Стивен Бут - Drowned Lives

I stopped in front of the tourist information centre and turned to face him.

‘Do I take it you’re offering to help publish my book?’

‘Well, let’s say I’d be available to discuss terms. Do you want to meet up some time?’

‘No.’

‘Family history. Unsolved mysteries. Memories of the canal trade. It’s good stuff — lots of local interest.’

‘I don’t think so, Dan.’

‘We could team up. I’ll handle the printing and marketing. Maybe we could make it a real seller. What do you say, Chris? History is the future.’

‘Forget it.’

I could almost have laughed then, as we stood in front of the elegant Georgian facade of Donegal House and the half-timbered Tudor building next door that had been converted into a restaurant. A few yards away was the Guildhall, where you could still ring the bell and ask to see the dungeons. History was all around us, and here was the man who’d nearly ruined me telling me that it was the future. He ought to have teamed up with Great-Uncle Samuel — they’d have made a good pair with their big plans for my life.

By the time I reached the car, Dan was starting to fall behind. I had my keys in my hand before I had a sudden thought.

‘Dan — that anonymous backer.’

‘Chris, I’ve told you—’

‘No, wait. This is important. Just tell me who the lawyer was that you dealt with.’

‘Oh, it was some stuffy old bloke from a local firm. They’ve got offices in Lichfield. Just round the corner from here, in fact.’

‘Surely you know the name.’

‘Yes, hang on. I’ve got it here. There’s a letter somewhere.’ He unzipped his document case and shuffled through the papers in it. ‘Yes, here it is. Elsworth and Clarke, that’s it. I dealt with a Mr Elsworth.’

I’d reluctantly agreed to let Frank stay for a day or two in the spare bedroom at Maybank while he made his peace with Sally and ‘got his head together’. I was glad that he seemed happy to keep to his room and not get in my way, because when I got home I couldn’t wait to use the phone to try out the idea that had just occurred to me. Luckily, I got straight through to the man I wanted.

‘Mr Elsworth? Christopher Buckley.’

‘Ah, Mr Buckley. Are you phoning concerning Samuel Longden’s bequest?’

‘No, something else. An anonymous donation made through you to our business start-up, winningbid.uk.com .’

Mr Elsworth was eloquently silent for a moment. I could almost see his raised eyebrow down the phone line. ‘May I ask what your interest is in this matter?’

‘I’m one of the partners in the venture. Or I was, until you pulled the plug on us.’

‘Really? I dealt with a Mr Hyde on that matter.’

‘My so-called partner.’

‘Mmm.’

I’d never heard anybody put so many meanings into one sound. It wasn’t even a word, yet it was infused with surprise, interest, courtesy, an unasked question, and a good measure of professional caution and reticence.

‘I hope you’re not going to ask me on whose behalf I was acting, Mr Buckley.’

‘Yes, of course. That’s exactly what I’m going to ask you.’

‘But I’m sure you realise that I can’t tell you. My client insisted on strict anonymity. That was made clear to Mr Hyde, I’m sure.’

‘But, Mr Elsworth, it seems to me that I have the right to ask why the funding was withdrawn.’

‘I’m sorry, but I’m not at liberty to discuss it with you. It was purely a business arrangement, and there was a clear condition allowing my client to withdraw at any time.’

I was obviously getting nowhere, so I decided to try a full-frontal assault. ‘Was it Samuel Longden?’

‘Really, Mr Buckley — client confidentiality is paramount in my considerations. I can’t possibly answer your questions.’

‘Well, thanks very much, Mr Elsworth,’ I said sarcastically.

‘I’m sorry I can’t be of any further assistance.’ He changed the subject smoothly. ‘How’s the book coming along, by the way?’

‘Somehow there seem to be far more obstacles in my way than I ever imagined possible.’

‘Oh dear. I do hope you manage to overcome them. I’m looking forward to receiving a copy when the time comes for you to claim your bequest.’

A few minutes later, Rachel bounced into the house singing ‘Memories’, with her notebook clutched to her bosom. She was smiling and had put on some make-up. I’d never seen her look so happy and glowing as she did just now.

‘Good afternoon, number six.’

‘Number four. Is that more research you’ve got there?’

‘Ah yes. More revelations about the Parkers. The pieces are falling into place, Chris.’

‘Do you reckon so?’

‘Get the coffee made and pin your ears back.’ She flourished the notebook. ‘It took some time going through the parish records to find this. But I traced William Buckley’s marriage back to 1796. He and Sarah were married at St Michael’s. Have you ever seen the handwriting those old vicars used in the eighteenth century? I think they invented some of the letters themselves. And as for the spelling—’

‘Why are we interested in his wedding? There was nothing odd about it, was there?’

‘Not the wedding, but the bride.’

‘Sarah? She was the daughter of one of the canal proprietors. That was in Samuel’s manuscript.’

‘Hasn’t it dawned on you yet that there was a lot Samuel Longden left out of the manuscript? I think he did that deliberately. He expected you to find these things out for yourself. It was part of the way he manipulated you.’

‘Okay,’ I sighed. ‘Tell me.’

‘Well, what he doesn’t say is which canal proprietor Sarah was the daughter of. Now, does he?’

I thought back. ‘No, he doesn’t. He never refers to her family by name. “Sarah’s father” and “Sarah’s brother” he calls them.’

‘Right.’ Rachel paused for dramatic effect. ‘But the fact is, they were Parkers.’

I sat up suddenly. ‘The Parkers. Do you mean Seth Parker, the banker? He was Sarah’s father?’

‘Right. And Francis Parker, who was transported—’

‘He was her brother?’

‘You’ve got it. They were all Parkers.’

‘And so was Sarah herself.’

‘Obviously.’

‘And when William disappeared... “When he was murdered”, I suppose you’ll say... Sarah went back to live with her father. So little Edward was brought up in the Parker household. Yet William Buckley had blown the whistle on corruption and embezzlement in the canal company. It was William’s evidence that got Francis Parker convicted and transported.’

‘Yes.’ She looked at me meaningfully. ‘So what do you think that means?’

‘That he was a man to whom honesty and integrity were more important than anything. More important than his wife’s family, certainly. He took the honourable course of action and exposed Francis Parker’s crime.’ I thought it through a bit further. ‘But to the Parkers, it must have seemed like a betrayal.’

‘You can just picture old Seth, with his favourite son languishing in a prison hulk at Portsmouth. Imagine him plotting how he could take revenge on the traitor, William Buckley, without alienating his daughter. It was very convenient for the Parkers that William disappeared amid all those rumours about the work on the Colliery Arm. It meant he was out of the way, and Seth got his daughter and grandson to himself. I don’t doubt the rumours about William were put about by the Parkers.’

‘And William was murdered by them?’ I said. ‘By the Parkers.’

She nodded. ‘It looks very like it. Or by someone employed by them at least. You believe that now, don’t you?’

Instead of answering, I quoted a line from one of William’s letters: ‘“ Nothing, I fear, but a Miracle can save me .”’ Then I looked at Rachel. ‘And there was no miracle, was there?’