from his idiotic and painful questioning. Beside her, Mistress Goldwoode stands, eyes big with apprehension. She is probably around Alice’s age, though a shade taller, her thick dark hair showing under a delicate lace-edged cap. She wears a lightweight gown of tawny hue, a modest ruff at the neck and lace at the wrist. Her face, still displaying a child’s roundness, is drawn into an anxious furrow between her brows. Her look darts between bemused Nutley and babbling Alice.

‘I saw Sir Thomas in the village earlier,’ Alice twitters on. ‘I understand the coroner has not yet pronounced, is that correct?’

Recognition narrows Abel Nutley’s eyes. ‘Ah yes, Mistress… er…’

‘Mistress Jerrard. Alice Edwards that was. You will recall my parents at Hill House, will you not, sir?’ Mistress Goldwoode is staring at her, open-mouthed. Alice ploughs on. ‘I am a guest here, as is this lady.’

‘These matters do not concern you, madam,’ Abel Nutley answers. He sits down again, irritably shuffling his papers on the table. Before him Luella Goldwoode stands like a maidservant caught out in a misdemeanour. Her hands pluck nervously at her skirts.

‘Were you offered refreshment, sir?’ Alice asks. ‘A mug of ale, perhaps? A glass of wine, while they fetch Mistress Cazanove?’

‘No I was not.’

‘Can I fetch you anything?’

The constable looks up at her. ‘No.’ He turns back to his victim. ‘So, Mistress Goldwoode, I repeat, at what point did you leave your chamber at the inn the night before last?’

‘Master Nutley, do correct me if you will,’ Alice breaks in. ‘Am I right in thinking it is the task of the investigating Justice to ask questions?’

‘I was in my chamber, all night, sir,’ Luella Goldwoode insists in a wavering voice. ‘I did not stir from there.’

‘Mistress Goldwoode,’ Alice says, ‘you do not have to answer questions at this time, you know.’

‘But he is a constable.’ Her eyes continue to dart between Alice and Nutley. ‘I have nothing to hide.’

‘Can you prove—?’ the constable starts.

‘Of course you have nothing to hide,’ Alice assures her, ‘and when the time is right you can give an account of yourself to Sir Thomas, who will be making the official enquiries.’

‘I must answer his questions,’ Mistress Goldwoode says, indicating the constable. ‘If I don’t, he said they will—’

‘Can you prove you were there all night?’ Nutley demands.

‘Prove it, sir?’ She looks as if she is about to burst into tears. ‘No—’

‘Master Nutley,’ Alice interjects, ‘I doubt either Mistress Goldwoode with her baby or I with my son in the next chamber could prove where we were all night.’

‘Madam!’ he barks, rising. He swallows hard and re-seats himself. ‘I do not require witness from yourself. This investigation is between myself and this person—’ He stops, rises again, and this time he bows. ‘Milady.’

‘Which investigation do you refer to, Constable Nutley?’ Ursula enquires, approaching from the doorway.

‘The investigation I am conducting prior to Sir Thomas’s enquiries, milady.’

‘You surprise me, Constable. I saw Sir Thomas but a short while ago and he advised me he will not require witness from Mistress Goldwoode until Master Dallier the coroner has pronounced. Which particular aspect would you be involved in, may I ask?’

‘Well, I… I like to… I’m interested in… I was just gathering some preliminary facts,’ Abel Nutley falters, ‘milady.’

Alice lays her armful of lavender on the table and gently takes Luella Goldwoode’s arm, urging her out of the hall as Ursula continues, ‘According to Sir Thomas, he will do his own gathering, and I am sure Mistress Goldwoode will co-operate fully when that time comes.’

Alice takes her time closing the door as Ursula adds, ‘Now, is there anything else I may assist you with?’

As the constable stammers a reluctant negative, Ursula Cazanove, baron’s daughter, addresses him in very different terms. ‘Then before you visit again, Constable Nutley, kindly fix it in your mind that in this house, you do not question either my guests or my household without my sanction. I take a very poor view of your conduct today and if I have further cause for concern, be in no doubt I shall speak with Sir Thomas.’

Luella looks terrified. Alice smiles.

‘He still calls you milady,’ Alice says to Ursula. Holding a bunch of lavender stems in her hand, she taps the tops to make the flower heads sit evenly. She has returned to the hall following Abel Nutley’s departure and is making the lavender sticks at the table.

‘He chose to address me in that way last year and I see no reason to correct his delusion,’ Ursula replies. ‘He is deficient in most of the courtesies, so it will do him no harm to remain in a state of awe.’ She has had her embroidery frame and wools brought to the cool hall and is working on a subtly shaded flower. She compares a skein of cinnamon hue with one of burnt orange and selects the orange to thread her needle. ‘Where did Luella go?’

‘Back to her chamber I believe. She didn’t want to talk; I can hardly blame her.’ Alice laughs. ‘I was chattering on, trying to distract Master Nutley, and she looked at me as if I were mad.’ Around the base of the flowers, Alice winds a length of stalk, securing it and breaking off the end. ‘He could tell that she is not very worldly, and is easily bullied, so he made her stand in front of him. In truth, he terrorised her with his threats and inquisition.’

Ursula sighs. ‘And she not two days widowed.’

One by one Alice bends back each stalk, creating a cage around the flower heads. ‘So you’ve seen Sir Thomas?’

‘While you were out. He came up to let me know that he is satisfied that Luella and her child were in a separate bedchamber that night and since he’s only interested in tracing the man’s last movements, she will not be needed at the coroner’s court. Nick Patten can testify to the people in the taproom, and John Patten to finding Master Goldwoode’s body.’

It occurs to Alice that Daniel’s belief that good begets good was more well-meaning than well-founded. Luella Goldwoode has just been widowed and where was I, Alice thinks. Fast asleep and oblivious. I’ve done no good at all.

Once she has bent back all the stalks, Alice selects a fresh stem and winds it round the end of the cage she has made, enclosing the flower heads. While she works, she wonders how on earth the coroner can make such short work of his investigation on so little evidence. What of all the men who were in the taproom? Witnesses every one. ‘I saw Sir Thomas at the forge. He told me they know who did it,’ she tells Ursula. She secures the stalk, breaking off the end as before. ‘There. Finished.’

‘He said the same to me, but no names of course,’ Ursula answers. ‘So that’s a lavender stick?’ She secures her needle in the linen and reaches out to take it, turns it this way and that. ‘How cunning.’

‘It saves the trouble of stripping the buds to put into bags. Even better, it saves me sewing bags,’ Alice says.

‘Ah, the dreaded sewing.’ After a pause, Ursula says, ‘Sir Thomas also asked if I would accompany you to supper at Woodley Court. He felt he had been unmannerly, inviting you to go alone, so I said of course I will.’

‘You did?’ Sir Thomas has worked fast, Alice realises, getting to Ursula before Alice can warn of her own reluctance.

‘That was right was it not? Or would you prefer to go on your own?’

‘Oh no, not at all, Ursula,’ Alice says.

Unusually, Sam has fallen asleep while Alice is telling him a bedtime story. She leans to kiss his forehead and lays his hand, which has been clasping hers, on the coverlet.

Downstairs, the heat washes at her as she enters the hall. The fire has been built to a blaze for Martyn’s benefit. He sits close to it, leg propped on the stool, listening, eyes closed, as Helena reads to him. In this attitude, Alice thinks, Martyn has a vulnerable look about him. This young man who is so utterly dependent on his sister, who has been soured by poverty or imbalance of humours or both. Alice wonders to herself, when he has Goldwoode’s business to occupy him, will that ease the situation for Helena? Surely he will be able to afford a paid nurse and so lighten the burden on his sister? The thought gives her a pang of unease that as a fellow guest she has made little attempt to ease that burden herself.

As Helena comes to the end of the passage, Martyn opens his eyes and Alice joins him on the settle. Opposite them, Helena closes her book. ‘Mistress Jerrard, your son is settled in bed?’

‘Asleep almost before his head touched the pillow,’ Alice says. ‘He has had an active day.’

‘How fortunate for him that he can find the solace of sleep,’ Martyn says.

‘Indeed,’ she agrees. ‘Of course he is young, and like a puppy, slips easily into sleep.’

‘Unlike some of us,’ Martyn murmurs.

‘Have you recovered from your difficult journey, sir?’ Alice asks.

‘I’ve not been jolted around all day in a cart, if that’s what you mean.’

To escape the relentless self-pity, Alice asks, ‘Your cousin, Mistress Goldwoode, are you already acquainted with her?’

‘Over the past months I made repeated overtures of friendship by letter,’ Martyn says, ‘but she showed no inclination to meet her poor relations. I wonder whether she will suddenly recall my kindness, now that she might need it.’

‘Martyn, that is not at all sure,’ Helena interposes. ‘We do not know what our late cousin willed.’

‘I was always going to get the business, Helena,’ he reminds her.

‘I know, but the land? Doesn’t our cousin get that?’

‘The one goes with the other. Remember, she only produced a girl. An allowance at best for her.’

Helena bites her lip, and like Alice before her, changes the subject. ‘Mistress Cazanove has kindly allowed us the use of the solar upstairs,’ she tells Alice. ‘With the sun streaming in, I believe Martyn has never been more at ease, have you, Martyn?’

‘With the sun streaming in, I have never been more at ease,’ Martin says.

Make an effort, help Helena with this demanding creature. ‘I hope you have passed the time pleasantly, sir?’ Alice asks.

‘I have been considering nearest and dearest,’ Martyn says with a thin smile, turning his eyes on Helena.

‘I didn’t know you thought about me, Martyn.’ Helena gives an embarrassed laugh.

‘Ah, but I do. I think about you a great deal at present, about your future now that my circumstances are so bright.’ He turns sardonic eyes on Alice. ‘What do you think is her future, Mistress Jerrard?’

‘I know neither of you well enough to answer that,’ Alice tells him.

‘Well, let me tell you. Helena plans marriage.’

‘Martyn!’ Helena protests.

‘She wants to marry The Lover, you see,’ Martyn says. He is talking to Alice, but his eyes are fast on Helena.

‘Sir,’ Alice says rising, ‘that is a private matter for Mistress Sprag and I cannot remain here to listen.’

As she goes to walk away, ‘Stay, she wants you to listen,’ Martyn calls. ‘Don’t you, Helena?’ Alice stops, looks at Helena.

‘It’s true I am hopeful of contracting a marriage,’ Helena confirms. ‘But Martyn knows I would not abandon him before the Goldwoode affairs bring him something to ease his situation.’

Martyn addresses Alice. ‘He’s pretty poor fare for a gentleman’s sister, this lover. But as you still want him, Helena, I’ll think about giving you an allowance. We both know The Lover won’t marry you without it.’

‘It’s not like that, Martyn, as you well know. He would marry me tomorrow but I have to consider, how would we live? It’s been like this for two years,’ she explains to Alice. ‘I am fortunate Master Devenish is prepared to wait.’

‘I can imagine that a second person to help with your needs would be welcome in your house, Master Sprag,’ Alice suggests.

‘It would be entirely unbefitting in Devenish’s case. A man of no rank could not be treated as an equal in my house.’

Helena is silent. Alice waits, and is rewarded by Martyn’s inability to resist needling his sister.

‘Of course, Helena, at your age I can understand why you want to think he trooly, trooly loves you—’

‘Martyn, don’t start, please,’ Helena begs.

‘… but trooly he is after the money. All this “how would we live” is what he’s planted in your mind. So there will be no lump sum for you.’ He muses a moment. ‘I shall warn him there will be only a trickle of small considerations, as and when you can demonstrate prudent spending. We’ll see how long his desire to marry you lasts under such a proviso.’

Helena defends the absent suitor. ‘He is good and kind and has no thought of stealing from me. You’ve met him but once, and yet you make these strictures.’

‘There are a lot of gold-diggers out there,’ Martyn declares. ‘But don’t worry, Helena, I won’t let you make a complete fool of yourself. If necessary, I shall simply keep the whole Goldwoode fortune all to myself. After all, I’ve waited long enough for it.’

‘What do you mean, sir, keep the fortune?’ None of them has heard Luella Goldwoode enter, absorbed as they have been in the matter of Helena’s lover.

‘Ah, this must be our cousin.’ Martyn screws round to address her. ‘At least, having been kept from visiting your husband since you snapped him up, I assume you are my cousin. I am Martyn Sprag, the one who wrote you all those letters of welcome which you sidestepped by trying to pay me off with derisory sums.’

‘Sir, I responded as best I could—’ Luella starts to say.

‘Yes, I’m sure. Welcoming one’s poor relations must rank low in a bride’s considerations.’

Alice itches to shake him. This is not a fair fight. Luella is clearly not used to standing her ground against sarcastic hostility. Yet Luella tries again. ‘Several times I talked to my husband about your—’

‘Well, cousin,’ Martyn seems to have a way of ensuring none shall gainsay him. ‘assuming I can still call you cousin, since the link has been, so to speak, choked off.’ Luella flinches as he continues, ‘If I choose to keep the Goldwoode inheritance to myself, I am free to do so. I shall do as I see fit.’

‘But sir, you misunderstand,’ Luella stands before him. ‘I am his wife.’

‘And the mother of his child, yes I know all that. A daughter, wasn’t it? Not a son?’

‘He loved little Eleanor,’ Luella insists.

‘Maybe so, madam, but I have always been the heir. He would never have left his money to a woman.’

‘Not his business, no, but he told me himself when Eleanor was born that the lands would be hers.’

‘He can’t have done!’ Martyn objects. A note of panic has entered his voice. ‘It’s mine!’

‘Martyn,’ Helena says. ‘Do not tease our cousin. You will still have the business. There is bound to be enough and to spare from that.’

‘To spare for what? You and your lover? Would you have me no better than a common tradesman?’

‘What?’ Helena gasps. ‘Surely it cannot be so hopeless!’

‘The drip, drip of mere pence from madder and woad? You think that will support me?’

‘Martyn, I know he was forever penny-pinching, but I thought his business was—’

‘What you thought is of no account, Helena. That house, those lands, are mine by right!’

‘Sir, please,’ Luella wrings her hands, her eyes are welling. ‘My husband is barely cold in his coffin. I do not feel we should discuss this now.’

‘Goldwoode’s money belongs in my family!’ Martyn jabs his chest. ‘It’s mine!’

‘I would regard it a point of honour to ensure that you and your sister are amply compensated,’ Luella assures him. ‘I would not leave my husband’s relations unaided.’

‘Compensated? What do you mean, compensated?’ Martyn roars. ‘What are you planning to do? Line us up once a year on Maundy Thursday with the beggars and cripples and toss us a handful of groats?’

The insinuation silences Luella.

‘Where is his Will?’ Helena wails. ‘Let us find his Will and verify for ourselves who is right. Oh, dear God, let us resolve this, I cannot bear it!’ The hand that goes to cover her face shakes. Alice does not know whether to comfort her or go to Luella who stands alone, disbelief mingling with hurt in her face.

Luella herself solves the problem by turning on her heel and quitting the hall. Alice moves to sit next to Helena and puts her hand on the other woman’s arm. To her surprise she realises Helena’s whole body is trembling, and Alice runs an arm round her shoulders, murmuring words of comfort. ‘It’s all right, they will find the Will. Whoever inherits, I feel sure you and your brother will be secure, Helena. Mistress Goldwoode has just promised. Please do not distress yourself. Martyn is disappointed at the possibility he may be mistaken. I’m sure he doesn’t mean half he says.’

‘Martyn is disappointed,’ Martyn mimics from the other settle. ‘Martyn doesn’t mean what he says.’

‘Oh, Martyn!’ Alice flashes. ‘Your sister is distraught.’

Two menservants enter the hall carrying dishes for supper. ‘You!’ Martyn points at them. ‘Yes, you. Come and help me to my chamber. Now!’

‘Martyn, I will help you if you—’

‘I don’t want your help, Helena! Go and suck up to the little wife. She’ll have the money now.’ Between them the two men raise him and carry him from the hall.

‘Martyn!’ Helena cries.

‘Let him calm down,’ Alice advises. ‘He will come back to himself when he has had time to think.’

‘You don’t understand.’ Helena pushes Alice aside and runs from the hall, calling to her brother.