Salting the Wound

by Janet Woods

  ‘I was friendly with his mother’s cousin. We grew up together, so the Colonel’s attitude towards me was rather surprising. His relative always talked fondly of the young man, and he fully expected him to sell the Edinburgh house and return to the English county where he was born and grew up. That has proved to be the case.’

  ‘Which is where?’

  ‘That I have yet to inform you of. Exactly how much did you say the reward was worth?’

  Adam wrote a number on the solicitor’s blotting pad, an indication of the reward offered for information received.

  Matheson nodded, then took a card from his desk and placed it face down. He kept his finger on the card as he slid it gently across the polished surface of the desk. ‘The address.’

  He released it when Adam took a packet from his pocket and handed it to him. Adam sat patiently while the man counted the contents.

  ‘All seems satisfactory.’ The solicitor consulted his gold watch then looked up at him. ‘If there’s nothing else, good day to you, Mr Chapman.’

  Adam didn’t as much as flicker an eyelid as he was dismissed. He had no reason to linger, even if he’d liked the company he’d found himself in, which he didn’t. Standing on the pavement outside the building he patted his other pocket. The information had only cost half of what he’d expected.

  He gazed up at the castle looming over the city, and beyond that, the lowering sky that had begun to turn the remaining daylight to a leaden grey. He sniffed the air and smiled. Edinburgh smelled like rain. Indeed, the first heavy drop plopped on his face, quickly followed by another.

  Upping his umbrella he headed down Princes Street to where his hotel was situated, a leisurely fifteen-minute walk from Leith Harbour. From there he intended to book a passage round the coast to Southampton – or on to Poole if he was lucky. He was in no hurry to repeat the interminable train journey.

  His present case was interesting. Normally Adam wouldn’t consider the objects of his searches as anything more than felons, and invariably they were. But he couldn’t help wondering why a respectable law-abiding former army officer with means would lay himself open to a charge of child stealing . . . unless he was the father of the boy, a possibility that had occurred to Adam before. Or perhaps the soldier had a certain behavioural weakness. Adam frowned at the thought. First he must make sure that the boy was living with Colonel Hardy, then he would judge what that relationship was. He’d rather take his client some encouraging news.

  Adam arrived in Poole three days later. It was a compact town with bracing air and a colourful history of fishing and smuggling. The harbour was large, but pretty, with an island in the middle of it. The quay, which was a tangle of ships and masts bustled with activity, and supported the Guildhall with its elegant curving staircases at either side. The countryside surrounding the town was tinted with the shades of autumn and the climate was much more temperate after chilly Edinburgh.

  He sought directions to Harbour House of a fisherman who was mending his nets, and who introduced himself as Rob.

  Rob pointed. ‘The heath be in that direction, Mister. You can’t miss Harbour House, it be the only house there for miles. Used to belong to smugglers.’

  ‘Do you know who lives there now?’

  ‘Can’t rightly say. Used to be the Honeyman family. But someone married into the family. I can row you there for a shilling. All you’ll need to do is step ashore.’

  The last thing Adam wanted was to step ashore on a deserted part of the heath, where he’d be conspicuous.’

  ‘Thank you, but no. I don’t intend to visit today. Is there anywhere I can hire a dinghy for tomorrow?’

  ‘I reckon there is, at that. You can take that there old dinghy of mine. She’s seaworthy enough for your purpose, but don’t go out beyond the island. Five shillin’ for the day. Do you reckon you have enough strength in your arms to row her?’

  Adam grinned. ‘I’m not quite as useless as I look. Nor am I stupid. Let’s make that three shillings, I’ve already checked on the tides and will be here at ten.’

  The fisherman looked surprised. ‘Done. A deposit would be a sign of goodwill.’ The fisherman’s face puckered into wrinkles as he palmed the shilling Adam offered and slipped it into his pocket. He cackled before he went back to his mending.

  The next day Adam used the tide to manoeuvre himself into the required position without too much effort. There was a cold breeze blowing off the water and he wore the fishy smelling windproof sou’wester and jacket the fisherman had offered him for an extra sixpence. If nothing else, it was a good disguise. Opening his bag he allowed the dinghy to drift, oaring it back into position every now and again. Then, making sure he wasn’t observed, he took out a telescope and trained it on the house.

  An hour later someone came in a gig. He carried a doctor’s bag. The maid let him in. Adam saw him at an upstairs window a couple of times, and he came out fifteen minutes later, turned his vehicle round and headed back towards town.

  Nothing was moving, and a lazy scribble of smoke rose from the chimneys. Taking out a sketching block, which was a good thing to have when carrying out surveillance work, he made a quick sketch of the house in its setting, admiring its solid lines. He was a competent artist. He was even better at detecting. He liked the hunt.

  The sky was a seamless, even grey, with patches of blue. The wind lifted a haze from the surface of the water. He hunched into his smelly jacket, then glanced at his watch. Another hour had passed. He took an apple from his bag and bit into it, savouring the tart juice against his tongue. When he’d finished munching the fruit, he placed the glass against his eye again.

  To his left a man appeared. He had an upright bearing as he strode along the path, his arms swinging. Adam knew a trained soldier when he saw one, and he certainly matched the description the Scottish minister had given him. But there was no boy with him. The man went into the house. He saw him come into the upstairs window, and for a moment he seemed to be staring straight at him. Then he stooped, and straightened, cradling a bundle in his arms. A baby! The man had a family. Considering the doctor’s visit to the same room and the size of the bundle it was a fairly recent event. If there was a boy living there, he was most likely at a dame school.

  Adam hesitated for a moment. What if he’d got the wrong man? It would be needless cruelty to get his client’s hopes up. But he had to make sure.

  He turned and rowed back towards the quay, relishing the task he was giving his back and arm muscles. The sun was directly overhead. By the time he’d got the dinghy back to its owner and had settled up, two hours had passed. The fisherman was leaning against his boat, puffing on his pipe. ‘You didn’t sink her, then.’ He cackled at his own joke.

  ‘And neither did I get stuck in the mud. Is there a school hereabouts?’

  ‘It’s up the road a way. It’s owned and run by the merchants for their own children. Verger’s wife runs a dame school for the poor. Then there’s the grammar school for older boys. Thinking of moving your family here, are you? It’s no good looking at Harbour House. It’s been in the hands of the Honeyman family since it were an inn. The old man were in debt to a sea captain when he died, but the eldest daughter, Charlotte her name is, refused to move out. Said she’d shoot his ratty Thornton eyes out if he tried to evict them. ’Tis said she married the man who bought the clay pits, so she could stay there.’

  The man’s breath smelled of ale, which had obviously loosened his tongue. Adam let the fisherman ramble on.

  ‘Year ago I recall it was. I hear tell she gave birth to twin babbies a week or so ago.’

  ‘Twins?’

  The man straightened up. ‘If you want to keep women from interfering in men’s business keep them pregnant, I say. I do hear that the younger girl has run off. Saw her myself, going aboard the Samarand. Pretty as a picture, she was.’ He touched his hat. ‘It’s been right nice talking to you, sir. I’d best get off home to my woman. She do nag if I’m late home.’

&n
bsp; The fisherman deserved a reward for the information, and Adam dropped a couple of florins into his hand. ‘You’ve been most helpful. Here, buy your wife a ribbon or two for her bonnet.’

  Staring at the coins in astonishment, Rob murmured. ‘Thank you kindly, young sir.’

  Adam made his way to the most likely of the schools, just as the bell was rung. The boys went off in all directions, punching each other and laughing. A couple of them were met by parents, and a bunch of four boys were chattering and laughing together, pushing and shoving at each other in the way boys did. He took up station in a handily placed lane opposite when a gig arrived, driven by Hardy, who appeared to be a few years his senior.

  ‘Pa!’ one of the four boys shouted out, then waved and smiled. Seth Hardy jumped down from the cart.

  Adam wanted a better look at both of them. He crossed to the opposite side of the road and, pretending to stumble, dropped his bag in front of Hardy and the boy. Pencils and other bits and pieces scattered across the ground.

  ‘My pardon,’ he said.

  Both Hardy and the boy helped him pick the pencils up.

  Adam offered a hand to Seth. ‘My thanks.’

  ‘I’m Seth Hardy . . . this is my son, John Hardy.’

  The boy held out his hand, saying politely, ‘How do you do, sir.’

  Adam shook it, thinking that the lad looked nothing like Seth Hardy, but he did resemble Charles Barrie to a certain extent, and had the same green hazel eyes. He also had a ready smile, and an easy manner that said he was perfectly at ease with his guardian. ‘I’m very well, young sir, thank you.’

  As Hardy lifted John into the gig, he said. ‘Can I stand between your knees and take a turn on the reins, Pa?’

  ‘When we get out of town, perhaps.’

  ‘Did you find Aunt Marianne?’

  Seth’s smile was replaced by a worried look, and the boy’s smile faded when he said, ‘Not yet, but we will.’ He nodded at Adam, flicked the reins and they moved off.

  Adam watched them go with sadness in his eyes. There seemed to be nothing inappropriate in the relationship between the pair. It was obvious that the boy had a good home. The soldier also had a new family to support. For the first time in his life Adam felt guilty about what he was about to do. But child stealing was a misdemeanour, not a felony, so he’d probably get away with it if he had a good excuse, and he expected that he would have.

  But it was not his job to judge Colonel Hardy. In fact, he rarely offered an opinion to his clients unless they asked for one. His task had been to find the child. He had, and would be paid well for both his time and expertise. While their faces were still fresh in his mind he quickly sketched both man and child, then turned and walked away.

  The boy’s question stuck in his mind, and the way both their smiles had faded.

  ‘Marianne,’ he whispered, and connected it to the fisherman mentioning that there were two sisters. Marianne Honeyman must be the younger one.

  He was tempted to catch the man up and tell him what the fisherman had said, but it was really none of his business. No doubt they would know soon enough when the ship returned.

  But what if she was kept on board against her will and disposed of?

  Later, Adam wrote a note and signed it with a name he used sometimes. Just before he headed for the railway station, he placed it in the hands of a messenger to deliver to Harbour House.

  Dear Colonel Hardy,

  We are not acquainted, but yesterday I overheard that a young lady called Marianne Honeyman is missing from her hearth and home. A fisherman, in the course of a conversation, mentioned quite incidentally that he saw her go aboard a ship called Samarand on the day the young lady disappeared. I cannot, of course, verify that the information is correct, but for what it’s worth, you may wish to question the man yourself, and indeed, follow this line of enquiry up. The fisherman’s name was Rob.

  Sincerely,

  Henry Smith

  ‘Samarand,’ Charlotte cried out, and Major Mitchell jumped and gave a startled yelp. Gently massaging his scalp with her fingertips she shushed him, then lowered her voice. ‘There, I knew Nick Thornton had stolen her away. I’ll shoot him dead when he gets back. Just see if I don’t.’ She began to weep. ‘My poor sister. Nick has ruined her to spite me, and it’s all my fault. If I’d only married him in the first place, then this wouldn’t have happened. We must ask a magistrate to issue a warrant for his arrest, and we’ll have him thrown into jail when he returns.’

  ‘Charlotte, this isn’t about you, or about you taking revenge. For Marianne’s sake it would be better if this business is hushed up. As for Thornton, there’s no proof that he was involved in her disappearance in any way.’

  Eyes furious she gazed up at him, prepared to argue. ‘But the letter—’

  ‘It was written by a stranger, and could be a mischief. Until we know for sure what has happened to Marianne we cannot accuse anyone of anything. What if Nick Thornton is innocent of wrongdoing?’

  Charlotte wanted Nick to be the villain, it would give her a reason to keep hating him. ‘Why are you always so reasonable, Seth?’

  He laughed and ran a finger down her nose. ‘I’ve learned to keep control of myself, and so should you.’ He picked up her hand and bore it to his lips. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll go and see this fisherman in the morning. If it were Marianne he saw going aboard, he should be able to remember what she was wearing.’

  ‘It was her blue gown and bonnet and her Kashmir shawl.’

  Jessica began to make agitated little noises. Seth picked her up and gently rocked her, saying softly, ‘Hello, my sweet.’ Jessica’s eyes moved towards the sound of his voice and she fell quiet. ‘You have a pretty face, just like your mother, but you don’t sing as well.’

  Seth loved his children. Charlotte could see it in his eyes when he gazed at them. She’d already known he’d be a good father when she’d married him. He was not like Nick, quick-tempered and tempestuous. Seth was a calm man – a reasonable man.

  Worry had caused Charlotte’s first thin trickle of milk to dry up at first. She’d felt a failure when Lucian had advised her that the wet nurse should feed both of her children. But still she persevered, and had been rewarded by painful lumps.

  Fanny Clark had said. ‘I mean no disrespect, Mrs Hardy. It’s just that you’re new at this, and so is the doctor. If you place cabbage leaves on your breasts it will help to draw the milk out.’

  Charlotte had scoffed at first, but had allowed Fanny to bring her some cabbage. The cool green leaves were wondrously soothing, if nothing else. Charlotte liked Fanny, who’d been recommended by Lucian. She had two children of her own. Recently, her own baby had died a few days after birth, just as she’d finished suckling the first. Her husband had left to seek work elsewhere, and she lived with her parents.

  Charlotte felt sorry for her. If anything happened to her own children she knew she’d never recover. When she relinquished Major Mitchell to Fanny she felt envious. But the fact remained. The children slept well when Fanny fed them. When Charlotte tried to feed them they were fractious.

  Seth handed their daughter over to her, and kissed her forehead when Jessica nuzzled into her, seeking sustenance. ‘Try not to feel too bad about it, Charlotte. It can’t be helped. I’ll be back later. I’m going to give the clay workers their wages and I’ll take John with me.’

  After Seth had gone Charlotte opened her bodice and prayed for milk. Jessica nuzzled hungrily, her face going back and forth until her mouth closed round the nipple. Charlotte drew in a breath as her daughter began to suck. The sensation was so pleasurable that it was almost painful, and it seemed to reach right down into her body. She closed her eyes and savoured the connection with her daughter. She desperately wanted to nourish her own children. After a while Jessica stopped sucking.

  Opening her eyes Charlotte gazed down at her, almost in despair. Then she noticed that Jessica wasn’t complaining, and that her bodice was damp on the other side. W
ith a flicker of excitement she slid her hand under it. Milk was dripping from her breast.

  The surge of triumph she felt was so real that it must have transferred to Jessica, for her daughter detached, her head turned and she looked up at her. Jessica belched, and a bubble of milk was expelled from her mouth and dribbled down her chin.

  She exchanged a triumphant smile with Fanny. ‘It worked.’

  ‘Of course it did. What do doctors know? Put her to the other side now for a short time, then you can try Major Mitchell on it.’

  Momentarily, Charlotte forgot her worry over Marianne as she practised her new skill.

  Eight

  After Seth dropped John off at school, he did as the note had advised him to and questioned the fisherman called Rob about Marianne.

  ‘As I told the other fellow . . .’

  ‘What other fellow?’

  ‘I can’t remember his name.’

  ‘Henry Smith?’ Seth suggested.

  The fisherman scratched his head. ‘No, that weren’t his name. Can’t rightly remember him giving one. I think he was looking around the area. Borrowed my dinghy and rowed across to look at Harbour House, he did, though I told him he wouldn’t be able to buy it. He asked about schools.’

  Seth’s eyes sharpened at that. ‘What did this man look like?’

  ‘A young feller, he was, younger than you. But young or not, he had a look to him that said he was no fool. He was about your height, and well set up with grey eyes.’

  The stranger at the school! Seth thought. The young man hadn’t offered him a name either, but how had he known his army rank? Seth hadn’t given it. He put the man to the back of his mind. No good puzzling over it now. He’d just wait and see if anything developed.

  He concentrated on Marianne. ‘I’m given to understand that you saw a young woman board the Samarand two weeks ago.’

  ‘Were it that long ago? Dressed all in blue, she were, a basket over her arm, her ribbons flying in the wind and wearing a smile on her face like she was enjoying the day. As I told the other feller, she was as nesh as a spring day. But he didn’t seem all that interested in her, even when I told him she lived out at Harbour House.’