Death Comes to Dartmoor Page 16

  “That is exactly what I would have done, had I been there.”

  Merula clenched her hands, nails biting into her palms. Who did he think he was? Why could he decide about her?

  “What did this man tell her?” Raven roared. “What did he want?”

  “I have no idea, my lord. She walked off ahead of me and spoke with him while I was not there.”

  “And what good is that to me? I want to know what they spoke about. I told you to keep an eye on her. You didn’t do what I asked.”

  Merula strode to the door and opened it. “What are you going to do now?” she asked, jutting her chin up at Raven. “Dismiss Bowsprit? He’s your valet, not mine. I told him I wanted to speak with this man, and he accepted my decision. He also accepted that he had no part in it and kept his distance. I value his discretion.”

  “But I do not. And like you said, he is my valet. He must obey my orders.”

  “If you wanted to know what I talked about with this man, you could have asked me.”

  “And would you have told me? No. You keep secrets from me. Even in a small matter like your notebook and your sketching. You act furtively, and you don’t talk to me like you used to. You’ve changed, and I don’t like it.”

  There was a sudden deep silence.

  Bowsprit retreated to the door and slunk out. Raven didn’t seem to notice. He stood in the room, his hands by his sides, clenching and opening again.

  Merula stared at him. Raven, a man she called her friend, never to his face, of course, but in her mind. A friend because he had shown himself to be one in her time of need when she had been fleeing from the police. He need not have helped her, risked his already damaged reputation for her, but he had. Raven had come to natural history to regain respectability, not throw away the final shreds of it by involving himself with a murder charge. He had taken risks; he had not cared for the consequences.

  And now he said he didn’t know her anymore because she had changed. As if he was hurt by it.

  She looked down. She sought the right words. But she didn’t know what to say. Had she changed?

  Raven said softly, “I’m sorry, Merula. I just …”

  The silence lingered, uncomfortable, widening the divide between them.

  Searching for something, anything, to say and change the topic, Merula tapped her foot on the floorboards. “Did you find out something worthwhile? From the inspector?”

  “If by ‘worthwhile’ you mean ‘good for Oaks’s case,’ then no. But if you mean ‘interesting in the light of things,’ then yes.”

  She began to pace. “Why so cryptic?”

  “Straightforward, then.” He sounded challenging. “The girl who died, the maid who served here—she was with child.”

  Merula halted abruptly and looked at Raven. She should probably be shocked at addressing such a topic, as it was hardly ever mentioned, even when a woman was married. There were all kinds of terms to cloak the condition and the eventual childbirth. And this girl hadn’t been married, so that made it all even more improper to discuss.

  Still, a murder case left no room for such sensitivities.

  “With child?” she repeated. “By whom?”

  “The police believe by Oaks.”

  “Oaks? But he said that he had never … that she just kissed him once when he came back from a walk and she accosted him to talk him into marrying her.”

  “Yes, he acted like it was all her idea. But the police believe that Oaks harassed her, also because her father told them that. They believe that his tale of her having kissed him was made up to explain kisses that someone might have observed.”

  “The stable boy? Were we right in thinking he saw something? Did he report to her father?”

  “The inspector didn’t say that, but he firmly believes Oaks was pursuing Tillie and wanted favors of her, and now that she turns out to have been with child, they believe he forced himself on her and then killed her to cover up his acts. If she had told her father she was with child, the entire village would have come out to the house roaring for Oaks’s head.”

  “But Oaks is an intelligent man.” Merula tried to see the case coldly and the consequences that might ensue. “He could know that, if he killed her, the body would be examined closely and it would be known she was with child. That would not have helped him at all.”

  “The police argue that he didn’t believe he would be accused. That the killing would be ascribed to the monster that also caused the recent shipwrecks. The inspector heard tales of it left and right. The villagers seem to strongly believe this monster exists.”

  “What does he think of these tales?”

  “He laughs at them, telling me he knew Dartmoor was full of lore and that they could add this kraken to the tales of the hound and the white women on the moor.”

  Merula nodded and sat down on a chair. Putting her hands on the table before her, she stared at the markings left on her palms by her fingernails. Her head spun with the realization that her mother had never loved her, had wanted to part with her whether she lived or died and that it might have been better indeed never to have known this for sure.

  Raven walked over to her. He came to stand behind her, but he didn’t touch her. He seemed to want to speak but not know what to say. Then he continued walking up and down the room. “Tillie’s condition does provide an important clue for us. If Oaks told us the truth and there was nothing between him and the girl, then who can be the father of the baby?”

  Merula sat up and tapped the table. “More importantly, why would Tillie suddenly turn to Oaks, pressing him to marry her? She must have known she was with child and wanted to have a father for the baby. A marriage, shelter, a safe future for herself and the child. That suggests that the real father couldn’t or wouldn’t take care of her.”

  “Our stable boy?” Raven asked. “He’s young and doesn’t have money of his own. He lives here in the attic and he is—I’m sorry to say so, but it seems true—not very emotionally mature. Not a man who can take care of a family.”

  “Still, if he’s the father and he saw Tillie trying to get Oaks to marry her and provide for her in a way that a stable boy never could, then he must have been angry and hurt. He could have killed her.”

  “Yes, but why lure her to the river and kill her there?”

  “Perhaps they always met there and it was, to him, fitting to kill her there where their love had begun and she had spurned him.”

  “And the weapon used?” Raven stood with his feet planted apart, looking at her as if he was trying to fit everything into a single framework. “The inspector confirmed to me that the strangulation had not been done with bare hands but with some kind of implement or tool.”

  He scoffed. “As a man of reason, our dear inspector refuses to accept it might have been a tentacle, of course, so he calls it a tool, like a rope or a belt. But the traces didn’t suggest that. There were round discolorations on the skin, a number of them over the length of her throat and in the neck under her hair. Like something was wrapped around it which had small round items on its surface. Not a smooth leather belt, not a rope …”

  “The kraken’s arm with its suckers? I still doubt it can be used to strangle someone. I doubt you could really cut off breathing with it. But the body was found near water.” Merula pointed at his reconstruction of the area. “Have you learned anything more from the inspector?”

  “Just that Oaks refused to say anything. It might be better that way, as he is not in a right state of mind to make much sense. I asked the inspector to have a specialist look at him, and he told me that he had already agreed to have one in.”

  “Agreed? With whom?” Merula sat up, suddenly alert. “Who suggested that a specialist should be brought in?”

  “Bixby. He has been there …”

  Merula jumped to her feet. “But that’s all wrong! Remember how earlier Bixby wanted Oaks to see a specialist on mental abnormalities? He was the one who told us that Oaks was on the verge of a ner
vous breakdown, the morning he managed to disperse the angry mob. He claimed Oaks’s wanderlust stemmed from childhood trauma. If Bixby suggests a specialist and the specialist that is called in is an acquaintance of his, there might be some kind of … ruse behind it. A way to incriminate Oaks even further.”

  “But why?” Raven didn’t seem to follow her reasoning, or be convinced that Oaks was in danger. “What advantage would that give to Bixby?”

  “I have no idea, but we mustn’t lose another minute. We must go out to the police station before this specialist comes in and declares that Oaks is mad.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Bowsprit drove them out to the station, and Lamb had said she also wanted to come to do some shopping in the village. Judging by the feathers on her hat, she knew exactly where she wanted to go. Bowsprit muttered that he’d keep an eye on her, so Raven and Merula went together to see the inspector.

  Merula still felt anger as an undercurrent in her veins over Raven’s interference with her past, her life, her decisions to make. But she had to focus on other matters now and help clear Oaks from the murder charge that hung over his head.

  Inside the station, they heard raised voices. The inspector was standing looking into a corridor, out of which a high-pitched voice called, “I’m not seeing him. If he comes in, I’ll attack him. I’ll chew off his ear.”

  “The man is clearly raving,” another voice, dark and booming, tried to cry over the protestations. “I need not even go in to examine him. I can proclaim him mentally unbalanced right away. I’ll write up a declaration to that point. You can then move him to the nearest asylum. This is not a case for the police but for a psychiatrist.”

  “Inspector!” Raven went up to the Scotland Yard man, ignoring a constable who called that he couldn’t just go in there.

  The man turned to them. “You again!”

  “Yes, I have to speak with you urgently.”

  The inspector shook his head. “I don’t have time for you now. Don’t you see the whole thing has come to a crisis? Your so-called reasonable friend is threatening to chew people’s ears off.”

  Ignoring these protests, Merula passed Raven and said to the inspector, “This doctor you called in, is he a specialist you worked with before?”

  The inspector took a deep breath, as if he wanted to tell her it was none of her business, when he seemed to change his mind. Perhaps he understood that without giving them some information, they might never leave?

  “No.” The inspector rubbed his hands. “Mr. Bixby knew him from a lecture he attended in London, on the effects of childhood trauma on the adult individual, and invited him to give us his assessment at short notice.” He sounded as if they should be grateful to Mr. Bixby for this.

  “And have you checked his credentials?” Merula asked. “Are you certain that he truly is a specialist?”

  “What are you saying?” The inspector’s eyes narrowed. “That he is not?”

  “In zoology, every expert has his field. Some study birds, others mammals or spiders or butterflies. They know everything about their own species but not much about other species. Perhaps they have some general knowledge but not the detailed experience that an expert would have. I’m just asking if this man here is really fit to judge whether Oaks is mentally unbalanced or not.”

  The inspector studied her. “And why would he not be fit?”

  “Earlier, before the murder of this girl took place, Bixby already tried to force Oaks into seeing a specialist on mental abnormalities.”

  “So he was already worried about him then, and justifiably so. He has now turned to killing girls. If the specialist had seen him earlier, all of this might have been prevented.”

  “Not necessarily. Bixby might have wanted Oaks proclaimed unstable for another reason.”

  “Such as?”

  “I don’t know that yet. But if you grant us some time …”

  “He tried to bite me! He is insane!” A man came hurrying over to them, clutching a leather bag in his left hand. He held out his other hand to the inspector. Merula could see nothing special about it, certainly no bite marks or blood, but he cried as if he were severely injured. “I suggest you notify an asylum and have him brought there at once. A very serious affair. He needs to be kept in a straitjacket.”

  Raven pushed forward, his face pale with anger at this suggestion. “May I ask what your name is and how you happen to be so conveniently around here?”

  “I was on vacation in Torquay. I love the sea air. And I do not see”—the doctor scowled at Raven—“why I should answer inquiries from gentlemen or young ladies who have nothing to do with the police. Inspector …”

  The inspector gestured at Raven and Merula. “If you will excuse me.”

  “No, we will not.” Raven blocked the doctor’s path. “I want to know who he is and if he is really qualified to do this. He wants to have my friend committed to an insane asylum.”

  With a sigh of frustration, the doctor produced letters from his pocket and handed them to Raven. “There.”

  Merula leaned over to see what was written on the envelopes. They were all addressed to a Dr. Twicklestone and came from research institutes all over the world: Vienna, Washington, Paris.

  The inspector looked duly impressed with the long names and Latin mottoes worked into the emblems used on the envelopes. “May I invite you to come into my office, Doctor, where we will discuss this case? I’m honored, honored indeed, to work with you in this matter. Please …”

  He gestured and proceeded the doctor into his office, simply leaving Merula and Raven behind.

  Raven turned to her. “How convenient that he was carrying all of his correspondence from foreign institutes with him.”

  “While he’s on vacation,” Merula added.

  Raven nodded. “Exactly. Like he knew he might need them to impress people with. And what do we know now? Merely that he has some letters on him that are addressed to a real doctor. But do we know he is this Dr. Twicklestone? No.”

  “We have to send Bowsprit back to get the stable boy. He saw a man with a very nice carriage coming for Oaks. Tillie took his card up to Oaks, but Oaks refused to see him. I asked the stable boy what the man’s name was, but he didn’t know, as Tillie hadn’t been able to read the card.”

  “We can simply ask Oaks.” Raven glanced to where the constable was sitting. “Can we speak with the prisoner? Through the door. We need not go in.”

  “I wouldn’t advise it, as he’s violent. You won’t be giving him anything, will you?”

  “Watch us and see for yourself.” Raven strode into the corridor. “Oaks! It’s me. Did you bite the good doctor?”

  “No, of course not. The gall to turn up here! He came to my house earlier, asking for an interview. I refused to let him anywhere near me, even dropped his card in the fire. I was livid at Bixby, convinced he had sent the fellow to me. Bixby claimed, when I asked him about it, how this doctor had seen me when I visited Gorse Manor and that he had noticed there was something wrong with me, with my nervous system, and that I had to move to warmer climes. That he would recommend me to friends of his so I could find lodgings and that Bixby would take care of my house while I was away. That he was even willing to buy it so I would be rid of it and could settle anywhere in the world I would like. But I do not wish to leave Dartmoor and told him so. I’ve traveled quite enough; all I want now is peace and quiet to study my collection and read books. He insisted I was hazarding my health. Now he shows up here again and …”

  “Thank you, we know enough,” Raven said, and while Oaks banged the door and cried that Raven had to stay and help him and the bewildered constable asked if that was really all they wanted, he strode off.

  Merula rushed after him, not understanding his brusque departure. “Oaks is desperate,” she pleaded. “We should help him. Being locked up with false accusations of madness and threats of an asylum hanging over him has to be terrifying.”

  “We are helping him. What he ju
st told us made me see the light. Bixby wants the house.”

  “What?” Merula stared at Raven.

  “Bixby wants Oaks’s house. He sent a doctor to give Oaks a scare about his health and suggest he move away from here. Bixby would then tend the house or even buy it off him. Bixby probably believed this would work because Oaks had traveled widely and might long to return to this adventurous life. When Oaks denied any such wishes, however, Bixby turned the villagers against Oaks, making them afraid of him and his animal collection. I wager he was the one telling them repeatedly that the creatures can escape from the jars they are kept in and roam the land. Then the murder happened … Now Oaks is in a cell and might be locked away forever. Then his property will be sold off, and Bixby can buy it. As the house is rumored to be full of murderous beasts, there won’t be any other interested buyers, so he can probably also get it at a low price. It’s brilliant.”

  “But does that mean Bixby murdered the girl Tillie? Isn’t that going a bit far just to get your hands on a house?” Merula couldn’t help the doubts echoing in her questions. She could follow Raven’s reasoning, but the ultimate consequence seemed too far-fetched.

  “That depends on what you want the house for. How much it’s worth to you.” Raven waved both of his hands in the air for emphasis. “We have to go back at once and search every nook and cranny to find out what Bixby is after.”

  * * *

  Merula stood in the doorway and watched while Raven knocked on the walls of one of the upstairs guest rooms, dropped himself to his knees, and crawled across the floor, looking for hidden space underneath the floorboards. He disappeared half under the bed.

  “Nothing,” she could hear him exclaim in frustration. “Again, nothing.”

  A bang resounded, followed by a sharp cry of pain. He came out from under the bed and rubbed his head and neck. “This is not exactly working.”

  Merula suppressed a laugh at his disheveled figure. His clothes were full of dust and cobwebs and his hair was standing straight up. They had gone through every room from the cellars and pantry to the bedrooms on this top floor, searching for hidden passageways, space behind the walls, stashes of something. Raven had been certain the house had a secret that would deliver the key to Tillie’s murder.