The Fabric of Murder (Mysteries of Georgian Norfolk Book 2) (19 page)

Oh, Good Lord! What if it had only ever been about seizing ownership of those specific bales of cloth? The ones that were already known to be stored, unsold, in Bonneviot’s warehouse?

Why had Hinman, whoever he was, been so insistent that the fake bill of sale be dated exactly three weeks before it was forged? It must, of course, have born a date before Bonneviot’s death. Yet why that precise date? Had the mastermind known about the real arrangement with Master Burford? Had he wished his counterfeit contract to appear to have been made before the genuine deal had taken place? Yet how had he known, when no one else save Bonneviot and Burford were aware of it? And why did he allow that arrangement to proceed, since it had already resulted in the sale of some of the cloth he was trying to steal?

Foxe could not believe that Hinman had known of Burford. If he had, he could have brought about Bonneviot’s death earlier, thus removing any complications to his claim to be the prior owner of the cloth. Bonneviot had to die to stop him from denying the authenticity of the bill of sale. That was clear. They had all assumed that his death had been arranged only after Hinman had arrived in the city and somehow learned of the unsold stocks of cloth. But if Hinman was, in reality, a local man, he could have been present the whole time. The delay between learning of Bonneviot’s problems and arranging the conspiracy would be accounted for by the time it must have taken to set all in motion.

He had to find a forger, an assassin and establish the credibility of Hinman’s identity. Only then could he move forward. He had also needed to get money from Beeston. Don’t forget that, Foxe told himself. His need for cash to support his deception proved that, whoever he was, he was not a wealthy man. Perhaps he was a weaver whom Bonneviot cheated out of his wages and planned this elaborate revenge? It was difficult to believe that an artisan could have been able to bring off such a deception. Especially since it demanded he should pass himself off as a person of some means. Could a mere weaver have convinced the entire city that he was either the younger son of a gentleman, or at least one of the middling sort? Could he have paid someone else to do it for him?

Foxe decided that the only way to resolve such matters would be to speak with the alderman as soon as possible. He might at least be able to suggest persons capable of passing themselves off as Hinman. It seemed they had little enough chance of laying hands on the man himself. If Beeston reached him first, he might not even survive to tell his tale. If not, he would probably get clean away. They must rely on their own resources to solve the mystery, even if that meant their answer could never be more than the product of careful reasoning and educated guesswork.

Rising from his bed, Foxe lit a candle, wrapped himself in a warm dressing-gown, found his slippers and made his way downstairs. No sense in waking the rest of the house. When he reached his study, he found paper and pen to write two notes that Alfred should deliver that morning. Then he returned to his room, got back into bed and slept most peacefully, untroubled by worries or dreams.

F
oxe awoke
with the uneasy sense that someone was standing by his bed. He opened one eye, then two. The presence by the bed was Alfred, who appeared uncertain whether he should shake his master awake or make a noise to attract his attention.

‘Alfred?’ Foxe mumbled. ‘What time is it?’

‘A little after seven, Master. Mr. Brock is downstairs and was most insistent that I come to wake you.’

‘Brock? At this hour? Whatever for?’

‘That I do not know. He came to the back door about five minutes ago. Fortunately, Mrs. Dobbins and the maid were already about and had lit the kitchen fire. I believe they have made him coffee, Master. Would you like me to bring you some?’

By this time, Foxe was – at last – awake. He rarely rose so early and was quite unused to the pale light in his room and the pervading sense of chill. His small fire had gone out hours ago. The maid would usually make it up and light it again in good time to warm the room before he ventured from his bed.

‘No, Alfred. I will take it in the dining room. If Brock is here so early, he must be the bearer of bad news. Tell him that I will be down shortly. Then find me the warmest dressing gown you can – and my slippers. Confound it all! I should have another hour or more of sleep before me, at least. Oh … another matter, Alfred. You will find two notes on the desk in my study. Please have them delivered as soon as possible.’

‘Yes, Master.’

‘Just one more thing, Alfred. Is the fire in the dining room lit?’

‘I will attend to that myself, as soon as I have informed Mr. Brock of your wishes. The heavy curtains there seem to hold in the warmth. It is not so cold as it is here. Do you wish to wash and shave before coming down, Master?’

‘No. Brock will have to take me as I am. Now, away to light that fire!’

True to his word, Foxe came into the dining room in scarcely more than the five minutes he had promised. There he found Brock seated at the table, staring into a half-empty dish of coffee and looking even more miserable than usual.

Foxe held up a hand to prevent Brock from coming out with his news at once, whatever it was. He needed first to sit down and drink some coffee. Such an early start was a severe shock to his system. Since Brock’s face seemed to presage yet more upsets, he needed to prepare himself.

At length, after he had drunk a whole dish of Mrs. Dobbins’ excellent coffee, he signed to Brock that he might begin.

‘Beeston got to ‘im first, Foxe, as I feared ‘e would. The constables found ‘im about first light, face down on a dung-heap at the end of some filthy alley near the river.’

‘Dead?’

‘As a brass doornail. One of the constables is an acquaintance of mine. He knew I was seeking the man, so ‘e sent word as soon as ‘e could.’

‘We are talking of Hinman?’

‘We are. I’ve seen the body. It’s ‘im, right enough. By the look of ‘im, Beeston had ‘is men encourage ‘im to explain himself first. Then, probably because the explanation was not to Beeston’s liking, they were let loose to exact punishment. Hinman wasn’t a heavily-built man, Foxe, nor one used to rough treatment, I’d say. Whether their actions were meant to kill ‘im, I couldn’t tell you. That they did is plain enough on his body.’

‘So. That is an end of it.’

‘Is that all you have to say? I still clung to the hope that we might somehow find him first. That’s why I’ve been scouring this city night and day. This wretched business ‘as caused me more loss of sleep than enough. Now I’m never to know what it was all about.’

‘Be of good cheer, Brock. Hinman may be dead, but I still hope to find the answer. Now, sit quiet and drink some more coffee. I have a letter to write. Alfred!’

Foxe suspected his man would not be far away. He was proved correct, for Alfred came in almost on the instant.

‘Your papers are on their way, master.’

‘Excellent. Now bring me paper, pen and ink. Then, when I have written this further letter, be ready to take it yourself to the address I will give you. It must reach the person to whom it is addressed as quickly as possible.’

Brock stared, unable to reason why Foxe was so calm in the face of what seemed to him to be the wreck of all their plans. Now, while he waited for the letter to be finished and Alfred sent on his way with it, Foxe asked him another question he could not have expected.

‘Do you know where the constables have taken Hinman’s body, Brock?’

‘Um … think so. Yes … that’s right. One of ‘em said they’d take it to the undercroft of The Guildhall. It’s cool there all year. I don’t imagine the coroner will hasten from his bed to see the corpse of someone who’s a stranger to the city.’

‘No, I don’t imagine he will. Nor would he have done for a local man. Unless the dead man had been the mayor himself. Maybe not even then. Once you are dead, you stay dead, so haste is not necessary. Good, good. That works to our favour …’ Foxe bent his head and returned to writing his letter. A few moments later, he looked up and beckoned Alfred over.

‘Right, Alfred. Please bear this with all speed to the coroner’s house. Tell whichever servant takes it in that I am awaiting his or her master’s reply with great eagerness. He is like to take all day about the matter otherwise. If whoever takes in the letter still seems reluctant to make haste, you may add that the mayor is being informed of its contents. He will be angry should the matters within not be set in motion as quickly as may be.’

None of this made any sense to poor Brock, but it seemed his friend was not in a mood to explain himself.

‘Now, Brock,’ Foxe said. ‘I am in need of breakfast, early though it is. I am sure that Mrs. Dobbins has already anticipated my wishes in the matter, so be so good as to pull the bell for the maid. We will eat together.’

Before Brock could even rise from his chair, they heard a knocking on the front door of the house and the maid hastening to see who else could be calling at such an hour. There was a sound of low voices, then the girl herself came into the room with a letter on a small tray.

‘Beg pardon, Master. But seein’ Mr. Alfred is absent and the alderman’s man said this ‘ere note was most urgent, I thought as ‘ow I should bring it right away.’

‘You thought rightly, Molly. Thank you. When you return to the kitchen, please ask Mrs. Dobbins to send breakfast for myself and Mr. Brock as soon as she may.’

‘She ‘ad it almost ready when I left ‘er, Master, so I’ll be bringin’ it soon enough, I dare say.’

Foxe looked at the letter before him and gave a great sigh. ‘It seems to be a day for surprises, Brock. Let us hope this one at least does not involve death. I doubt the alderman will even have heard of Hinman’s murder, so it cannot be about that.’

Quickly he opened the letter and scanned the contents. Then, to Brock’s total amazement, he let out what sounded like a cry of triumph.

‘I was right, Brock. This proves it. See! The alderman writes that he has spoken himself with a good many of the master weavers of the city and sent messages to the rest. The final reply came late last evening, so he must have written this before he retired to bed and told a servant to deliver it first thing. I cannot see our worthy alderman being about at … what is it?’ Foxe peered at the clock on the shelf above the grate. ‘ … a quarter to eight in the morning.’

‘You’re the most irritating of men sometimes, Foxe,’ Brock growled. ‘I rush ‘ere bearing what seems to me the worst news possible in this affair and you seem barely interested. Then you sit and write a letter, saying nothing to me of the contents, and calmly call for your breakfast. Now you yell like an excited child and still tell me nothing of what’s in your mind. It’s enough to make a man run mad.’

‘Ah, my humblest apologies, good Brock. I am too wont to assume that what I see must be plain to all, though there is no way that you could work out why I am not cast down by your news. Nor see what the alderman has written as proof that I am right in my reasoning.’

‘For Heaven’s sake, man, stop talking in riddles and tell me plainly what is going on.’

Foxe smiled at his friend and waved the letter towards him. ‘First, Alderman Halloran writes that Hinman approached no one amongst the master weavers save Bonneviot. None had even heard of him. He has no idea what to make of this.’

‘But you have, it seems.’

‘Indeed I have, Brock. I had guessed as much last night, after a long time of going over and over the matter in my head. Now I am certain that this whole affair has been aimed solely at Bonneviot from the start. All the rest was a smoke-screen to hide this fact. Someone wanted to seize as much of Bonneviot’s wealth as he could. He also needed to do so before the falling-out with the Londoners could see it much diminished, or even lost.’

At that moment, Foxe fell silent. He stared at Brock without seeing him. He clapped his hand to his head and let out another yell that made poor Brock start from his chair. Even Mrs. Dobbins came from the kitchen to see what might be amiss.

‘What a devilish cunning plan, Brock! What daring and determination! It all makes perfect sense. Oh, it would be beautiful, if it were not aimed at murder. There is just one piece missing, which I must deal with at once. Mrs. Dobbins! I am glad you are here. Has Alfred returned?’

‘Not yet, Master. But are you well? I thought I heard you cry out.’

‘Never better! Now, you will have to take Alfred’s place. Find young Charlie Dillon. He may be hanging around outside already, for he has the best nose for business I ever encountered. Have him ready to take a note to Miss Kitty with all the speed he can muster. She will not be awake at this hour, but he is to insist that her maid give her the note at once. Then he is to wait for her reply and bear it back to me as fast as his young legs will carry him. Tell him it is worth a whole shilling, if he be but quick. Now where is that pen …?’

Mrs. Dobbins and Brock exchanged looks that said clearly they might both esteem Mr. Foxe greatly, but neither would ever fathom the full extent of his oddities. Then, as Mrs. Dobbins hurried away, her master called her back.

‘One more thing, Mrs. Dobbins. Send Charlie first to take my letter to Miss Kitty and bring back her reply. Then tell him he is to go to the alderman’s house and ask if I might might call there tomorrow morning at eleven o’clock. Let him add that the mystery is solved and I will explain all when I come.’

Brock was struck dumb at that last part. He sat with his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide with wonder.

‘Cheer up, Brock! All we have to do now is wait. Ah, Molly. What a brace of treasures you and Mrs. Dobbins are. Breakfast! I have not been so hungry in many a long year. Now, set all on the table and I will try to persuade my friend here to use his open mouth for its proper use by filling it with food. Fresh coffee too, girl! Quick as you can.’ Then, with a broad wink at Brock, he set to and began to eat.

T
he alderman replied swiftly
to Foxe’s message. Indeed, Foxe and Brock had barely finished their breakfasts when the note arrived. They would be expected at eleven the next day. The mayor and the Master of the Weaver’s Guild would also be present, for all were eager to learn what Foxe had discovered.

Charlie Dillon had also brought back a verbal message from Miss Kitty. ‘She says to tell you two things,’ he said, trying and failing to conceal a mighty grin as he did so. ‘The answer to your question is about two years or more past. The other is that if you ever demand she be woken again for such a silly matter as this, she’ll forbid you ‘er ‘ouse. I don’t think as ‘ow she meant it, Mr. Foxe. She were smiling too much.’

‘Perhaps you are right, though I will not take the risk, save in a matter as important as this. I see that you are already learning the ways of women, Charlie. If you continue thus, in a few years you will become a terrible temptation to their whole sex, I fear. Now, here is your shilling, just as I promised. Alas, this affair is almost at an end, so you will have no need to be on call outside so much of the time.’

’Thass all right, Mr. Foxe. It were good while it lasted and I’m sure you’ll ‘ave some other caper goin’ afore long.’

‘That young man’s too sharp,’ Brock said, after Charlie had left. ‘I wonder he ain’t cut ‘is own throat before now.’

‘I only wish I could persuade him to get some schooling,’ Foxe said. ‘I would pay willingly, but there … he would wilt in such an environment. Now, Brock, you must come with me tomorrow to the alderman’s house.’

‘I was afraid you’d say that. Do I have too? You know these rich types make me uneasy.’

‘They are no better than you, Brock. Maybe worse. They just have money, which usually says as much about their fathers as it does about them. You must be there. You have been an essential part of the unravelling of this mystery from the start. Just dress a little more tidily than usual and I am sure they will scarce notice you.’

‘But they’re rich merchants and the like, and I was only ever the man who sailed a wherry up and down to Yarmouth!’

‘Without you, and those like you, Brock, their businesses would soon have fallen into ruin. Until you had that accident, you were the best captain on the river. Now you and I are owners of the most wherries. You have helped build a fine business, though others had to take your place on board. How many wherries do we own now?’

‘Six … no, seven … eight.’

‘There you are. You have been as successful as they. Now, no more complaints. Come here at a suitable time and we will walk to the alderman’s house together.’

‘Can’t you tell me what you know now, Foxe? That message from Kitty made your face light up, but I couldn’t make head nor tail of it.’

‘Patience, my friend. I have yet to hear from the coroner to make my enquiries complete. Tomorrow you will know all, I promise. Now, off with you about your business. I have to get my thoughts into their proper order, if I am to convince the mayor and his colleagues.’

Around an hour later, Foxe had received replies to both of the notes he had asked Alfred to deliver that morning. As he read the final one, he smiled. Mrs. Bonneviot had provided the very last piece in the puzzle.