The Fabric of Murder (Mysteries of Georgian Norfolk Book 2) (21 page)

‘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.

G
eorge 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.’

‘It’s Monsewer Maccaroni, I declare!’ another cried in response. ‘That do strut round Piccadilly like a cockerel on a dunghill.’

‘Naw!’ came another voice. ‘That’s some parrot a sailor ‘as brought back from the Indies.’

Predictably, the mob were delighted with the comparison of Foxe’s highly decorated clothes to parrot feathers. Now they exploded into cries of ‘Pretty Polly!’ and ‘Oo’s a pretty bird, then?’

What silenced them was the appearance of Kitty from the coach. Many knew her from the stage and she was a great favourite. But that night …! From her tumbling auburn tresses to the dainty shoes in fine brocade that peeped from beneath her petticoat, she was a sight none could see and not fall silent. Her dressmaker had excelled herself in the use of the cloth Foxe had bought. Kitty’s dress, styled á la francaise, first clung to her body, then swung out from the waist to reveal a petticoat richly quilted and decorated with tiny bows and trinkets. Diamonds and emeralds glinted in her hair. About her pale and flawless neck hung a slim necklace of emeralds and gold. And from its lowest point, a single, egg-shaped emerald dropped down just far enough to nestle between the tops of her breasts. She was magnificent and she knew it.

Now came her sister, Gracie. She too wore no hat, preferring to allow her rich, dark curls to be dressed into a towering mass, from which peeped pearls and tiny silver bows. Gracie’s dress was styled á la polonaise, with flounces and swags on the back and skirt. Around her throat was a choker of pearls with a diamond clasp, while groups of pearls were set over her petticoat and the bodice of her dress. Even her shoes revealed pearl-encrusted buckles. Her neck and shoulders gleamed as lustrous as her pearls, before each eye moved down to glimpse breasts fit to tempt a bishop into sin … which indeed they had, and more than once.

‘Gawd!’ came a shout from the crowd. ‘It’s that bootiful Queen ‘o Sheba what tempted Solomon!’ Nor was that comparison too far from the mark. There was something so rich and exotic about Gracie Catt that not a few seemed ready to bow or curtsy as she swept past them.

Foxe had been steeling himself all day for the response he was likely to meet when he entered the hall with these two ladies beside him. For himself, he was supremely indifferent to the disapproval of the self-righteous. Yet he was determined his guests should not have their evening spoiled by the vicious remarks he knew some people in the city were capable of throwing out. He thought he could trust the mayor to maintain a politician’s calm appearance under pressure. Besides, the man owed him a great deal and would be unlikely to forget it. Alderman Halloran was another who could be relied upon. For the rest … well, he would see.

He need not have worried, since fate was about to throw him such a gift as he could never have imagined. As his party neared the door – Brock bringing up the rear in glum silence – a familiar voice called out.

‘I say, Foxe. Nearly didn’t recognise you in all that finery. And who are these two veritable angels alongside you?’

The Eighth Earl of Pentelow, accompanied by three other people, stood before them. From the look on his face, he had no idea who Foxe’s companions were and probably cared less. All he saw were two women of extraordinary beauty. Nothing else would matter.

‘My Lord.’ Foxe bowed elegantly. ‘May I present Miss Catt and her sister Miss Catherine Catt, and my good friend Captain Brock? Ladies, this is His Lordship, the Eighth Earl of Pentelow.’

‘You certainly may, Foxe. Damn me, ladies, you’re enough to take my breath away. Whatever are you doing with a dull stick like Foxe here? Come and join us. You too … er … Brock, of course.’

Kitty and Gracie curtsied most gracefully, neither at all put out by His Lordship’s evident wish to look as closely at the necklines of their dresses as he could without falling over. Indeed, he was so intent on leering over the Catt sisters that Foxe had to rescue him from the grave impropriety of failing to introduce his own companions.

‘And your guests, My Lord?’

‘Ah … what? Oh, yes. May I present my sister-in-law, Lady Henfield. M’wife’s indisposed, y’know.’ From the look Lady Henfield – a tall, plain young woman with large eyes but no chest worth speaking of – gave the earl, there was little affection between them. ‘This is my cousin, Henry, Marquis of Chermouth, and his wife, Emma. Now, ladies. Let’s go inside and find you some refreshment.’ Then, in an aside to Foxe clearly designed for them all to hear, His Lordship added, ‘Never thought you had it in you, Foxe. Couple of amazing beauties like these. Quite made my evening.’

Thus, now in a group of eight containing two peers of the realm, Foxe, Brock and the Catt sisters were swept inside. Gasps there were – though they could be taken as expressions of admiration – and shaken heads. Yet none would dare to offer the Earl of Pentelow and his party any insult. Least of all the mayor, who hurried over, bowing and simpering in the manner of any politician confronted by someone of far superior status. Nor Alderman Halloran. His whole mouth hung open for nearly a minute, before he recollected himself and hastened over as well. Both intended to bask in the celebrity of this party who were so much the centre of attention that even the orchestra lost the time of their music for a few bars.

‘I must say,’ Brock commented to Foxe later, ‘in your case the devil not only looks after ‘is own, he makes sure ‘e ‘as the best of everything.’

‘Enjoying yourself, Brock?’ Foxe said.

‘I am indeed. Didn’t think I would, mind. I likes Gracie well enough and she seems to like me, even though I’m far beneath her usual standard of companion. Kitty is a sweet little minx who no one could dislike. But that Lady Henfield … She’s quite a woman, believe me. May not look much, but she’s got a brain that’s as good as any two men. She’s ‘ad me laughing most of the evening. Wit? You’ve never ‘eard the like! Of course, she loathes her brother-in-law and says ‘e treats his wife badly. Always off gambling and chasing women. Still, that’s the aristocracy for you.’

‘I noticed she seemed to be spending a good deal of time in your company, Brock.’

‘Well … you were looking after your Catt women well enough, I thought. When you could prise the earl and his cousin off ‘em. I did ask Julia …um, Lady Henfield … whether we should make sure to spend time with Marchioness Chermouth. But she said the silly woman likes nothing better than to be a martyr to her husband’s wandering eye. It’s her only topic of conversation, seemingly.’

‘So what did you and Her Ladyship talk about, Brock?’

‘Ships and the sea, mostly. She asked me a heap of questions and seemed to have a real interest.’

Foxe’s loud laughter affronted Brock.

‘What’s wrong wi’ that? I said she’s a bright one. Why shouldn’t she want to know about navigation and foreign parts and the like?’

‘No reason at all, Brock. Forgive me. Now, I suggest you hurry back to Her Ladyship … Julia, I believe you said. The evening is far from over and I doubt the earl will spare her a single thought. Here, take these glasses of champagne. Have you asked her to dance with you yet?’

‘Twice, if you must know. And she did. Said I moved most gracefully for a big man.’

Now it was Foxe’s turn to berate himself inside his head. He fell too easily into seeing Brock as the blunt, simple man he pretended to be. To make it worse, he knew it was not true. Brock was probably at least as wealthy as many an alderman and far more successful in business matters.

‘So you do, Brock. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. I count it the best proof of Lady Julia Henfield’s intelligence and perception that she has seen through your defences to what is beneath. Go to her! Go! Here comes the earl again and I must hasten to whisk one of the sisters onto the dance floor and away from his wandering hands. Ah, there is Kitty, safely talking to the mayor and his wife. I wager she will inveigle the mayor into dancing the moment she sees the earl approaching. Now where is Gracie?’