“Which is precisely why the opportunity to go to Brockhampton Manor is not to be missed.”
“To enter the lions’ den…”
“I am certain the viscount is an Embodied Spirit. The earl must be aware of what is taking place under his own roof. His letter to my father suggests he wishes to maintain a pretense of normality. To hold his place in society. This is the perfect chance for us to learn what their motives are. To discover what they plan to do next.”
“And if the viscount tries to assault you again?”
“I doubt his cousin will let him drink to excess a second time.”
“And Joe Colwall, was that Embodied Spirit inebriated when he took a hammer to his poor wife? It is a hugely dangerous course of action.”
“Which is why I need the diocesan exorcist to accompany me. Will you, John? Will you come to Brockhampton with me and my father?”
“I would rather you did not go at all.”
“But you see that I must.”
On impulse, she lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it lightly. He regarded her with a look of the utmost tenderness.
“If you are not to be stopped, then you must be aided,” he said. “You have come to matter a great deal to me, Hecate Cavendish,” he told her, his voice soft and low. He reached up and pushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead.
She experienced a shiver of delight at his touch. Surprised, a little unnerved, she dropped his hand and got to her feet, assuming a lighthearted manner once again. “A fact which I shall prevail upon shamelessly. Now, help me pick some primroses to take home. My mother may not be so easily persuaded. Flowers can only strengthen our case.”
19
They did not, in fact, head directly for home, but went instead to the constabulary. Now that John had a date for Mrs. Colwall’s funeral he needed to inform Inspector Winter of it. Hecate was touched to learn that the detective wished to attend the burial. It seemed a kind and respectful thing to do, and she wondered if he did the same for all the victims of crimes he investigated. On arriving at the police station they were surprised to see a closed wagon waiting outside and an air of commotion about the place. The inspector himself emerged from the building ahead of a body on a stretcher.
Hecate hurried over to him.
“My dear Inspector, what has happened?”
“Step aside, if you please, Miss Cavendish. Thank you,” he added, as two policemen loaded the stretcher into the back of the carriage.
John joined them and offered his assistance.
Inspector Winter replied at his customary slow pace. “I am afraid you are too late to offer the comfort of prayer here,” he said, indicating the deceased as the door was secured behind the stretcher. “Joe Colwall passed from madness to death alone and unobserved.”
Hecate gasped. “But what caused his death?”
“Dr. Francis confirmed a heart attack,” he explained. “No doubt precipitated by the stress of his insanity and the violent events that madness had brought about.”
John shook his head sadly. “A sorry business indeed, though at least the family will be spared the difficulty of a trial and execution.”
Hecate stepped forward to speak quietly, aware he would be reluctant to discuss the matter further in public. “You are still convinced of insanity, then? Might not such a sudden death, when I recall no mention of Mr. Colwall having suffered from any heart problems in his life … well, does that not strike you as odd? As an unsatisfactory explanation?”
He looked at her. “I am aware you have your own theories regarding Joe Colwall’s state of mind, but I would remind you they are just that. Theories. The facts of the matter are that a respected and experienced doctor of medicine has declared a failure of the man’s heart to have brought about his demise. That same physician added a note to the death certificate to the effect that the stress of the deceased’s situation and recent history was likely what brought about this fatal event.”
“‘Likely,’ Inspector?” Hecate would not be so easily dismissed. “Are you now prepared to accept ‘likely’ as fact?”
Before he could respond to this the sergeant stepped forward.
“Excuse me, sir, but I thought you should know. Constable Mitchell is missing.”
“Missing, Sergeant?”
“Yes, sir. He appears to have left his post and cannot be found anywhere in the building.”
“And his post was?”
“Mitchell was given the duty of taking the meals to the prisoners, sir.”
Hecate could not help herself. “In which case your missing constable would have been the last person to see Joe Colwall alive. He has quit his post without being given leave to do so, and the prisoner is found dead in his cell. Surely the two events cannot be unconnected?”
The inspector inflicted a look upon the sergeant that left him in no doubt as to his opinion of sharing information of this sort with a member of the public. He raised his bowler hat to Hecate in the manner of a respectful but firm dismissal. “If you will forgive me, there is much that demands my attention. Good day to you, Miss Cavendish. Reverend Forsyth.” And with that, he turned on his heel and retreated into the police station, closely followed by his sergeant.
Hecate and John watched the carriage pull away in the direction of the mortuary.
“A sad business indeed,” John said again.
“Yes,” Hecate murmured her agreement. “Sad indeed.”
By the time Hecate reached home she felt weary to her bones. After waving John off she went through the front door and was greeted by the maid.
“Where is everybody, Stella?” she asked, taking off her hat.
“Master Charles is in bed, miss. Shall I put those in water?” she asked, taking the small bunch of pale yellow flowers from her.
“Is he unwell?”
