Chapter 14

“Iwonder why Mr. Montgomery claimed he was not married?” Julia mused the next morning as she and Cecilia walked along one of the winding paths around Camden House. It was not a sunny day but a far more pleasant day than the others Cecilia had felt since she came up north.

“Two years ago, Mrs. Montgomery was told he died, that he had committed suicide,” Cecilia offered.

“Suicide!” exclaimed Julia. She shook her head. “That does not sound like the Mr. Montgomery I knew! I’m sure I do not understand.” Her brow furrowed a moment as she stopped on the path. “I do recall,” she said slowly, “he was very ill at one time—over two years ago now,” she said. She started walking again on a path that took them around the bushes toward the back of Camden House. “He did come close to dying, then; however, Dr. Worcham and the staff here took excellent care of him, and he recovered, for which he was not grateful.”

“Not grateful?” parroted Cecilia.

Julia shook her head. “I overhead one outburst, some months later, when he played Archie, and quite dramatically told Dr. Worcham he should have let him die.”

Cecilia stopped in the shade of a large tree as she looked out over the canal to the fens. “I wonder why Dr. Worcham went along with the death tale? According to Mrs. Montgomery, Mr. Montgomery’s father, his cousin, her father, and their vicar were all aware he lived. They were the ones to spread it about that he had died. The rest of the family went into full morning. It is only in the past year that Mrs. Montgomery has put the past behind her and found a new love. She tells us she was happy, giddy even, to find love again and wrote to family members to share her news. That is when Mr. Montgomery’s cousin wrote to her and told her she could not marry again as Mr. Montgomery was not dead.”

Julia shook her head. “Poor woman,” she said. She linked arms with Cecilia as they walked on down the path. “And is it this woman’s daughter whom my Benjamin wishes to marry?” she asked.

“Yes. And Baron Stackpoole forbids the marriage because of Mr. Montgomery’s illness. He says they can’t know that Aileen hasn’t inherited the same mental health condition.”

Julia snorted quite inelegantly. “Excuse my vulgarity, that sounds like something my husband would try to do. He would be against her just because she is Scottish with the added mental health issues, he would be beside himself.” She suddenly laughed. “I can almost visualize him quivering with anger. He has no control over Benjamin—certainly no financial control. My Benjamin is his own man. He needs nothing from his father.”

“Did you know Baron Stackpoole came up here when it was first discovered Mr. Montgomery was alive?”

“No! He certainly didn’t come to see me. What did he want? What did he do?”

“I don’t know,” Cecilia admitted. “Perhaps to ask Dr. Worcham about Mr. Montgomery’s health? Truthfully, I don’t know if he actually came to Camden House and visited with Mr. Montgomery or Dr. Worcham. Is there a guest registry?”

“Yes, there is, but it would be difficult for us to see it…I can casually ask some of the staff that I am friendly with—though Mr. Turnbull-Minchin now frowns on us fraternizing, as he calls it.” She fingered the petal of a flower that had managed to bloom under the protected branches of the trees. “What about the man that killed Malcolm? Do we know why he did it?”

Cecilia looked at Julia seriously. “The magistrate arrested the wrong man.”

She dropped the flower and looked at Cecilia. “What do you mean?” she asked.

Cecilia took a big breath then let it out slowly as she looked across the canal. She looked back at Julia. “I am not typically a gambling woman; however, I will take a gamble with you.”

“What do you mean.”

“I will tell you what I know but you cannot share it with others.”

Julia’s features pulled together in a deep frown. She cocked her head to the side as she considered Cecilia. “All right,” she said slowly.

“Come, let’s turn around and begin our walk back. I find I am tiring and will need to lay down for a while.—The Earl of Soothcoor, the man arrested, was Mr. Montgomery’s childhood friend.”

“The Earl of Soothcoor? That’s who was arrested?” Julia exclaimed.

“Yes.”

“They never told us, just that the murderer had been apprehended. I’ve heard of him. My Benjamin has spoken of him. They call him ‘The Dour Earl’.”

Cecilia laughed. “Yes, they do.”

“He was the visitor who came to see Mr. Montgomery that day?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“To find out why he’d pretended to be dead to his wife and children and, more importantly, if he would petition for a divorce.”

“This is so confusing. Did Dr. Worcham know he was married?”

“I don’t know. I wonder about that. Would the doctor have allowed him to fake his death if he knew he had a wife and child?” Cecilia asked, her voice growing hoarse and tight as a cough threatened.

“I can’t see Dr. Worcham allowing him to fake his death at all, no matter the circumstance! That is worrisome.”

A sudden coughing fit overwhelmed Cecilia. “Oh bother, the dratted cough has been so good this morning not to plague me,” she said as she held a handkerchief to her mouth. “There is a bench over there,” she said, pointing to an ornate filigree metal bench underneath another tree, away from the popular walkway. “Let’s sit down there for a moment before we return to the house.”

Julia nodded and the women crossed to the out-of-the-way bench. Cecilia clasped her gloved hands together when she sat down. She looked at Julia sitting beside her. “I’m going to trust you,” she squeaked out before she laughed again.

“I beg your pardon?”

She cleared her throat. “I came to Camden House for two reasons. The first is to investigate the death of a dead man.”

“You came here to investigate Mr. Montgomery’s death? You are not ill?”

She shook her head. “I am ill, or rather, I am recovering from a prolonged bout with influenza. It zapped my strength, especially the coughing. I am also with child and my husband—and me to some extent—fear for any lingering effects my illness might have had on my unborn child,” she said as she unconsciously rested her hands on her rounding belly. “I do need rest, and as I said, I will lie down when we go inside. I do need, just like Dr. Worcham is prescribing, sunshine and short walks outside—though there is not much sun,” she said ruefully. “My cough persists, as you’ve heard, and my energy flags much too easily. I do not like that. I enjoy being an active woman and it tries my soul that I can’t be that woman right now.” She cleared her throat again.

“I can understand that conundrum,” Julia said.

“I convinced my husband if I were to check into Camden House, I could get the rest I require and at the same time, learn more about Mr. Montgomery. I suggested that asking gentle questions should not be too tasking. He didn’t like the idea, but after talking to your son about Camden House, we felt it worth it to try this investigative route while my husband investigates all leads outside of Camden House.”

“You referred to this as the investigation into the death of a dead man.”

Cecilia nodded. “Most everyone in his family, and those within his circle of friends, already thought him a dead man. Dead more than these two years. Grief had been packaged up and set aside, life had moved on. His family were starting to find happiness—and his wife wished to marry again.”

“And not having any idea he was alive, she didn’t know of any impediment.”

“Correct.”

“And the man she would marry?” she asked,

“The Earl of Soothcoor.”

Julia’s eyes widened and her mouth opened into a silent ‘O’.

“Please, please, keep this to yourself. That fact alone would make others certain he’d murdered Mr. Montgomery. I assure you, he did not. That is not the kind of man he is. I know people say any man or woman can commit murder if the circumstances are right. Not Soothcoor. He is the kindest man, always helping those less fortunate—though he tries not to let that be widely known.”

She coughed again then cocked her head to the side as she considered Soothcoor. She looked directly at Lady Stackpoole to try to explain the man to her. “He’s humble about what he does. He is invited everywhere—and not just when a hostess needs to even her numbers. He’ll stand up at balls with the wallflowers. He is not in the least bit handsome. His is a long face with dark eyes that droop down in the corners. His hair is black, streaked with gray and always looks like it needs a comb,” she said with a laugh.

“His lips are well defined,” she continued seriously, “though the bottom lip is thin. He does not smile much, which is how he acquired the ‘Dour Earl’ moniker,” she said with a faint laugh. “But I have witnessed a rare moment of joy for him. It lit his face and, as I watched him, I couldn’t help but smile as well,” Cecilia said.

“What gave him that joy?” Julia asked.

“When he realized his nephew was safe—that Sir James and I had rescued little Christopher.” Cecilia laughed suddenly. “Oh, look at me. Just remembering has my eyes tearing,” she said, swiping at her cheeks with her gloved hands.

“Rescued! That sounds like a story I should like to hear!” Julia said.

Cecilia laughed again. “Another day. Right now, I do need to lie down.”

“And while you rest, I will try to find out about the guest register the day Mr. Montgomery died. I’m curious to know if Jacob came to Camden House and when.”

“You don’t think the magistrate would have looked at it or taken it?”

“I don’t know. I’ll see what I can find out about that as well.”

Cecila stood up and, with Julia, walked back to Camden House.

“Excuse me,Lady Branstoke, Sir James Branstoke is downstairs in the great hall. Do you feel well enough to see him?” asked Matron Mildred from the doorway of Cecilia’s room.

Cecilia had been dozing again, husbanding her strength for when James came—as she knew he would—and for the meal hours where she might have more conversation with the others.

“Yes, yes, I am,” Cecilia assured her as she rolled over to swing her feet to the floor. “I’ve been expecting him,” she said.

“Very good, then I won’t send him away,” the matron said.

“Send him away?” Cecilia parroted. “Do you do that often?”

The matron chuckled. “More than one would think. Some are always looking to see the worst in our patients. We try to protect them. We allow them to turn down visitors and sometimes we turn down visitors if we believe it is not one of our patients’ better days. We don’t want their visitors to see them in anything less than perfect condition.”

“Hmm, I suppose that makes sense. Lady Stackpoole and I were just having a discussion on visitations here. When we checked into The New Bell Inn, we saw Baron Stackpoole’s name in the guest register from the time when Mr. Montgomery died yet, Lady Stackpoole said she never had a visit from him. We thought he must have changed his mind about visiting here. Did he come and you turn him way?” she asked as she picked up her cape from where she’d laid it earlier on a chair by the window.

“I didn’t, though I might have been so inclined if I saw him. That man belittles her so when he visits—it takes two days for her to be herself again,” the matron said, her arms akimbo.

Cecilia shook her head. “She seems like such a strong woman, that’s hard to believe,” she said as she walked out of the room. “By the way, young Miss Liddy sneaked into my room when I was sleeping yesterday. I caught her looking through my portmanteau.”

The matron’s expression fell. “I’m right sorry about that, milady. Poor child has been ever so mischievous since Mr. Montgomery died. We need to find her a new mentor.”

“Mr. Montgomery was her mentor?” Cecilia said as they walked toward the stairs.

“Just developed that way over time and did her a world of good. Child always feels inferior due to that birthmark on her face,” the woman said.

Cecilia held her handkerchief to her lips as she coughed mildly. “Lady Stackpoole told me her mother won’t even look at her.”

The matron compressed her lips. “That be true. Dr. Worcham says before he died, her father gave her attention and never minded the birthmark. Not the mother. Because Mr. Montgomery did pay attention to her and gave her lessons, she followed him around everywhere. Now the poor thing is lost.”

Cecilia stopped at the top of the stairs. “Thank you, Matron,” she said, “for telling me more about Liddy. It helps my understanding of her actions.”

“You’re welcome, milady,” the matron said, bobbing a small curtsy, and Cecilia started down the stairs.

She found James in the grand hall, studying a large painting of Camden House before it became the sanatorium.

He turned at the sound of her footsteps.

“How did you know that was me?” she asked.

“I’m accustomed to the sound and the scent of you, my love,” James said, taking both her hands in his. He brushed her cheek with a light kiss. He looked down at her, concern in his expression. “How are you feeling?”

She shrugged. “The same. I am getting more rest, and the coughing spells don’t seem quite as harsh today as yesterday. I went walking this morning, then laid down. I think that was helpful.”

James frowned. “Now, where can we talk that won’t fatigue you.”

“I think outside is best, that’s why I brought my cape. There are plenty of benches outside,” she said, silently holding the cape out for James to take it from her to drape about her shoulders. She smiled up at him as he did so. “Don’t worry, I shall lay down again after our visit.”

James tucked her arm in his and led her outside. There were others enjoying the outdoors as well. Cecilia directed him to the left path.

“If no one has yet claimed it, there is a bench in a wind-protected area this way,” she said. She led him to one of the benches she and Julia stopped by that morning. She sat down and James sat down next to her, pulling her close.

“Tell me about the magistrate,” Cecilia said as she pulled her cape about herself.

James sighed. “He’s a man more concerned with his properties right now than with the death of a man in a sanatorium. He quickly took the suggested scenario that fit the few facts that were known, ignored others, and leaped to Soothcoor’s guilt.”

“What few facts?” Cecilia asked.

“That Soothcoor visited Mr. Montgomery, that he knew Mr. Montgomery, and he wanted to marry Mrs. Montgomery so he had motive and, by the fact of being on the Camden House grounds, had opportunity.”

“That’s it? Did he have witnesses? Does he know the cause or time of death? Or is it all circumstantial—and how did he even know that much?”

“When Dr. Worcham sent for the magistrate, he also sent for Mr. Montgomery’s cousin and executor, Mr. Boyd Ratcliffe. He lives not far away, so he arrived nearly at the same time. He is the one who gave the information to Squire Eccleston and strongly suggested that of course it was Soothcoor who committed the crime, due to motive and opportunity.”

“I see.”

“He did tell me that Mr. Montgomery was held under water until he drowned.”

Cecilia’s brow furrowed. She looked over at one of the canals that made Camden House sit on an island. “There are steep sides to these canals. How does one hold someone under water here? Unless they are in the water with them. How deep are the canals?”

“I don’t know. I will find out. I have already checked with Mr. Price. Soothcoor clothes were dry when he arrived back at The New Bell Inn. There were comments made of how lucky he was as it started to rain almost as soon as he walked in the door.”

“Sounds like you need to visit Mr. Ratcliffe.”

“That is my plan. Have you learned anything here?”

“There is a woman here, Miss Dorn, who had relations with her employer’s nephew and found herself pregnant. As she was of good family, he agreed to marry her to avoid scandal. She lost the child after a few weeks, and he cried off the marriage. Now she keeps importuning men to get her pregnant again so she can claim she didn’t lose the first babe. She has become quite delusional. She harassed Mr. Montgomery, trying to get him to service her. He refused.”

“Are you thinking she could have killed him in a fit of rage at his refusal?”

Cecilia shrugged. “I’m not saying she did, all I’m saying is she is as likely a suspect as Soothcoor, don’t you think?”

“How strong is she? Do you think she could hold him underwater?”

“I don’t know. Probably not. But, it throws some doubt on the absolute conviction Soothcoor was the murderer. I will be finding out more. I have also discovered there is a young child here, a girl, who Mr. Montgomery taught. He’d taken her under his wing. The matron told me she was his shadow. I’m going to befriend her and see if she was spying on him when he was killed.”

“Do you think she could have been?”

“It’s possible, though I admit not probable. She has the run of the facility, it seems.”

“How old is she and why is she here?”

“I think she is between eight and ten years old. She has a port wine stain birthmark on her face. I’m told her mother sent her away after her father died because she couldn’t stand to see the imperfection in her child’s face. It embarrasses her.”

James made a sour expression.

“Yes. That is my thought as well. I need to find out who her family is. The patients and the matron on my floor just call her Miss Liddy.”

“Why did Dr. Worcham allow her in the facility if she is not ill?”

“Money, most likely. Perhaps pity as well.”

He shook his head. “—I need to see you back inside. I can tell your voice is getting that cloudiness it gets before you cough.”

She laughed. “Yes, I can feel it coming, too,” she said, pulling out her handkerchief.

He stood and pulled her to her feet and again tucked her arm in his as she walked back to the house.

“Are you going to see Mr. Ratcliffe?”

“Yes, but not today. I want to talk to Soothcoor again. I want to question his powers of observation as to what—or who—was around him as he left Camden House that day. I also want to know more about this Boyd Ratcliffe. If he is local, some people at the pub might know of him and know the tenor of the man.”

Cecilia nodded. “Do you think the magistrate will be in contact with him after your visit?”

“Perhaps. He was certainly angry enough at me. I’ll just have to take that chance and deal with whatever the outcome is.”

“Other than resting some more, I will try to make friends with Miss Liddy…And I think I want a chat with Mrs. Worcham as well.”

“Why is that?”

She shrugged. “Just a feeling. Sometimes she is a little too laughingly affable.”

James raised a brow. “Whatever you deem necessary—that doesn’t get you into trouble.”

“Me, in trouble?” Cecilia asked archly, a teasing light in her eyes as she slid a sideways glance up at him.

James groaned.

The turnkeyimmediately recognized Sir James when he rode up to the Stamford Borough Gaol—his manner deferential and eagerly accommodating.

“Warden’s to lunch, sar, over ta his howse. I be sartin you can see him thar.”

“I shall go to his house, then. Thank you,” Sir James said, repressing a smile for the turnkey’s manner.

“Ya knows where it be?”

“Yes,” James said as he headed toward the back of the gaol.

The Warden was just coming out when James came around the gaol.

“Sir James! What brings you here again?”

“I have a few questions for the earl. Has the doctor been out to see him? I left you enough money, didn’t I?” James asked, though he was certain he had been more than generous. “Does he have everything he needs?”

“Yes sar, and the doctor has tended to his injury.”

“May I see him, please?”

“Yes, I got my keys right here,” he said, unhooking a large ring from an oversized belt at his side. He jingled it as he walked over to the debtor-prison half of the building and unlocked the door.

“Has anyone been to see him?” James asked.

“Squire Eccleston came by this morning. Didn’t stay long and was in a temper when he left, muttering something to himself, though I didn’t catch what it be. I mentioned you’d visited his lordship. He said he knew that and said a few choice words about yourself.”

Sir James laughed. “I’m sure he did,” he said wryly as they stepped into the hallway.

The warden looked at him sideways. “Called him to order, eh?”

“I provided him with some observations,” James said mildly.

The warden grunted deep in his chest. He pounded on the heavy wood door of the small room occupied by Soothcoor. “Company, my lord,” he said as he unlocked that door. “A half- hour?” he asked Sir James.

“Yes, a half-hour is fine, thank you,” James said as he passed the warden into the room.

The warden closed the door and locked him in.

Soothcoor looked better. He wore different, cleaner clothes and it appeared he’d been able to avail himself of at least a washbowl for his face and hands, and a comb for his hair. No razor for his face and Soothcoor was typically a clean-shaven man. He’d have to see what he could do about getting a barber for him.

A clean bandage wrapped his leg, and a crutch leaned against the bed.

“How’s the leg,” James asked. He walked up to the table and pulled the chair out to sit down.

Soothcoor shrugged. “Painful. When the worst heals, I’ll need a cane.”

“I see you did get a crutch.”

“Yes, but since I have nowhere to go anyway, I’ve managed without it.”

“You will need it when we get you out of here.”

“Do you think I will?”

“Yes.”

Soothcoor shrugged. “Magistrate came by earlier today.”

“So the warden told me. What did he want?”

“Ask me some questions about my relationship with Malcolm, how long I’d known him, why did I come to see him, basically everything I knew Mr. Ratcliffe had told him the morning he arrested me.”

“Trying to see if your answers matched?”

“I suppose, but nothing of substance—except for one thing. He asked me where the clothes were that I’d worn to Camden House.”

“And you told him?”

“The jacket, pants, and vest were the same as I wore the day he arrested me. I put on clean linens that morning, so the previous day’s linens were in my valise.”

“I’ll bet he didn’t like the answer.”

“No, he didn’t seem to. Why did he ask? Do you know?”

“He believed you drowned Mr. Montgomery, which you wouldn’t have been able to do unless you got in the water with him and held him underwater.”

Soothcoor frowned. “That would be hard for any one person to do. Malcolm was strong. He wasn’t a tall man. But he was a sturdy man, and he did know how to swim.”

“I was going to ask you if he knew how to swim.”

“We often swam together in the ponds and streams on my grandfather’s estate.”

“What do you know about Montgomery’s relationship to his uncle, Boyd Ratcliffe.

“He hated him.”

“Why”

“I don’t know,” Soothcoor said slowly, “I just believe it had to do with the time he and his mother lived with him.”

James cocked his head. “Lived with him?”

“Yes. There was a fire at the Montgomery estate while his father traveled out of the country. This was long before I knew him. He and his mother lived with Ratcliffe for the year Malcolm’s father was away. Malcolm could never clearly remember that time and didn’t want to try. It was one of the gaps in his memory, but he knew he hated Ratcliffe. As he was growing up, if Ratcliffe came to visit, Malcolm would run away, and no punishment he might be given would stop him.”

James’s brow furrowed. “I can’t imagine what would have caused that behavior—or perhaps I can and don’t want to consider it.”

“I know.” Soothcoor shifted his position to ease his leg. “Such have been my thoughts, especially to know he is now married to Malcolm’s mother. What perversion could he have subjected a young boy to that would lead him to splinter, like the logs he splintered with an ax and often talked of. He sympathized with splintered logs, if you can believe that. He would laugh about it, but he did sympathize. He’d run his hand along the splinters his ax caused and mouthed a silent apology. He thought I didn’t notice. I did.”

“Did you ever see any evidence of the persona he and others refer to as ‘Archie’?”

“Strangely, no. I think I have been in the company of the one known as Gregory, back when we were children, but never an angry, violent person which I understand in Archie’s role.”

“Interesting that you refer to him as having a role. I tend to agree with you. I do wish Dr. Nowlton were here. I am certain he would make sense of this for us.”

“That young man is intelligent and sharp. I wish I could get him to work for my charities.”

“Yes, he would be an asset. But to return to Archie. If Malcolm was being threatened in any way, wouldn’t Archie come to the fore to deal with the threat?”

“I would think so, but you have to remember, what we think happened to Malcolm was a perversion of the mind. I don’t know that we can use logic to explain it or understand it.”

James frowned and scratched the back of his head. “As much as it goes against the norm for me, I shall have to concede I may never understand what went on in Mr. Montgomery’s brain. Could he have committed suicide?”

“I have endlessly thought about that. It is possible, but I don’t believe so. I still think it is more probable for him to be murdered than for him to kill himself.”

The door to the cell opened.

“Your time is up, Sir James.”

James rose from his chair. “Time has flitted by much too quickly. Think of anything you saw on the grounds, anything at all, and send me a note.” He turned to the warden. “You will allow him access to pen and paper, won’t you?”

“Yes, he has that now.”

“Good. Note down everyone you met since you came up here. Friend or foe. I hope to call on you again tomorrow afternoon after what will certainly be a most enlightening meeting with Mr. Ratcliffe.”