Jane and the Fenland Felonies is live

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The Military Murder [Jane and Caleb] 1

 

Chapter 1 November 1819

 

“Jane-girl, you are going to have to pack,” said Caleb as he came in to the parlour on his return from London.  He paused long enough to sweep his wife into his arms to kiss her before affording her an explanation.  “I ran into the Duke of York.”

“As anyone might,” said Jane with irony.

Caleb laughed.

“Well, all right, he ran into me, and it was on purpose,” he said. “Had an equerry waylay me and bear me off to White’s where he asked me to do him a favour. It comes with pay, and considering the old boy gave me tacit permission to pretend to be his get in order to better solve crimes and gives us a handsome stipend I can’t really turn it down.”

Jane chuckled ruefully.

“There is that,” she said. “What does he want? I don’t relish seeking the lost dog of one of his mistresses.”

“Oh, it’s a lot more serious than that,” said Caleb, suddenly more sober in mien.  “There’s a dead Major-General and he’s been murdered, and there’s a Treaty involved.”

“Goodness!” said Jane. “I apologise mentally to York for miscalling  his use of your talents.  Can you tell me more?”

“I told him there was no point interfering if you and any of our helpmates did not know about it, but I want to fill you in first.  Seems there was a treaty being discussed, further to Russian ambitions in the Crimea, to the detriment of our Ottoman allies.  The same business which caused Pitt so much trouble in the nineties.  Now there’s an informal discussion in a country house in Lincolnshire, which isn’t too far away, thank goodness, which was briefly cut off by flooding. It’s in a low-lying part and the late rain storms in Scotland and Cumberland affected it as well, I know not how, and it doesn’t matter, but anyway, they were cut off for a few days.  And during that few days the Major-General was murdered, and York wants to find out by whom, and why.” He hesitated, and added, “One of his adjutants is one of York’s naturals, and York told me to clear him if I could, and pursue the full rigour of the law if he was guilty, unless there was for a very good reason.  Now it might be nothing to do with the treaty, but in case it is, it could be delicate, and apparently Count von Lieven sent a messenger and asked for us in particular, on the advice of his wife.”

“We were able to perform a signal service to Lady Lieven,” said Jane. “She does not forget.” [1]

“By Jove, yes, and I must wear the watch she sent me,” said Caleb. “I’m always afraid of a gold watch getting damaged which is why I had the old steel hunter replaced with another, but it should be on display.”

“How are they keeping them there?” 

“Force of personality and Cossacks,” said Caleb.

“Well! I suppose we had better not disrupt Simon’s schooling further,” said Jane.  “But I am minded to take Cecily and Toby; Lady Lieven was quite taken with the, er, Medleyan hound. And Lucy as company for Cecily.”

“Mongrel or no, he’s an engaging tyke, as is Nat, and York did suggest we take Cecily; another of the adjutants is her legitimate half-brother, a son of Strathbeckon. Thought it would do her no harm to know her kin.”

“Which might end in tears, but she’s a sensible child,” said Jane. “Why isn’t Castlereagh there?”

“He’s seeing to problems in Ireland, and if you ask me, hiding after his name came up in Shelley’s vicious condemnation of Peterloo in his poem ‘The Masque of Anarchy,” said Caleb.

Jane quoted,

“I met Murder on the way –

He had a mask like Castlereagh [2]–

Very smooth he looked, yet grim;

Seven bloodhounds followed him

All were fat; and well they might

Be in admirable plight,

For one by one, and two by two,

He tossed them human hearts to chew

Which from his wide cloak he drew.”

 

“Exactly,” said Caleb. “The treaty will go to him when some details have been finalised, but this General Ichabod Storm was trusted by him.”

Jane giggled.

“Ichabod Storm? What a name!”

“Yes, I confess I am glad to be named for a less awkward sounding fellow from the Old Testament, though I was a bit uneasy in my youth at being  named for a spy.  Still, I suppose in a way police work is similar, but Moses did not have a police force.”

“He would probably have had fewer troubles had he done so,” said Jane.

“Well, I have a temporary rank of ‘Brigadier’ and pay accordingly,” said Caleb. “And dress uniform to be supplied.”

“Goodness!” said Jane. “‘Who comes here? A brigadier. What does he want? A pot of beer.’” She misquoted the nursery rhyme.

Caleb laughed.

“Well, a pot of beer never came amiss, but I suspect I’ll be drinking some wild Russian spirit called Gerailka.[3]”

“I doubt it’s worse than brandy,” said Jane.

“No, probably not,” said Caleb. “And I’ve become used to that.”

He had, indeed, become fond of the finer things in life since falling in love with a one-time suspect for the killing of her husband. He was glad he had quickly managed to discount Jane’s involvement, and that miraculously she had fallen in love with him, too, despite his origins. How hard he had worked to support the situation of a gentleman, with the help of Jem Fowler, now his valet and friend. The spite of the vicar’s wife in Jane’s home village had prompted Fowler to drop hints that Caleb was the son of Someone; which rumours were fuelled by Henry Redmayne, tutor to Caleb’s adopted son, Simon, a street boy, tenaciously overcoming disability. And now Caleb was known as ‘The Gentleman Bow Street Runner’ and the Duke of York considered the rumours that he had sired Caleb to be a grand joke.  Caleb had loved and respected his real father, but he liked the duke as well, and was glad to do him favours.

“Did you tell the duke that you are leaving Bow Street to go into private consultancy?” asked Jane.

“Yes; and he said it made sense,” said Caleb. “Especially as I am at the disposal of Bow Street. Indeed, that’s why I’m a brigadier; he had me resign right away, and I’m now an investigator by Royal Appointment, and a semi-official equerry directly to the duke. I’m having trade cards printed, with the name ‘AID’, or Armitage Investigative Detectors, as David Brockley suggested; and all the legalities of incorporation being sorted out with you, David, and Fowler as full partners.”

“Didn’t they make any complaints about putting me on?”

“Yes, but I pointed out that if Sally Jersey can head Child’s Bank, my wife can be my other senior partner,” said Caleb. “Fowler and David are junior partners, and I’ll bring in Simon when he’s out of University.”

“How very exciting it is, to be sure!” said Jane.

“Yes, but I’ll need an accountant,” said Caleb, pulling a face. “York said he’d find me a subaltern who could handle that sort of thing, who’d been invalided out.”

“He’s done us proud,” said Jane. “As much as if you were his son.”

Caleb chuckled.

“More than for many of his sons,” Caleb said.  “He likes me. And he likes that I stood up for my own father to his face, and showed pride in him.”

“The royal princes are not as simple and straightforward as the newspapers and caricatures make out,” said Jane. “I found the Prince Regent to be a deeper and more charismatic man than I had expected.”

“Yes, and it is nice to respect our patrons, on the whole,” said Caleb.

“And I certainly respect Lady Lieven,” said Jane. “I must pass on some of the recipes I have been collecting for her.”

 

“Mama, would you mind very much if I stayed at home with the boys and with the little ones?” asked Lucy, when invited to join them. “It’s nice being settled again. I don’t really want to travel, and it’s so nice getting to know my cousins as well.”

“Of course, love,” said Jane. The coaching accident through which she had met Lucy still preyed on the little girl’s mind, and if truth were told, she got on better with her cousin Phoebe, oldest child of Caleb’s sister, Sukey, than with Cecily, who was a natural crony to Simon and Sylvain. Phoebe was some months younger than Lucy, and not as forceful as Cecily. Lucy was capable enough, but in the shocks which had happened in her young life, the death of her adoptive father, being thrown out by his cousin and legal heir as he had failed to make provision for her in his will, and then being rejected by her birth mother, who had been hanged for her heinous crimes, were all too much for a sensitive little girl who was gently reared.

“Mama, what do you know of this brother of mine?” asked Cecily, with big, scared eyes.

“He’s your sire’s second legitimate son, and he’s expressed an interest in meeting you,” said Jane. “Or so I am given to understand.  But I know nothing about him, so I fear you will have to make up your own mind about him. At the moment, he’s a suspect like everyone there.”

“Am I to come, as your companion, Jane?” asked Ellie Smith. “I can play the part of nosy companion, you know. Cor, I ain’t never met a Cossack, are  they really wild men?”

“If you would like to come, Ellie, I will be glad of your company,” said Jane, who found Ellie easier to cope with now Ellie had managed to switch almost permanently to her stage voice and away from Bermondsey. “But bear in mind, if this was some kind of treason, to disrupt or damage a treaty, the man who killed General Storm will be ruthless, desperate, and dangerous.”

“Garrahn, Jane, that’s no worser’n wot Mary Conway was,” said Ellie with a lapse back into her native vernacular.

“Well, there is that,” admitted Jane. “But as far as I am aware, Cossacks are no wilder than any cavalryman, which is to say you should be careful of your virtue around any of the same. But they do look exotic,” she added.

“I like their horses, I shall like to see them close to,” said Cecily. “They are not large, but they seem to have a gaiety to them and prance in parades.”

“Like the riders,” said Jane, dryly. She recalled the dark, moustachioed faces of Cossacks accompanying any Russian state event, eyes used to squinting but gleaming with a sense of what Jane could only describe as mischief. Those eyes were set almost incongruously in faces of predators, cruel perhaps, but in the same way as a raptor or big cat, feral and dangerous. They were... different, and unsettling, and they grinned like commoners, but usually with perfect teeth and it reminded her more of the time before Caleb had learned to hide his teeth to smile, a genuine expression of joie de vivre.

 

oOoOo

 

The Armitages were used to travelling, and set off without too much ado.

“Send for Sylvain and me if you need us,” said Simon, happy still to kiss Jane farewell. “Cissy, you keep a good eye on Ma and Pa.”

“I will, bro,” said Cecily, kissing him and Sylvain cheerfully.

Nat and Toby wuffed in enthusiasm at an adventure and jumped into the carriage. Both dogs wore jackets, for it was cold, and they planned to take advantage of hot bricks inside foot-cushions for the ladies. Caleb rode his horse, while Jane, Ellie, Cecily, and Ella rode inside. Fowler preferred to ride with Jackie, who was driving. He was more than capable of giving the old soldier a rest by taking the reins.  Jane and Ella would both miss their respective infant offspring, but there was no telling what might happen when treason might be afoot. And Ella would not desert Jane.

Ellie sighed happily.

“Cuh, that is nice to travel in a decent carriage, even if it ain’t quite as well-sprung as Jenny’s friend’s,” she said.

The landau had had its springs upgraded, however, Caleb having decided it was well worth doing, and the wheels also ran on ball bearings, which made travelling a great deal easier.

“Yes, and isn’t it nice that Caleb knows enough to have been able to have the springs improved to be double elliptical ones,” said Jane.

“He is a clever man,” said Ellie.

“Papa is the best,” opined Cecily.

 

oOoOo

 

It took a long day’s travel to get into Lincolnshire, but Jane preferred one day of exhausting travel over two days of merely unpleasant travel.  As sun set,they approached the large house for which they were making, named ‘Fourwinds’. The building rose out of the mist which was already settling onto the fenland like some floating fairy castle, able to sail from one region to another. It was set on a hill, and the four turrets at its corners soared upwards, the red brick of the domed columns painted a garish blood red in the setting sun, a long shadow cast in purple on the mist which licked up the sides of the hill like hungry waves of a sea of cloud,  as if to pull the whole vision below its surface to vanish somewhere into the forgotten realm of faerie.

“Mama, we won’t come out in three days’ time to find that four hundred years has passed, shall we?” asked Cecily, half joking.

“I have no intention of emulating either Tam Lin nor Rip Van Winkle,” said Jane. They had been able to read a draft copy of Washington Irving’s story, courtesy of Walter Scott, who had passed it to the Duke of York, who had passed it to Caleb. The book which included the story had been published in America, and a British edition would be forthcoming, but  in the meantime, Jane’s children had been much enamoured of the man who vanished for twenty years, and thought he had slept but a night.

Cecily giggled.

“These fens are awf’lly spooky,” she said.

“Yes, I am not fond of them at all,” said Jane. “But it’s a fine house and it belongs to a friend of the celebrated gardener, Mr. Louden, one William Wardell, who has written papers on garden design and on roses.  He is very insistent on a good mulch and plenty of manure; and you cannot accuse anyone who has a mind capable of dealing with manure of being a fairy.”

“No, most certainly not,” agreed Cecily.

 

---

[1] See ‘Jane and the Sins of Society’

[2] Pronounced Carselray

[3]Vodka aka hirilka.

Jane is now live

Jane and the Careless Corpse

US paperback https://www.amazon.com/dp/1077594178

Kindle https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07V4Z7SHG

UK paperback https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1077594178

Kindle https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07V4Z7SHG

cover for Jane and the careless corpse

No title yet, as it isn't set within my own mind, but that will come. 

I picked a print of a country house of reasonable antiquity, to put them against.  I think this is the image I will use pretty much exclusively for Caleb as it is the best one, and just change his jacket colour from time to time.

the family tree for Jane and the extra corpse

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.