Give The Devil His Due

by H G White

  An hour later I was sitting in Tegan's lounge. The wig was asleep in front of the fire. Tegan and I were together on the sofa. We talked about everything that had happened over the last couple of weeks, about the party and Tegan's work. For her, managing an art gallery was only a means to pay the bills. It was during the party that I found out she was a keen photographer. That was what she really wanted to do for a living, but she'd got into a rut. She had financial commitments and jacking-in the day job was a risk she just wasn't prepared to take. Quite a few of her pictures were up on the walls. They were impressive; she obviously had a talent.

  She told me Derek was gay. I hadn't realised. John had given her the details; she said they'd exchanged numbers. She questioned me at length about Neil. I had to tell her the truth. Not to do so would have made her feel like I couldn't confide in her. I explained the circumstances and how bad things had been for him. She understood; everybody gets bad luck in life.

  I told her about Phil and Peach and how we'd all been recently reunited. She said I should have brought them to the party. It was a shame I hadn't, they’d have really enjoyed themselves.

  She made shepherd’s pie for us. I’d already been told I was staying the night. This presented me with a problem – I had to fight my gluttonous instinct and eat far less than I would in normal circumstances. Imagining a beached whale that possessed my facial features was the only way to achieve this. I knew it would be difficult to impress her in the bedroom department, especially if we got undressed with the lights on. I was even half-tempted to run over Dave's to ask him if he'd got any extra-large potatoes left, and if so, could I borrow one.

  My worry turned out to be unnecessary. We were very compatible; at least in my opinion it felt like we were. A night of far too much ‘jogging the Oliver Reed way’ saw to it that by morning, exhaustion and an aching back had befallen me.

  Tegan had to visit Manchester on Wednesday and wouldn't be back for two nights. It was a buying trip. She would be visiting different artists picking up work and commissioning new pieces. Her gallery had exchange agreements with a few others. It gave them plenty of rotation with the work they exhibited, a bit like several car dealers swapping cars on their respective lots to make it look like stock was shifting. It all sounded very interesting to me, unlike another day on the rank.

  Now we were so much closer, I felt obliged to help out, and so volunteered to look after the wig while she was away. She said Maude was going to Manchester too. Tegan’s return on Friday evening meant I wouldn't see her again until Sunday night, because of the visit to Peachy's. I hoped she hadn't cooled off by then.

  Wednesday 8 a.m. South Wales

  After saying goodbye I was back in my house at 8.30 a.m. Tegan had wanted to leave reasonably early. Neil was just on his way out as I entered. He had something to tell me.

  ‘I've fed the dog.’

  ‘Cheers Neil.’

  ‘Phil’s phoned. I pointed out you were over the road. He says you owe him a fiver.’

  ‘I fuckin' don't. I told him I don't gamble.’

  ‘He said that's what you'd say.’

  ‘So he was right then, but not about the wedge.’

  Neil left for work, he was super-keen but the novelty would soon wear off. I'd have a coffee first, ring Phil and start after the school rush had died down. Traffic was my pet hate. OK, it was busy during that hour but trouble was you couldn't get to the jobs. Too many people driving their kids to school and the majority of them lived only a few hundred yards away at most. They had to – otherwise their addresses wouldn't fall into the catchment area for eligibility to attend. They were just lazy bastards, both the kids and the parents.

  I dialled Phil. ‘Hello, can I speak to Sir Wankelot please?’

  Phil quickly tried to renounce his knighthood. ‘What do mean can you speak to him? You are him!’

  ‘Mmm … I think not.’

  ‘According to Neil – yes. He reckons he's heard you cranking off. He says you've even taken up cross-dressing.’

  ‘Oh, you've had the full report then.’

  ‘Yes, and I want my fiver.’

  ‘Er, I think there may be grounds for an appeal on that conviction m'lud.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘For one, how about the fact I never fuckin' agreed to the bet in the first place?’

  ‘And for two?’

  ‘I think you're just trying it on.’

  ‘On this occasion, I shall let you off the fiver.’

  His magnanimity underwhelmed me. ‘That's very big of you.’

  ‘Indeed. Are you all set for the weekend or are you going to cry off and spend it with your woman?’

  ‘No Phil, I'm coming.’

  ‘What are the transportation arrangements?’

  ‘Bus is the easiest I reckon. Parking’s a nightmare in London.’

  ‘Hasn't Peachy got space on his drive?’

  ‘He hasn't got a drive.’ I didn't let on that it was because he lived on a boat.

  ‘I don't do buses. You and Neil get here and I'll drive up.’

  ‘You might want to give it some serious thought,’ I said.

  ‘OK, I shall reconsider. I'll let you know later today if I can stomach roughing it on public transport.’

  We chatted for the next ten minutes or so. I hung up and then left. By mid-morning Phil had phoned my mobile and changed his mind. I told him to book three returns for lunchtime on Friday. Neil and I would drive to Bristol, leave my car there and bus it the rest of the way. We would’ve got the coach from town but there was no pick up in Bristol. Bristol to London was a separate service.

  The remains of the day passed slowly. It was early evening when I got home. Neil was making dinner. He was really taking the boundaries of culinary know-how to new extremes. Pork chop and chips; never mind, he was enjoying himself. In fact, I was a little surprised when he made a cider sauce accompaniment. We sat and watched TV. There was nothing worth viewing.

  ‘Shall we go for last orders?’

  Neil pondered the question. ‘Yeah, why not. It's better than sitting here.’

  We strolled to the local. The Ferret and Terrier was one of the few pubs in our town that boasted a coal fire as one of its assets. The signal for the landlord to start lighting it was when the nights started to draw-in, though on this particular evening, the heat produced inside the inn was definitely overkill. Maybe that was part of a sinister ploy to make the regulars drink more ale. Who knows?

  I asked Neil if he was looking forward to the weekend. He said he was, but he had mixed feelings going back to London, knowing he'd been living there as a down and out less than two weeks previously.

  ‘You mustn't dwell on the past Neil. That episode in your life was just a bit of bad luck and it’s over. It could have been any city. It only happened to be London because you were living there prior to your marriage ending.’

  ‘Yeah I s'pose you're right.’

  ‘I know Peach and Phil are really looking forward to us getting together. We'll have a laugh.’ He was smiling again. We talked about Denise. Neil told me she was a vet.

  ‘I bet she's got a house full of wild beasts.’

  ‘I hope not.’ He replied.

  ‘Why? Are you planning on a visit then?’

  ‘She's given me her number and I did say I'd drop by and see her next week.’

  ‘And where, exactly would you be dropping by?’

  ‘I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you. All I'm prepared to say is it would cost more than a tenner on the meter to get there.’

  Neil and his taxi knowledge were starting to get on my nerves. ‘I'm not planning to stalk her Neil.’

  ‘Ah, you say that now, but I know living next door to Dave for so long might have affected your brain. You might become ‘The Tail’ Mk 2.

  ‘I really don't see much chance of that happening. Anyway Tegan'll tell me if I ask.’

  Oh, all right then. You've squeezed it out of me. She lives in Moresby.�
��

  Moresby was a nice village on the cliffs overlooking the sea. It was the kind of place I'd have liked to live. ‘I always said vets charge too much. Her living there confirms the fact.’

  ‘She's renting.’

  ‘OK, for the moment she gets a pardon. If you do end up an item though, there's one good thing to come out of it.’

  ‘What's that?’

  ‘If, in the future you decide to have the snip, she could castrate you on the kitchen table and you'd have no worries about her competence.’

  ‘She deals with animals.’

  ‘I thought you had mouse-sized bollocks.’

  ‘Damn, my secret's out! Though what I’d like to know is do you spend a lot of time thinking about them?’

  ‘All day.’

  ‘Phil said you were weird.’ I sat there with Mickey talking rubbish until the bell that signals drinking-up time rang. We drank up and made for home.

  Friday 10.30 a.m. South Wales

  Neil had departed at the crack of dawn. He wanted to try and make up some of the money he’d be losing by having the weekend off. I took things easy as usual. By late morning the rain looked as if it was going to pay us a visit. I elected to take the dog for a quick walk before dropping him round at my mother’s.

  We did a circuit of the park. The rain came down and he succeeded in getting himself absolutely filthy. Instead of taking him home first and cleaning him up, I took him directly to her house. She could deal with the mud. His bowl, toys and lead could follow him later when Neil and I left. My mother made the usual protestations when I turned up with the dog in a state, which I completely ignored. One day she would come to know her true station in life. Until then it would be a case of my having to tolerate her noise.

  We had a cup of tea. It was nearly 11.30 a.m. Time to shift. When I arrived home, Neil was ready. I paid a quick visit to the can while he slung our bags and the dog's gear in the car. The pipes were beginning to rattle loudly after each flush – it was something that would have to be sorted, and soon.

  As I reversed off the drive, Dave’s house looked empty. Neither of us had seen him for days. I was beginning to feel a bit guilty; only a little bit though.

  We were at Phil's within an hour and a half. And by 2 p.m. aboard the coach and on our way to London. We managed to grab the back seat. Our driver for the afternoon was Steve. Nobody talked much on the journey. There was a lack of personalities travelling on this occasion. I could see Phil wasn't blown away by the ride, but at least it wasn't breaking the bank. We arrived at Victoria coach station earlier than scheduled.

  Peachy wasn't waiting for us. Phil rang his office. According to the woman on the other end (I assumed it was the Headmistress) half an hour had passed since he’d left.

  ‘He'll be here soon. You and Neil stay put. I'll nip to that off licence over there and get a bottle or three of vino collapso to go with dinner.’

  In the nearby Threshers, I bought some nuts and wine and, by the time I'd returned, Trev had materialised.

  ‘Here's something for the cellar,’ I said, handing Peach the off licence bag.

  ‘Cheers Will. Follow me.’

  We picked up our luggage and Peach led the way. We did the journey on the tube that had now become familiar, and in what seemed like a very short time, arrived at Little Venice. I watched their faces as Trev took Neil and Phil on board and gave them the guided tour. They were totally captivated by the boat.

  The tour over, Peachy had a quick mess-about with the oven and then pronounced it time to go ashore before dinner. We duly followed. Inside the pub, Phil and Neil continued to bombard Peach with many of the questions I had during my earlier visit. We stayed in the pub for about an hour. Phil kept on teasing Neil about Denise. The vet-jokes were definitely starting to wear a bit thin.

  ***

  Back on board we were greeted by the most delicious aroma. I wasn't sure whether it was Peachy showing off for our benefit or trying to impress his neighbours, but either way he definitely knew what he was doing in the galley.

  ‘What is it Peach?’ I asked.

  ‘Beef Wellington.’

  The little wood burner was crackling away, doing its duty. The newcomers were smitten with this home on the rolling deep. Peach had poured everyone a glass of claret. Neil and I relaxed on the easy chairs, Phil was already at the table, holding a knife and fork.

  ‘How long's it going to be Kozen?’

  ‘Don't be so impatient Simms. It'll be ready when it's ready.’ Phil was clearly starving.

  I tried to distract him. ‘Just drink your wine Phil. Savour the moment.’

  Peach had an announcement to make. ‘Gentlemen, there's a reason I've invited you all here this weekend.’

  Phil interrupted. ‘We're not going to wake up tomorrow with sore arses and our breath stinking of chloroform are we?’ Neil started sniggering, I smiled.

  ‘No.’ Peach was looking mildly irritated.

  ‘Looks like the trip's been a waste of time for you then Will.’ Neil said.

  I could see Peach was starting to get annoyed. I tried to cool him down. ‘Shut up everyone. Give him a chance. Carry on Peach, we're listening.’

  ‘OK then. When we had the reunion a few weeks ago everyone was in agreement that our lives hadn't perhaps gone as we would have hoped. Am I right?’ We sort of nodded and muttered affirmation.

  ‘Allow me to enlighten you with something that could change all that. Imagine yourselves in eighteenth century London. Let me tell you a story about a man called Steadman, John Steadman ...’

  ***

  For the next half-hour or so, we listened to Peach tell us the story of John Steadman's murder and how he believed that three innocent men had gone to the gallows for it. He believed the real murderer was a very wealthy man called Edward De Villiers. ‘The night that John Steadman went missing, and in all likelihood was killed, there had been a card game between him and De Villiers. I believe De Villiers lost everything he owned in that game and murdered Steadman in order to get it back.’

  Phil interjected. ‘You say the three that hanged were innocent? There must have been some compelling evidence against them.’

  ‘Evidence – yes, compelling – not too sure about that. Two of the men sold items of Steadman's to a jeweller, who, by virtue of the fact he took receipt of the goods, became the third man accused of the murder. When the Runners ...’

  Neil interrupted. ‘Runners?’

  ‘Yes, when the Bow Street Runners detained the two men that found the body, they had in their possession Steadman's watch and wallet. One of them was even wearing a shirt which had his monogram on.’

  ‘That sounds pretty conclusive from where I'm sitting,’ I said.

  Neil turned to me. ‘Is that the opinion of a cab driver or trolley thief?’

  ‘Point made.’ Neil was right.

  Peach continued. ‘The two thieves maintained they found the corpse on the bank of the Thames, not far from the Strand. The gaming house which was the venue for the meeting between Steadman and De Villiers was less than half a mile away.

  ‘Steadman wasn't found there, but further down the river at Shadwell, which is where all three men hailed from. Also, because the watch had no water inside its casing, nobody believed the two thieves. They insisted they'd found the body before the tide had got to it. That's when they rifled it for loot. The jeweller also protested his innocence but he suffered the same fate as the thieves.’

  ‘What makes you so sure it was De Villiers then?’ Phil asked.

  ‘Two things. First, a young girl who was working in the room where the card game took place made a statement to the Justice. She said she heard De Villiers put his trading company up as the stake in the final hand of the game, and that De Villiers had a promissory note drawn up.’

  Neil interrupted again. ‘What's a promissory note?’

  Phil answered the question. ‘It's an IOU. Stop interrupting Neil. Carry on please Peach.’

  I could te
ll Simms was getting into this; in fact, all of us were.

  ‘... which was witnessed by the club owner and James Moncourt.’

  ‘So why didn't they believe her statement?’ asked Phil.

  ‘You have to bear in mind that courts then were very different to the courts of today. A man with De Villiers’ wealth could produce plenty of affidavit men.’

  I needed clarification. ‘Affidavit men?’

  ‘Yes, basically witnesses that would be paid to provide an alibi. They would stand outside courthouses with straw in their shoes to signal that they could be procured.’

  This seemed a bit too fanciful for me. ‘Surely these affidavit men would be known to the court, and the girl's honesty would stand out a mile.’

  ‘No. Quite often they wouldn't. And as for the girl, she didn't just serve drinks at the room, she was also a prostitute. So her credibility was pretty much non-existent when compared to someone of De Villiers’ stature.’

  ‘What about the club owner and this Moncourt?’

  ‘The club owner denied any knowledge of the note. I'm guessing he was either paid off or too frightened. De Villiers had power and privilege. Don't forget a man had been killed, so what's to stop the owner ending up the same way if he didn't keep his mouth shut. As for Moncourt, he was De Villiers’ long time associate.’

  Neil recollected. ‘Two things Peach. You said there were two things that made you think De Villiers lost everything and killed this man.’

  ‘Yes. The second, and this is what makes me sure that De Villiers killed Steadman, is that a couple of days after the three men were executed for the murder, ‘De Villiers-Mercantile’ became ‘De Villiers-Moncourt’.’ He paused. ‘… with James Moncourt becoming an equal partner in the company.’

  ‘That doesn't prove anything,’ I said.

  ‘Maybe if it happened at any other time. But all things considered, especially the girl’s insistence that there was a note, leads me to draw one conclusion.’