Hawkshaw turned to the man. “For theft, you say?”
“Yes, that’s what I’ve heard. And I wish you would stop sending your felons over here, too. We already have plenty of people that need hanging, thank you very much.” The man paused and rubbed his chin. “Mind you, he tried once soon after he arrived to save us the burden of looking after him.” He drew a finger across his throat, and Hawkshaw remembered the scar. “He proved no better at that than at his thievery. He was patched up and put to work again.”
“He didn’t try to get home when the term of his transportation was up?”
“Doubt he had much to go back to. Many of them lose heart, or any idea of going back after ten years.”
Hawkshaw frowned. “Where do you think he’s gone?”
“Probably had a think about his allegiances and has moved over to the rebels. Next time you see him, he’ll be waving some grandmother’s flintlock at you.”
Hawkshaw nodded, and wandered out of the building.
PART III
1
SUNDAY, 4 JUNE 1780
Crowther was surprised how quickly he warmed to the life and atmosphere of Caveley Park. Today, the housekeeper smiled at him when she opened the door, and he was ushered into the salon to wait for the ladies’ return from church. He watched out of the window as the little boy swooped around the lawns mimicking the flight of the crows under the eye of his nursemaid, who cradled the baby of the family in her arms. When Crowther was a boy, church service every Sunday had been an inescapable duty, until he learned exactly when to disappear into hiding. It had to be near enough to the time when the family had to leave to make a thorough search for him impossible. And this young boy was handed all this freedom and air as his natural right. He wondered if Stephen would follow his father to sea. Another few years of play, then a life of salt and bells.
Crowther continued to watch until the boy looked up and, seeing him, waved. The maid too, her attention caught by Stephen, turned and raised her hand with a smile. Crowther smiled back, let his hand flutter up and fall again as the boy flew on. Some unusual emotion pressed on his chest. He cleared his throat, and turned back into the room. He had not been waiting long before a flurry at the door and the shouts of greeting from Stephen announced that Harriet and Rachel had returned.
Mrs. Westerman swept into the room, her eyes bright with amusement and her son dancing at her heels. Rachel came in a little more sedately behind her. Crowther stood but was waved back into his chair as Mrs. Westerman removed her hat and dropped it on the table, then collapsed onto one of the settees. Rachel picked up the hat, shaking its ribbons straight, before carefully removing her own.
“Crowther! I am glad you are here. We feared for our reputation, but we have become shining moral beacons. Mrs. Heathcote!”
That lady put her head into the room. She was smiling broadly.
“You’ll be wanting coffee, ma’am?”
“I will. What has made you laugh, madam? Has David been telling you about our leading role in today’s sermon? Are you not honored to be working for such a paragon?”
Mrs. Heathcote grinned. “It is indeed an honor, ma’am.” She turned to Rachel. “Shall I take those, miss?” and carried away the ladies’ bonnets.
Crowther waited and when Harriet looked at him, raised an eyebrow. She burst into laughter and arranged the skirts of her dress, then settled Stephen on her knee and ruffled his hair.
“Oh, it’s all too silly. The vicar decided on the Good Samaritan as a text today, and held me, Rachel and yourself as examples for attending-oh, what was the phrase? — ‘the last lonely rituals in a lost life.’ I have noted he relies a little too heavily on alliteration for his effects. He should be spoken to.”
Harriet started to pull off her gloves as she spoke. Stephen was allowed to help, and seemed in constant danger of falling off his perch, so vigorous were his efforts tugging on his mother’s fingers. Crowther thought briefly of Nurse Bray’s blood on her palm.
“Of all the nonsense. He would not have been there himself if we had not arrived, and my sister had to bully us like a she-devil. Rachel is the only one who can think of it and not blush.”
Rachel had tried to look severe during this speech and failed, but at those last words she became a little serious.
“And Mr. Thornleigh. He meant to come.”
Crowther glanced at Harriet. She wrinkled her nose at him. He was not sure of the implication. Harriet gave her son a fierce hug, set him down on his feet, then held him at arm’s length and cupped one of her hands around his smooth face.
“Your hair is a mess, young man. Very well-you have seen enough of us for now. Go and get properly dirty until you are called in for your dinner.”
He grinned at her and set off for the lawn again. Rachel turned to Crowther.
“I know about the knife, Mr. Crowther. In what way it was stained, I mean. I made Harriet tell me before I would go to bed last night.”
Harriet leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, and put her chin in her hand.
“She was most insistent, I’m afraid, and asked if she could hear us discuss how things stand this morning. I agreed, if you are willing.”
Crowther felt the women’s eyes on him, and shifted awkwardly in his chair.
“With the greatest of respect, Miss Trench, Mrs. Westerman is a married woman, and of wide experience. Whereas, yourself, there are elements, conjectures we might make that will not be suitable for …”
“I am not a child, Mr. Crowther!” Rachel said.
The door opened as she spoke and Mrs. Heathcote came smoothly in with the coffee.
“And miss, you’ll sound less like one if you learn to keep your temper, if you don’t mind me saying so.” She placed the tray at Harriet’s elbow, and turned to Crowther. “Good girls, the Trench sisters, Mr. Crowther. But to hear their tempers fly sometimes, you’d think they had no notion of how to behave in a respectable household. Still, they may mature with age.”
She turned without waiting for a response and sailed out of the room with her head held high. Crowther gazed after her in frank astonishment. The two women looked a little crestfallen for a moment, then seeing Crowther’s expression, both laughed. Harriet began to pour the coffee.
“I am mistress of this house only by Mrs. Heathcote’s leave, I’m afraid, Crowther. And I fear she may take it all away from me if she thinks I am behaving badly. She believes we need a mother, as we lost our own when Rachel was just a child, and now she supplies the role.”
Rachel took the full coffee cup from her sister and handed it to Crowther.
“Her husband is just the same. James says he is captain only as long as Mrs. Heathcote thinks he is doing a proper job of it. When they are both in the house, we live in terror.”
Crowther smiled and drank some of his coffee, then becoming aware that Rachel was still looking at him with steady attention, he sighed.
“I wish you would not listen to us talk, Miss Trench, because we may, as I’ve said, have unpleasant things to say, and I do not wish to upset you in any way.” Rachel flushed a little and bit her lip as he went on, “However, what we imagine is being said is normally worse than what is actually being spoken, so if you have won your sister over, I can have no objections to make.”
Rachel took her own coffee cup and settled herself with evident satisfaction.
“Thank you. Now,” she looked from one to the other, “explain everything from the beginning.”
The box was laid out in the middle of the table. Susan, Graves and Miss Chase sat round it, regarding its smooth black sides with suspicion. Jonathan and Mrs. Chase, her arms crossed comfortably across her broad stomach, stood to one side. The family had just returned from church and the time they had decided among themselves to examine its secrets had come upon them. Mrs. Chase looked at them all, then addressed herself to the little boy at her side.