Jane and the careless corpse chapter 1

here it is at long last, the start of Jane and the Careless Corpse or Jane and the Unexpected Body or whatever it fetches up being called.  Jane and Caleb are looking forward to a quiet indian summer in Essex, though the level of unrest is worrying.  To be called all the way to Manchester was not something they might have expected!

Chapter 1

“Things are tense in Manchester,” said Caleb, looking up from his local newspaper over breakfast.

“If we panicked over every time things were tense in Manchester, we’d never sleep,” Jane retorted.  “There was a false report of a riot two and a half years ago, and in this last January, Henry Hunt held a meeting which rattled more people than our Jacobite.  And of course, the protests are quite justified, for the Corn Laws are unfair, and many people are left impoverished after the war.  I think it quite foolish to react to such protests by increasing the militia; it would be better to let the people vent their anger with words and marches.  It would be best, of course, to address their concerns, but that requires politicians to be sensible.”

“Jane-girl, you’re a cynic.”

“Sir Caleb Armitage, I am.” Jane sighed. “I cannot think that any posturing and marching of those who are dissatisfied will come to anything; we are not French to rise in revolution.”

“You might want to start worrying, Mrs. Jane,” said Fowler, coming in.  “I’ve got the London papers here, and it ain’t the crowd you want to worry about it’s the lunatic militia.”

“Hand it over, Jem-lad,” said Caleb. “Where is it?”

“Shuffled onto page two,” said Jem, grimly.

Caleb ran an eye down the columns.

“Here we are,” he said. “‘Yesterday evening we had some conversation with a gentleman of intelligence and respectability, who was present at the meeting on Monday.  He states that ...’  good grief, Jane-girl, the Riot Act was not even read on the Monday morning.  This gentleman was at St Peter’s Field from ten in the morning until one, and he did not perceive a single weapon amongst those meeting, nor any disposition to riot or violence, until the cavalry arrived – the cavalry?  Really? To take Hunt.  Bloody Hell! Oh, Jane, I do beg your pardon.”

“I assume the news warranted it?” said Jane.

“The cavalry were using their sabres and riding down men, women and children,” said Caleb, soberly.  “Indeed, treating good English yeomanry with the sort of contempt with which the French treated their peasants. I fear we stand on the cusp of civil war if our very soldiery will show so little respect for age or sex.  The word ‘massacre’ is used.”

“Dear G-d!” cried Jane, paling. “There will be a fund got up for the families of those killed or wounded, we must send something to help them.”

“Yes, of course,” said Caleb. “Jane-girl, we have had enough promise of private work from Lloyds of London and the East India company.  If I am ordered to go and arrest anyone involved in any other protests, I will refuse and resign. Will you accept that?”

“I would expect nothing else,” said Jane.  “The cavalry against unarmed civilians!  It is not to be born.” 

Fowler was about to exit when Mostyn came in.

“Sir Caleb, there is a person who wishes to see you, to consult you professionally.  It is my estimation that he is a personal servant.  I have placed him in the red salon to intimidate him suitably.”

Caleb laughed.  He had suggested having one of the rooms at Daisy Hall made specifically to be intimidating, and Jane had thought it an excellent idea.  The wallpaper was dark red flock, and there were many gold-coloured papier-maché mouldings, and the chairs in front of the heavy desk were remarkably uncomfortable though suitably decorative and baroque in appearance. The chairs behind the desk were outwardly similar but were in fact comfortable chairs with carved features added by the local carpenter, who enjoyed carving when given an opportunity to do it, gilded like the spindly Louis Quatorze style chairs.  The dark wood of the true legs was not readily apparent in the shadows, an added curved leg being gilded to show up.  Caleb had taken the idea of the chairs from those in the library of Amberfield Abbey, the home of ‘Beau’ Popham, which felt as though they were about to slide anyone sitting on them off onto the floor. He had written to the Beau, who had in fact been happy to sell some of the chairs to Jane and Caleb for a reasonable price, and keep enough to use similarly. 

“Mostyn, you are top-lofty,” said Caleb.

“Thank you, Sir Caleb,” said Mostyn, inclining his head.

Jane looked over their visitor with a quick but comprehensive eye. Mostyn seemed to be correct in his reckoning that the man was a personal servant.  He was of medium height with light brown hair cut too short to be fashionable.  He wore impeccable smallclothes of black worsted and a coat to match, with a plain black linen or dimity waistcoat, no fobs and a plain steel watch-chain. His neckcloth was not complex, nor were his shirt points either high or highly starched.  His shoes were outdoor shoes, with an old fashioned buckle, such as some footmen wore, and his black stockings were devoid of clocks though they were not a pair. His gloves were impeccable black cotton, and his demeanour was deferential without being servile.  He held a chapeau-bras in one hand as he bowed, which enabled Caleb to get a closer look at the flyer tucked in his pocket.

“I see you have had a long journey to come from Manchester, my lad,” said Caleb.

The visitor started.

“How could you know that?” he cried.

“Why, you have in your breast pocket still a flyer for the ‘Defiance’ coach which runs from Manchester to ‘The Swan with Two necks’ from which also leaves a Norwich coach which passes through Chelmsford to bring you easily to our door,” said Caleb. “You are plainly agitated about something, and I fancy that it concerns your master. I think you left covertly.”

“I am and it does!” he was amazed. “I pray you, tell me how you can see this in me, for I had thought I kept my emotion under control.”

Jane answered,

“Your stockings do not match and your gloves are black not white, suggesting household bereavement. If your master or anyone else high in the household had overseen your leaving, you would not have left with odd stockings.”

“To tell so much!” he marvelled.  “Yet I suppose a valet must also see as much ... for I am a valet, Sir Caleb, my lady.  My name is Michael Jefferson, and my master is ... was, I mean, Mr. Charles Heskyth.  His body was with those at St. Peter’s Field, and I don’t believe he was with the rioters, sir, ma’am, no I do not!” he added, emphatically.

“What has become of the body?” asked Jane, sharply.

“I hid it in the ice house, madam, to keep it fresh, for I have heard tell that Sir Caleb can tell many wonderous things by the examining of a body,” said Jefferson.

“Jefferson, you’re a man in a million,” said Caleb.  “And I’d not have thought anyone short of my own man would have thought of that.   Come into the parlour; you need a cup of tea by the look of you and you shall tell us everything.”

“I ... I wouldn’t want to presume...” said Jefferson.

“Fowler will soon tell you if you start to presume,” said Caleb.  “But right now, you are a witness who is pretty rattled. I can see you’re bottling it up. I’m not about to stand on ceremony with a good, loyal man in need of aid.”

Jefferson drank tea, sitting as nervously on the edge of the chair as if it had been one of the uncomfortable ones in the red salon. 

“I don’t like all the deaths in the family above half, I don’t,” he said.

“No, death is not the most comfortable thing, even when it’s natural,” said Caleb. “Why don’t you tell us about the family and who has died?”

Jefferson nodded.

“Yes, sir.  I think that is best. Thank you for helping me order my thoughts.”

“It’s what I’m paid for,” said Caleb.

“I ain’t got  much to pay you with, sir,” said Jefferson.

“Then why don’t we make it a nominal sum, you pay me a half guinea on retainer, and a groat a day?” said Caleb.  “I wager we might find a way to have someone else pay it if your suspicions prove accurate.”

“My master’s sister won’t,” said Jefferson.

“Parsimonious?” asked Jane.

“Parsimonious spelled m-e-a-n,” said Jefferson. “Unless it’s with her card games, when she’ll drop a small fortune in an evening, but Mr. Heskyth gave her a generous allowance and if she chose to gamble, he said that was her business.”

“So long, I presume, as she stayed within her means,” said Jane.

Jefferson nodded.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.  “The family!  Well, the family are connections of the Greville family and have a few odd names, which you must understand.  And there were five brothers, who all lived in the neighbourhood. The oldest was the late earl, Southwell Heskyth, who died not so long ago and at the age of fifty-six, and not obese nor gouty, and a bit of a sportsman into the bargain, suddenly dying ain’t what you’d expect.”

“No, indeed,” said Jane.  “Is his next brother the new earl?”

“No, my lady, he has a totty-headed son named Bevil, who fancies himself a pugilist. The new earl’s brother is Algernon, who is seventeen, and they have a sister, Sarah, who is fifteen, and she’s the best man amongst them.”

“I see,” said Jane. “And Bevil Heskyth is now earl.”

“Yes, ma’am.  The next of the five brothers lives with them, though, Fulke, who’s a recluse.  Nasty tongue on him if irritated but so long as he has his books, his brandy and his dogs, he keeps himself to himself.”

“Gun dogs?” asked Jane.

“No, ma’am, a pair of spaniels, bitches, named Tibia and Fibula.  I think their names are meant to be a joke.”

“Give the dog a bone,” murmured Jane.  “They are names of bones, in Latin.”

“Fancy that!  I would not have guessed, ma’am, they sounded pretty names to me.  Anyway, the last of the family living at Heskyth House is Mr. Francis Heskyth, son of Mr. Edward Heskyth who died nearly a year ago.  Hunting accident, it was, he was thrown from his horse which was acting as though it had devils in it.  Turned out one of the boys had been careless, for there was a burr under the saddle, and Mr. Edward not being the sort to be patient enough to strip of the tack to look for a problem.  Well, he paid for that.”

“How old is Mr. Francis, now?” asked Jane.

“Twenty; a year older than Mr. Bevis, and he’s touched with the gambling madness too,” said Jefferson.  He hesitated.  “I don’t know if this is slander ...”

“If you heard something and report it to the proper authorities but don’t pass it around as truth unquestioned, you’ll be in no trouble,” said Caleb.  Jefferson looked relieved.

“There were whispers that Mr. Francis put the burr under the saddle of his father’s horse because his father wouldn’t pay Mr. Francis’ gambling debts.”

“Quite right; and nobody has any right to be gambling with a minor in any event,” said Caleb.  “If he’s not one-and-twenty yet, he can’t contract a debt of honour.  Not legally.”

“Is that so, sir?  I suppose it makes sense, but debts of honour are things gentlemen get in a pother over, regardless of legality, I think.”

“Damned silly if you ask me,” said Caleb.

“Yes, sir, but it’s the way it is,” said Jefferson. “I wouldn’t like to say whether Mr. Francis had anything to do with the burr or not; he is impetuous and hasty. He doesn’t have a good reputation with the ladies, either. The old earl was thinking of asking him to set up his own household before young Sarah got much older.  Mr. Francis is already inclined to make her hero-worship him.”

“And where does your master fit in with this?” asked Jane.  “You said that is all the household; the earl, his siblings, his uncle and his cousin.  No women?”

“Not unless you count the governess,” said  Jefferson.  “The countess died birthing Miss Sarah, and when Mr. Edward died, his wife moved away to live with some relative.  She wanted nothing more to do with the family.  I will come to my master in due course, because it’s an unusual situation.  Three households; Heskyth House and the other two households.  My master lived in the Home Farm farmhouse, a bit of a misnomer, sir, ma’am, for it’s no mere farmhouse.  More akin to a large rectory, if you will, a respectable house for a gentleman.  My master enjoyed directing the farming personally sir; his avocation was the breeding of pigs.  We have all the amenities of any reasonable country house, except the ice-house on the grounds of Heskyth House, and that’s where I put Mr. Heskyth’s body.  My master’s sister is the only member of the family who shares – shared – the house with him. She’s courting her cousin, who is the oldest son of the third household.  That’s Mr. John Heskyth, and Mrs. Mary, and their sons Granville and Ludowick. They have a fine town house in the village.   Mr. Ludowick is just out of school, he’s sixteen, and hoping to start university in September.  He comes up to the House to see his Uncle Fulke, and study with him.  Mr. Granville never went to university, he’s another sportsman, encourages His Lordship in his pugilism, would you believe.”

“I believe I need to establish residence in the House,” said Caleb.  “I believe I will write to this young earl, and inform him that questions have arisen over his father’s death as well as his cousin’s and that I will expect him to house me, my wife and our entourage to make sure the investigation is discreet and handled quietly to avoid embarrassment.  Can you find your way back here with any samples I wish my chemist to analyse?  It’s far better to send them to a place where he has a laboratory then to try to improvise.”

“Yes, sir, but what sort of samples?”

“The contents of the old earl’s stomach; and I’ll be taking an exhumation order with me,” said Caleb, grimly. “When three men in a large family die, where an inheritance and an earldom is at stake, the long arm of coincidence stretches too far for me.  And when I ask ‘Cui bono’ I appear to be looking at Mr. John Heskyth, Mr. Granville Heskyth and Mr. Ludowick Heskyth.”

“Unless someone mistook my master for Mr. Bevil, in poor light,” said Jefferson.

Caleb frowned.

“Would that be possible?”

“Yes, sir; they all look as alike as peas in a pod,” said Jefferson.