‘I’m sorry, madam,’ Missus Redmond said as the man pushed into the room ahead of her. ‘The gentleman invited himself in as soon as I opened the door – wouldn’t even give his name. He’s most insistent to see you.’
‘Angelica!’ the man said, breathless and pale, his eyes staring wildly at her in apparent disbelief. ‘I knew it had to be you.’
Angelica met his stare blindly, wondering how this man came to be there, in her home of all places. The man from her nightmares, Jonathan Wren, had at last found her. But how? Why was he even looking for her after all this time?
‘Shall I call for Mr Rutherford?’ Missus Redmond asked, breaking the spell Wren seemed to have over Angelica.
Angelica’s eyes snapped to Missus Redmond. ‘No, that won’t be necessary. I know who he is. You can leave us.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Jonathan Wren was a tall, well-built man, smartly dressed with short, dark hair and a few days’ stubble on his face. It made him look roguish, although Angelica knew he was not. At least, he was not when she had known him. Then, he had been a kind and genteel man, but she supposed time could have changed that. She tried to assess his intentions, studying him, thinking him as undeniably handsome now as he had ever been. She held his eyes in hers for several long seconds, neither one of them saying a word. She sensed no hostility or hatred, despite the immense wrong she had done him in leading him to believe that both she and his son were dead. Instead, his eyes were full of questions.
‘Why?’ he said, stepping closer.
‘You know why,’ Angelica said. ‘I wanted more – for William.’
‘I could have given him a good life.’
Angelica laughed. ‘You neglected us.’
Wren was already shaking his head. ‘I worked my fingers to the bone for both of you.’
‘Yes, you did. But it wasn’t enough.’
‘Could it ever have been enough?’ Wren asked, looking around at all the finery in the room, as if to suggest that, try as he might, he could never have given her all this, or that she would ever have been truly satisfied.
‘I suppose we’ll never know, will we?’ Angelica said. ‘I did what I had to do, for William.’
Wren’s tone darkened. ‘By denying him his father?’
‘I found him a better father!’ Angelica said, spitting the words back in his face. She turned away and paced towards the window. ‘But how did you find me? Surely you believed us to be dead. Why were you even looking?’
‘I never supposed you to be dead,’ Wren said, his voice suddenly close behind her. ‘The day you disappeared, all my savings disappeared with you. I figured you must have taken it, and why would you do so if you planned to kill yourself? When no bodies were found, I was certain, although I was worried for William. I would not have been surprised to hear that his body had been found in the Thames. I half expected you had drowned him for one less mouth to feed.’
Angelica spun around and their faces met. ‘How dare you!’ she said, her tone seething. ‘I could never harm my son. I’ve devoted my life to his happiness.’
‘And I’m glad to hear it,’ Wren said. ‘Where is he? I demand to see him.’
The thought sent an icy chill down Angelica’s spine. They could not meet. William could not know that she had lied to him all those years ago when she told him his father was dead. Before Jack Hardy died, he had asked her what William would think of her if he knew. Now his words were replaying in her mind. Whatever would William think of her indeed? She looked out of the window for his carriage, making out little but shadows in the half-light. There was no sign of it. That was good. She needed time to think.
‘You have not yet told me how you found me,’ she said. ‘I suppose it was the newspapers, wasn’t it? But what led you to look for me here in Birmingham? The story of William’s success was not reported by the London press.’
‘I have been looking for you here, on and off, for the past three years,’ Wren said, ‘ever since a man came to my shop in Regent Street and told my wife that his visit concerned you and my son. My son!’ he added, his eyes flaring as he spoke. ‘Imagine hearing that, so many years after I’d given William up for dead.’
‘That doesn’t explain what led you to Birmingham.’
Wren gave a frustrated sigh. ‘Don’t play the innocent fool with me, Angelica. I understand you too well. You know it was this man, Mr Hardy, who led me here to Birmingham, where the police say he was from. Do not try to deny it.’
Angelica bit her lip, saying nothing, knowing that to admit it would be to incriminate herself in Hardy’s murder.
‘I went to see Mr Hardy at the Victoria Hotel,’ Wren said, his narrowing eyes suddenly filled with accusation. ‘He wasn’t there, of course. No one knew where he was, but you did, didn’t you?’
‘Don’t be absurd,’ Angelica said, knowing Wren could have no proof against her.
‘My wife also told me that Mr Hardy’s sister came into the shop looking for him soon after he left. The odd thing is, Mr Hardy had no sister. The police found that very curious, as did I. They didn’t know what to make of it, of course, but I did. It was you, wasn’t it?’
Angelica began to shake her head, but Wren put his hand up to stop her. ‘It doesn’t matter. I know it was you, and your motive is plain to see. Among other things, I’m sure, Mr Hardy was going to tell me where you were. You couldn’t have that, could you?’
‘You’re clutching at straws,’ Angelica said. ‘What evidence do you have?’
‘None, I’ll grant you, but after taking one look at you, my wife will swear that you were in my shop that day pretending to be Mr Hardy’s sister. I knew it was you from her description alone. Your lie implicates you. The police will find the evidence they need.’
Angelica could feel her heart racing inside her chest. She wanted to run and hide from this man, just like in her nightmares, but this was no dream. She could not run from it. If she did not think of some way to escape the reality that now confronted her, it would never end. At least, it would not end well.
Wren continued. ‘I’m also equally sure that the police will be very interested to speak to you now that I have proof that you and William did not drown in the Thames all those years ago – that, to the contrary, you’re both very much alive and well.’
Angelica could take no more of his threats. He had more than enough to ruin her and William, regardless of whether or not the police would be able to prove her involvement in Jack Hardy’s murder.
‘I see there are no police with you today,’ she said. ‘Are they coming for me? Have you told them about me already?’
Wren shook his head. ‘Not yet.’
‘Then what do you want from me? Do you need money, is that it?’
Wren laughed at her.
‘I want no charity from you, woman. I want my son back, that’s all. My silence for my son.’
Angelica drew a long and bitter breath. She had feared as much. She would have given anything in her power to make this man go away, but she could not give up her beloved William. She quickly became lost to her thoughts, dark thoughts of how she was going to turn this situation around. She had always managed to before, but now . . . She was not prepared. There was no time for her machinations. No time to think.
A sound startled her, snapping her from her thoughts, prompting her to look out of the window again. It was the unmistakeable sound of another carriage approaching the house. It had to be William this time, and the thought of him arriving to find his father there with her in the drawing room filled her with utter dread. Her thoughts grew darker still, until a familiar cloud began to fog her brain, blinding her to all sense of right and wrong. They ceased to exist. Now there was only survival – her survival, and above all, William’s. She heard the carriage draw up outside, and as William’s faint voice reached her ears, she took one step away from Wren, reached into her reticule and pulled out the Derringer pistol Effie had given her from her father’s gun collection.
‘
Move away!’ she told Wren, thrusting the pistol towards him, taking a firm aim at his chest.
Wren drew a sharp breath, his eyes suddenly wide with fear at what Angelica might be about to do. He staggered back towards the fireplace, his hands held out in front of him. ‘What are you doing, Angelica? This is madness. I want my son back, that’s all.’
‘That’s all?’ Angelica repeated, her twisted features mocking him. ‘Do you think so little of my love for William that I could give him up so easily? Or perhaps you think me incapable of loving anyone, is that it?’
She stalked up to Wren until the pistol was so close to his chest that she could not miss. She knew what she had to do, and she gave no rational thought to the consequences. She was far beyond that now, possessed by the singular need to keep this man’s identity from her son. Her arm stiffened as she strengthened her grip, ready to pull the trigger, but at the same moment, seeing his opportunity now that Angelica was so close, Wren lunged at her and knocked the pistol violently from her hand. She felt a spasm of pain shoot along her arm, but she paid it no attention. Her eyes were on the pistol as it fell on to the settee beside them. She went after it at once, but Wren seized her by her wrists, his coarse skin like leather straps, constraining her. She struggled and kicked, but it did her no good.
‘I see now that there can be no bargaining with you,’ Wren said, his eyes conveying nothing but pity for her. ‘The authorities will hear of you. Mark my words.’
Angelica wanted none of his pity. She spat in his eyes and kicked him harder, prompting him to throw her from him, away from the settee towards the door. He went for the pistol then, but Angelica had no fear of him using it on her. His back was to her only for a second as he stooped to pick it up, and at that moment she leapt at him, clawing her nails across his forehead for want of something sharper. She wished she had a pen in her hair, as she had on the day she had gone to kill that unfortunate wretch Hector Perlman, but she did not. She was not prepared for this.
Her nails, however, had given her the upper hand. Wren winced at the pain and covered his face. Angelica went for the pistol, but Wren recovered quickly. He turned on her, blood now running from his wounds, but even now he did not lash out. He sought only to stop Angelica from reaching the pistol, and to protect himself from her blows as she struck him again and again with her clenched fists until he caught her wrists again. Now they turned and twisted against the back of the settee and suddenly he was on top of her, restraining her every movement.
‘Stop this!’ he demanded, and just then, Angelica heard the door open.
Wren was suddenly pulled off her. William was there. She saw him throw a punch at Wren, no doubt fearing for his mother’s safety. What a brave young man he was. Wren staggered back from the blow, but as before, he gave no fight. He put his hands up in front of him and just stood there, staring at William as William’s frightened eyes stared back. Wren smiled at him, and Angelica knew he was about to tell William who he was. She had to act fast and she didn’t hesitate for a moment. She reached down to the settee and grabbed the pistol. Then she turned with it, took aim and pulled the trigger.
The bullet ripped through Wren’s jacket with a thump, straight into his chest. His body jerked from the impact and he swayed momentarily before steadying himself, just long enough to look down at the blood that was rapidly seeping into the fabric of his clothes. He touched it and looked at his bloody hand in wide-eyed disbelief. Angelica was about to fire the bullet from the second barrel, but there was no need. A moment later, Wren fell.
‘Mother! What have you done?’
She could hear William’s voice, but it seemed somehow distant, despite the fact that he was standing right in front of her. She was so focused on what she knew she now had to do that she blocked out all else. Everything that followed the sound of the bullet being fired happened so fast that Angelica had no time to think. She acted on instinct alone, and her instinct reminded her that no one must know who this man, who had practically forced his way into Priory House, was.
As soon as Wren’s body hit the floor she was on her knees beside him. She went through his clothing, frantically searching for anything that could be used to identify him, just as the two men who had stabbed Jack Hardy to death had done.
William dropped to his knees to the other side of Wren. ‘What are you doing?’
Angelica gave no answer. She quickly found Wren’s wallet, and not knowing what it contained, she removed it, taking no chances. In one of his pockets there was a train ticket stub that would tell the police he had travelled from London – clues to his identity she would rather no one know about.
William leaned in over Wren to see if he was still breathing, and at that moment Wren coughed. Blood spattered and dribbled from the corners of his mouth, and with what must have been the last of his strength, he grabbed William and pulled him closer.
‘William,’ he said, his voice so weak and faint that it was barely audible. ‘I – I’m your father.’
His words immediately drew Angelica’s attention. ‘Don’t listen to him, William,’ she said, fear causing her voice to tremble. ‘He’s delusional.’
William looked confused. ‘My father?’ he said, turning back to him, but Jonathan Wren was dead.
At that moment the door opened and Angelica’s head snapped around to see Effie walk in. Angelica looked down at the pistol, which she had placed beside Wren’s body, and then back at Effie as she came further into the room. Then, without the slightest thought for Effie, driven solely by her own instinct to survive, she slid the pistol – Effie’s father’s pistol – across the parquet floor to her feet.
‘Effie!’ Angelica screamed. ‘No! What have you done?’
Effie’s brow furrowed. She began to shake her head. Her mouth opened as if to speak, but she seemed momentarily dumbstruck. She looked suddenly pale, clearly shocked by what she saw, and by what she had just heard Angelica say. No one moved or spoke again for several seconds. They were all still frozen in place as Missus Redmond burst into the room, closely followed by Mr Rutherford.
‘Did I hear a gunshot?’ Rutherford said, almost before he had entered the room. ‘Oh, good Lord!’ he added when he saw the body. ‘What’s happened here then?’
Missus Redmond just stood to one side with her hand over her mouth.
‘Effie, you’ve killed him!’ Angelica said, feigning a look of horror.
Effie was still shaking her head. ‘No,’ she said at last, her voice little more than a whimper.
‘Is it true?’ Rutherford asked, looking at William.
William looked slowly up at his mother before answering, and Angelica had never seen such a look of bitter contempt from her son before. His cold eyes never left her as he said, ‘Yes. There was a struggle. Effie came in and she shot him.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Winson Green, Birmingham
1896
I have been betrayed in the cruellest manner imaginable. I know now that Angelica’s heart is as black as the ink that flows from the penmaker’s nib, yet why do I still love her so? I should hate her, and believe me when I say that I have tried to, but I cannot close my eyes without seeing her face and recalling the happiness she brought into my life – the happiness we shared. How can I hate something so beautiful?
When William condemned me in front of Missus Redmond and Mr Rutherford, bearing false witness against me, I understood why. I considered at first that the same black heart beat inside his chest – like mother, like son – but I do not believe that. When it came down to it, he could not hate Angelica either, not enough to tell the truth and condemn her instead of me. And what son would not choose to protect his own mother, whatever the circumstances? No, I do not blame William. His hand was forced, manipulated perhaps, as Angelica manipulated everyone.
We were all very calm as we waited for the police to arrive, no one saying much. I was lost in my thoughts, above all too shocked by Angelica’s wicked betrayal to speak. As the hour wore
on, I became keen to hear her explanation of who this man I was supposed to have killed was, and why I would do such a thing. Of course, Angelica had plenty of time to think of a plausible story. She was good at that, and so very clever.
It was Sergeant Beauford who attended, the same policeman who had arrested Alexander for attacking William after Stanley was murdered – yes, murdered, but I’ll come to that. Angelica told the sergeant that the dead man’s name was Blanchard – the same name she had given to the man she previously told me she killed when she first arrived in Birmingham. She offered no first name and no other particulars about him, saying that she knew him only as Blanchard, ensuring it would be impossible to fully identify him from that alone. No papers were found on the body, but then of course Angelica had seen to that, too.
She said that she and William had fallen in with Blanchard soon after arriving from London, seeking work and shelter, and that he took them in, but that in time he meant to put both her and the young William to prostitution, to pay back his kindness and earn their keep. It was the same story she told me, to a point, altered now to suit her explanation. The story of Angelica’s rise from poverty to fortune is widely known. She made it all seem very believable.
She went on to say that she managed to escape with William, and that Blanchard had been looking for them ever since. Now he had found them through the newspaper articles about the pen factory and had come to collect what he felt he was owed. Angelica said that Blanchard turned on her when she refused him, and that when William came home he was unable to stop him. She told the sergeant that I then entered the room, and at seeing the danger she was in, took out my father’s pistol and shot the man dead, to protect the woman I loved.
Yes, our love for one another was laid bare.
I suppose Angelica was trying to throw me a lifeline, or so I like to think. By revealing the love we shared, she was providing just cause, as she saw it. She knew the shooting would not be considered a matter of self-defence – I was not being attacked, after all – but I believe her admission of our love for one another only served to condemn me further. I saw the disdain on everyone’s face as soon as Angelica spoke out, and I could not fail to notice the distasteful tone of Sergeant Beauford’s voice during his questioning thereafter. I believe he condemned me of the crime there and then, and I received no better judgement at the assizes. William’s testimony sealed my fate, but as God is my witness, I did not shoot that man.
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