Chapter 9

James took his beaver hat off and laid it on the table in Soothcoor’s cell. He sat down. “You told Mrs. Montgomery to contact Cecilia and me, which she did. She told us about you knowing each other growing up.” He summarized their conversation with Mrs. Montgomery. Then he leaned forward and clasped his hands on the table.

“Now, you tell me everything.”

Soothcoor carefully lifted his bad leg off the floor onto the bed and pressed his back up against the wall. He pushed greasy strands of black-and-gray hair away from his eyes. “Lilias was distraught at learning Malcolm was not dead,” he began slowly, “More for their children’s sake than for herself—though I should wish she gave more thought to herself and her own happiness. She was relieved to learn he had not committed suicide. That had weighed heavily on her soul.”

“She wondered what she might have done to prevent that?”

“Precisely. I did not know the extent of Malcolm’s illness until Lilias and I spoke of it. I suspected much when we were young men, but I lacked the life experience at that time to appreciate what he told me.”

“Why did you journey here to see him?”

“Lilias wanted to come; however, her youngest, Hugh, was just home from school, Aileen was engaged with a wedding looming, and Sorcha was distraught. She always felt jealous that Aileen had more of an opportunity to know their father than she did, and to learn he was alive and that she might have had time to visit him still distressed her. Lilias knew Malcolm would not have allowed that, afterall, how can you tell a young girl—a young woman—that she couldn’t see her beloved father?”

“So, you volunteered to come.”

“Of course. Malcolm had been my friend for years. We had grown apart when he married Lilias. That was my issue. I couldn’t visit them; my heart was too heavy to accept her marriage to Malcolm; it was best I stayed away, so our friendship faded. He did write to tell me there would be no more correspondence from him. This was when he first went into an asylum. I didn’t know that at the time and was perturbed. Nonetheless, that was Malcolm’s choice, and I honored it.”

“When did you arrive here?”

“Nine days ago, and immediately after leaving my bags at The New Bell Inn I went to Camden House.

“That first day was a day of reminiscences. I didn’t push him for an answer for why he put it about that he was dead. He had been genuinely happy to see me. And truthfully, I, to see him, too. We laughed and traded tales. I told him of what I do in London, and I told him about his children and Aileen’s engagement. He was happy. He promised not to say anything to Lady Stackpoole until her son did. That first day we didn’t discuss why he faked his death. It was a strange day.

“The next day, I walked around the village, thinking. Then, I rode into Stamford for a while. I was not doing anything that day except, maybe, avoiding what I had really come here to talk to Malcolm about. We both had been avoiding what we both knew we should discuss. Finally, I decided I had to see Malcolm again. My mind had been so fraught with ideas as to why Malcolm did what he did that I had to see him…The drive to see him became of great urgency, a need to begin to put a structure around the events of the past. To rationalize his actions. I rode from Stamford to Camden House. It was near the end of the day, and the sanatorium staff at first weren’t going to let me in, but I persuaded them otherwise.”

“What was his reaction on first seeing you again?” James asked.

Soothcoor sighed. “Sadness.”

“Sadness?”

He nodded. “He knew we had not discussed the reason for my visit the day before and that we needed to. He said he never wanted to hurt Lilias or their children. He felt that the knowledge of him residing in an institution would hang over them. He convinced Dr. Worcham that if he didn’t help him with his faked death scheme, he would, in truth, kill himself. Dr. Worcham said his father had to know the truth, or else he would not agree, and they would instead have to keep him in restraints to prevent him from killing himself—If for no other reason than to have someone continue to pay the bills. He sent a letter to Malcolm’s father, unfortunately, the elder Mr. Montgomery was very frail by this time. It was his cousin, Boyd Ratcliffe, who read the correspondence.”

“Why did a cousin read the correspondence?”

“Some months earlier, in the absence of Malcolm, his father had named Boyd, his older sister’s son, estate manager and let it be known he would be the executor for the Montgomery estate when he died. Ratcliffe had control over the Montgomery estate as long as Malcolm stayed in the sanatorium. This angered Malcolm, but, he conceded he’d set the path.”

“Why? He has to know someone had to take the reins of the estate, and he would not be allowed to do so while in an asylum. Did Malcolm think Boyd was too young for the responsibility or worried he would snatch up Mrs. Montgomery’s affections?”

“Yes, and he has, but not the Mrs. Montgomery you are thinking of. He married Malcolm’s mother on the anniversary of Malcolm’s father’s death.”

“Malcolm’s mother?”

“Yes, though it is not as scandalous as you might think. His cousin is nearer Malcolm’s father’s age than Malcolm’s age. Malcolm said he was furious. He said none of them liked Boyd Ratcliffe.”

“You mean these ‘other’ personalities?”

His brow furrowed. “Yes, at least that is what I inferred to be his meaning.”

James nodded in understanding. “Do you personally know Boyd Ratcliffe?”

One corner of Soothcoor’s lip kicked up. “I have that misfortune.”

James raised a brow.

He sighed and leaned back, propping his weight up with his arms. “He owns Lincolnton Bank and calls himself a banker. I find him more akin to a usurer.”

“And now Mrs. Montgomery—Malcolm’s mother—is Mrs. Ratcliffe.”

“Yes.”

“He’s in England, not Scotland?”

“Yes. His sister’s husband was English, and they live not far from the sanatorium.”

“Tell me about this second visit with Mr. Montgomery.”

“I arrived at the sanatorium during the dinner hour. The sanatorium keeps early country hours. After their dinner, one of the matrons went to tell Malcolm I was in the receiving hall. He came out there to meet me.” He frowned a moment. “From what I learned talking to staff as I waited on Malcolm, visitors used to be welcomed anywhere on the ground floor. One of the changes made by Mr. Turnbull-Minchin, when he became superintendent, was to limit visits to the great hall, which they call the receiving room, and outside on the grounds. Malcolm suggested we go outside to talk, away from listening ears.

“The sun was starting to go down, and to the east, clouds were gathering, foretelling more rain in the night. The wind had started to increase, bringing a nip in the air. It was actually a wonder it hadn’t rained that day. We walked nearly around the building then back again. Have you been out there yet?”

“No, we only arrived yesterday. I wanted to speak to you first.”

Alastair nodded. “Camden House is situated on an island of land created in the last century when canals were dug for drainage.”

“Mr. Stackpoole mentioned something to that effect.”

“You’ve met Aileen’s fiancé? Benjamin?”

“Yes. He was on his way to Camden House when his coach broke down. We invited him to travel with us.”

“He was going to Camden House?”

“His mother is a resident at the sanatorium. I think he has some notion of discussing Mr. Montgomery’s death with this mother and learning something useful.”

“I knew Lady Stackpoole resided in a sanatorium; I had not realized it was Camden House.”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Stackpoole has taken ill,” James said.

“Nothing serious, I trust. Aileen is deeply in love with the young man and he her, in turn.”

“But his father is against the marriage..”

“So, I understood from things Mr. Stackpoole said when he asked Mrs. Montgomery for Aileen’s hand in marriage. He has attained his majority, has a modest income inherited from his paternal grandmother—much to his father’s annoyance—and has the promise of a position with the Foreign Office, another choice his father condemns.”

James nodded. “From our discussions, it did not appear his father had any leverage to force Mr. Stackpoole to follow his orders.”

“Quite the reverse, with Baron Stackpoole’s treatment of Lady Stackpoole at the top of the contention list.” Soothcoor laughed. “With his glasses and perpetually messed hair, he does not appear like a determined young man; however, I assure you, he is. There is a rod of steel hidden within his polite gentleman appearance.”

James smiled. “I am delighted to hear that. But continue with your visit with Mr. Montgomery.”

“Ah, yes. Malcolm was delighted that I wished to marry Lilias but distressed that the fact he was alive had become known. He would have preferred to go on being considered dead.”

“The fact that he wasn’t dead meant if you had married Mrs. Montgomery, there would have been immense problems for all involved.”

“Yes, but Malcolm didn’t think it needed to be of concern. I reminded him that so long as ‘someone’ was paying for him to live at Camden House, his supposed death could never be believed. It was only a matter of time before it became known. He seemed depressed at that reality.”

“Depressed enough to commit suicide?” James asked.

Soothcoor shook his head. “I don’t believe so. He admitted he had considered suicide a couple of years ago. Luckily, those others in his head would not let him because that would be killing them as well.”

“They are that powerful?”

“Apparently. It is beyond my comprehension, so I simply took what I was told. At one point Malcolm stopped and stared out across the canal to the fenlands. I could tell he was furiously thinking. I wondered if he was having a conversation with the others within him. I don’t know if that is possible or not, but his stillness as he stood there had that feeling. Finally, he shifted position, stood straighter, taller somehow, and said the day before I arrived, they had requested a solicitor journey to Scotland to submit divorce papers. It is easier in Scotland to obtain a divorce than in England. He asked me to support them in their endeavor. At that moment, I knew I was talking to one of the other people who lived in Malcolm. He told me Malcolm loved Lilias and, for that reason, knew Malcolm needed to free her for, as he said, we can never leave Camden House. He told me—with an eerie earnestness—that it would be too dangerous for others. He had been aware that I wished to marry her in our youth and knew I would take good care of her and Malcolm’s children.”

“I can’t imagine participating in a conversation like that. And you are sure it was not Malcolm playacting?” James asked, leaning forward.

Soothcoor sighed deeply, compressed his lips and nodded. “Yes, I am certain. You’d have to have witnessed it to believe it.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him I would make inquiries, but I thought he should contact his cousin who stood as executor. It was odd. When I said his cousin’s name to Malcolm, there was no reaction. Mentioning Boyd Ratcliffe to this person had the result of anger at even voicing the name, let alone saying something about him being Malcolm’s de facto guardian. He claimed the man did not have Malcolm’s best interests in mind and implied that he was somehow responsible for the state they found themselves.”

“Interesting. I spoke to Dr. Nowlton before I left London. Do you know him?”

“Yes, we have met. His sister volunteered him to work at Mrs. Southerland’s, one of my charities.”

James nodded. “I had him examine Cecilia before I allowed her to journey north. We spoke about Mr. Montgomery and the condition Mrs. Montgomery described to us. He said he had no personal experience with a similar case. However, he had read about a young woman who appeared to be different people at different times. She was fine in the sanatorium where she’d been placed, but when she returned home, she killed her father and then herself.”

“Why? Do they know why she would suddenly do that?”

“Evidently, the father had raped her repeatedly as she was growing up. Being back home, he thought he would go to her bed one more time. She killed him and then killed herself.”

Soothcoor shook his head dolefully. “I wonder if Malcolm ever had any traumatic experience with his father in life?”

“Or with this cousin.”

Soothcoor stared off for a moment then slowly inclined his head in agreement. He straightened and looked directly at James. “That’s when I left Malcolm—or some other unnamed part of him. The wind had intensified as we’d been outside. Dark storm clouds rolled toward us from the east. I wanted to return to the inn before the worst of the weather descended upon us. And I wanted time to think about what he”d told me. I promised I would make some inquiries and be back to him, or whoever was available, the next afternoon.”

“You left him outside?” James asked.

“Yes. He said he liked storms and wished to savor it when it began, all new and wild. I told him not to catch his death of cold. He laughed at me and said for that would serve all our purposes. I reprimanded him. He sobered and told me not to worry. As I rode across the bridge that accessed the sanatorium island and looked back. I saw him still standing there, watching me leave. I raised my hand to wave at him. He waved back. That was the last time I saw him.”

James’s brows furrowed. “Did anyone see you return to the inn?”

“Yes, I spoke to the proprietor to request dinner.”

“Did you make it back to the inn before the rain came?”

He laughed. “Barely, but yes. We joked about it at the inn.”

“So, your clothes were dry?”

“Yes, why do you ask?”

“Wondering if a person could drown another person without getting wet themselves.”

Soothcoor perked up at that observation.

“When were you arrested?” James continued.

“The next morning, while I was having breakfast at the inn.”

James frowned. “That was quick. What had them decide you were the murderer so swiftly?”

Soothcoor shook his head. “I have no idea, and no one would answer my questions.”

“I will have to speak to the magistrate,” James mused.

“Good luck. I will tell you that Boyd Ratcliffe was there when I was arrested.”

James frowned. “I need to understand why the magistrate seems to believe waiting for the assizes is merely a formality and had you put directly into the general prison population.”

Soothcoor nodded. “I think that was Boyd Ratcliffe’s influence. he kept going on and on about the perfidy of murdering an ill man.”

James harrumphed but continued, “Can you remember who else was staying at the inn?”

He shook his head. “I kept to myself; I didn’t feel like conversing with others…” He tilted his head to the side. “The register. There were two names before mine on the register. I don’t know if they were still residing at the inn, only that they’d been there before me. Baron Stackpoole and another scrawl of a name that looked like Cameron Ramsay. I dismissed the notion the second name was Ramsay as there was no reason for Mr. Ramsay to be in the area. He fluttered about Mrs. Montgomery, not quite a suitor, but always irritatingly around, and I assumed I had his name on my mind for that reason.

“We knew Stackpoole had been at the inn as he had left a pot of honey for his son when he last visited. Young Stackpoole regularly goes to see his mother and, according to him, he has a love of honey.”

Soothcoor frowned and looked intently at James. “Baron Stackpoole left a pot of honey for his son?”

“Yes. Mr. Stackpoole thought it a peace offering from his father.”

Soothcoor compressed his lips. “That does not sound like something the baron would do as a peace offering. Strange. And from what Mr. Stackpoole told us in London, it did not sound as if his father visited his mother. You said Mr. Stackpoole has taken ill?”

“Yes. Mr. Stackpoole has had violent stomach and bowel issues. Cecilia is now concerned as Mr. Stackpoole traveled with us. She is resting today, else would have contrived to coerce me to allow her to accompany me here.”

Soothcoor laughed. “I’m sure she would have. So, you managed to convince her to stay at the hotel. Well done!”

Sir James smirked. “It wasn’t as hard as it might be at other times. Cecilia is just recovering from a spring influenza that laid her quite low, and she doesn’t want to take any chances as she is enceinte.”

“Enceinte! Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

He looked down at his hands. “So is Mrs. Montgomery,” he said quietly.

James stared at Alastair for a moment. “I don’t know whether to congratulate you or swear like a sailor.”

Alastair”s lips lifted slightly at the side.

“I know. And when that becomes known, it will be another reason I will be judged guilty of murder.”