The Passionate Friends

by Meg Alexander

  “Try not to worry,” she murmured. “Sebastian has obtained the services of the best physician in London.”

  “I know it, but I can’t be easy in my mind.”

  Judith gave him an anxious look. She knew just how much Prudence meant to him. As a girl of seventeen she’d helped him to escape with her from a life of slavery in the cotton mills of the industrial north. She and Dan were bound by more than the common ties of friendship.

  “I think you have forgotten the redoubtable Miss Grantham,” she told him with a chuckle. “Does she not interview your family physicians as to their views on cleanliness and a sensible diet?”

  “She does! And she is forthright in expressing her opinions. The lady may be well into her eighties but she can still reduce the medical profession to a jelly.” The idea cheered him, and he managed a smile. “Elizabeth did us a great service when she and her aunt became members of the family.”

  “I haven’t seen Miss Grantham for some time,” Judith told him. “I always enjoy her company. She is an original…”

  “True! But if you wish to see her soon you had best make haste. This present Peace of Amiens has inspired her to consider yet another trip to Turkey.”

  “At eighty-three?”

  “Certainly! No one has yet been able to dissuade her, though Perry and Elizabeth have tried.”

  “I feel like a feeble creature beside such enterprise.”

  “Not you, my dear. I know your strength of character.” Dan was unable to say more as they were now within sight of Rotten Row.

  “You must leave us now,” Judith murmured. “We must not be seen together.”

  “But when shall we meet again?”

  “I don’t know,” she said uncertainly. “Tomorrow I may visit Hatchard’s to buy some books…”

  “I’ll be there,” he promised.

  He left her a prey to the most severe misgivings. Dan had complimented her upon her strength of character, whereas in reality she was weak-willed. Had she not vowed to forget him, and to prepare herself with fortitude for the life which lay ahead of her? Now she was behaving in a way which must be considered reprehensible.

  The mention of a visit to Hatchard’s in Piccadilly was not exactly the offer of a secret meeting. Or was it? Honesty compelled her to admit the truth. She could deceive herself no longer. When her choice lay between her obvious duty to the Reverend Charles, and the opportunity of a meeting with the man she loved, she knew that she would follow the dictates of her heart.

  Poor Charles! He might at this very moment be sitting beside a sickbed. She was behaving in a wicked way, and it was only right that the happiness for which she longed should be denied her.

  Chapter Seven

  That gentleman was suffering in a different way.

  On the day of his attack upon the child he’d left Judith in great haste to hurry back to the parish of St Giles. He’d no idea what he would find there, but he took the precaution of arming himself with a serviceable pistol in addition to the knife which he always carried.

  A hackney took him as far as the entrance to “The Rookery”, and there he dismissed the jarvey with an acid comment upon the reeking straw which covered the floor of the conveyance.

  “Beg pardon, your honour!” the jehu sneered. “We ain’t up to the standards of your own fine carriage.” He backed away from the expression on his passenger’s face.

  This piece of impertinence did nothing to improve the preacher’s temper. By the time he reached his destination he was in murderous mood. Someone should pay for the ruin of his plans.

  When he reached his mother’s door he didn’t knock. Hopefully, he’d take her by surprise. Intent upon his purpose, he didn’t hear the sound behind him until it was too late. Then a violent blow between his shoulder-blades sent him sprawling into the room. As a booted foot pinned him to the ground he heard an unfamiliar voice.

  “Tie him up!” it ordered.

  His wrists were seized and dragged together behind his back. Then they were bound together with a cord so thin and strong that it cut into his flesh.

  “Up with him!”

  He was lifted to his feet and thrust roughly into the single wicker chair. For the first time he was able to get a good look at his attackers.

  The younger man he recognised at once. He’d been present at each of his previous visits to Nellie. His middle-aged companion was a stranger, though there was something about him which Truscott found it difficult to place. He searched his memory without success.

  The only other occupant of the room was the child he’d used so cruelly. One of the boy’s eyes was closed, but the other regarded him with such malevolence, combined with an unholy glee, that the preacher looked away.

  “Where’s Nellie?” he demanded.

  “She’s still alive! No thanks to you!” The younger of his two assailants bunched his fist, and delivered such a crushing blow to Truscott’s jaw that both the chair and its occupant flew over backwards.

  “Now, Sam, that ain’t no way to treat our visitor! Remember, he’s our ticket to a life of ease…”

  “He’s a murdering devil! You won’t stop me from giving him a taste of his own medicine…”

  “Later, Sam! However, I feel you have a point. Perhaps we should convince him that we are not to be trifled with. Fetch him through!”

  “Best search him first,” the child suggested.

  “Certainly! An excellent plan! I promised you that pleasure, Jemmy, if your sharp eyes saw him first. Go ahead, my boy…!”

  As the child approached him, Truscott was tempted to kick him away, but something in the older man’s expression stopped him. Even so, Jemmy was careful to stand behind the chair, reaching forward to delve into pockets with all the skills of an experienced thief.

  The preacher’s watch and chain had caught his eye so he removed that first, laying it on the floor beside him. His next discovery was the pistol.

  “Well, well! Were you expecting trouble, my dear sir? I think we shall be able to accommodate you.” The smiles on the faces of both his captors were not encouraging.

  Jemmy continued with his search, and the pile beside him grew as he added a leather bag of coin, two silk handkerchiefs and a bunch of keys. He stretched out a claw-like hand to open the purse, but this brought him a sharp reproof.

  “Not yet, Jemmy! The share-out will come later.” The man’s eyes were on his captive’s face. The preacher was too calm. He hadn’t uttered a word of protest at the loss of his possessions. Perhaps there were still some to be found.

  Then Truscott made a mistake. Stretching out his legs, apparently in an effort to ease his cramped position, he slid one booted foot behind the other.

  His tormentor gave a grunt of triumph.

  “Jemmy, the boots! You have forgot to search the boots!” He picked up the pistol and examined it. “Loaded, I see! Now, sir, you will oblige me by not attempting to struggle. I have not the least objection to rendering you unconscious with a blow from the butt of this useful weapon.”

  Truscott ground his teeth in fury as Jemmy pounced. When the child rose to his feet again he was holding the knife, which he then proceeded to brandish close to the preacher’s eyes.

  “No, no, my dear! The reverend gentleman will pay for your injuries in good measure, but you must not be too hasty. Now, Sam, bear a hand!”

  Together the two men dragged Truscott to his feet and manhandled him out of the door, across the passage and into the room which faced them. There even Truscott, hardened though he was to villainy, could not repress a shudder. The place was a shambles. Ominous patches of some dark substance stained the floorboards, and the walls were bespattered to above head height with what he knew was blood. Some fearful struggle had taken place here.

  “Sam, our visitor will wish to see his friends…”

  Sam nodded. He walked over to a closet in the corner, and opened it in silence.

  Truscott froze, his eyes starting from his head in horror as he looked
at the two corpses. His two accomplices had been murdered with extreme brutality. The shirt of the nearest man was a mass of stab wounds whilst the other man was unrecognisable. His head had been beaten to a pulp.

  The preacher swayed as the sweet and unmistakable stench of death assailed his nostrils.

  “Dear me! Sam, our friend is not feeling well. We must persuade him to sit down…”

  Sam closed the door to the closet and helped his companion to drag the preacher away.

  This time his legs were bound. Trussed as he was, he felt completely helpless, and it took all his self-control to crush a rising sense of panic. He swallowed, wishing that his throat were not so dry. It was difficult to speak.

  “What has all this to do with me?” he croaked. “I’ve never seen those men before…”

  “Strange! Before they died they were…er…persuaded to give us a full description of the man who had employed them…though naturally they weren’t aware of his true identity.”

  “Then why should you think that it was me? They did not know me as—” Truscott stopped. He had almost given himself away.

  “As the Reverend Charles Truscott? Of course not! But, sir, you shall not take me for a fool. I had been expecting something of this kind…”

  The preacher stared at him. Who was this man? His speech was educated and his manner smooth. Perhaps an unfrocked parson, or a disgraced lawyer?

  “I see that you don’t remember me. I find that curious since we shared His Majesty’s hospitality together. Well, well, my appearance has changed somewhat since then.” The speaker patted his paunch. “The toll of the years, my friend! When we shared a cell in Newgate I was not as stout, and my hair was as dark as your own.”

  “Newgate?” As memory flooded back his captive paled. “Then you are…?”

  “Margrave the forger.” The man’s face changed, and his eyes bored into Truscott’s own. “I ain’t forgotten you. You served me an ill turn when you stole from me to bribe the turnkey. That money was to buy my own way out…”

  “You are mistaken. It wasn’t me…”

  “I’m not mistaken, though you weren’t a reverend then. Some talk of murder, wasn’t there? Can’t say that I blame you in one way. You were no keener to get your neck stretched than I was myself, but it was a dirty trick…a dirty trick…”

  “You must be mad,” Truscott told him coldly.

  “Oh, I ain’t mad, though it turned my brain a bit at first. I searched for you for years, but you covered your tracks well. It was quite by chance that I fell in with Nellie. It was the name that brought you back to mind. Now you owe me, and you’ll pay.”

  “I’ve said I’ll pay. I told Nellie so…” Truscott gave up all pretence of ignorance.

  He was desperate to escape. They wouldn’t kill him, but they knew the errand upon which his accomplices had been sent. He might be in for a beating so severe that it would cripple him. He swallowed convulsively and his captor was quick to see it.

  “Don’t care for a taste of your own medicine, Reverend? You won’t be harmed, much as I’d like to thrash you till you squeal. We have a little task for you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “There is the small matter of your friends next door. They must be disposed of. I believe a funeral is in order. Who better to conduct it than yourself?”

  Truscott was silent.

  “Nellie has it in hand. She is at this moment ordering two coffins…This evening will be best, I think. Less chance of your being recognised.”

  “Even if I were it would not be remarked,” came the haughty reply. The preacher was recovering his confidence.

  “Possibly not. You chose the right profession, but even here you aren’t so anxious to be seen. Are you being followed?”

  “Of course not!” Truscott snapped. “Why should I be followed? No one suspects—”

  “Aye! You were always glib, but this time you overreached yourself.”

  “I don’t know what you mean…”

  “Don’t you? Remember the old saying, that if you want a job done well, you must do it yourself?”

  Truscott stared at him.

  “Didn’t want to soil your hands? Even so, you might have thought of a better plan. Your friends from Seven Dials were known here. I spotted them at once. Why would men like that ply Nellie and her friends with drink, and then suggest a gin shop near the river? Too obvious, my dear sir.”

  Truscott ground his teeth. So that was how they had been caught. He felt no pity for them. His henchmen had behaved like fools, and richly deserved their fate.

  Then he heard the clatter of feet upon the stairs. The door burst open to reveal his mother, with Sam’s doxy by her side. Nellie paused for only a moment. Then, with a scream of fury, she rushed towards him, scratching at his face with nails grown as long as talons.

  Margrave pulled her away.

  “Nellie, my dear, you must control yourself! Would you destroy the good looks of our hopeful bridegroom even further? You won’t wish to delay his wedding.” Margrave pushed a bottle towards her. “Bring that along! We’re all in need of refreshment after our exertions.” He smiled pleasantly at his captive. “I fear that we must leave you now, but we shall return this evening. May I suggest that you spend the time in composing a eulogy for the dead?”

  Once alone, the preacher began to struggle with his bonds, but the strong cord would not give. It was cutting into his flesh, he was cold and thirsty, his mouth was swollen from the blow he had received, and the scratches on his face were bleeding freely.

  He forced himself to ignore the discomfort. He must think. He was in no immediate danger. If his captors wished to gain their objective they must release him. The loss of his possessions had angered him, but he would recover them and more besides.

  This scum would not defeat him. He’d go through with tonight’s charade, and then let them take care.

  That evening he walked through the streets ahead of the macabre procession, ignoring an occasional chuckle from Margrave. Once the coffins had been consigned to paupers’ graves he turned.

  “My keys!” he demanded. “I can’t get into the vestry without them.”

  Margrave handed them over. “You won’t forget us, my friend? Today’s contribution won’t go far. Perhaps another visit next week?”

  Truscott nodded his assent. Let them believe that he was in their power. He walked away without a backward glance and made his way to the house in Seven Dials. Judith would not wonder at his absence for a day or two. It would take that time for his face to heal. It must be an appalling sight. His mistress confirmed his suspicions. She backed away from him in horror.

  “What has happened?” she cried.

  “What does it look like? I was set upon and robbed. Is there any money in the house?”

  “Only a few coppers. You never leave much here.”

  “Brandy?”

  “You finished it last time. There’s gin…”

  “Fetch it, and some food.” He pushed past her, and pouring some water into a bowl he began to bathe his battered face. The deep scratches stung, but the consumption of more than a pint of gin served to deaden the pain. He no longer felt hungry. Ignoring the offer of a platter of bread and cheese, he threw himself upon the bed and slept till morning.

  By the end of the following day he had consumed most of the food in the house and all the liquor. His demand for more brought a terrified response.

  “Sir, they won’t serve me without money…”

  “Pledge your credit then.”

  “What with? Must I take this?” She picked up a handsome vase.

  He took it from her with great care. Then he slapped her sharply across the face.

  “Don’t be a fool! You’d be set upon before you’d gone five yards. There are other ways of getting money.”

  She understood him perfectly, and she coloured.

  “I…I don’t know how to go about it. What must I do?”

  “If you don’t know, then
I can’t tell you. My God! Why must I be cursed with idiots?” He threw his boots at her. “Take these! Tomorrow you’ll be able to retrieve them.”

  A plan was forming in his mind. Judith Aveton was the softest touch he knew. The girl must go to her and beg for charity. She would not be refused. He’d be in no danger. His mistress did not know him as Charles Truscott.

  Next day he sent her off with strict instructions. She was not to approach the other ladies of the Aveton household. She must ask for Judith and no one else.

  The girl came back empty-handed.

  “They turned me away from the door,” she explained. “Don’t hit me! I did my best.”

  “Fool! You must try again tomorrow.” Truscott realised that he had put himself in an impossible position. Without his boots he was trapped within the house. “Approach the lady in the street. You can’t mistake her. A tall creature, somewhat dowdy-looking, but a gentlewoman, for all that…”

  “She didn’t walk out today. I waited—”

  “She must walk out some time. I’m losing patience with you, my girl. No more excuses, or you’ll get a taste of my belt.”

  He used her cruelly that night, and sent her out in an exhausted state. Waiting by the railings of the Aveton home she saw Judith almost at once, but hesitated to approach her. The lady was accompanied by her maid. Perhaps in the Park? But no! A gentleman had come to join her. The girl was in despair. She durst not return to Seven Dials to confess her failure yet again. It was only when Judith left the park that desperation forced her into action. She hurried along behind her quarry.

  “Miss!” she cried. “Miss, of your charity, won’t you help me?”

  Judith didn’t hear her. She’d been reliving the precious hour she’d spent with Dan. Then the girl caught at her sleeve.

  “Be off with you!” Bessie attempted to shoulder her away, but Judith turned.

  “What is it?” she asked quietly. “No, Bessie, please don’t interfere! You may go indoors…”

  Bessie ignored the mistress’s request, choosing to remain on guard.