The Sudbury School Murders

The word galvanized him into speech. "I did not kill him, sir, I swear I did not."

"I know," I said.

He stared at me, mouth open. The fire sparked and sent a tendril of smoke into the room.

"Freddy Sutcliff said… he said you'd blame me," Ramsay stammered. "He said I'd pay for it, that no one would believe me."

I said calmly, "You could not have killed Middleton. You are not tall enough."

Ramsay gaped anew. The lockkeeper, who had fetched a kettle from the fire, now returned with mugs of coffee. He handed them to us, looking interested.

I sipped the coffee. It was bitter and thick and hot, and I was cold and exhausted. "Middleton was a big man, used to fighting," I said. "He could have agreed to meet you by the canal, but if you'd tried to hurt him, he would have tossed you into the water and had done. The only way you could have cut his throat was if he were kneeling. And he was not." I indicated the muddy patches on my own trousers. "When I saw him in the lock, he had no mud on his knees. Depend upon it, he was standing, and a man cut him from behind."

Ramsay's teeth chattered. "Sutcliff said you'd blame me for Mr. Grenville. And that you'd kill me."

"I know you did not hurt Grenville," I said, keeping my voice steady. "For the same reason. He was stabbed with a downward thrust. If you had stabbed with a downward thrust, the knife would have gone in much lower than it did." I leaned forward, looked him in the eye. "So you should rejoice, Mr. Ramsay, that you have not grown as much this year as you could have wished."

He stared at me, as though still believing I'd snatch him up and drag him to the magistrate. He swallowed, and his face regained some color.

"How much have you been paying Sutcliff, Ramsay?" I asked.

Ramsay took a gulp of coffee, wiped his mouth. "Oh, a good bit, sir. My allowance is high, and he knows it. He gouges me more than he does the other boys."

I sat back, cradled the cup in my hands. "So he has a nice blackmailing scheme here to supplement the tiny allowance his father gives him. I wondered how he managed to pay for his mistress; she did not seem to be a woman who came cheap. I imagine Sutcliff receives money from Timson about his cheroots, from some of the other boys about their various little vices."

"The tutors, too, sir," Ramsay said in a small, shamed voice.

"I do not doubt that. In a small place like this, I imagine that both pupils and tutors have secrets, great and small, that they wish to stay secret. Everyone knows that Rutledge is not a man to look the other way at vices, no matter how trivial."

Ramsay looked relieved that I understood. "Just as you say, sir."

My anger rose to new heights. Doubtless a student who filched an extra slice of bread at dinner lived in as much fear of the sneering Sutcliff as did Tunbridge, the mathematics tutor, whom I suspected was having it off with his star pupil. If Sutcliff told Rutledge, both pupil or tutor would be banished, which meant that Tunbridge would never get another place and the student would be sent home in disgrace.

Poor Ramsay had paid over as well, I thought, though I could have told him that Rutledge would never banish him. His family was too wealthy. Likewise, Sutcliff was safe because of the vast amount of money his father donated to the Sudbury School.

I found it mildly ironic that the only straightforward person in the entire school, the only one immune to blackmail, was Rutledge himself. He was a tyrant, but he had no hidden vices. He was a man who lived his life in the open and be damned to anyone who did not like it.

"You all ought to have formed a league against Sutcliff," I remarked. "He was going over the wall to see a lover. I am certain Rutledge would have disapproved of that."

Ramsay nodded. "I thought of that. But there's no way around him, sir."

"Especially as Sutcliff knew that you played all the pranks."

Silence fell. Bartholomew stared in surprise, his coffee halfway to his lips. Ramsay sank further into the bench. "How did you know, sir?"

"Because no one peached on you," I said. "If Sutcliff, or even Timson, had played the pranks, someone would have spoken up by now. But the boys like you, don't they? So they kept silent so you would not be punished."

Ramsay stared at me. Bartholomew was still not happy. "Are you saying, sir, that this lad here poisoned those other lads and set the fires? He needs a good strapping."

"I agree with you," I said, giving Ramsay a severe look.

"I would not have hurt anyone, not really," Ramsay protested. "I added purge to the port, only to make them sick. They'd never have died from it."

"Bloody hell, Ramsay," I said.

"I made sure the maids' chamber was empty before I set the rubbish alight. It only smoldered."

I eyed him evenly. He looked ashamed, but I saw in his eyes a tiny bit of pride at his cleverness.

"My man is right," I said, "someone should take a strap to you. You seem a sound lad in other respects, Ramsay. Why on earth should you set rooms alight and write letters in blood? It is bizarre."

"So the others wouldn't think I was like Sutcliff, sir."

"Ah, I thought so. You told me before. You and Sutcliff come from the richest families of the school. You did not want anyone to think you and he were cut from the same cloth."

He shook his head fervently. "No, sir."

"A perfectly understandable wish. Sutcliff is a nasty bit of goods. He puts himself above the other lads. You wanted to show that you did not. I comprehend your motives, but it was a rather dangerous way to go about it."

"Yes, sir."

"It stops, Ramsay," I said, giving him a stern look. "Reptiles in beds are one thing. Settings fires is dangerous. Not meaning to hurt someone and not hurting them are two different things. Never forget it."

"Yes, sir."

I could not know whether my words had impact, or whether he thought me just another adult giving a lecture. I had not come here to reform him, in any case. I'd come to wring information from him.

"Let us speak of the night of Middleton's murder, Ramsay. Or, rather, the morning when he was discovered. I believe you rose very early that day."

Ramsay probably thought I knew everything there was to know about him. He nodded without denial.

I went on, "At daybreak, it was quite misty and gray. You were near the lockkeeper's house. You saw a barge come up the lock, and you hid. Am I close?"

Ramsay nodded, eyes round.

"I must ask you, Ramsay, what were you doing out here? Going to start another fire?"

Again, Ramsay nodded. He swallowed, his face paling. "I was going to light some rubbish near the lock. Make lots of smoke."

"So people would come panicking to put out the fire. I will tell you, Ramsay, that if I catch you doing such a thing, or even believe you have done such a thing, again, I will certainly thrash you. It will be worse than anything Rutledge can give you. I know quite well how to do it so that you will never forget." I'd learned from my father, who'd been a master at beating his son.

Ramsay's gaze fell on my sword stick with a flicker of fear. "Yes, sir."

"I will take you at your word," I said. "While you were skulking by the lockkeeper's house, you saw the boat. Tell me about it."

"It was the Roma, sir. No mistaking it. There were three men on the deck, all smoking pipes. And two dogs and a goat."

"Where did they stop?" I asked him.

"Right in front of the lock. I thought they'd come and rouse the lockkeeper, but they just stopped the horse and backed up the boat until they could turn it around."

I watched him intently. "Anything else?"

Ramsay nodded. "Sebastian got off. He came out on deck with a woman and kissed her. One of the men said something to him I couldn't understand. Sebastian ignored him. Just walked away without a word."

"Where did he go?"

Ramsay shrugged. "Down the path, toward the stables. The woman went back inside, and the barge floated back the way it had come."