Murder and the Scottish Play: Agnes Bell Murder Mysteries, #2

By Roger Butters

Murder and the Scottish Play

The Second Agnes Bell Murder Mystery

Agnes Bell, alter ego of Anne Brontë, is now back in her native Yorkshire, employed at Miss Wilkinson's Deer House School for Young Ladies at Thorsby, and surprised to receive from her impregnably respectable superior a request to take part in a local theatrical production, including a scene from Macbeth. At once excited and slightly unnerved by the prospect, Miss Bell makes the acquaintance of Mr Gervase Keene, the famous Shakespearean actor from London, who has kindly condescended to take part by way of a favour to his friend Mr Hatfield, chairman of the governors of Deer House.

Meanwhile tragedy strikes Thorsby in the shape of a brutal murder. Shocked by the incompetence of the local policeman, Miss Bell decides to look into the matter herself. Her investigation leads her deep into the world of the 'Fancy': those involved in the sleazy sub-culture of mid-nineteenth century prize-fighting. And indeed, Miss Bell proves no mean fighter herself!

Though unable to prevent a second murder, and in imminent peril of her life, the indomitable Miss Bell finally succeeds in discovering the truth, and ensuring that the murderer is brought to justice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roger Butters
• Release date: Oct 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393217541

Roger Butters

Roger Butters is a native of Stafford, where he still lives. At various times, he has tried his hand at aviation, owning racehorses, and Shotokan Karate. Altogether he has published over a dozen novels.

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The Second Agnes Bell Murder Mystery

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Roger Butters

Copyright © 2019 Roger Butters.

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The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of research or private study, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, with the prior permission of the publisher.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

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ISBN

Cover by Andy Gibson.

Principal Characters

Staff and pupils at Deer House School for Young Ladies

at Thorsby, near Donmore, in the West Riding of Yorkshire

Miss Wilkinson, headmistress

Hannah Kersh, her deputy

Agnes Bell, assistant mistress

Judith Stott, a senior pupil

Angela Hare   )

Jennifer Teazle  ) junior pupils

Amy Braithwaite  )

Members of the Crumblehulme Choral Society

Robert Hatfield, chairman of governors at Deer House

Mr Renshaw, organist

Dr Appleby, conductor

Mr Dale, stage manager

Miss Beardsley, prompter

Mr Ramsbottom, landlord of the Plume of Feathers Inn

Other Locals

Jabez Noakes, ostler at the Plume of Feathers

Mr Jacques, estate agent

The Fancy

Ishmael Tarleton, American prize fighter

Silas Redfern, his manager

Edward ‘Duke’ Arundell, his sparring partner

Nathaniel Holderness, prize fighter, of Leeds

Jack Bennett, his manager

Eliza Lupton, Holderness’s girl

Harry Stott, brother to Judith Stott

The Police

Fraser Mitchell, sergeant, Metropolitan Police, Scotland Yard

Benjamin Cunliffe )

Brough  ) constables, West Riding Police

Jeffries   )

Visitors to Thorsby

Gervase Keene, actor and friend of Mr Hatfield

Richard Tyrrell, solicitor and friend of Miss Bell

Prologue

LETTER from Agnes Bell, assistant mistress at Deer House School, Thorsby, near Donmore, in the West Riding of Yorkshire, to her friend Richard Tyrrell, Solicitor, of 14 Castletown Road, Churchfield, in the County of Midshire:

‘Monday, 8th May, 1843

Dear Mr. Tyrrell,

I promised to write and let you know so soon as I was settled in my new situation, and must apologize for my tardiness, but I have been so very busy of late. I have to say that everything here seems to suit me very well, far better than my former post with the Lightfoots, not, as I am sure you will agree, that that would be so very difficult.

Deer House is beautifully situated upon the moors, in broken woodland about half a mile east of the hamlet of Thorsby, and scarcely fifteen miles from my home, to which my thoughts so often return. As you know, having spent all my life in the West Riding save for a few months, I never felt truly at home in Midshire. Even here I am not entirely immune from the occasional pang of nostalgia, albeit to nothing like the same extent as formerly. You know me well enough, I am sure, to appreciate that a serious flaw in my character, which I try constantly to eradicate, is a tendency towards despondency and depression of spirit. I must confess that even in this ‘temple of delight, veiled melancholy has’ (occasionally) ‘her sovran shrine,’ but so far I flatter myself that I have managed to keep this weakness under control.

The school here is quite small, with fourteen boarders, mostly from Donmore and the surrounding area, and eight daygirls, who live in the nearby village of Crumblehulme. Apart from myself, the teaching staff consists simply of the principal mistress, Miss Wilkinson, and her deputy, Miss Kersh. Miss Wilkinson is a maiden lady of about fifty, rather severe in manner, but I think fundamentally kind-hearted. At all events, she has taken great pains to make my stay here, as a new member of staff, a happy one. Miss Kersh is younger, I should guess about thirty, and to speak frankly, not greatly to my taste, being inclined rather towards coldness and sarcasm, especially when dealing with the girls. It has always appeared to me that young persons, particularly perhaps girls, during their formative years, require constant encouragement and understanding, rather than harsh criticism of their efforts. Of course I cannot deny that there is a place for discipline, the deplorable results of its lack having been so evident in the Lightfoot children, but Miss Kersh appears to me to veer rather towards the Scylla of severity than the Charibdys of undue lenience. Doubtless I have already begun to tire you with my views about such matters. You will recall, I am sure, that in some ways I can be a difficult person to please.

On the third day after my arrival, I had the pleasure of meeting the Chairman of Governors, the Reverend Robert Hatfield. He is the incumbent at Crumblehulme, unmarried, which of course is the exception for one entrusted with a parish of his own, and most popular locally, especially (as in the circumstances is hardly surprising) with the ladies. He is a much younger man than I had expected, very affable and friendly, indeed I am tempted to say, not like a clergyman at all. His attitude towards me was however but one example of the general friendliness I have encountered on all sides (I exclude Miss Kersh) since my arrival. Indeed I cannot recall having been tempted to have a cross word with anyone.

For the most part I am employed in the instruction of girls of age nine and under, in such basic matters as the scriptures, reading, writing, arithmetic, and deportment. Occasionally I have the opportunity of teaching the great girls French, German and sketching, subjects in which Miss Kersh feels herself unqualified. Everything seems in complete contrast to my experiences at Trent Lodge, there being here but one pupil out of twenty-two who is recalcitrant, compared with three out of three in my former employment. All that is lacking to make my happiness complete is a companion of my own age with whom I could converse upon terms of intimacy, but I find this no great hardship, being able to visit home occasionally at a weekend, besides which, as you know, I am well used to my own company.

You will be glad also to learn that my health is much improved, indeed after only three weeks here I am positively glowing, and you would scarcely recognize me as the frail creature you knew at Churchfield. I sometimes even go so far as to join with the great girls in their games of battledore and volley-ball, which I find myself able to do without undue physical distress. Doubtless the milder weather is in large measure responsible, indeed the moors are at their loveliest at this time of year, and I find my spirits higher than for many months. Thus far I can hardly believe my good fortune. It all seems too good to be true ...’

I

NEXT morning, as she stood supervising her pupils during the mid-morning break, Miss Bell still found herself worrying over the second and third words of her letter. ‘Dear Mr Tyrrell’ had sounded extremely formal, but she was not at all sure that she was yet ready to address him as ‘Dear Richard,’ thereby possibly encouraging him in any hopes he might retain. For which reason she now felt that the wistful reference to the lack of a companion might have been unwise. On the other hand, not wanting to discourage him either, she was inclined to regret her reference to not having felt at home in Midshire.

Returning to the form of address, although at his request she had called him ‘Richard’ at their last meeting, she had not felt altogether comfortable when doing so. Somehow she always thought of him as Mr Tyrrell. Perhaps that was a bad sign. In the last century it might have been otherwise, but in these informal times one surely did not think of a potential husband by his surname.

To her relief his recent letter to her had similarly begun ‘Dear Miss Bell.’ The content had likewise been eminently sensible; intimate and friendly, without becoming emotional, which she had rather feared, despite his promise to the contrary. So really he could hardly object to her addressing him as ‘Dear Mr Tyrrell,’ especially as any compromise form of address would have been impossible. ‘Dear Richard Tyrrell’ sounded most odd, whilst ‘Dear Tyrrell’ would have been simply absurd, smacking as it did of a communication between one middle-aged gentleman and another.

She liked Mr Tyrrell very much. Indeed had circumstances been otherwise, marriage to him would have seemed a most attractive prospect. He was good-looking without being too handsome (Miss Bell distrusted excessively handsome men, believing them all vain), comfortably off, and a perfect gentleman. Her family, particularly her father, would have approved. Indeed, from the little she had let slip about him, they had seemed uncharacteristically enthusiastic, at times to the point of causing her the very embarrassment he had so scrupulously avoided.

More important than that, he was good-natured and easy-going. She had never seen him even mildly annoyed. Or just the once: when that unspeakable man had been threatening her last January. ‘It’d be worth swinging for you,’ he had said, and Mr Tyrrell, she remembered with a tingle of pleasure, had replied, ‘If you kill her, you needn’t worry about the hangman. I’ll see to you myself.’ After that there had been a struggle, and Mr Tyrrell had knocked him down. That was another thing: he was brave, and could take care of himself. Miss Bell liked that too. Last, but certainly not least, he was in love with her. Of that, despite her lack of experience of the opposite sex, she was absolutely certain.

The problem had been that other easy-going young man, Johnny Waite, cruelly snatched from her by an attack of cholera last September. Compared with him, even Mr Tyrrell, for all his admirable qualities, seemed no better than second-rate. Or did he? Occasionally it occurred to Miss Bell that she might be using Johnny Waite, and her loyalty to his memory, to postpone making a decision about Mr Tyrrell, and for that matter her future generally. For the time being it suited her to have him writing to her, but no more. Amongst other advantages, the occasional reference to Mr Tyrrell, accompanied by a hint that they might be more than friends, would be useful should she need to fend off any inconvenient masculine attention here at Thorsby. For Miss Bell had recently come to realize that she was neither as plain nor as emotionally impregnable as she had once thought.

When Miss Wilkinson had interviewed her before her employment, she had naturally enquired from Miss Bell whether she had ‘a young man.’ The ideal answer, Miss Bell suspected, would have been ‘No,’ but her hesitation had betrayed her, so she had explained that she knew someone she was fond of, and that they kept in touch by letter. In fact she had rather enjoyed admitting as much, for whilst Miss Bell was apprehensive regarding any intimate relationship with a member of the opposite sex, the role of potential old maid did not appeal to her either. Upon hearing that the gentleman in question was a solicitor, and therefore no doubt an eminently respectable person, Miss Wilkinson had been satisfied, and only too happy to offer Miss Bell her present post.

It was a pity, thought Miss Bell, suddenly impatient with herself, that on a beautiful May morning out of doors she had nothing better to do than retreat into her own thoughts. The girls, most of them, knew better, taking advantage not only of the weather but the lenient supervision of Miss Bell, on duty this week in place of Miss Kersh. The little ones were scampering about playing tag to the accompaniment of shrill laughter, the older girls for the most part talking in animated groups. All save one: the thin dark figure of Judith Stott sat apart, on the low stone wall surrounding the courtyard, gazing out unseeingly over Hartfield Moor. Miss Bell was worried about her, for the one recalcitrant pupil in twenty-two to whom she had referred in her letter had not always been so. For the first few days she had been not only a good pupil, intelligent and quick to learn, but cheerful and carefree, the very sort of girl, in fact, that Miss Bell would like to have been herself. Now she was permanently sulky and preoccupied; evidently worried about something she did not care to divulge to Miss Bell, despite her tactful enquiry. In view of the girl’s age, fourteen, there was an obvious physical explanation for her problems, yet Miss Bell did not think it was entirely that. Her last approach to Judith, however, had been rebuffed so brusquely that she was reluctant to try again for the time being. It would be best to leave it another week.

‘Miss Bell.’

There was an almost inaudible voice at her side from a tiny figure in a pinafore. Angela Hare, smallest girl in the school, was standing looking up at her.

‘Yes, Angela?’

‘Miss Wilkinson would like to see you in her room, please, Miss Bell.’

‘Thank you, Angela. I’ll come at once.’

*

MISS Bell tapped on the door and entered, stifling the slight feeling of apprehension she invariably felt when summoned to the principal’s study. For Miss Wilkinson, although treating her kindly enough, and certainly a vast improvement upon Miss Bell’s previous employers, could nevertheless be a rather intimidating person. She sat at her leather-covered mahogany desk, back ramrod-straight, the shiny black silk of her dress stretched tight across her ample frontage.

‘Ah, Miss Bell.’ Miss Wilkinson peered at her over the top of her glasses. To Miss Bell this made her seem rather less intimidating than before. It was a trick her father was wont to use so as to impress parishioners with his authority and erudition. ‘Sit down.’

Behind the headmistress the blinds were hooked back from the bare window, Miss Wilkinson being a firm believer in the beneficial qualities of sunshine and fresh air. On a day like this, curtains would have been usual, but in common with many others, the authorities of Deer House believed that draperies of any sort posed a fire hazard to the young. Squinting a little in the glare of an inconvenient sunbeam, Miss Bell perched on the edge of her seat and waited.

There followed a surprisingly long pause before Miss Wilkinson spoke again, during which time Miss Bell’s trepidation increased to the point of speculating whether she had been guilty of some unsuspected dereliction of duty. Being inclined to pessimism, she even allowed the thought to cross her mind that she might be about to be dismissed as unsuitable, her brief happiness here proving to be an illusion born of wishful thinking.

‘Yes.’ The principal of Deer House seldom used ‘yes,’ or any other word, without particular meaning. The fact that she now did so suggested unusual indecision as to how to proceed. ‘I believe you have met Mr Hatfield, the Chairman of Governors?’

‘Yes, Miss Wilkinson.’ Miss Bell briefly considered adding something like, ‘a very nice gentleman,’ but decided that from one of her humble rank, even such harmless approval might sound presumptuous.

‘He has had an idea,’ said Miss Wilkinson. ‘A very ... interesting idea.’ She paused again. Faced with such uncharacteristic vacillation, and doubtful of what response was expected, Miss Bell opted for silence, and perusal of the tiny grains of dust floating randomly in the sunbeam. At least her worst fears seemed likely to be groundless.

‘You are of course aware, Miss Bell, that some of our gairls’ (Miss Wilkinson invariably used the old-fashioned pronunciation) ‘will be taking part in next month’s charity concert to be held by the Crumblehulme and District Amateur Choral Society?’

Any fears regarding her future finally dispelled, Miss Bell replied in relief, ‘Yes, Miss Wilkinson. On the tenth of June, is it not?’

‘Quite so. It is styled as a Midsummer Concert. A little early for absolute accuracy, perhaps - they usually hold it a fortnight later - but that is the date which has been decided.’

Miss Bell nodded, still uncertain of what was coming next.

‘As a rule it takes place in St Michael’s Parish Church Hall at Crumblehulme, but this year it has been decided to hold it in our assembly rooms here at Deer House. Mr Hatfield - being as you probably know, not only our chairman but a prominent member of the choral society - considers that the school might play a more active part in the concert than in previous years.’

‘You wish me to help, Miss Wilkinson?’

‘Indeed.’ The headmistress still seemed somewhat at a loss, looking down at her desk and fiddling with a steel pen.  ‘I ... that is, Mr Hatfield, as I say, has had an idea, one which quite frankly appears to me more than a little heterodox, if not without a certain interest.’

Miss Bell was torn between admiration for the splendid word ‘heterodox,’ (anyone else would have said ‘unorthodox,’ but Miss Wilkinson resolutely refused to mingle classical and Teutonic roots even in speech) and the nature of Mr Hatfield’s interesting idea. Scarcely less intriguing was the question why her superior was taking so long to come to the point.

‘The idea is,’ Miss Wilkinson continued, finally grasping the nettle, ‘that this year the structure of the event should be altered somewhat, to include not merely choral items, but sketches and monologues, both of a serious and humorous description. There might also be’ - Miss Wilkinson came as near to a shudder as her ample frame permitted - ‘comic songs. In other words, it it planned that the event should partake somewhat of the nature of ... an entertainment.’

No less than her superior, Miss Bell regarded the prospect with mixed feelings. In both cases she imagined that their unease centred upon what Miss Wilkinson had alluded to as the ‘items of a humorous description.’ The headmistress was doubtless apprehensive that they might contain material unsuitable for the ears of young ladies. A generation younger, and brought up in the rough-and-ready surroundings of an industrial village, Miss Bell was inclined to doubt whether any young lady had ever been corrupted by overhearing the occasional coarse jest. Indeed, she recognized that most of her class and sex, including herself, were often shielded overmuch from the earthier realities of life. So far as the entertainment was concerned, her misgivings tended to be of an aesthetic rather than a moral nature. Being a Yorkshire girl did not mean that she necessarily found all the humorous offerings of her native county excruciatingly funny, and the prospect of an evening of ee-bah-gummery filled her with dismay.

‘I am sure your concern is the same as mine,’ continued Miss Wilkinson, correctly identifying the source of Miss Bell’s apprehension, if not its cause. ‘It is naturally most important that the material used should contain nothing, should I say, offensive to the understanding of young gairls. For that reason I have insisted upon being provided in advance with a full script of the proposed entertainment, so as to assure myself that it contains nothing which might be construed as being of an indelicate nature.’

‘Quite so,’ murmured Miss Bell demurely.

‘At any rate, Miss Bell, I thought it best to acquaint you fully with the governors’ plans, for fear that some garbled account of what is proposed should come to your ears. It will, I can assure you, be entirely proper. I shall see to that.’ Miss Wilkinson pursed her lips and braced her formidable bosom. Miss Bell surmised that the whole proposal had not gone through without valiant opposition on her part, and a good deal of compromise by Mr Hatfield. From the sound of things, Miss Bell reflected in relief, she would not be required actually to do anything herself. Her superior was simply acquainting her with what was intended, for fear that she might hear about it from other quarters, and imagine that it constituted some dreadful debauch. But Miss Wilkinson’s next words put an end to such hopes.

‘Of course, Miss Bell, I realize that a young lady of delicate sensibilities might find what is planned a little daring, not to say distasteful.’ ‘A young lady of delicate sensibilities,’ thought Miss Bell, sounded rather like a foolish man talking down to her. She could not recall a woman having used such an expression before. ‘However, despite my - ah - misgivings in certain respects, I should nevertheless very much appreciate it if you were to assist in the entertainment.’

Miss Bell was puzzled. ‘You would like me to take some part in the organization, Miss Wilkinson?’

‘Oh dear, no. I should not dream of imposing such a burden upon you. In any case I understand that Mr Hatfield and Dr Appleby, the Chairman of the Choral Society, will be attending to all such matters. No, what I had in mind was that you might be prepared to participate in the performance.’

For a moment of blind panic Miss Bell was seized with the insane fear that she was to be required to sing a comic song. This, along with maiming a horse, touching a dead bird, or taking all her clothes off in public, constituted one of the comparatively few things of which she knew herself to be incapable in any circumstances whatever, even if her life were to depend on it. She had an adequate voice, and indeed had sung in company once or twice, but a comic song ... Almost as hopeless, if less overtly embarrassing, she might be required to write one. Miss Wilkinson would doubtless trust her not to include any matter unsuited for the ears of young gairls. This was more than could be claimed for Miss Bell, who, whilst she considered herself strait-laced enough, was positively broadminded compared with her superior. There was no telling what sort of harmless frivolity might meet with official disapproval.

Miss Wilkinson cleared her throat. ‘I am well aware from your duties here, Miss Bell, that you are familiar with the works of the - ah - Bard of Avon.’ Such circumlocution was not characteristic, and just went to show how deeply the whole affair must have disturbed her.

‘I have read most of Shakespeare’s plays, yes.’ She might have added that she would have preferred not having to teach the girls from Mr Bowdler’s rather foolish edition, which was the only one Miss Wilkinson would permit to be used.

‘It has been decided that one or two extracts from his works’ (in Miss Wilkinson’s ethic, ‘works’ were more respectable than ‘plays’), ‘would not be out of place. Furthermore, the governors considered the possibility that some of the gairls might be prevailed upon to take part, along with yourself, naturally.’

Miss Bell’s interest was stirred. A part in one of Shakespeare’s plays might be quite enjoyable, so long as it was not one of his silly comedies, or based upon some travesty by Mr Bowdler. Her only misgivings were centred upon the ability of Deer House School to stage such an ambitious undertaking convincingly.

‘Of course, there is a problem that will doubtless have occurred to you, namely that male parts in Shakespeare’s works heavily outnumber those for females. And although I am aware that it was how the plays were originally performed, personally I never find the portrayal of one sex by the other altogether convincing, or much to my taste.’

‘I entirely agree,’ said Miss Bell truthfully.

‘I am glad to say that in that respect the governors agreed with me. It was decided to perform an extract from one of the comparatively few scenes in which female actors predominate. I refer to Act Four, Scene One, of Macbeth.’

‘One of the witches’ scenes?’

‘Precisely so. I have been perusing the text, and it appears in all respects admirably