Til Death Do Us Part (33 page)

‘Well, he lodges at the Old Black Boy in Feckenham, but he won't be there now.'

‘Why so?'

‘He come here first thing this morning and spent ages praying for Master Creswell's soul, and he told me he was going to go straight to Worcester to find Phoebe and tell her about her dad dying. He's a living saint, so he is.'

‘Yes indeed,' Tom agreed fulsomely. ‘And it's his help I'm seeking. I'm having severe pains in my joints and I wondered if he could let me have some of that amazing salve he was treating Master Creswell with; and perhaps loan me the gloves he used to apply the salve to save me having to spoil another pair because they get so impregnated with it.'

‘Oh, that's a pity! He burned them gloves this morning because he said that he couldn't wear 'um any more for that very reason. But you'm in luck, because I aren't washed the pot yet and it's got a bit o' salve in it, which you'm very welcome to.'

She hurried to bring the pot and hand it to him. ‘Now when the pot's empty bring it back to me because I got a use for it. And I'm sure that if you needs more o' the salve the Reverend 'ull get you some.'

‘I most certainly will, Mrs Mallot. Thank you very much for your kindness, and please give the Reverend my thanks. Could you also convey my deepest sympathy for her sad loss to Mrs de Langlois.'

As they parted, Tom put the small pot into his pocket, and decided, ‘Now I'll visit Maud Harman and Reverend Mackay.'

In the Olde Talbot Inn in Worcester City the newly wed Phoebe de Langlois greeted Walter Courtney with a welcoming smile, which faltered when she saw the gravity of his expression.

‘Do you bring me bad news, Geraint?' she questioned anxiously.

‘Alas! I do. I'm bitterly sorry to have to tell you that your dear father has passed into the care of Our Heavenly Father.'

She dragged in a long, shuddering breath and covered her face with both hands. Sylvan Kent took her in his arms and lowered her gently upon an ottoman, and sat beside her cradling her shaking body, crooning soothingly to her.

‘I grieve for you, my darling wife. Try to hold it in your mind that your dear father is now freed all pain and anguish, and is safe in Heaven with our Lord and Saviour.' He kissed her forehead and whispered, ‘And I shall do my utmost to soothe your pain and anguish.'

She threw her arms about his neck and clung tightly to him, burying her face against his shoulder.

The two men's eyes met. Courtney nodded and smiled approvingly. Kent stared coldly back, and told him, ‘My wife and I would prefer to be alone at this sad time. You may call on us when we return to Beoley.'

‘Of course. I entirely understand your need for solitude. I will await your return to Beoley,' Courtney answered smoothly, and went from the room.

He waited until he was driving his gig from the city before venting contemptuous laughter.

‘Exactly what I was expecting. The cretin thinks he's the master now.'

I
n the study of the Red House, Joseph Blackwell sat in impassive silence until Tom had finished speaking. Then he smiled bleakly and said, ‘These are very tenuous grounds on which to base your suspicions of this clergyman, Constable Potts. Because he has some sort of connection with a likely fortune-hunter, and another man who leaves unpaid reckonings at an inn, does not prove that he himself is of doubtful character.'

Tom opened his mouth to reply, but Blackwell held up his hand, and snapped curtly, ‘Kindly allow me to finish, Constable. As I have said, these are tenuous grounds. Nevertheless, because of the high regard I have for your talents, I shall not forbid you to abandon this investigation. With the proviso, of course, that you do not make undue demands on the Parish coffers, and should you incur the wrath of the Ecclesiastical hierarchy, then on your own head be it.'

‘Of course, Sir,' Tom accepted immediately.

‘But now I have a task for you,' Blackwell went on. ‘I've received information that the dead man whom you lodged at the Old Laystall is now so rotted in the face as to be virtually unidentifiable, and that Sally Rimmer is using him as a penny peepshow. So have him buried as soon as possible, and arrange for the sale of his horse and tack to cover the burial costs. I bid you good day, Constable Potts.'

A
ll was quiet in the Old Laystall and only one window in a rear room of one building showed the faint glimmer of candlelight. Sally Rimmer sat in that room waiting for the tapping on that window which would announce the arrival of her visitor.

It was past midnight when that tapping came, and Sally Rimmer quickly went out of the door into the rear yard to find the small girl waiting for her.

The woman held out her cupped palm and Milly Styke placed a crown coin on to it.

‘Now listen very careful, my wench, because I've got a lot o' news tonight. Tell your mistress that Old Creswell died last Sunday week, and that his daughter and that bloke wi' the funny name who's her husband, am come back to the Orchard House in Beoley. The funeral is next Monday afternoon at Beoley Church. And from what folks are saying, there'll be a lot of people going to it, because the old man was very rich and had a lot o' tenants. And tell her as well that the dead 'un her come to see is to be buried in the paupers' plot down at the old Monks' Cemetery this coming Thursday. Now, has you got all that in your noddle?'

The girl nodded, and ran off into the darkness.

Sally Rimmer went back to her chair and cackled with satisfaction as one of her friends came into the room.

‘That's another five bob for us, Bessie. Just for passing on what we sees and hears when we'em out collecting shit. I reckon we knows more about what goes on in these parts than the bloody Town Crier does.'

‘W
elcome back, Reverend. I was wondering where you'd got to these last days.' A smiling Maud Harman greeted Walter Courtney as he entered the Old Black Boy.

‘I've been on the Lord's work, Mrs Harman. Giving what help and comfort I could to a young lady who has suffered a most grievous bereavement.'

‘That's what I told your visitor, Reverend. That you'd most certainly be doing the Lord's work and helping some poor soul or other in their hour of need.'

‘My visitor?' He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

‘It was that Constable Potts from Redditch. He come on Monday and he said he needed to see you most urgent on private business. So I sent him across to Parson Mackay in case he might know where you were. Perhaps Potts told him what he wanted to see you about. Now then, what can I get you for your breakfast, Reverend?'

Courtney forced a smile and waved his hand in refusal. ‘Nothing, I thank you, my dear lady, I've already breakfasted. It may be that Potts is in need of my immediate help, so I shall go and call on Reverend Mackay.'

A frown of suspicion replaced his smile as he walked out of the inn.

‘Potts calls on Pammy Mallot, and takes my salve away. If he really needed a salve for his joints he knows enough about medical treatments to mix his own. Now he's poking about here. What's he up to?'

In the vicarage, Horace Mackay gave Courtney further reason for disquiet.

‘Potts was asking me if that Ainsley fellow who calls on you had ever called on me. I said no, but that you had helped him several times by donating money to his charity. Potts then said that Ainsley is a charlatan, and he wanted to question him about certain matters.'

‘Dammee!' Courtney evinced shock. ‘I must speak with Potts about this matter without delay. Did he tell you anything further?'

‘About Ainsley, no. But he wanted to examine the Parish registers.'

‘Whatever for? I would think they make dull reading for a layman.'

‘Not in this case, Walter. Potts was most interested when he saw the Special License for your friends' wedding. He had never before seen the personal seal of an Archbishop, and thought it very impressive.'

‘Ah well, I'm glad to hear it impressed him.' Courtney smiled thinly. ‘Now I must be off, Horace, I have much work to do.'

Later that day Alfie Bennett came to the lock-up to inform Tom Potts. ‘Mrs Harman's sent me to tell you that she'd done what you asked her to.'

Tom gave him a shilling. ‘Thank you very much, Alfie.'

‘Is there any other task I can do for you, Master Potts?' Bennett asked.

‘Not at this time, but I thank you for offering. Good day to you.'

Tom was closing the door when he was struck by a sudden idea. He hurried outside and called after the other man, ‘Alfie, hold fast! I can offer you some employment after all. I want you to take a letter for me.'

T
he skies were clear and bright sunshine signaled that Spring had come. The large crowd of funeral mourners were rapidly dispersing down the slopes of the Beoley Mount in vehicles, on horseback and on foot. In St Leonard's churchyard, Sylvan Kent helped his wife and Pammy Mallot into a carriage, and told them, ‘I must have a final word with Geraint. I'll be as quick as I can.'

Walter Courtney had just mounted into his gig and as Kent came to him, he hissed, ‘Behave like a church mouse these next weeks, Sylvan. You're being very closely watched.'

‘Of course I am. These chawbacons are naturally eager to examine the new village Squire.' Kent was radiating self-satisfaction.

‘I'm not talking about the yokels,' Courtney snapped irritably. ‘You need to keep your eyes and wits about you.'

‘Don't use that tone to me!' Kent snapped back. ‘You'd best remember that I hold the whip hand now.'

Courtney instantly replied in a mollifying tone, ‘You well know that I've fully accepted that you're now in command, Sylvan. Have I not disposed of Ainsley because you wanted me to do so?'

‘Disposed of Ainsley?' Kent queried.

‘Just so.' Courtney winked meaningfully. ‘He'd served our purpose. Now forget about him, and take a look at that great skinny lanky fellow by the gate who's showing such a close interest in us.'

Kent turned his head.

Standing by the churchyard gate, Tom Potts kept his stare directed at them, but remained motionless.

‘Who the fuck is he?' Sylvan Kent demanded.

‘He's Thomas Potts, the Parish Constable.' Courtney frowned. ‘And he's been doing a deal of prying these past days.'

‘Phooo!' Sylvan dismissed scathingly. ‘By the looks of him, he's naught but a clodhopping chawbacon. You're becoming a panicky old maid, Cousin. You'll be screaming at spiders next. It's a good job for both of us that I've taken charge of our affairs. Now, repeat the instructions I've given you.'

A murderous resentment was scorching Walter Courtney, but he dutifully obeyed. ‘I am to leave this district and stay away until such time as you send for me to return here. I am to follow the route and timetable you have given me. When I arrive at the designated towns I must call at the Post Office and enquire if there is a post-paid letter being held for me. When I receive it, that letter will be your summons for me to return here.'

‘Well done.' Kent grinned mockingly.

‘How soon might I receive that summons?' Courtney asked.

Kent shrugged and told him airily. ‘Oh, that's hard to say, Cousin. Maybe two months, or three months, or even four months. It all depends on how bearable I'm finding life with this ugly, stink-breathed, no-tits you insisted on my marrying.'

Courtney exerted all his will power to smile and congratulate. ‘I think it's an excellent plan, Cousin. It only remains for me to bid you a fond “
Au Revoir
”.'

As the gig rattled through the gateway, Tom and Walter Courtney's eyes met and held, but no gesture of acknowledgement passed between them.

The carriage of the chief mourners next exited through the gate. Tom politely raised his hat.

‘That's queer, that is,' Pammy Mallot exclaimed.

‘What is?' Phoebe queried.

‘Well, Tom Potts come to the house last Monday week desperate to speak wi' Geraint about the salve he was using to treat your dad; and I give him what was left of it. You'd have thought that at least he'd have come and thanked Geraint today for the use of it. Yet he didn't, did he?'

Phoebe shrugged disinterestedly and made no reply.

Sylvan Kent did likewise.

In Bradley Green, Timothy Wrighton was greeting a totally unexpected caller at his house.

‘By God, Ma'am! I only wish I could have informed you that I'd had your house sealed and padlocked. It's a good job my man was making his regular check on it when you come there, else you'd have had a deal o' trouble gaining entrance.'

Clad in mourning black, thickly veiled Ella Peelson told him warmly, ‘I owe you my most grateful thanks for your care of my house, Master Wrightson. I'd very much like to hear all you know concerning this intruder who was making free with my property.'

‘Regretfully, Ma'am, there is nothing known about the man. No one was able to identify him, despite the offered reward bringing many to view his body. I fear it will remain a mystery.

‘However, what I can do is to have my people stand guard at the house now you're in residence, and that will insure there are no further intrusions upon you. And if you need women to clean and cook, I can find them for you in the village.'