Til Death Do Us Part (24 page)

‘A thought occurred to me as I was at prayer this morning, Horace, which I would like to confide to you. I know that what I now tell you will go no further,' Courtney began.

‘You honour me by sharing such confidences with me, Geraint.' Mackay's eyes shone with hero-worship. ‘And I would suffer all the agonies of Hell, and still not divulge one single word of what you tell me.'

‘I know you would, my dear friend.' Courtney smiled benevolently, and paused meaningfully before continuing. ‘Well now, the thought that occurred to me was that although rectorship of a Parish can be lucrative, time spent as an Archdeacon in a Diocese would stand you in much greater stead, as regards your future high-advancement.

‘His Grace has often told me of his strong belief that such experience gained in the practicalities of administering a Diocese better prepares a man for the highest offices in the service of the Church. I think that I might be able to arrange for you to serve in that capacity in a suitable Diocese within our province of Canterbury, if you so wished it.'

Mackay drew a sharp breath, and Courtney took full note of the instant gleam of excitement in his companion's eyes.

He was about to continue speaking when the slamming of the outer door and the hurried thumping of boots upon the flagged floor of the nave was followed by a pounding upon the vestry door, and a voice calling, ‘Are you there, Reverend Winward? It's Archibald Ainsley! I need to speak with you most urgently about a tragedy that has befallen one of my poor old people.'

Courtney instantly shouted, ‘Calm yourself, Master Ainsley. I will join you in a moment!'

He shrugged expressively, and told his companion with a smile of resignation, ‘Christian charity is a duty which at times I can't help but feel makes undue demands upon me. However, that same duty now compels me to deal with whatever is disturbing Master Ainsley so grievously. But our present discussion will be continued when possible, I do assure you. Until then I must love you and leave you, my friend.'

As he opened and passed through the vestry door, Courtney saw the worried expression on Ainsley's face, and nodded towards the outer door.

Out in the rain-drizzled churchyard Courtney led his companion towards the lych-gate and when they were beneath its arched roof snapped curtly, ‘It seems that Billy Peelson was making enquiries about XYZ at Bromley's yesterday. He was claiming to be a Debt Collector, and he put the shits up Bromley, I can tell you.'

‘Sweet fuckin' Jesus!' Ainsley exclaimed in disgust. ‘So Bromley's put him on to us!'

Courtney shook his head. ‘No, Bromley swears that he's not told anything to anyone, and I believe him.'

‘Then what happens now?' Ainsley questioned anxiously.

‘Don't fret yourself, Archie.' Courtney smiled grimly. ‘Billy Peelson has done us a great favour. The only way he could have got on to us, is for the Irish bitch to have told him about the notice in the
Aris Gazette
. So there's a chance that he and her are staying together at the house in Bradley Green. If that's the case we can kill two birds with one stone this very night.'

Ainsley's relief was palpable as he declared fervently, ‘I never even thought of that aspect of it. You're a bloody wonder, Walter! I do believe that you possess true genius!'

Courtney shrugged and demurred. ‘No, I'm not a genius. But circumstances have this tiresome habit of continuously changing, Archie; and I possess the necessary flexibility of mind to instantly adapt my order of battle to deal with these changing circumstances.

‘Firstly I want you now to go directly to Bradley Green and check the house. When you're satisfied that they're there, then come to the Black Boy and ask for me.'

Ainsley hurried away, and Courtney frowned as he considered the implications of this latest development. He now accepted it was almost a certainty that Ella Peelson had put her late husband's gang on to his and Kent's trail.

‘Sylvan must have fucked up the parting from her!' A murderous lust coursed through him. ‘When the time comes, Cousin Sylvan, I'm going to relish sending you back to your fuckin' Maker.'

B
eneath the cloud-shrouded skies the only visible light was the faint candle-glow from a ground-floor window of the house. Concealed by the surrounding hedgerow, shrouded in their travelling cloaks, Courtney and Ainsley had been watching the building for several hours, stoically enduring the cold air and the frequent bursts of wind-driven rain.

‘I'm sure that the bastard's on his own,' Courtney hissed in chagrin. ‘He's the only face we've spotted, and that's the only room that's shown a light. If the Irish bitch and her maid or anyone else were in the house, we'd have seen lights in other rooms by now.'

‘Then let's do the business. I can shoot though the glass and put a ball in his skull,' Ainsley urged impatiently. ‘If we stay here much longer I'll be catching my own death from wet and cold.'

‘You're talking like a fool, Archie!' Courtney reprimanded sharply. ‘We need to find out where the bitch is, and if there are others who're in the know about us. Now listen carefully. I'll draw him out of the house and you'll club him down. Then we secure him and ask him a few questions.'

Billy Peelson was shocked out of his drunken stupor when the casement rattled under sharp impacts and the voice screamed frantically, ‘Sir! Sir! Can you help me? Please help me! Help me!'

Peelson lurched to his feet and came towards the window.

‘Please help me, Sir! My carriage overturned and my wife is trapped beneath it. Help me! Please! She could be dying, Sir. Help me, I beg of you!'

Peelson squinted through the latticed window panes at the bulky black shape screaming out for help, and shouted back. ‘Come to the front door!'

‘I will, Sir, but please help me! I beg of you! My wife is trapped beneath the carriage. She could be dying. Help me, Sir. Help me!'

Peelson lumbered unsteadily from the room and along the passage. He fumbled with the bolts and tugged the door open. The black shape was some yards distant from the door, still screaming for help.

Peelson stepped outside, took three paces forward, and the lead weighted bludgeon smashed into the side of his head, and crumpled him to the ground.

‘Leave him to me, Archie! Get inside and search the house,' Courtney ordered as he came to the side of the fallen man.

Ainsley produced a pair of pistols from beneath his cloak, cocked them and went inside.

When he returned to report that the house was empty, and virtually all the furniture dust-sheeted, he frowned in surprise to find his friend standing staring down at the motionless Billy Peelson.

‘What's up, Walter?'

‘The bastard's dying on us, Archie. You hit him too hard. His skull's crushed right in.'

‘But I only used my normal force! He must have a bloody thin skull!' Ainsley protested, and then questioned anxiously, ‘What do we do now?'

‘Hush, Archie, and allow me to ponder the situation.' Courtney was very calm, and after a few moments instructed quietly, ‘He's still wearing his outdoor clothes, so go to the stable, saddle his horse and bring it out here. It'll stay near him without a doubt. Then we shall close that front door and quietly leave. When he's found, it'll be believed that he was thrown from his horse, and smashed his head on the ground.'

Courtney stretched out his hand to pat the other man's shoulder. ‘We've nothing to worry about, Archie. Should anyone happen to enquire about our late whereabouts tonight, we've been carrying out highly confidential charitable work together.'

Ainsley stared at Courtney with an expression bordering on awe, and declared passionately, ‘I've said it before, Walter, and I'll say it again. You're a bloody genius!'

When everything had been arranged to Courtney's satisfaction, Ainsley asked him, ‘What now, Walter?'

Courtney shook his head and sighed regretfully. ‘It looks as if my cousin made a mess of the parting from the Irish bitch. So there's only one choice left to us, Archie. You'll have to deal with her as soon as possible.'

‘Me? Deal with her?' Ainsley frowned doubtfully. ‘What do you mean by that, exactly?'

‘Exactly what I say! We can't risk leaving her alive,' Courtney rejoined harshly. ‘You're to go back to Warwick, and close her mouth for good! And to make sure that there's nothing in her house that bears Bromley's address, or any mention of Christophe de Langlois or the Reverend Geraint Winward, you'll have to burn the place down. That way you'll cover your tracks, and she'll be thought to be just another tragic victim of a fire.'

Ainsley shook his head. ‘I don't think that I like the sound of this, Walter. It's your fuckin' cousin's mess, and you want me to risk my neck to clear it up.

‘In fact, I don't relish this plan one little bit. Because it's me who takes all the risk, and after the wedding to the Creswell woman it'll be that bastard Kent who'll doubtless be getting a much larger share of the gravy than I shall!'

Courtney's manner changed abruptly, and now his smile was avuncular. ‘I haven't finished telling you what's in my mind, my old friend. Very soon after their wedding, Major Christophe de Langlois and his bride will be leaving for India, never to return. I shall be remaining in this area to wrap up all the financial and property affairs of the happy couple as quickly as possible. So of course you'll receive your rightful share of the profits.'

‘And then what?' Ainsley demanded.

‘I visualize you as Joseph Manners Esq. A Gentleman of independent means. Who has recently returned from Canada, where you were a very successful merchant. And as soon as you are installed in a suitable venue, I visualize us embarking upon our next venture.'

Ainsley grimaced unhappily. ‘I'm not sure that I want to work with your cousin again, Walter.'

Courtney's avuncular smile didn't falter. ‘Haven't I already told you, Archie, that soon after their wedding, my cousin Sylvan and his new bride are going to India.' He paused, then added with emphasis, ‘Never to return!'

As the full import of the emphasis dawned on Ainsley, he grinned, tapped the side of his nose with his forefinger and breathed admiringly. ‘By God, Walter, I'll take good care never to get on the wrong side of you!'

J
oey Sparks pushed out of the pile of hay where he had spent an uncomfortable night, and groaned as he stretched his stiff, cold body, and drew his ragged layers of clothing tighter about him.

Another head pushed out of the hay, and Joey Sparks scowled down at it and growled. ‘Come on, you lazy cow, we needs to get going.'

‘I'm fuckin' starving,' Maggie Sparks complained.

‘We'll try our luck at the next house we comes to. And I'm going to ask if they got any old boots, because me feet am bloody killing me.'

Her husband wrapped his bare feet in pieces of rag and limped haltingly out of the barn, hissing with distress each time his red-raw soles met the hard ground. She snatched up the wrapped bundle she had rested her head on, and followed after him.

A half-mile from the barn Joey Sparks pointed. ‘We'll try that one.'

They went slowly up the winding, hedged lane towards the secluded house, and Maggie Sparks exclaimed, ‘What's that fuckin' nag doing up front there?'

‘Am you blind as well as stupid? It's fuckin' eating the fuckin' grass. That's what nags does. And that's what we'll be doing again today unless our fuckin' luck turns.'

‘Well why aren't it tethered like it should be?' she questioned and ran on ahead of her husband until she reached the grazing animal, then turned and shrieked.

‘Come quick, Joey, there's a bloke laying on the ground over here.'

She disappeared around the bend.

Joey Sparks limped after her and as he rounded the same bend found her standing in front of the house looking down at a prone man.

‘I reckon he's dead, Joey.'

Joey Sparks bent close to search for signs of life, but after a few seconds nodded. ‘That's right enough.'

He hobbled to the front door and hammered on its panels, shouting out, ‘Answer the door! Answer the door!'

His wife went to peer through the solitary window which was un-shuttered.

‘I can't see nobody, Joey.'

He continued hammering and shouting for a short while, then shook his head. ‘I reckon there's nobody here.'

He turned the door knob and pushed, and as the door swung open, bent forwards and cocked his head, listening intently and shouting several times.

‘Is anybody here?'

Then he turned and told his wife, ‘It's fuckin' empty right enough.'

‘Let's get away from here, Joey!' Maggie Sparks was darting anxious looks about her. ‘If somebody comes now and catches us here, they'll blame us for him being dead! Like we gets blamed for everything else bad that happens!'

He closed the door and nodded. ‘You're right! We'd best get well clear!'

He went back to the dead man. ‘I've got to have them boots though. I'll be crippled for life else, if I walks another step in these fuckin' wraps.'

He tugged the boots off the dead man's feet, and hissing with pain unwrapped his bloodied foot rags and pulled on the boots. He clambered to stand and gingerly press each foot in turn on to the ground, then grinned at his wife.

‘It don't hurt half as much, Maggie. Let's see what else he's got in his pockets.'

Then a shout came from somewhere close, and Maggie panicked.