The Fabric of Murder (Mysteries of Georgian Norfolk Book 2) (13 page)

T
he next morning
dawned fine and bright, but with a keen wind from the northeast. Not a day to make people stay indoors, but not one to tempt them to wander around Norwich’s great Market Place any longer that they needed. The poor hurried to their hovels to stay warm as best they could. Working men were long engaged in their trades and would not venture forth again until the end of the day. And Norwich’s complement of the better sort of people, together with a good many idle loungers, had mostly decided the best place to spend their time was, as usual, in the coffee house.

Alderman Halloran was already seated at a suitable table when Foxe arrived, precisely at ten o’clock as was his habit. The alderman was not such a constant customer of The Swan as Foxe, but he attended most of the better coffee houses from time to time, so his presence would cause no particular surprise.

Seeing an empty seat at the alderman’s table – exactly as they had arranged the previous evening – Foxe made his way to sit there, showing no hurry. This was a man who had noticed an important business acquaintance and had decided to make use of the opportunity to either improve that acquaintanceship or do a little business. He had no need to order. The waiter knew exactly what he required and had brought it almost before Foxe had seated himself comfortably.

‘Morning, Foxe,’ the alderman said, trying hard to seem off-hand and sounding rather peevish as a result.

‘Good morning, Alderman. I hope you are well. It is a fine day, but the wind makes it chill enough for winter. Seeing the sun from within, by a warm fire, is definitely better that walking outside, is it not?’

‘Damn cold, if you ask me. Nor-easterly wind. Few ships will leave Yarmouth Roads today, I’ll warrant.’

‘Indeed not, sir.’

Thus they engaged in polite conversation of a totally innocent kind until the alderman could hold back no longer. Pushing a copy of the day’s
Norfolk Intelligencer
across the table-top, he tapped a thick finger on a section in the right-most column of the front page.

‘Seen this, Foxe?’

Foxe had, indeed, read the passage most carefully over his breakfast, but he returned the agreed answer instead. The alderman was not a natural actor. It would not be wise to force him to improvise his lines.

‘Hmm …’ Foxe read the brief notice with close attention. ‘Bonneviot’s estate … Do you think there will be many creditors eager to claim their share? I did not know the man, sir, but his business had a reputation for being one of the largest in the city.’

‘You don’t want to believe all you are told, Foxe.’ Alderman Halloran’s voice was naturally loud and deep. He had no need to speak more loudly to be heard throughout the room. Foxe wondered if there was some way to indicate he should speak in a more normal tone, but decided to let him go on as he wished. If he was flustered, there was no knowing what he might do.

‘Was he not a wealthy man, then?’ Foxe dropped his own voice, hoping the alderman might take the hint. Fortunately, his quiet response and attitude of one listening to a confidence seemed to have at least some effect on the other man.

‘Wealthy? Yes, I suppose so, in general terms. But all men of business encounter times when trade turns against them. Then they must weather a period of discomfort until their incomes may once again exceed their outgoings.’

‘Was Mr. Bonneviot in such a state?’

The rest of the conversation in the coffee house had begin to falter and die away, exactly as they hoped it would. Alderman Halloran was an important man in Norwich and known to be close to the mayor. What he said on this subject would be worth hearing.

‘I believe so, Foxe. Fell out with some of his London customers, so he wasn’t getting his finished cloth away as quickly as he would do usually. I expect it would all have been sorted out in time, but when he was killed his warehouses were full of unsold cloth and his out-workers and suppliers tired of waiting to receive what he owed them.’

‘So a good many will welcome this notice. The lawyer handling Mr. Bonneviot’s will, is it?’

‘Standard practice, Foxe. Ask any creditors to come forward at once to make their claims. Until they do this, the will can’t be proved. The executors won’t know exactly what’s left for the beneficiaries after all debts have been settled. Of course, if there isn’t enough money in total, everyone will get less than they hoped for.’

‘Do you think that will be the case, Alderman?’ The whole room was virtually silent now.

‘To be honest with you, Foxe …’ The alderman dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘… I doubt anyone in this city will get much at all – and that includes the widow and son.’

‘How can that be?’

‘As I understand it, Bonneviot needed ready money to keep going until he could sort out his quarrel with the Londoners. He was a proud man, you know, so I expect he wanted no one in Norwich to understand the depth of his problem. That’s why he went to some London banker for a loan. Got it, of course. No problem there. But then he gets himself murdered.’

‘So the loan must be paid back from the estate?’

‘Right enough! And you can be sure these London bankers have some clever lawyers to draw up their agreements. The usual pattern in such matters is that the banker gets his money first, then whatever is left goes to the other creditors. The beneficiaries come last.’

‘And you think nothing will be left?’

‘That’s what I’ve been told. Bonneviot took out a large loan, using his unsold stock as security. Now, that would have been risky, but not unduly so, provided he could sell the stock for a good price over the next few months. Now the bank will seize the stock and sell it all at once for whatever they can get. Sold that way, by auction, when all know the circumstances, I doubt they will raise enough to cover what they lent. That means they’ll claim the rest of what they are owed from the remaining estate.’

You could almost feel the excitement in the room now. This was indeed news! Foxe had already seen his friend Sebastian Hirons, the newspaper editor, seated in a quiet corner. How he must be wishing he could hurry off to his office! There was no doubt this information would be spread around Norwich as fast as feet could walk and tongues could wag.

‘That’s a pretty state of affairs!’ Time to change the subject and let the other customers slip away to tell their friends.

‘Indeed it is, Foxe. I expect a representative from the bank will be on the next stage from London, brandishing a fistful of legal papers.’

Don’t overdo it, Foxe thought to himself. Let them think there may be even more to this story. That way, each will add his own embellishments to supply what he feels has been left unsaid.

‘I feel somewhat sorry for the out-workers, sir. They do not receive high wages at the best of times. If they are thrown now into want, they may even cause some disturbance in the city.’ Foxe sat back in his chair, trying desperately to signal to the alderman that it was time to move on. Fortunately, the topic of riot and disturbance was well chosen. Alderman Halloran could be depended upon to run after that hare whenever it crossed his path.

‘Damned fellows!’ he said loudly. ‘Always causing some problem or another. Ought to be glad they have work at all! Many who labour on the land are facing far harder times, I dare say. But no, our Norwich men are the most quickly roused of any in the land. The slightest excuse … Well, the mayor will quickly settle their disturbances, if they try it. If the constables can’t bring them to order, he’ll have the dragoons to them. Blackguards!’

And so he rambled on, while Foxe sat quietly watching one customer ofter another decide it must be time to drink up any remaining coffee and keep some other appointment, forgotten until now. Mr. Hirons hurried off to his newspaper office. Mr. Brandon Seager, editor of the rival
Norwich Advertiser,
was not far behind him. Others made off in ones and twos until the room seemed nearly empty. Hinman would be bound to hear the news within an hour or so at the most. Now all they could do was trust that the alderman had briefed the lawyer well.

Alderman Halloran seemed to realise on a sudden that the place was nearly empty.

‘Good enough, Foxe?’ he said.

‘Good enough and better, sir. Now, I am sure you have much to do, so I will not keep you. I had best stay a while longer. We have quite ruined the owner’s trade for an hour or so, though I daresay it will recover. At least I can make good a little of his loss by ordering more coffee. The matter I spoke to you about – the personal business matter, you understand – is progressing nicely, so we may have occasion to meet in more pleasant circumstances before long.’

I
t was past
the middle of the afternoon when Alfred brought Foxe a note from Alderman Halloran. He found his master in the small room just behind the bookshop. It seemed ages since Foxe had purchased these books from the eighth Earl of Pentelow. The affair of Bonneviot had taken up so much of his time that only now was he able to unpack them and check their condition. Even today, he had found himself unable to concentrate on the task as he should. So much hung in the balance. He had just decided to set them aside again and return to his study, when Alfred came to him.

‘The alderman’s man said you were to open this note as soon as it was in your hands, sir,’ Alfred said. ‘He said his master told him it was most urgent.’

Foxe needed no encouragement. Taking the note from Alfred, he broke the seal at once and scanned the contents. Then he sent his man to find young Charlie and tell to run as fast as he could to call Brock to the house.

‘Tell him there’s a full sixpence for him if Mr. Brock is here within 30 minutes,’ Foxe said. ‘That should add speed to his legs.’

And, as soon as Alfred left, he read through the alderman’s note a second time. In an almost triumphant tone, Alderman Halloran announced that their plan had worked just as they had wished. Mr. James Hinman had called on Mr. Septimus Frewin, the lawyer, at about two o’clock. He had announced his claim, saying he already owned all Bonneviot’s unsold stock. To support his claim, he showed Mr. Frewin the bill of sale as evidence. Exactly as they instructed him, the lawyer examined the bill and asked if he might keep it to show it to the executors. He made no comment on its authenticity.

Unfortunately, Hinman refused to allow the bill out of his hands. Mr Frewin showed some presence of mind here, the alderman said. He told Hinman that it was for the executors of Bonneviot’s will to decide upon the matter, not him. Until they had accepted the genuineness of Mr. Hinman’s claim, they would not release any goods to him. When Hinman still hesitated, he added that he was surprised that the bill was not accompanied by a detailed inventory of the cloth to which it referred. That was the usual practice. Such an inventory was important to ensure that the correct cloth was delivered to the correct purchaser.

This statement had flustered Hinman. The forger would not have been able to produce a convincing inventory. Neither of them had seen the cloth now lying in Bonneviot’s warehouse. Yet the lack of such an inventory made the document itself appear suspicious. Hinman had made the best response that he could give. Since the deal was between friends and covered everything in the warehouse, he said, they had not thought an inventory necessary.

Sensing that Hinman was now uncomfortable, Mr. Frewin offered him a way out of the dilemma. He said that he would communicate Hinman’s claim to such of the executors as he could contact. He would also ask them to come to his office at noon the next day. Perhaps Mr. Hinman could come at the same time to show the executors the document he possessed. With all the interested parties present, he was sure that they could reach an agreement.

It appeared that Hinman agreed to this suggestion with some relief. The moment he left, Mr. Frewin had sent a message to the alderman telling him what had happened. He had also added that, in his view, the bill of sale was a blatant forgery. No merchant in his thirty years of experience had ever relied upon such a vague document in the matter of a sale of any importance. The absence of a detailed inventory put it beyond doubt. He would be more than willing to testify to that effect before any court in the land.

The alderman now awaited Foxe’s word before putting the rest of the plan into action. He had the constables gathered and ready. The sword-bearer and masters-at-arms were at their disposal. Underhill and McSwiggan could be taken as soon as the time was ripe.

Charlie must have flown through the streets, for Brock knocked on the door of the bookshop less than twenty minutes after the boy had set out. Foxe did not waste time going into the details of the alderman’s message. He told Brock that Hinman had taken the bait and the trap should now be sprung.

‘I will write you a note that you must take to Alderman Halloran’s house in Colegate,’ Foxe told him. ‘Leave the matter of McSwiggan to the constables. If the man is as much of a drunkard as you tell me, it will come as no surprise to any if they seize him and take him to the city goal. He may be taken first, since secrecy is of less consequence there. Underhill, the forger, must be taken as swiftly and silently as possible. Though it is unlikely any word of his arrest could reach Hinman before noon tomorrow, I wish to take no risks. It is likely that Hinman has already found his plan less fool-proof than he thought. He must not be aware that we even suspect who drew up his false document for him.’

‘Do you want me and my men to be there?’

‘That would be best. I will tell the alderman that the sword-bearer and masters-at-arms should go with you. Stay out of sight until they have secured Underhill. If they fail, take him yourself. If you must do that, be sure to make all legal by handing him over to them at once. Let it be at a time of your choosing, Brock. You and your men best know his habits, and when he may be taken with the least likelihood of arousing suspicion.’

Brock nodded. ‘Anything else?’

‘Tell the constables to put Underhill somewhere in the gaol where he has no opportunity to make contact with any of the other prisoners. McSwiggan doesn’t matter. We will leave them both to reflect on their misdoings overnight. Tomorrow morning we will speak with them … Oh yes, McSwiggan must not be allowed to touch any alcohol. Let him be as desperate for a drink as he can be before we make his acquaintance.’