Sweet Smell of Murder

by Torquil R. MacLeod

  ‘Sir, I am grateful to you. I had no intention of deserting Mr Acorn’s company.’ Lying was becoming second nature to him now. His father was no longer around to beat him.

  ‘Good.’ Bowser placed a hand over Jack’s and squeezed it until, despite the pouch, the coins bit uncomfortably into his skin. Lowering his head close to Jack’s, ‘Remember, any man who takes Lazarus Bowser’s money dances to Lazarus Bowser’s tune. I’ll look after you as long as you never let me down.’ He released his grip. ‘I bid you good day.’

  Jack watched him stride down the street. He wasn’t sure which emotion Bowser stimulated most in him – fear or loathing.

  He counted out the money on his bed. Twenty guineas. Not as generous as Thirsk. But then he didn’t have to be because his threat more than made up for the shortfall. Together with the fourteen guineas he had left after his shopping spree, he now had enough to escape Newcastle and make a fresh start elsewhere. Bessie would have to lump it. He wasn’t beholden to her. Newcastle wasn’t a healthy place to be. He couldn’t join Thirsk as Bowser was likely to do something dire to him. And if he stayed with Bowser, Thirsk would want his money back. A quick exit was the best solution. Pity about Catherine Balmore, but he had no realistic hopes in that direction.

  There was a knock on the door. Jack hastily scooped up the coins and hid them under his pillow. Bessie caught his furtive movements as she came in. She still wore mourning. It suited her, and Jack had to admit that it made her damnably desirable. The pity was that they hadn’t had a tumble since the murder.

  ‘Was I interrupting something important?’ she said staring at the pillow against which Jack was trying to lean nonchalantly.

  ‘Nothing. No, nothing of any consequence.’

  She walked to the window. The sun shone through the narrow panes of glass. ‘I need to get out of the house. Will you accompany me to the Town Moor? It is such a lovely day.’

  ‘If that is what you want.’

  ‘I hear Lord Manners is reviewing his regiment. There should be quite a gathering.’

  Jack had never seen such girlish excitement in Bessie before. He liked it and found himself smiling. ‘Let us go and see your soldiers. We may need them soon enough if the French invade.’

  ‘Do not say things like that, Jack. It frightens me.’

  Jack stood and put a comforting arm around her shoulder. ‘Have no fear, our brave navy will keep the Frenchies from our shores.’

  Bessie looked into his eyes. Then she leant up and kissed him full on the lips. The passion was returned and he cradled her roughly in his arms. She pushed herself against his body and nibbled on his earlobe. ‘We can delay our walk awhile,’ she whispered.

  With a deft shove, she pushed Jack onto the bed. The coins under the thin pillow pressed uncomfortably into the back of his head.

  XIV

  They passed the last straggling houses and crossed Barras Bridge. The road was busy with rumbling carts, the occasional carriage and a large number of people – some hurrying, some dawdling – with the same idea as themselves. Half a mile behind them was the solid town wall; in front, the pitted road north that Jack had bumped over only an eventful fortnight before. Through the leafless trees, he could see the land gently rising in the distance.

  ‘How did you come by so much money?’ Bessie asked in mock innocence. At the height of their lovemaking, the pillow had fallen from the bed, taking with it the coins, which had rolled loudly about the wooden floor. At the time, neither had taken much notice.

  ‘Bowser.’

  ‘A very generous man. I suppose when you are as rich as he is, you can afford to be. And why did he give you such a handsome sum?’

  ‘To keep me at the theatre.’

  She gave him an amused, side-long glance. ‘I did not know you were such a fine actor.’

  ‘I believe I am not without talent,’ Jack answered defensively.

  ‘I think that Bowser does not care a jot about your talent. I am sure that he will soon ask you to invite your friend David Garrick to visit us in Newcastle.’ She grinned. ‘And then where will you be, Jack?’

  ‘I will be in trouble.’ They both burst out laughing.

  The bare trees opened out and they followed the general throng up the incline. Before them was a wide expanse of undulating land covered in rough grass and scrub. To the right ran the Great North Road. To the left rose two hillocks, the nearest overlooked by the furthest. The Town Moor was what the name implied – it was quite literally an expanse of moorland. In the summertime, people from all over the North gathered here for Race Week. It was an excuse for revelling, drinking and gambling. The theatre always did well in Race Week, the only time it opened outside the traditional long winter season.

  Today, instead of horses thundering around the perimeter, three hundred men of Lord Manners’ regiment were being put through their paces. Jack was expecting a disorganised bunch, but these militiamen had been licked into shape. The uniforms may have been a strange assortment, but their drill routines were carried out with some precision. A large crowd had gathered to watch them. Cheers went up when the men lined up in two ranks, the front ones kneeling, the line behind standing. This is what they had all come to see – the shooting. The kneeling men fired their muskets. Then the second row moved in front of them, knelt down and fired while the others stood up and refilled their weapons with powder and shot. The timing wasn’t perfect, as could be gleaned from the erratic cackle of fire among the growing clouds of smoke. Notwithstanding, each volley was accompanied by an enthusiastic roar from the spectators.

  Jack felt a nudge from Bessie. She shouted in his ear above the din, ‘Look, there’s the strutting strumpet.’ Jack followed the direction of the pointed finger. On the other side of the militiamen, a number of carriages were drawn up. The object of Bessie’s jibe was Catherine Balmore. She sat like a goddess on Mount Olympus – still, beautiful and attentive to the lesser mortals before her. The carriage must be Captain Hogg’s, and it was he who was running the exercise under the watchful eye of Lord Manners. Both were on horseback. From Jack’s jaundiced point of view, he couldn’t imagine what Catherine Balmore found so attractive about Hogg. He was far from handsome. The face was pink and puffy, the chin lost in folds of fat, the lips thick and weak, and the eyes too small for his head. To Jack’s way of thinking, Hogg in his red uniform resembled an overblown cherry. What he did have, however, were money and position, and on both scores Jack could not compete. He felt anger at Catherine for letting herself be seduced by material trappings. He was also cross that Bessie was so nasty about her.

  Bessie moved away from the crowd towards the first hillock. ‘You should not speak of Miss Balmore in such coarse terms,’ protested Jack as he followed her.

  ‘That is what she is.’ Bessie was very matter-of-fact.

  ‘No, she is not.’

  Bessie glared back at him defiantly. ‘So you have fallen under her spell just as my deluded father did.’

  ‘Miss Balmore is a fine young lady. I respect her, but I am not under her spell or anyone else’s.’

  ‘Not even mine?’ She didn’t wait for an answer and strode up the bank. Jack trailed after her.

  The noise behind them had lessened and the firing had stopped. Orders were barked and the men lined up. Lord Manners rode forward with Hogg at his side and addressed his troops. What was said Jack and Bessie could not hear because they had now reached the summit of the first hillock. It gave them a fine view of the area. The town was wreathed in smoke from the hundreds of chimneys of the closely packed houses and industrial manufactories. The crown spire of St. Nicholas’ and the towers of the town’s other three churches pushed their way heavenwards above the clustered buildings. On the other side of the river, he could make out Gateshead and, above on the hill, at least a dozen lazily turning windmills waving their giant sails at the cool sun. Though the coast was too distant to view, there were ships lying at anchor as far as the eye could see. Others were moving back and fo
rth. One bark heading out towards the Tyne’s mouth rounded a bend in the river. It had an eerie appearance as, disembodied from the hull which had slipped out of sight, the masts, sails and rigging glided through the forest of other vessels. To their left, the Great North Road stretched through the open countryside as far as the horizon. The occasional hamlet broke up the pattern of ploughed fields, copses and rough heaths.

  Jack was still stung by Bessie’s remarks about Catherine Balmore. ‘Bessie, you must withdraw that wicked thing you said about Miss Balmore.’

  ‘Why should I? It is what I believe.’ Jack was staggered how unpopular Catherine was with members of her own sex.

  ‘I cannot understand why you think so badly of her.’

  ‘I will tell you. She uses people for her own purposes.’

  ‘You are a fine one to talk.’ Jack immediately regretted his barbed comment.

  He could see the hurt in Bessie’s eyes. She bit her lip and held back the tears. ‘I have done things that I should not have done. I obeyed my father’s will. Maybe I should not have given myself to you as I did, but I do not regret it. I have grown fond of you, Jack.’ She turned away and a hand went up to wipe the moisture gathering round her eyes.

  Jack’s anger pathetically subsided and he laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. ‘I apologise for what I have just said. You know I did not mean it.’

  ‘I would not want you to think ill of me.’

  ‘I do not. And I do not like you thinking ill of someone like Miss Balmore.’

  She turned slowly to face him. ‘Jack, how can I think good of her when I could see she was making a fool of my father from the moment she joined the company after poor Miss Hogarth’s unfortunate drowning? One minute she flutters her eyes at him, and the next she is walking arm in arm with Captain Hogg. It would not surprise me if she had a hand in my father’s death.’

  ‘That is ridiculous!’ Acorn’s murder must have addled her brain. ‘Whatever Miss Balmore is, she is not a murderess. That is a shameful accusation to make.’

  ‘Maybe you are right. Yet I do not trust that woman,’ she said vehemently. Were they talking about the same person? Jack wondered.

  The manoeuvres were ending. The militiamen marched off to cheers; many of the crowd following the soldiers towards the town. Jack could see Captain Hogg’s horse cantering in the direction of Catherine Balmore’s carriage. She clapped her hands in delight and he could see her laughing. He couldn’t bring himself to watch any more. ‘Why did Bowser come and see you today?’

  ‘To ask for my hand in marriage,’ came the blunt reply.

  At first Jack thought he must have misheard. ‘Marriage?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have you accepted?’

  ‘No.’ Then, after a pause, ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Bessie, how could you ever entertain such a notion?’ Jack couldn’t hide his horror. ‘He is old enough to be your father.’ That wasn’t a good comparison. He searched for another reason for her not to marry Bowser. ‘He is vile.’

  ‘He is rich.’

  ‘That is no reason.’

  ‘It is good enough for me. What am I to do? Father left me precious little. I may not like Bowser, but it is a better fate than ending up on the streets. At least he will look after me.’

  ‘How could you let him touch you?’

  ‘If he cares for me, I will do my duty.’

  That made up Jack’s mind. He would leave Newcastle that very day. Catherine was lost, Bessie was slipping away. He had money. Thirsk and Bowser would both feel cheated, but that was their problem. They shouldn’t hand out their money so freely.

  ‘There seems little point in my staying here. You have your future mapped out, so I must see to mine. I will leave upon this evening’s coach.’ At least he might succeed in making her feel guilty.

  Bessie placed a restraining hand on his arm. ‘Jack, you must not leave me. I beg you.’

  ‘You have no need of me. Your husband will take care of you.’

  Her hand gripped his arm. ‘Please do not speak of that. I need you to be with me, Jack. I need your affection, your friendship. I need your help.’

  ‘Why?’ he asked sharply.

  ‘I just do. Please say you will stay with me.’ Jack did not answer, though his eyes were drawn to hers; they were beseeching him. ‘At least stay until my father’s killer is caught. Then you may go and do as you please. That is all I ask.’

  ‘Is it so important that I stay until then?’

  ‘It is to me, Jack. I cannot rest till the murderer is found, and you are the only person in this world that I can trust.’

  ‘Bowser?’

  ‘Not even him. That is why I need you near me.’ She clasped his hands between her own. ‘Please.’

  ‘Only until the murderer is found,’ he agreed reluctantly. One of these days, he was going to have to learn to say ‘no’.

  Bessie’s face creased into a relieved grin. ‘Maybe I will not marry Bowser,’ she teased mischievously. ‘I might take it into my head to marry a younger man, especially one that really knows how to pleasure a girl.’ She skipped down the bank with Jack in pursuit. He caught her at the bottom and pressed a kiss upon her lips.

  The Town Moor was almost deserted now. The sun was dropping behind the trees and the wind began to bite. Jack and Bessie hurried after the remaining stragglers.

  ‘Did Bowser bring you any news of Sheriff Ridley’s investigation?’ Jack inquired. He wanted an idea of how long he was likely to have to remain in Newcastle. Not too long he hoped, or an irate Thirsk might demand his money back. He had quickly weighed up his options and he had decided that it was physically safer to side with Bowser.

  ‘No. He was not complimentary about the sheriff. He said he could not find coal in a collier. In Mr Bowser’s opinion, the sheriff is not particularly interested in finding the murderer. He said if someone like Carr had been killed, the whole town would have been turned upside down. But because my father had fallen from grace with those that think they are important, he is not worth the effort.’

  ‘Do you agree with him?’

  ‘Yes, I do. My father was not well liked at the end.’ Bessie suddenly stopped. ‘We must find the murderer.’ Jack did a double take. He had never seen such determination written on her face before.

  ‘Wait on, young lady. What do you mean by “we”?’

  ‘You and I, Jack. We can do it. If we do not, no one else will.’

  ‘I do not mind staying with you awhile and giving you moral support, but as far as hunting down a murderer… well…’

  ‘Jack, I know we can do it.’

  This talk was madness and sounding horribly dangerous. ‘Bessie, we cannot… it is not possible.’

  ‘Why not?’ she demanded.

  ‘Well—’

  ‘You cannot supply a good reason contrariwise.’

  ‘I can. It is just you have not given me time to think of one.’

  ‘Jack, I did not realise that you were so feeble in spirit. If I thought you had no more about you than a soppy milkmaid, I would not have asked you for your help.’

  ‘Soppy milkmaid!’ Jack exploded.

  ‘If you have fear in your heart, then I will, of course, understand your reluctance.’

  Jack let out a scoffing laugh. ‘Fear! I laugh in the face of fear. Fear is not a word I am acquainted with.’

  ‘I cannot think of any other reason why you will not assist a weak and helpless young woman to right a grievous wrong.’

  ‘All right, I will. Do not distress yourself. I will find the murderer for you.’

  Bessie giggled. ‘I knew you would.’ She started walking again. Jack was rooted to the spot as he realised, yet again, he had been duped into something he didn’t want to do. But he was right to tell Bessie that he wasn’t afraid – he was bloody petrified! Whatever Bessie had in mind, he was certain that it would inevitably end in grief.

  XV

  They were sitting in the same positions as Acor
n and Bowser had been in when Jack had first entered that ill-fated house. The fire was roaring and Jack had a glass in his hand – a rather good claret as it happened. Yet he felt ill at ease and he sensed that Bessie was uncomfortable. This was the first time she had been in the parlour since discovering her father lying in a pool of blood. The stain was now covered by a rug, but that only helped to mark the spot. Bessie, against Jack’s advice, had insisted that she must face up to the room and confront the terrible memories it held. To Jack, it had seemed a cosy, welcoming room. Now, not even the fire could kindle any warmth of feeling.

  Jack tried to make conversation, but each effort trickled away, and now he was just contemplating the cloudy, dark ruby liquid in his glass. When Bessie broke her silence, Jack noticed she was gazing at the place where her father had fallen.

  ‘Whoever killed my father must have known him.’

  Jack reached down and put his glass on the hearth. ‘What on earth makes you think that to be the case?’

  ‘That night…’ For a moment she paused as though she was having difficulty talking about the event. ‘That night, we heard father conversing with someone. They came in together. Father shut the parlour door – we heard that too. It usually meant he did not want to be disturbed. While they were in here, we did not hear any raised voices. So there was no argument.’ She turned her gaze on him. ‘What is more, he was not expecting to be attacked.’

  ‘How can you say that for certain?’

  ‘Has the devil taken all your wits? If father thought he was in danger, surely he would not have turned his back on a person who might attack him.’ Seeing that Jack still hadn’t grasped the obvious, ‘He was hit on the back of the head, so he must have had his back to the murderer.’

  It sounded so simple that Jack was embarrassed that he hadn’t thought of it himself.

  ‘That being so,’ Bessie continued, ‘who did my father know well who would have cause to kill him or profit by his death?’