The Guardian of Secrets and Her Deathly Pact

by Jana Petken

  Joseph opened the front door. The two men were dressed immaculately, in matching black suits and ties. They stood with hats in hand, and one held a folder of papers between his fingers. Behind them was a horse and cart that had high wooden sides and a roof made with iron beams and thick white sheeting.

  “Good morning, sir,” one of the men said to Joseph. “We’re looking for Joseph Dobbs.”

  “Who’s looking for him?” Joseph asked, eying them and the cart suspiciously.

  “Are you Joseph Dobbs?” the man asked again.

  Joseph looked briefly at the papers in the man’s hand and nodded. Christ, he was too late, he thought, kicking himself for not getting the stuff out sooner. It didn’t take a fool to guess who they were.

  “Yes, I’m Joseph Dobbs. What’s this all about?” he asked the man with the papers.

  “It’s about an outstanding debt, sir. We are the court’s bailiffs, and we have a warrant here from the judge to remove all furniture and any other movable possessions from this house or to receive from you the sum of five hundred pounds. This, I believe, is the amount owed to a Miss Marie Osborne of Bermondsey, South East London.”

  The man with the folder gave his hat to his colleague and then lifted his knee and balanced the folder on it. He took out a document, peered at it, and nodded, signifying that it was the correct loan sheet. “Is that your signature on this loan document, Mr Dobbs?”

  Joseph swore under his breath. Marie Osborne would get what was coming to her and so would her sidekick, Ayres.

  “Yes, it’s mine,” he told the man. “But you’re not taking a bloody thing from this house. You can forget that! This five hundred pounds was a personal loan. She’s my aunt by marriage, for fuck’s sake!”

  “She may well be, sir, but it doesn’t alter the fact that she now wants her money back. According to this document, she gave you until the first of July to repay the debt. It’s now the sixth. So pay us or step aside. We don’t want any trouble here.”

  “Will you give me a minute to get dressed? Just five minutes?” Joseph asked him.

  “Five minutes, Mr Dobbs. No longer. We’ll wait here inside the hallway if that’s all right with you.”

  Joseph nodded, opened the door, and let them pass. He needed to think for a minute, go through his options.

  Upstairs in his bedroom, he grabbed the whisky bottle that sat on the bedside table and drank from it. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked around the room. Things were moving faster than he’d thought. He could feel the vultures circling. The old cow wanted him out now that Celia was gone, and if he knew her as well as he thought he did, this wouldn’t be the end of it.

  Downstairs again, he stood in front of the two men, clearly surprising them by bowing deeply before ushering them into the parlour. He smiled at them, swept his outstretched arms around the room, and then picked up ornaments one by one, showing them as one would at an auction house.

  “Take what you want. It’s all a load of shit anyway. You’ll not get a penny out of me, though. Tell the old bag that I don’t have her five hundred pounds and I never will; she can go whistle.”

  “Mr Dobbs, are you sure you wouldn’t rather pay the money?”

  Joseph grunted and waved his arm again. “Yes, I’m sure. So what are you waiting for? Go ahead and take it all, but if you touch my personal stuff, I’ll break your fucking noses! Is that clear enough?”

  It could be a lot worse, Joseph thought, as he watched the steady flow of furniture being put into the cart. He sat on the bench outside the front door, and it dawned on him that maybe, just maybe, Lady Luck was trying to tell him something. Was it time for him to leave, get out today? Leaving so soon would mean that he wouldn’t be able to sell the stuff in the barns, like the tools and whatnot. The bailiffs would see to that, but he’d received a fair amount of money from John Malone for the animals, and he could always come back later. The place was still his, technically, and who would stop him? He took a slug of whisky and laughed aloud, tipsy from nerves and alcohol. This was happening because it was all meant to be. It was brilliant! He’d go somewhere new and get some money together, and then he’d come back and start over with pockets full of guineas and enough power to run this whole village the way he wanted.

  He drank again and saluted the bailiffs with the bottle every time they passed him on their way to the cart. He might even go back to the Midlands for a while; he’d liked the look of it there. Or he could try his luck in London, what with all the shops and banks just waiting to be robbed. He had always been a bloody good thief as a boy, and it was just like riding a bike. You never forgot how to do it. He clicked his fingers; John Stein would give up looking for him if he came and saw that the farm was empty, with broken windows and no furniture. He would probably nose around the place for answers, finding out what he could from the gossipmongers in the village, but he’d leave empty-handed.

  Joseph finished the last drop of whisky and threw the bottle on the ground. He was arriving at conclusions that now seemed so obvious and simple. What the fuck was he waiting for, anyway? Goudhurst had been an unlucky place for him, but he wasn’t finished with it yet. He was still married to Celia and had the Merrill name behind him, and he could still milk the farm, but he’d think about that later. There was a big wide world out there, and he was going to take it by the balls and drain it for everything he could get. Merrill Farm could wait!

  He went back into the house and climbed the stairs two at a time, ignoring the bailiffs, who, in his opinion, were crawling over the house like a couple of rats. Once inside the bedroom, he dragged a blue bag across the floor and threw his clothes into it, along with bits and pieces that the bailiffs still hadn’t spotted. There was one bottle of whisky left, the clock on the bedside table; and a silver framed photograph of his wedding day.

  He looked at the photo. Celia stood beside him with her skinny arm locked in his. The image of her pasty face and sickening smile still annoyed him. He didn’t really know why he hated her so much. She was a good fuck. She was a good cook. And if truth be told, she wasn’t bad to look at. But he did hate her and still had plans to get her back just so he could make her miserable life even more miserable. He took the photo out and ripped it up into tiny pieces, then watched them flutter to the ground …

  One of the bailiffs shouted from the bottom landing: “We’ll be off now, Mr Dobbs! We’ll let you know how much you still owe after we’ve evaluated the furniture and whatnot!”

  “Yes, you do that!” Joseph shouted back absently.

  He was in a hurry to leave now. He looked around the room to see if he’d missed anything. No. Just one miserable bagful of money and jewellery was all he had to show for all his hard work.

  He took off his old trousers, deciding that he would wear his suit today. He was going to head for London first and wanted to look the part for the big city. He whistled a nervous tune and pulled his suit out of the bag. He looked it over. It was crumpled and dirty, but he would smooth it out and run a wet cloth over it. Something alerted him, and his body stiffened. The sound had come from downstairs. He pricked up his ears, cocked his head to one side, and grunted angrily. The bailiffs had unnerved him; he still couldn’t believe that Marie Osborne … The fucking cheek of the woman.

  He picked up the suit trousers and heard another noise. He felt the hair on the back of his head bristle, sending shivers down his spine. He turned, briefly seeing the men’s faces before taking a crippling blow to the face that sent him flying backwards until he hit the wall. He slid comically to the floor and in a dazed state said, “What the fuck?”

  He groaned, touching his cheek. He shook his head and refocused his eyes. John Stein and the other three men he had played poker with in London stood looking down at him.

  “What do you think you’re doing waltzing into my house like this and battering me for no good reason?” he spat at John Stein.

  “It’s time to pay your debt, Joseph,” John Stein said casually.


  He took his eyes off Joseph and then gestured with his hands to Arty, David, and Mathew. “Tie him up where he sits. We can’t put him on a chair; poor man doesn’t have any.”

  Arty Weisman laughed. “Never thought we’d catch him with his pants down, did we?”

  “No, but now that you mention it, Arty, I did tell you that he didn’t have any balls, and look, I was right!”

  Joseph inadvertently glanced over at the bag lying in the middle of the room and felt an even greater panic spread through his body. The bag contained everything he had: the money for the animals and all the other stuff. They couldn’t get their filthy hands on it. He’d be finished if they took it off him. He spoke quickly, trying to divert their attention.

  “I know why you’re here, Stein, so you may as well get on with whatever it is you’re going to do to me. I’ve no money. Look if you want to, but you’ll be wasting your time.”

  John shook his head. “I’m disappointed, Joseph. I really am. After all, we have given you enough time to get it.”

  Joseph vehemently shook his head. “You said a week. It’s only been six days, you lying bastard! Is this supposed to be the word of a gentleman? Is that what you call this?” He looked at all four men in turn, daring them to disagree with the truth. “Well, am I right or am I right?”

  Arty Weisman tied Joseph’s hands behind his back, tighter and with more rope than was necessary. “Personally, I think we were more than generous to begin with, and what’s a day or two between friends, eh, Joseph?”

  David Stern said, “I agree. Mr Stein here said that your reputation isn’t all that good when it comes to paying debts. Word gets around, Joseph, old fellow!”

  “Don’t ‘old fellow’ me, you patronising git! I’ll have your money tomorrow,” Joseph spat at him.

  John crouched down to Joseph’s level on the floor. “That’s not good enough, Joseph. We want it now, and after coming all this way, we will all be disappointed if we have to leave empty-handed.”

  “Well, there’s nothing I can do about that,” Joseph said, trying to wipe the sweat from his eyes with his shoulder.”

  John leaned against the wall. “Actually, that’s not strictly true. There is something you can do, something that might ease this small problem,” he told Joseph.

  “What are you on about?”

  “We could come to another arrangement.”

  Joseph looked quizzically at the other three men and then back to John. “What other arrangement?” he asked John.

  “Well, the way I see it, you owe us five hundred pounds, and you’ve just told us that you don’t have it. So maybe we can take something else from you, something that won’t hurt your pockets. You will thank me, Joseph.”

  “What?” Joseph’s body was completely still. Again, he looked at each of the four men in turn. “What are you on about? Don’t talk in riddles. Just tell me what it is you want and I’ll try and help you out,” he said. Then he craned his head towards his hands. “Untie me first, though. There’s no fucking need for all these ropes. What do you think I’m going to do with the four of you standing over me like … like the king’s bloody Dragoon Guards?”

  Arty Weisman crouched down, his face inches from Joseph’s, but he immediately stood up again. “Jesus Christ, you stink. When was the last time you washed yourself? Dirty bastard,” he said, putting some distance between them. “I’ve smelt better than you in a dustbin.”

  He turned to John then. “Shall I untie him?”

  “No, not yet,” John told him before turning his attention back to Joseph. “Joseph, listen carefully and know that this is your only way out of this mess. I have a legal document in my pocket. It is a statement stating that you want a divorce from your wife, Celia Merrill Dobbs. The reasons for the divorce are stated in the document, but you won’t be required to read that bit. We just need you to sign it.”

  Joseph looked at the document being thrust in front of his eyes, and it took only a few seconds for his brain to register what it meant. “Fuck off! There’s no way I’ll sign that. I’ll lose my farm. Did she promise you this farm? Is that it?”

  The four men shook their heads. Arty Weisman put his hand into his pocket and brought out a gun. Joseph’s expression changed from sullen defiance into one of shock and fear.

  “You can’t shoot me,” he said, almost as a question. “You can’t kill someone in cold blood; you’ll never get away with it! I’m known round these parts. I practically own this village.”

  John looked out of the window and grinned. “First of all, Joseph, to answer your question about this farm … We’re not interested in this place or anything else you might have to offer. We just want you to sign the divorce papers. As for killing you, we can and we will, if it comes to that.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” Joseph told him.

  “Oh, we will dare, and we’ll get away with it too … You’re packed, so you were obviously leaving. You’re in debt all over Kent, so my guess is that you were just about to run away, from us and all the others that will come after we’ve gone.” He opened the curtains and turned to face Joseph. “You’ve got a lot of land out there. We could dump your body in any corner of it, bury it under any bush or dung heap, and no one would even think of looking for it. Everyone round these parts will believe that you’ve simply disappeared like a rat scampering down a hole. Am I right?”

  Joseph stared straight ahead, avoiding the faces above him. He’d listened to John Stein’s chilling words and threats, and he couldn’t make sense of it all. He had to put his jumbled thoughts into order, had to make sure he said the right thing. Were they bluffing about killing him and serious about dumping his body in a field? And what did divorce papers have to do with anything? Where the fuck did his marriage come into all this? Did they know Celia, Marie Osborne, and Ayres?

  Joseph looked up at the four men and in an instant decided that they were serious about killing him. David Stern leaned nonchalantly against the wall now with his gun also visible; he was checking it for bullets. Arty Weisman twirled his weapon around his fingers, and judging by the look on his face, he was itching to use it. Mathew Gates stood in the far corner of the room cleaning his nails with the blade of a long carving knife, and John Stein was staring at him with cold, calculating eyes that spoke of murder.

  “It was only a game of poker,” he said humbly. “What’s my wife got to do with all of this?” he asked John Stein.

  No answer.

  “You don’t even know her, so why is she so important to you? What will you get out of a signature on some trumped-up divorce papers? None of this makes any sense.”

  Joseph waited for someone to speak. Suddenly, his eyes widened, and his face turned purple with anger.

  “Of course, of course. You must think I’m fucking stupid!” He blazed at John. “Let me see. I divorce Celia and the farm passes to her, leaving me out in the cold, right? How much did the cow and her whore of an aunt pay you to do this … Are you all taking turns with them, is that it? Christ, they’re a couple of whores right enough! I was right on the mark about that … Well, you can tell Celia from me that there’s no way she’s going to get back in here, and there’s no fucking way she’ll get a divorce either!”

  John glared at Joseph with genuine hatred. “Shut up and mind your tongue when you talk about ladies and let me make myself clear to you. There will be a signature on this document, and it will be yours, so sign the bloody papers before we lose our patience!”

  “Or what?” Joseph asked him, anger replacing his fear.

  “Or I’ll set these men on you.” John looked at the others. “To be honest, I don’t know how long I can keep them off you, especially Arty here. He’s been known to get very violent when it comes to unpaid debts. Now, we can hold your hand and force you to sign or we can kill you, in which case the divorce won’t matter. So what will it be? Decide quickly. You’ve got one minute.”

  Joseph took one last look at John and the others and saw death staring
back at him. He was still filled with confusion, but there was no doubt in his mind now that they would carry out their threats.

  “All right, I’ll sign it, but like I said, untie my hands. I can’t write my name with them tied round my fucking back, can I?”

  “Do as he asks but keep your eyes on him,” John told the others.

  “Thank you,” Joseph said sarcastically when the ropes had been loosened. “By the way, before I sign this there’s something I want from you, and if I don’t get it …”

  “I don’t think you’re in any position to make demands,” John told him. “You’ll do as you’re told, and that’s the end of it.”

  “Do you think I’m fucking stupid? My signature is obviously important to you. That’s what this is all about, I’ll bet. The bitch is probably paying you more than my debt’s worth, so I want something in return, and you’re going to give it to me.”

  “And what is it you want?” John asked him.

  “I want the watch and ring back, the ones you took from me at the game. They have sentimental value, and they’re not worth that much anyway. So that’s the deal. The stuff back for my signature.”

  John looked out of the window again and smiled to himself. This is what he’d been waiting for. He had planned to plant the watch and ring in Joseph’s bag, but this was even better. This was the prize, the ultimate victory dance. He took his time, making Joseph think that he was still deciding. He had never encountered anyone like Joseph Dobbs, not even in the vilest of court cases. Joseph was a breed of his own: evil by nature, predictable in character, but as naive as a child. He wanted to kill him for the things he had said about his mother and Celia, but he wouldn’t. Joseph was now one step closer to the hangman, and that was good enough for him.

  John called the others to him and then spoke in whispers about Joseph’s demands. After a short discussion, all four turned at the same time to face Joseph, now standing against the bare wall with his arms crossed against his chest.