The Medieval Murderers - Hill of Bones

Powell, true to his role as government spy, was skulking in the shadows, apparently uncomfortable at being in the same place as his quarry, the Queen. He cleared his throat, and made a considered speech.

‘All I can say is that Sir Ralph can have nothing to do with the disappearance of Sacchi. The man was still at his post when Sir Ralph left the tent.’

Malinferno knew that getting information out of Powell was going to be like extracting teeth. He would be volunteering nothing. And so he threw a speculative card on to the table.

‘Mr Powell, may I ask what you meant, when you wrote in your notebook that you had to “deal with” Sacchi?’

Powell’s face turned bright red, and he spoke through gritted teeth. ‘That is a private document, sir. And I will not comment on what I may or may not have written in it.’

‘You were seen talking to Sacchi. Mr Houghton saw you. Did you deal with him afterwards?’

There was a sudden commotion, and Houghton leaped across the tent towards Powell, his dress sword clanking on the wooden crate.

‘It was you who killed him. You wanted to get to the Queen, and he wanted money from you, as he did from St Germans.’

Houghton grabbed Powell’s collar. But before he could do the man any damage, Malinferno wrapped his arms around the naval officer, and wrestled him away. Houghton slumped on a campaign chair beside the bed, his head in his hands. It was St Germans who realised first what Houghton had said.

‘Sacchi is murdered?’

Doll glanced at Malinferno, and whispered, ‘Well done, Joe. Now they all know.’

He shrugged. The cat was out of the bag, and there was nothing he could do about it. St Germans was livid, his jowls wobbling as he berated Malinferno.

‘You were trying to get us to implicate ourselves in a murder, sir? That is… that is… unconstitutional.’

Malinferno was convinced that the Member of Parliament had no idea of the meaning of the word, only that it sounded good. But he stood his ground.

‘Only one man is guilty of the murder. The rest cannot be implicated in a murder as they are innocent. Mr Powell, in the circumstances as they now present themselves, are you prepared to explain yourself?’

Powell sulkily straightened his collar, but then sighed. ‘I had intended to deal with Sacchi, in the sense that I was prepared to offer him money for information about… well, you know what about. He was alive when I left him. I will swear to that in a court of law, if forced. But I did see that man enter the tent later, with no Sacchi in sight.’ He pointed a long, slender finger at Daniel Orford. ‘Ask him where Sacchi was when he entered the tent.’

All eyes turned on the tall figure of the duchess’s managing agent. Malinferno smiled, knowing where Orford’s confession, which he had heard earlier, would lead.

‘Tell them where Sacchi was, Mr Orford.’

Orford straightened his shoulders. ‘When I entered the tent on private business, I saw Sacchi lying in a trench in the ground, his throat cut. The soil was soaked in blood.’

There was a gasp from all those assembled, except for Doll and Malinferno, who had heard this tale already.

Orford continued, ‘I panicked, as I did not wish it known that I had been in the tent. I should have just left, but there were… items I needed to recover.’

He had told Malinferno of the objects he had found in the trench below their feet, and how he wanted to recover them before someone else did.

‘I transferred the body into this crate…’ he tapped the box, ‘… having first removed the contents. I then gathered the items I was intent on recovering, and left. It was foolish of me. I should have alerted the authorities, but I panicked.’

He pressed his hands down on the crate, and lowered his head in shame at his actions.

Doll patted his shoulder. ‘I understand the difficulty of your position, Mr Orford. I might have done the same thing, in order to avoid being embroiled in a murder investigation by the magistrate.’

Houghton looked up at Doll from where he sat. ‘You do not believe the man, do you? Whatever these “items” were he was removing from the duchess’s tent, they did not belong to him. He was a thief, and Sacchi caught him at it. He killed him, and tried to conceal the body. He must be arrested. I will go and call for the magistrate.’ He rose to his feet, but Malinferno swiftly took his arm.

‘You are going nowhere, Lieutenant Houghton. Isn’t it strange how you wish to cast the blame for Sacchi’s murder on everyone and anyone you can? You see, I have to remind myself how shocked you were when you saw the body in this crate. You fainted.’

Houghton spluttered with indignation. ‘I opened the lid and saw the body of my friend Sacchi. Who wouldn’t feel faint?’

‘But to actually swoon like a lady? A navy man, who in battle must have seen dead comrades before? No, sir, you fainted because you weren’t expecting to see the body in the crate. You expected to see it on the ground, where you had left it when you killed him. May I see your sword? I am sure you have not yet managed to clean the blood off it.’

Houghton roared, startling everyone, and sprang for the exit to the tent. He was outside before Malinferno could react. When he did manage to scramble out of the tent, he saw Hougton running across Solsbury Hill towards one of the few carriages left behind. One was Powell’s Tilbury gig, but the horse was not in the shafts rendering it useless as a means of escape. The only other conveyance close by was the Trevithick Flyer.

John Smallbone had laboured long and hard to make the steam engine work and, despite the rain, had stoked the boiler with coal. Steam burst from every seam of the Flyer, and the carriage shuddered as though it were alive. Clad in a heavy and rain-soaked felt overcoat, Smallbone resembled a large toad. He was perched on the driver’s seat bent on releasing the power of the steam engine. He didn’t see Houghton leap up on to the seat, and was pitched unceremoniously by him to the ground. His assailant then released the brake, and the carriage began to trundle down the hill, the piston at the rear clanking faster and faster. Malinferno ran over, and helped the dwarf up, brushing his muddied coat. Smallbone seemed unconcerned by his tumble, though he was more worried by the Flyer’s madcap departure.

He began to run after it, calling out wildly, ‘Turn the pressure down. Turn the pressure down.’

Houghton could not or would not hear him, and the Flyer gathered speed. The engine on the rear of the carriage gave a mighty groan like some ancient beast risen from the depths of Solsbury Hill. Smallbone cried out, and threw himself to the ground. Malinferno and the other pursuers instinctively did the same. With a second great shudder, and an infernal hissing, the Trevithick steam engine blew up, tossing Houghton forwards into the air like a rag doll. The carriage, still rolling under its own momentum, crushed him under its wheels, before tipping sideways on the steep slope and coming to an abrupt and noisy halt. With the shattered engine still hissing gently, Malinferno and Doll cautiously approached the wreck. There was nothing to be done about Lieutenant Houghton. His neck was broken and he gazed sightlessly into the grey and louring sky.

It was a subdued party that gathered in the Duchess of Avon’s house in Bath later that day. Queen Caroline, still in her guise of Hattie Vaughan, sat beside the fire, clutching her stomach. The pain she was suffering may have been only a symptom of her fears over the impending confrontation with the House of Lords, but it was intense nevertheless, and she thought she might die from it. But even that was a better fate than being divorced, or worse, still being excluded from her husband’s coronation, as had been threatened.