Sir John, resuming: “No end of surprises. First we have a suicide that proves to be a murder by gunshot. Then, not gunshot but poison seemed to be the cause of death. Now, we have a victim who may well have been twice murdered. And to further surprise me, I learned of the arrival of Lord Goodhope’s half-brother, Mr. Charles Clairmont, in London from his plantation in Jamaica. I confess that without deeper knowledge my attention went to him as the possible malefactor, for it was known that on at least one occasion there was acrimony between them—and still exists between him and Lady Goodhope. But an interview with Mr. Clairmont, which he kindly granted me, put me aright on his location at the time of his half-brother’s death. On this and a number of other matters pertaining to their relationship.”
Then, turning in Mr. Clairmont’s general direction, for he had somehow sorted out the placement of his listeners, Sir John asked, with a winning smile, “Mr. Clairmont, would you please tell those assembled the content of our conversation, as it pertains to the time of your arrival in London?”
Charles Clairmont remained seated and sighed as those deeply distressed. “I should prefer not to,” said he.
“Oh? And why is that?”
“Because all this seems no more than a show, an extemporized play put on for the benefit of I know not who. I would not be here myself had I not been forced to by some vague threat. Richard died, perhaps was murdered. That is unfortunate. Yet as you well know, it does not concern me directly as one upon whom suspicions would fall. Many had reasons for wishing him dead. I was not one.”
All this was said in a nasal tone of complaint. Sir John listened attentively, his hand to his chin, giving full weight to the objections put forward by Mr. Clairmont. He heard him through to the end, gave some pause, and then spoke thus: “I regret that the shape of this inquiry displeases you, Mr. Clairmont. An inquiry is what it is. It has not the gravity of a court proceeding. That is why I am asking each to speak his piece informally. If you would prefer, a court proceeding will be arranged—a formal inquest—and that tomorrow morning at the Bow Street Court. But surely you would not wish to cause such inconvenience to those who have assembled here, the issuing of summonses, et cetera. You yourself would receive one, of course.”
Again, Mr. Clairmont sighed. “So it is a question of either speaking now or in court tomorrow?”
“That is the size of it, yes.”
“Then I suppose I must yield.”
Yet he yielded only grudgingly and not fully, for of all statements made thus far, his was certainly the shortest. In little more than a pair of sentences, he explained that at the time of his half-brother’s death, he was at sea, probably rounding Cornwall, for he had not arrived in London until a full day later, twenty-four hours past the event. In the telling of this, he remained seated.
“That will do,” said Sir John with a shrug. “For confirmation of this,” he continued, “I ask Mr. Bailey to summon Captain Cawdor of the Island Princess. And while he is about it, let Mr. John Bilbo stand and give forth on his meeting with Mr. Clairmont on the evening of his arrival here in London.”
“At my place of business?”
“Indeed,” said Sir John, “just as you told me.”
And he did so, rising to his full height, looking neither right nor left at those around him but rather straight at the magistrate.
When he had finished, Sir John put to him a few questions.
“Since Mr. Clairmont did not cover this in his report, perhaps you could give us your opinion how he responded to your news of his half-brother’s death.”
“Oh, he was much concerned, sir.”
“Did he shed tears?”
“Well, no. Nothing so much as that. Yet I do recall him saying, ‘Poor Dickie, he had so much to live for’ and ‘Why would he do such a thing?’ As I said, I gave it, as I’d heard it then, that it was death by suicide.”
“And as to your earlier meetings with Mr. Clairmont, one or more took place when he was in the company of Lord Goodhope, were they not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And how were the two of them together?”
“Very friendly, sir. Two gentlemen out for an evening of pleasure.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bilbo. And your own relationship with Lord Goodhope?”
“It was very good, sir, considering he owed me a considerable quantity of money.”
“And with regard to Mistress Kilbourne?”
“There was nothing between us there, sir. I gave her away.”
Before Sir John could respond, Lucy Kilbourne shot to her feet, all indignation and vengeance, and asked—nay, demanded—“May I speak to that?”
“No,” said Sir John, “you may not. You will have your chance, Mistress Lucy, sooner than you know.”
Slowly and uncertainly, she resumed her place.
During the course of all this, Mr. Bailey had reentered the room in company with a florid-faced, though quite grave individual, fully dressed in maritime uniform. He was not tall, but he walked so straight and stiff that he seemed so. This gentleman preceded Mr. Bailey and walked with his hat and a book of some sort tucked beneath his arm. Moving with a sharp, loud step, he came as far as the second row of chairs, and there he stopped, giving his full attention to Sir John as he waited to be recognized. It was a most impressive entrance.
“You are Captain Cawdor?” asked Sir John.
“I am, sir—Josiah Cawdor, captain of the trading ship Island Princess”
“Very good of you to come, Captain. I trust you brought your ship’s log, as you were instructed to do?”
“I did, sir. Yes, I did.”
“Before you open it up, just to reassure others present here, perhaps you could identify for us the man who was your passenger from Jamaica to London. Is he here in this company?”
Captain Cawdor had no need to look left or right. He answered directly: “Yes, sir, he is. The individual in question is Mr. Charles Clairmont. He was the ship’s only passenger, and we saw a good bit of each other in the course of the voyage.” Then, hesitating but an instant, he added: “He was also known to me before.”
“For how long a period would that be?”
“Oh, a matter of years, I should say.”
“Would you say, then, that he was your friend?”
“I could not say that, no sir. We met infrequent. It was usually matters of business.”
“Yet he had previously made the voyage to London with you on the Island Princess.”
Captain Cawdor seemed slightly surprised that Sir John should know this. “True, but there were other passengers aboard on those occasions. Why, I recall that on one trip across we—”
“Forgive me for interrupting you, Captain, but there is no need to go into detail. Let us leave it simply that Mr. Clairmont is something more than an acquaintance, though not a friend.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sir John turned about him so that his head was inclined in my direction. I thought for a moment he would then give the signal he had arranged between us. But instead he addressed my young companion from the kitchen thusly: “Mistress, would you prepare some tea?” Then to the company at large: “In the burden of his complaint Mr. Clairmont was correct. This is a tedious business. Perhaps we could all benefit by a dish of tea to stimulate our attention.”
Meg went about her chore most efficiently, swinging the filled kettle over the fire, busying herself with the distribution of cups and saucers. Though hot tea seemed not the best drink in these close circumstances, it was hot tea they would have. I surveyed the group. Lady Goodhope appeared to be rather anxious as to Meg’s handling of her china. Mr. Humber, though appearing indolent and casual as before at Lloyd’s, had turned to give Captain Cawdor his continued and complete attention. The gentleman who was then unknown to me had also taken an interest in the captain. Nearest me, Mr. Clairmont seemed to behave in a somewhat strange manner. He perspired, as indeed I did, and with his kerchief he dabbed most carefully at his face, then afterward examined it, unseen by all but me. I noted, too, that in this room’s stronger light his glistening face now fairly shone.
Sir John resumed: “But perhaps. Captain, you might read from, or perhaps interpret, your ship’s log for us so that we might know the exact location of the Island Princess on the evening of Lord Goodhope’s death.”
“That would be the day before we docked?”
“It would, yes.”
And so Captain Cawdor read a bit and interpreted more, saving us from a confusion of numbers, degrees, and knots, and locating the vessel’s position just off the South Dorset coast in the early evening in question.
“Not off Cornwall then?”
“No sir, we’d rounded Land’s End some time before and had a good wind behind us, as I recorded in the log. In fact we arrived early and was made to anchor in the roads near half a day. It’s always so coming into London. The port’s far too crowded.”
“Thank you, Captain. If you will but wait a moment where you stand, I should like Mr. Alfred Humber, presiding officer of Lloyd’s, to give us the plan of the Island Princess’s voyage.”
That Mr. Humber did, after a bit of throat clearing and looking about. He read from notes on the very letter I had borne to him from Sir John, then carried back to its author: Kingston to Charleston to Bristol to London was the route he described. In truth, he seemed a bit sluggish. He would no doubt welcome that dish of tea, even more a cup of coffee.
“Now, what about those intermediate dockings in Charleston and Bristol?” Sir John asked of the captain.
“We carried a half-cargo of cotton—Charleston to Bristol. Our home cargo of coffee went to London.”
“How long did you remain in Bristol?”
“Just long enough to get it off. Well, there was a bit of a wait the first day. Call it a three-day job that should have been done in two.”
By this time, Meg had the tea nearly ready. She had filled the large, bell-shaped teapot from the kettle and was now waiting as the tea steeped.
“Did Mr. Clairmont leave the Island Princess during the time you spent in Bristol?” Sir John asked the captain.
“Indeed he did. He was quite happy to get his feet on land again. Mr. Clairmont would be the first to admit he has no sea legs.”
Meg had evidently decided the tea was ready to pour, though it had steeped bare a minute, for she took pot in one hand, cup and saucer in the other. Whoever received that first cup would find it weak in taste and quite hot to the tongue.
“And did Mr. Clairmont return to the Island Princess and then make the remainder of the voyage with you to London?” asked Sir John, as if trying merely to ascertain a specific detail.
“That’s been establishedT cried Mr. Clairmont in a great fit of wrath. And as he did, he banged his stick on the floor, punctuating his anger. Lucy Kilbourne, beside him, jumped in her chair, so frighted was she by his display. She leapt again when he demanded to know: “What is the meaning of this?”
Meg moved toward him, intending to serve him first and ignoring Lady Goodhope’s contrary signals.
“Well, indeed, sir,” blustered Captain Cawdor, “of course he did. I would not embark without my passenger! He was feeling poorly, seasick he was. I visited him in his cabin twice on the way to London.”
Mr. Clairmont was twisted back in his chair, giving close attention to the captain, who stood behind the second row of chairs, more or less in the middle. He was thus exposed when Meg, bending over him and holding the cup off to one side, poured hot tea from the teapot direct into his lap! (Because of the drama and the shouting, her action went unobserved by all but me; I realized at once she could not have done it but purposefully.)
He jumped up to his full height, no longer bent, and howled mightily in pain as he clutched his crotch.
“Meg, you little bitch!” cried he, in a voice much different from the one that had issued from him but a few moments before. “Jesus! Oh, sweet Christ!”
Mistress Kilbourne was up and dabbing to little purpose at the wetted part with her kerchief.
“Leave it, Lucy, that makes it pain all the more!” He whimpered. He growled.
228
I But then, unexpectedly and unthinkably, Meg began to laugh. She retreated, dancing back as he shot a hand out to slap her, leaving him pawing in the air, swaying to keep his balance.
“You will regret this, girl, I promise!” He did not move in pursuit.
Every word he uttered declared him to be one other than he appeared to be. Where Charles Clairmont had previously spoken in a nasal, rasping manner, he now bellowed forth in a deep, strong tone that must indeed have been heard throughout the house.
So different did he now speak that Lady Goodhope rose from her chair and peered across the room at him as keenly as her myopic eyes permitted. “Richard,” cried she, “is it you?”
“Yes, I believe it is,” said Sir John. “I know that voice myself, having heard it once in debate in the House of Lords, and I can only surmise that it is Lord Goodhope returned from the dead. How good of him! I sensed his presence here, yet I would not have presumed to call him out. Now there is no need. He has identified himself to us.”
“Why? What do you mean?” cried the other, assuming nasal speech once more and shrinking to his former posture. “What game do you play?”
“It is you who play a game, Lord Goodhope. Give it up! Pull off that false nose and wipe the paint from your face, for your imposture is ended.” Sir John waited only briefly, then he called out, “Captain Cawdor, would you now care to alter what you have just told us?”
The captain stood, no longer quite so erect, but from Sir John to the one who had lately changed his voice not once, but twice. “Well…” said he, “I …”
“Oh, sit down, sit down. Perhaps we shall come back to you again. And if you are still standing. Lord Goodhope, resume your place, too, for having identified the true victim of the crime, we must now seek out its perpetrator.”
“But who?” called out Lady Goodhope. “Who is the victim? I do not understand.”
“Charles Clairmont,” said Sir John. “It was his body that was carted off for burial in Lancashire.”
“It can’t be! How could that be?”
That will be revealed. Mr. Bailey, are we ready to proceed?”