‘It seems to me,’ he said, ‘that this Eaves fellow was a thoroughly bad lot and had been ever since his birth. A walking example of Original Sin, if you like. We’ve established that he was born at Downton to a God-fearing family and that he was brother to Seth Fawkes. He ran into trouble early on in Salisbury — one of the men in the police house has an old cousin as remembers him — and then he disappeared God knows where. To foreign countries maybe. God knows why he came back here either. But he got himself a job as a gardener at Venn House. He enjoyed dressing up and playing a part. And all the time he was on the lookout for ways to make mischief and mayhem.’
‘Mischief!’ said Helen. ‘I’d hardly call murder mischief.’
‘No more would I, miss. But he liked causing trouble and he liked murdering, did Mr Adam Eaves, liked the thrill of it. Mr Ansell here has confirmed he said as much when he overheard Eaves and his brother exchanging insults up the tower.’
‘I don’t know about the thrill of it,’ said Tom, ‘but it didn’t seem to hold terrors for him as it would for most of us. Yes, he probably enjoyed it.’
‘It’s my belief he liked the thrill of thieving too,’ continued the Inspector. ‘It was him as broke into those other houses in West Walk and stole small items that were almost worthless, and he did the robberies just for the hell of it — begging your pardon, Miss Scott.’
Tom nodded. ‘That’s why he didn’t trouble to conceal the burglaries. Wasn’t one of the householders actually woken up by the clatter of pans being dropped in the kitchen, as if the thief wanted to alert everyone to his presence?’
‘Just so,’ said Foster. ‘Mischief and mayhem, you see.’
There were still some mysteries attached to the business. The principal object which Eaves had been seeking in the mound in the grounds of Northwood House had apparently been a solid golden torque or neck-piece. Tom recalled that Felix Slater had made some passing reference to it at their first meeting. But it transpired that it was all moonshine, and well known to be moonshine in the locality. The piece never existed or, if it ever had, was thieved long ago. There was a mention of it in the Salisbury manuscript, which Tom had had the leisure to look through more carefully and which was now safe inside his valise, to be deposited in accordance with the dead man’s instructions at the London office of Scott, Lye amp; Mackenzie.
Old George Slater described how he had even done a bit of digging himself, and turned up nothing. If Adam Eaves had perused the manuscript more carefully, he might have realized this. But perhaps he had read about it, as he skimmed the stories about Byron and Shelley, and refused to believe that there was no treasure. Eaves had also stolen from the Canon’s study some papers and plans which he believed would guide him to the precise spot. Plans which Felix had retained from his own younger days of fossicking about in the family grounds.
A greater mystery was what had happened to Seth Fawkes, once he had succeeded in throwing his brother from the heights of the cathedral. If apprehended and tried, he might have been found guilty of manslaughter or perhaps acquitted because he was acting in self-defence. Who could say? But the coachman to Percy Slater had not been apprehended. Indeed, it was as if he was gone from the face of the earth. Had Tom Ansell not seen with his own eyes the struggle between the two brothers — and had other people in and around the cathedral precincts not also testified to the presence of a pair of men, one seemingly in pursuit of the other — he might have believed that Adam had flung himself off the tower, by himself.
This was the story as reported in the Gazette, that the gardener to Canon Slater, overcome with guilt and remorse at his prior acts of murder, had done away with himself in the most public and dramatic fashion. He had conveniently provided a written account of his crimes, as discovered in his clothing. It was the simplest version to credit and it was enthusiatically peddled by Inspector Foster. It wrapped everything up nicely, it accounted for two killings (three, when you included the sexton Andrew North) and it brought the murderer’s own tale to a satisfactory resolution.
There was a rumour to the effect that a second man had been up the tower but when questioned by the newspaper the Inspector cast doubt on it, without going as far as an absolute denial. As he said to Tom later on the evening of the events on the spire, ‘I take you at your word, Mr Ansell. You are a lawyer, after all. But the fact remains that there was no one to be found up aloft apart from your good self. Oh yes, there were two men chasing each other all round the houses, we have other witnesses to that, but the cathedral is a big place with many holes and corners. Who’s to say that this Seth Fawkes did not sneak off into one of them?’
‘In that case, where is he now?’ said Tom.
‘He may turn up and then we shall see what is to be done with him,’ said the Inspector. ‘But remember that if he has killed his brother, as you believe, he may have gone on the run. He may even have done away with himself as well.’
But Seth Fawkes did not turn up, alive or dead. He had not returned to Northwood House nor was he discovered in some ditch outside the town. And Tom was happy to leave the matter there. Privately, it was his belief — no, his conviction — that Seth had battled to the death with Adam, and then managed to escape from the spire. Either by somehow hiding himself in the shadows of the viewing platform even as the police were out there or, more daringly, by climbing round to one of the other faces of the tower. It could be done. There was that story of the sailor who’d climbed to the very top and performed a handstand. All one needed was the steadiest of hands and nerves, and great foolhardiness — or despair.
Other aspects of the Salisbury business had come to a slightly happier conclusion. Walter Slater had emerged again, now cleared of any suspicion of the death of his uncle or father, whichever of the two Slater brothers was credited with whichever role. (The true facts of his parentage remained a secret.) The curate had never returned to Venn House that night, despite his assurances to Canon Eric Selby, but gone back to the shelter of St Luke’s and the ringing room.
The poor young man was badly shaken and his whole life turned upside down. But he was being comforted by Miss Nugent, and in time might reconcile himself with his mother, Amelia Slater. He would inherit the Northwood estate once the legal process was complete — was due to inherit it anyway, regardless of who exactly his father had been — but Elizabeth, Percy’s wife, had the right to dwell there in her lifetime if she chose. Mrs Slater, informed of Percy’s death, was imminently expected from London for the funerals of her husband and her brother-in-law. Her attitude to his death was not known though, given the estranged nature of the lives they’d been leading, she would perhaps not be too distressed.
But in the meantime Walter, perhaps to distract himself from the tragic tangle of recent events, had absented himself officially from his clerical duties and gone with Miss Nugent to busy himself at Northwood. He had made clear his intention to put the place in order, had taken on fresh help from the town of Downton as well as a neighbouring village to start setting the house and grounds to rights. The aged Nan would be left as she was, to live out her days at Northwood dowager-style. It was an open question whether Walter Slater would return to the Church, or whether he might combine his vocation with that of a landed gent. Too early to say yet.
So Tom Ansell and Helen Scott made their goodbyes to Inspector Foster on the up platform of Salisbury station. The train was waiting its moment to depart on time, puffing smuts of smoke into the grey light of the November morning. Tom could see the cathedral spire above the station buildings, seemingly much closer than it really was. Strange to think that he had lately been witness to a life-and-death struggle up there. And it was at this very station that he had glimpsed the earlier tussle between Seth and Adam Fawkes on the fog-bound evening of his arrival.