Murder in The Smokehouse: (Auguste Didier Mystery 7) (27 page)

‘He tired of her?’

‘Or of the country life,’ Egbert said sourly, holding his nose as they passed a well-manured field.

‘But he was
married
to her,’ Auguste puzzled. ‘He can’t just have left her with the baby. He was his
heir
, after all. What about the estates, the title?’

‘
She
doesn’t seem to think she was married, not according to the letter she left for young Tom.’

‘She knew he had married again. She loved him, my friend.’

‘Hm.’ Egbert looked dubious. ‘Whatever happened,’ he pronounced finally, ‘it doesn’t bode well for the Tabors. And especially one of them.’

In the Lion, Inspector Stitch was waiting for them, aglow with happiness.

‘Unexpected pleasure, Stitch,’ Rose said suspiciously.

‘I thought I’d come myself, sir.’ Confidence exuded from every perspiring pore on his face. ‘I’ve had a look at the will, sir. Nothing about Tom Griffins or by-blow sons.
But
,’ he flourished a certificate like a rabbit from a magician’s hat, ‘I found this, sir.’

His superior glanced at it.

‘It was my own idea, sir,’ Twitch informed him eagerly. ‘You asked me to check the marriage certificates for Moffat, so I thought I might as well give Griffin a go too. Just a hunch, sir,’ he added modestly.

Rose handed it to Auguste, who looked at it, and tried to keep a straight face: Rose Griffin to Thomas Charles Tabor in July 1841 in Dent Church.

‘That’s why,’ Stitch pontificated, ‘we had trouble over Tom Griffin’s birth certificate. He wasn’t registered as Thomas Griffin but as Thomas Tabor. Born 1842.’

Auguste held his breath as Egbert deliberated on Twitch’s fate. It came at last.

‘If I still had my hat on, Stitch, I’d eat it.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Twitch modestly.

As the carriage trundled over the rough path towards the grey stone of Tabor Hall, flanked by its protective fells, Auguste tried to rid himself of the feeling that he was a Judas on his way to bring doom to the house under whose roof he had slept. For there seemed no doubt that one of the people with whom he had broken bread (and many of Breckles’ delightful recipes) was a murderer. Soon it would be necessary to keep his promise to Tatiana to warn her that an arrest was imminent. She had returned here earlier straight from Dent, pleading a weariness he knew she did not feel.

‘The Dowager Lady Tabor, if you please,’ Rose instructed Richey.

Richey glanced questioningly at Priscilla, who was bearing down upon him in a bright blue teagown. So must Tom Griffin have seen her, Auguste reflected: formidable, large, and overwhelming.

‘It will not be necessary for you to disturb my mother-in-law, Chief Inspector. I will ask Savage to request her to join us later. You may put your questions then.’

‘I’d like to see Lady Tabor now.’

‘She is—’

‘Now,’ Rose repeated politely.

‘Show the Chief Inspector to my mother’s apartments, Richey,’ Priscilla yielded.

As usual, however, Miriam was in no need of protection.

‘Lady Tabor, how long have you known that your
late husband was already married when you married him?’ Rose asked her quietly.

‘Since your visit a few days ago, Chief Inspector,’ she answered him readily. ‘Something you said suggested I should check. Dear Charlie always took the line of least resistance – so like him to gloss over unpleasant facts. Whereas I—’ She did not finish the thought, instead saying: ‘I had no idea he had had a child, legitimate or otherwise, though I did suspect there had been other women in the past before he met me. Does George know?’

‘He knows he might have had an illegitimate brother,’ Rose said cautiously. ‘How did you get to Dent, ma’am?’

‘Savage went with me. It was not an easy journey.’ She smiled. ‘Nevertheless I am not an invalid, and I was determined to see for myself. I did not wish to discuss the matter with my family, nor have I done.’

‘How did you know where to go?’ Rose asked mildly. ‘I didn’t mention Dent.’

‘I found out from old Tompkins. Savage brought him to the Hall for me when Walter was out. Wasn’t that clever? Perhaps I should have followed your profession, Chief Inspector.’

‘I am sorry to be the means of upsetting you, ma’am.’

‘It was a long time ago, Chief Inspector. It was indeed a shock,’ she admitted, ‘but I am recovered now, thank you. You see, I know Charlie loved me and that is all I care about. He was a weak man in some ways, good and kind but easily led. I’ve no doubt he thought he loved the woman, but in 1844 he met me.’ She smiled. ‘It was love at first sight, as they say, Chief Inspector. Whatever he felt for that girl must have died from that moment, though I am sure, being Charlie, he would see that the girl and her child did not starve.’

‘But she was his
wife
,’ Auguste wanted to shout,
‘just as you were later.’ But how could he point out the appalling truth that Miriam had never been his wife, because Rose did not die until a year after their marriage?

‘Now that that poor man’s dead, what difference can it make to anyone?’ Miriam said, as if reading his thoughts. ‘Are you going to have to arrest someone, Chief Inspector?’

‘Very soon, ma’am. Will you be strong enough?’

‘Very little has upset me for a long time now. Charlie is no longer with me, and beside that, most other things seem rather unimportant.’

There was some delay in gathering the family together in the drawing room. Only Miriam was excused from attending this salmagundy, this dish for which Egbert would assemble his ingredients, and proceed to chop them finely. Firstly it appeared Victoria could not be found. Eventually she was discovered with Mrs Breckles, having a cut finger tended. George was changing for dinner and apparently could not be hurried. A second more peremptory summons had to be sent.

Auguste fidgeted, on tenterhooks now. He and Egbert exchanged few words now that the trail appeared so clear-cut, so obviously pointing to one conclusion.

Gertrude and Cyril were first to appear, closely followed by Laura.

‘Mr Carstairs, ma’am,’ a parlourmaid announced to her a moment later.

‘I trust you do not object to his presence, Chief Inspector,’ Laura said drily. ‘Although this is going to be a matter for the family, Mr Carstairs still claims he wishes to be part of it, but I fear he will shortly change his mind.’

‘I’d like you here, sir.’ Rose nodded at him.

Gradually the family including Alexander assembled, Priscilla and George entering last, as if to present a united front. And that, Auguste thought soberly, they were going to need.

‘In the early morning of Sunday 29 September, the body of a man was found in the smokehouse here at Tabor Hall,’ Rose began, his formality causing Oliver to glance at Auguste uneasily. ‘The body was that of Tom Griffin, a travelling showman, whose clothes were later found hidden in the grounds. They had been exchanged for evening clothes, not his own, and his dead body had been manicured, in an attempt to obscure his identity long enough so that those who might most easily identify him would have left the area.’

Auguste looked round as Egbert’s even voice continued. Victoria appeared on the verge of tears as though a game had suddenly ceased to be one; her hand was clasped in Alexander’s. Gertrude looked brightly interested but Cyril distinctly nervous. That was odd, wasn’t it?

‘We’ll leave the matter of just how and at whose hands he met his death for a moment. Suffice to say that you, the Tabor family, found itself left with a body on its hands at approximately twelve-thirty. The murder probably took place at the time that the noise of the report would be best smothered by the stable clock chiming midnight. The family had to think quickly, and came up with the solution of changing the victim’s clothes and sprucing him up; probably it was meant only as a temporary measure until the body could be otherwise disposed of. It would hardly have been safe to attempt to bury the body in the grounds that night, or to smuggle it out, with extra police and guards on watch due to the King’s presence. For the same reason I don’t believe it was a premeditated
crime. The suit presented a problem, since one belonging to a member of the family or a guest would instantly be missed by the valet responsible.’

‘It wasn’t mine,’ cried Cyril defensively.

‘No,’ Rose agreed. ‘We think it was one that had belonged to the late Lord Charles Tabor.’

‘None of those was missing,’ said Laura quickly. ‘Savage told me.’

‘So she might have, Miss Laura. But Miss Savage is devoted to her mistress and the Tabor family.’

‘Are you suggesting my mother-in-law sneaked down in the middle of the night and murdered this man?’ Priscilla asked icily.

‘I’m telling you I believe one of your father-in-law’s suits disappeared. You, the Tabor family, realised you could not leave labels inside which would easily be traced to the late Lord Tabor. Nor could they simply be ripped out, thus betraying something was out of the ordinary. It was important that every detail should look as correct as possible to mislead us on the dead man’s background. False labels therefore had to be stitched quickly into the pockets of the jacket and waistcoat, on the shirt,
etc.
That task was, I fancy, given to Miss Laura and Miss Victoria.’

Laura’s face betrayed nothing save mild interest. Victoria’s flushed bright red.

‘The hair and beard had to be trimmed, the fingernails and hands manicured,’ Rose continued. ‘All at high speed in case lights in the smokehouse, however dim, or lanterns moving on the path should be noticed. It was just over two hours later that Mr Alexander and Mrs Didier came across the body by chance, thinking it was someone who was after the blood of Mr Didier.’

Auguste’s stomach took an unpleasant lurch. Gregorin leapt agilely from the back to the forefront of
his mind and was firmly sent back again.

‘It was a remarkable achievement looked at dispassionately,’ Rose finished. ‘Great organisation and clear thinking were needed. Bloodstains, for example, had to appear on the suit, for which purpose, if I’m right, pig’s blood was taken from the kitchens. Some of the original blood had to be removed from the carpet, in order that a fiction of suicide might be maintained.’

There was dead silence as seven mask-like Tabor faces stared politely at Chief Inspector Rose. They might have been listening to a travelling entertainer, not to a Scotland Yard detective all but accusing them of being at the very least accessories to murder, a crime which could carry a penalty of ten years’ penal servitude.

‘You have a fanciful imagination, Chief Inspector.’ Priscilla took up her usual role of spokeswoman. ‘It is a
tour de force
to recreate so vividly two such busy hours in the life of – I think you intimated – my sister-in-law Laura.’

‘Oh, it wasn’t one person,’ Rose rejoined. ‘That wouldn’t have been possible. I believe you were all working together.’

A cry from Gertie. ‘It wasn’t me!’

‘Except Mrs Gertrude Tabor, I should have said,’ Rose continued unruffled. ‘I don’t think she was involved with this business at all. The rest of you were all very helpful in providing us with red herrings, just serious enough to deflect our attention from the truth. Mr Cyril Tabor’s suit was the last of these – a risk on your part since it pointed, falsely, to one particular member of the family.’

‘Might I ask,’ Priscilla came in heavily, ‘
why
we were all going to such lengths to disguise the identity of this man, or are you accusing us of murdering him as well?’

‘I’m coming to that,’ said Rose. ‘Unless you feel inclined to take over, Lady Tabor?’

Priscilla apparently didn’t.

‘Whatever document you may have made Tom Griffin sign, and even if he
believed
himself to be illegitimate, you knew different, didn’t you? You knew that the late Lord Tabor’s marriage to the present Dowager was invalid because he was already married to Rose Griffin, who did not die until 1847. Therefore you, Lord Tabor, Mr Tabor and Miss Tabor, were illegitimate. The title and estates belonged to Tom Griffin, whether he knew that when he called here or not. Nothing could preserve you from ruin if he ever found out he was legitimate. Did your father tell you about the marriage, Lord Tabor, or did you only find out after Tom Griffin called here in August, and you did a little bit of investigation? For some reason Rose Griffin thought her marriage not valid, and therefore that Tom was illegitimate, but there’s no doubt it was. You had reason for murder all right. To do you justice, you might even have wanted Tom Griffin out of the way to spare the Dowager the shock of learning of her husband’s misdeeds at her time of life.’

Auguste noticed a swift look between George and Priscilla. So Egbert was near the truth. Nothing convinced him of it so much, however, as the utter silence of the Tabors. Only Oliver showed emotion, but what emotion it was, Auguste could not be sure.

‘So where have we got to?’ Rose continued. ‘The marriage of Thomas Charles Tabor to Rose Griffin in 1841 meant that the Tabor estates rightfully belonged to Tom Tabor, or Griffin as he called himself, since he was born legally in 1842, as we now know. With Tom’s death the estates pass, I believe,
not
to you, Lord Tabor, since you are illegitimate, but to Tom’s line. He had no direct heirs, so it reverts to the line of Charles
Tabor’s brothers, and failing that, to the line of
his
father’s brothers. Very remote. And no one would ever find out if Griffin were dead, would they? There was a reasonable chance he would never be missed, certainly that he could never be linked to you. Of course, by that time he had bought a thumping great roundabout which, for all you know, might have been left sitting there in the middle of Settle. But luck was with you. And against Tom Griffin.’