Of Dubious Intent

by J. A. Sutherland

  “One would hope so.”

  “Indeed,” Jessel said, “and the nature of this assistance?”

  “To begin, I wish a letter sent.” Cat handed over a letter she’d prepared earlier. “Copied in a good hand, and posted, in four days’ time, if you please.”

  Jessel took it, weighed it in his hand, and examined the outside. He grinned and held it up so she could see its front.

  “It would appear that you have misaddressed this,” he said, “the recipient noted here would seem to be yourself, though not here in Leeds.”

  Catherine met his gaze and said nothing.

  “I see,” Jessel said, his smile widening. “Well, I can certainly drop this in the post whenever you like, for a small fee. You said, ‘to begin?’”

  “I should also like to leave a sum of money in your care,” Cat said.

  Jessel’s smile widened more. “And you wish me to do what with this sum?”

  “From time to time, perhaps monthly or of a fortnight, you will send a bit of it to me at the place on the letter you hold.”

  “Ah,” Jessel said. “And the source of these remittances? For me to reference in the monthly packets?”

  “An inheritance,” Cat said, “kept in trust for my sister and I.”

  “A relative?”

  “Our mother, some time ago.”

  “I see,” Jessel said. “And your father?”

  “Also passed. More recently, but without estate.”

  “Very sad,” Jessel said, his smile never faltering. “My condolences.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So,” Jessel said, “two girls, alone in the world, and settled …” He looked at Cat’s letter again. “Ah, somewhere small enough that the neighbors take note of such things as where a body’s income might be from.” He spread his hands. “So, give them something to see, yes?”

  “You have the right of it, sir.”

  “Very good, very good,” Jessel said. He took a deep breath and his expression sobered. “I must, I fear, ask a question of you — in the discreetest terms, of course — but it will be central to my fee, you understand?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Jessel clasped his hands and leaned forward.

  “Are there any bodies involved at all?”

  Cat met his gaze evenly. Jessel was a man who would prefer the truth and hold it close, she thought, so long as he was paid. And there were other duties he might perform for her, so better he not be surprised if such a time ever came.

  “Not as should impact our arrangement, Mister Jessel.”

  “Excellent!” Jessel said. “Let’s settle the details then!”

  Chapter 35

  My Dear Nieces,

  It was with a heavy heart that I received your letter and learned of your more recent travails. Glad I am that you are not so injured as to threaten your life or longer health.

  Now it is with a heavier heart, and great regret, that I must add to your woes.

  As disaster has so recently struck your father, my dear brother, I fear the same, though not so dire, has occurred in my own home.

  Recent reversals of fortune, which I hope to soon put right but which require all of my attention and resources, have greatly degraded the aid I and my family may offer to you.

  It is with the very heaviest of hearts that I must inform you there may be no place for you in my greatly reduced household at this time.

  Perhaps your recent travails have not been the misfortune you originally thought, for had you continued in your journey you would have found your hoped-for new home shuttered and empty, my family moved to more parsimonious rooms and our own circumstances so greatly reduced that you would not recognize us. Perhaps, in what you describe as a fine village of kindly people, you may find a place more suited than what you would find here with me.

  I may soon find it necessary to leave this place myself and seek shelter from certain obligations in foreign climes. Were you to be part of my household, the holders of those obligations might, though without true legal recourse, seek to take hold of that which is yours by right.

  To that end, I have informed a local solicitor of your current location and circumstances, and of your dear mother’s estate, small though it be. He shall see it remitted to you there until such time as you may inform him of some other arrangement.

  I trust you will think kindly of me and continue to hold me in your hearts as I do you, praying nightly for some improval of your fortunes and some small relenting of the hardships cruel fortune has rained upon our family.

  With familial love and great hopes for all our futures,

  Your dear uncle,

  Frederick

  “Dear Uncle’s a bit of a cobber, ain’t he?” Emma asked.

  Cat giggled. “He is, indeed. Though not completely, as he’s made arrangements for our portions to get to us, rather than keeping them for himself. Yes, the fortunes of the Orphaned Daughters are taking a bit of sadder turn now, thanks to him, but we’ll have an explainable source for our receiving funds — not so much as to raise comment, but enough to get by.”

  Emma sighed and snuggled closer to her.

  “Don’t get too comfortable, love,” Cat said, “it’s nearly time for you to react to this. You know what to do?”

  Emma nodded. “Rush out in a state. You’ve fainted from the shock o’this topping all else — cry and wave the letter about until someone takes it to find out what I’m on about.”

  Cat hugged her. “Good. Then just sit and cry until they’ve ‘revived’ me, and I’ll handle the rest. And watch your accent.”

  It went much as Cat expected, with a very few weeping whatever-shall-we-dos on her part before the innkeeper’s wife, rather tentatively, suggested that, if it weren’t too rough for such as these fine sisters, and if they truly had nowhere else to go, then would their portion, perhaps, be sufficient to cover the rent of a small cottage — if such were available for a certain very reasonable sum?

  Then there was more weeping necessary, of course, but this of joy, as Cat asked, “Really? That very cottage? And we could make a home here with you, who’ve treated us so very kindly already?”

  She even came to regret the necessary subterfuge, for the villagers as a whole were truly, so very kind about the thing. Nearly the whole place turned out after the next church service, shucking their best togs and rolling up their sleeves to make the cottage livable for their new neighbors. New thatch for the roof, the brambles cleared away, the damaged shutter rehinged, and the whole place made clean and ready before Cat, still “recovering” from the blow to her head, and Emma, were led over and proudly shown their new home.

  There was more weeping then, at least amongst the women — the men celebrated their work on the place with a newly broached barrel of ale in the inn’s common room.

  Cat and Emma bid the last of their benefactors goodbye as darkness fell and they settled into their new home.

  The night outside was cold, with a hint of frost for the morning, but a cheery fire warmed the place and their pantry was filled to bursting with gifts. It seemed the women of the village had made up a list of everything a proper household needs and seen to checking off every one. Wheels of cheese, a ham, crocks of jam and pickled vegetables, as well as stocks of potatoes, onions, and turnips, two fresh loaves of bread and a sack of flour that would see them through the first weeks of the coming winter.

  Outside in the coop there were four chickens and a rooster, though Cat had paid for those, they being so dear.

  Their horses had space in the inn’s stable and there was interest from more than one local farmer to buy or let them for plowing and harvest come the time for that. The cottage had no fields in need of tending, so the horses and cart were more than Cat and Emma needed for daily chores.

  The cottage itself was small, with but one real room and the bed in a loft with a ladder to reach it — but it was clean, it was safe, and it was theirs together.

  Chapter 36

>   Tain’t natural.”

  Brimhall, the innkeeper, was dressed roughly for his afternoon chores, but not as roughly as Cat who’d been working in the trench dug between the inn and her cottage. Spring was well along into summer, but there was still enough rain to make the ground muddy.

  “You just never mind, Scottas,” his wife told him. She was taking a break from her kitchen to see the last of the connections made on what Cat had convinced her would be a help to her and her work, as well as the inn’s guests — and by no small means to Cat and Emma in their cottage.

  Cat took hold of the last of the pipe joins she’d made and found it solid.

  She smiled at the two innkeepers, one smiling expectantly and the other scowling.

  “Girl!” Sarah Brimhall yelled out to her scullery maid. “Work the pump!”

  With that, she turned and hurried back to the inn’s kitchen.

  Cat followed along. “You won’t need to work the pump each time you use it, Mistress Brimhall,” she said. “Only to keep the water high enough — so gauge its use.”

  “Aye, dear, y’said, but if there’s t’be hot water for the turning of a crank, then I know a tub what’ll be filling in a moment, as I’ll be the first to try mine.” She eyed Cat’s mud-covered dress. “And I’d not be mistaken to say two tubs.”

  Cat’s laugh followed her. “No, you wouldn’t, Sarah, not at all.” She waved at her mud-covered skirts. “Emma’d have words for me if I didn’t take myself straight to a bath after this, and they wouldn’t be kind.”

  The device was simple — no different than what Cat had observed at Roffe’s manor and townhouse. A copper vessel in the kitchen’s oven — which the inn’s ran nearly twenty-four hours a day, from bread-baking in the wee hours until supper was served to the guests. Pipe ran from that to an upstairs closet and another tank, so that the heated water could flow up and the cooled water down. Then pipes from that to the stable which shared a wall with the inn — the Brimhall’s had sacrificed the stall nearest to the inn’s wall, enclosed it, and the inn now had a bathhouse available, and without the need of carrying pails of hot water up to a guest’s room.

  “’Tain’t natural a’tall,” Brimhall said again. “A christenin’ splash, a dip before yer vows, an’ a wipe-down fer yer box — all the bathin’ a man needs.”

  His wife fixed him with a hard look. “Not if yer expecting a bit of what y’say a man needs more regular than that, Scottas Brimhall.”

  Brimhall flushed and stalked off, muttering about unnatural women and their devices.

  “He’s just gruff,” Sarah said to Cat once he was gone. “Don’t mean a thing by it.”

  “I know,” Cat said with a smile.

  “An’ we’re appreciative, we are, of yer doing this — much as the mister may grumble.”

  “It’s really nothing.”

  Sarah gave her a speculative look. “More’n nothing, I think. All that copper an’ piping an’ special made knobs an’ such.”

  “It benefits Emma and me, as well, Sarah — you’ve the kitchen, after all, and space for our horses.”

  Sarah and Cat entered the stable and then the set aside stall. With a quick look at Cat for approval, she turned the tap and water began to stream into the linen-lined wooden tub. It took but a moment for the cooler water to run out and soon the flow was hot.

  Sarah Brimhall’s grin was wide and Cat couldn’t help but match her.

  “And the same in the kitchen?” Sarah asked.

  Cat nodded. “Hotter, as it’s closer to the tanks, so be mindful.”

  “We will, and both I and the girl thank you for it, Miss Catherine.”

  Cat left the woman to her new bath and sought out her own.

  The trench from inn to cottage was still open, and she’d have to see that filled, but the piping was laid. Wrapped in several layers of tarred burlap to keep it sealed and hold in the heat, it ran from the inn, across the cottage’s side yard, and into the building itself.

  She and Emma would have hot water for their own cooking and bath now, which was a boon to both.

  No steam, though, the inn’s ovens weren’t kept hot enough to really get a good head on and Cat wasn’t yet confident enough in her knowledge of how to tame that beast.

  Soon, though, she thought, glancing toward the blacksmith’s across the road and not too far away. If she could harness that heat, what could she accomplish with it?

  Emma looked up from the cottage’s table when Cat entered. She was arms deep in some sort of pastry dough and a bowl of fruit mixture stood by, making Cat’s stomach rumble after her exertions. The cottage had no proper kitchen, only a hearth, the main table, and a bit of a pantry for storage, but Emma liked to try and make things herself rather than relying on the nearby inn.

  The one main room of the cottage was crowded, especially with the workbench and crates of mechanical bits Cat had taking up one of its walls, but they made do. Emma called it cozy, even with Cat’s clutter.

  Cat stripped at the doorway, keeping the muddied clothes in as neat a pile as she could. Their own tub was smaller, more of a half-barrel, really, sealed with tar to keep it from leaking and several layers of linen for comfort, but it was theirs and it was private. Something proper would be next on the list, though, as this would not fit two at all.

  She grinned as the barrel started to fill and she saw the water was very nearly as hot as it had been in the inn’s bathhouse. Her work on insulating the pipe seemed to have done well, but they’d have to see how well it did next winter.

  Cat bound her hair up — it was longer than she’d ever had it, ten or more inches now, and she thought to let it grow longer still. It was curling, also, and the color was more defined, so that it very much resembled her mother’s portrait. That was something she wished now that she’d taken with in her flight — the portrait was bulky, but it would be nice to have it here, even with Roffe in it.

  She stepped into the tub, relishing the burn of the hot water on her cold skin, and lay back.

  Perhaps I could steal it, she thought.

  It would serve Roffe right to have his home burgled by his own daughter and that portrait, which she was certain he looked on to remind himself of his revenge, taken away.

  And I could have Roffe painted out — perhaps turned into some sort of jester or fanged monster.

  Emma set her pastry in the oven-box built into the hearth and knelt beside the tub, giving Cat a peck on the cheek.

  “All done?” she asked.

  “Nearly — there’s still the trench to fill, but Sarah’s already trying her own out.” Cat stretched. The water was cooling and draining theirs was still enough of a chore that it offset the pleasure of refilling it for a longer soak. A proper bung and drain to the gardens was on her list.

  She stood and took the drying sheet Emma offered. Once she stepped out of the tub, though, there was a longer kiss and a bit more than strictly drying going on. Her rumbling stomach and the scent of baking pastry interrupted them, though.

  “That smells good,” Cat said.

  “I’ve made you a tart.”

  Cat nuzzled at her neck. “Oh, aye, you’ve made me your tart, but what’s baking?”

  Emma laughed, pulled back, and stared into Cat’s eyes.

  “I have to go away again,” Cat said before she realized the words were coming.

  The hurt in Emma’s eyes was immediate and Cat couldn’t understand why she’d said it just now. She’d simply spoken, unbidden and without thought.

  Oh, she’d known for some time she had to tell the other girl, but she’d been putting it off, so why had she now?

  “I see,” Emma said. She dropped her arms from around Cat and stepped back, turning to the hearth. “An’ what’s it for this time, then?”

  Cat cursed herself for speaking and ruining the moment they’d had. She resumed drying herself and forced her voice to be casual.

  “The copper vessels were costlier than I thought.”

  Emma
stirred the fire a bit more vigorously than Cat thought strictly necessary, then reseated the poker with a heavy crack against the hearthstone. Cat winced at the sound.

  “So, more thievin’?” Emma asked.

  “We need the money,” Cat said, “and I don’t take from any that can’t spare it and don’t deserve the taking.”

  “So you say,” Emma said, “but how’re you to explain it? Us havin’ so much of a sudden?”

  Cat could tell how upset the other girl was because she’d reverted to her old accent, but didn’t correct her. She had a right to be upset, Cat supposed — Cat had left their little home five times now since they’d settled here last fall. First to get “just a few things to tinker with” and come back with the start of her workspace. Then for a bit more. Then to speak with Jessel about how to seed their visible nest-egg with enough more to justify the packages Cat had arriving for her work.

  All that had depleted their funds.

  Oh, they still had a tidy sum tucked away. Six months or so of their “remittances” still in the care of Jessel. Cat wouldn’t trust him with more than that, and the rest was split into caches around the cottage — under the loose hearthstone, at the bottom of one of Cat’s crates, even a bit, just enough to satisfy a more traditional robber and send him on his way, underneath their mattress.

  It was going faster than she’d anticipated, though, so needed replenishing for Cat to feel comfortable.

  So the last two trips had been for thieving, and Cat hadn’t lied to Emma about what she did. She’d not killed anyone, nor lied to Emma — not since the two thugs and the merchant. That lie weighed on her and Cat vowed she’d not break the girl’s trust again.

  “The villagers have no real idea what the parts for my mechanicals cost,” Cat said, “and rarely see them anyway.”

  “They know the cost of copper well enough,” Emma said. “An’ saw it by the wagonload for next door.”

  “An investment of our principal,” Cat said. “They know, or Sarah and Scottas will say soon enough, how we’re to receive some meals and have our horses housed in return. Those, in addition to my reputation as a tinkerer, should justify the expense to any curious minds.”