Instruments of Darkness

PART III
1

SUNDAY, 4 JUNE 1780

Crowther was surprised how quickly he warmed to the life and atmosphere of Caveley Park. Today, the housekeeper smiled at him when she opened the door, and he was ushered into the salon to wait for the ladies’ return from church. He watched out of the window as the little boy swooped around the lawns mimicking the flight of the crows under the eye of his nursemaid, who cradled the baby of the family in her arms. When Crowther was a boy, church service every Sunday had been an inescapable duty, until he learned exactly when to disappear into hiding. It had to be near enough to the time when the family had to leave to make a thorough search for him impossible. And this young boy was handed all this freedom and air as his natural right. He wondered if Stephen would follow his father to sea. Another few years of play, then a life of salt and bells.

Crowther continued to watch until the boy looked up and, seeing him, waved. The maid too, her attention caught by Stephen, turned and raised her hand with a smile. Crowther smiled back, let his hand flutter up and fall again as the boy flew on. Some unusual emotion pressed on his chest. He cleared his throat, and turned back into the room. He had not been waiting long before a flurry at the door and the shouts of greeting from Stephen announced that Harriet and Rachel had returned.

Mrs. Westerman swept into the room, her eyes bright with amusement and her son dancing at her heels. Rachel came in a little more sedately behind her. Crowther stood but was waved back into his chair as Mrs. Westerman removed her hat and dropped it on the table, then collapsed onto one of the settees. Rachel picked up the hat, shaking its ribbons straight, before carefully removing her own.

“Crowther! I am glad you are here. We feared for our reputation, but we have become shining moral beacons. Mrs. Heathcote!”

That lady put her head into the room. She was smiling broadly.

“You’ll be wanting coffee, ma’am?”

“I will. What has made you laugh, madam? Has David been telling you about our leading role in today’s sermon? Are you not honored to be working for such a paragon?”

Mrs. Heathcote grinned. “It is indeed an honor, ma’am.” She turned to Rachel. “Shall I take those, miss?” and carried away the ladies’ bonnets.

Crowther waited and when Harriet looked at him, raised an eyebrow. She burst into laughter and arranged the skirts of her dress, then settled Stephen on her knee and ruffled his hair.

“Oh, it’s all too silly. The vicar decided on the Good Samaritan as a text today, and held me, Rachel and yourself as examples for attending-oh, what was the phrase? — ‘the last lonely rituals in a lost life.’ I have noted he relies a little too heavily on alliteration for his effects. He should be spoken to.”

Harriet started to pull off her gloves as she spoke. Stephen was allowed to help, and seemed in constant danger of falling off his perch, so vigorous were his efforts tugging on his mother’s fingers. Crowther thought briefly of Nurse Bray’s blood on her palm.

“Of all the nonsense. He would not have been there himself if we had not arrived, and my sister had to bully us like a she-devil. Rachel is the only one who can think of it and not blush.”

Rachel had tried to look severe during this speech and failed, but at those last words she became a little serious.

“And Mr. Thornleigh. He meant to come.”

Crowther glanced at Harriet. She wrinkled her nose at him. He was not sure of the implication. Harriet gave her son a fierce hug, set him down on his feet, then held him at arm’s length and cupped one of her hands around his smooth face.

“Your hair is a mess, young man. Very well-you have seen enough of us for now. Go and get properly dirty until you are called in for your dinner.”

He grinned at her and set off for the lawn again. Rachel turned to Crowther.

“I know about the knife, Mr. Crowther. In what way it was stained, I mean. I made Harriet tell me before I would go to bed last night.”

Harriet leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, and put her chin in her hand.

“She was most insistent, I’m afraid, and asked if she could hear us discuss how things stand this morning. I agreed, if you are willing.”

Crowther felt the women’s eyes on him, and shifted awkwardly in his chair.

“With the greatest of respect, Miss Trench, Mrs. Westerman is a married woman, and of wide experience. Whereas, yourself, there are elements, conjectures we might make that will not be suitable for …”

“I am not a child, Mr. Crowther!” Rachel said.

The door opened as she spoke and Mrs. Heathcote came smoothly in with the coffee.

“And miss, you’ll sound less like one if you learn to keep your temper, if you don’t mind me saying so.” She placed the tray at Harriet’s elbow, and turned to Crowther. “Good girls, the Trench sisters, Mr. Crowther. But to hear their tempers fly sometimes, you’d think they had no notion of how to behave in a respectable household. Still, they may mature with age.”

She turned without waiting for a response and sailed out of the room with her head held high. Crowther gazed after her in frank astonishment. The two women looked a little crestfallen for a moment, then seeing Crowther’s expression, both laughed. Harriet began to pour the coffee.

“I am mistress of this house only by Mrs. Heathcote’s leave, I’m afraid, Crowther. And I fear she may take it all away from me if she thinks I am behaving badly. She believes we need a mother, as we lost our own when Rachel was just a child, and now she supplies the role.”

Rachel took the full coffee cup from her sister and handed it to Crowther.

“Her husband is just the same. James says he is captain only as long as Mrs. Heathcote thinks he is doing a proper job of it. When they are both in the house, we live in terror.”

Crowther smiled and drank some of his coffee, then becoming aware that Rachel was still looking at him with steady attention, he sighed.

“I wish you would not listen to us talk, Miss Trench, because we may, as I’ve said, have unpleasant things to say, and I do not wish to upset you in any way.” Rachel flushed a little and bit her lip as he went on, “However, what we imagine is being said is normally worse than what is actually being spoken, so if you have won your sister over, I can have no objections to make.”

Rachel took her own coffee cup and settled herself with evident satisfaction.

“Thank you. Now,” she looked from one to the other, “explain everything from the beginning.”

The box was laid out in the middle of the table. Susan, Graves and Miss Chase sat round it, regarding its smooth black sides with suspicion. Jonathan and Mrs. Chase, her arms crossed comfortably across her broad stomach, stood to one side. The family had just returned from church and the time they had decided among themselves to examine its secrets had come upon them. Mrs. Chase looked at them all, then addressed herself to the little boy at her side.

“Shall we go and help Cook, Jonathan? And then I have a whole box of ribbons that need to be sorted. Shall we leave these folk to their papers?”

The small boy thought seriously for a moment, then nodded and allowed himself to be led from the room. The door closed behind them.

“Well, Susan?”

Graves tried to smile at her. She looked up at him.

“Who is that man outside, Mr. Graves? You did not seem very pleased to see him.”

“His name is Molloy. I have some business with him, but it is nothing to do with Alexander, Susan, I promise you.”

She nodded and drew the box over to her with an effort, then lifted the lid.

It was mostly papers, but on top of them lay two small packages wrapped in soft leather scraps. Susan lifted the first of them out, and handed it without speaking to Graves. He took it from her and she watched him attentively as he unwrapped it. It was the miniature of Susan’s mother that he remembered Alexander showing him once. There was a larger version of the same portrait hanging in the parlor of Alexander’s house, there to watch over them, but there was a delicacy in this little portrait missing in the larger version. He handed it back to Susan, and she held it in her palm.

“I think Jonathan and I are rather alone in the world now, are we not?”

Graves felt his throat burn, but nodded slowly.

“You and Miss Chase will help us though, won’t you, Mr. Graves?”

“Always.”

She wiped her eyes with her fingertips and removed the other little bag, again handing it to Graves. He shook it gently and an elegant gold wedding band fell into his hand. It glittered with a tiny nest of sapphires. He could fancy it felt warm on his hand.

“Your mother’s, I think, Susan.”

She took it from him, touching the brilliants with her fingertips, then her shoulders began to shake, and Miss Chase put her hand on the child’s arm.

“What is it, Susan? Does it hurt you to see it?”

The girl looked a little wildly from side to side at the adults.

“I don’t know what to do with it! Am I to wear it? I think it is too big for my finger. What if it fell off in the street!”

She burrowed her head into the young woman’s shoulder and cried so hard, Graves was almost frightened for her. He caught Miss Chase’s eye, and opened his mouth hoping to find something of use to say. Miss Chase shook her head very slightly at him, and cradled and shushed the little girl till her sobs lessened a little. With one hand she then felt at her neck, and drew up a simple gold chain that hung under her bodice.

“Susan, my love, I have an idea. I think it would be a fine thing for you to wear your mother’s ring. Let’s hang it on this old chain of mine.”

Susan looked up, unsure, but hopeful.

“But it is yours,” she said.

Miss Chase looked quite severe.

“It is my gift to you. Look, the clasp is very secure.” Susan operated the little catch and bit her lip. “Now we may put your ring on it,” she did so, “and fasten it round your neck.”

Susan let the light chain be placed over her head, and held up the ring so it caught the light.

“There,” said Miss Chase, leaning back. “You can wear it under your bodice, as I did, so it is always close to your heart, and safe as if it were in the Bank of England.”

Susan smiled consciously and tucked the chain away. Graves watched, his feelings as the admirer of one woman, and protector of the other, tumbling over in his chest like flag-waving acrobats. Susan leaned into Miss Chase’s embrace again, and they looked at the box, the great pile of papers it contained making Susan shrink against Miss Chase’s arm. Keeping the little girl secure, Miss Chase reached out for the black lid, and closed it over the papers again. Graves stirred a little, as if about to protest. He met command in Miss Chase’s eye.

“That is enough for now. We can look at the papers later. They will keep, and I think Susan and I should take a turn round the square.”

He heard Susan sigh with relief, and kept silent.