Til Death Do Us Part

by Sara Fraser

  ‘Well if that’s the case, then I’ll need some rhino,’ Kent grunted sullenly. ‘Paying court to the Irish bitch has fairly skint me.’

  ‘And paying for your drinking and gambling and whoring is fairly skinning me,’ Courtney scowled. ‘So I’ve already arranged for you to be fed and watered at the lodgings. You won’t be having any more of my money to waste until you earn it.’ He hesitated then gritted out, ‘I’m warning you now, Cousin, that if you don’t keep away from the drink and stop gambling and whoring, then you and I will be parting company. I can easily find a replacement for you, but without me you would starve.’

  He turned and walked away.

  After a few seconds Kent went in the opposite direction, seething with impotent anger.

  ‘I’ve had a bellyful of his arrogance. Who the Hell does he think he is, lording it over me as he does. I’m his kinsman, not a hired hand. He’s got the easy role in this work. It’s me who has to suffer being wed to ugly old bitches. And now, the first time I’m actually enjoying fucking a mark, he’s telling me that I’ve got to split from her straight away, and sit twiddling my thumbs in some stinking lodging house with no money in my pockets! Well, fuck him!’

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Beoley Village

  Saturday, 23rd February

  Afternoon

  Since their first meeting, Walter Courtney had visited the Creswell home almost daily. During each visit he and the two women had prayed fervently at George Creswell’s bedside; and he was now regarded as a dear friend and trusted confidant by both Phoebe Creswell and Pammy Mallot. He had garnered many details of the money, properties and land that Phoebe Creswell would inherit on her father’s death, and had now decided that it was time to progress to the next stage of his plan.

  It had snowed intermittently all through this day and, with the hour of darkness imminent, Walter Courtney rose up from his fireside chair and announced to the two women sitting with him, ‘It’s time I was leaving, my dears, before full nightfall is upon us.’

  Phoebe pointed to the snow-flecked window, and protested, ‘You can’t go out into that weather, Geraint, it’s snowing hard again. You must stay here for the night.’

  ‘Regretfully I can’t do that, my dears; I have charitable tasks to complete in Feckenham this evening.’

  ‘But the roads will all be blocked by the snow, Geraint,’ Phoebe insisted.

  ‘You could get stuck and freeze to death,’ Pammy Mallot declared.

  ‘I know that is a possibility, my dears, but I have trust in our Lord. He will undoubtedly keep me safe as I struggle through the snow and ice.’

  ‘But He cannot prevent us from worrying ourselves half to death about you!’ Phoebe Creswell seemed near to tears.

  ‘Geraint! How can you be so heartless and unfeeling as to put us through this worriting over you? You’d oughter be ashamed o’ yourself!’ Pammy Mallot was driven to heated protest at the sight of her beloved Phoebe’s distress.

  An expression of distress creased Courtney’s features and he uttered brokenly, ‘Indeed at this moment I truly am bitterly ashamed that I could have upset either of you in any way whatsoever! I beg you both to forgive me! It’s only that I cannot bear the thought of causing the extra work and trouble in caring for me to be added to all your other terrible burdens.’

  ‘But it’s not trouble at all, Geraint. It’ll be our pleasure, won’t it, Pammy?’

  ‘O’ course it ’ull! Now I’ll not hear another “No” from you, Geraint. You’m stopping here with us this night, and that’s all there is to it.’

  ‘Then with all my heart I most gratefully accept your kind invitation, my dears. Let us kneel and give thanks to the Lord for our friendship, which is most surely blessed by Him.’

  They all knelt and Courtney’s sonorous tones filled the room as he thanked God long and passionately for blessing them with their close friendship. As he uttered the final ‘Amen’, the clock chimed and Pammy Mallot exclaimed in dismay, ‘Oh my word, is that the time? The master needs to have his food! And his ointment rubbed in for his sciatica. I’se got a score of other jobs needs doing as well!’ She clambered stiffly to her feet and the others rose with her.

  ‘Thanks be to our Lord!’ Courtney declaimed joyfully. ‘For vouchsafing the selfish wretch that is myself this opportunity to be of some use to you, my dears.’

  The women stared at him in puzzlement, and he chuckled warmly as he told them, ‘It shall be my great pleasure both to feed the master, and to apply his sciatica salve, and by doing so, to free your good selves to carry out your other tasks.’ He waved his hands in the air as if to fend off any protests. ‘No! I’ll not be gainsaid in this matter. You and I shall go to the kitchen this instant, Pammy, and you shall equip me with the necessary items to give the master his sustenance, and apply his sciatica salve. Please don’t stop me doing this for you; it will give me so much happiness to be of some service to my two newest and dearest friends.’

  Within scant minutes Courtney was carrying a laden tray into the sick man’s bedroom.

  George Creswell appeared to be sleeping, lying on his back, eyes closed, toothless mouth gaped wide, breath rasping.

  Courtney quietly placed the tray on the bedside table and took a small pot and a pair of leather gloves from his pockets. While he stared down at the other man’s gaunt, grey-skinned, stubbled features, he pulled on the gloves and opened the pot. Smiling broadly he gently shook the sleeping man’s shoulder, and equally gently exhorted him, ‘Wake up, Master Creswell. Wake up now. I’m come to give you your supper, my dear Sir, but first I shall soothe the pains of the sciatica that afflicts you.’

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Warwick

  Saturday, 23rd February

  Night

  Sylvan Kent had called in at several wayside taverns on his way back to Warwick, but the copious drinks he had imbibed had done nothing to soothe his foul mood. He was penniless and aggressively drunk when he rode into the yard of the livery stable where he was keeping his horse. As he dismounted a stable-hand came and took the horse’s reins from him.

  ‘My boss wants a word wi’ you, Sir.’

  ‘What about?’ Kent slurred.

  ‘Oh, he’d sooner tell you that hisself, Sir.’ The stable-hand spoke over his shoulder as he led the horse away. ‘He’s in the office.’

  Kent went to the main building and, without knocking, entered the lamplit office to find the owner sitting at his desk.

  ‘Your man told me you wanted a word.’

  ‘That’s right.’ The owner rose to his feet and came past Kent to shout out of the door. ‘Get in here, lads!’

  With a clattering of iron-shod boots on the cobbles men came running across the yard.

  ‘Listen, I’ve got important business to attend to, so make haste and tell me what you want,’ Kent snarled.

  Two big, tough-looking men came through the office door as the owner said, ‘I want my money.’

  ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ Kent demanded aggressively. ‘I paid you three sovereigns in advance for stabling and feed this very morning, didn’t I!’

  The owner cast three coins at Kent’s feet. ‘You paid with shoful, you bloody macer!’

  Kent was taken aback. Shoful! Counterfeit money!

  The previous night, when Ella Peelson had fallen into a drunken slumber after their love-making, he had searched through the drawers of her room and discovered a purse full of gold sovereigns. Expecting to get money from Courtney with which to replace them he had taken six of the coins.

  ‘I didn’t know it was counterfeit!’ he blurted. ‘I swear I didn’t!’

  ‘Don’t give me that shit!’ the owner growled. ‘If just one of them had been shoful, I might have believed you. But all three of them is too much for me to swallow. I’ve a mind to send for the constables and turn you in, you cheating bastard.’

  The threat roused Kent to desperation, and if he and the owner had been alone he would have turned violent. But
he knew he would stand no chance against three men, so he tried to bluff his way out of his predicament.

  ‘Look here, I’m a senior officer in the army of the East India Company, and I really am telling the truth about not knowing this money was counterfeit. But to atone for this unfortunate incident, I’ll compensate you for your trouble!’

  The other man’s eyes narrowed as he considered this offer, and emboldened by the fact that the man was considering it, Kent went on.

  ‘I don’t fear facing the constables because I am an officer and gentleman of the Honourable Company, and its Court of Directors will vouch for my unblemished character. What troubles me is the fact that I am so dreadfully embarrassed not to have realized that these coins were counterfeit at the very moment I received them. It makes me appear to be an absolute donkey.’ He managed to force a rueful smile. ‘In fact I was an absolute donkey, wasn’t I; and to punish myself for my own stupidity, I’ll give you ten sovereigns in compensation.’

  The owner held out his palm. ‘Alright.’

  ‘I’ll have to pay you on Monday.’ Kent again forced a rueful smile. ‘I’ve been enjoying a day of reunion with old comrades and have spent all the money I had with me. Unfortunately the nearest offices of the agents of the Honourable Company are in Birmingham, and there will be no one there until Monday next. But I can draw from my account there on that same morning and make my payment here on that same afternoon.’

  ‘Make sure you do.’ The owner frowned. ‘Or from first thing Tuesday morning your horse and tack will be up for sale to the first buyer, whether it’s a fair price or not.’

  He paused to let Kent absorb that information, then jerked his head in dismissal. ‘Now get off the premises, and I’d best warn you that my night-watchman uses his blunderbuss against intruders, and he don’t stop to ask if they’re officers and gentlemen.’

  ‘Then I shall take care only to return here in the broad daylight of Monday afternoon. Good night to you all, gentlemen.’ Kent smiled confidently, and the men stepped aside to let him go through the door.

  As he exited the yard and was enveloped in darkness, his smile metamorphosed into a worried grimace.

  ‘Fuckin’ shoful! How could I have been so fuckin’ stupid? I should have expected that being wed to a bit-faker she’d have some fuckin’ shoful in the house! What do I do now? What?’

  The memory of his cousin’s warning sharpened his desperation.

  ‘He’ll go mad if I lose the horse. It could be the finish for me and him, and then what will I do to earn a living?’

  By the time he reached the house his desperation was at fever pitch, his nerves strained to their utmost, and his craving for more drink all-consuming.

  It was Ella Peelson who answered the door to his knocking and he asked, ‘Why are you come to the door? Where’s Milly?’

  ‘She’s not here. Where have you been all day? Have you got the license?’ Her words were slurred, her breath stank of gin, and aggression was seething in her.

  ‘No.’ He shook his head.

  ‘Why not?’ she demanded.

  ‘Don’t keep me standing on the doorstep, woman!’ he snapped curtly and an urge to smash his fist into her face almost overcame him. ‘I need a drink.’

  ‘Don’t you take that tone with me; I’m not one of your nigger soldiers!’ Her voice shook with rage. ‘You’ve got some questions to answer, my fine bucko! Why haven’t you got the license?’

  ‘Just let me pass, damn you!’

  He pushed her aside, strode into the drawing room, poured himself a full glass of gin from the bottle on the sideboard, and drained the glass in two gulps.

  She slammed the front door shut and came into the room and he decided that the best course of action would be to try and mollify her. Exerting all his willpower he managed to modify his tone.

  ‘I will explain about the license if you’ll allow me, my love. There’s no call for you to be so angry.’

  ‘Try explaining about this first!’ She threw the ring he had given her at his feet. ‘I took it down to the jeweller this morning to get it valued and he told me that it’s pinchbeck, not gold, and the diamond is naught but leaded glass!’

  The shock of her making this discovery caused him to fumble for words. ‘Pinchbeck? That jeweller’s a damn fool! It was my mother’s betrothal ring! I swear on her grave that it’s gold and diamonds.’

  ‘And are you going to swear on her fuckin’ grave that you didn’t take money from my purse, you fuckin’ macer?’ Her gutter-devilry exploded. ‘Six sovs, that’s what you took, and that’s why I took the fuckin’ ring to be valued! And don’t try to deny it, because Milly was looking through the keyhole and she saw you going through the drawers and taking money from the purse.’

  He still tried to bluff his way out. ‘She’s telling lies, and you’re a damn fool for believing her.’

  ‘I was a damn fool for being taken in by a fuckin’ Fancy-Dan like you,’ she screeched.

  His own temper again erupted and he bawled back at her, ‘Well I was never fooled by you, you fuckin’ whore. I’ve known from the first that you’re naught but a fuckin’ bog-rat whore whose husband’s just been topped for bit-faking. And his mates are looking for you right now. So unless you do exactly what I say, I’ll be letting them know where you are, you fuckin’ whore!’

  She suddenly hurled herself at him, hissing and spitting like a wildcat, raking at his face with her long fingernails, tearing skin and fetching blood.

  He bellowed in shock and pain and, grabbing her wrists he forced her back as she screamed and struggled. They collided with a small table and fell with her underneath. As she lay winded, he scrambled to his feet and lost all control, kicking and stamping on her body and head, smashing her nose, breaking teeth, mercilessly battering her into senselessness.

  Then as the red haze of fury cleared from his sight he stood for long moments dragging in gulps of air, staring down at the bloody wreckage of her face, threatening worms of encroaching panic wriggling in his mind.

  ‘Fuckin’ hell! Now I’m really in the shit!’

  He went to the sideboard, lifted the gin bottle to his lips and took several swigs, gasping as the liquid burned its way down his throat.

  Ella Peelson’s breathing was an erratic snorting and spraying of blood.

  Kent could only stare at her, telling himself over and over again, ‘Now think! Think! What’s best to do now? Think, dammit! What shall I do! The girl could come back at any moment!’

  That realization tipped the balance and panic overwhelmed him. He rushed upstairs and made a frantic search for money. To his relief he found a satchel containing coins, and an assortment of coinage die-stamps.

  He slung the satchel over his shoulder, exited the house by the rear door and, furtively dodging from shadow to shadow, made his escape.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Droitwich, Worcestershire

  Friday, 29th February

  Late afternoon

  Dusk was fast approaching and the stallholders’ lamps were shining as they chaffered and bargained with the shoppers, their mingled breaths cloudlike in the cold, still air. Yakob Weiss’s hands were deep in his capacious pockets, his fingers turning, fondling, expertly evaluating the coins within. As he finished totalling the amount he grunted with dissatisfaction. Business had been very slack at this market.

  A poke-bonneted, shawl-swathed woman approached him. ‘Can I have a word wi’ you?’

  ‘You can, Mistress. If it’s a fine fur cap you want, then you’ve come to the right man, and I’ll do you a very good deal.’ He grinned ingratiatingly.

  ‘Well, yes, I do want to buy a fur cap. But first, I want to know how much you’ll give me for these?’

  From her capacious shopping basket she produced three black pelts. ‘They’re cat furs, and they aren’t got no mange nor nothing else wrong with ’um. Beautiful cats they was. I raised ’um from kittens, so I did, and it fair broke me heart when they died a week past. All at the
same time, it was. I reckon me neighbour, who don’t like me because she’s jealous o’ what a fine-looking man my husband is, I reckon she fed ’um poison. The evil cow!’

  Weiss took the pelts and briefly handled them, then gave them back and told her, ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Mistress. You choose the cap you wants, and then we’ll sort out the prices. I’m a very fair man, I am. As anybody who’s ever had dealing with Yakob Weiss will tell you. So now . . .’ He moved to run his hands across the dangling rows of fur caps on his display stand. ‘Which one of these fine caps do you want? They’re proof against the worst wind and snow, and hail and wet, that the Gods above can throw down upon us!’

  Maud Harman came to stand beside him and closely examine the wares before shaking her head.

  ‘I don’t mean you no offence, Pedlar, but these sort o’ furs aren’t what I’m looking for. You see, like I told you afore, me husband is a very fine-looking man, and he likes to wear only the best of everything. Well, it’s the anniversary of our wedding day in a couple of days, and I wants to buy him a real special-looking fur cap, so that everybody who sees him in it ’ull be real jealous of him for having it on his head. I’ve been saving up me bits o’ money for ages, so I can afford to pay a good price for the sort o’ cap I wants to buy him.’

  Weiss audibly sucked his tongue, and stared speculatively at her for some moments before replying.

  ‘Well, Mistress, I do have some very special caps which I keeps for my very special customers among the fine gentry and nobility. If your husband was wearing one o’ them on his head, why then, all who saw him would swear on oath that he was a nobleman himself, so they would.’