Andrew Taylor - The American Boy

"Please, sir," she said, stumbling over her words and blushing, "but Mr Pratt says he saw your penknife in the parlour."

The girl was not allowed to enter the parlour herself, but I wished Pratt had had the kindness to give her the knife so that she could return it to me. I had left it on the table after sharpening Miss Carswall's pencil.

I waited until the family had gone into dinner and went downstairs again. I slipped into the familiar room feeling almost like a thief. Though it was empty, a fire burned brightly in the grate, and candles were alight in the wall sconces.

I found my knife and was about to go when I noticed on the table beside it, lying in a little enamelled dish, the mourning ring we had discovered earlier in the day. I was surprised at Carswall's carelessness. I picked it up for a moment and held it to the flame of the nearest candle. The lock of Amelia Parker's hair was a black smudge behind the diamond. I had no taste for the preservation of mementoes of the dead. But I could not help wondering about Henry Frant's grandmother who had lived at Monkshill sixty years before.

I returned the ring to the dish. As I crossed the hall to the stairs, I heard the bray of Carswall's laughter from the dining room. The boys, jigging from foot to foot in their excitement, were waiting for me in the schoolroom. They burst into speech as soon as they saw me.

"We regret that you are leaving us, sir-" Charlie began.

"-and we would be grateful if you would do us the honour-" Edgar interrupted.

"-of accepting this small keepsake, as a token of our esteem-"

"-and gratitude."

Charlie held out a large red handkerchief with white spots. It had been washed, ironed and folded into a neat square.

"I hope you do not mind our giving you something, sir," he said. "We were concerned in case it was not quite the thing. But Mama said it would be perfectly proper."

I bowed. "Then I am quite sure it is."

The gift unexpectedly stirred my emotions. The boys explained that such a handkerchief had many purposes. Worn round the neck, Edgar told me, it would give me the appearance of being a bang-up sporting cove, even a coachman. Alternatively, Charlie pointed out, I might wrap my bread and cheese in it, or use it as a napkin at table, or perhaps blow my nose on it. Suddenly embarrassed, they made the implausible excuse that it was bedtime, and left me in an undignified hurry.

I sat on. My belongings were already packed. I passed the time by drawing up a memorandum of the events that had taken place during my stay at Monkshill-park, and in particular those of the last few days. I wrote in my pocketbook for nearly an hour, interrupted only by the maid bringing back my brushed clothes. I was thus engaged, sitting at a small table drawn almost on top of the fire and writing by the light of a single candle, when there came a tap on the door.

Miss Carswall entered, wearing a black gown out of courtesy for Mrs Johnson, or rather for Sir George whose cousin she had been, and with a grey cashmere shawl draped becomingly over her shoulders. I sprang to my feet. Her boldness astonished me.

"My father says you leave us early in the morning," she said. "I hope I do not disturb you, but I wished to say goodbye."

I set a chair for her by the fire and she sat down with a rustle, the movement sending a waft of her perfume to my nostrils. I wondered if she had learned the reason for my dismissal.

"The gentlemen are still at their wine," she said. "We have been talking all evening about this sad affair with Mrs Johnson. I wish you had not been obliged to discover her last night. It must have been truly frightful."

I acknowledged her consideration with a bow.

"Pray sit down, Mr Shield." Miss Carswall indicated the chair I had just vacated. "Yes, a terrible accident. Sir George says she may have been drunk, too." She broke off, her hand flying to her mouth, and her eyes fixed on my face. "Oh, I should not have said that, I'm sure. Sometimes I have only to open my mouth for the most wildly indiscreet things to fly out."

"I had heard something of the sort before, so you have not betrayed a confidence."

"You had heard it?" She sounded disappointed. "It is common knowledge?"

"That I cannot tell you, Miss Carswall."

"They say she drank too much because she was unhappy. By all accounts Lieutenant Johnson is a poor fish."

I nodded, and Miss Carswall smiled. Our chairs were scarcely two feet apart. The room was lit only by the feeble glow of the fire and the single candle on the table. The circumstances created the illusion of privacy that perhaps encouraged her to regale me with servants' gossip. It is true that there was a streak of vulgarity in her a yard wide but it was part of her charm: she would not trouble to affect a sensibility she did not feel.

"There was a brandy flask in the pocket of her coat. Did you know she was wearing her husband's clothes? No doubt it was eminently practical on so cold a night, but so shockingly immodest! I cannot understand how she could have borne to do it." Miss Carswall's eyes sparkled with reflected fire from the candle. "A most unusual sensation, I should imagine," she added in a low voice. "Still, we may depend on it, the Coroner will not make too much of it. Sir George will see to that."

"So what will the verdict be?"

"That the unfortunate lady died by accident. What other verdict can there be? She was ill – quite possibly feverish – her mind unsettled by her husband's long absence – and no doubt lonely, too, in the cottage because her servant was not there. So she took advantage of Papa's kind invitation to walk in the park, but dusk fell early and caught her unawares; and then the snow began, and she took shelter in the ice-house, which was standing open after the men had left. Alas, she blundered in, not knowing her way, and plunged straight into the empty pit of the chamber. How terrible! And then, by the most unfortunate chance, the side of her head struck that great iron grating. Sir George says that was the blow that killed her. Or so Mr Yatton told him – he is the surgeon from Flaxern."

"And the mastiffs, Miss Carswall?"

She opened her eyes very wide. "Hush! Papa has given out that it was poachers from the village. That's all my eye, as the servants say. You must not tell a living soul but Sir George and Captain Ruispidge found a great quantity of arsenic in the larder at Grange Cottage."

"They believe Mrs Johnson poisoned the dogs?"

"I know it is hard to credit, but who else could it have been?"

"Why should she do such a thing?"

"Because she wished to walk in the park at night when the dogs were loose, and they would not let her. It is agreed that the circumstance will not be mentioned at the inquest, it would be too unkind. Sir George believes that she nursed an inveterate and wholly irrational hatred for my father. She – she held him to some degree responsible for the ruin of Mr Frant." She hesitated. "You are familiar with that aspect of the matter?"

I nodded. "I understand Mrs Johnson and Mr Frant had been childhood sweethearts."

Her voice had been becoming quieter and quieter, but now she had dropped it to a thrilling whisper. "It was the ruling passion of her life. Mrs Lee says she never got over him. The ring confirms it, of course. Mr Frant must have given it to her when they were young, as a love token. Sophie had never seen it."

"I still do not understand why she found it necessary to go into the park."

"Who can tell what disordered fancies filled the poor woman's brain? For all we know, she meant to murder us all in our beds. Sir George is in the right of it, do you not think? It is the kindest thing for everyone, including Mrs Johnson and indeed the poor Lieutenant, to say that her death was nothing more than a dreadful accident. Which of course is all it was, leaving aside the question of her motives for being there."