Lady Gwendolen Investigates

Gwen made not the least attempt to hide her astonishment, though after a moment’s reflection she began to appreciate that it was perhaps understandable why, given her employer’s caustic temperament, Jane had eventually sought another post. What wasn’t so clear was why Jane had failed to furnish her with a forwarding address. After all, she had been well aware that her childhood friend would shortly move into the locale. Why on earth hadn’t she left a note in Mrs Travis’s care, or sent one to London for Mr Claypole to pass on at Gwen’s arrival in the capital?

She began to experience a definite feeling of unease. ‘Do you happen to know where Miss Robbins presently resides, sir? Could you possibly furnish me with her direction?’

For a moment Gwen feared he might, for reasons best known to himself, withhold the information, but then he informed her, without betraying the least emotion, ‘Yes, I am in a position to do that, ma’am. She has taken up permanent residency beneath the shading branches of a large yew tree in St Matthew’s churchyard.’

Jocelyn Northbridge could never have been accused of harbouring much sympathy towards females who suffered the vapours. In fact, his tolerance hovered only just above zero. Yet in those moments that followed his blunt disclosure, when he watched what he had already decided was a very sweet countenance lose every vestige of healthy bloom, the chivalrous streak in his nature welled as never before, and an unexpected desire to protect almost overwhelmed him.

Within seconds he had poured out a generous measure of brandy and was forcing the glass into a finely boned hand. ‘Drink!’ he ordered at his most dictatorial, a command seemingly that she could not or did not choose to disobey. Then he was able to observe, with a degree of satisfaction, the subsequent shudder and coughing fit restore a semblance of colour to delicate cheeks.

For a few moments he continued to watch her closely, all the time cursing himself under his breath for a boorish, unfeeling fool. Even a simpleton might have guessed that Warrender’s widow and Miss Robbins were likely to have enjoyed more than just a casual acquaintance, he told himself. Yet his voice when he offered an apology for breaking the news in such a callously abrupt manner remained quite impersonal, betraying none of the annoyance at himself or regret he was experiencing.

‘Evidently you and Miss Robbins were well acquainted, ma’am?’

‘As she was sadly orphaned at an early age, we grew up together, sir.’ Her voice, though soft, was blessedly level and free from any threat of tears. ‘She was my mother’s goddaughter. I looked upon her as a sister.’

As Joss turned at that moment and headed towards the bell-pull sited on the far wall, Gwen failed to see the self-deprecating expression flickering across his features. ‘You must allow me to summon your maid, ma’am. You have suffered a grievous shock.’

‘Indeed, I have,’ Gwen acknowledged with quiet dignity, while maintaining such remarkable control over her emotions that the gentleman who turned once again to study her could not help but admire her self-restraint. ‘And you need not summon my maid, sir. I assure you I’ve no intention of causing you or myself embarrassment by falling into a swoon. I should much prefer that you return to your seat and explain to me what happened to Jane. Was she yet a further casualty of the influenza epidemic that has been sweeping through the county in recent weeks? I have learned from the doctor that half his patients have fallen victim at some time or other, and sadly not all have survived.’

Instead of resuming the chair opposite, Joss took up a stance before the hearth. ‘Believe me, Lady Warrender, I wish I could confirm that it was so.’ There could be no mistaking the deep regret in his voice now. ‘Miss Robbins’s death could not be attributed to natural causes.’

He paused to reach down for the glass of burgundy he had placed on the table by his chair, and tossed it down in one fortifying swallow, before adding, ‘She met her end whilst out walking in Marsden Wood.’

For several long moments it was as much as Gwen could do to stare up at him, as she at last began to recall with frightening clarity elements of that conversation she had overheard between this gentleman and his friend in a certain posting-house in Bristol. Then, maintaining that admirable control, she asked bluntly, ‘Are you trying to tell me, sir, Jane Robbins was murdered?’

Almost a week passed before Gwen could even attempt to bring herself to come to terms with the fact that her surrogate sister had died in such horrible circumstances; and in the days that followed she discovered a deal more about Jane’s demise than Jocelyn Northbridge had seen fit to impart.

It was from her newly appointed housemaid, a mine of local opinions and gossip, salacious or quite otherwise, that Gwen learned that Jane had by no means been the only female in recent years to meet her end in Marsden Wood. Although a little reticent at first, the good doctor too had been persuaded to reveal certain other salient facts surrounding the deaths, and Jane’s in particular. From the local vicar, Mr Harmond, one of the few people whom she had agreed to see during this time of deep depression and sorrow, Gwen had discovered the identity of the person who had ensured that Jane had at least received a decent burial and had not been placed in a pauper’s grave.

‘What a complex gentleman Mr Northbridge is, Gillie,’ she remarked, as she led the way out of the churchyard, having at last brought herself to visit the grave. ‘A mass of contradictions! He even went to the expense of buying a decent headstone.’

Unbeknownst to Gwen, Martha Gillingham had thoroughly approved of Mr Northbridge from the moment he had insisted they make the return journey in his own carriage, after that one and only visit to his home.

‘A very solid, dependable sort, I should say, Miss Gwennie.’

‘Yes, and beneath that brusque exterior, he’s surprisingly kind and considerate too.’ She managed a weak smile, the first to curl her lips in days, as memory stirred. ‘One might not suppose just how kind he can be on first making his acquaintance.’

‘I think he’s what’s termed a man’s man, Miss Gwennie. He doesn’t look the type to stand any nonsense.’

Gwen readily agreed with this viewpoint, even though she knew it could be a big mistake to make snap judgements about people. After all, hadn’t she been guilty of doing precisely that, after their unfortunate encounter in a certain crowded posting-house? Whether or not she could ever bring herself to really like him, perhaps only time would tell. But at least she experienced no lingering animosity towards him whatsoever. How could she after the respect he had shown towards her dearest Jane?

‘I must write, thanking him for his kindness, and offering to reimburse him for the expense he has incurred paying for Jane’s funeral. I don’t suppose for a moment he’ll accept any money from me. But the least I can do is offer.’

‘Well, it looks as if you’ll be able to do so in person,’ Martha announced, as they turned into the driveway. ‘Because, unless I’m much mistaken, that’s his carriage standing there at the front door.’

As she had instantly recognised the comfortable equipage too, Gwen didn’t delay, once she had dispensed with her outdoor garments, in joining her unexpected visitor in the front parlour.

Standing over six feet in his stockinged feet, Jocelyn Northbridge was an impressive figure by any standard, and in the confines of a parlour that was only moderately proportioned he seemed more imposing than ever. Yet, strangely enough, as she moved towards him, hand automatically outstretched in welcome, Gwen felt not one iota intimidated by his superior height and breadth. In fact, the opposite was true—she felt oddly reassured to see him standing there before her hearth.

‘Do make yourself comfortable, Mr Northbridge,’ she cordially invited, once he had released her hand, after the briefest of clasps, so that she could indicate the most robustly made chair, the one that was sure to withstand his weight. ‘May I offer you some refreshment? I came across numerous bottles of a very fine burgundy whilst I was inspecting the cellar shortly after my arrival here.’

She was well aware he was studying her every move during the time it took to dispense two glasses and rejoin him at the hearth. Fortunately the short walk from the local church had done something to restore her healthy bloom, even if it could not disguise the fact that a total lack of appetite in recent days had resulted in weight loss, a circumstance that wouldn’t escape his notice, as very little did, she strongly suspected.

This was borne out by the exaggerated upward movement of one dark brow when she placed the two crystal vessels down on the table between their respective chairs. ‘Breaking with tradition on this occasion, Lady Warrender, and imbibing in the forenoon, I see,’ he quipped. ‘I’m relieved to discover you’re prepared to make adjustments from time to time to suit various occasions, and are not bound by monotonous convention or routine. Such persons swiftly become bores.’

Gwen came to the conclusion in that moment that if one wished to rub along with Mr Jocelyn Northbridge even just tolerably well, one must swiftly make allowances for his somewhat acerbic manner and forthright opinions. In view of the fact that she was very much beholden to him at the present time, it wasn’t too difficult a decision to reach to do precisely that.

Which was perhaps just as well, for when, a second or two later, she attempted to thank him for the consideration he had shown in dealing with Jane’s funeral, he interrupted with an expletive of impatience, dismissing her offer to reimburse him with a wave of one large, yet surprisingly shapely hand.

‘Kindness doesn’t enter into the matter, ma’am,’ he continued in the same blunt manner. ‘I had been assured by Miss Robbins herself, when she applied for the post, that she had no close relatives living. Consequently, when the tragedy occurred, I felt duty bound, as she was in my employ at the time, to deal with the matter personally.’ He paused to sample the dark liquid in his glass, favouring the remaining contents a moment later with a look of decided approval. ‘Needless to say I was oblivious to your close association, otherwise I would have taken the trouble to write apprising you of the tragedy. I happen to know she corresponded on a reasonably regular basis with someone residing in the capital, but could find no clue as to this unknown’s direction among her effects.’

‘That would undoubtedly have been Mr Claypole of Messrs Claypole, Claypole and Featherstone. Many of the letters Jane and I wrote to each other during my first years away from this country went astray. But when Percival and I visited Italy in more recent times, Mr Claypole the younger was kind enough to undertake the task of forwarding the letters, which resulted in many more eventually reaching their respective destinations.’

‘I found no letters among her belongings, ma’am. Which, incidentally, I’ve brought with me today. I thought you might like them.’

Gwen felt moved by the gesture. ‘That was kind of you, sir. I thank you.’

He didn’t attempt to throw her gratitude back in her face this time. He merely watched as she sampled the fine wine with what appeared to be a deal less appreciation than he himself had done.

Acutely conscious of this continued close scrutiny, Gwen turned her head slightly to stare down at the burning logs in the hearth, thereby offering him a prime view of a small, tip-tilted nose and slightly protruding upper lip.

‘Since learning of Jane’s tragic demise, I’ve discovered she was by no means the only female to have met her end in this Marsden Wood.’

No comment was forthcoming. Undeterred, Gwen added, ‘The daughter of a wealthy farmer is believed to have been yet another casualty. She, so I have been led to believe, was murdered some few years ago. There has been a further body unearthed, so I understand. Apparently it was too decomposed for any definite identification to be made. Although, because of a bracelet found close to the body, and remnants of clothing, it is strongly supposed she was none other than a local corn merchant’s daughter who disappeared last summer. Whether she suffered the same fate as Jane was, I’m reliably informed, impossible to ascertain. But it is strongly suspected that she too was violated…a fact you chose to withhold from me, Mr Northbridge.’

He didn’t attempt to deny it. Instead he cursed, long and fluently under his breath, before demanding in the blunt, dictatorial manner to which she was becoming increasingly less resentful, ‘Who have you been talking to…? The local sawbones, I’ll be bound!’

Without experiencing the least need to resort to profanity, Gwen returned the compliment by not attempting to prevaricate, either. ‘Dr Bartlet was, eventually, a deal more forthcoming than you were, sir, certainly. As was my new maid, Annie, a veritable fount of local knowledge. And no mean judge of public opinion, I might add.’

‘Is she, by gad!’ He was decidedly unimpressed, as his next words proved beyond doubt. ‘And what good has it done you to discover all the unsavoury facts surrounding the death? It was enough for you to learn you had lost a good friend in such a fashion without learning every last sordid detail.’

Gwen favoured him with a searching stare, and easily detected a look of concern lurking behind the sparkle of annoyance in those dark eyes. ‘I believe you were trying to be kind in sparing me the unsavoury facts, sir. But let me assure you, I’m no child. My husband always did his utmost to protect me, but he never once attempted to prevent me from increasing my knowledge of the world. I’m fully aware of what Jane must have endured before she was strangled.’

One expressive brow rose at this, betraying his scepticism, but he refrained from comment, leaving Gwen to rise to her feet and go over to the window, whilst the silence lengthened between them.

‘What’s of most concern to me now is what’s being done to bring the murderer to book.’ She swung round, catching a guarded look, not untouched by guilt, flickering over his strong and decidedly aristocratic features. ‘From what I’ve discovered thus far, no one has been charged with the crimes, though several likely suspects have been named.’

‘Sheer gossip, more often than not stemming from some personal dislike or grievance,’ he returned, totally dismissive, before running impatient fingers through his thick, slightly waving dark hair. ‘Of course enquiries were made about Miss Robbins. And the other women, too. But nothing ever came to light. No one ever came forward admitting to having witnessed the tragic incidents. In point of fact, no one has ever come forward with any relevant information at all, as far as I’m aware. And as far as Miss Robbins is concerned—no one, myself included, even saw her leave Bridge House. Her absence wasn’t discovered until the evening, when she failed to go down to the kitchen for her dinner, and so a maid took a tray up to her room.’

The lines across his forehead grew more pronounced, making him appear more forbidding than ever. ‘Naturally I instigated a thorough search of both house and grounds. But it was dark by that time, so there was no possibility of widening the search. Her body was discovered two days later by a man called Furslow, Lord Cranborne’s gamekeeper.’

Gwen found these disclosures both interesting and puzzling at one and the same time. ‘Was Jane in the habit of wandering about the countryside when the mood took her?’ she asked, thinking him a very generous master in allowing his employees so much free time.

He wasn’t slow to set her straight on the matter. ‘Of course not! Not unless she undertook to take her charges out for some fresh air,’ he answered snappishly. ‘If her intention was to walk any distance, she was, at my insistence, always accompanied by a male servant, footman or groom.’ His expression relaxed markedly and his voice became noticeably less caustic, too, as he added, ‘Miss Robbins was extremely conscientious. She more than met my expectations. My wards improved in every respect under her charge.’

Although he continued to stare directly across the room in her general direction, Gwen gained the distinct impression he was seeing quite a different aspect. ‘It just so happened that my wards were among the first to succumb to the recent, widespread influenza outbreak. I took what precautions I could to ensure my entire household wasn’t afflicted by giving instructions that my old nursemaid was the only one to attend the sickroom until the girls were over the worst of it. Miss Robbins undertook to help me catalogue the books in my library during that period. But even so she was left with plenty of free time on her hands. Unfortunately, the weather naturally being so inclement at that season of the year, she rarely left the house.’

The cleft between his dark brows deepened once again. ‘If my memory serves me correctly the girls were well on the way to a complete recovery, and Miss Robbins had decided to recommence lessons, at least in part, the very next day. Maybe she decided to take full advantage of the last of her free time by taking a walk, and went further than intended.’