Sword and Song (17 page)

The luncheon back at Long End was cold, as the servants were required to be at church too. That was followed by a very slow afternoon. Fischer looked over a book of architectural drawings of
Italian ruins with Heron, who answered his many questions – Heron of course had seen all the ruins in the flesh, so to speak. Esther read what she said was a book of sermons, but the print
looked not quite right for so serious a subject. Several of the gentlemen went to sleep; several more yawned constantly.

I wandered into the library to look for any music that had previously escaped our attention, hoping to find something of a sacred nature that would be unexceptional for Sunday performance. One
of the library windows looked out the side of the house, and in the sunshine I saw Alyson chatting to his London coachman. Perhaps he was thinking of an expedition. A picnic would be nice, a lazy
afternoon on a sunny bank with a bottle or two of wine and good friends... Would Esther worry over her complexion?

I returned to the drawing room, to find that Alyson had already returned and was leafing through a newspaper in a bored manner. The younger musical lady enquired whether I’d found any
suitable music. I said I had not.

At the word
music,
Alyson’s head snapped up. “Of course! We will rehearse the opera!”

All devout scruples went immediately out of the window in a scramble for parts.

I opened the opera book on the harpsichord music-stand, and Lizzie Ord came with anxious alacrity to sit by my side, ready to turn the pages. I smiled reassuringly at her. She looked hot. I was
not the only one who thought so; a moment later, her husband brought her a fan. As he turned to go, he dropped a hand on her shoulder, gripped firmly. Lizzie seemed to relax, managed to smile at
me. I flicked a glance at Ord, but he’d already turned away.

Behind Lizzie’s head, I glimpsed Claudius Heron, moving to take an empty chair beside Esther. She looked startled, but nodded politely at something Heron said. More conversation. Esther
smiled, and reached to offer Heron a dish of tea. He accepted politely. It looked as if they were making peace.

Alyson hung over the harpsichord, smiling with boyish charm. “Pattinson, what do you think we should do? Start at the beginning and work our way through – or play the big scene at
the end of the first act? I think we should start at the big scene, don’t you? Give us all a chance to warm up our voices.”

“Of course,” I agreed, turning pages. Given that Alyson had nothing to sing for at least ten minutes after the beginning of the opera, I was hardly surprised at his suggestion.

There was considerable confusion as the singers leafed through their parts looking for the right page. By the fireplace, Heron and Esther talked on, Esther nibbling at a small cake, Heron
occasionally gesticulating, as if explaining a point. A servant came into the room, looked about, and squeezed through to me.

On a silver platter sat a note, showing signs of haste – it was badly folded. I was getting more correspondence in two days than I’d had all year. I nodded thanks at the servant,
dropped a coin into his hand; he edged back out of the room. The letters and the servants were going to bankrupt me.

I snatched a look at the note while Alyson was still helping Ridley find his place. The note was in Hugh’s handwriting; the red seal was of poor quality, already crumbling – all,
presumably, that the inn could furnish. I unfolded the paper.

Charles
, Hugh had written.
The chapman’s sent me a message. Get here as soon as you can and come prepared for a ride into town. He’s found the apprentice
.

That evening I sat through the longest rehearsal of my life. Alyson’s enthusiasm was so infectious it looked likely to carry us on to the small hours of the morning.
Come as soon as you can
, Hugh had written but it was impossible to leave until everyone had gone to bed. And did he propose travelling at night? I’d had my fill of that!

Alyson’s idea of a rehearsal was simply to sing through the music from beginning to end. If someone mangled a tune, he thought it a good laugh and carried on. When the younger musical lady
asked if she could try a difficult passage again, he waved her away with a “You sound lovely, my dear”. It was obvious that he and his wife had sung the piece many times before, and
equally obvious that the whole evening had been designed to show off their talents. They performed magnificently and movingly. Lizzie, conscientiously turning pages for me, was lost in rapt wonder
at the way their voices melted together, complimented each other effortlessly. I was looking at the way they unashamedly smiled at each other, even in public; they were certainly in love. I did not
think that ‘Mrs Alyson’ would find herself cast off in the near future. Or perhaps at all.

After a while, enthusiasm inevitably waned among the rest of the company. Some of the gentlemen went off to the dining room, allegedly to talk, but in reality – to judge by the laughter
and shouts that soon arose – to play cards, in defiance of Sunday conventions. Esther sat in a chair by the window and read; some of the other ladies retired early. After a while, Heron laid
down the newspaper he’d been browsing through and nodded goodnight. All that were left were myself and Lizzie, the Alysons, and Esther, who was still reading. And Philip Ord, who’d
turned a winged armchair so he could stare fixedly at us.

Lizzie started to fidget. Under cover of the music, I whispered, “Are you all right?”

She turned a gaze to me that verged on tears. “He – he is always watching me.”

“Of course he is,” I whispered back. “That’s because he’s so proud of you.”

She stared at me bewildered, remembered just in time she had to turn the page, did so, and sat back down again. Her face lit up with hope. “Do you think so?”

“I’m sure of it,” I said. It was a lie but I didn’t regret it – she was at once much more at ease. She cast a glance back over her shoulder, with a shy smile for
her husband. I saw Ord’s lips twitch. Well, he was at least trying to smile.

And still the Alysons sang on.

It was gone midnight by the time the singing stopped; Esther had gone up to bed an hour or more before. Ord rescued us. He waited until an air had finished, got up briskly and said loudly:
“Madam, it is late.”

Lizzie was looking very tired. She got up at once with a fine assumption of surprise. “Heavens, is that the time? Yes, certainly I will come.” I was left alone with the Alysons.
Edward kissed his wife’s hand. “Shall we, my dear?” Her face was glowing. In a moment, they too were gone.

Leaving me with dozens of sheets of music, scattered about the room.

I shut the harpsichord and locked it. I was weary, and the thought of a long ride into town was not appealing. Leaving the trip till morning would be wiser, but every hour lost was an hour in
which the apprentice might escape. Alyson had already lost us too much time. And if we went now, and suffered no real delays, I might be back by midday tomorrow; the chances of anyone of the
company being up before then were slight and my absence might go unnoticed.

As I bent to pick up the papers, the butler, Crompton, came in to secure the windows. “If you would care to leave that for the maid, sir?”

I met his gaze. He seemed about to say something, but clearly changed his mind.

“No, I’m fine,” I said. “I need to put them in order.”

He bowed.

In my room, I tossed the papers in an untidy heap on the table, scrambled into my oldest clothes and riding boots, seized my greatcoat and cautiously crept down the stairs into the hallway
below. The front door was bolted and I balked at trying to unlock it without being heard. So I went swiftly past the dining room where the remaining gentlemen were still drinking and laughing over
obscene jokes, to the servants’ door. A narrow flight of stairs led down to a huge bare kitchen; three female servants were chattering over a pile of dirty dishes, their backs turned to me. I
slipped through into the scullery.

The back door of the house was open. Across the stable yard, grooms were lounging on stone benches, drinking ale between weary yawns. They were not pleased when I demanded a horse.

“What for?” one said bluntly.

“I’ve urgent business in Newcastle.”

Another laughed coarsely. “Plenty of ’em here.” He jerked his thumb at the scullery door. “Don’t need to go to town. Maids or mistresses, take your pick.”

I was weary and short of time. I snapped at him. “Don’t argue with me. Saddle the damn horse!”

The groom straightened instinctively at my tone of voice; he said uneasily, “I’ll have to ask the master first, sir.”

“That’s all right, Hawdon,” a voice said behind me. “I know all about it. Saddle up Mercy for Mr Pattinson and I’ll have Black Boy.”

Edward Alyson, grinning broadly, strolled across the yard. He was dressed almost entirely in black, except for a white cravat mostly hidden under his buttoned-up waistcoat. He waited until the
grooms had bustled into the stables then whispered, “I’m coming with you. Can’t miss the chance of laying my hands on a murderer!”

“Sir – ”

“No, no.” He was having great difficulty in containing his excitement. “Come on, Pattinson, don’t deny that’s where you’re off to.”

“Patt
er
son.”

“They’ve found him, haven’t they?” Alyson slapped his gloves against his thigh. “Come on, Pattinson,” he said, a wheedling note in his voice.
“It’s unfair to disappoint me! I haven’t had so much excitement for years. You can’t expect me to sit quietly at home while you dash about the country having fun!”

I gave up. There was plainly no chance of dissuading him. With a clatter of hooves, the grooms led out the horses. “How did you know what I was going to do?” I asked curiously.

He laughed. “You receive a note and then creep out of the house and ask for a horse? Well – certainly it could be an
affaire d’amour
but I very much doubt it.” He
made it sound as if he thought no woman would find me attractive.

The groom boosted him on to the back of his horse. He looked down at me. “I envy you, Pattinson,” he said. “Envy you more than I thought I’d ever envy any man. Life can
be so damn dull.”

And he cantered for the gate.

Hugh was waiting impatiently outside the inn, absent-mindedly patting his horse, a placid pale grey. His expression when he saw Alyson would have been, in other circumstances,
a pleasure to behold – I’ve never seen him so taken aback.

“Come on, man,” Alyson said, leaning down from his horse and grinning. “Don’t dawdle. We’ve work to do. Bringing a murderer to justice! That would be a good
night’s work, wouldn’t it?”

Hugh looked at me; I remained impassive. Hugh sighed and swung himself up on to his horse.

“Now,” Alyson said. “Tell me all about this murder! I’ve heard so many rumours and you know how unreliable the gossips are.”

The moon was full, the first part of the road broad enough for two riders abreast but not three. I dropped back and let Hugh tell the tale, which he did, briefly and succinctly. By the time he
came to the chapman, we were trotting through the first of the trees and the bright moonlight was only fitful; the horses picked their way carefully. I pushed my animal closer, so I could hear Hugh
more clearly.

“You know the fellow, Charles. Lives up the top of Butcher Bank. Name of Carver.”

“Yes, I know him. He usually travels the villages between Newcastle and Durham.”

Hugh summarised what the chapman had seen for Alyson’s benefit and his offer to ask around about the apprentice. “He didn’t have much luck until he came to the chandler on the
Key, James Williams.”

Jas Williams was the father of my late apprentice, George – a severe man, but law-abiding and decent.

“Williams said he’d seen a lad like the one the chapman described and seen him with a book too,” Hugh said. “He described it exactly as Lizzie Ord remembered –
black, the spine hanging off. He said the lad had come into his shop a week or so ago, just pottered about. Williams was talking to a customer and by the time he’d a chance to see to the lad,
he’d gone. As had a couple of candles, a tinder-box and various other things. And then he had the nerve to come back again for a hammer and saw! On the day of the murder that was, although he
made sure Williams was not in the shop that time.”

“A murderer
and
a thief,” Alyson said with every sign of relish.

“Williams didn’t get much of a look at the lad evidently – not enough to know him again. And much the same can be said of his customers. Three or four of them were there the
first time but didn’t really look at the fellow. But one of them was a mercer and he made a note of the dreadful waistcoat. Puce and silver, he said, and much too much embroidery. He reckoned
he’d seen it before too. He thinks the lad has a room in a lodging house in one of the chares.”

I groaned. I’d had some unhappy experiences in those crowded, filthy chares.

“But no name?”

“Not that the chapman can find. He had a word with a spirit in the lodging house in question. The lad lives there all right but he’s only there now and again. Apparently he was there
earlier this week – Monday and Tuesday.”

“So he’s there now?” I asked.

“As far as I can tell.”

Alyson was exultant. “Then we can lay hands on him!”

“I did think it important we move quickly,” Hugh said, “before the fellow learns someone’s been asking about him.”

“Very wise,” Alyson agreed. “We don’t want him to run off.”

We rode on in silence. Lodgings in the town, I thought. I’d convinced myself the apprentice was from Shields or Sunderland or some such place. He was presumably going about his daily
business as usual, or Bedwalters would have found word of a missing apprentice. That was audacious – or foolhardy. I wondered why he was only in the lodgings ‘now and again’.