Page 37

“Good morning,” you say.

“Morning.”

“It was you, then?”

Henry nods, slowly. He doesn’t meet your eye.

“But why?” you ask.

Henry shrugs, and looks away. “Thought you’d like it.”

You feel as if you should press him for details, but your instinct is telling you that it would be cruel. Besides, you already know the answer. Henry left the flowers for you to find because you both love Havelock Harper’s mysteries, and he thought that you would enjoy solving a mystery of your own. You know that you should be angry at being so deceived, but you find that you are not. The flowers were ill-conceived, certainly—but something is telling you that Henry’s regard for you is sincere. Besides, he is right: You did enjoy the mystery.

Henry clears his throat, as if he is about to say something, but nothing emerges. You, too, feel as if you should say something, but you’re not sure what to say. It was always the same, with those athletic fellows at school: They would smile at you, and give you encouragement, and you would find your neck and cheeks burning, unable to find the words to return the kindness. You wonder, for the first time, if that is how Havelock makes Sebastian feel. You wonder if this is what love might be like.

Eventually, you say, “Shall we finish the story together?”

Henry looks you in the eye for the first time. “I’d like that very much.”

THE MYSTERY

OF

FARLEIGH FOREST

PART THREE

We gathered everyone together in the conservatory of Farleigh House. The trunk of the Duke still lay squarely through it, though we had taken pains to sweep away the worst of the glass. Everyone had come—Mary, Heather, Father Anker, Amake, the Ambassador, and, of course, the Duchess herself—though each seemed in different spirits. There was something of a funeral air to the gathering. Mary worked away at some stitching on one of the metal benches, only glancing up from time to time. Heather was stood in the doorway, arms firmly crossed. Father Anker had a teapot and some saucers, nervously pouring cups of tea that nobody seemed interested in taking. Amake stood with the Duke, gently tracing the words grown into his bark with the tips of her fingers. The Ambassador sat rigidly in a wicker chair, eyes locked on Havelock. And the Duchess watched us all—preferring to stand, despite how much it clearly pained her, in the light at the heart of the bright conservatory.

Havelock paced. He always preferred to pace when giving his denouement, and I caught his eye every time he passed me by. I had positioned myself at the rear of the conservatory, where the doors to the garden had long rusted open. There was a fresh wind curling through the forest, bringing with it rushing clouds of all shades. There might be rain.

At last, Havelock paused and raised a finger. Then, into the quiet, he said: “To begin to understand why the Duke has been felled, and by whom, we must first understand the forest. And to understand the forest, we need to go back more than two hundred years, to the very founding of Farleigh. I am sure you are all acquainted with the old tale about the Duke of Farleigh’s Stone Library. Here, then, is the true version of that story. I am certain that some among you know elements of this already, but it bears recounting in full.”

Everyone in the conservatory grew still.

“I have read much about Rudolph Ruxton over the past few days, and most of what I have read suggests that he was mostly overlooked by his family, and that he preferred it that way,” Havelock began. “He had been born in Ruxton House, in Exeter, while his father and elder brother were off journeying around the world. His father and brother only occasionally returned to England in order to further strengthen the family coffers, and Rudolph never saw them, even then. His mother had died shortly after his birth, and his nannies and tutors were uniformly disinterested in raising him, rendering him quite a solitary figure. He was a quiet child, who grew up to be a quiet young man, and his chief recourse in the world was his books and his faith.

“Ruxton House was maintained around Rudolph, his only contributions being to the library, which slowly grew under his care. For Rudolph was a collector—specifically, of theological writings. He collected writings on the Bible, writings on matters of Christian faith, and writings on some of the more eccentric elements of theology—indulging in texts that explored astrology, and even alchemy. He sent for books from all across England and farther afield, and from time to time ventured beyond Ruxton House to purchase a particular tome in person. The world he saw beyond his carriage windows disappointed him, and he was always glad to return to his books and the gentle quiet of his enormous, empty estate.

“The year was 1690 when Rudolph finally met his father.

“Martin Ruxton was a shrewd man. His role in the growth of the East India Company is well documented. His policies were ruthless, and his results spoke for themselves. As treasurer, he found clever ways of squeezing yet more profits out of the company’s interests. While managing the company’s outposts, he is recorded to have suffered no losses to piracy. As company director, he ushered in a new age—mercilessly exploiting the Continent and amassing tremendous wealth and influence. When he was finally deposed—by a man yet more ruthless than he—he returned to England with an estate so enriched that he presented something of a problem for the Crown. They would have to give him a title, but doing so would expose them to his politics, and the newly Jacobite king had no desire to put such a fervently Protestant influence in his court.

“So, this is what the King did: He made Martin Ruxton the Duke of Farleigh.

“At that time, Farleigh was little more than a modest monastery, with a small village to support it. It was remote, and unremarkable, and certainly did not warrant a duchy. If Martin went to court with his new title, he would be humiliated. That is: unless he poured his money and influence into Farleigh, making it a new and thriving English city. This was the Crown’s offering: Martin would be given a title befitting his influence, but he would only be able to wield it if his duchy were a success. Furious, but unable to do anything with his fury except invest it, Martin began building. First, he would need a new house, befitting his title. Then—he would need to build the one piece of architecture that could put his new duchy on the map. Farleigh was going to need a cathedral, and an impressive one.

“Farleigh House was finished in less than three years. Martin poured money into the labour of it, and the walls rose in mere months. Continuing at this pace, Farleigh would have a cathedral in less than a decade. His second son, Rudolph, arrived during the laying of the cathedral foundations, only having been aware of his father’s situation in a sort of offhand way. The village was now a town, housing all manner of labourers, and the monastery had two new buildings, and several acres of the forest had been razed for its materials. Stone had begun to arrive—enormous blocks of it, imported from Italy, for the building of the cathedral. It would command a tremendous view up beside the monastery, and the architect’s designs were lavish. It promised to be a true monument.

“Rudolph’s first meeting with his father would be his last. Martin Ruxton, the newly titled Duke of Farleigh, paced the halls of Farleigh House with disinterest, showing his second son this room and that room. Rudolph was commanded to occupy Farleigh House and oversee the building of the cathedral while Martin was away, tending to his interests in London. Martin would return every other month or so, of course—but Farleigh required oversight. A steady hand—Martin emphasised, clearly disappointed in his quiet second son—was needed to keep everything on schedule. Then, with the sweep of his cloak and the clattering of his coach, Martin was gone, and Rudolph was left alone in Farleigh House, with his new responsibilities in place.

“In the end, the cathedral did not require much oversight at all. The foreman was an efficient man, made yet more efficient by his extremely generous salary. Rudolph remained at Farleigh House and sent for his books, which arrived safely day by day, much to his relief. He spent his time arranging and cataloguing his new library, and trying his best to ignore everything else that was happening around him. More stone arrived, and Rudolph read his books, and then, quite suddenly, both his father and his elder brother died.

“It was said to be a hunting accident. A horse had bolted, and a rifle had misfired, and Rudolph, all at once, was the Duke of Farleigh, having inherited a fortune that was absolutely beyond his comprehension. At first—he did nothing. He continued reading his books, and overseeing the construction of the cathedral, and living as he always had—the forgotten second son of a powerful man. Only when the summons from the Crown became insistent did he finally make his way to London.

“Rudolph’s time in court is barely documented. There are a few notes here and there about the new Duke of Farleigh, mostly accompanied with withering observations. It is recorded that the King was relieved to meet him, and see in him absolutely no threat. Rudolph was a harmless eccentric without a single tie to the Protestant church—happy to confirm his fealty to the Crown and return home without fuss. It is, however, clear that something happened in London that affected him profoundly.

“One report says that Rudolph spent time in St. Paul’s Cathedral, and believed that he had been spoken to by the divine. Another says that he was recruited by an influential guild of alchemists and astrologers, trying to regain a foothold in England in the same way that the Catholic church recently had. Either way—when Rudolph returned to Farleigh, he returned inspired. For the first time, he seemed to realise that it was his responsibility to build a cathedral, and that its precise character was for him to shape. Rudolph was, after all, and despite his eccentricity, a man of faith, and now that he knew that his cathedral could be a monument to his faith, he got to work.