POVERTY'S PRIDE

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

     ‘Sir Leopold, I knew Joshua Tucker very well,’ Mr Dunbar insisted. ‘He was my curate at the living I held in Bethnal Green, London.’

     Sir Leopold blustered. ‘There must be some confusion in identity...’ he began.

     Mr Dunbar looked grim. ‘No. Joshua was to take the living here in St Mary’s some nine months ago, but he was brutally murdered before he could do so.’

     Sir Leopold collapsed into his chair. ‘Murdered!’

     ‘Foully done to death by a man named James Gilbert for his identity and papers,’ Mr Dunbar affirmed. ‘The Justice Authorities have been searching for Gilbert ever since.’

‘I cannot believe it,’ Sir Leopold murmured. ‘This must be a mistake.’

‘Clearly, Gilbert has been deceiving you and the whole parish,’ Mr Dunbar said. ‘God only knows what harm he has done already. If he has officiated at any marriage ceremonies, for instance, they are null and void. Think what that means to innocent parishioners.’

     Sir Leopold felt his chest tightened and for a moment he was unable to draw breath. If he was not careful the consequences of this trickery by his bastard son, Gilbert would fall on him and crush him. A new scandal of this magnitude would be his complete ruin. He must do everything he could to turn it from his own door.

     At that moment, as though to mock him, the drawing-room door was flung back on its hinges and Cedric burst into the room.

     ‘Father!’ Cedric cried out in a loud voice. ‘Cynthia’s murderer has been exposed. It is the curate, Joshua Tucker.’

     Sir Leopold could only stare for a moment, fright and dismay, turning his flesh as cold as stone. He got to his feet unsteadily, to face this new threat.

     ‘It cannot be true,’ he said weakly. ‘There is some error.’

     Mr Dunbar turned to him. ‘You still have doubts, Sir Leopold, after I have just told you that James Gilbert is a killer?’

     ‘What?’ Cedric asked. ‘Who is this James Gilbert?’

     ‘He’s the man who murdered the real Joshua Tucker in London some months ago,’ Mr Dunbar said. ‘And has been impersonating him in Rhossili.’

     Cedric stared open-mouthed, speechless.

     ‘I am the Reverend Dunbar, sir,’ the clergyman said, holding out his hand. ‘I presume you are Mr Cedric Trevellian?’

Sir Leopold looked on as the two men shook hands. He felt ill. Never in is life had he felt so helpless. The situation was spilling out of control. Despite his fear he could not stand by and allow it to continue. Rallying he spoke up.

‘Mr Dunbar,’ he began. ‘The man in the village impersonating the curate may not be James Gilbert. We must not be hasty...’

‘Why are you defending him, Father?’ Cedric regarded him angrily.

Sir Leopold gazed at his son with a look akin to pleading. ‘The scandal...’ he almost whispered.

‘You concern yourself with scandal at a time like this?’ Cedric exclaimed. ‘My wife is dead; murdered. The killer must hang.’

 ‘It may not be he,’ Sir Leopold persisted desperately.

 ‘I understand your need to see justice done, Sir Leopold,’ the clergyman said grimly. ‘But the situation speaks for itself.’ He turned to Cedric. ‘I don’t know what motive he could have had for killing Mrs Trevellian but I believe it’s true. What proof have you, sir?’

Cedric explained the findings of Richard Whillowby and Twm Beynon.

Sir Leopold gathered his strength again in an attempt to control the situation. ‘Circumstantial, at best,’ he said dismissively. ‘I suggest we do nothing until after the funeral tomorrow. Then we can deal with the matter quietly. There must be no hew and cry.'

Mr Dunbar stared at him obviously surprised and appalled at this attitude. ‘There is a murderer at large in the village, Sir Leopold. He may learn of this investigation and take to his heels. He must be apprehended immediately.’

‘Whillowby and Beynon are at this moment visiting the Rectory,’ Cedric said quickly. ‘I propose we join them without delay.’

‘I’m with you,’ the clergyman said. ‘Joshua Tucker was my friend.’

Mr Dunbar and Cedric hastened to leave the room. Cedric glanced back when his father made no move to accompany them.

‘Father, are you not with us?’

‘No, I will remain here,’ Sir Leopold said. ‘I will have no part in this...witch-hunt.’

Cedric looked exasperated and then left.

Alone, Sir Leopold again sat in the chair. He could only stare about him powerlessly. Then he bowed his head in his hands and gave himself over to despair.