The Penmaker's Wife

by Steve Robinson

  ‘I shall begin my work tomorrow then,’ Gentleman John said. ‘But how shall I report my findings to you? I very much doubt you wish me to call on you at home.’

  Angelica raised her eyebrows, letting him know that she most certainly did not. ‘I’ll come here to see you each evening at nine o’clock,’ she said, putting her glove back on. ‘If you’re not here, I’ll assume you have nothing to report.’ She stood up and moved around the table to leave. ‘I hope my money is well spent,’ she added, her eyes suddenly narrowing on him.

  Gentleman John’s smile began to waver. ‘Very well spent indeed, I assure you.’

  ‘Good, because I don’t want the bother of having to hire someone to come and look for you.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The November rain continued to spatter and streak at the window as Angelica gazed absently out from the comfort of the bed, listening to the chaotic yet peaceful harmony. She was sitting up against the headboard, lost in her thoughts, while Effie lay beside her with her head on her lap, having drifted off to sleep for all Angelica knew, because she hadn’t spoken or stirred in several minutes.

  But Angelica was no longer thinking about Effie.

  Her thoughts had turned to the unwelcome situation that had arisen with Jack Hardy, as they often did when she had nothing else to occupy her mind. In particular, she was thinking about her arrangement with Gentleman John. Two nights had passed since she first met him at the Anchor Inn, and despite having returned there on both nights since, she had not seen him again.

  She hoped he would be there that evening with news for her, but she had begun to wonder whether the man was following Hardy at all, or if he had simply taken her money with no intention of working for it. Was that Gentleman John’s game? Was he a confidence trickster who had preyed on her needs to his own financial advantage? He certainly bore all the traits, pretending to be the gentleman he clearly was not. If that was the case then he had not taken her parting threat seriously, and it would be to his ruin.

  Angelica drew her fingers slowly back through Effie’s hair and she stirred. ‘Were you sleeping?’

  ‘No,’ Effie said, craning her neck around to look up at her. ‘I was just daydreaming. You?’

  ‘I was daydreaming, too.’

  ‘What about?’

  As much as Angelica would have liked to confide in Effie and tell her everything, she knew she could not. She did not doubt that Effie loved her, but she knew the truth would tear that love apart in a heartbeat and she could not risk it. She did not want to. Theirs was a love Angelica had never felt before, not with either of the men she had married, and certainly not with any of the other men she had been with.

  ‘I was thinking about you,’ Angelica lied, knowing it was just what Effie wanted to hear.

  Effie giggled. ‘That’s funny because I was thinking about you. Tell me what you were thinking.’

  Angelica drew a long breath and sighed as she thought on her answer. Then, from within the lie came a simple truth and she voiced it. ‘I was thinking about how much I enjoy our time together, just the two of us, and how much I’d like to spend every day with you if I could, without fear of what others might think of us.’

  ‘I often think the same thing,’ Effie said. ‘Can’t we go away together, somewhere quiet and peaceful where no one knows us?’

  Angelica began to picture such a future, far from any great town or city, a simple house on a hill above a lake, or perhaps overlooking the sea, where so few people lived that they would rarely see another soul if it was not by their own choosing. She thought she would like that very much, and she was growing tired of pretending, but while she quickly began to desire that future now that she had imagined it, she knew it was not possible.

  ‘I can’t leave William,’ she said. ‘He’s still young, and he has so much responsibility ahead of him. I’m sure he’ll need me by his side.’

  ‘What about Louisa? If things continue the way they are, I won’t be at all surprised if they’re soon married.’

  ‘I do hope so,’ Angelica said, ‘but there’s the business to run, and if he and Louisa do marry, their children will need their grandmother.’

  ‘I see,’ Effie said, sounding dejected. ‘So we’re to go on pretending?’

  Angelica stroked Effie’s hair again, letting the loose chestnut strands fall through her fingers on to the bed sheets. ‘We must,’ she said. ‘At least for the time being.’

  ‘Someday then?’ Effie said, tilting her head back as she looked up at Angelica again.

  Angelica bent down and kissed her forehead. ‘Someday,’ she said with a smile. ‘Someday, I promise. Now, come along. We can’t lie here all afternoon.’

  ‘Can’t we?’ Effie sighed. ‘I like listening to the rain.’

  ‘So do I, but you know we can’t. William knows I’ve been out shopping with you today, remember? I told him I’d travel home with him when he’s finished at the factory.’

  ‘Oh yes, I remember.’

  Angelica slipped out from beneath the bedcovers, letting Effie’s head fall back on to the sheet.

  ‘Of course,’ Effie said, ‘if we did move away somewhere quiet together, you’d need have no fear of that man you told me about from your nightmares ever finding you. Do you still fear him?’

  Angelica feared him now more than ever, and while her dreams were not real, Jack Hardy was, as was the threat he posed by digging into her affairs. ‘Yes, I do,’ she said, even before she had turned back to face Effie.

  ‘So my father’s pistol still gives you comfort? I only ask because you’ve had it a while now and he’s sure to miss it someday.’

  Angelica returned to the bedside and sat down. She took Effie’s hands in hers, thinking that she might soon have even greater need of it.

  ‘It gives me such comfort,’ she said. ‘Do not ask me to return it now. Besides, your father hasn’t missed it yet and it’s been three years. If he was ever going to notice it gone, wouldn’t he have done so by now?’

  Effie sat up, letting the bedcovers fall down over her breasts as she looked intently into Angelica’s eyes. She seemed suddenly distressed to know that, after all this time, Angelica was still afraid of the man in her nightmares.

  ‘I don’t care if my father does miss it,’ she said, clearly having changed her mind at seeing how desperate Angelica was to hold on to it. ‘If it still gives you comfort then of course you must keep it.’

  ‘Thank you, Effie,’ Angelica said. Then she grabbed a pillow and playfully swung it into Effie’s back. ‘Now get up and help me dress. I don’t have long.’

  Promptly at nine o’clock that evening, Angelica arrived at the Anchor Inn in Digbeth wondering whether her journey was once more to be in vain. Perhaps there really was nothing to report. Maybe Jack Hardy was all wind and no sail, and wasn’t really a threat to her. No news was, after all, good news in this case. It had rained on and off all day, and it was still raining as the hansom cab she had hired pulled up outside. She wiped the condensation from the window with the back of her glove and peered out through the rain that fell in golden droplets around the lamp post the driver had stopped beside. The pub seemed quiet this evening. She could hear no revelry spilling on to the street, nor could she see the shadows at the windows that she had seen on every other night. The rain had kept people home, but what of Gentleman John?

  Angelica leaned forward and began to push open one of the low half-doors in front of her, but as she did so she paused. A figure had dashed out from the pub doorway, heading straight for her. She squinted through the rain to better see who it was, then she recognised the man’s clothing and a wave of excitement caught her. It was Gentleman John, dressed exactly the same as he had been the night she first met him.

  He had no over-frock coat to ward off the rain or the evening’s chill. He had one hand on his top hat to prevent it from falling off his head as he ran, and the other on his pocket watch, which he was just slipping back into his waistcoat. Angelica sat
back again as he arrived, but before addressing her, he stopped and looked up at the cab driver, as if wary of him, or of what he might overhear of their conversation. A moment later he stepped closer.

  ‘It’s too quiet in there tonight,’ he said in a whisper, although over the now hissing rain even Angelica struggled to hear him. ‘I thought you might appreciate talking out here in the privacy of your cab. I find that the seasoned drinker is very adept at listening to other people’s conversations.’

  Angelica moved across the seat and waved him in. ‘What news do you have?’ she asked, eager to hear what the man had to say, and glad to see that he had not simply taken off with his payment after all.

  Gentleman John stepped up via the footboard, removing his hat as he did so. He pulled the low half-door open and sat beside Angelica, closing it again to keep the rain out.

  ‘As you have the use of this cab,’ he said, ‘perhaps you’ll permit me to show you?’

  ‘Show me?’

  ‘Why, yes,’ Gentleman John said. ‘Show you where your Mr H went this afternoon. It may be nothing, but it piqued my interest enough to come here this evening. It’s not far.’

  ‘Then by all means,’ Angelica said, raising her hand in the general direction of the cab driver, whom she imagined was by now soaked through and miserable, despite his waxed canvas cape.

  ‘Driver!’ Gentleman John called over the rain. ‘Hurst Street, if you please!’

  A second later, the cabby flicked his reins and they were moving, the horse’s hooves clacking at a moderate trot over the wet cobbles, leaving Angelica wondering precisely where in Hurst Street Hardy had gone, and why the man sitting next to her thought it important. She did not know the street well, only that it was, or had once been, at the centre of the Jewish community, so she had little clue as to why Hardy had gone there. As it wasn’t far, however, she supposed she would soon find out.

  As they continued on their way, Angelica began to wonder what other activities Hardy had been engaged in since she had hired Gentleman John. She found it difficult to believe that Hardy had done nothing noteworthy in all that time until now.

  ‘What else has Mr H been up to?’ she asked, adopting the use of Hardy’s initial only, as Gentleman John had. ‘Surely he left his accommodation before today?’

  ‘Oh, yes, he went out,’ Gentleman John said. ‘But not often. On Tuesday morning he visited a tea room in New Street and sat reading his newspaper for a little over an hour. If it interests you, it was a copy of the Birmingham Daily Post.’

  ‘Did he meet with anyone?’

  Gentleman John turned to Angelica and raised an eyebrow. ‘If he had, you might have seen me sooner than this. He spoke to no one other than the serving girl. When he left, he called at a greengrocer and bought a bag of apples. Then he went home.’

  ‘And on Wednesday?’ Angelica asked, keen to hear more about Hardy’s day-to-day life.

  ‘Wednesday was without a doubt the most interminably dull day of my life,’ Gentleman John said with a sigh. ‘On Wednesday, Mr H never left his home at all.’ His features suddenly brightened. ‘This morning, however, Mr H was up and out early. I watched him buy a copy of the Birmingham Daily Gazette this time, from a loud young newspaper-seller at the Bull Ring. Then I continued to follow him to the same tea room he’d visited two days before, where he sat down with his pot of tea to read said newspaper. Now, a lot of people buy the Gazette for the advertisements, so I thought to myself, perhaps he’s after buying something, or maybe a service of some kind, just as you have bought mine. It wasn’t until this afternoon, however, that I discovered I was right.’

  ‘Hurst Street!’ the cabby called, cutting through their conversation.

  ‘Ah, here we are,’ Gentleman John said, looking along the quiet lamplit street for whatever it was that had so interested him.

  ‘Already?’ Angelica said, surprised at how quickly they had arrived.

  ‘I said it wasn’t far.’ Gentleman John sat forward, squinting through the rain. ‘A little further!’ he called to the cab driver, and they were off again, now at a slower pace as Gentleman John continued to look for the location Jack Hardy had visited that afternoon. Several seconds passed. ‘It doesn’t quite look the same in the dark,’ he told Angelica. Then, after several seconds more, having passed a number of back-to-back houses and a chapel, which she noted was called the Unitarian Domestic Mission, he shouted, ‘Here! Stop the cab!’

  They pulled up outside what at first appeared to be more of the same working-class housing, but then Angelica noticed a brick archway and realised this was what Gentleman John had been looking for.

  ‘Mr H went through there,’ he said, pointing directly at the arch, confirming Angelica’s thoughts. ‘I could only follow him so far in such a confined space for fear of being seen, but through that arch lives the man Mr H went to see. Now, I don’t know if you can make them out from here, but on the wall there, just to the left of the arch, there are three plaques stating the service provided at each of the three addresses. Can you see them?’

  Angelica could, but she could make nothing out. ‘So, on which door did Mr H knock?’

  ‘That’s just the thing,’ Gentleman John said. ‘I don’t know. By the time I reached the arch, Mr H had already entered through one of them. I listened at each door for some small clue, but could hear nothing, so I waited, and I waited, until my presence began to feel decidedly suspicious. I took a stroll, not far, and when I returned, it was just in time to see Mr H walking out from beneath the arch, leaving me none the wiser as to precisely whom he’d gone to see, which is why I thought it best to bring you here. Perhaps if you were to look at the plaques, it may become obvious to you whose services Mr H sought to employ.’

  Angelica was keen to see them. She pushed open the low door in front of her and stepped down from the carriage, not caring for the rain. Gentleman John followed in her shadow, and when they reached the arch and the plaques beside it, he struck a match, sheltering it with his hand, and held it up to the first name.

  ‘Daniel Beckman, tailor,’ Angelica said under her breath as she read it. ‘The man is certainly in need of a new suit, and by your account he was here long enough to undergo a fitting.’

  If Beckman was the man Hardy had come to see then it gave her no cause for concern. But there were tailors all over Birmingham. There was no need to search through the advertisements in the Birmingham Daily Gazette to find one.

  Gentleman John cursed and shook his hand as the match burnt down too close to his fingertips. He quickly lit another and held it before the second plaque. ‘Into books at all, is he?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge,’ Angelica answered absently as she read the details on the plaque. ‘Jonathan Teller, book gilder,’ she said. ‘Did Mr H have any books with him? Did he leave with any?’

  Gentleman John took a moment to answer. ‘No, I don’t believe he did,’ he said with some hesitation.

  ‘You seem uncertain. Did he or did he not arrive or leave with a book or books?’

  Gentleman John shook his head with equal uncertainty. ‘Well, it’s like this. While I never saw him with any books, he still had his newspaper with him, you see, so I can’t discount the possibility that he had one or more books concealed within its sheets.’

  Angelica moved on. ‘Light another match, and quickly, will you? I’m getting soaked.’

  Gentleman John struck another match and held it to the last of the plaques. This time as Angelica read it, she took a step back.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Gentleman John asked, clearly noticing her reaction and the distress that was suddenly evident on her face.

  Angelica was not all right – far from it. She was convinced that this was the man Hardy had discovered among the advertisements in his newspaper that morning. Who better to talk to when digging into someone’s life – or their past, in this case? ‘Mathias Pool,’ she read out. ‘Heraldic and genealogical studies.’ Hardy had employed Pool to reveal her ancestry. She
was certain of it.

  She turned on her heel and marched back towards the waiting hansom. ‘Keep following him,’ she said, her tone now curt. ‘I want to know if he returns, and this time be sure of whom he visits, whether you’re discovered or not.’

  Gentleman John walked after her, but Angelica had already climbed back into the cab. A second later it was moving. ‘Do you mean to leave me here in this accursed rain?’ he called after her, but he received no reply.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Winson Green, Birmingham

  1896

  If only I had insisted on Angelica giving back my father’s Derringer on that rainy afternoon. But how could I have known then what I know now? Back then, my heart was suddenly so full of joy again. It was just like old times. All I wanted to do was make Angelica happy.

  But Angelica was not happy.

  She did well to hide her fears from me, as intimate as we were. Although I could not see it at the time, even then she was manipulating me, using me as she used everyone around her. Was her love for me nothing more than an act? I am bound to question it now. There was acting on her part, of that I am in no doubt, just as there were lies, but there was love, too. I am equally sure of it. I never felt it more strongly than I did on that day when she spoke about the two of us someday moving away and living out our lives together in peace and privacy. Yes, I was happy then, blinded by love and ignorant to the scheming that was unfolding around me, and I had good reason to be.

  A little over a week had passed since that wonderful, rainy afternoon in town. We were having dinner together at Priory House with William and Louisa, who had become inseparable since Alexander’s trial. I was so excited because Angelica had told me she had a surprise for me, and what a surprise it was, although it hurts me to think about it now.

  Birmingham

  1893

  It was early on Friday evening, eight days after Angelica had visited Hurst Street with Gentleman John. With every passing day the knot in her stomach had twisted tighter and tighter. Even so, she was determined not to let Jack Hardy upset the pleasant dinner she was currently enjoying with William and their guests, Effie and Louisa. Angelica did not consider that their company alone warranted the usual fifteen or so courses that would have been more appropriate if Louisa’s father had been dining with them. Instead, she had planned a less formal family dinner of only six courses, which had been taxing enough given her fractious state of mind. Had Louisa and Effie not been there, she would likely have skipped dinner altogether, taking only a light supper, but they were there for good reason.