Imogen Robertson - Island of Bones

The temporary servant of Mr Askew had never been trusted with a key to the museum. Harriet and Crowther arrived at the bottom of the steps to find Mr Sturgess instructing the Constable to break his way in with a crowbar. They looked in through the window as the wood of the frame cracked and broke around the lock, and the door swung open. Mr Sturgess started up the steps at once, and pushing his man to one side, entered the room at a dash.

‘I hope,’ Crowther said, turning aside, ‘that Sturgess does not think he will be able to revive the man.’

Harriet shook her head. ‘They were friends, Crowther. It is natural. But he must have seen what we did through the window. He can have no doubts.’ She took his arm and they walked up the steps far more sedately, then turned into the main space of the museum to see Mr Sturgess knelt over the body, one hand on Mr Askew’s chest, the other held over his own eyes.

The remains of one of the high display cabinets that had stood between the two tall street windows lay about the body. The glass doors had smashed, dusting the floor with glass that shined like a confectioner’s dream of winter. The remains of the case itself lay beside their former owner like a companion on a tomb.

‘Mr Sturgess?’ Harriet said gently. He breathed deeply and stood up. He seemed dazed and lifted his hands for a second then let them fall.

‘What horror. Poor Askew! He could be a troublesome neighbour at times, but he loved this place and this country. Do you think he suffered greatly?’

Crowther looked at the body on the ground. The wreckage in the room showed that Askew had struggled, and the distorted face made it clear he had been strangled, which took some minutes as opposed to a knife in the right place or the up-thrust of some sharp object into the brain, but pain, panic and hopelessness left no marks on the body that Crowther could find with his knives and saws. He had no answer for the dead man’s friend. It was Harriet who replied.

‘While my husband lived, I heard many men tell stories of moments they thought they were about to breathe their last in violent times. .’ She hesitated, and Mr Sturgess looked up at her. ‘They told me they were too busy fighting for themselves and their friends to feel afraid or suffer great pain. Perhaps that was the case here.’

Mr Sturgess turned away for a moment. ‘Thank you, Mrs Westerman. You have given me what comfort you can.’ He stood. ‘Casper Grace must be found at once.’

‘You persist in thinking Casper guilty of these crimes?’ Harriet said. ‘On what basis?’

He spun round to her. ‘Madam, Grace is a charlatan and a madman. I have no doubt we shall find proof of his crimes, but his guilt is beyond doubt!’

‘And the young girl who has gone missing? And what of these two men, the Fowlers?’ Harriet asked, her tone still civil.

Sturgess put his hand to his forehead and spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Mrs Westerman! When a young man leaves the area with a woman, I see no need to construct criminal conspiracy! The father is no doubt drinking the profits of his latest bit of thievery.’

‘And the beating Mr Grace received?’ Crowther added.

Sturgess turned on him, his arms outstretched. ‘Why do you support this delusional female, Mr Crowther? No doubt Casper cheated the wrong person with his tricks and has paid for it. Perhaps it was that which changed him from a local curiosity into a dangerous lunatic.’ His breathing slowed. ‘Now may I ask what business you have here?’

Crowther spoke clearly. ‘I know of no other qualified surgeon with experience of such cases in the area. I shall make my observations and place them at the disposal of the coroner. And, Mr Sturgess, it is not myself who supports Mrs Westerman’s delusions, as you describe them. It is the evidence.’

‘Do what you will,’ Sturgess said and left the museum.

Crowther walked carefully to the windows and pulled the wooden shutters completely across the glass, shutting out any curious faces beyond. He turned to see that Harriet had retreated to a high stool in the corner of the room.

‘Mrs Westerman? I hope Mr Sturgess’s rudeness has not distressed you. The man is an idiot. We have met other fools.’

She raised her head with a deep sigh, and tried, briefly, to smile. ‘No, Crowther. Not Sturgess. Poor Mr Askew, I do not for a moment believe his death was a pleasant one. I fear we are become creatures to be fled from. All these deaths! That girl not found, two men missing from the village. These disasters cluster about us. I feel like Job, though I’ve no strength to praise God over these bodies. What did Askew ever do that he deserved our visitation?’

Crowther frowned. Her eyes had an unhealthy light in them and she was speaking more quickly than usual, even for her. He said cautiously, ‘Mrs Westerman, unless you came down here in the night and throttled Mr Askew yourself, we bear no responsibility for this death.’

She spoke sharply. ‘Yes, we do! Look the thing in its face, Crowther! Mr Askew is dead because someone wished to hide something from us .’

‘You cannot know that.’

‘Oh, I am certain of it. He called on us, he left word for us. I was too tired to call on him, and you were too busy with your knives. We have shaken something loose with our questions and it has fallen on this man’s shoulders and knocked him down. We are like children throwing stones at a mad dog, only it is never us that get bitten. Only those with the misfortune to know us.’

Crowther watched the shadows on her face. Since her widowhood there had been one thing unspoken between them, one truth unacknowledged, one point of their last enterprise together that had been too tender for them to touch on. It was neither the time nor the place that Crowther would have chosen to speak of it, but it seemed his hand was forced. Crowther had thought on how the spymaster in London had known to send his assassin to James Westerman. He had considered the circumstances and come to a conclusion. But he had never spoken of it, not until now.

‘You did not kill your husband, Mrs Westerman.’

She stood up quickly and turned her back to him. ‘You know that I did, Crowther. You would have realised it the night James died. I believe it took me a little longer.’

‘I saw the man who killed him.’

‘Do not attempt to be so exact with me.’ She turned towards him again. ‘I am not a fool, Crowther. Did you really believe in all these months I had not worked it out too? James was murdered because I was chattering to an earl with a glass of champagne in my hand and said. . and I know who overheard me. I know what the result was. You cannot protect me from that.’

Crowther crossed the space between them and placed one hand on her shoulder. ‘Harriet. .’ She pulled away from him, but he took hold of her again and turned her towards him. Her head was bent forward and her shoulders were shaking. ‘Harriet, my dear woman, do listen to me. You are right. It was your words that condemned James, but no one, no one would ever blame you for his death.’

She looked up at him. ‘But they do, Gabriel! They do! They all whisper I have no business involving myself in such matters, that I bring shame on my family and friends. That horrid little lawyer yesterday will be saying the same thing, I could read it in his face. And I blame myself. How can I not? If I had only managed to keep my tongue still. . I spoke carelessly, even knowing that there might be people in the room whom we could not trust. Let me take the blame when it falls on me. I am stupid. James, you would not have spoken as I did. God, my own husband! I loved him so, Gabriel. No woman has ever been as lucky. .’

Her words trailed off into tears. Crowther kept his fingers tight around her thin shoulders as if he could keep her from falling into herself with the pressure of his hands. He did not speak until he felt her breathing slow, then said gently, ‘Mrs Westerman, you are a remarkable woman, but you cannot take on responsibility for crimes not your own. Say this happened, and so this. Very well, that seems to be our task, but you have killed no one. Your husband would not blame you for his death. He would thank you for the service you have done for the men with whom he served.’ Her breathing was becoming more even.