A Death at Fountains Abbey (37 page)

‘Brave as a fucking lion. He had nightmares about it for the rest of his life. Everyone called him a hero, but he never thought that. His leg, his scars, the pain – he saw it all as punishment. Well, he’s at peace now, God rest his soul.’

We walked back to the stables. The sun was setting, and members of the search party were riding back across the park. No sign of Forster, devil take him.

‘Jack were sweet on that girl, you know,’ Simpson said, as we parted. ‘The one that started the fire.’

‘Molly Gaining?’

‘He’d been saving up enough so he could ask for her hand. That’s why he never married. She broke his heart.’

I needed warmth and comfort after that tragic story. I trudged up the stairs to our chambers and found Kitty there, waiting for me.

‘Sam woke,’ she said, rushing over to hug me. ‘I told him you would be back soon, and he smiled. He understood me, Tom.’

I hugged her back. ‘That’s good news.’ The first of the day.

‘Have they not found Forster?’

‘Not yet. And I don’t suppose they will, now the light is fading. Kitty: we must be careful.’ I took out Forster’s journal, and showed her the message he had left me.

‘He’s turned mad,’ she whispered.

‘I ruined his great design. He’s been building this grand edifice of revenge for months, now I arrive and tear it down in three days. He’ll kill me if he has the chance.’

‘We should leave, Tom. It’s not safe.’ She reached for my hand, frowning at my grazed knuckles.

I glanced at the bed. ‘As soon as Sam is fit to travel.’

‘That could be
days
! We could stand a guard about him until he recovers. Forster doesn’t care about Sam any more. It’s you he hates.’ She pressed her palms together. ‘
Please
, Tom. Let’s find a passage to Holland or France, spend the summer somewhere warm. We can send for Sam when he is recovered, if you wish. Then once Forster is caught and hanged, we can go home.’

Kitty knew how to fight, better than most. But she also knew when to run. And she was right: Forster aimed all his hatred at me now – not Sam. I leaned down and kissed her. ‘We’ll leave tomorrow.’

‘Oh!’ she cried, and flung her arms about me.

There was a knock at the door. It was one of the footmen, bringing the bottle of claret I’d ordered from the kitchen. And the spare I’d requested, just in case. Mrs Mason had sent up a large plate of muffins, with butter and damson jam.

‘Oh bless you, I am almost collapsed with hunger,’ Kitty said, taking the tray and settling it on the dressing table. ‘I’ve never had wine and muffins together before.’

‘I could bring you some tea,’ the footman offered.

‘No!’ ?We both answered in unison.

I asked him to bring supper to our room at nine, along with some broth in case Sam woke up. I couldn’t stomach a formal meal with the Aislabies after such a bleak day, and I doubted they would wish to sit stiff-backed in the dining room either.

Kitty opened the window, and we sat on the window seat eating muffins as the light faded to dusk. I told her about Thomas Wattson.

‘No!’ she cried, dismayed. ‘I cannot believe it.’

‘Why, because he named flowers for you?’

She rested her chin on her knees. ‘He seemed so sorry about Mr Sneaton, and Sam, too.’

‘Guilt, I suppose.’

‘But why on earth would he help Francis Forster? Was he forced to, do you think?’

‘Perhaps. Forster could have killed Sneaton on his own. Wattson was on patrol last night – if he’d stepped away for too long, he would have been missed. And he was certainly angry with Forster this morning.’

‘So perhaps he helped with the notes, and the deer, but not the murder. Or did Bagby help him?’ She crinkled her brow, confused.

‘I don’t think Bagby knew what Forster was doing. I think he saw us dragging Mrs Fairwood to the library and went to find a gentleman who would speak for her. Bagby doesn’t trust me. He thinks I’m a dangerous influence on Lady Judith.’

‘You mean he thinks you’re fucking her?’

‘Well, yes. For some unfathomable reason.’

Kitty snorted into her wine glass. ‘So where
is
Bagby?’ And then her smile faded. Because really, there were only two answers to that question. Either he had realised his mistake, and run away . . . Or he was dead.

We sat in silence as the sky turned a deep blue. The day was ended, and Forster was not found. I stoked the fire, studying the painting of Fountains Abbey that hung above the hearth. If I had set off sooner, I might have caught him there, placing his journal on the tombstone.

I crossed the room to sit with Sam. Could I really abandon him here tomorrow? I plumped his pillow, and saw that it was spotted with blood from the wound to his skull, seeping through his bandage. What if the wound festered? He could succumb to some putrid fever while Kitty and I were on the boat to France, all on his own with no family to care for him.

‘Tom?’ She had been watching me.

‘We can’t leave him, Kitty. I’m sorry. I know what I said before . . . we just can’t.’

She pulled off my wig, and kissed the top of my head. She had always known, in her heart. I could never abandon Sam.

He stirred beneath the blankets, and his eyelids fluttered open.

I leaned forward, eagerly. ‘Sam.
Sam.
It’s me.’

An impatient look came into his eye.
Evidently.

‘Was it Forster who attacked you?’

His breathing turned jagged.

‘We’ll find him, don’t worry. Did Wattson help him?’

‘Yes.’ Breathed out in a whisper. He winced, and closed his eyes.

We talked to him for a while, telling him that he was safe and that we would take care of him. It was hard to know what he heard, and he soon drifted back into sleep. But seeing him with his eyes open, and able to understand me, gave me hope that he would recover.

The footman brought supper at nine, as promised. There was no fresh news of Forster or Bagby, and the final remnants of the search party had returned at last light. The house would be locked up soon, and men put at every door. There was nothing more to be done tonight.

So we ate supper and finished the last of the wine, speaking softly so as not to wake Sam. Then Kitty slipped a hand into the band of my breeches, and pulled me into the cupboard room, and on to the bed. I took off her gown, and she shivered in the cool air until I covered her, and the heat rose between us. We pushed away the death and horror of the day and lost ourselves in a narrow room, with one candle burning by the bed.

‘Tom, you are taking up the whole mattress, you great oaf.’

I propped myself on my elbow, and traced a familiar path of freckles down her porcelain white skin. She was naked, save for the poesy ring she always wore about her neck, and the diamond-studded ring on her finger. She had shifted it to her left hand.

‘Mrs Hawkins,’ I said.

She yawned, and said nothing.

I lit a pipe and we smoked it together. I told her what Simpson had said about the night of the fire, and how Sneaton had been in love with Molly Gaining.

‘What a shame. Just think: if he’d said something, she might never have started the fire.’

‘He must have been too shy.’

‘I suppose. But to live the rest of his life all alone . . . it seems such a waste.’

I didn’t see it that way. Sneaton had lived alone, but people had loved and admired him, and mourned his death. That, surely, was the sign of a life lived well.

The bed was too narrow to lie upon together for very long. So we dressed and looked in on Sam. Kitty found Forster’s sketchbook lying on the table and flicked through it, gasping with revulsion when she reached the self-portrait. ‘Look how he has drawn his teeth,’ she said, holding it up.

I frowned at the image, the black and bloody sockets and blade-sharp cheekbones. His teeth ended in sharp points, like a wolf’s. I took the journal from her and threw it on the fire. Bright flames curled about the pages, destroying those terrible images. Elizabeth Fairwood dead upon the coffin lawn. Sneaton’s corpse floating in the water trough, surrounded by pages from the ledger.

Paper burned by fire, paper ruined by water. I had pulled the ledger from the water trough and it had disintegrated in my hands. The names of the guilty lost for ever.

And as I thought of it now, I wondered . . .

‘Kitty. Why would Forster destroy the ledger?’

She gasped, understanding at once. ‘He
wouldn’t
.’

I’d seen the pages floating on the water, and thought of them as a flourish – and another act of revenge. With the ledger destroyed, Aislabie could no longer use it to blackmail his way back into power. But Forster had been desperate to find the ledger, for the list of names it contained.

‘He must still have it,’ Kitty said. ‘Unless . . .’ Her eyes lit up.

Unless Sneaton had refused to hand it over. I grinned. Of course he’d refused. The book was still hidden somewhere. If I could find it, I might still free myself from the queen’s service. Yes – I would have to search one of the largest estates in Europe. Yes, night had fallen. And yes, damn it, there was a distinct chance that Forster was still out there and would murder me while I was poking about the bushes. But what is life, without the odd gamble?

I kicked the wall. Even I could see it was impossible. Sneaton could have buried the ledger anywhere. I could search for years and never find it.

‘Never mind,’ Kitty said, pouring me a glass of wine. ‘At least Mr Aislabie thinks it is destroyed. That should satisfy the queen.’

‘Hmm.’ I thought of what Sneaton had promised the day before: that the queen would never get her claws on the ledger. True enough . . .

I clapped my hands to my head, and laughed at a joke made by a dead man.

The queen’s claws.

The ledger was buried with the sphinx.

‘It’s too dangerous,’ Kitty said. ‘You can’t wander about the estate alone at night, Tom!’

I buttoned my waistcoat. ‘If I wait until morning there will be a hundred men out in the gardens. I can hardly dig the damned thing up in front of them. I have
to go tonight.’

‘No, you don’t! For God’s sake, wait a few days. Why must you be so
impatient
? It’s perfectly safe where it is.’

‘We need it now, Kitty. Tonight. What if Sam rallies tomorrow? We must be ready to leave at once.’

‘Tom, you can’t go out alone, you
can’t
. Francis Forster is waiting for you in the woods. He’ll
kill
you.’

‘Aislabie’s men spent half the day searching the estate. I doubt he’s within five miles of Studley. And he won’t expect me to be wandering about in the dark.’

‘No, because only a screaming lunatic would do something so stupid.’

I put my hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead. ‘Enough.’ I had to go, and she knew it.

‘Fuck, fuck,
fuck
.’ She pulled her boots out from a corner. ‘We’ll go together.’

‘We can’t. You need to stay with Sam.’

‘
Ugh!??
’ She stamped her booted foot, quite hard. ‘Why don’t
you
stay with him? And
I’ll
go down to the river, as it’s so
perfectly safe.
I shall take a basket of cakes and drink tea by the cascade.’

We both laughed. ‘At least take Metcalfe with you,’ she said.

‘D’you know, that’s a capital idea. We’ll take a sphinx each.’

‘
No.
Stay together. One of you on lookout for Forster. Honestly – how much wine have you drunk?’ She clomped over, one boot on, one boot off, and kissed me. ‘Oh, go, go – then you will be back the sooner. I shall fret
horribly
until you return.’

Metcalfe was in a clean silk nightgown, a crisp white cap on his head. He had been clearing up his room: the window stood open to freshen the air, and the piles of dirty clothes had been sent to the laundry. He drew in his brows as I explained about the ledger and the sphinx.

‘Should we not wait a few days?’

‘Sneaton must have left instructions for your uncle somewhere. It won’t be long before he finds them.’

Metcalfe grunted, acknowledging the truth of it. ‘Is it safe, do you think – to be gallivanting about the estate at night?’

‘Probably not.’

He rubbed his clean-shaven jaw. ‘Let me find my boots . . .’

I’d lied to Kitty, up in our chamber. I could have asked one of the servants to stand guard over Sam, while we headed out across the park together. The truth was, I thought there was a strong chance that Forster was waiting for me out in the woods – and I hoped to lure him out. I am a restless soul, and I couldn’t bear the thought of sitting trapped indoors for days until Forster was found. Much better to confront him, tonight. I had a brace of pistols, a sword, and a dagger – and for all Forster’s strength and cunning, I was a foot taller than him and knew how to fight. Face to face, the odds were in my favour.