She pointed to the door through which he had come. “’ere, Lizzie, you show the gentleman-”
“Thank you, Cook, but I am looking for the gamekeeper. Is Mr. Sturges about? I need to speak to him about Sir Arthur’s dogs.”
“Well I don’t know about that, sir. It isn’t ‘ardly the day for it….”
“I’m Thomas Pitt. I used to live here.”
“Oh! Young Tom. I mean …” She colored quickly. “I didn’t mean no …”
“That’s all right.” He brushed it aside. “I’d still like to speak to Mr. Sturges. It’s a matter Sir Matthew wished me to look into, and I need Sturges’s help.”
“Oh. Well ’e was ’ere about ’alf an ‘our ago, an’ ’e went out to the stables. Land needs to be cared for, funeral or no funeral. You might find ’im out there.”
“Thank you.” He walked past her, barely glancing at the rows of copper pans and kettles, or the great black cast-iron range still emanating heat, even with all its oven doors closed and its lids down. The dressers were filled with china, the larder door closed, the wooden bins for flour, sugar, oatmeal and lentils were tight. All the vegetables would be in racks outside in the scullery, and the meat, poultry and game would be hung in the cold house. The laundry and still room were along the corridor to the right.
He went out of the back door, down the steps and turned left without conscious thought. He would have known his way even in the dark.
He found Sturges just outside the door to the apple room, the ventilated place with shelf after shelf of wooden slats where all the apples were placed in the autumn, and as long as they did not touch each other, usually kept all through the winter and well into the late spring.
“‘Allo, young Tom,” he said without surprise. “Glad as you made it for the funeral.” He looked Pitt directly in the eye.
It was a difficult relationship and it had taken many years to reach this stage. Sturges had replaced Pitt’s father, and to begin with Pitt had been unable to forgive him for that. He and his mother had had to leave the gamekeeper’s cottage and all their furnishings which had gone with it, the things they had grown accustomed to: the kitchen table and dresser, the hearth, the comfortable chair, the tin bath. Pitt had had his own room with a small dormer window next to the apple tree. They had moved up into the servants’ quarters in the Hall, but it was nothing like the same. What was a room, when you had had a house, with your own doorway and your own kitchen fire?
Of course he knew with his head how lucky they were that Sir Arthur either had believed Pitt’s father innocent or had not cared, and had given his wife and child shelter and made them welcome. Many a man would not have, and there were those in the county who thought him a fool for it, and said so. But that did not stop Pitt from hating Sturges and his wife for moving into the gamekeeper’s cottage and being warm and comfortable there.
And Sturges had then walked the fields and woods that had been Pitt’s father’s work and his pleasure. He had changed a few things, and that also was a fault not easily forgiven, especially if in one or two instances it was for the worse. Where it was for the better, that was an even greater offense.
But gradually memory had softened at least a little, and Sturges was a quiet, patient man. He knew the habits and the rules of the country. He had not been above poaching on the odd occasion as a youth, and he also knew it was by the grace of God, and a landowner willing to look the other way, that he had never been caught himself. He made no judgment as to whether Pitt’s father had been guilty or innocent, except to remark that if he were guilty, he was more of a fool than most men.
And he loved animals. At first tentatively, then as a matter of course, he had allowed young Thomas to help him. They had begun in suspicious silence, then as cooperation necessitated speed they had broken the ice between them. It had melted completely one early morning, about half past six when the light was spreading across the fields still heavy with dew. It had been spring and the wildflowers were thick in the hedges and under the trees, the new leaves opening on the chestnuts, and the later beeches and elms thick with bud. They had found a wounded owl, and Sturges had taken it home. Together they had cared for it until it mended and flew away. Several times all summer they had seen its silent form, broad winged and graceful, swooping in flight around the barn, diving on mice, crossing the lantern’s ray like a ghost, and then gone again. From that year on there had been an understanding between them, but never any blunting of criticism.
“Of course I came,” Pitt answered him, breathing in deeply. The apple room smelled sweet and dry, a little musty, full of memories. “I know I should have come earlier. I’ll say it before you do.”
“Aye, well, so long as you know,” Sturges said without taking his eyes off Pitt’s face. “Look well, you do. And very fancy in your city clothes. Superintendent now, eh? Arresting folk, no doubt.”
“Murder and treason,” Pitt replied. “You’d want them arrested, wouldn’t you?”
“Oh aye. No time for murdering people, at least not most people. Done well for yourself then?”
“Yes.”
Sturges pursed his lips.
“Got a wife? Or too busy bettering yourself to go a-courting?”
“Yes, I have a wife and two children: a son and a daughter.” He could not keep the lift of pride out of his voice.
“Have you indeed?” Sturges looked him straight in the eye. He tried to keep his dour manner, but the pleasure shone out of him in spite of it. “Where are they then? Up London way?”
“No, Charlotte is here with me. I’ll bring her to meet you.”
“You do that, if you want.” Sturges was damned if he was going to appear as if he cared. He turned away and began absentmindedly tidying some of the old straw.
“Before I do, can you tell me what happened about the dogs and Mr. Danforth?” Pitt asked.
“No I can’t, Tom, and that’s a fact. Never took to Danforth a lot, myself, but he was always fair, far as I knowed. And bright enough, considering.”
“He came over and chose two pups?”
“Aye, he did that.” He heaped the straw in a pile. “Then a couple o’ weeks later sent a note by one o’ his men to say he didn’t want ’em anymore. And a couple o’ weeks after that, came back to collect ’em and was as put out as all hell that we hadn’t still got them. Said a few unkind things about Sir Arthur. I’d have liked to ’ave given ’im a piece of my mind, but Sir Arthur wouldn’t ’ave wanted me to.”
“Did you see the note, or did Sir Arthur just tell you about it?”
He stared at Pitt, abandoning the straw.
“‘Course I saw the note! Were writ to me, me being the one as cares for the dogs, and Sir Arthur himself up in London at the time anyway.”
“Very strange,” Pitt agreed, thoughts racing in his head. “You are quite right. Someone is playing very odd games, and not in any good spirit, I think.”
“Games? You mean it weren’t Mr. Danforth going a bit gaga?”
“Not necessarily, although it does look like it. Do you still have the note?”
“Whatever for? Why should I keep a thing like that? No use to anyone.”
“Just to prove it was Mr. Danforth who was in the wrong, not Sir Arthur,” Pitt replied.
“And who needs proof o’ that?” Sturges pulled a face. “Nobody else as knows Sir Arthur thought it was ’im!”
Pitt felt a sudden lift of happiness, and found himself smiling in spite of the occasion. Sturges was a loyal man, but he moderated the truth for no one.
“Sturges, do you know anything about the accident Sir Arthur had when the runaway horse came down the street and the rider caught him with his whip?”
“Some.” Sturges looked unhappy, his face drawn into lines of doubt. He leaned against the apple racks. “Why are you asking, Tom? Who told you about it anyway? Mr. Matthew?” He had not as yet adjusted to the idea that Matthew was now the master, and heir of the title.
Somewhere outside a horse whinnied, and Pitt heard the familiar sound of hooves on the cobbled stableyard.
“Yes. He seemed to think it was not an accident.” He did not want to put words into Sturges’s mouth by saying it had been devised as a threat.
“Not an accident?” Sturges looked puzzled but not dismissive of the idea. “Well, in a manner o’ speaking, o’ course, it wasn’t. Fool came down the road like Jehu. Man like that should never ’ave bin on a horse in the first
