by Sara Fraser
THIRTY-THREE
Redditch Town
Wednesday, 12th March
Afternoon
The front door bell of Bromley’s Stationery Emporium for All Articles of Stationery, Rare and Antique Books and New Literature signaled the entry of a burly, well-dressed man, who had a long scar running from temple to chin on the left side of his face.
Charles Bromley rose from his low stool at the side of the counter and eagerly enquired, ‘How can I be of service, Sir?’
‘Are you Charles Bromley, Sir?’
‘I am, Sir.’
‘I’m a debt-collector acting on behalf of the Birmingham Aris Gazette.’ The man took a folded newspaper from his pocket, opened it out, held it close to Bromley’s eyes and tapped his forefinger on one of the advertisements. ‘This notice ran for nine editions and only the payment for the first printing of this notice has been received by the proprietors of this newspaper. I’m employed by those same proprietors to recover the debt you owe for the succeeding eight printings.’
Bromley bent forward and scanned the advertisement. His jaw dropped in shock and he vociferously protested.
‘This is no debt of mine! I personally haven’t placed this or any similar notices! I’m merely acting as a collection point for the letters that are addressed to this XYZ, and I’ve no knowledge of who sends the letters, or for what purpose they send them. What’s more I’ve never subscribed to the Aris Gazette anyway, so the only time I sight it is when such a subscriber might give me a lend of it.’
‘Who collects the letters from you?’ the other man demanded.
‘A gentleman, who I can assure you is not a military man.’
‘What’s this gentleman’s name, and where can I find him?’ The scar-faced man scowled threateningly. ‘And if you’ve any letters you’re still holding for him, then you’d best hand them over to me!’
‘Hold your tongue, Bromley! Don’t you dare give him any answer!’
The screeched command brought both men’s heads jerking round towards the squat, fat, black-clad figure standing in the doorway which led into the rear room.
‘Who might you be?’ the scar-faced man questioned.
‘I’m the betrothed wife-to-be of Master Bromley; and I’ve been listening to everything that’s been said.’ Gertrude Potts stepped fully into the shop and brandished her walking stick at him. ‘How dare you come in here and order Master Bromley to give you a gentleman’s private property? How dare you try and force him to break the Law?’
‘Because I’m acting within the Law,’ the man grunted sourly. ‘And you’d best keep your big snout out of my business if you knows what’s good for you.’
‘And you’d best apologize to me this instant for that insult, if you know what’s good for you, you ruffian! I’m not like this timid milksop!’ Gertrude Potts pointed her cane to indicate the blanched-with-fright features of Charles Bromley. ‘My son is the Head Constable of this Parish, and also a personal and trusted friend of Reverend, the Lord Aston, the Chief Magistrate of this parish and Justice of the Peace for this County.’
The doorbell tinkled and a woman ushering three small children entered the shop.
The scar-faced man grinned mockingly as he bowed to Gertrude Potts. ‘I fear I must reluctantly take temporary leave of you, Ma’am. It’s been a great pleasure to meet you.’
He then bowed to Charles Bromley. ‘And we shall most definitely be resuming our interesting conversation in the very near future, Master Bromley. Good day to you both.’
The man sauntered casually out of the shop and Gertrude Potts glared and hissed at Charles Bromley. ‘When you’ve finished attending to this lady, Bromley, you and I will also be resuming a most interesting conversation. Is that understood?’
Bromley gulped hard and reluctantly nodded assent.
THIRTY-FOUR
Feckenham Village
Wednesday, 12th March
Evening
In the private parlour of the Old Black Boy, Horace Mackay and his host Walter Courtney had enjoyed the best meal that the tavern’s kitchen could provide, and now were savouring the pleasures of pipes of fragrant Turkish tobacco, and their fourth bottle of Madeira wine.
Because of the enforced frugalities of living on a lowly curate’s stipend, Horace Mackay only enjoyed such munificence when he dined with Courtney, and he was continually voicing his appreciation and fervent thanks to his host, and reiterating each time, ‘You have become such a dear friend to me, Geraint. I just wish with all my heart that I could be of some service to you. You’re always so kind and generous towards me.’
Each time Courtney smilingly responded, ‘Your companionship is more than enough reward for any hospitality or small acts of kindness I may render towards you, my dear friend. Be assured that when you’re enjoying the very advantageous Benefice I have in mind for you, I intend to inflict myself upon your own hospitality very frequently indeed.’
As he refilled his guest’s empty glass he added casually, ‘I’ve just recalled that there is a small favour you might do for me.’
‘Name it, and count it as done,’ Mackay slurred.
‘His Grace, my Lord Archbishop, has had conveyed to me a Special License for Marriage Certificate for an officer in the East India Company Army. The officer is known to me, and is a very fine young man indeed. His future wife is fortunate to be entering into matrimony with such a gallant and honourable fellow. I wonder if perhaps you might perform the ceremony in your church? I will act as one of the witnesses.’
‘I’ll be delighted to do so, Geraint. When do you wish me to perform the ceremony?’
‘Oh, I’m not absolutely sure at present, but apparently he must shortly return to India to take up a most important position there—’
There came a knock at the door and the innkeeper’s voice requesting, ‘Sorry to disturb, your Reverences, but can I have a private word wi’ you please, Reverend Winward?’
‘Of course, Master Blake,’ Courtney consented, smiling, and told his companion, ‘I’ll be as quick as possible, Horace. I beg you to empty this particularly fine bottle during my absence because upon my return there will be others of its ilk to follow.’
When Courtney went into the passage, closing the parlour door behind him, the innkeeper whispered, ‘There’s a bloke waiting outside in the back yard, who says his name is Bromley, and he needs to spake wi’ you urgent-like. I told him you wasn’t to be disturbed but he said it was a matter o’ life or death, and he must spake wi’ you this very minute.’ Blake nodded his head towards the front rooms of the inn where the babble of voices and laughter resounded. ‘If you want, Reverend, I’ll get a couple o’ the lads to run the bugger off out of the village, and see to it that he don’t come back again to annoy you.’
‘Thank you for your care of my welfare, Master Blake. Your constant acts of kindness toward me warms my very heart and soul.’ Courtney’s smile was avuncular. ‘But there’s no need for any concern. The poor fellow is known to me, and is frequently in need of my counsel. While I talk with him, could you please uncork another couple of bottles of your very fine Madeira and take them into the parlour?’
‘I certainly can, Reverend.’ Blake bustled away, and Courtney went into the rear yard and greeted his visitor with a stern frown.
‘What brings you here, Master Bromley, despite my specific request that our personal intercourse must be solely confined to your Redditch premises? I am extremely displeased that you have seen fit to so blatantly disregard my express wishes.’
Sweating heavily despite the chill of the air, Charles Bromley quailed inwardly as he regarded the angry glare of the bulky man before him. But then another angry, glaring face filled his mental vision, and he stammered plaintively, ‘I beg you to forgive me, Reverend Winward! But I’ve been forced to come here by my wife-to-be! In all truth, I feel trapped between the Devil and the deep blue sea, and I hope and pray that the “Deep Blue Sea” will prove to be the more merciful to me.’
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Courtney snorted contemptuously. ‘I take it that I am that “Deep Blue Sea”? So tell me what is the problem? And keep your voice low so that you are not to be overheard.’
Bromley hurriedly related his account of the Debt Collector’s visit, and finished with impassioned assurances.
‘I was ready to pay the money he was demanding myself, but Mrs Potts, that’s the lady I’m betrothed to, wouldn’t let me. She said that I must come directly here to speak with you, and to receive your instructions on what I’m to do about this Debt Collector. I swear to you, Reverend Sir, as God is my Judge, I haven’t told him your name, or breathed a word about you being in lodging here.’
Bromley’s breathy voice stilled and he waited fearfully for several seconds. Then he gasped with relief as the man before him metamorphosed back into the genially smiling, kindly spoken Reverend Winward of previous experience.
‘’Pon my soul, Master Bromley, I am greatly indebted for this present service you have done me. May I add how gratified I am that my trust in your honour and probity has not been misplaced. That honour and probity shall be rewarded this very instant.’
Coins clinked as they were transferred from Courtney’s hand to Bromley’s.
‘Oh, thank you, Sir! Thank you!’ Bromley stammered gratefully.
‘Now listen carefully, Master Bromley. This Debt Collector is plainly in error concerning the agreement I made with the proprietors of the Aris Gazette. However that error can be easily rectified. I ask of you only one thing, and that is that you will continue to exercise the utmost discretion concerning our own arrangement.’
‘Of course I will, Sir.’
‘Good man!’ Courtney approbated. ‘Oh, by the way, what does this fellow look like, so that I may recognize him if I should by chance meet up with him. Because in that event I shall most sternly advise him that he should conduct himself in a more polite manner.’
He listened impassively to Bromley’s description. Then smiled and congratulated the man.
‘You have a very observant eye, Master Bromley.’
When they finally parted and Bromley hurried away, Walter Courtney’s genial smile of farewell metamorphosed into an angry scowl.
‘Long scar on the left side of his face. That fits Billy Peelson!’
He went back inside the inn and upstairs to his room where he wrote a brief note and sealed it. Then he returned downstairs and spoke with the landlord who immediately assured him, ‘I’ll send my boy wi’ it straight away, your Reverend.’
‘Thank you, Master Blake.’ Courtney smiled and handed over the note together with three pennies. ‘The boy must have these for his trouble.’
‘That’s too much, Reverend. A penny will be more than enough for him,’ Blake objected.
‘Well, let me err on the side of generosity this once, Master Blake. Please give him the three pence.’
‘I will, Reverend, and God bless you for your kindness to all of us, is what I say.’
THIRTY-FIVE
Feckenham Village
Thursday, 13th March
Morning
Walter Courtney and Horace Mackay had come to sit in the church vestry to discuss Mackay’s glittering prospects for career advancement.
‘A thought occurred to me as I was at prayer this morning, Horace, which I would like to confide to you. I know that what I now tell you will go no further,’ Courtney began.
‘You honour me by sharing such confidences with me, Geraint.’ Mackay’s eyes shone with hero-worship. ‘And I would suffer all the agonies of Hell, and still not divulge one single word of what you tell me.’
‘I know you would, my dear friend.’ Courtney smiled benevolently, and paused meaningfully before continuing. ‘Well now, the thought that occurred to me was that although rectorship of a Parish can be lucrative, time spent as an Archdeacon in a Diocese would stand you in much greater stead, as regards your future high-advancement.
‘His Grace has often told me of his strong belief that such experience gained in the practicalities of administering a Diocese better prepares a man for the highest offices in the service of the Church. I think that I might be able to arrange for you to serve in that capacity in a suitable Diocese within our province of Canterbury, if you so wished it.’
Mackay drew a sharp breath, and Courtney took full note of the instant gleam of excitement in his companion’s eyes.
He was about to continue speaking when the slamming of the outer door and the hurried thumping of boots upon the flagged floor of the nave was followed by a pounding upon the vestry door, and a voice calling, ‘Are you there, Reverend Winward? It’s Archibald Ainsley! I need to speak with you most urgently about a tragedy that has befallen one of my poor old people.’
Courtney instantly shouted, ‘Calm yourself, Master Ainsley. I will join you in a moment!’
He shrugged expressively, and told his companion with a smile of resignation, ‘Christian charity is a duty which at times I can’t help but feel makes undue demands upon me. However, that same duty now compels me to deal with whatever is disturbing Master Ainsley so grievously. But our present discussion will be continued when possible, I do assure you. Until then I must love you and leave you, my friend.’
As he opened and passed through the vestry door, Courtney saw the worried expression on Ainsley’s face, and nodded towards the outer door.
Out in the rain-drizzled churchyard Courtney led his companion towards the lych-gate and when they were beneath its arched roof snapped curtly, ‘It seems that Billy Peelson was making enquiries about XYZ at Bromley’s yesterday. He was claiming to be a Debt Collector, and he put the shits up Bromley, I can tell you.’
‘Sweet fuckin’ Jesus!’ Ainsley exclaimed in disgust. ‘So Bromley’s put him on to us!’
Courtney shook his head. ‘No, Bromley swears that he’s not told anything to anyone, and I believe him.’
‘Then what happens now?’ Ainsley questioned anxiously.
‘Don’t fret yourself, Archie.’ Courtney smiled grimly. ‘Billy Peelson has done us a great favour. The only way he could have got on to us, is for the Irish bitch to have told him about the notice in the Aris Gazette. So there’s a chance that he and her are staying together at the house in Bradley Green. If that’s the case we can kill two birds with one stone this very night.’
Ainsley’s relief was palpable as he declared fervently, ‘I never even thought of that aspect of it. You’re a bloody wonder, Walter! I do believe that you possess true genius!’
Courtney shrugged and demurred. ‘No, I’m not a genius. But circumstances have this tiresome habit of continuously changing, Archie; and I possess the necessary flexibility of mind to instantly adapt my order of battle to deal with these changing circumstances.
‘Firstly I want you now to go directly to Bradley Green and check the house. When you’re satisfied that they’re there, then come to the Black Boy and ask for me.’
Ainsley hurried away, and Courtney frowned as he considered the implications of this latest development. He now accepted it was almost a certainty that Ella Peelson had put her late husband’s gang on to his and Kent’s trail.
‘Sylvan must have fucked up the parting from her!’ A murderous lust coursed through him. ‘When the time comes, Cousin Sylvan, I’m going to relish sending you back to your fuckin’ Maker.’
THIRTY-SIX
Bradley Green
Friday, 14th March
Earliest morning
Beneath the cloud-shrouded skies the only visible light was the faint candle-glow from a ground-floor window of the house. Concealed by the surrounding hedgerow, shrouded in their travelling cloaks, Courtney and Ainsley had been watching the building for several hours, stoically enduring the cold air and the frequent bursts of wind-driven rain.
‘I’m sure that the bastard’s on his own,’ Courtney hissed in chagrin. ‘He’s the only face we’ve spotted, and that’s the only room that’s shown a light. If the Irish bitch and her maid or anyone els
e were in the house, we’d have seen lights in other rooms by now.’
‘Then let’s do the business. I can shoot though the glass and put a ball in his skull,’ Ainsley urged impatiently. ‘If we stay here much longer I’ll be catching my own death from wet and cold.’
‘You’re talking like a fool, Archie!’ Courtney reprimanded sharply. ‘We need to find out where the bitch is, and if there are others who’re in the know about us. Now listen carefully. I’ll draw him out of the house and you’ll club him down. Then we secure him and ask him a few questions.’
Billy Peelson was shocked out of his drunken stupor when the casement rattled under sharp impacts and the voice screamed frantically, ‘Sir! Sir! Can you help me? Please help me! Help me!’
Peelson lurched to his feet and came towards the window.
‘Please help me, Sir! My carriage overturned and my wife is trapped beneath it. Help me! Please! She could be dying, Sir. Help me, I beg of you!’
Peelson squinted through the latticed window panes at the bulky black shape screaming out for help, and shouted back. ‘Come to the front door!’
‘I will, Sir, but please help me! I beg of you! My wife is trapped beneath the carriage. She could be dying. Help me, Sir. Help me!’
Peelson lumbered unsteadily from the room and along the passage. He fumbled with the bolts and tugged the door open. The black shape was some yards distant from the door, still screaming for help.
Peelson stepped outside, took three paces forward, and the lead weighted bludgeon smashed into the side of his head, and crumpled him to the ground.
‘Leave him to me, Archie! Get inside and search the house,’ Courtney ordered as he came to the side of the fallen man.
Ainsley produced a pair of pistols from beneath his cloak, cocked them and went inside.
When he returned to report that the house was empty, and virtually all the furniture dust-sheeted, he frowned in surprise to find his friend standing staring down at the motionless Billy Peelson.
