Open Writing

The rain held off as they processed outside and watched the coffin lowered into the ground. He glanced across the path at the dominant cross of his father's tomb and remembered the old man's impatience with anything his legitimate son had attempted.

Not doing so bad now, am I?

His eyes shifted sideways and rested briefly on the lesser monument for George, the one that Jane tended with obsessive visits. A gentle scholar and an innocent soul. If Dyce only knew. He shivered again. If Dyce ever uncovered the secrets that were buried with the dead, he might come riding up to the hall with more than demands that the dam be repaired.

He sniffed and cursed the damp air and stared up the valley that funnelled down from the reservoir above the church. On days like this, with the mist so penetrating, it felt like the damn thing was leaking already.

Squire Barnstaple stomped across to him and said loudly, “Lunch?”

“Of course, Squire. Gentlemen?”

Barnstaple and Frost went to their carriages and Harry invited Mungo Ransome to share his for the drive to Musgrave Hall and a funeral lunch at which they would discuss commission business.

Harry had visited Ransome at his chambers in Helston a month before, when he had instructed him to reduce the height of the waste pit for an outlay of £12 10s.

“Bill me. I shall pay,” he had said.

Ransome had hinged his elbows into his body. "What foresight and how generous," he had said.

"It's the obvious repair to make. I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner. Temporary, of course. I shall recoup the payment when we go to Parliament with the new Bill for proper repairs."

"The new Bill? There is too much conflict for a new Bill."

"Write to all those in dispute over rates. Suggest that if they withdraw their objections, rate demands can be frozen, reconsidered and re-assessed at the lower level." He had smiled. "Suggest they need not be paid until after we have re-funded the whole reservoir project."

"You mean, give them the impression they will not have to pay anything at all?"

"Quite."

"And the Bill ...?"

"Will give us all a profit, Mr Ransome."

"Indeed, sir."

"And in the meantime,” he had said, “the reservoir will be as safe as the grave."

Recalling the meeting, and his use of the phrase, now made him smile. In the present circumstances, the simile was extremely apposite. Harry glanced back before he climbed into the carriage, at three graves and three secrets safely buried. Particularly in the case of the Honourable Arthur Petty. Harry had placed within the coffin, before its lid was screwed down, Arthur’s memoir.

Something to read on those long cold nights, old boy.

The carriage was enclosed and dim as a confessional. Ransome would have made a good priest, Harry thought, keeping close counsel for the benefit of himself and his God.

“The repairs?” he said.

“Done.”

“The Bill?”

“The response has been favourable. We already have a majority in favour and some ratepayers are simply tardy with their replies.” His smile was unctuous. “It will work, sir.”

Harry smiled. Of course it would damn well work. Greed, profit and the promise of something for nothing always worked.

“And my brother?”

Ransome took a pad from his satchel and held it to the light from the window.

“Robert Dyce arrived in Liverpool from New York on July 16. He has rooms at the Pack Horse in Bradfield and is having Thonglea House prepared as a residence. Whilst in Bradfield he spends much of his time at Burke’s Music Hall, where his distant relative, Elizabeth Pallister, performs under the name Singing Jenny. Miss Pallister’s family reside in Helston.”

“I know. Tell me something I don't.”

Ransome coughed and said, “Mr Cosmo Pinkerton arrived in Bradfield two weeks after Mr Dyce. He is a small American gentleman who also travelled from New York to Liverpool. He has proved himself to be a man of indefatigable curiosity and asked many questions about your brother, in Bradfield and in Helston, before they actually met. He also has rooms at the Pack Horse and spends a great deal of time at Burke’s Music Hall, in the company of Mr Dyce and Miss Pallister. They appear to have become great friends.”

“And yet they didn’t know each other in America?” Harry’s statement was rhetorical.

“I am not given to speculation ...”

“Speculate.”

“But it appears that Mr Pinkerton specifically followed Mr Dyce from New York to Liverpool, then to Bradfield, with the express purpose of finding him.”

“Yes?”

“That’s as far as my speculation goes.”

Who was Cosmo Pinkerton and what was his interest in his brother? A sleeping partner who had, perhaps, been left behind? Unlikely. Harry would have had no compunction in leaving a partner behind but Dyce was too damned honourable. Whatever the reasons for the pursuit, the pair now appeared to be friends.

He could sense a fortuitous circumstance waiting to be exploited but it would need someone more subtle, and less obviously out of place, than Mungo Ransome to uncover it. Himself, for instance.

In his youth, he had known many actresses in London, and had become as an accomplished performer as them. A visit to the music hall, and a heart to heart with Miss Pallister, might be productive.

**

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