The Memory Palace. Christie Dickason

Fox and Pickford stood uneasily to one side, looking at the floor, while Zeal studied them in perplexed astonishment.

      Sir Richard had just cleared his throat to begin when Wentworth, with his odd new taste for appearing, entered and set his rod beside the door.

      ‘What is this I hear?’

      ‘The self-satisfied pup has gone and got himself killed,’ said Sir Richard.

      ‘Harry’s dead,’ said Zeal. ‘And these two here say I did it.’

       11

      ‘Smashed his head like it was a ripe melon,’ said Fox. ‘On a rock.’

      ‘Speak when I ask you.’ Sir Richard flipped his coattail over a stool and sat down at the bake house table. ‘You stand there.’ He waved Fox forward. ‘Now, then.’

      Given the late hour, he had decided to hold his preliminary inquiry in the Hawkridge bake house rather than shift the entire company back to his little courtroom at High House. Zeal found a half dozen precious beeswax candles to lend dignity to the background of dough bowls and ovens. The air was warm from the banked fires and fragrant with the scent of the day’s baking. Pale cloth-covered loaves sat in orderly rows on shelves behind Sir Richard’s head.

      ‘I’m sure we’re all grateful to be brought the news in such unparalleled haste,’ said Sir Richard. ‘But I’m still not certain why you feel the matter is so urgent it can’t wait till morning.’

      ‘Murder seemed urgent to us, sir,’ said Fox. ‘And Sir Harry was murdered.’

      ‘By his horse?’ asked Sir Richard. ‘I was told you arrived saying Sir Harry’s horse had thrown him. You’re not under oath yet, but take care.’

      ‘It threw him because she charmed it.’ With averted eyes, Fox tilted his head at Zeal, who had perched on a stool at the far end of the table.

      Sir Richard glanced to his left at Doctor Gifford, fierce-eyed and eager to sit in judgement, even at this hour. He glanced to his right at Geoffrey Comer, who had the misfortune to be the nearest parish councillor, and sighed. ‘When I was dragged from my bed, I expected an urgent legal matter. If this case has any substance at all, the issue is witchcraft, and it should go to the church courts. Or else the whole thing might be a load of buffle.’ He regarded Fox through his eyebrows as he had studied Harry earlier. ‘I hope for your sake that you’re not wasting my time.’ He raised a hand to quell an urgent movement from Doctor Gifford, the minister. ‘You’ll get your turn, sir.’ Sir Richard turned back to Fox. ‘Are you formally accusing our young mistress here of causing Sir Harry’s death by witchcraft?’

      Fox hesitated.

      Herne, the constable, began to stare at Zeal with an open mouth.

      ‘Or by any other means?’ asked Sir Richard.

      ‘More like raising the possibility, sir. We thought you might…’

      ‘Oh, just the “possibility”…’ Sir Richard rocked back meditatively on his stool then slammed the front legs down again. ‘Why?’

      ‘Sir?’

      ‘Why rouse a magistrate, a minister and a parish councillor in order to “raise a possibility”?’

      ‘Justice, your honour. And also, we’ve already been away from London much longer than we contracted for. So, if we are to be witnesses at the inquest on Sir Harry…’

      ‘Don’t think for a moment you will be,’ said Sir Richard.

      Pickford had been breathing audibly. Now he stepped forward. ‘Please, your honour. That woman threatened to kill Sir Harry. “I’ll kill you,” she said. Everyone heard her. And all the time we were here, she showed herself to be a wild and dangerous woman…’

      ‘Dear me.’ Sir Richard turned his head to gaze at Zeal. ‘Did you know you were dangerous, my dear?’

      She shook her head dumbly. These men and their accusation were absurd. On the other hand, if you were angry enough, perhaps your rage might shape itself into an independent being, a spirit, like a ghost, and act on your behalf without your permission.

      I was very angry with Harry. Is it possible that I did somehow will his death?

      ‘You may laugh, sir,’ said Pickford. ‘But we know she set the evil eye on us when all we did was obey Sir Harry’s orders to remove the statues. Call the others and ask them. We all felt it.’

      Zeal rubbed her hand across her mouth. She had no idea that her glares had been so effective.

      ‘And no one can deny she threatened to shoot us, just for trying to do our job. And us with only a shovel to defend ourselves.’

      ‘You forget that I was present…Just one moment, Doctor Gifford, I beg you!’

      ‘She killed him in revenge for him taking the statues back.’ Pickford looked defiant. ‘It’s too much coincidence. Evil eye. She threatened him and then he died. Think about it.’

      ‘Thank you. I hadn’t planned to.’ Sir Richard scratched his earlobe and studied Zeal’s accusers in silence, until she began to fear that he was having one of his lapses.

      Surely these comical men could not make real trouble for her.

      ‘I’m not clear on one or two points.’ Comer seized the opening, just before Gifford, who was leaning back on his stool, shaking his head in impatient dismay. ‘Was Mistress Zeal present when Sir Harry died?’

      ‘No, sir.’

      ‘Was she anywhere nearby?’

      ‘No, sir.’

      ‘Did she at any time approach his horse while it was at Hawkridge in order to tamper with it?’

      ‘Not so far as I know.’

      ‘But she killed him nevertheless, at a distance, by subverting his horse?’ Sir Richard stepped in again, back in full flow.

      ‘Such things happen,’ said Fox defiantly. ‘Ask the minister there.’

      ‘You all are missing the true wickedness,’ said Gifford. ‘If you will but allow me…’

      Sir Richard snorted. ‘There was a storm tonight? Yes? While you were on the road?’

      ‘An uncanny one, sir,’ agreed Fox. ‘Blue sky one minute, lightning and hail the next. Lightning filled the sky like noon. Even our own beasts gave a start and offered to bolt. Not usual lightning. It was yellowish, like sulphur. Not your usual lightning at all. If you follow me.’

      ‘I detect the Lord’s hand,’ said Doctor Gifford. ‘Sir Harry was struck down like the Canaanites who worshipped heathen idols.’

      ‘But these fellows don’t seem to be raising the pos-si-bi-li-ty…’ Sir Richard seemed to examine each syllable in turn. ‘…that He had anything to do with it. More like the other one, if anything.’ He turned to Zeal. ‘My dear, how do you plead? Care to throw yourself on the mercy of the court?’

      ‘I did not have anything to do with Harry’s death,’ Zeal said quietly. ‘We all speak more fiercely than we could ever act. I am sorry that he died…I don’t quite believe it yet, if you must know. And I never meant to shoot anyone. Only to keep Harry and these men from taking the law into their own hands before Sir Richard could arrive and sort things out.’

      ‘Hnmph!’ Sir Richard nodded with satisfaction.

      Comer leaned forward again. ‘But you did threaten to shoot unarmed men? That is an offence in itself.’

      ‘The gun is rusted solid,’ said Wentworth suddenly from the wall where he had been leaning with crossed arms. ‘I gave it to her.