The Penmaker's Wife

by Steve Robinson

  Angelica visited me here in my dark little cell two days ago. She sat at the table opposite me, where you are sitting now, Father. She told me she was going away and wanted to see me one last time, to explain everything. We should have been going away together someday, but as I have already said, that was not to be. Now you understand why. Perhaps confessing her wrongdoings to me helped to clear what little conscience she has, as it has eased my mind telling all this to you.

  I was shocked to hear that Angelica had been poisoning Violet to get rid of her, and that she had killed her dog. Yes, it was Angelica who killed Captain Sammy. She told me she had done so to spite Violet for all her cruel remarks, particularly for those directed at William. She said she had gone up to the suite after Stanley and the boys left for the aquarium, having no intention of going to look for me and Violet. She wrapped the dog in a bathing towel and dropped him off the West Pier as one might discard a bundle of old rags. William hadn’t left the suite door open, but how could he be sure? The dog was gone, the door found ajar, and there was no other explanation for it. I think it shocked me most to know that Angelica could stand by and allow William to take the blame for what she had done, and suffer the guilt he felt for so long afterwards because of it. She told me she only did so because she knew how Violet would react, and that it would turn Stanley against her. I suppose she thought it would be better for William in the long run if Stanley wanted nothing more to do with Violet, and perhaps she was right.

  If only Angelica had stopped there, but there was far worse to come.

  She went on to tell me that she had orchestrated the seemingly accidental death of my other good friend, Georgina Hampton, and her unborn child, paving the way for her marriage to Stanley, but not before taking care of the wretched Hector Perlman. I sat here feeling horrified at everything she told me as she went on to say how she had manipulated Stanley’s will, and had later begun to poison him, too. She wanted to weaken him, you see, to make his death appear natural, due to some unfathomable illness. She thought killing him outright would have drawn too much suspicion.

  Once Stanley took to his bed, Angelica said she purposely called on Doctor Grosvenor, knowing full well that his methods were outdated. She knew he would bring his leeches to effect Stanley’s cure, and that in doing so would weaken him further. She had sent no telegram to London for another doctor, as she had told Alexander. It was all a lie. Angelica suffocated Stanley that night with a pillow, while he was in too weak a condition to resist her.

  It was not the same pillowcase that Angelica had been seen leaving William’s room with. That was nothing more than a ruse, and of all the terrible things Angelica has done, I think this shocks me the most. She wanted Alexander to beat William that day, and the harder the better, to deliberately shatter the close bond that existed between them. Perhaps she felt she was being cruel to be kind as far as her son was concerned, because it was all for William in the long run. He would take a vicious beating and in return win Louisa’s hand and inherit everything.

  She made sure that the maid, Sarah, saw her leaving William’s room with one of Stanley’s pillowcases. In pointing out the blood on it, she knew Sarah would take it straight to Alexander, whose suspicious and fragile state of mind at the time saw to the rest. She played them both, but she could hardly have killed Alexander so soon after his father’s death. She had to settle for a long prison sentence for Alexander instead, which ostracised him, turning Louisa Moore and her father against him. It also gave Angelica every reason to cut Alexander from his inheritance. Then there was just the matter of poor Mr Hardy to deal with, which I have already explained.

  Angelica told me all this knowing that no one would believe me if I ever repeated any of it, but you are a man of God. How could I lie to you? What purpose would it serve me now? No, do not answer, Father. I do not expect you to do anything with this information. I can offer no proof of what I say, and I am sure none could be found, but I thank you for listening. Now there is no more time. I hear my jailer’s key rattling in the lock. Oh, Lord, give me strength. They have come for me.

  The gallows await.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Angelica’s eyes were fixed on the hands of the carriage clock that sat above the mantelpiece in her hotel room. It was ten minutes to eleven in the morning, and she was alone with her thoughts, standing before the clock. Waiting. In her hand, she held a well-thumbed letter. It was from William, and yet it was not from William, not directly. William would no longer speak to her or write to her, other than through the family solicitor. The letter had arrived soon after William and Louisa had left her alone at Priory House with the servants, to live solely with Louisa’s father. Angelica must have read it a hundred times or more.

  The letter informed her that she was to stay away from William, and from Louisa and their child, and if she did not, she knew what would come of it. The letter did not spell it out, but Angelica understood well enough. If she tried to see William or his family again, he would go to the authorities and tell them what she had done. She had no idea whether he would actually go through with it, incriminating himself at the same time, but what was the use in testing his resolve now? Her son had made his position very clear: he had disowned her and wanted nothing more to do with her.

  She supposed it was largely because of Effie, and the fact that she had forced him to choose between them – to lie for her and condemn the innocent. It was also because of Jonathan Wren. She could not bring herself to tell William that she had lied to him all those years ago about his father being dead, or that it had been his father whom she had shot in front of him in her attempt to keep the truth from him. But William had believed the dying man’s last words, and why would he not? Her own silence over the matter only served to confirm what William knew to be true.

  The hands on the clock seemed to mesmerise Angelica. Her face conveyed no expression as her eyes followed their slow, relentless movement. She felt numb to everything she had done, and she had no regrets. After all, her work had not been in vain. William would have the life she sought for him, and she would have hers, albeit apart from him.

  And from Effie.

  As the clock chimed eleven, Angelica felt her body stiffen. She drew a long breath and a single tear fell on to her cheek, although it was accompanied by no other show of emotion. In her mind she saw the drop as Effie fell from the gallows. She imagined the rope snapping taut around her delicate neck, and hoped her death came swiftly. Then she turned away and made for the door, putting all thoughts of William and Effie behind her. She was thinking of herself again now. She had an important loose end to attend to at a certain leather-case maker’s shop on Regent Street, and it would not wait a moment longer.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My thanks to Laura Deacon and the team at Amazon Publishing, to Katie Green for her expertise in helping to develop this story, to my copyeditor, Laura Gerrard, to Gemma Wain and all the proofreaders who have helped to make this book as error-free as possible. Further thanks to my eagle-eyed friend, Kath Middleton, for picking up the things that my eyes fail to see, and to my wife, Karen, who has contributed so much more to the pages of my books than she knows. I would also like to thank you for taking the time to read The Penmaker’s Wife. I hope you enjoyed it.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo © Karen Robinson

  Steve Robinson is a London-based crime writer. He was sixteen when his first magazine article was published and he’s been writing ever since. A love for genealogy inspired his first bestselling series, the Jefferson Tayte Genealogical Mysteries, and he is now expanding his writing to historical crime, another area he is passionate about. He can be contacted via his website, www.steve-robinson.me, or his Facebook page, www.facebook.com/SteveRobinsonAuthor, where you can also keep up to date with his latest news.

 

 

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