The Anatomy Of Ghosts

44

Nothing was simple in this matter of Sylvia Whichcote, Holdsworth thought, nothing was substantial. It was like mist or smoke. If you put out your hand to touch it, there was nothing there. But when your hand moved, your own action had the mysterious effect of changing the shape and appearance of whatever it was you had failed to grasp.

In one way, there was consolation in the fact that the problem was none of his. Lady Anne had employed him to act on her behalf. He would hear from her tomorrow at the latest and she would almost certainly command him to bring Frank back to London. Her interest was her son, not the death of a woman she had never met.

In the meantime, Holdsworth made a conscious effort to throw himself into other activities. He dined in college, where he sat between Mr Dow and Mr Crowley, and talked a little about the library and its shortcomings from the perspectives of their particular interests. But the main topic of conversation around the table was Dr Carbury and his illness. Holdsworth, who had seen him most recently, was much in demand as an eye-witness.

‘I understand from his servant that they almost despaired of his life when you were with him,’ Mr Richardson said. ‘Were you actually in his chamber?’

‘As it happens, yes – he suffered an acute spasm of pain, but fortunately it was brief.’

‘What brought it on?’

‘I cannot say, sir,’ Holdsworth said. ‘These things are a mystery to me.’

Afterwards, he visited the library and worked on his survey of its contents and condition. Holdsworth had to look to his own future – if the late bishop’s collection were transferred to the college, someone would have to oversee the operation, and there was no reason why it should not be him. And why not? Had he not fulfilled his side of her ladyship’s bargain and brought about Frank Oldershaw’s cure?

He worked steadily throughout the afternoon and the early evening until he heard the chapel clock striking seven. He put away his notes and walked across the court to Frank’s rooms. Frank himself was not at home, but Mulgrave was making everything ready for what he called a genteel little supper.

‘You’re setting three places,’ Holdsworth said, glancing at the table.

‘Yes, sir. Mr Frank asked Mr Archdale to join you.’

Holdsworth took up a newspaper and settled on the window seat. After a few minutes he heard a gentle tapping at the sitting-room door, which he had left unfastened. Mulgrave was in the gyp room and did not hear. The door swung open.

Whichcote’s footboy was outside. He jumped backward as he saw Holdsworth. ‘Beg pardon, your honour,’ he mumbled. ‘He’s to go out tonight.’

Holdsworth threw down the paper and went to the door. ‘Mr Whichcote?’

‘Yes, sir. We’re to wait till after sunset so the bailiffs can’t nab him. We’re to sup at Mrs Phear’s. I brought a billet from her this morning.’

Holdsworth motioned the boy into the room. ‘And you accompany him?’

‘Yes, sir, with the lantern to light him on the way back.’

Holdsworth heard a faint movement behind him and turned. Mulgrave was standing in the doorway of the gyp room.

‘What is it?’ Holdsworth said.

‘I thought I heard a knocking, sir.’

‘You did – as you see.’

Mulgrave bowed.

Augustus stared at the carpet. ‘Can’t stay, sir,’ he said. ‘Master sent me out for some wine.’

Holdsworth accompanied Augustus to the door. On the landing outside, he said, pitching his voice so low that only the boy could hear, ‘Are matters otherwise unaltered? Is your master at work in the same place? And does he leave his papers in that valise?’

‘Yes, sir. But for God’s sake, if he finds me out I’m as good as dead. He must not know.’

Augustus pulled back and jerked his head like a nervous horse. He slipped down the stairs, keeping close to the wall. Holdsworth went back inside and closed the door. Mulgrave was polishing the glasses on the table.

‘You did not see the boy,’ Holdsworth said.

‘No, sir.’ Mulgrave continued to polish the glass he was holding. ‘Mr Whichcote’s footboy.’ He set down the glass and limped towards the door of the gyp room.

‘What’s it to you?’ Holdsworth asked.

Mulgrave turned. ‘Nothing, sir. Nothing in the world. A tolerably promising lad, I find.’

‘I saw Soresby today,’ Archdale said. ‘I talked to him.’

Frank dropped his fork with a clatter. ‘The devil you did. So he’s hiding with Uncle Tom Turdman?’

‘Probably – I don’t know. He didn’t say.’ Harry turned to Holdsworth. ‘But there’s something he wishes to tell you, sir. He has some information – I don’t know what it is – and he’s uneasy about it.’

They were waiting on themselves – Mulgrave had been sent away. None of them had eaten much, though Frank and Harry Archdale had drunk a good deal.

‘And is this why he’s in such a difficulty now?’ Holdsworth asked.

‘I don’t know. But it weighs heavily on him. I – I took the liberty of suggesting he confide in you, as you are in a manner of speaking a neutral observer, and – and you are here on behalf of her ladyship.’

‘What’s that got to do with it?’ Frank said.

Harry shrugged. ‘If anyone has the power to make things right for Soresby, to see the poor scrub is fairly treated, it’s her ladyship.’

‘I am happy to meet him,’ Holdsworth said. ‘Where?’

‘He begged me to inquire whether it would be convenient for you to call in at Mr Turpin’s Coffee House tomorrow. It is in St John’s Lane, at the Round Church end. He’ll be waiting there in the morning between eleven and twelve, and he would be infinitely obliged if you could find the time to see him.’

‘Ha!’ Frank said with a leer. ‘An assignation!’

Holdsworth said he would see what could be done. ‘Assignation’, an ugly word, made him think of Elinor, not Soresby. He might see her before the evening was done.

The meal proceeded with little conversation. Frank kept glancing at the clock. Harry, who knew nothing of the proposed expedition after supper, made his excuses and withdrew, saying with a virtuous air that he hoped to do a little reading before bedtime.

They listened to his unsteady footsteps on the landing. Holdsworth laid five keys on the table. They were tied together with a piece of string.

‘Should we wait, sir?’ Frank said in a whisper, though there was no one to hear. ‘Until it’s darker, I mean.’

‘Too dangerous. We don’t know how long Whichcote will be.’

‘What’s your plan?’

‘It will be better if I go alone. But would you be so good as to walk awhile in the arcade by the chapel, as if you’re taking the air? If Whichcote returns, he must come that way. You will see him coming through the main gate and you will have time to warn me. I am on the same staircase so no one will wonder to see me there.’

‘And then?’

‘And then we shall see.’ Holdsworth stood up and pocketed the keys. ‘It partly depends on Mrs Phear, does it not? How long she keeps him.’

‘Under the tree?’ Elinor said as Susan cleared away the supper things.

‘Beg pardon, ma’am?’

‘Yesterday you told me Ben took advantage of you for the first time in March. “Under the big tree.” Which tree?’

Susan, always rosy, became purple-faced. ‘Oh, ma’am – the one by the pond, the Founder’s tree. He fooled me something terrible, he did, said he wanted to see my new cloak – you remember, ma’am? You’d just given it to me, and I’m so grateful, truly I am. So I slipped out in the night, he came over the wall from his lodging and he wanted to touch the cloak, and he was saying it was soft and warm like my skin, and then it was fondling and kissing and sweet words, and then -’

‘Stop,’ Elinor commanded. ‘But it was night-time. How did you get out of the house?’

For an instant she surprised on the girl’s face a smug, almost mocking superiority. ‘Oh, ma’am,’ Susan said, ‘he made me come down the back stairs and let myself out the garden door. He’d left the gate at the bridge unlocked when he was doing his rounds. And he was there waiting for me.’

Elinor thought how cold the March night must have been, and how warm their desire.

‘But I learned my lesson, ma’am. Next time we tried it, I had a terrible fright. I was there first, see, and someone bumped into me in the dark.’ She stared at Elinor with large brown eyes. ‘So I never went there again.’

No, Elinor thought, you and Ben used the wash-house in the daytime instead. ‘Tell me,’ she said. ‘The person you encountered in the dark, the person who wasn’t Ben. I suppose it was Mr Frank Oldershaw?’