Deadly Affair: A Georgian Historical Mystery (Alec Halsey Crimance)

by Lucinda Brant

  He’d stolen jewelry and letters from Mrs. Bourdon for the promise of the princely sum of five guineas. The guineas were Billy’s freedom. His new wealth would allow him to escape the drudgery of his pitiful existence. He hated working the land. He wanted to go to sea. He wanted to be a smuggler like his Uncle Nate.

  And then fortune had smiled upon him further.

  While in Mrs. Bourdon’s bedchamber ferreting amongst her personal belongings he’d discovered a lace handkerchief tied in a bow hiding jewelry worth a King’s ransom. The fine linen handkerchief with its delicate lace border had been tucked in a far corner of the bottom drawer of the small carved mahogany writing desk by the window. Three gold bracelets, an engraved silver button, a pair of diamond drop earrings, and an engraved gold band sized to fit a lady’s dainty finger. And there was also a bundle of letters tied up with ribbon.

  The promise of a few guineas didn’t matter all that much now he had gold in his pocket.

  Still, Billy wanted the guineas. He’d promised his sister Annie a crown for helping him spirit Miss Sophie away from the farm. He had increased it to two crowns when Annie was reluctant to hand the child over to some London gent we knows nothin’ ’bout. But Billy had lied to her, telling her the gentleman was in truth Sophie’s pa come to fetch her away to live a better life with him in a big London house. What Billy planned to do was offer little Sophie to the London gentleman, for a price. His Uncle Nate told him that kidnapping paid better coin than smuggling, depending on the hostage. Billy figured that little Sophie must be worth at least ten guineas, maybe twelve.

  Half a guinea had sealed Annie’s cooperation.

  Annie and the London gentleman need never know about the diamond drop earrings or the gold bangles. Billy would offer the letters for a price and maybe the gold band fit for a lady’s slender finger, and if the London gentleman didn’t want Sophie, he’d be on his way, leaving Annie to deal with the brat, especially now he’d been seen by the fine London lady who came to the farm once a year. Of all the tricks to serve for her to be at this very inn on this very night! He hoped Annie had the sense to remain out of sight until he returned from his meeting with the London gentleman. He’d stow the letters, up in the rafters of the third stall along on the right, just as the London gentleman had ordered, collect his guineas from under the saddle in that very stable, and make good his escape.

  He’d buy an inside seat on the Bristol mail coach…

  Annie wouldn’t see her money until he was good and ready to send it to her. That way he was assured of her silence and cooperation. Billy smiled at his own cleverness. Cripple he may be, but no one could accuse Billy Rumble of being a slow-top!

  The stables were alive with the bustle, noise and sweat of exhausted horses coming in for the night, stable boys too busy going about their business of feeding and watering animals and bedding them down before sunset to bother about a cripple who weaved his way amongst the multitudes of sweaty horse flesh and dozens of scuttling lads loaded up with bridle and tack. Billy disappeared into the unoccupied third stable. He stripped out of his woolen coat and had he not been so anxious to off load his stolen property and wedge it between two beams out of the line of sight, he may have noticed that in a darkened corner lurked a figure in a great coat and jockey boots.

  Billy jumped down off one of the cross beams and stepped back, satisfied the bundle was out of view. He adjusted his shirt and breeches, and was about to pick up his woolen coat to shrug it back on when he felt his pocket for the jewelry, wrapped in the soft lace edged handkerchief. To reassure himself for the umpteenth time that the jewelry was indeed real and still in his keeping, he dropped his coat and took out the handkerchief. As he did so the silver button and the earrings fell to the straw strewn floor.

  He shoved the handkerchief back in his breeches pocket without bothering to check the rest of its precious contents and in the fading light scrambled to retrieve the priceless earrings amongst sodden straw and muck. His sigh of relief at finding one of the diamond earrings was audible. He would have kept searching for its twin but he sensed a presence and righting himself he found his nose swallowed up by a linen cravat between the high collar of an expensive many-capped greatcoat.

  He fell back with surprise, a lump in his throat, knowing who it was without glancing up, and felt something cold and sharp prick the soft underside of his chin. He swallowed and hot tears welled up behind his eyelids. The earring he clutched in a tight fist.

  “You’re a miserable disappointment, Billy-boy,” drawled the insolent voice of the London gentleman. “Up and get those letters.”

  Billy wanted to duck under the London gentleman’s arm and run as fast as he could but the tip of the sword hovered dangerously close to his reddened ear, and he knew with bitter certainty that his uneven legs wouldn’t get him very far. He prayed the handkerchief and diamond earrings had gone unnoticed. So he did as he was told, the earring clutched a little tighter and his legs and arms weaker at the thought of what the London gentleman might do to him if he disobeyed. Knowing the stableboys continued on with their tasks just outside the stable door was small comfort that he was not alone.

  Back on firm ground, Billy held out the packet of letters. The London gentleman snatched at them with his gloved hand, sword still trained on Billy, and loosened the silk bow by tugging impatiently on an end with his front teeth. When the letters spilled and scattered he cursed. Billy was ordered to pick them up and show the direction of each letter, one by one, to the London gentleman so that he could peruse the handwriting in the fading light.

  Heart thudding against his ribs, Billy did as he was told and waited for the inevitable question he knew would be asked of him as the London gentleman’s swearing intensified with each letter presented for his inspection. The sword was waved menacingly.

  “Are you certain these are her only correspondence?”

  Billy nodded vigorously. He didn’t trust himself to speak. Gingerly, he held out the bundle of gathered up letters. They were snatched up and flung to the ground.

  “Christ! Worthless.” These letters were not what he wanted. They had been written by that Jamison-Lewis trollop: of no use to him whatsoever. There had to be other letters; she’d been secreted away in the country for how long now—three or was it four years? She must have corresponded with someone in that time; told someone about her predicament.

  Movement had his eyes fixed on Billy again. In the light of one burning taper he could see the boy kept his gaze firmly on the ground. What was he hiding? His left hand was shoved deep in his breeches pocket.

  “What you got there, Billy-boy, eh?”

  “I-I brought you some’in’ else!” Billy said eagerly. “I got Miss Sophie. She must be worth somethin’ to ye?”

  “What? What are you blathering about, boy?”

  “Mrs. Bourdon’s dau’ter. I got her too. Her ma don’t know ’cause she’s gone to Bath. Ye can have her too for a price.”

  “You stole a-a brat from its mother?” The London gentleman was incredulous. “Hell and damnation! Not only a bloody cripple but a fleshmonger!”

  “She’s healthy and bonny and would fetch a good price. M’sister’s keepin’ her safe while I negotiate a price for her.”

  “Negotiate a price?” The London gentleman’s shoulders shook with silent mirth. “I’ll own you’ve got ballocks, Billy-boy!”

  “Wooder I fetch her for you, sir?” Billy asked eagerly, hoping for an excuse to escape.

  The London gentleman viewed him dispassionately. His voice was flat.

  “Take your hand from your pocket and open your fist.”

  Billy hesitated.

  He felt the sting before he saw the sword move. The London gentleman had slashed his shirt above the elbow of his left arm and blood began to seep from a long deep scratch. He managed to muffle the scream in his throat and readily extracted his left hand, but his fist remained closed. Again there was pain before the movement of the sword registered and the boy st
ared down at his fist in incomprehension as a long thin line of raw flesh peeled back across his knuckles. He blinked up at his tormentor, biting his lip to stop himself from crying, and opened out his grubby fingers.

  The London gentleman snatched up the diamond earring and a twisted smile curved his lips. He knew this piece of jewelry. “Where’s its twin, Billy-boy?” he asked silkily.

  “What, sir? Other earring? I don’t have it, sir,” he lied. “I just took the-the—that. Not’in’ else. Honest.”

  “You had time to rummage amongst that harlot’s undergarments, to do a bit of thieving, and yet you bring me a worthless packet of letters?” The London gentleman set his teeth. “There’s a handkerchief in your pocket, liar. Give it to me.”

  Billy dug into his pocket and had the presence of mind to extract the handkerchief by a lace corner so at the very least one of the gold bracelets might drop deep into his breeches pocket to escape detection. It was the small gold band that slid back into his pocket. He hung his head as he handed over his bounty, at being discovered a liar and disappointed he’d only managed to salvage the small gold band from his treasure. Still gold was gold and he’d get something for it. From under his lashes he watched the London gentleman feel the handkerchief’s contents without opening it out and then shove it in a pocket of his riding frockcoat along with the diamond earring.

  “You’re a liar, Billy-boy,” the London gentleman slurred. “A liar and a kidnapper and a thief.”

  Billy wanted to sob. Blood trickled down his arm and between his knuckles. “Pleaze, sir, I—I brung the letters like you wanted. The jewelry, it waz layin’ there amongst her things and I thought you could sell that along with the brat and fetch a good—”

  “I didn’t offer you payment to think, cripple.”

  “Pleaze, sir, y’must believe—”

  “Do you know what happens to thieves and kidnappers, Billy-boy?”

  Billy knew. He’d seen three men and a boy, younger than himself, hanged in the village square for stealing a sheep from Squire Hinton. Everyone had turned out in their Sunday best and it was talked about for months afterwards. Still, he thought it better to plead ignorance and reasoned the London gentleman was just as much at fault for asking him to steal the letters. He said nothing, just shook his head.

  The stranger’s smile broadened into a grin as shouts outside the stall demanded that the stable boys stop their tomfoolery and get back to work or they’d forfeit their supper.

  “No supper for you, Billy-boy,” purred the London gentleman, and with one quick deep thrust of his bloodied sword he pierced Billy Rumble’s heart.

  With Talgarth safely ensconced in the bedchamber next to her own, Selina left Evans to supervise the making of beds with her own clean linen while she went in search of Billy Rumble. She reasoned the boy hadn’t gone far because it was almost dark and no one travelled on a moonless night without good reason, not without a fresh horse and an escort, all of which Billy was too poor to afford.

  On the second floor gallery that wrapped around three sides of the inn’s internal courtyard she came face to face with a slip of a girl leading a small child by the hand. The narrowness of the passage and Selina’s wide petticoats prevented her from passing them, so she patiently waited until they were at the stairwell that lead down to the courtyard or up to another level of rooms, wondering which direction they meant to take. The slip of a girl put her foot on the stair leading up, so Selina stepped forward in anticipation of going down the stairs. But the small child hesitated. The little round face framed by a wealth of black ringlets stared up the darkened stairwell as if it was an insurmountable object and rubbed her eye with a chubby fist. She yawned and blinked and asked the slip of a girl for her mother.

  The child spoke French but the girl leading her did not, evident in her clumsy response about no coin for food. The child’s French tongue triggered a memory for Selina but the girl’s county dialect froze her in disbelief, for she reasoned the tired child had to be Sophie Bourdon and the slip of a girl whose hand she held must be none other than Annie Rumble, Billy Rumble’s younger sister.

  How did they come to be here, at a bustling inn full of weary travelers, miles from home, alone, ill-clothed and unfed? More importantly, wondered Selina, why were they at the inn, Billy and his sister Annie with little Sophie in tow? Where was Sophie’s mother Miranda? That the little girl was dressed in nothing more than a white linen nightgown that was grubby and creased and without benefit of a warm cloak for such a cold night alerted Selina that all was not right. Miranda would never allow her daughter out of doors without proper clothing and she certainly would not leave her in the care of a young scullery maid and a boy stable-hand. So where was Miranda?

  Selina inched her way forward, hoping not to startle Annie into making any sudden move with the child. She wanted to get as close to the pair as possible, in the event that Annie made a dash for the stairwell she would be able to grab Sophie from her with a minimum of fuss. She was almost upon them when there was the sound of voices from the third landing above.

  Annie jumped with fright and hesitated, listening.

  Doors were creaked open and slammed shut above their heads. There were shouts, too, from the courtyard below. There seemed to be some sort of gathering of men. The sudden flash of light as several flambeaux were lit all at once confirmed this. The light passed on out of the courtyard, towards the stables was Selina guess, but she dared not look over the railing. Her focus remained on Annie and Sophie and Annie’s next move.

  Annie had her back up against the wall, as if she did not want to be seen. When Sophie took a few short steps toward the stairs and again asked for her mother, Annie yanked her close, squeezing her tiny wrist hard in the process.

  Sophie let out a howl and Annie went down on her haunches to hush her.

  Measured footfall in the stairwell coming up from below distracted Annie for a moment and she glanced over her shoulder before saying to the little girl, face stuck in hers.

  “Stop y’whining! D’y want Billy to fetch the gurt beastie? He will. He will if y’don’t shut off that noise! Y’frightened of the gurt beastie ain’t ye?”

  Sophie shook her ringlets vigorously and tearfully said no several times before again asking for her mother.

  Selina’s heart missed a beat. Annie and Billy had abducted Sophie.

  It was time to act.

  The footsteps had ceased.

  Annie took a tentative peek along the passage, the sobbing Sophie pushed behind her woolen skirts, to see if the stairs were now clear of travelers. Just as she did so Selina dashed forward, across the mouth of the stairwell, and scooped up the little girl and turned away from Annie so the girl could not make a grab to take the child back. She held the little girl close to the warmth of her own body and spoke soothing words in French about being reunited with her mother and having something warm to eat and drink, all to stop the child’s struggles and her frightened sobs.

  With Sophie soon quiet and clinging to the perfumed lady’s brown velvet cloak, Selina rounded angrily on Annie, a hand covering the child’s bare feet which were as cold as blocks of ice.

  “Where’s Mrs. Bourdon, girl?”

  Startled, Annie was too frightened to speak or move. She stared wild-eyed at the splendidly dressed lady, with her translucent skin, dark eyes and wild flamed-colored curls mussed from travel, as if she was staring at an apparition. But in two blinks she knew who she was. She gulped. There was a large painting of this lady over the mantle in the drawing room back at Ellick Farm. Billie told her the London lady’s brother had painted it. Annie liked to gaze upon the portrait every time she cleaned soot from the grate, dreaming of herself in such splendid petticoats of sky-blue silk and riding about in a horse-drawn carriage. But Billie hadn’t said anything about the London lady being at the inn this night. Perhaps she was a friend of the London gentleman come to collect Miss Sophie?

  “Dun rightly know, m’lady. Billy says she’s gone to Bat
h.” Annie bobbed a clumsy curtsey for good measure. “M’sister Janie went with her.”

  “Bath?” Selina did not believe her. She held Sophie closer. “Why have you and Billy brought Sophie to this place?”

  So the London lady didn’t know about the London gentleman. Annie hoped Billie would be back very soon. He could explain matters much better than she ever could. But Billy had been gone a long time now and that’s why Annie had ventured out of their hiding place to find him. She didn’t think Billy would want her to mention the London gentleman to this London lady. He might not give her the promised half guinea if she did. But now the London lady had Sophie what were her chances of receiving anything?

  Annie glanced at the stairwell, wondering if she could make good her escape, and her eyes widened at the sight of a tall stranger in a many caped greatcoat and jockey boots standing in shadow and blocking the entrance. Maybe she could turn tail and flee back along the gallery? The London lady wouldn’t be able to follow her with Sophie tight in her arms. For now, best to remain ignorant. It was all Billy’s fault anyway.

  So Annie shrugged, a sullen pull to her mouth, in response to Selina’s question and retreated a few paces along the passage, a fearful glance at the stranger in shadow.

  Selina saw the glance and looked over her shoulder. As she did so Annie picked up the hem of her Sunday-best gown and fled back along the passage. She was caught around the neck in two strides.

  Annie squawked and struggled and tried to break free but there was no chance of escape from the stranger, and so he told her in a measured tone as he brought her back to stand once more before the London lady.