Eustace expected to be let out of prison and should go scot free in a day or so. Today, he hoped. He waited impatiently for the wily barrister he hired to spur his release. Eustace had kept a stash of gold hidden away as insurance should he get caught—much of it came from the Dancys and what he and his cohorts’ took from joint criminal endeavors. It would seem freedom was rather expensive, but born in White Chapel, Eustace was smart and crafty as well.
He was munching on a bruised piece of fruit, juice running out one corner of his mouth as his discolored teeth bit into it when Riddell Swinster was allowed into his cell. The lawyer smiled toothily, settling his fat rump on the rickety wooden chair. That small luxury had cost Eustace twenty-five shillings.
Eustace snarled at his gaoler to leave them alone. When the cell door clanged shut, he turned his piercing glare at Swinster. “Well? Do I get outta this hell hole today?”
The barrister placed a leather portfolio on the table, shoving the dirty dishes out of his way. “First, Dancy, where is my fee?”
“Yer fee? What do ye take me for, pettifogger?” Eustace sprang up from his cot, his excited tones jumping one octave higher. He ranted at the lawyer, his beefy hands gesturing angrily. His temper was hot with rage; his brain was ready to explode. Even so, he managed to keep it under control. The man before him was his last resort if he wanted to be released from the Tower. He had no more ready funds to pay him, but the rotund barrister didn’t know that. Eustace would lie his way outta this just like he did many times before. Fake his wimpy humility if need be.
“Ye’ll see the rest o’yer fee when a carriage is waitin’ fer me outside the Tower’s front portal. Now get yer business done by t’morrow before noon. One of my men will turn over yer fee when I’m free. And no later than t’morrow! Hear me!” Dancy threatened.
* * * *
The following day, Eustace had Riddell Swinster picked up at his residence in Half Moon Street. He didn’t want any mishaps with the lawyer not showing up at the Tower on time. One of Eustace’s less disreputable cohorts sat on the carriage’s bench seat in Mayfair when the dandyish lawyer stepped out of his town house. The man frowned, halting next to a closed carriage. Although wary, the lawyer never recognized the driver as one of Eustace’s cutthroats.
“What is this?” Swinster huffed, his expression annoyed.
“G’day, gov’ner.” The driver spit a succinct explanation between two missing teeth. “I been ordered to drive ye to the Tower—paid for the ride by a Mr. Dancy. I’m ta wait there till ye finish wi’ yer business inside.”
“And why is that?”
“Why, ta make sure a certain gen’tlman steps outta them doors wi’ ye.” He cackled. “Or there’s no deal.”
Riddell Swinster often did business with nefarious and dangerous criminals, but he always demanded payment in advance. He was more than leery of the man accused as a traitor to the King, so he added a heavy fee for Eustace Dancy. Then, he argued long and hard for total and immediate payment, but this time, it didn’t work. Dancy told him he could take it or leave it. And where he could shove it. He would hire someone else. Greedy as always, Swinster negotiated a smaller upfront fee. Final payment was due only when Dancy was released.
Swinster paid hefty bribes to those employed in the Tower. They cost him a fine penny, but he got the accused man off the hook. Dancy claimed, long and loud, that his accusers spouted lies against him, all evidence was flimsy and coincidental—if not fictitious and totally erroneous. Riddell knew the law, and he had a fine, mesmerizing voice. His silver-edged tones sounded more than convincing. He harangued the bewigged magistrates and justices with sincerity when he appeared before them on behalf of his nefarious clients.
Dancy’s release had been decided within minutes. Riddell strongly advised Eustace to leave town and not return in a decade or if government insiders learned of his unorthodox release. If the damn culprit didn’t take his advice and was again apprehended, it wasn’t his problem. He made an error in judgment taking on this client, but he wouldn’t get involved a second time.
Swinster set his foot into the waiting coach. “I don’t want to hear excuses when this nasty business is over and done with, so hurry up now and get moving. I won’t waste my time on the likes of Eustace Dancy if I can help it.” Riddell slammed the door shut and leaned back against the stained squabs.
The jarvey leaned over and replied, “Right ye are, gov’ner.” He laughed. “Niver fear. Billy Yates don’t make mistakes when he’s paid good money to do somethin’.”
Swinster smiled snidely. He’d soon have a wad of money safely in his hands and in his bank account as soon as Dancy stepped out through the doors of the Tower with him. Good riddance to bad rubbish! When the coach halted in front of the prison, Riddell emerged from it swinging his Malacca cane jauntily, a leather portfolio tucked under his other arm. He strode briskly through the Tower’s entrance. An hour later, Riddell accompanied Eustace Dancy out of the jail’s double doors. A different vehicle stood waiting at the entrance.
“What is going on here, Dancy? What happened to the other carriage and driver?” Swinster asked, pausing in his stride.
“He must’ve have had other business. But you’re welcome to ride with me.”
With that, Eustace took a firm grip on the lawyer’s fleshy arm and forcibly coaxed him into the larger vehicle. Inside, two men grabbed the lawyer and yanked him farther inside. Eustace jumped in behind him. Grabbing Swinster’s cane, Eustace rapped on the carriage’s roof. Four horses plunged into the leather traces as the bulky carriage lumbered away from the Tower in what appeared to be a great hurry.
“Dammit, what is this damn nonsense, Dancy?” Swinster growled. “I’m not going anywhere with you until I get final payment!”
“Hear this, you miserable, thievin’ pettifogger. I ain’t givin’ you no more blunt! Now shet up your miserable, lying mouth before I shet it for ye!”
Eustace’s two cohorts wrestled Swinster to the carriage’s floor and held him down.
“Search him,” Eustace ordered one of the men. “See what he’s got in his pockets or anything on his person—coin or jewelry—take whatever is valuable. He won’t need it where he’s going.”
“Here now, stop this!” Swinster complained, panic stealing into his voice. “What do you think you’re doing, Dancy?”
“Takin’ back my blunt, you blasted, goddamn bloodsucker!”
One of the men clubbed the lawyer on the head with a stubby shank of wood. Swinster immediately stopped squawking and collapsed into a silent, unmoving lump. A large hand came up holding a leather purse after digging it out of an inside pocket in the lawyer’s well-tailored jacket. “Here ‘tis.” The ruffian held it up then tossed it to Eustace.
“Good man. Let him stay where he is. When we get to a bridge, you can help our friend there to the outside and shove him over the edge.” Eustace chuckled wickedly. “Seems a fine day for a swim, eh what?” Eustace spat out the humorous retort, and looked down at the unconscious barrister as he roared with nasty laughter.
* * * *
An hour or more later, Eustace’s carriage halted on a narrow bridge a short distance from London proper. His two burly cohorts then dragged Riddell Swinster out of the carriage, lifted him bodily over the side of the bridge’s rail, and let go of him. With a loud splash, the form of an ungainly, rotund male quickly disappeared beneath the strong current of turbulent water as it flowed beneath the bridge. The ruffians wiped their hands on their trousers and returned to Eustace, who waited in the vehicle. He had considered not paying his cohorts at all. A quick tap on the carriage’s roof while they dumped Swinster, and the driver could have whipped the horses and drove off. But Eustace thought better of it. He might need the goodwill of those two should he end up in trouble with the law again. He loosened the cords on the leather pouch they had removed from Swinster’s pocket and counted out several large coins. He tossed payment to the men.
“
I take it ye two can find yer way back to Seven Dials.”
Two shaggy heads bobbed in agreement. “Yer lips are sealed, remember? Not a word. No bleating out a tale ta the bloody news sheets. And damn you, don’t mention my name ta Bow Street’s robin red breasts. Talk ta nobody about me, d’ye hear! ’Cause where I’m goin’ is none o’ yer business. If I hear ye was spreadin’ rumors, I’ll find ye, and ’twouldn’t be pretty when I do.”
“Righto, Dancy,” the pair responded as one.
“Now git! I got me some serious thinkin’ to do.” Eustace lifted Swinster’s Malacca cane and rapped its silver handle against the coach’s roof.
The carriage jerked forward, and the two ruffians stumbled backward, sprawled down on their arses on the bridge. Whipped into action by a heavy-handed blow from the driver, the equines plunged ahead, leaving London and heading toward Kent as ironbound wheels rattled over the slats of the narrow, wooden span.
Chapter 11
ANXIOUS to learn what more he could about Emily, the next morning Gavin avoided the wilderness path, and cantered Pegasus down the dusty lane to Toynton-under-Hill and the White Dove Tavern. When he entered, Bart Whiggs looked up and greeted Leathem. “Good mornin’, m’lord. Kin I pour ye a tankard?”
Somehow, the barkeep had learned of his title. Gavin wondered what other gossip had spread to the village about him. He slid his buttocks onto a stool at the bar. Beside him a stool was currently occupied by a whiskered codger he remembered from his first visit. Swallowing a deep draught of the foamy liquid, Gavin shifted his attention to the old fellow.
“Good day, sir,” Leathem said, friendly-like.
The ancient villager squinted over at Gavin. “’Tain’t sure about that.” His voice came out rusty with old age. “’Tis early yet. Might know the weather som’ot better later t’day.” The old man cackled, downing a mouthful of ale and wiping a shirtsleeve across his gray whiskers.
Gavin’s dark eyes crinkled at the corners, and he laughed with the old gent.
Whiggs had meandered along the bar toward the pair, dragging a damp rag on the polished surface. “This here is Jonas Sparks, m’lord. Jonas knows ev’rybody and ev’rythin’ about Toynton-under-Hill. I’d guess Jonas has been here since the year of the flood. Ain’t that right, Jonas?” Whiggs added a low guffaw and a sly wink at Leathem. “Mind ye, m’lord, iffen yer still curious, Jonas here can talk yer ear orf better than me.”
“That stream in back niver rose over them banks since a decade past, Bart Whiggs. I knows that to be true,” the old man spit out, frowning. “’Cause I made note o’that.”
It would appear the two men had been in the middle of an argument before Leathem arrived.
Now Gavin leaned toward Jonas, noticing the old man’s tankard was almost empty. “Pour Mr. Sparks more ale, barkeep.”
Whiggs filled the tankard, and Jonas raised it in salute to Gavin. “Mighty obliged, m’lord.” Glistening foam bubbled over the rim and dripped down the mug’s sides.
Gavin moved a little closer. “Mr. Whiggs tells me you know all there is to know about John Dancy’s family. Is that so?”
The old man eyed Gavin suspiciously. “Aye. What d’ye wish to know about ’im?”
“For one thing, I’d like to know where John and his family came from.”
“Aye. That I can tell ye. Mebbe even more.”
“P’haps we can go on from there, Mr. Sparks.”
Gavin would keep the codger in ale to continue the conversation.
“John Dancy was a good man,” the aged fellow began. “A hard worker. ’Is wife, Grace, weren’t so easy to like.” Jonas now grumbled, “She thought herself too high and mighty for the rest o’us.”
Jonas slurped from his tankard, licking the white foam from his lips before continuing. “She kept to ’erself, she did.” His wizened brow puckered in a frown. “Niver gossiped nor made friends wi’ t’other women in the village.”
He paused then and grinned. “Now, the daughter, well, she was somethin’ else,” Jonas cackled. “Pert little thing. A little babe when she first come ’ere. Friendly-like, she was. Allus smilin’. She soon made friends with Squire Traymore’s eldest daughter, Wilma.” Jonas drank more ale. “The two gels was close in age, and they both attended Reverend Everhard’s church school. The Reverend retired a year ago. There’s a new vicar now. Name o’ Pinckney. Young feller…”
Before the craggy ancient got completely off track, Gavin pressed, “Mr. Sparks, did you ever hear the name Eustace Dancy?”
“Aye. That I did. He was John’s stepbrother I guess ye’d call him. Adopted by John’s folks b’fore ’e was born.”
“Go on,” Gavin prodded.
“That feller, Eustace, well, he run off from here as a boy. Niver heard back from ’im fer years. John figured ’e was dead. Till one day ’e showed up unexpected like. John made a big fuss over ’im fer the short while ’e stayed ’ere. John’s wife, well, she didn’t take to ’im.” Jonas frowned. “He was like the prodigal son the Reverend Everhard spoke about enuff times during his sermons.” Jonas tilted his gray head back, emptied his tankard, and wiped his lips with the back of a hand.
“Barkeep.” Gavin waved Whiggs over. “Mr. Sparks did a lot of talking. He needs another tankard of ale.”
“Yer still thirsty, Jonas?”
“O’course, I am. Whadda take me for? My whistle needs more’n two tankards to get wet.”
The bartender pulled a wry face, but he pulled another full tankard from behind the counter and pushed it in front of Jonas. “How about ye, m’lord. Ready for another?”
“Not yet.” Gavin bent close to keep the ancient villager talking.
Jonas blew some of the foam off and took a deep swallow. “Johnny was sittin’ right ’ere, chewin’ my ear orf one night and complainin’,” the old man said with a chuckle. “Bart’s da owned the tap then. Seems John and ’is missus had a row. Somethin’ about that stepbrother of his. ’Twas then John told me he’d been born in Kent. Said ’is wife was a lady. Raised in a fancy house near where John met ’er. When her pa, the squire, learned she was carrying John’s babe, he disowned ’er. Told them not ta show their faces around there ever again.”
“Were they married?” Gavin asked.
The old man took a coughing fit before he could reply. “Cain’t answer yer question, m’lord.” But he grinned and gave Gavin a sly wink. “If yer askin’ me, it don’t matter much iffen they was wed or not. Happens allus time in the country. At times folk don’t have time enuff to get shackled.” He cackled again. “So mebbe the Dancys said them words in church or over the anvil, or mebbe they din’t.” Jonas chortled even louder.
Gavin realized the old man was now in his cups, so he didn’t expect more sense from him. But he threw in one more question. “Do you remember where in Kent John Dancy said he came from?”
Jonas swallowed the dregs from his last tankard of ale. His droopy head nodded, tilting forward. He rested it on his folded arms atop the bar. “Near Less…B-Bodem…m’lord…” Jonas snorted, and fell asleep. His snores rumbled across the now-busy taproom. Men winked and smiled to one another as if this happened often. Gavin moved away, directing his next remark to Whiggs. “Is the old fellow to be believed?”
The barkeep nodded, emphatically. “Aye, m’lord. Everythin’ is kept in his head. Ye kin depend on whatever he tells ye t’be true.”
“Well, then, I’d best be on my way, Mr. Whiggs.” Gavin threw more silver coins on the polished mahogany and strode out to Pegasus who was chomping on the bit. The earl mused about what he would do next as he cantered back to the duke’s estate. At first he meant to send his man of business to Kent, and have him report what he learned about Emily and her family—bad or good—illegitimate or legitimate. He smiled silently, bringing to mind that most every English aristocrat he knew had one or two bastards in their lineage. He had a couple in his own ancient history.
While Gavin rode back to the
duke’s castle, he decided to make a trip to Kent himself rather than ask someone else to investigate. When in Lesser Bodem, he might learn what he needed from the horse’s mouth so to speak. Tunbridge Wells was half a day’s ride from Four Towers, his estate in Kent. He had a faint recollection about the tiny village near the Wells. He would discover what he wanted there, then return to Surrey in time for the duke’s final ball. Emily had agreed to give him an answer to his proposition at that time. As long as she wasn’t married, a murderess, or a spy like her uncle, she would do nicely as his countess.
Gavin’s valet packed a valise and had Pegasus readied for another long journey. Leathem left a note for his hosts explaining unexpected matters needed tending elsewhere, but promised that he would return for the ball.
He left the duke’s castle within the hour. He took the wilderness shortcut from the stables, guiding his horse to sidestep branches and overgrowth on the path toward Toynton-under-Hill. He missed encountering Emily by a hair when she returned from her visit to the graveyard and the church’s vicar. Leaving the village behind, Gavin galloped Pegasus over the stone bridge and up the steep rise into the hills toward the southeast and Kent.
* * * *
Last evening Emily and Wilma had come up late from supper and stood with guests in the Rose Room. “I asked Harry to formally introduce the earl to me, Emmie. I should like to make friends with him if he is to be your husband.”
The Marriage Bargain Page 13
