Philip Gooden - The Salisbury Manuscript

When Canon Selby discovered that Tom was an employee of his late friend’s firm, and apparently distressed at the young man’s predicament, he had telegraphed to his only contact, the formidable Mrs Scott, although without being aware of Helen Scott’s friendship with Tom.

Tom didn’t know — nor did he spend time trying to find out in the first confusion of his meeting with Helen — exactly how events had unfolded when the telegram had arrived at the house in Athelstan Road, Highbury. Whether Helen had informed her mother that she intended to travel down to Salisbury by the first available train, whether she had left with Mrs Scott’s blessing, whether she had slipped out of the house undetected by her mother (a more romantic idea, surely), none of this mattered much. What was important was that Helen was here with him, in Fisherton Gaol.

She sat, upright, slim, bright-eyed and fresh-faced, on the chair which had so recently been occupied by the solid form of Inspector Foster. Mrs Griffiths produced further supplies of coffee as well as some home-made cakes and generally fussed over their lady visitor. A red-letter day for her, it must be, with a lady and a gentleman from London brought together in the prime apartment of Fisherton Gaol.

Once they’d got the preliminaries out of the way, the circumstances under which Helen had discovered what was happening to Tom and her speedy journey from Waterloo to Salisbury, Helen gazed appreciatively round the sparsely furnished room with its whitewashed walls. Her gaze suggested she was visiting a grand house, even a palace. As Tom had half foreseen, she seemed excited by his incarceration. Not, he hoped, the fact that he was languishing in prison under temporary suspicion of a murder but that he was here with her and she was here with him, and wasn’t this all a new experience, a dramatic experience for them both. She said as much.

‘Except that you can leave at any time,’ he said.

‘Oh, Tom, don’t,’ she said, reaching out to grasp his hand.

‘I don’t know why I’m here.’

‘They say that a man was murdered.’

‘There was a murder but I had nothing to do with it.’

‘Dear Tom, of course you didn’t. But you must tell me all about it. Tell me now.’

So Tom described to Helen almost everything which had happened since his arrival nearly three days ago in Salisbury. He talked about his meetings with Felix Slater and the discussion of the Salisbury manuscript. He described his trip to see Percy Slater. He recounted the events of the previous evening at Venn House. How the place had seemed to be eerily empty. How he’d suspected that something was wrong because of the open front door, how he’d discovered Slater’s body, how a policeman called Foster had materialized at the entrance to the study and taken him for a murderer and how it was all an absurd mistake and Foster knew this and promised Tom he’d soon be released from this gaol, to which he’d been taken for his own safety rather than because Foster genuinely suspected him of a crime.

He left out a few details. He didn’t mention, for example, his conversation with Henry Cathcart and the man’s connection with his father. This didn’t seem relevant to the death of Canon Slater. Nor did he say much about Amelia Slater, beyond a reference or two. This was probably relevant but Tom was oddly reluctant to talk of the Canon’s wife, now a widow.

He was gratified when Helen made appropriate responses. She sighed and looked aghast at frequent points in his story. She wiped away what looked like a tear. She rose from her hard prison chair a couple of times and came round the table to hug him as he sat on his hard prison chair. Tom began to see that there were advantages to being an innocent victim.

Things were taking a turn for the better. And they took a better turn still when Inspector Foster came back to announce that Tom was now free to leave the prison. The Inspector looked admiringly at Helen, who swiftly explained why she was there. Tom asked the policeman whether he’d made any progress.

‘You asked before, Mr Ansell, about some papers belonging to Canon Slater. I have now established that they were kept in a chest in his study. The chest is empty. What did it contain, sir? Your attitude earlier today suggested to me that you knew something about it.’

‘There was a memoir written by George Slater, Felix’s father,’ said Tom, ‘and I think there were other items in the chest, loose papers maybe. I had only a brief glimpse of the memoir-book. It is of interest to the Slaters but I don’t believe it would mean much to anyone outside the family.’

Tom didn’t add that the book was the principal reason why he’d come to Salisbury. But he couldn’t resist saying, ‘If things have been taken, doesn’t that show the murderer is the same thief who’s been working in other houses?’

‘Possibly, possibly. Though there was no sign the house had been broken into.’

‘Anyway, I haven’t got any papers. You are welcome to search my room at The Side of Beef,’ said Tom, reflecting that Foster had probably done just that already.

‘I have been taking formal testimony from some of the household, Mr Ansell,’ said Foster, not responding directly to Tom’s invitation. ‘You were seen making your way to Venn House by Mrs Slater and by Bessie the maid after they had found the body of Canon Slater. They passed you in West Walk going in the opposite direction.’

‘A pity they did not say so earlier.’

‘They were understandably too distressed to speak last night. You should be grateful to Mrs Slater for positively identifying you, for all that it was dark and foggy. Besides, it is always possible that a murderer may return to the scene of his crime. I am giving you the benefit of the doubt, Mr Ansell. And, as you said, you had no motive to kill Canon Slater. Nevertheless I must still request you remain in Salisbury for a few days more.’

‘How is Mrs Slater?’ said Tom, feeling guilty that he’d criticized her. It was her witness that she’d seen him yesterday evening going towards (rather than away from) the house that had apparently exonerated him. That, and the absence of any motive.

‘Under the circumstances, she is quite composed,’ said Foster. ‘Now I suggest that you leave with this delightful young lady. Where are you lodging, Miss Scott?’

‘With my godfather, Canon Selby. I have already left my luggage there. He told me where Tom was, ah, staying. I too will remain in Salisbury for a time. I have pleasant memories of the town, Inspector, from when I was young. It must be nice to live here.’

This was the right remark to make. Foster tugged at his side-whiskers and beamed. He ushered them through the door. Tom and Helen were seen out of Fisherton Gaol by Mr and Mrs Griffiths as if they’d been regular visitors. The only thing missing was the hope that they might return again soon.

The day was clear and bright. They were not far from the town centre and The Side of Beef. Tom’s first wish was to go back to his hotel room and change his shirt. He might have spent only a short time in the best apartment of Fisherton Gaol but he still felt the prison taint clinging to him.

So, while Helen sat in the lobby, Tom quickly washed and changed upstairs. Jenkins seemed surprised to see the couple. The landlord knew what had happened — hardly surprising, everyone in the town must know of the brutal murder of one of the residentiary canons — but he avoided referring to it directly, instead wringing his hands and saying, ‘Terrible, sir, terrible, that event in the close last night,’ while casting sidelong glances at Helen. Jenkins was presumably aware of the fact that Tom had spent the night elsewhere (and in the county gaol) but, if so, was too tactful to mention it.