When It Rained at Hembry Castle Chapter 23

A Farewell

H

e was thrown in the river by the men he played poker with, some said. He had too many women too many times, said others. He had some other man’s wife too many times. He had a child too, perhaps from that other man’s wife, and the cuckolded husband strangled him then tossed him into the Thames. That’s what happens when you’re supposed to be taking care of business at Hembry or seeing to duties at the House of Lords and you’re off gallivanting instead. He was the Earl of Staton, after all. What right did he have to leave whenever he wanted? He had responsibilities. Now he’s paid the ultimate price.

Frederick Staton stood outside Staton House, his hand raised but unmoving near the door. How could he tell them? How could he put their minds at ease when he himself would never be rid of the sight—his brother’s drowned body, Richard’s chestnut hair sheared away, his handsome face disfigured beyond all recognition. He heard horses’ hooves clomping on the street and he turned to watch the fine-looking ladies in their carriages out for their afternoon drive around Hyde Park. The ladies glanced at the other ladies to see if their dresses were finer, their carriages bigger, their footmen better looking than what the others had on display. He saw the children with their nannies running across the grassy lawn, and he saw the young male laborers watching the nannies since the nannies were the only servants who could get away during the day. It was a wonder to him, that life continued, the day went on, people went about their business whilst his life was forever changed. He had been grieved at the loss of his beloved father, but this was a different grief. One expects to lose one’s parents, hopefully not until they, or you, are very old, but still it falls into the correct order of things. The loss of his eldest brother, who should have had many years ahead of him, was an unexpected tragedy, and those are always the hardest to handle. Frederick exhaled, steadied himself, and went inside.

Mr. Ellis directed him to his family—his daughter, his mother, his brother Jerrold, and Hyacinth—as they waited in the sitting room, each staring into the distance, lost in their own thoughts. Daphne stood when she saw her father.

“Did you identify him, Papa? Was it Uncle Richard?”

Frederick meant to say something profound, something that would set their minds at ease. I am the head of this family now, he meant to say. I will guide us through this terrible tragedy and we will rise above this and we will comfort each other in our grief. We will show everyone, in Hembry, in Staton, in all of England, that the Meriwethers are strong. He had practiced his speech as he walked along the banks of the Thames, but now when it mattered the words wouldn’t come. He crumpled onto the settee and wept.

Daphne kneeled next to her father, taking his hands, waiting for his wave of misery to subside. When Frederick could contain himself enough to speak, he tried to explain. The police had arrived that morning to say that Richard’s body had been fished out of the Thames. The face was badly disfigured, and though the poor soul looked ghoulish, as though it had never been human at all, Frederick was able to identify his beloved brother because of his clothing, his watch, his shirt pin, and the bloodied remnants of the half-moon scar near the left temple. The ultimate proof, however, was John Hough.

“Hough was with Richard last night when he fell into the river,” Frederick said. “They were walking across London Bridge toward Southwark. Suddenly, Richard said he had something to do, some business that needed tending, and he told Hough to wait there on the bridge for his return. When Hough tried to question him, Richard became belligerent, insisting that he’d be back in a moment. Hough was afraid of angering Richard further so he did what he was told and waited. Richard returned staggering, as though he had a few drinks in his absence. Then Richard started laughing at the sky and yelling at invisible phantoms, a typical drunkard’s scene, Hough said. It was so dark, no moon, and Hough said he could hardly make out Richard’s form. It was well after midnight by then, and Richard talked about how he had been too afraid in his life, he should have learned to swim when he had the chance, but it was never too late to face your fears. Richard leaned over the side of the bridge, mocking the water as it sat at low tide. Then he pulled himself onto the railing. By now he was talking nonsense about how he would do what must be done, the way he should have from the beginning. Hough tried to pull Richard down, but Richard was unsteady and Hough was afraid that if he tugged too hard Richard would lose his balance and fall. Richard dropped into the river before Hough could do anything. Hough heard the splash, looked over the railing, saw Richard bobbing in the water, and ran for help. They pulled Richard’s body from the river at first light.”

“Fell my eye,” said Hyacinth. “He was pushed.”

“By Mr. Hough?” Daphne asked.

“It hardly seems likely,” Frederick said. “Richard and Hough have been friends since their Oxford days.”

“My son was not a drunkard,” Lady Staton said. “Besides, if the man they pulled from the river was so disfigured, certainly it could be a case of mistaken identity.”

Frederick shook his head. “Hough saw him fall, Mamma. He heard the splash when Richard hit the water. And that was Richard’s scar, and that was the watch I gave him for his birthday last year. It was his shirt pin, and those were the very clothes he wore to Daphne’s ball.” He paced to the window and watched the green grass in the park reflect shimmers of sunlight. He shuddered, thinking an icy wind must have blasted through the room though it was well spring now. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the gold watch inscribed with his brother’s name. “Perhaps I should have left this with the police, but I had to have it.”

Lady Staton moaned and fell to the floor. Frederick and Daphne jumped to her rescue, Jerrold and Hyacinth not far behind. Frederick pulled his mother back onto the chaise lounge, comforting her with soft words. But Lady Staton could not be consoled.

“My boy. My poor, poor, dear boy.”

Jerrold’s thin lips puckered. “I dare say Richard’s conduct…” One sharp look from Frederick and Jerrold stopped.

“Obviously he was murdered,” said Hyacinth.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Frederick. “Of course he wasn’t murdered. He was with Hough and no one else, and Hough of all people wouldn’t murder him.”

“How do you know?” Hyacinth spoke in the clipped tone she often reserved for Jerrold. “Richard and that doctor were always disappearing together at the drop of a hat. How do you know what went on between them? How do you know they didn’t argue? How do you know the doctor wasn’t using Richard for his own gain? Perhaps Richard wouldn’t give Mr. Hough what he wanted and Mr. Hough finally had enough and decided to do something about it.”

“What on earth could Mr. Hough want from Richard?” Frederick asked.

“Money. Power. A position. Richard was the Earl of Staton, after all.”

Jerrold looked like he tasted a lemon. “You’ll have to excuse Hyacinth. She’s been reading too much of that American Poe and now she sees treachery and murder wherever she looks.” Hyacinth focused her monocle onto her husband. He would have to deal with the Cyclops later.

Daphne brushed some wisps of silver hair back from where they had fallen from her grandmother’s chignon. “Do you want to lie down, Grandma?”

Mr. Ellis stepped forward. “Shall I fetch Miss Rowland, Lady Daphne? Miss Rowland will know what to do.”

Mr. Ellis returned with Miss Rowland, whose eyes were slits, her lips so thin they disappeared. Lady Staton stood on her own accord, walked under her own power, though when she reached the door she buckled over again. Frederick wondered if this would break her. She had suffered before, certainly, as everyone does. A father who died young, a baby boy who died in infancy, her husband of 50 years having moved on from this world less than a year before. But this was her son, her eldest, the one she had set all her hopes on. Frederick watched Rowland lead his mother away with a gentle hand on the Countess’ back. Rowland acted with great tenderness, as though she were the nanny and his mother the child. Jerrold and Hyacinth followed them, leaving Frederick and Daphne to make their own sense of everything that had happened.

Again,

the mourners lined the village road as far as the castle. Again, it rained in Hembry, and again their black umbrellas pointed like mourning wreaths at the crying sky. Now the solemn-black hearse, its sides of glass so viewers could see the white roses draped across the casket, carried the body of the 9th Earl of Staton to his final destination. Again, the onlookers struggled in vain to protect themselves from the warm rain splashes, and again the rain stopped as suddenly as it started and the sun peeked pink beneath gray clouds. He would have been nine-and-forty in a fortnight, the 9th Earl, and the mourners were saddened at his sudden loss. Nothing official had been said yet by the family or the police. The 9th Earl had met with an unfortunate accident on London Bridge was all they knew, and quite an accident it must have been.

“How fortunate,” said one unthinking marquess to Lady Staton, “that you had an excess of sons.”

All eyes were now on Frederick, the man known as the wayward who was now their lord and master. He stood tall, and like his eldest brother before him, he looked about him with level eyes, shaking hands with those he came into contact with, comforting those overwhelmed by the tragedy of the loss of a young man. He spoke to everyone whether they were peer, gentry, farmers, cottagers, tradesmen, all had something to say about the 9th Earl. Perhaps they didn’t know him as well as they had known his father, but they wanted to speak kindly of him all the same. The 10th Earl leaned forward—he was a tall man and had to bend to be nearer the speakers—and listened, nodding in sympathy to all they said. His lordship’s remaining brother was there, along with his wife and their two young sons. Necks strained when Miss Meriwether, now Lady Daphne, was helped from the family’s carriage by a liveried footman. There was another young man, one the villagers recognized as Mr. and Mrs. Ellis’ grandson. What was he doing with the family, some wondered? At the very least it was something to gossip about, which was always welcome at the post office in Hembry.

After the funeral

Frederick and Daphne sat in the library. Frederick still searched for those wise words, but they remained stuck somewhere he couldn’t reach. Daphne dropped her face into her hands and wept. Frederick waited silently, as she had waited for him. He handed her his handkerchief, which she accepted gratefully. When she could speak, she said, “You don’t think Uncle Richard did it on purpose? You don’t think he meant to jump?” She clasped her hands over her mouth as though to stop her own words.

“I don’t, my dear. I know Richard was unhappy about the duty that lay before him, but I can’t believe he was as desperate as that. Since that time when we were boys and he slipped and fell he avoided the water like the plague. He wouldn’t willingly jump into the river when he knew he couldn’t swim.”

“Maybe he meant to drown, or maybe he meant to die from the fall.”

“I can’t believe that, Daphne.”

“Then why would he stand on the railing? I agree with Grandma. Uncle Richard wasn’t a drunkard.”

“Hough said Richard had disappeared for some time. It’s entirely possible that he went to a nearby public house for a few pints. If there’s more to be discovered, the police will discover it. But Hough was there, and we have no reason to doubt his story. There will be an inquest, and it should be simple based on Hough’s testimony. Daphne, I must beg you, don’t mention anything about the conversation we had with Richard before he left. We don’t want to give anyone the impression he may have taken his own life. It wasn’t very long ago when suicides forfeit their possessions to the Crown. Even now they’re not allowed a Church of England burial. We don’t want to cast any more of a shadow on your uncle’s memory than his own actions brought upon him.”

“Will we be staying in England now? If you’re the Earl of Staton, then Hembry is your responsibility.”

Frederick sighed. “Hembry has been my responsibility for some months now, but yes, the responsibility has been officially transferred to me. The truth is, I don’t know what any of this means. I don’t know if I’ll stay permanently. I’m the middle son. I wasn’t supposed to be the Earl.”

“But now you are. There are a lot of people depending on you.”

Frederick looked closely at his daughter. He wanted to see her first reaction, her genuine reaction, to his question. “Would it be so terrible if we stayed? I know you were looking forward to going home, but could you be all right here? I know your grandmother has been driving you mad, but what if I’m able to restrain her enthusiasm about indoctrinating you to our way of life?”

“I think she’d be even worse now that you’re the Earl.” Daphne looked at a sepia-toned photograph of her stern-looking grandmother on the side table. “I know how much she loved Uncle Richard even if she didn’t always show it. She spent all her time worrying about whether or not he was married.”

“There’s the problem all over again. I’m not currently married either, and I have one child. The last I checked she was a daughter. You know the primogeniture law here says you cannot inherit.”

“Then you’ll have to remarry, Papa. You were making rather merry with the widow Mrs. Gibson at my ball. She’s young and pretty. She even looks lovely in black, and that’s not easy to pull off. Maybe she’d be happy to marry you and give you a son. She’d even become the Countess of Staton in the bargain.”

Frederick scoffed, but he knew he couldn’t hide anything from Daphne. He had, in fact, found the widow Mrs. Gibson quite attractive, but that was a concern for another time. He became serious again. “Could you stay, Daphne? Could you be truly happy here? Of course,” his voice faltered, “you could go home if that’s what you wanted. You know your Aunt Ginny would be happy to have you stay with her.”

“If you stay, I stay too. We’re a team, you and I.”

Daphne smiled, and Frederick guessed he knew of whom she thought. “I believe your grandmother could be brought to accept a journalist in the family if we approach it correctly. After all, I’m a journalist myself.”

Daphne blushed but said nothing. After a moment she kissed her father’s cheek. “Poor Uncle Richard. He deserved so much better.”

“He did, my darling. Perhaps the best way I can serve his memory is to become the Earl he never had the chance to be.”

“And I want to be here to help you.”

Frederick took his daughter’s hand. “I couldn’t ask for a better partner to take on this extraordinary challenge with.”

The door opened and Mr. Ellis appeared. “Pardon me, my lord, but there’s a visitor for you and Lady Daphne.”

“Who is it?” Frederick asked.

“My grandson.”

“Of course, Ellis. Show him in.”

Edward winked at his grandfather. Mr. Ellis, still in character, struggled to restrain a smile, but he failed and laughed aloud. Edward bowed with great deference before the Earl of Staton.

“My lord.”

“Don’t you start that. Please, Edward, sit. I need some normalcy or soon I’ll be as overwhelmed as Richard was.”

“My grandfather said you believe your brother’s death was an accident.”

“The accident was his lifestyle, I’m afraid.”

There was a commotion in the hallway, and Mr. Ellis said, more loudly than he needed, “You must allow me to announce you, sir.”

“It ain’t necessary, I assure you, my good man.”

Edward, Daphne, and Frederick saw a round faced, mustachioed man in a dark gray frock coat that fell to his knees. The mustachioed man let himself into the sitting room, followed closely behind by a sullen-looking young man with the same round face, minus the mustache. The older man nodded as he studied the room and its inhabitants.

“Forgive me, my lord,” said Mr. Ellis. “This is Mr. Ruckson, a detective, and this is his son, young Mr. Ruckson, who is a sergeant. They’ve come on account of the inquest concerning the death of the 9th Earl. I asked them to wait but they pushed their way in.”

“I’d hardly say pushed,” said the elder Mr. Ruckson. “I’m sprightlier than you, is all. I got here first so why not come in and say hello?”

Frederick stood. “It’s all right, Ellis. Both Mr. Rucksons are quite welcome.” He gestured to the chairs across from him. “Would either of you gentlemen care to sit?”

“Oh no, thank you,” said the elder Mr. Ruckson. “So you’re the Earl of Staton?”

“I am now.”

“Your father is recently deceased?”

“It’s been nearly a year now.”

“And your eldest brother, deceased within this past week, was the heir?”

“He was.”

Mr. Ruckson removed his bowler hat and nodded toward his son, who was too busy noticing Daphne to bother about anything else. The elder Mr. Ruckson took one giant leap across the room, and he was tall enough to stand nose to nose with Frederick. Frederick stepped back in alarm and Mr. Ruckson nodded as though he had discovered his first clue.

“As a matter of course, where were you the night your eldest brother, the momentary Earl of Staton, died?”

“I was at Staton House in London, as was all my family. My brother had given a ball in honor of my daughter, who had been presented to the Queen.”

“And your brother was at the ball for your daughter?”

“He was.”

“You know this for certain?”

“I spoke to him myself, as did my daughter, as did most of our guests.”

“What did you speak about?”

Frederick’s heart slammed into his ribcage. He didn’t have time to think of imagined innocent conversations. All he could say was, “We spoke about how lovely Daphne looked and how well the ball was going.”

“Is that all?”

“As far as I can recall.”

Mr. Ruckson gestured toward Daphne. “And this is...”

“My daughter Lady Daphne.”

“And this is...”

“Our friend Edward Ellis.”

“Ellis like the butler over there?”

“Edward Ellis is Ellis’ grandson.”

“Do you think he should stay for our conversation?”

“Are you suggesting he needs to go?” Daphne asked.

“I’m simply asking your preference.”

“There’s no reason for either of the Ellises to leave,” said Frederick.

“I see.” Mr. Ruckson spoke as though that were another piece of the puzzle. “And the whole family was at Staton House that night?”

“We were,” Frederick said.

“Who is we?”

Frederick thought a moment. “My daughter, my mother, the Countess of Staton, my younger brother Jerrold, and his wife, as well as our household staff.”

“How many in the household staff?”

Frederick looked at Mr. Ellis.

“On that particular night staff from Staton House and Hembry Castle were present, my lord, as well as those hired to assist with the ball. That would be 20 servants in all.”

“Have you discovered something new about my brother’s death?” Frederick asked.

“Perhaps. I heard your brother used to disappear for weeks at a time and no one knew where he went or why he was going.”

“I’m not sure what that has to do with my brother’s death, but yes, he would leave on occasion, though he always returned.”

“Well,” said the elder Mr. Ruckson, “he didn’t return this last time, did he? You didn’t find it odd, that he would disappear without a trace?”

“My brother was a grown man. He wasn’t a prisoner. If he wanted to leave he could leave.”

The elder Mr. Ruckson tapped his triangle-shaped beard with his finger. “I saw that poor doctor after your brother’s body was retrieved from the river. He was in quite a state when he gave his statement, I can tell you. He said what happened right well enough, then he became as incoherent as someone suffering from the plague—like all he saw was ghosts and all he could say was gibberish.”

“Yes,” Frederick said. “I saw him disintegrate into a muddled mess, not that one can blame him under the circumstances. Doctor Hough couldn’t be consoled. It was as if he’d lost his only friend in the world.”

“I agree,” said Mr. Ruckson. “Now, to answer your question, at this time I don’t have any evidence to suggest that anything other than Mr. Hough’s account occurred that night. As you may have been told, we expect the inquest to move quickly. Still, it never hurts to poke around a bit. We need to make sure everything is in order. To that end, my son and I questioned some of your staff when we arrived.” Mr. Ellis glared at the detective over the rim of his spectacles. “Standard procedure, of course. One of your groundskeepers said he’s seen a man loitering around here within the past few days. Apparently, the fellow comes as far as the river and watches the house like he’s looking for someone. We talked to the gardener, and he said whenever the man knows he’s been seen he runs away. No one has caught him. Yet.”

Frederick looked at the butler. “Ellis, is this true?”

“It’s the first I’ve heard of it, my lord. I’ll see to it straight away.”

Mr. Ruckson looked rather pleased with himself, as though it were his mission to discover something the hoity-toity people in the castle didn’t know. “A suspicious loiterer hanging around Hembry grounds so soon after the death of the former Earl of Staton? We have to follow through on any leads. I’m sure you understand, Lord Staton.”

“Is the man dangerous?” Edward asked.

“Perhaps. I wouldn’t leave the house alone, any of you, but especially not the young lady.”

“Thank you,” Frederick said. “We appreciate everything you’re doing on behalf of my family. If you need anything at all, we’ll make certain you have it.”

The detective looked as though he were leaving but he stopped. “By the way, who had the most to gain from your eldest brother’s death?”

And then he was gone.