Imogen Robertson - Island of Bones

As soon as Casper thought it safe, Crowther was returned to Silverside. The Vizegrafin had insisted, in spite of her brother’s advice, that Felix would be treated by a qualified surgeon. The latter rode over to Silverside from Cockermouth every day at great expense, but did not slow Felix’s recovery too greatly. Swithun survived three days in the old housekeeper’s room at Silverside Hall, but the wound began to stink. Casper brought his mother to him, and tried to ease him as far as his arts were able, but there was nothing much that could be done. He did live to see and know Agnes, however, who was brought to him at his request. He asked her forgiveness, received it, and it was thought that gave him some comfort. The night before the ravings took him at last, he caught at Casper’s wrist.

‘You warned me. I know that.’

It was all he could manage. Casper left for his bed, leaving him to his mother’s care and grief. When the morning came Casper thought he could feel the haze beginning to lift; the air was fresher somehow. It did not surprise him then to find Swithun dead and laid out with his jaw tied, pennies on his eyes and salt on his chest. His mother was gone and they had no word of her again.

By the time Crowther was becoming impatient of his confinement, Harriet wanted nothing more than to retreat to her own room and never venture out again. She had found herself repeating the events of the past few days in front of the coroner and in public for some hours. Then there were a number of burials, ancient and modern, to attend. She could feel the hostility of the gentry who flocked to see her, and there was talk that a woman who had shot and killed the local magistrate should face judge and jury. Not among the people though.

The quiet and dignified testimony of Miss Hurst, as she was still referred to, Ham, and Agnes Kerrick did much to quiet this talk. Mr Sturgess’s false identity was exposed, and when Harriet entered the coroner’s court with no less a personage than Viscount Moreland at her side, who explained very frankly about the murder of his natural son in Europe, the gentry busied itself remembering they had never liked Mr Sturgess at all. Mr Palmer’s letter arrived just when it was needed, covered in enough seals to frighten the local authorities and put weight behind Mrs Westerman’s apparently wild assertions. The letter was subscribed with the signature and flowing titles of the First Lord of the Admiralty; Mr Palmer’s name did not appear on it. Miss Scales and Mrs Briggs remained by Harriet’s side whenever she went into public, and if the distrust of Harriet or the threats to her did not entirely disappear for some weeks, they were at least reduced to whispers. Even the vicar took the opportunity to support her from the pulpit, and although she suspected that his daughter wrote that portion of the sermon, Harriet was grateful to him.

Strangely, there never seemed to be any question of trying Mr Quince over the death of Isaac Fowler. Each such story requires a hero, and as Harriet was still regarded as rather dubious, and Crowther was too tainted by the crimes of his parent, Mr Quince became their chosen one. He found himself in front of the coroner too, and felt he was being egregiously thanked for shooting a man in the back. He resisted the charge of heroism as much as he could, and was made rather miserable by it. Where Harriet was heard with cold suspicion, he was warmly embraced. Harriet was too grateful to him, and too tired to resent it in any way. She laughed at him for looking guiltily at her, and doing so made her feel better in herself. After some controversy, Mr Sturgess’s remains were placed in the Greta family tomb, and Kit Huntsman’s bones found a place near the family he had served. Stephen attended both burials at his mother’s side.

Miss Hurst returned to the vicarage. The Vizegrafin remained largely in her own rooms and Stephen continued to wander the hills with Casper and Joe, or with Mr Quince as his health continued to improve. Harriet wrote her letters and wondered if her sister would come to her, or refuse to ever meet her again.

The worst of these convulsions were over by the time, some three weeks later, that Crowther was recovered enough to leave his chamber. Harriet and Crowther were enjoying the clearer weather on the lawn of Silverside, seated side by side and watching the pleasure boats moving between the islands. The Vizegrafin had been taking the air and passed by them with a cold nod.

‘You have been having a number of conversations with your family, Crowther,’ Harriet said when the woman was out of earshot. ‘May I ask what conclusions have been reached?’

‘I have reached the conclusion I was very wise to avoid my family as long as I have,’ he said, ‘and only wish I had managed to stay out of their way for longer.’ She smiled. ‘But I think you are asking about the future of my nephew’s wife?’

‘You are correct, sir.’

He sighed and shifted his shoulder; the wound was closing well, but he doubted he would ever be free of the ache or have the movement in the joint he once had. ‘Miss Hurst has no wish to live with Felix, and given his behaviour, I cannot blame her.’

‘The marriage was quite legal?’

‘Oh, indeed. They are bound by law, I am afraid, just as they are by the child she carries. She came to see me determined to take another name and style herself a widow in some provincial town. There was a notion of her teaching languages.’

‘And now?’

‘I used my considerable powers of persuasion to convince her to use the name she has a right to, and take up residence in Bath. I understand the irony, Mrs Westerman, there is no need to grin up at me like that. I shall make her an allowance that will keep her in suitable style. It will be given out that Felix is making an extended tour of the family’s business interests in the north. He will be allowed to visit her and the child frequently enough to keep up appearances, but make no further demands on her. He will be given a separate allowance, one I mean to monitor very strictly.’

Harriet turned away from him and looked down towards the Lake and St Herbert’s Island. ‘What does Felix say to that?’

‘Felix, I think, has come to realise that his wife is a woman of sense and feeling. He may be in danger of falling in love with her eventually. I am glad of it. He knows he will have to become a different man to earn her respect. It might be the making of him. He will remain in England, therefore, for the time being.’

‘And the Vizegrafin?’

‘My dear sister. We have had a number of unpleasant interviews. She will return to Vienna and take up the pattern of her life there. She feels I have robbed her of a son now, as well as a brother. I fear if she were not my enemy before, she is now.’ Harriet did not turn away from the lake, but let her hand rest for a moment on his sleeve. When she removed it, he continued, ‘I am sure she knew something of the death of that Jacobite, Mrs Westerman. She would have been about six years of age at the time. It is clear she pressed to have the tomb opened, and I can think of no other reason why she might have done so, or perhaps my father said something to her after my mother’s death. Possibly when my father sent her away to school. I do not think she was shocked at any point when I told her of what our father had done, and that makes me suspect she was in some way prepared.’

‘Do you wish the scheme to move the tomb had never been proposed, Crowther?’

He considered a long time before replying. ‘If you will forgive the romance of this answer, Mrs Westerman, I feel as if the haze has cleared from my own history just as it has lifted from the land. I hear reports that the harvest is looking promising.’