“I don’t understand all that cant” said James Ripon sullenly. “If you arsts me lidy, him wot speak the cant is the villain, tryin’ to put it onto me.”
“Hoh well you prize rogue, let me put you right about!” said Fowler “It being me what had followed you about sneakin’ into rooms you had no business to poke into; and then into the coal cellar. And Mr Armitage here tumbled to what you was doin’ in there, me bein’ innocent enough to think you had been light fingered and were hidin’ stuff in there. Well, I nearly locked him in; and I’m right glad I didn’t, Madam, for he’d of slipped right through the hatch!”
“What did you do?” asked Jane “And really I am filled with admiration for your resourcefulness, Fowler”.
Fowlers immobile face actually cracked into a grin.
“I ‘it the b-asket on the ‘ead wiv a skillet” he said, losing all pretensions to his well cultivated accent as he strove not to swear in front of the mistress of the house.
“Oh very well done” said Jane. “Have you managed to find out if he is working alone or a part of some thieving gang?”
“He says he’s working alone” said Caleb “But I ain’t sure I believe him; he ain’t got the tread of a man as can crack a crib and nab trinkets, moveables and such withaht that the ‘ole ‘ouse wakes up. A caw-handed lolpoop he is; or he was when he was handing round eats earlier, clumsy and lazy you’d say.”
“He’s also the fellow who was ogling up Juliet and spoilin’ her reputation so he is Madam” said Mrs Ketch.
“Ah, apparently a new way of, er, slumming the ken” said Jane gravely.
Caleb grinned.
“And about all he’s good for; he ain’t no bowman-prig. That’s a top flight thief” he said.
“Mr Armitage, I don’t think you should be teaching Mrs Churchill cant” said Fowler disapprovingly.
“No, likely I should not” said Caleb.
“I find it quite fascinating actually,” said Jane, “when you get into the swing of the argot, Mr Armitage you might as well not even be speaking English.”
“That’s the general idea, Ma’am” said Caleb. “So that swell–coves and swell-morts don’t understand and then they can’t whiddle the scrap.”
“Tell anyone?” guessed Jane.
“Precisely” said Caleb.
“What do we do, hand him over to the watch?” asked Jane.
“I think so” said Caleb “But since there’s such a lot to do he might as well be locked away for now and we’ll see to it in the morning…. If we can be bothered on the Sabbath. Locked into one of the storerooms you don’t use much ma’am, he won’t be able to cause any harm; Fowler and me will search him as well in case he has any bessies, that’s lockpicks. Unless he feels like being a milch-kine to give up his chums? No? Ah well” as Ripon shook his head.
Then the prisoner spat an epithet at him and Caleb cuffed him, roaring in anger,
“You slubberdegullion; Mrs Ketch, I pray you some soap for his filthy mouth” whereupon, when that worthy promptly handed over the jar of soft soap he proceeded to well soap Ripon’s mouth until no epithet could arise from it.
“Effective” said Jane.
“Army tactic” said Caleb “Not that we was a mealy-mouthed bunch nowise; but them as swore in front of orficer’s wives, well that were different; and thought themselves lucky if the swell mort didn’t know what they was saying, account of that’d mean a flogging. C’mon you; Fowler and me will see you abram and check your duds and anywhere else fer that matter like the northwest passage” he added ominously to Ripon, pulling the false footman to his feet and propelling him firmly out of the door. Fowler took off his jacket meaningfully and started rolling up his sleeves as he followed Caleb.
“Dear me,” said Jane to Mrs Ketch, “I believe I shall be glad to remain in ignorance of what they intend.”
“Well Madam, that’s what I feel too, but I can’t say I feel much sympathy for that nasty piece of work” said Mrs Ketch.
“Nor I” said Jane, reflecting that Ripon was either the result of a very long coincidence or was associated with those who had tortured and killed her husband. And whatever her feelings about Frank it was a matter of principle.
Mr Chorleigh was looking around for Jane when she returned to the reception room.
“Ah, Mrs Churchill; I wondered where you might be” he said. Though it was a statement it was almost worded as a question. Jane bridled.
“Mr Chorleigh, when a lady who is, as I wrote in my last communication to you, in a delicate condition and who has been burying her husband, leaves the room for a short while I consider it ill-bred of anyone to make comment or draw attention to the fact” she said coldly. “As it happens I had also to deal with a small domestic crisis; one of the hired footmen was caught stealing. My man Fowler and Mr Armitage are seeing to the matter but correctly Fowler felt I should be apprised of the occurrence. Which is, frankly, nothing that needs discussing with you either as the Churchill solicitor nor as Frank’s employer. You are of course wishful to take your leave; thank you for coming to attend the funeral, your support has been appreciated. One of the footmen here will get your cloak” she made a sign to one of the men in attendance upon the guests who ran off.
Mr Chorleigh had intended to lecture Mrs Churchill on a number of matters – not least leaving her guests – but dubbed ill-bred and effectively nosy he could only gasp and take the firmly proffered little hand to kiss, by which time he was being enveloped in his cloak and his beaver and cane handed to him by a footman and Jane had carefully drifted away.
Mr Chorleigh made her itch to do something unladylike.
StClair Despard grinned at her.
“Nice handling of the old man, Ma’am” he said.
“Why Mr Despard I fail to grasp your meaning” said Jane demurely.
He gave a crack of laughter which he hastily turned into a cough; laughing at a funeral, and before the widow at that, was not at all the thing!
“Why Mrs Churchill, I would say that you are a complete hand; had you any ideas about the writing your husband was doing?”
“Mr Despard, that is a matter for the officer of Bow Street; and not to be generally discussed” said Jane “I appreciate your curiosity; but unless Mr Armitage is prepared to share information with you, you must, I fear, learn to curb it.”
“I shall be dished in that desire then” said Mr Despard gloomily. “He’s close-mouthed; for I already asked him.”
“Then to try to gain information from me was highly improper” said Jane.
“Of course it was, ma’am; I’m in training to be a solicitor” said Mr Despard “No trick too low; fiat justiciam ruat caelorum or as we mistranslate it, so justice be done however low the worms under the sky may crawl.”
“You are a witty man Mr Despard” said Jane “But if you will take advice, do not permit wit to outweigh judgement.”
He looked at her thoughtfully.
“That is a most profound statement ma’am; one I shall endeavour to always remember” he said. “I shall be relieving you of my presence now; your servant” and he carried her hand to his lips for a briefly punctilious salute.
“That young would-be black-box kept you amused” said Caleb to Jane as the other clerks filed out in rapid succession. “Did you tell him anything?”
“Only to apply to you as the proper person to know what to tell him” said Jane with a modest, downcast look. “He is an amusing rattle; when he grows up enough to learn discretion and tact he will perhaps make a good solicitor.”
“Oh” said Caleb. “I was going to warn you that he was a little immature; but I see you realise that.”
“Why Mr Armitage, did you think I was flirting?” said Jane. “And on the day of my late husband’s funeral?”
Caleb flushed.
“I – I do apologise” he said.
Jane laid a hand on his arm.
“I should not tease you my dear friend” she said “But I feel I do need a touch of
levity to deal with this awful day; and I should apologise to you for doing so. For in other circumstances one might have read your behaviour as showing jealousy.”
“I’m damnably jealous, Jane-girl” said Mr Armitage “And all I want is to protect you from unctuous chaw-bacons like Chorleigh. And please forget I spoke, on this day of all days.”
“Mr Armitage….” said Jane, feeling a little light headed, “I think we should discuss other, safer topics.”
“Yes ma’am” said Caleb.
But she had not given him a set-down for using her name.
Chapter 18
Jane was extremely glad to get to bed; it had been a tiring day, and made more so by Frances, who had sensed, in the way small children do, the tension in the atmosphere. In the end Jane had asked Annie to fetch Mr Armitage to the nursery to bounce Frances about until she was giggling wildly; and then the baby was happy enough to take her bath without screaming and going stiff and went to bed readily. Jane had apologised.
“She knows I feel tense and blue-devilled; I expect it makes her fear I will drop her in the water” she said. “Annie does most things for her; but she is my daughter and I wanted some time with her; I have not seen her all day with this miserable funeral.”
“Why Mrs Churchill, consider the impropriety of a merry funeral” quipped Caleb with a perfectly straight face.
She had laughed a little and sighed.
“In truth, though I am glad it is all over, I fear a little what Mr Churchill might say about my not waiting for him” she said.
“Tell him to go to the devil; if he’d been a decent father-figure to his nephew he’d have posted down to find out why the cub was in such debt in the first place and put him right-about” said Caleb forcefully.
“You are quite right, Caleb….Armitage” said Jane. “Oh how I loathe confrontations; still if he cuts Frances and me off without a penny, we might raise enough to rent a small house and enough to live on just by letting this house; and I can always sew.”
“You will not sew, Mrs Churchill” said Caleb forcefully. “I will not see you be a slavey to those damned supercilious old crows!”
“Mr Armitage; it is not right that we should discuss yet the alternative that you are on the verge of suggesting” said Jane. “And I am far better able to keep my self respect by sewing than as a governess. I thank you for the aid with Frances; and I bid you good night for I too shall retire early.”
He bowed and left her; and thus Jane was lying in bed, extremely glad of the soft goose feather mattress and the sweet fresh aroma of the lavender-scented linen sheets caressing her tired body.
But she did not sleep.
The big, ungainly figure of Caleb Armitage would insist on intruding before her eyes when she closed them; and the errant and shocking thought that his strong arms would be extremely comforting.
Jane dozed fitfully; but was awake in an instant when she heard a noise downstairs. Her bedroom was at the front; Frank liked to be on the street and she had given in, though she would have preferred the quiet of a room overlooking the garden that would remind her of Highbury. And she had had far better things to do than to worry about changing her sleeping chamber. She pulled on a robe and thrust her feet into her dainty slippers and hastily sparked the flint and tinder to light her candle.
Caleb Armitage was coming down the stairs as she emerged from her chamber. He held a finger to his lips and indicated that she should return to her own room. Jane stood back to let him pass, but she shook her head.
“I need to see” she whispered.
“Then stay well back you brave little idiot” said Caleb.
Somehow the adjective brave outweighed being called an idiot; and somehow Jane knew that he was paying her fortitude a compliment in not insisting – and he could force her – that she return to her room.
Caleb ran silently down ahead of Jane on silent, stockinged feet, not missing a stair though the darkness was profound in the stairwell. There were sounds of a tussle; words that Jane hoped she had not understood correctly; and then a sudden detonation, which echoed!
“GAWDSTREWTH Fowler you nodcock, you’ve been and shot me” said Caleb’s voice.
“Not me, Mr Armitage, I saw the candleight on that other feller’s barking-iron; It’s him I done shot and he have put a ball in you!” cried Fowler “Don’t you go and stick your spoon in the wall now, or Missus’ll have me guts fer garters fer lettin’ of ’im shoot yer!”
“Stubble it and help me with this fellow then!” said Caleb. “It’s a flesh wound. I ain’t about to turn up me toes.”
Jane, horrified and working on not screaming, terrified for Caleb’s life, came down the rest of the way. One ominously still figure was lying in the doorway to the kitchen; Caleb was sitting on the other. His assailant was wriggling hard. Fowler was shaking like a blancmanger, the pistol still in his hand. The scene was like something from a melodramatic book like ‘The Castle of Wolfenbach’ in the flickering of the two candles, one in Fowler’s other hand and one in Jane’s. There was a solid pewter candlestick on a table by the doorway however so Jane set down her own chamber candle, picked up the heavy candlestick and hit the man under Caleb over the head.
“Oh very well done Mrs Churchill” said Caleb, a trifle faintly.
“Fowler” said Jane “Light more candles; then truss up this – person. And check if the other is indeed shot dead and if there is any chance he is not, truss him up too. Mr Armitage you are all over blood; pray go and sit in Mrs Ketch’s chair by the fire and I shall attend to your wound as soon as we are certain these two present us with no further problems” she spoke in a far crisper tone than her sick horror at so much blood would have permitted her to do had she not been sensible to the fact that Caleb Armitage needed her to be strong and deal with his wound.
“Yes ma’am” said Caleb “The mistress of the house is in charge and in fine fettle.”
“There’s a time and a place for facetiae, Mr Armitage and I’ll reserve judgement on whether now is it when I have seen to you” said Jane crisply.
“Mrs Churchill! You cannot order a man around like that and then not marry him!” Caleb’s voice was weak but he could not resist teasing.
“I can and I shall do as I see fit in my own house” said Jane ambiguously.
She screamed suddenly as a smaller figure landed on her back knocking her over and putting out her candle very effectively by snuffing it beneath the weight of her body; this figure had hurtled down from the dresser where presumably it had taken refuge when it became clear that Fowler and Caleb were attacking the two larger men; and escape was its main priority.
Fowler yelled; and Caleb swore. There were sounds of a chase and the gritty, teeth-setting sound of coal on coal; and then a bang.
“Cove got out through the coal hatch” said Caleb “Strewth, I must be losin’ me touch…”
“I don’t know about losing your touch, Mr Armitage, but you are most certainly losing blood” said Jane a little breathlessly as she got to her knees, checking herself mentally for any worse wounds than a crop of bruises and being winded. “Fowler, light a candle and go bolt that door before we go any further. I will have yours to see to Mr Armitage’s wound; mine is I believe quite broken.”
“Be aware” said Caleb “Coal dust can explode…. Besides, the door won’t bolt. They’ve sawed the bolt because Ripon was not there to let them in…. That’s what I heard. It must have woken you too, Ma’am.”
“What I’ll do Madam is to lock the door from the coal cellar to the kitchen,” said Fowler, “aye, and pull the table across it too. And to think I told my brother the army was too exciting for me!”
“You’re loving it Fowler” said Caleb.
“Mr Armitage, I will not say that the exhilaration is not an interesting change but I should not go so far as all that” said Fowler. “If, however, you was finding yourself a part of the household and needing a man, I should not say that valeting might not be an interesting way for
ward.”
“You are moving too fast on too many fronts Fowler” said Jane “And any more would be impudence.”
“Yes Mrs Churchill ma’am” said Fowler.
The ball had fortunately not lodged in Caleb’s arm; it was as he had said, a flesh wound, as Jane found when she cut away the stitching of the seam of his shirt; but he had lost a lot of blood and the sleeve of his shirt was soaked in it and it had dripped down onto his buckskins too. Jane sighed.
“Mrs Kemp is going to have to do more to them than go over with a lot of buffball” she said “They’ll need salt to take the blood out, and then the stiffness from washing them will take some working with warmed beeswax and vegetable oil. Ah well, you’ll be confined to your bed for a day or two so you shall not need them.”
“Mrs Churchill, I will not” said Caleb. “I need to be up and about to be ready for any reinforcements that fellow has gone after.”
“If you don’t sit still, Mr Armitage” said Jane tartly “The level of reinforcements you will need yourself for causing yourself more harm will be General Blücher and all his Brunswickers. Now instead of marching to the sound of the guns I pray you will sit to the sound of my bandaging.”
“Yes Colonel Ma’am” said Caleb in a deceptively meek voice.
Jane washed the wound – a neat hole right through the flesh of the upper arm – and packed it with basilicum powder and put on a linen bandage from the strips Mrs Kedge kept against emergency. The linen was good; the sheet from which it had come had been as new as any in her bottom drawer but Frank had ripped it across because he declared that he could still scent the stench of her giving birth on it.
It had been a totally different sheet to the one she had birthed on, that had still been being laundered; but Frank had been like that. Had he only torn it lengthways it might still have been serviceable sides-to-middled; but he would rip it from side to side, and with the centre seam necessary to make a full sized sheet, a seam the other way was impractical. Jane had made two pillow slips from the torn sheet and given the rest to Mrs Ketch to roll as bandages, for accidents can happen in the best regulated household.
Death of a Fop (Bow Street Consultant series Book 1) Page 12
