Ashley Gardner
The Sudbury School Murders
Chapter One
'And I want it stopped,' Everard Rutledge growled.
One week after my arrival at the Sudbury School in March of 1817, Rutledge faced me over his desk in his private study.
The headmaster had a large, flat face, a bulbous nose, and short graying hair that looked as though perpetually whipped by high wind. His coat hung untidily on his large frame, his ivory waistcoat was rumpled, his yellowing cravat twisted. The effect was as though a bull had climbed into an expensive suit and then gone about its business.
He had just told me a story of vicious pranks that had been perpetrated in the school-a chandelier in the dining hall coming down, a fire in the maids' attic, threatening letters written in blood, and three boys falling ill due to poisoned port.
'Not nice,' I remarked. 'Worse than the usual pranks boys play on each other.'
'Exactly,' Rutledge barked. 'What do you intend to do about it, eh?'
I looked at him in surprise. I had not thought discovering pranksters would be in the sphere of the secretary's duties, but Rutledge glared at me as though waiting for me to produce the name of the culprit then and there.
'What would you have me do?' I asked him.
'Well, damn it, man, is this not why you are here? Grenville told me you were a master at poking your nose into things that did not concern you.'
'I do hope Grenville did not put it quite like that,' I said mildly.
Rutledge scowled. 'He neglected to tell me how impertinent you are. I cannot imagine you made a very good soldier.'
'My commander would agree with you,' I said. Colonel Brandon, once my closest friend, had often lectured me about my tendency to disobey orders and tell my superiors what I thought of them.
'But please continue about the problem,' I said, my curiosity piqued in spite of myself. 'If you wish me to discover which boys are responsible, I will need as much information as I can obtain.'
'You will do it, then?'
I wished I had been asked, rather than simply expected. Lucius Grenville had much to answer for. 'I admit interest,' I said. 'That these tricks have been perpetrated for three months without anyone being the wiser is intriguing. Someone has been uncommonly clever.'
'Uncommonly indecent,' Rutledge snarled. 'When I put my hands on him- '
I knew the rest. Rutledge, I had learned in the week since my arrival, believed in strict and severe discipline. This was not unusual for a school's headmaster, but Rutledge seemed to enjoy meting out punishment more than did most sergeants in the King's army.
Rutledge's harsh methods so far had produced no result. I could see that the students here feared Rutledge but did not respect him.
He leaned across his desk. 'I do not think you grasp the seriousness of the situation, Lacey. The sons of the wealthiest men in England attend the Sudbury School. Their money could buy you, and even Grenville, a dozen times over. I do not wish for fathers to become unhappy at their sons' complaints. Do you understand?'
'I understand well enough.'
The Sudbury School did not house the sons of lords and statesmen; rather, their fathers were nabobs and merchants and men prominent in the City. They were the merchant class, the middle class, the sons of men who had started with nothing and gained fortune with the sweat of their brows. Boys finished Sudbury School, went to the City to add to their father's fortunes, and in turn sent their own sons here.
Rutledge did not care a fig about money, personally. The unkempt manner of his clothes, his obliviousness to the comfort of his study, his evenhandedness in dealing out punishment to the boys, told me this. Rutledge would be as much at home in Carleton House as in a hovel-in other words, he'd never notice.
What Rutledge cared about was the Sudbury School. His form of honor, if you will. Rutledge was gentleman born, had attended Eton with Grenville. But he'd stuck his claws into this school for bankers' sons, and by God he intended it to be a success. Its reputation was his reputation.
Rutledge went on, 'I know that you yourself were the victim of a prank, Captain, though you chose not to report it. Sutcliff, my prefect, had to tell me. What were you thinking, man?'
Bartholomew a few nights ago had thrown back my bedding to reveal a grass snake, half-suffocated on the featherbed. I had lifted it between my fingers and laid it gently in the branches of the tree outside my window.
I said, 'I was thinking it was harmless and did not need to be brought to your attention.'
'Harmless?' Rutledge almost shouted. 'And why, pray, did you believe it harmless?'
I half smiled. 'I assumed a few boys were simply testing out the new man. To see whether I fussed or laughed.'
Rutledge's expression told me that levity had been the incorrect response. 'You should have reported it to me at once, and the boys found and punished. You encourage their behavior.'
I held my temper with effort. 'I doubt it connects to the more serious pranks.'
'How can you know that?'
'Poison in port and fires in servants rooms are considerably more dangerous than one bewildered grass snake.'
Rutledge's annoyed expression told me he did not agree. 'So the question remains, Captain… what do you intend to do about it?'
His belligerence was ruining a fine spring day. I had hoped to escape for a walk after my duties, but Rutledge had ordered me to stay. Then he'd laid aside his papers, rested his fists on his desk, and told me all about the pranks.
'I will question the boys,' I told him. 'They likely know who is involved but are reluctant to speak. Even if they do not know, they might be able to point to something. I will speak to the prefects of both houses, as well. They are much closer to the boys than you or even the tutors can be.'
Rutledge peered at me in disappointment. 'I expected more from you, the way Grenville boasted. The students have already been questioned. I had them all thrashed, but to no avail. You will get nowhere with that line of thinking.'
'The students might be more willing to speak to a sympathetic stranger than their headmaster or even a prefect,' I pointed out. 'Servants, too, see things, hear things. I shall have my man talk with them.'
Rutledge dismissed this with a wave of his hand. 'Useless. They will not tell you, even if they do know.'
I grew annoyed. 'Did you expect me to pull the solution out of the air? I must begin somewhere.'
'Yes, yes, very well. But I expect you to tell me everything. Everything, Lacey.'
I did not promise. I'd tell him what he needed to know, nothing more. I had learned in my life that problems were often more complex than they seemed, and most people did not want to know the entire truth. Rutledge was a man who saw everything in black and white. Subtle complexities would be beyond him.
He dismissed me then, curtly. Without regret, I left the warm and comfortable room for the cold hall.
The case intrigued me, but Rutledge had not endeared himself to me. I was also put out with Grenville and intended to write to him so, first for not telling me that my employment here was simply a means for solving a puzzle, and second for not warning me that Rutledge was such a boor.
A walk in the brisk March air, I thought, would do me good.
It was late afternoon, and boys and tutors spilled through the double doors to change their clothes for chapel or dinner or more studies. There were thirty boys in this house, which was called the Head Master's house. I had not yet met all the students, but I had started to recognize a few. Ramsay was a towheaded boy of about thirteen who always looked apprehensive. Timson, the same age, had a roguish look, and it pained me to realize that he
