The Best of Kage Baker

by Kage Baker

  I said, that I supposed he needed money but was too proud to let it be known he had to go into a business. And supposing he had done the Murder for the money? But Miss Bellman asked why did he leave London then, you would think he had staid and got the benefit of Mr. Tacker being arrested, which would leave him in possesssion of their Firm. Which I didn’t know. By then it was snowing some so we went back to the Moulders Arms because Miss Bellman is thin blooded and not robust as I am.

  We were having a warm by the public room fire when Constable Trumpiter came in looking very handsome, with the cold putting a bloom in his cheeks, and have I mentioned his hair is curly and a nice chesnut color? He swept off his hat and sat down by us and looked at me very direct and said, ‘Miss Squeers, you danced with Mr. Johnson, did you not?’ To which I replyed that I did, and he said ‘If I was to give you a pencil and paper, could you draw his counternance?’

  At which I blushed for I never learnt drawing as my pa engaged that drawing-master but he left after a week and took the spoons too. So I demured. Constable Trumpiter said ‘Perhaps then you might describe him to me?’ and he took out a notebook and pencil and licked the pencil point. ‘Was his face round or long?’ So I said long and gave other particulers, with him asking more questions, and in a few minutes he held out the open book and said, ‘Is that him?’

  I declare, Tilda, he had Mr. Johnson, or should I say Mr. Tollivere, to the life. He tapped the book with his pencil and said that he had found out the way to Swan Cottage by asking, and had gone there and watched, and seen this very gentleman standing at a window of the cottage. I was all for going there direct and having him Arrested, but Constable Trumpiter said we needed more Evidence he had done something wrong.

  Miss Bellman then exitedly told him about what we had found out from the shopmistress. The Constable’s eyes sparkled something lovely, he was very pleased; he said he’d just go up and see what he could learn from the servants up at The Larch, which was Mr. Spool’s Mansion. Miss Bellman wanted to go too, which shows a kimplete lack of discretion about what is proper, but Constable Trumpiter very kindly pointed out the snow was falling

  rather harder now and she ought to remain by the fire.

  So we sat in the snug and had muffins and tea, and I am afraid Miss Bellman displaid an unbecoming apptite. She is rather plump, and if she goes on in this way I do not doubt but that her figguer will be the worse for it. Still it is unlikely to matter much, as she is certain to make an old maid.

  She lowered herself so far as to engage in conversation with the serving-maid who brought the muffins, asking what the news of the day was. The girl replyed, that there was to be a great party come Coronation Day, and Squire H_____ had put in an order for six barrels of wine to drink the little Queen’s health, to be ordered special from France.

  Miss Bellman then asked if it was likely Mr. Spool would attend, at which the girl made a great show of scorn and said not likely; that he was a quarrelsome old man (only man is not the word she used, but to write the same would pollewt my pen) and hated everyone, and was like to die before summer ever came anyway. Then she coloured and said she was sorry to speak so, if we knew the man.

  Of course we didn’t, but this was more of Miss Bellman’s cunning, for she said, ‘We only know him by hearsay; but I had heard Mr. Spool was recovering and expected to live a while yet.’

  The saucy girl then put her finger by her nose and said she heard diffrent; and went so far as to sit down across from us and impart the news that her brother who knew the gardner at The Larch had heard that Mr. Spool was sending to find his son, that he had quarreled with years agone, so as to make amends, and why should he do that unless he were like to die?

  Miss Bellman said she supposed it might be so; and asked whether the old man had had any news of the boy. The girl said he wasn’t a boy, if he was still alive; he would be quite old himself now. But from what she had heard, the earth might have swallowed him up for all that any one knew what had become of him, since he walked out of his fathers house declaring he would never see him again, and that was thirty years ago.

  Miss Bellman said that was a great pity and the girl asked if there was anything else we wanted. I told her, ‘No, I thank you’ and when she had gone I wished to have a few words with Miss Bellman about her deplorble habit of conversation with anybody.

  But she exclaimed, that she’d give a pretty penny to know how much money Mr. Spool had to leave to his Heirs. Which was such a common thing to say, I was quite repelled, though I wondered about the money myself. So we sat there, though she did not seem to notice my Mortifyed Silence because she was thinking quite hard, muttering to herself now and again, and her cheeks were so red from the cold and then sitting by the fire that I pitied her, for anyone seeing her must think she had been drinking Liquor.

  Presently Constable Trumpiter came running in and said we must rouse our coachman if we were to get back to Lime House before nightfall. When we were back in the coach, Miss Bellman repeated what she had heard from the serving maid, and Constable Trumpiter forbore to rebeuke her, but listened courteously.

  Then he told us what he had learned, which was that Mr. Spool had a great deal of money indeed, and had had someone in to see about rewriting his will. It was supposed he had meant to Disinheirit his Grandson, Mr. Tollivere. He had forborn doing this while his daughter was alive, but she had gone to her aternal reward two years since, leaving the Wastrel some little money of her own.

  I saw at once that here ‘Mr. Johnson’ was caught out in another lie, for had he not said his mother was ill? And here she was dead. Which I said to Constable Trumpiter, who quite agreed. Though I still could not disern why the undoubted villain should kill a complete stranger like poor Mr. Clement.

  We parted with many respectful remarks and that night I lay in dreadful nightmares, all about Murder and Bloody Blades. Then I was in the shop in H_____ and it was full of sticks of sugar shaped like little Policemen, and when I turned around there was Spring-Heel’d Jack, who went down on one knee to offer me his heart, which was made of metal and ran with blue and white Flames.

  Next morning we heard how my poor Admirer had led the Police a merry chase, though they had been out with clubs and nets to catch him, and still had jumped out at an old woman near the Gas Works and pulled her hair. You can imagine that I breathed a sigh of relief to know that he had evaded Capture another night, but I did wish he would ceese this foolish

  passionate behaviour.

  In the afternoon Constable Trumpiter came to the door, looking rather tired but smiling, and asked whether I and Miss Bellman would like to go with him back to H_____, for he had just come from making more Inquiries and felt sure he had enough Evidence now to make an Arrest. I said yes with great alacrity and very nearly danced with impatience while Miss Bellman explaned to Aunt Pyelott. Aunt Pyelott was disinclined to let us go at first and the more so when she saw the two stout fellows Constable Trumpiter had with him, but on hearing what we were about she said to be sure and get a share in any fines that might be collected. Which had not even entered my mind I am sure.

  In the coach, Constable Trumpiter told us what he had found out by going to the late Mr. Clement’s house. The Housekeeper had let him go through Mr. Clement’s papers and he had been specially interested in a packet relating to Mr. Clement’s late father: Certifiket of Death, debts paid and such. Most interesting of all, he said, were some old letters from a Miss Adeline Spool (later Mrs. Adeline Tollivere) at The Larch, H_____.

  It seemed plain to me that this Mr. Clement’s father must have had some romantic connexion with Miss Spool, and perhaps there was a Missing Heir. What if Mr. Clement had been Mr. Johnson’s (though I should call him Mr. Tollivere) Lost elder Brother? Except of course he should be ilejitimate, but sometimes great families hush that sort of thing up. Constable Trumpiter said that all would be revealed in due time.

  We were delayed on the Road what with one of the Horses going lame and had to change for a fres
h one at Five Mile House, so it was twilight when we arrived in H_____. We drove straight to Swan Cottage. Constable Trumpiter said we ladies had perhaps ought to remain in the Coach as there was likely to be unpleasantness when he arrested Edmund Tollivere. He got out with the two stout gentlemen, who took a pair of clubs from under the seat, and they went and knocked at the door of the cottage. No sooner had they been admitted than Miss Bellman said she must know what befell, and I agreed, so we got out and walked round the cottage to see if there was any convenient window to listen at. I am afraid I tript over and fell in a lettuce-frame, which dissarrayed my hair rather.

  Just round a box-tree on the corner of the house was a window, and we could see in as well, though by reason of the falling dark we could not be seen. The two stout gentleman were standing at either door, and Mr. Tollivere stood before his hearth. Oh, what a change had come over his countenance! For I had seen him at the Ball the very pictuer of agreeableness, but now his expression was all compounded of fear, scorn and wickedness genrally, and it made my blood boil to see him so and think of his awful designs.

  Constable Trumpiter stood before him, very grave, and was just saying something about the suspicious circumstances attending Mr. Tollivere’s hasty removal from London, where he was living under a false name. Mr. Tollivere said he’d done no such thing; he had lived quietly at Swan Cottage these five years and never traveled. Constable Trumpiter said he had witnesses to prove otherwise.

  Mr. Tollivere then sneered and said he had witnesses of his own who would swear that he’d never gone up to London at all. Constable Trumpiter, with no show of annoyance, said that there was also the matter of the murdered man being Mr. Tollivere’s cousin, which made the next likely to inherit a sure suspect in the fowl crime.

  ‘Oh, very likely,’ said Mr. Tollivere, ‘My Grandfather has had paid men searching for his son for years now; they should have found him if anyone might, if he were still alive.’

  ‘But they did not have what you had,’ said Constable Trumpiter steadily. “Letters from Edgar Spool to his sister, your late mother, letting her know that he was well and had settled in London under the name of Clement.’ He went on to say that later Mr. Spool-Clement must have written that he was married, for his sister wrote back to ask whether he would not reconcile with his father on the happy occasion. But, said Constable Trumpiter, he must have refused; for her next letter was dated some years later, offering consolation to her brothers widow and son.

  ‘And when your mother died,’ said Constable Trumpiter, ‘You, going through her papers, found the letters from her brother, and learnt from them that you had a Cousin, and who he was and where he was likely to be. It was then you first planned to murder him.’ For you see Tilda, the Cousin (that was young Mr. Clement, the deceesed), should he be found, would stand to inherit all the Fortune.

  How I admired Constable Trumpiter! He stood tall and straight and looked so handsome in his uniform as he was laying these charges. Edmund Tollivere said it was all rubbage and Constable Trumpiter said no it wasn’t. He then went on to describe how Mr. Tollivere had come to London, sought out his cousin, joined the Partnership under an Assumed Name, and watched all his cousins habits so as to learn when he might best do the dreadful deed.

  When Spring-Heel’d Jack begun to Frequent Lime House, Mr. Tollivere devised his Wicked Plan, to make it look as though my mad Admirer done it. When I heard this I was struck dumb with horror at the wicked cleverness of it all, for though I had been sure he was Guilty I had not understood the Depth of his Cunning. And when I thought of poor Jack, who is only mad for love of me, being drawn into his web of deseet my rath knew no bounds!

  Constable Trumpiter said, ‘Now, sir, will you come with us to London? For you must go before the Magistrait.’

  Would you believe it Tilda, Mr. Tollivere said that he would not; that Constable Trumpiter had no proof of his cock-and-a-bull story, and they were not in London, and if they did not quit his house instantly he would see Constable Trumpiter dismissed from the Police for making False Accusations. But his voice was a little shrill and he was sweating.

  I was in such a perfect feury I was insensible to danger, and seezed the window and pulled it open, and pointing my finger at him accused him of Murder; whereat all in the room started and Mr. Tollivere was so dismayed by the Violent Emotion in my countenance that he screamed and backed into the fender, which put him in mind of Hellfire perhaps, for he fell over howling and begging for mercy, and I realised he thought I was an Aparishen, perhaps of Stern Justice herself.

  Anyone would have despised him, to see him so unmanned by womans beauty. And it seemed that while he was Groveling there with his trousers afire he let slip some few words that he had been led astray by bad companions and had only done it because he was in debt, cetrer, which Constable Trumpiter told him was a confession.

  Well they put manacles on him strait and now he sits in gaol and will be Tried and Hung, I have no doubt. I am happy and sereen for I have cleared my Admirers name, or at least have ensured that he will not be taken up for Murder. I cannot imagine how anyone could plot the death of his own Flesh and Blood. But then my Family is a very diffrent sort, as we Squeerses are all very fond of ourselves.

  Oh, Tilda, how quiet things must be at Greta Bridge, compared to this! I am afraid I shall find it rather dull when I return. My best regards.

  I remain

  Yours and cetrer

  Fanny Squeers

  23 February, 1838 Friday evening

  Oh, Tilda, the Infamy of Men!

  But you will not find this letter blotted with my tears. I am full of stern resolution and contempt for these poor creatures.

  The news of Mr. Tollivere’s arrest was scarcely a day old when I had word that Spring-Heel’d Jack had proved false to me. He went to a house in Bow, enticed a Miss Alsop to come out to him in the Lane, and there Took Liberties with her person in a most shocking manner that left no doubt it was the same man who but a fortnight ago was so perockupied with me. It was Romeo and Rosaline played over. And there can be no question about his mistaking her for me because she had a candle by which he must have seen her quite clear.

  After all my labours on his behalf to clear him of suspicion! I thought it really past anything for Rank Ingrattitude.

  You should know too that Constable Trumpiter has proposed Marriage to Miss Bellman. We were all rather surprized but really it is much the best thing for her, even though he is so very common, as she is not likely ever to get a better offer. It is good for her she has such sharp eyes, she will need them when she must sew buttons on a poor Policemans uniform. And I daresay her plumpness will greatly diminish when she has to live on the sort of victuels a Policemans wage affords. May they be very happy together. I have no doubt they will be. But I had thought him a more discriminating person.

  When we had been confronted with this news Uncle Pyelott was very cheerful, as well he might be since now he will be spared the expence of Miss Bellman’s keep, and said we should have a bottle of Madeera to celebrate. But there were none in the Sideboard and Aunt Pyelott asked if I might step out to the Wine Merchants which was still open. I was glad of any excuse to get out of the parlour, even on so dark an evening, for it was hard to conceal my Disdain at the imoderit way Miss Bellman was behaving with Constable Trumpiter.

  I was coming back and had not got above four or five yards from the Spirits Shop when who should have the effrontary to leap out before me but Spring Heel’d Jack! My indignation knew no bounds and as you know I am Fearless when once my Temper is up. I brake the bottle of Madeera on a convenient wall and rushed at him with it, and the booby turned as if to run but I caught him and tript him up. The bottle did not cut him very badly because he wore some sort of oilskin, and he knocked it from my hand as I was dragging his helment off, but I took off part of his ear anyway and got my Knees on his chest and so held him down pretty well as I renched the Mask off.

  Imagine my amazement, Tilda, when I tell you it w
as not the handsome man with the black whiskers at all! I recognised him for a shy dull fellow who had stood mute by the Punch Bowl and wore a vulgar waistcoat that hardly danced with anybody. Which, as I remember because I asked at the time, was because he was only somebody’s clerk and not worth cultivating the acquaintance of.

  At the thought that such as he had dared to assault me, a gentlemans daughter, my very Blood boiled in my vanes. I rained Blows on him with my fists and pulled out his hair until he was screaming and weeping and emploring Mercy. He said it was only a joke and he meant no harm, and promised he would never do it any more. Only the thought that if he were taken by the Police it would all get into the papers made me decyst, and in any case he was making so much Noise someone might have come out to inquire what was the matter.

  I did him an Injury he will not soon forget and, rising, pitched the disgusting Mask into the canal. When I came back with the new bottle of Madeera he was dragging himself away on his hands and knees and begun to whemper when he saw me, but I spurned to notice him and only kicked him once in passing for I had done with him.

  When I got back to Aunt Pyelott’s I was quite faint at the dreadfulness of everything and was obliged to retire to my chamber the rest of the evening.

  It has all spoilt the city for me rather and I have decided to quit London next week, instead of staying until summer. I return to Dotheboys Hall sadder, Tilda, but ever so much wiser. I shall not again soon—if ever indeed—lose my heart to perfidious Men.

  I remain

  Yours and cetrer

  Fanny Squeers

  Bad Machine

  Alec Checkerfield, like other members of the administrative class, was enrolled in a Circle of Thirty when he was eleven. This was intended to forge lasting bonds with his fellow junior aristocrats, embedding him firmly in the social stratum he would occupy during his adult life.

  The experiment was not a notable success. By the time he was sixteen, he had managed to alienate nearly half of those with whom he was meant to row the great galley of the state through mid-century.