Emma disappointed her. Well, of course, so much was expected of the child. Mary Ellison is a Harkness on her mother's side. And the Harkness family owned all the land here for miles around. It was the Harknesses who didn't care to see the muddy little village of Dudlington at their gates. And in 1817 they tore it down and rebuilt it here, out of sight— and presumably out of smell. That's why Dudlington is all of the same period, it started from scratch. The church is said to be a simplified design of Wren's. At least the spire is. And then in 1824, the Harkness manor house burned to the ground in a great conflagration, killing three people. Some said it was fired in revenge for moving everyone into the new village. But I expect, like many great houses of its day, it was likely to burn without any help. Gives me the willies to see my wife walking about with a candle. But there's no hope of electrical power in these scattered villages. There's no money for starters."
"How have you learned so much about the history of this place?" Rutledge asked, curious.
"I married into the history, old man. My wife's family has lived in Letherington for at least five generations. My mother-in-law reminds me of that daily. Another reason I pine for Canterbury." He shrugged. "I met my wife there, in fact, and never dreamed she would expect to live in a house across the road from her mother, after we'd married."
"Any suggestions about Hensley's past or present that might lead me in the right direction?"
"To be truthful, I can't imagine who would have the gall to shoot Hensley. You might ask yourself if it was something to do with his cases in London. I've learned that he was involved with a number of inquiries there. One into a German waiter who was a spy. Or said to be a spy. I doubt that he was. But in 1914 people could find spies under their beds. And there was another case, I don't remember the ins and outs of it. But a man named Barstow, in the City, claimed he was burned out by his rivals. Everyone agreed it was a case of arson—what it took some time to determine was exactly who had set the fire. Barstow was looking to rebuild, and he had a taste for revenge. He'd burned his own place of business, and blamed it on his enemies. And they actually went to trial for it."
"I remember hearing about Barstow. Hensley was involved with that?"
"Possibly involved in it, more to the point. It was rumored that Hensley took bribes to look the other way. Bribes he was supposed to share with his superior. But he stoutly denied any such thing and was rewarded with Dudlington, a quiet backwater. Markham, the old constable, had just retired and gone to live with his daughter in Sussex."
And Hensley's superior at the time was then Chief Inspector Bowles.
Hamish was reminding Rutledge what Hensley had said in the hospital ward.
"Was it Old Bowels who sent you?"
And Bowles had been furiously angry about the attack on Hensley.
It wouldn't do to bring his name back to the attention of either the police or the newspapers, if there was any hint of scandal attached to his departure.
"What became of the file on Emma Mason?"
"Damned if I know. There's a good bit in my office, but not the whole of it. My predecessor in Letherington wasn't what you might call compelled to put every detail down on paper. I'd have thought Hensley kept some records of his own interviews."
Cain got stiffly to his feet. "I don't know much more about Dudlington's skeletons than you do. I relied on Hensley's experience when there were problems. I have a good constable in Fairfield and an even better sergeant in Letherington now, who see me through. Any help you can give me here will be appreciated. Come back in five years' time, and if I'm still here—God forfend!—I'll know my turf like the back of my hand."
"Where is your carriage?" Rutledge asked him at the door. "I didn't see it as I came in."
Cain grinned. "My constable's at The Oaks. He's very good at gossip. I depend
"How have you learned so much about the history of this place?" Rutledge asked, curious.
"I married into the history, old man. My wife's family has lived in Letherington for at least five generations. My mother-in-law reminds me of that daily. Another reason I pine for Canterbury." He shrugged. "I met my wife there, in fact, and never dreamed she would expect to live in a house across the road from her mother, after we'd married."
"Any suggestions about Hensley's past or present that might lead me in the right direction?"
"To be truthful, I can't imagine who would have the gall to shoot Hensley. You might ask yourself if it was something to do with his cases in London. I've learned that he was involved with a number of inquiries there. One into a German waiter who was a spy. Or said to be a spy. I doubt that he was. But in 1914 people could find spies under their beds. And there was another case, I don't remember the ins and outs of it. But a man named Barstow, in the City, claimed he was burned out by his rivals. Everyone agreed it was a case of arson—what it took some time to determine was exactly who had set the fire. Barstow was looking to rebuild, and he had a taste for revenge. He'd burned his own place of business, and blamed it on his enemies. And they actually went to trial for it."
"I remember hearing about Barstow. Hensley was involved with that?"
"Possibly involved in it, more to the point. It was rumored that Hensley took bribes to look the other way. Bribes he was supposed to share with his superior. But he stoutly denied any such thing and was rewarded with Dudlington, a quiet backwater. Markham, the old constable, had just retired and gone to live with his daughter in Sussex."
And Hensley's superior at the time was then Chief Inspector Bowles.
Hamish was reminding Rutledge what Hensley had said in the hospital ward.
"Was it Old Bowels who sent you?"
And Bowles had been furiously angry about the attack on Hensley.
It wouldn't do to bring his name back to the attention of either the police or the newspapers, if there was any hint of scandal attached to his departure.
"What became of the file on Emma Mason?"
"Damned if I know. There's a good bit in my office, but not the whole of it. My predecessor in Letherington wasn't what you might call compelled to put every detail down on paper. I'd have thought Hensley kept some records of his own interviews."
Cain got stiffly to his feet. "I don't know much more about Dudlington's skeletons than you do. I relied on Hensley's experience when there were problems. I have a good constable in Fairfield and an even better sergeant in Letherington now, who see me through. Any help you can give me here will be appreciated. Come back in five years' time, and if I'm still here—God forfend!—I'll know my turf like the back of my hand."
"Where is your carriage?" Rutledge asked him at the door. "I didn't see it as I came in."
Cain grinned. "My constable's at The Oaks. He's very good at gossip. I depend
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