The Fabric of Murder (Mysteries of Georgian Norfolk Book 2)

by William Savage

  ‘That must have been a shock indeed,’ the alderman said.

  ‘I am sure it was. Of course, we know now that Daniel Bonneviot had made a secret deal with Master Burford, but I am sure George could not have known that. Perhaps it had not even been completed at that time. All he would see was a business headed for bankruptcy, due to his father’s stubbornness and temper.’

  ‘But he had been disinherited!’ The mayor seemed to be struggling to keep up with these revelations. ‘It would no longer matter to him.’

  ‘No, indeed. But it would plunge his mother into poverty and cause great hardship to many loyal workers. I know from my conversation with Mrs. Swan that she felt little love for her father. All her life, she had been forced to bow to his will and take on roles she did not want to follow. I also know from elsewhere …’ Foxe carefully avoided mentioning that his source had been Mistress Gracie Catt. ‘ … that Bonneviot seemed to take pleasure in violence directed at women. It seems likely to me that both his wives, and his daughter too, had suffered many blows and indignities at his hands. Now George discovered, so he believed, that his father was prepared to ruin his whole family to pursue a foolish quarrel with London merchants. It was the last straw. He had to be stopped.’

  #

  While the rest sat silent, absorbing what Foxe had told them, the mayor was still some way behind.

  ‘Stopped? How could George stop him? He was disinherited. He had no standing from which to launch a court action, nor any sway with his father that might let him try persuasion.’

  ‘Bonneviot had to die. Then George had to find a way to claim the unsold cloth, since he could not inherit it. Once it was his, he would sell it and make money enough to support his mother and give him the inheritance so unjustly denied him. The plan was laid. All that was needed was a way to lure his father to a specific place at a specific time, where the hired assassin would be waiting.’

  ‘No! No! I am lost, sir,’ the mayor protested. ‘George did not kill his father, Hinman did. George did not claim the cloth, that was Hinman too. George was disinherited. He could not claim anything.’

  ‘George Bonneviot and Hinman were one and the same person,’ Brock said. ‘Am I not right, Foxe?’

  ‘You are, Brock. In what transpired, we have the greatest possible proof of George Bonneviot’s talents as an actor. Aye, and a playwright too, for he it was who wrote and staged the melodrama that was to unfold before us all.’

  There was silence. The mayor appeared completely stunned, while the alderman and Guild Master frowned in violent concentration. Was there truly a wholly new explanation for what they thought they had once understood?

  ‘Jerome Bonneviot had collected books,’ Foxe continued at last. ‘After his death, his son, Daniel, sold them. Not all at once. He sold them in small lots whenever he needed extra cash. By now, nearly all were gone, yet he still had a few worth selling. I asked Mrs. Bonneviot if she had known of her husband’s gradual sale of his father’s collection. She has written to tell me that she did. He made no secret of it.’

  ‘What …? Books? How do books feature here?’ It was the mayor again. His face was becoming red with the effort of keeping up.

  ‘George must also have known what his father did when money was tight. Now, I believe, he sent word to Daniel Bonneviot – posing as Mr. James Hinman, I expect – expressing an interest in purchasing certain books he must have known for sure were in his grandfather’s collection. I imagine he suggested a price large enough to cause Daniel to rush to sell them without further thought. The only stipulation was that the sale should be secret. Mr. Hinman specified the exact time and place. There he would receive the books and hand over the money.’

  ‘Were these books so valuable …?’, Alderman Halloran said. Then his face showed he had grasped the point. ‘Oh, I am slow indeed! Of course! I know exactly what you mean. Yes!’

  ‘I’m glad you know what he’s talking about, Halloran,’ the Master said, sounding peevish. ‘I can only echo the mayor’s question. Why bring up the secret sale of some books?’

  ‘That was how he made sure Bonneviot would go to the right spot at the time when McSwiggan, the assassin, would be waiting. It was but the work of a moment for him to kill Daniel Bonneviot. His son may even have watched him do it. He must have been nearby to pick up the books his father had brought and spirit them away.’

  ‘All this cannot be true!’ the mayor protested. ‘Hinman and George Bonneviot cannot be the same person.’

  ‘It is true, sir. I had our coroner send for Mrs. Swan and show her the body Brock here identified as Mr. Hinman. She confirmed that it was her step-brother, George Bonneviot.’ Once again, for a few moments, all in the room were silent, finally taking in the full cunning and ruthlessness that had been used.

  ‘How could George Bonneviot have fooled us, Foxe?’ It was the mayor again, still unwilling to believe what the others could now see plain before them. ‘He was born in this city. Grew up here. Many would have known him.’

  ‘The one they knew, Mr. Mayor, was a boy of twelve years old or under. Now he was a man of twenty-four or twenty-five. He had hardly been in this city in the time between. Add his acting skills, fine clothes and perhaps some other tricks of the stage, and he could pass unknown. Especially as no one expected to encounter him. So long as he avoided the few who would know him anywhere, like his step-sister and mother, he could pass amongst us unrecognised. He also took the greatest possible care to establish his new identity beyond doubt. He frequented the coffee houses and meeting places of the city – always amongst relative strangers. There he proclaimed himself to be Mr. James Hinman of Halifax. He could talk wisely about cloth and the cloth-trade, for he had been a journeyman weaver, as well as the son of one of the most prosperous merchants in the city. Nor need he fear mistakes in his knowledge of the north of England and Yorkshire, since that was where he was living. All he had to do was shift the focus to a known centre of worsted manufacture, like Halifax. The rest was easy.’

  ‘Aye,’ Brock said. ‘I wager he still knew enough of Norwich to be able to find the men he needed. That’s how he found Underhill, the forger, and McSwiggan to carry out the murder.’

  ‘And Beeston for the money, Brock. The hundred pounds his father had given him would not go far. He had new clothes to buy and a prosperous lifestyle to maintain. He had to pay men like Underhill and McSwiggan. Beeston was his first bad mistake. I fear it also proved his last.’

  ‘So what was his plan?’ Alderman Halloran asked.

  ‘It was simple, yet almost perfect,’ Foxe said. ‘He would obtain a false bill of sale, so that he could claim the cloth had been sold to him. Not just sold, but – and this was important – sold before his father had contracted any loans. That was why he was so particular in the date he asked Underhill to put upon it. In that way, he could, as Hinman, say that the cloth was already his. Then it would not be included in Bonneviot’s estate or fall prey to his creditors. All this he did as Hinman. As George, he could say he had returned to the North after his father disinherited him. That was what we assumed anyway. He was several hundred miles away when the killing and fraud took place. Besides, as you have pointed out, Mr. Mayor, on the face of things his father’s death would not benefit him at all. He no longer had an inheritance.’

  ‘What a devil!’ the mayor cried. ‘To murder his own father for gain!’

  ‘No, sir. Not for gain. For revenge. Revenge for the blows and indignities he must have seen his mother and step-sister endure for many years. Revenge for being sent to London and forced to spend seven years learning a trade he did not like or wish to follow. Revenge above all for his father’s disdain and cruel rejection and for his dashed hopes. He had returned in triumph to prove, like father and grandfather, he had made good through his own, unaided effort. Yet his father had treated him with contempt. Daniel Bonneviot caused his own death, you might well say. His many sins caught up with him at last.’

  ‘And you worked out what
George was up to and thus allowed us to frustrate it, Foxe,’ Alderman Halloran said. ‘He must have been going to sell that cloth for whatever he could get, just as the London banker would have done. That would have ruined our trade.’

  ‘I was too slow, I fear, Alderman. I had my suspicions when the business arose of there being no inventory with the bill of sale. Who might know the cloth was in the warehouse, yet be unable to access it to list what was there? I even considered George Bonneviot at the start of this affair, but for the wrong reason. Like everyone else, I accepted the false image of his character. I was told of his determination to become an actor. I knew of the talent the London managers saw in him. Yet I still failed to do more than see both as further proof that he must be away in the North, busy learning his new craft. Had I been quicker to see what was going on, I might have saved George from Beeston’s men.’

  ‘You would have only saved him for the hangman, Foxe,’ the mayor said.

  ‘True, sir. Yet that would be a quicker and less agonising way to die.’

  ‘Be that as it may, you have our most profound thanks. You have been the means of saving us all from substantial loss. You have also allowed this disgraceful business to remain secret. I charge all of you here present never to speak of what you have heard today. Let the world believe Bonneviot died at the hands of a footpad. His business and estate are already being wound up in the normal way of things. I doubt there will be much money left when all is done, but we will not leave Mrs. Bonneviot without the means of support. That much her son has achieved for her, even if he failed in all the rest.’

  ‘I have also taken the liberty of writing this morning to Mrs. Swan, sir,’ Foxe said, ‘asking her to tell her step-mother only that some ruffians unknown had killed George. That much is true, after all. I suggested he had returned secretly to Norwich, fearful of his father’s wrath. He may even have intended to visit his family again. Unhappily, he had fallen foul of thieves, being but a penniless actor and unable to lodge anywhere but in the worst parts of the city. Such a tale will cause no fuss, only sadness.’

  ‘You have done the right thing, Foxe,’ Alderman Halloran said. ‘There is no need to cause more distress to Mrs. Bonneviot, nor blacken the name of a family once well-respected in the city. Every large town in the land possesses areas where the criminal classes lurk. Until we can cleanse our realm of such noisome persons, they will commit every foul deed imaginable. Only the most rigorous application of the law can contain them.’

  ‘Speaking of which,’ the mayor said, ‘I have committed Underhill and McSwiggan for trial at the next assize. I dare say they will trouble us no more. As for Beeston, he is far too cunning a rogue to be taken easily. Yet Providence may yet produce his downfall, as it did for both Bonneviots, father and son.’

  The mayor and the Guild Master now took their leave. Foxe and Brock also departed. The Alderman was triumphant. His protégè, Foxe, had delivered everything he had hoped. The mayor was once more indebted to him. And best of all, Mr. Foxe had assured him that he would soon call with several most interesting additions for his library.

  23

  The Mayor's Ball

  George Bonneviot was laid to rest in the family plot, as far away from his father as might be managed with decency. His step-sister saw to that. She also took care that, in death, he should be treated with all the dignity due to him as a member of the Bonneviot family. Many of the family even made the journey from London once again, mourning son as well as father. Daniel Bonneviot’s death had wiped away any lurking doubts about his standing as a merchant and master weaver. Now George was honoured as a successful young actor, denied the career he had craved. Theatrical folk stood alongside sober merchants at the funeral.

  Foxe did not attend, nor did Brock. No one must know that they had any part in the events surrounding either death. Instead, they went to Foxe’s favourite coffee house and raised a dish of chocolate each to George’s memory.

  ‘I believe, in all honesty, that he might have become one of the titans of the stage, Brock, whether as actor or playwright. His one and only performance in this city was masterly on both counts. As Hinman, he convinced us all of his false identity. As the designer of the means of carrying out his plan, while maintaining the fiction that he was far away at the time, he nearly brought off another triumph. Indeed, while I wish the death of no man, I am almost sorry for my part in unmasking his intentions. Daniel Bonneviot, as I told our own audience that day in Alderman Halloran’s library, was in large part the cause of his own death. Had it not been for his domineering, tyrannical violence in his home, his wives and children might have loved him. In business too, he gave few any cause to regret his passing. A most quarrelsome and disputatious man! Someone must have struck him down eventually.’

  ‘Did you sell the alderman any books?’

  ‘Oh yes. I never buy a book without knowing at the same time whom I can sell it to, Brock. To have unsold stock on your shelves looks well, but makes no profit. Our good alderman’s purse is quite a little lighter, but he is happier for the loss.’

  ‘And yours is even fatter! Though I dare say the Catt sisters will help ease the burden of all those guineas soon enough. It is the Mayor’s Ball next week. Which one are you taking?’

  ‘Why, both.’

  Foxe’s reply caused poor Brock to choke on a mouthful of chocolate, so that it was some moments before he could speak again.

  ‘By God, Foxe! That will cause such a tittle-tattling in the city as will last a full twelve months. Are you serious? To go to the Mayor’s Ball in the company of an actress is scarcely pardonable in the eyes of many. To take the madam of a bordello, even if it is both fashionable and patronised by all the quality in the city, will be seen as proof that your soul is damned for all eternity. To take both … I cannot find the words to describe the uproar it will cause. Does the mayor know what you intend?’

  ‘I think it might best come as a surprise. He might try to stop me otherwise and that I will not allow. I am sure he will cope admirably on the night, even if it will put a sore strain on his heart when he sees us for the first time. He is well used to putting a diplomatic face on situations of extreme embarrassment.’

  ‘Why do you do things like this?’

  ‘Why not? I care not a fig for the niceties of society. Nor for the strictures of the self-righteous. Besides, none can do anything to me, for I have more than enough money to render me immune from their petty displeasure. No, Brock. I will take both ladies because both deserve it. They are beautiful, elegant and well-born. As you well know, their father was amongst the most prosperous local merchants, as is their brother. Even more than that, they are clever and successful in their chosen paths. And most of all, I love them both dearly. What better reasons could you wish for?’

  ‘None, I suppose. I only regret I will not be there to see the expressions of horror on the faces of many present.’

  ‘But you will, Brock. I have purchased a ticket for you too.’ Brock could only gape at that. ‘I cannot be with both ladies every moment and I would not leave either in the situation of not having a suitable gentleman to escort them. Just about every man in the whole room, be he but wealthy enough, will have enjoyed the services of Gracie’s girls on many occasions. Even so, none will dare acknowledge her openly in the presence of their wives and female relatives. They will smile and nod and hope no one notices. Nor will many be willing to be seen with an actress, especially one who is young, beautiful and well-known for taking on many comic and bawdy roles. No, I will rely on you to attend whichever sister I am unable to be with at that point. You do not care about society’s strictures any more than I do, Brock. And if any assail you with reproaches, you have my permission to deal with them in whatever way you think fit.’

  #

  The evening of the Mayor’s Ball proved fine and not too warm. This was counted a great blessing by all who planned to attend. All would be wearing their best clothes. Thus none relished arriving outside the Assembly
Rooms in rain and having to hasten inside as best they could. Dancing shoes were not made for damp ground or moving at too fast a pace. Even a shower might mark silks and satins. And as for the magnificent hats and hairstyles …! Most could recall past occasions when the short walk to the entrance had ruined hours of work and a good many guineas’ worth of laces and feathers.

  Too warm an evening could be almost as bad. So many people and candles in one room always made it uncomfortably hot, whatever the temperature outside. But if the air was warm already, even sitting and talking would cause great discomfort, let alone dancing.

  Mindful of the preservation of his guests’ outfits, Mr. Foxe had hired a roomy, closed carriage. Now, as this equipage drew up, he swiftly jumped down, ready to hand his ladies down from the carriage and escort them within. As always, a throng of townspeople and loungers were also on hand. All were eager to view the fashions. Many were also ready enough to shout out ribald comments in voices rich with Norfolk dialect.

  Foxe’s appearance drew a good few appreciative whistles and cat-calls. ‘Gawd save us!’ came one voice from the crowd. ‘Is that a man or what? I ain’t never seen so many patterns on one suit afore.’