Death at Dawn - Caro Peacock [89]
‘You didn’t go in and join him?’
‘No. There was no reason. Besides …’
‘Besides what?’
‘The wine shop was used quite a lot by the local dames de la nuit. Now, don’t rush to conclusions. As you know, your father would talk to anybody and …’
His voice trailed away.
‘It might explain something,’ I said. ‘Supposing there’d been an English girl there, fallen on hard times. He might have promised to bring her home to her family.’
‘Yes, he might.’ Daniel sounded embarrassed and unhappy.
‘But there’s a lot it wouldn’t explain, isn’t there? Why should Kilkeel be so interested in some poor Englishwoman? Why should anybody kill my father over her?’
‘I don’t know, Libby. Maybe the woman in the wine shop has nothing to do with it at all. But you asked about women, and I can’t remember any other.’
‘And he said nothing to you about a woman needing help?’
‘No, and that’s a puzzle in itself. As you know, your father was the most open man in the world. If he had decided to help some poor dove out of the gutter, I’m sure he’d have discussed it with us that evening when we were all together.’
‘The evening that Amos Legge came to make arrangements for Esperance?’
‘Who? Oh, the amiable horse-transporter. Yes. Your father said goodbye next morning in the best of health and spirits. That was the last I saw of him. If I’d the slightest idea of all this at the time, I’d never have let him go alone.’
I was crying and sensed he might be near tears too. I felt for his hand on the edge of the water trough.
‘Do you think it was Mr Brighton or Trumper who shot him?’ I said.
‘I simply don’t know. It’s difficult to think of Brighton even doing up his own shoe-laces. Trumper may be a different matter. You said your father died on Saturday?’
‘Yes.’
I could see he was thinking back.
‘That’s the morning I left for Lyon. I saw both Brighton and Trumper in the street the evening before. In fact, I spoke to Trumper, or rather he spoke to me.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He came striding up to me like a man wanting a quarrel and said, “Where’s your friend gone?” I guessed he meant your father and supposed he might have got wind of how we’d been making fun of them. So I said my friend would be back home in England by now. That didn’t seem to please him.’
‘Did he say anything else?’
‘I didn’t give him the chance, just said good-day and walked off.’
‘They must have known by then that he’d gone away with the woman.’
‘Yes, but Trumper couldn’t possibly have got to Calais in time to kill him, however fast he rode.’
He sounded both regretful and relieved. I understood. I wanted more than anything in the world to know who killed my father and yet the prospect of it scared me.
‘What about the fat man – Lord Kilkeel?’ I said.
‘To the best of my knowledge, I never saw him in Paris.’
‘So he might have been in Calais on the Saturday. He was certainly there three days later.’
We lapsed into silence again. Bats darted overhead and a hedgehog snuffled. My brain was tired and wanted to curl up and sleep like a hedgehog.
‘If you think Charlotte’s baby died twenty years ago?’ I said.
‘I do, yes.’
‘Then who is Mr Brighton?’
‘Take your pick from twenty or more. You understand what I mean?’
‘There is certainly no shortage of Hanoverian bastards,’ I said.
That was common knowledge. George III had fifteen children, seven of them sons who grew to manhood, and since he refused to let any of them marry until suitable princesses were available, the natural consequence was many Georgian grandsons on the wrong side of the blanket. The Duke of Clarence, for one, was responsible for at least five such.
‘From his looks and his manners, I’ve no doubt he’s one of that stock,’ Daniel said.
‘And tomorrow, Sir Herbert intends to introduce him to all his friends and supporters as their rightful king.’
‘You think that’s what will happen?’
‘I’m sure of it. Why else all the preparations? Why else that ridiculous Welcome Home piece you’re rehearsing?’
‘It is indeed an offence in itself. I think you’re mostly right, Libby, only it probably won