Imogen Robertson: Instruments of Darkness

“I am glad to meet you, Mr. Crowther. You are a man of mystery in our society.”

Crowther looked at Mrs. Westerman’s sister and struggled for a minute to remember her name.

“I am not sociable, Miss Trench. I am sure it is my loss.”

Harriet snorted. “Oh, most definitely, Mr. Crowther. My sister is a fiend at backgammon and whist. You have missed any number of stimulating evenings by your refusal to know your neighbors.” There was an unmistakable sneer in her voice, and Rachel felt it directed at herself. She blushed and got up a little quickly.

“You must excuse me,” she said. “I need to go and speak to Mrs. Heathcote about dinner.”

Crowther barely had time to bow before she had left the room, and Harriet watched her go with a frown.

“Damn. I have upset her. I am an unfeeling sort of sister at times. But she is only eighteen, you know, and rather prim for her age.”

Crowther said nothing, but continued to observe Mrs. Westerman over the rim of his very elegant tea cup.

“I am trying to decide what is the right thing to be done, Mr. Crowther, and poor Rachel’s attempts to be polite were an irritant.”

Crowther decided not to comment on her temper, but asked instead, mildly enough, “And what do you conclude, Mrs. Westerman? What is the right thing to be done?”

She looked up into the corner of the room.

“I shall start by saying what I think will happen now, and trust you to catch me if my conclusions are faulty.” He nodded. “Well, then. First the squire will arrive, and tell us that the coroner is summoned and will be meeting with his jury in the Bear and Crown tomorrow afternoon. He will ask us for our opinions and agree we should examine the body for any further indications as to who the man might be, and why he has come here, and check that our unknown friend does not have a leg-break such as Alexander must have.” She ticked the points of her narrative off on her fingers. “We will find nothing conclusive to add to what we already know. Tomorrow the coroner will listen to us in a gentlemanlike manner, and the jury conclude that this unknown was killed by other unknowns for unknown reasons and ask God to have mercy on his soul. Ideally, someone will have spotted him coming from London and from there, as we know, all vice and evil makes its way. We shall therefore conclude that his destruction followed him from town, and that will be an end to it. Apart from the fact that you will be watched carefully for a day or two after the burial to check that you do not dig up the body to experiment on in your godless manner.”

Crowther smiled. “And that will be that.”

They were silent for a little while.

“Do you think, Mr. Crowther, that he was in those woods by chance?”

The question was asked lightly, but as he replied he looked at Harriet quite steadily.

“No. I think he went there to meet someone, and either that person or another who knew of the meeting attacked and killed him.”

“And given the meeting place …?”

“And given the meeting place, he expected to meet someone from either Thornleigh or Caveley. I think you believe the same, and yet I doubt you suspect anyone in your own household. But that does not necessarily help us understand what the right course of action might be.”

Mrs. Westerman stood and walked over to where the French windows gave out onto the lawns at the side of the house.

“My husband and I were a little naive perhaps, when we bought this estate. It has not been easy to manage a household of this size, and look after its interests while he is away. I did it all at first for my husband and my son.” She turned quickly, smiling at him. “I have a daughter too-just six months old. Her name is Anne. Born the day before her father sailed for the West Indies.” Her features softened a little when she spoke about her children. Crowther began to ready himself for some fuller discussion of their unique gifts and graces, but she moved on. “Perhaps if I had my own way, I would abandon it even now, but I can be stubborn, Mr. Crowther. This is now my home, the village is my home and Thornleigh seems to sit above it all like a great black crow. There is something wrong in that house. Something wounded and rotten. I am sure of it.”

He set aside his cup and looked up at her a little wearily.

“And have been sure for a while, I dare say,” he replied, “and now you have all the moral authority a corpse on your lands can give you, so you may have the adventure of exposing it. It will make a change from estate management. Oh, and as you described Thornleigh as nestling in its own valley a little while ago, I don’t think I can allow you to have it as a crow towering above the neighborhood. Perhaps the black dragon in its cave.”

She looked surprised. “I am glad I called you, Mr. Crowther. You are very frank.”

“You summoned me from my bed before noon, have shown a terrible lack of deference to the local lords and sworn at least once in my presence. You should not expect me to bother with the normal forms of politeness.”

She looked at him, but there was no sign of a smile to lighten his words.

“I prefer it so,” she replied, looking more pleased than he expected. “And you are probably right about my metaphors. I have always had a fondness for dragons, though I shall not malign them with comparison to Thornleigh. Thornleigh Hall can be a malignant spider’s nest when I next feel my rhetoric take hold of me.” He did allow himself to smile a little now. She looked at him directly. “Are you not curious also? Do you not wish to know why this man died, and by whose hand? Those threads you gathered in the copse … I took that action to mean the puzzle interests you?”

He sighed and shifted in his seat.

“This is not a parlor game, madam. You shall not complete a riddle and gain polite applause for it. You must ask impertinent questions, and however just your cause, it is unlikely you will be thanked for it. Many good men and women have refused to go down that path and perhaps you should think about following their example. I confine my work to the dead as a rule because the dead speak a great deal more truth, and are often better company than the living. For many years now I have preferred a dead dog to a hand of cards.” Harriet was surprised into another laugh as he continued unemotionally, “Perhaps I will help you drive out your nest of spiders, or dragons or crows, but I do so from a position of strength. I have nothing to lose.”

“And I do? My reputation you mean? It is already known I can be a little outspoken, but yes, possibly I may do further damage to it by pursuing this business. So be it. I must do what I think is right if I am to look my family in the eye. Your assistance would be invaluable. I wonder how I can ask it, though. You may have nothing to lose, but I cannot see any gain for you in this. I do not flatter myself you offer your services for the pleasure of my company.”

“Perhaps you should.” She raised her eyebrows. “No, madam, I have no intention of flirting with you, but you spoke before about the dangers of being isolated and how one’s judgment may become warped as a result.” He looked down sadly at the design of the carpet under his black shoes. “I fear I am looking in the wrong place in my current work, so you take me from nothing of importance, and you know from my paper that I occasionally indulge an interest in the markers of murder. I have nothing better to do than help you ruin yourself.”

“Whatever your motives, sir, you have my thanks.”

The door opened and the maid stepped into the room.

“Ma’am, the squire is here.”

“Very good, Dido.”

As the squire bustled in he beamed at Harriet with such openhearted pleasure that Crowther’s thin frame was almost thrown back by the force of it.