Free Instruments of Darkness by Imogen Robertson

creatures did not seem to thrive, and those in this neighbourhood I had least cause to love, and most reason to doubt, always seemed to do better in his service than their virtues might merit.’ He dragged his gaze upward to meet Mrs Westerman’s for a moment. Then cleared his throat as if to drive some troublesome taste from it. ‘But these are idle prejudices, and I must not speak ill of one brought so low.’

    Crowther spoke for the first time since dinner had begun.

    ‘I understand, sir, that Lord Thornleigh fell victim to a seizure some years ago.’

    The Squire nodded and gave a slight shrug of his massive shoulders.

    ‘I am not a medical man, Mr Crowther, but yes, that is what I believe. It was within a year of his second marriage. He lost almost all his capacity for movement, and all his abilities of speech. Yet he lives. What sort of existence it can be I cannot say, yet live he does. Perhaps the Almighty in His infinite mercy is giving him time to repent the wrongs of his youth, though the servants say he is to all intents and purposes an idiot now.’

    ‘Has he so much to repent?’ Rachel asked lightly.

    The Squire did not choose to hear her, but instead lifted his head and stared into the corners of the dining room.

    ‘We assumed he would not long survive the attack, yet still he continues. It speaks well to the care that is taken of him, yet it seems a cruel fate to me, and one I could not wish on any man.’

    ‘You’ll forgive me, Squire,’ Crowther said, ‘but you speak as if you suspect him of some greater sin than pride?’

    ‘Perhaps I do. But that suspicion must remain between me and my God at this moment. I will not slander a man who cannot make a reply, nor share unpleasant stories with the ladies for the time being. I know, Mrs Westerman, you have the stomach of a warrior, but there are things I would not have your sister hear me speak of.’

    Rachel looked down at her plate, and Harriet smiled at him, while gently placing her hand over her sister’s.

    ‘Shall we have rain tomorrow, do you think?’ she asked brightly, and the Squire took up the subject. Nothing more of significance was spoken of until the ladies retired.

    When the wine had been poured and the servants released, Crowther introduced the subject of the Squire’s suspicions once more. The older man put down the wine in front of him, and slowly shook his head. Crowther looked hard at the soft red profile the Squire presented from under his hooded eyes. He let the silence between them lengthen till it formed a pressure in the room. The Squire was frowning a little, and began to turn Harriet’s delicate wine glass distractedly with his sausage-like fingers until Crowther wondered if it were quite safe.

    ‘Mrs Westerman wishes to know the truth of what has happened here,’ Crowther stated. ‘It is clear she suspects some dark doings at Thornleigh, and the murder took place on her land. She will not be satisfied with a simple “killed by persons unknown” at the inquest. She has requested my help and I have given my word to assist her.’

    As Crowther spoke, the Squire let his glass rest, and his profile hardened with deep attention. Crowther had the sense that his companion was listening not merely to the words themselves, but their undertow, what they brought with them. He felt some judgement was being made on him.

    ‘Well, Mr Crowther, I shall tell you then, since you ask in such a manner,’ the Squire said heavily. ‘I have no reason, however, to believe it pertains at all to the death of this poor wretch. You cannot say you speak for the family here without drawing me to you in some degree - though I sometimes feel they might do better in some other place. For all her experience in the larger world, Mrs Westerman does not yet understand the pull of the little threads that hold us all together and in our place in such a society as ours. Nor do you. Just because the head of Thornleigh is in some ways cut