‘You know Lord Keeling, then?’
She looked surprised — sort of. ‘My father does. They were great friends. He shares many of my father’s principles.’
‘What principles?’
Leaning forward, she looked at us both conspiratorially. It was a strange pose to adopt with two strangers to talk about your father. I felt a bit awkward, Dowling too, by the look of it. ‘My father was a Baptist. Lord Keeling was also a Baptist while he lived at Epsom.’
Dowling gave a little gasp. I had never heard Dowling gasp before, but it was a good time to gasp. Baptists were radicals — dissenters. Though Cromwell tolerated Baptists — barely — now their views were outlawed. That the Lord Chief Justice was once a Baptist was barely credible. Why was Mary Ormonde telling us such things — especially about her own father? Her green eyes watched us carefully, watched us absorb her words.
‘It was a long time ago, gentlemen.’ She shook her head and watched us some more. Once she was satisfied, she continued. ‘Keeling moved to London many years ago. He took his family with him, Jane included. Jane was his daughter. She was good friends with Anne, even though she was ten years older. Anne was upset when they went. They lived in the big house in town. Now a family called Latham lives there. Good people.’
‘None of Keeling’s family remain?’
‘No. Only Mrs Johnson. She’s was Janie’s nanny, as well as ours. She lives by herself now since her husband died. She was left with a roof over her head, so she will not marry again unless she wishes it.’
‘She knew Keeling well?’
‘She was employed by him when they were here. When they went to London she stayed behind. Jane lodged with her when she came to visit. That was before she died.’
I was confused. ‘Who died?’
‘Jane Keeling.’
I determined to stay calm. So Anne Giles is murdered and Keeling holds his own trial behind closed doors to see that the man accused of it is condemned. And his own daughter died here a long time ago. This was surely significant.
‘What did Jane Keeling die of?’
‘A fever — so they said.’
‘So they said?’
‘Yes.’
‘What happened?’
‘I would really rather not talk about it, Harry. You might talk to Mrs Johnson who was the nanny.’
I tried to avoid Dowling’s eye that was looking at me in puzzlement once she used my name. ‘Where might we find her?’
‘I’ll point you in the right direction once you are ready to leave, Harry.’ I wished she would stop doing that. ‘What else would you like to know?’
Dowling spoke up. ‘Tell us about your sister.’
‘Anne.’ Mary Ormonde spoke the word affectionately, ‘She was three years younger than me. People said that we were very much alike.’
‘Did you see her often once she was married?’
‘I didn’t see her at all. Father forbade me to visit her. She did not come back to Epsom, and I could not go to London without my father’s blessing. I have not seen her this past two years, not since a week after her eighteenth birthday. She went with John to his local church to marry without telling any. St Ethelburga near Bishopsgate.’ She sat straight, her back rigid as a pole. ‘Our family has been at Epsom for many generations. The manner of Anne’s leaving of it cast shame onto my father.’
‘Worse for John Giles’s father, was it not?’
She shook her head regretfully. ‘It was of no comfort to my father, I assure you. He is a devout man, but not heartless. The people of the parish assumed that it was his wish that the man be hung, so hung he was. From that time they have behaved with great restraint towards us. I think that they are afraid of us.’
‘What was life like for you as children?’ Dowling changed the subject.
‘Our mother was taken when I was ten. She died in childbirth, as did the infant. There were three besides Anne and I, that all died young. You might have seen their stones at Anne’s funeral. Father is a devout man and instructed us in God’s word himself. He also encouraged us to read and write, and employed a tutor to teach us the Classics, Hebrew, Latin and Greek. We played together, and with Mrs Johnson, Beth, who cared for us after Mother died.’
‘How did your sister meet John Giles?’
‘He came from London to visit his father, who worked for a tenant of my father’s. One day we ventured into the fields to eat our lunch, Anne, Beth and I. John just appeared. He had the cheek and charm of the Devil himself, and looks to match. He carried bottles of beer in his pack and made us have a sip. Then he showed us how to dance. Beth would not permit it, so he danced with her instead.’
‘Did Beth not tell your father?’
She smiled. ‘We begged her not to, it was so exciting, you see. And how could she explain that she danced with him?’
‘She was charmed as well, was she?’
‘No,’ she laughed, ‘not Mrs Johnson. I think she thought it was good for us, two young ladies. The days could be very dull you know.’
‘An unfortunate judgement, perhaps.’
‘What passed between John Giles and Anne was none of Mrs Johnson’s doing.’ She raised a finger in admonishment. ‘The credit for that belongs to my father, God knows, and he has paid dearly for it ever since.’
Dowling leant forward with hands clasped. ‘How so?’
‘Had he not forbidden Anne from seeing John, then she would never have eloped. John was exciting and charming, but Anne was not simple. Her attentions would have been diverted to another soon enough, some devout young man from the town. But father forbade her to see him, and Anne was stubborn. She got that from him. Then father made up his mind not to give John the dowry. What he should have done was to give John a job, keep him at Epsom, keep Anne safe and sound. But he did neither, so Anne came to be married to John, and lived in a pigsty at Bishopsgate, while he went off at all hours of the day and night doing whatever he could to make a penny.’
‘How did they manage to court each other with you and Beth in tow?’
‘We didn’t realise they were courting. They seemed very fond of each other, and we would leave them sitting and talking sometimes, but we never went far away. Only after they declared their betrothal was I sensible to Anne’s feelings.’
Haw, haw, quoth Bagshaw — a likely story.
‘I liked him, Mr Lytle, liked him very much and so did Beth. He was a nice man, hardly a man even. He was bold and dashing and full of notions as to what he would make of his life. He wasn’t deceiving her; he really did have those ambitions for himself. He was not fain to work on a farm like his father, he was resolute to have his own business in London, acquire some money of his own and grow it, become wealthy.’
Idle, in other words. ‘What happened when they announced their plans to marry?’
‘When John called at the house, father didn’t recognise him, he didn’t know his youngest daughter was being courted. He picked up a cane and threatened to beat John with it. Then he summoned two of the servants and commanded them to carry John out of the grounds, where I know that they thrashed him. Father carried on shouting at Anne, you could hear it in all parts of the house. He forbade Anne to see John, said that she was a lady and he was a rogue and a vagabond. But Anne stood up to him. She wouldn’t hear his argument. The louder and more frantic father became, the quieter and harder Anne became. By his own actions he ensured that what he feared most came to pass.’
‘And then they eloped?’
‘Indeed.’ She nodded again and sat expectantly, but my poor brain was addled, still trying to appreciate the significance of Jane Keeling’s death, and Dowling seemed lost in his own thoughts.
She watched us for a while, a small smile upon her lips. Then she stood and walked out of the room, obliging us to follow. ‘You can always come back, gentlemen. Now let me show you how to get to Mrs Johnson’s cottage.’ I positioned myself behind her so I could watch her swing those fleshy hips.
‘A strange woman,’ Dowling reflected once we left her behind.