Til Death Do Us Part (29 page)

‘Ahhhhhh! Aren't that a beautiful looking thing.' Pammy Mallot's eyes became misty with emotion.

‘I shall present this to Phoebe after we've had our supper.' The roll of beribboned vellum disappeared into Courtney's inner pocket, and he held his forefinger to his lips. ‘And you must not breathe a word of it to her before then.'

‘Wild horses couldn't drag that word from me. Me lips am sealed, and may God strike me dead if I betrays me solemn oath on it,' Pammy Mallot declared fervently.

‘And I've something else to gladden both of your hearts, which I've been anxiously awaiting to reach me, and shall show Phoebe immediately I see her.'

With a flourish he produced a silver flask. ‘I've received it this very morning from a courier despatched by my Lord Archbishop. It's the first delivery of a very special elixir prepared by His Grace's personal physicians, which they guarantee will over time cure Master Creswell's stomach ailment and thus enable him to partake of plain and wholesome food and drink without any ill effects such as vomiting or the diarrhoea.

‘Naturally, for the time being we must continue with the low diet prescribed by Doctor Laylor. But as we witness the beneficial effects of this elixir in restoring Master Creswell's health, we shall then be able to gradually introduce good red meat and fresh vegetables back into his diet.'

He winked with boyish mischievousness. ‘And in due course, the occasional cheering glass or two of fine Madeira.'

Pammy Mallot gurgled with laughter. ‘Oh, you are a scamp, Geraint! I'll bet you were a real jackanapes of a boy!'

Beaming at each other they linked arms and entered the house.

‘I
fully concur with you, Tom. Death is due to this skull fracture, which in all likelihood was caused by a single blow from a bludgeon type implement.' Hugh Laylor straightened his back, picked up a strip of rag off the naked torso of the dead man and wiped his bloodied hands on it.

Tom smiled wryly as he used another rag to dry his own hands. ‘All I have to do now is find whoever it was that dealt that blow.'

‘It's a damn strange business this!' Laylor shook his head. ‘Why would anyone smash a man's head in and take his boots, yet leave his money and valuables untouched?'

Tom laid aside the towel and shrugged into his coat. ‘That's what I'm hoping to find out very quickly. Amy's putting up the last of the Reward notices today, and I've already got Jimmy Grier out crying the news about them. But firstly I'll go and tell Richard Humphries that I need transport to take our friend here back to the Old Black Boy as soon as possible.'

‘And I'll deliver the death certificate to Blackwell. Then I shall go to the Fox and Goose and enjoy large tumblers of brandy, and a singsong with the Apollo Club. Why don't you join us? We'll have a merry time of it,' Laylor invited.

‘Sadly I can't,' Tom declined. ‘It's imperative that I get to the Old Black Boy. Once the news of the reward spreads there'll be a lot of people coming there to view the body.'

On his way to Humphries' premises Tom passed through the bustling market-day crowd and heard above their noise the ringing hand bell and stentorian shouting of Jimmy Grier, the elderly town crier.

‘Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! A man was found dead in the hamlet of Bradley Green on Friday the fourteenth day of March. Posters detailing his description are to be affixed in public places throughout this Parish.

‘A reward of five guineas will be paid to whomsoever can truly name this dead man. All applications to view the corpse must be made to Master Barry Blake at the Old Black Boy Inn, Feckenham Village.

‘God Save the King!'

I
t was late evening when Walter Courtney returned to the Old Black Boy, and he was shocked to see a noisy crowd of men, women and children clustered at the lantern-lit front door. He brought the gig to a halt and handed the reins to his companion, Horace Mackay.

‘I'll go find out what is happening here, Horace.'

He went through the inn's front door to find its public rooms thronged, the air thick with tobacco smoke and the barmaids and pot men struggling to keep up with the demands of the drinkers.

Maud Harman, her tray laden with flagons of ale, pushed through the throng to tell him, ‘You go on through to the private, Reverend, and I'll be with you in two ticks.' ‘Why are so many here tonight, Ma'am?' he queried.

‘They'm come to view the dead man, Reverend. Barry Blake's charging thruppence apiece to view and Constable Potts is taking the statements of them who thinks they can put a name to the dead 'un. I've put one o' the reward posters in the private room for you to look at.'

As Courtney held the poster up to the lamplight he noticed its bottom lines of small print.

‘This Notice printed by Bromley's Stationery Emporium for All Articles of Stationery, Rare and Antique Books and New Literature, High Street, Redditch, Worcestershire.'

Courtney was instantly riled. ‘Now Bromley must have recognized that this description fitted the Debt Collector who called on him. But why hasn't he already laid claim to the reward?'

His teeth bared in a contemptuous snarl. ‘He obviously expects it will be more profitable to discuss the matter with me before laying any claim to it. I'll assure him that his continued discretion will guarantee him an extremely lucrative future, then allow the greedy bastard to enjoy basking in that expectancy until I close his mouth for good!'

T
he bucketful of cold water impacting on his head shocked Sylvan Kent from his drunken stupor into dazed consciousness. The young prostitute sharing his bed still snored on.

‘Get rid of the slut, Archie,' Walter Courtney ordered.

His companion grabbed the naked girl's long hair and dragged her on to the floor, then bent over her, slapping her face with his free hand until she came to shrieking wakefulness. Clapping his hand over her mouth to muffle her shrieks, he growled threateningly into her ear, ‘Hold your noise, you whore, or I'll break your fuckin' neck!'

She subsided into terrified silence.

Archibald Ainsley released his grip and pressed coins into her hand. ‘Get your clothes and go. Keep your mouth shut about this, and don' ever come back here!'

Trembling with fear she snatched up her bedraggled finery and ran from the room.

Sylvan Kent pushed himself to a sitting position and complained pettishly, ‘There was no need to soak me like this, Cousin Walter. I could catch me death of cold!'

‘Hold your tongue!' Courtney snapped. ‘Listen very carefully, Cousin Sylvan, and commit to memory everything that I now tell you. You'll pay a sore price if you mess things up.'

He went on to give detailed instructions, making the recipient repeat those same instructions over and over again until he was satisfied that Kent had fully absorbed them.

Then he told Ainsley, ‘Stay here and keep this stupid cunt sober and away from the whores, Archie. Make sure he's at the Beoley Mount crossroads, looking every inch the gallant soldier, at nine o'clock tomorrow morning.'

T
he air was still, and thick fog blanketed the land. When the rattle of the gig's wheels reached the ears of the two horsemen waiting by the crossroads, Archibald Ainsley grunted with relief.

‘This sounds like him now.'

‘And about time too!' Sylvan Kent snarled sullenly. ‘He lays down the law that we're to be here for nine o'clock and then keeps us hanging around for fuckin' ages!'

The solid dark shape of a horse and gig materialized out of the swirling greyness and came to a halt in front of them.

‘I was beginning to wonder where you'd got to, Walter.' Ainsley kneed his mount forwards to the side of the gig. ‘Is everything alright?'

Courtney touched his forefinger to his lips in a signal for silence, then brusquely ordered, ‘Come here, Cousin Sylvan, I want to take a close look at you.'

Ainsley moved to make space for Kent, who was wearing full military uniform.

Courtney looked him up and down for several seconds, then grinned and nodded. ‘Excellent, Sylvan! You're a veritable Adonis! Now listen very carefully . . .'

He gave detailed instructions, making the recipient repeat them over and over again. Then he jerked his head at the hill above. ‘Get over there and claim your bride-to-be, Sylvan. I'll be joining you later.'

As Kent rode away and disappeared in the swirling fog, Courtney related the latest developments concerning the dead Billy Peelson, and the reward poster which had been printed by Charles Bromley.

As he listened Ainsley's expression displayed intensifying chagrin, and when Courtney fell silent, he cursed savagely. ‘I'd best kill that bastard before he peaches on us!'

Courtney smilingly shook his head. ‘Calm down, my dear fellow! I've had words with Master Bromley and ensured his continued silence concerning the Debt Collector's call upon him. I've also sworn him to secrecy concerning his future, very lucrative, employment as Printer to His Grace, My Lord Archbishop of Canterbury.'

After a moment Ainsley chuckled admiringly. ‘I've said it before, and I'll say it again. You're a bloody genius, Walter! Now, what's next? Because I could do with getting back to the Unicorn and having something to eat and drink. Especially to drink!'

‘Sadly your breakfast must wait a while.' Courtney was apologetic. ‘I'm sorry about this, but I need you to do an errand for me which is of the utmost importance for both of us.'

Ainsley shrugged resignedly. ‘Oh, very well. Where is it to?'

‘Back to the lodging house. I need you to give this to the keeper.' He handed over a small canvas-wrapped, heavily sealed package, then produced a bottle. ‘And here's something to sustain you on your journey.'

He uncorked the bottle and gave it to the other man. ‘Try this, my friend, I'm sure you'll find it very palatable.'

Ainsley took a swig of the drink, and gasped with pleasure. ‘It's powerful stuff!'

‘It's the very finest French brandy!' Courtney chuckled. ‘By the time you reach Birmingham you'll be riding on air.'

Ainsley took another, larger swig, and laughed. ‘I feel I'm near doing that already, Walter.'

‘Be off with you now, and come and see me tonight at the Black Boy. I'll have another of these waiting for you.'

‘I'll look forward to that.' Ainsley saluted and rode away with the bottle once again raised to his mouth.

‘Goodbye, Archibald.' Courtney bared his teeth in a satisfied smile. ‘The way you're glugging that drink you could well be dead even quicker than I expected. So give my best regards to the Devil when you meet him.'

In the early hours of the morning Phoebe Creswell had risen to care for her father, and now was taking a nap in her own bedroom when Pammy Mallot rushed to wake her and proclaim excitedly, ‘Christophe's come back, Phoebe, and he looks so handsome, I swear I could eat him! And he reckons that the Company has give him what he asked for. So everything's going to be alright!'

A fiery blush spread over Phoebe Creswell's thin, sallow features and she pleaded breathlessly, ‘What shall I say to him, Pammy?'

Pammy Mallot hugged and kissed her. ‘You'll tell him that you love him, you silly wench! And you'll tell him that you'll marry him on whatever day he cares to name!'

‘But what about my father?' Phoebe's smile faltered. ‘I'm all he has. What's to become of him when I wed Christophe?'

‘That elixir Geraint's brought us is already making your dad better. I can tell it is. And you're forgetting what else Geraint's told us, you daft little besom,' the older woman chided fondly. ‘About how he's been praying to the Good Lord for you and Christophe's and your Dad's happiness, and that the Good Lord has come to him in his dreams and told him that his prayers had been answered, and that all would be well. Now you get yourself up and put your finery on, and I'll do your hair so you looks real pretty. Because your sweetheart has already told me that he wants you to be his lawful wedded wife before this week is out!'

T
hough the outside trapdoors of the cellar were wide open the sickly odour of rotting flesh that had assailed Tom's nostrils when he entered the building was now an all-enveloping nauseating stench as he descended the indoor cellar steps and joined Barry Blake at the side of the coffin.

‘Does you see what I mean now, Master Potts? This bugger's near to driving me out of house and home, and he's already losing me trade. Some of me regulars says that they won't stay drinking here wi' this stink up their noses. He's turning green and purple all over, and the way he's blistered and all swelled up, I reckon he could bust open at any time! He's got to go!' the innkeeper stated irately, and added warningly, ‘And if you don't get him shifted this very morning, then I'll have him chucked on to the nearest muckheap! And I wants his horse and tack cleared off me premises as well.'

Tom looked down into the coffin and ruefully acknowledged, ‘You have good cause for complaint, Master Blake. I can only assume that he must have had some severe disorder of the internal organs to have caused such a rapid condition of putrefaction.'