Michael Cox - The Meaning of Night

This quiet place, standing in elegant seclusion within the walls of Evenwood Park, had suddenly become a place of conspiracy and violent death. Slowly, but insistently, a conviction began to form in me of some link between the death of Mr Carteret and the letter that he had written to Mr Tredgold. By and by, I concluded that such a conviction was groundless. Yet Mr Tredgold had told me to take care. I began to wonder whether his words had been anything more than a conventional farewell.

I sat up for another hour or more, turning matters over in my mind, contending with vague fears and unfounded suspicions, until I could stand no more and blew out my candle. Then I lay, open-eyed, in the darkness, listening to the call of an owl in the Plantation, and watching shadows cast by the trees playing on the white-washed ceiling. How long I lay there, I do not know; but at last I sank into a fitful sleep, pulled down into dreams that were haunted by the face of Miss Emily Carteret.

*[‘Woe to the conquered!’. A phrase from Livy. Ed. ]

21

Requiescat *

Rising early, I made my way down through the silent house to find the front door locked and bolted, making it necessary to take the back stairs down to the kitchen. There I encountered the servant girl, Mary Baker, at work at a great stone sink. She turned on hearing my footsteps and curtseyed.

‘Oh, sir, is anything the matter? Did you ring?’

‘No, no, Mary,’ I replied. ‘I am going for a walk, but the front door is locked.’

She looked up at a clock hanging above the range. It told just a little before half past five.

‘The master would always come down himself with the keys, at six sharp,’ she said. ‘Every morning, without fail.’

‘I suppose Miss Carteret has the keys now,’ I said.

‘I can’t say, sir. I was that upset yesterday evening that Mrs Rowthorn said I might go home, which I did, though I made sure I was here early this morning.’

‘And do you live in the village, Mary?’

‘All my life, sir.’

‘I imagine this has been a terrible shock. So senseless and unexpected.’

‘Oh sir, the poor dear master … such a good man, so good to us all.’ Whereupon her voice began to falter, and I saw that tears were not far off.

‘You must be strong, Mary,’ I said, ‘for your mistress’s sake.’

‘Yes, sir, I shall try. Thank you, sir.’

As I was about to leave, a thought struck me.

‘Tell me, Mary, if it does not upset you too much, who found Mr Carteret?’

‘John Brine, sir.’

‘And who is John Brine?’

She described him as Mr Carteret’s man, by which I understood her to mean his general factotum.

‘And how many other servants are there here, besides John Brine?’

‘Well, Mrs Rowthorn, of course, and myself. I mostly help Mrs Barnes, the cook, and do the cleaning, though Mr Tidy’s girl comes in three times a week to help me with that. Then, besides John Brine, there’s his sister Lizzie – Miss Emily’s maid – and Sam Edwards, the gardener.’

She turned from the sink, and began rubbing her hands on her apron. It appeared that John Brine had been on some errand to the great house when Mr Carteret’s horse was first seen trotting riderless through the Park. Brine, together with two of Lord Tansor’s grooms, Robert Tindall and William Hunt, had immediately set off to look for Mr Carteret, the two grooms taking the main road to the gates that stood on the southern side of the Park, Brine following the smaller track that led through a swathe of woods to the western gateway on the Odstock Road.

‘So Mr Carteret was found by John Brine alone, then?’ I asked.

‘I believe so, sir. He rode back straight away to find the others, and then they all went there together.’

‘And where can I find John Brine?’

Mary directed me to a yard leading off the garden, one side of which consisted of a range containing two or three stables and a tack-room. Here I found a stocky young man of about thirty, with light sandy hair and beard. He looked up from his work as I entered, but said nothing.

‘John Brine?’

‘I am,’ he replied, in a suspicious tone, drawing himself up and straightening his back.

‘Then I would like to ask you a few questions concerning the attack on Mr Carteret. I am—’

‘I know your name, Mr Glapthorn,’ he said. ‘We were told to expect you. But I don’t know why you feel it is appropriate to question me. I’ve told everything I know to Lord Tansor, and I don’t think, beggin’ your pardon, sir, that his Lordship would consider it proper that I repeat myself to a stranger. I hope you understand my position, sir. If you’ll excuse me.’

At which he returned to his work. But I would not be brushed off so easily by such as he.

‘Just a minute, Brine. You should know that I am remaining here for a day or so with the express permission of Miss Carteret. It is incumbent upon me, in my professional capacity, for reasons I need not trouble you with, to inform myself as fully as possible with all the circumstances surrounding this terrible event. You will oblige me greatly, Mr Brine, if you could see your way to giving me your account, in your own words, of how you found Mr Carteret. I would not wish to rely on hearsay or rumour, which might distort or contradict the truth that I know I shall hear from your own lips.’

He looked at me for a moment, trying no doubt to gauge the sincerity of my little speech. Then he appeared to relax his stance somewhat, nodded to me to take a seat on an old wheel-backed chair that stood by the door, and began to tell me his story.

In outline, it confirmed what I had already heard from Mary. He had been at the great house when one of the gardener’s boys had run into the stable-yard to say that Mr Carteret’s black mare was trotting through the Park, but that there was no sign of its rider. With darkness now coming on, Brine and the two grooms had at once mounted up and ridden out, the grooms heading towards the South Gates, Brine veering west towards the woods.

Brine had found him lying face down amongst the trees, a little way off the track, not far from the Western Gates.

‘Had he fallen where he was attacked, do you think?’ I asked.

‘No,’ said Brine, ‘I don’t think so. The track bends sharply at that point, just before the gates. I believe they were waiting for him on the far side of the bend, just within the trees. He wouldn’t have seen them until it was too late. After he’d fallen, I suppose they’d sent the horse off and then dragged him into the trees – you could see the flattened grass. He was still breathing when I found him, but I couldn’t rouse him.’

‘And his bag?’

‘Bag?’

‘The bag he had across his chest.’ ‘There was no bag.’

I then asked him where they had taken Mr Carteret. ‘William Hunt rode back to the great house and they brought up a cart. We took him back on that.’ ‘To the great house, not here?’

‘Yes. Lord Tansor insisted. He said he should be kept as quiet as possible until Dr Vyse could be brought from Peterborough. Robert Tindall was sent straight away.’

‘What time was this?’

‘Around eight o’clock.’

‘But Mr Carteret died before the doctor arrived?’

‘At about half past nine, or thereabouts. Miss Carteret was with him, and Lord and Lady Tansor.’

I held out my hand, which he took after a little hesitation. I was determined to get the fellow on my side, though he seemed somewhat dull-witted and morose.

‘Thank you, Brine. I am grateful to you. Oh, Brine,’ I said, as I was about to leave, ‘where is Mr Carteret now?’

‘In the Chapel at the great house. Lord Tansor thought it would be best.’