‘Then comes the fateful neet. Durin’ the interlude in the play, the manager returns – by hissel’ – to his home. He discovers his daughter in the arms of the young actor – a farewell romp, mebbees. An argument ensues; the young actor strikes the manager wi’ a candlestick. It might even have been an accident. The daughter, who loves her young actor dearly, lies to protect him. They even invent a mysterious person who arrives wi’ the manager.’ Axwell planted two huge fists on the desk and hovered menacingly over Jack. ‘So, what d’you think aboot me tale, bonny lad?’
Jack didn’t like it one little bit. Too much was uncomfortably near the truth. Now was the time to keep his nerve. ‘Interesting, sergeant. The only problem is that it is completely untrue.’ He realised that he must be bold. ‘And you know as well as I do that it would not sway a judge at the Assizes. You have no proper evidence.’
For the first time, doubt flickered across Axwell’s face. He was sure he had stumbled across most of the truth. Flyford’s reactions confirmed that. Though Flyford was probably the murderer, he was convinced that there were more people involved than just this young liar. The attack on Flyford was too premeditated. Was it a falling out of villains? Arrest Flyford now and he might not catch the others. And the evidence wasn’t tight enough to make him swing. Let Flyford go, have him watched and he would lead them to his accomplices. Flyford might even be working for Thirsk. Now that did make sense. He reckoned he had frightened the young man enough for him to try and contact his fellow plotters. Give him enough rope…
‘Reet, Mr Flyford, that’s all.’
‘All! Are you not going to do anything? You have not believed a word I have said, have you?’ This visit had been a ghastly mistake.
Axwell said nothing and jerked his thumb in the direction of the door. Jack got up and shuffled across the room. As he was going out, Axwell at last spoke. ‘If you venture oot in the dark, be careful; the streets can be very dangerous.’
Jack could still hear Axwell’s rasping laughter after the door was closed.
XXIV
‘I am sorry for all that has befallen you.’ Jack hardly took in the words. With her wonderful blue eyes drawing him like a siren into a calm, inviting sea, he was mesmerised. Catherine Balmore had actually gone out of her way to find him after the rehearsal. Now he was standing alone with her at the side of the stage.
‘You look so much better than when last I saw you. You were so…’ She blinked as though the memory was too painful to resurrect.
‘’Twas most kind of you to visit me in the Infirmary. It raised my spirits greatly.’
‘I am glad I achieved something for I have been no help in other ways.’
‘That was enough… though I did hold out the hope that you would visit me on my return to Mr Acorn’s house.’
Catherine fluttered her long eyelashes. ‘I fear that you are cross with me.’
‘No. No, far from it,’ Jack put in hastily. ‘Please do not think such a thing.’
She grinned. He so wanted to run his fingers over those smooth, rounded cheekbones that stood proud every time she smiled. ‘I would have come; however, I think my presence would not have been welcomed by the young mistress of the house.’
‘Bessie?’
‘I think she does not like me.’ Jack knew this to be only too true. ‘She mistakenly thought that I was stealing her father’s affections. And now she believes I am trying to wrest yours away, too. The glances she cast in my direction this morning spoke eloquently of her feelings for you – and for me.’
Jack had been all too painfully aware of Bessie’s air of indifference. That morning’s rehearsal was Bessie’s first venture into the theatre since childhood, when Acorn had brought her on stage whenever he felt it was necessary to win over the hearts of an unresponsive audience. The trick had usually worked. Once she was in her teenage years, and her womanly charms became apparent, he had kept her away from the boards. Acorn realised that his chances of making a favourable marriage for her would be hindered if she bore the social stigma of “actress”. They made desirable mistresses, not respectable wives. Not that he had been above using her in the meantime, as Jack had discovered to the cost of his ego.
Jack had approached the rehearsal with some trepidation, and had been glad that Bessie was with him. The troupe had engulfed him with questions and salutations. Mrs Trump had planted a great open-mouthed kiss on his lips and Mr Southby had suggested a night of celebration (which Bessie had fortunately excused him from on the grounds of tiredness). Courtney had been completely unruffled, which put Jack on his guard. What nasty surprises had he got hidden up his elegant sleeve? Of course, he might not do anything. He may think he has done enough to warn me off, thought Jack. It was impossible to tell what was going on behind those dark, handsome eyes.
And Catherine? Dear, alluring Catherine. She had come and said how pleased she was to see him restored to health. She had even leant forward to kiss his cheek, but had checked herself when she received a frosty look from Bessie. Now she had sought him out while Bessie was occupied; Courtney had taken her to one side at the end of the rehearsal of A Comedy of Errors and said that he wanted to run through some points about her part (ironically that of Luciana, sister of Adriana, played by Catherine – a fine piece of casting that would create tensions both on and off stage). In fact, besides his own fears of Courtney, and Bessie’s claws sharpening every time she clapped eyes on Catherine, the atmosphere was one of harmony. Gone were the frictions and animosities that Acorn enjoyed manipulating. The rumblings of discontent, so much part of the theatre’s life, were disconcertingly absent. In the time Jack had been away, Courtney had taken this strange collection of individuals and moulded them into a proper group. The rehearsal had been fun, even relaxed. As far as Jack could see, Courtney had done them all a good turn by ridding the company of Acorn.
So here he was now within touching distance of Catherine. A tingle of desire danced up and down his spine. Her eyes held his, which made it difficult to take a surreptitious squint at her cleavage (which he had noted earlier was more modestly trussed than usual with a crossed handkerchief at the bosom; less flesh to ogle, still much to admire).
‘Catherine, I am sure you have it wrong. Bessie’s apparent chilliness is simple filial jealousy – her father was smitten by your beauty – and what warm-blooded man would not be?’
She took the flattery with an appropriate show of coyness.
‘As for me, I am sure she does not hold a candle. We have become friends, no more. She is going through a difficult time and I have lent her a shoulder to cry on.’ A person less likely to cry on anyone’s shoulder it would be hard to find, but it sounded good. ‘To be exact, my affections are not attached to anyone.’ He paused. Should he? Was this the moment? ‘Anyone save the most divine creature I have ever set mine eyes upon.’
‘Pray,’ she teased, ‘who might this wonder be?’
Wasn’t it obvious? ‘Why you, Catherine.’
Her eyes dropped, and for the first time Jack saw that she was disarmed. Had he pricked her poise? For a moment, her fingers toyed with her lace cuff. Did she feel something for him? His expectations rose.
‘Have I spoken too boldly?’
‘No.’ Her eyes met his once more. Was there a tinge of moisture in them? ‘Jack, I am fond of you. However, my feelings can go no further.’ His excitement sank as swiftly as it had risen.
‘Captain Hogg?’
‘Yes,’ she replied hesitantly.
‘I see. It was foolish of me. Please forgive me.’
She laid a hand on his. ‘I am flattered; truly I am. Dear Jack, it can never be, for our future paths will never run the same course. But for the present, can we not be friends?’ Her hand pressed his.
‘Yes. Yes, I would like that.’ He was crestfallen.
Then she leant forward and pressed her lips to his, working his mouth open. His knees went weak. It was the longest kiss he had ever had from a “friend”.
‘Please forgive me if I am interrupting something important.’ Bessie’s timing was immaculate.
XXV
They were still arguing an hour later. By the time they had reached Bessie’s bedroom, Jack, for the hundredth time, said that it wasn’t what it seemed. All Catherine had done was to show him how to do a stage kiss in case Courtney asked him to do so in the play. Bessie had quite rightly replied, for the hundredth time, that nowhere in the text did his character require him to kiss Adriana. And even if it was only a “stage kiss”, why did it seem that she was trying to suck out all his internal organs? ‘She should be playing the courtesan – she certainly acts like one!’ Bessie screamed at him. ‘That strumpet is trying to take you away. She will only drop you like a stone when she has finished with you, just as she did my father.’
Jack was bitterly angry at these attacks on Catherine. ‘You are a fine one to talk. Look at you and that ugly bastard, Bowser. You simper and fawn over him whenever he enters this house.’
‘Keep him out of this.’
‘Why should I? I should not wonder that you have opened your legs and pleasured him already!’ The moment the words came out, he cursed his rush of blood.
She raised an arm and Jack flinched expecting her hand to flash against his face, but the blow did not come. It was her face that seemed to have been slapped, such was the effect of his words. The tears began to ooze and trickle down her flushed cheeks. ‘I have not,’ she whispered.
His fury spent like a quickly passing storm, he crossed to her side and hugged her, begging forgiveness. Her head rested on his shoulder, her face turned away from his. He kissed and stroked her hair.
‘Oh Jack, what am I to do? Bowser has now asked me thrice for my hand. I cannot put him off much longer. Only by his generosity am I able to stay here. Turn him down and I have nothing.’
He ran his fingers through her hair. When she was at her most vulnerable, his feelings for her were at their most tender. ‘I cannot bear the thought of you lying with him. Surely your life is worth more?’
She raised her head and faced him straight. Her moist eyes were sharp once more. ‘If your feelings are so strong, are you willing to take matters into your own hands?’
‘What do you mean?’ The sudden dryness in his voice betrayed him.
‘Are you willing to marry me?’ The question was matter-of-fact.
Jack blinked to hide his embarrassment. Jumbled excuses rushed into his mind, though he could articulate none.
Bessie half smiled. ‘I thought as much.’
‘No, Bessie, you do not understand. ’Tis not that I do not want to.’ The excuses now began to form coherently. ‘I have no prospects… I cannot keep you in the manner you should live… I cannot…’
‘Love me. Is that what you are so pathetically trying to say?’
‘Well, I do… I think.’
‘Jack, for once try and be honest with yourself – and with me. You do not love me, you do not want to marry me and I believe you would rather be a hundred miles away from Newcastle.’ Jack wished she would not be so frank.
‘Do not worry. I do not love you either, though I am fond of you and I would be happy to be yours. I think love would come to both of us in time. But I will not add this extra burden. You have already suffered much on my behalf and I am truly grateful that you have stayed to help me. And I cannot blame you for falling for the charms of Miss Balmore, though, if I read the situation aright, you will have more pleasure in my company than you will in hers.’
‘I respect Miss Balmore, nothing more.’
Bessie hung her head to one side, wiped away the tear stains that streaked her cheeks, and laughed. ‘Oh Jack! You are as clear to see through as an open window. I may only be seventeen, but I understand the ways of men and women far better than you do. You think you love Miss Balmore. You are not the first fool, nor will you be the last.’
Though Jack’s natural tendency was to object strenuously, he realised it would make life easier to let Bessie have her say.
‘Above all, to use your eloquent phrase, you hope she will open her legs for you.’ He had to take it on the chin. ‘I will wager you will never succeed. And if you did, she would not embrace you with feeling or passion.’
‘I am sure she is capable of deep affection,’ said Jack, feeling the need to put up some sort of defence.
‘Take it from another woman, whatever Balmore may seem on the outside, the heart is cold within. Now, I am different.’ Bessie gently took Jack’s hand and skilfully directed it under the folds of her skirt and up a scarlet cotton-stockinged thigh, past her inkle garter. With a tingling burst of excitement, Jack’s fingers told him that she wanted him. ‘Feeling and passion. That is what I am offering you – if that is what you want.’
XXVI
It was mid-afternoon when Jack emerged from Bessie’s room. A few more bouts like that and he might change his mind about marriage. He skipped down the stairs – he hadn’t felt as well since before the attack. The clock in the hall lethargically struck three. He patted his pocket – there was just enough coin to place on the fight. It had been Southby’s idea. There was a cockfight in the stable of The Bull & Crown. Jack was to meet Southby in the tavern after three. ‘Stick to my advice,’ Southby had said, ‘and you’ll make a pretty profit. I have an eye for the birds,’ he added confidentially. An afternoon’s sport was just what Jack needed to help his financial rehabilitation, and it would give him a few precious hours to recover his strength for some more rounds with Bessie later on. Not that Jack was required to do overmuch. Bessie was becoming as imaginative and commanding as Mrs Trump.
As Jack adjusted his cravat, Hilda walked by with a scuttle of coals. Her surly mouth creased into a grin. Jack’s hand sped to his head. He was still wearing the “major” wig Bessie insisted he wore each time they went to bed.
The streets heaved with sad-faced people under grey skies and thick wreaths of clawing smoke pumped out by hundreds of chimneys. One day, Jack promised himself, he would venture to Italy, where he had heard that the sky was always blue, the people smiled and there were legions of beautiful girls with passionate natures. That is what Digges had told him; not that Digges had ever been further than Ireland. Jack pushed on towards the quayside. At the Guildhall, he turned left and jostled his way along the quayside wall. Despite the throng, he had an uneasy feeling he was being followed. The occasional, darting glance behind revealed no one in particular. Once out through the town gate, he was in Sandgate, the most populated and poorest part of the town. Here lived the uncompromising keelmen, who loaded the coal for the London market onto the colliers. The area’s ramshackle houses had been thrown up close to the town walls as though desperate for protection, though from the point of view of the more well-to-do, the walls effectively kept Sandgate’s downtrodden inhabitants at arm’s length; they had their uses as long as they were out of sight. Gin-soaked whores were busy angling for business from the drunken sailors and keelmen. Jack shook off one persistent girl – she couldn’t have been more than twelve – from whom he had innocently asked directions to The Bull & Crown. The explicit entreaties from one so young shocked him, and he hurried on up the alleyway straight into the arms of a massive man who smelt of fish.
Jack’s way was blocked and the man showed no inclination to move. He grinned. ‘There’s someone who wants to see you, young’un.’ Jack’s heart sank. He didn’t even contemplate running, for there was bound to be someone behind him. His instincts had been right – he had been shadowed. He couldn’t face another beating so he meekly followed the lumbering figure up the bank. Where they went he couldn’t tell. Truth be known, he didn’t care. Suddenly, he wanted the end to come quickly. All the fight and vigour were drained from him; he was empty of feeling. Digges, Bessie, Bowser, Catherine, Courtney, Axwell – all had tossed him around like a rag dollie. Even his greatest motivation – fear – couldn’t come to his aid. He marvelled at how easy it was for him to accept death. It wasn’t as though he was
taking solace in the afterlife; the release was enough in itself. All he prayed for was that it wouldn’t be painful. Surely Courtney would grant him that.
‘In there,’ said the big man, and Jack was unceremoniously shoved through a doorway. The door was closed behind him. The man stood guard. Jack stood motionless, head bowed, eyes closed, awaiting his demise with what he thought was a commendable degree of equanimity. A last prayer was even forming in his mind.
‘You are a damnably difficult fellow to get hold of.’ Jack’s head jerked up as he recognised the voice. There, sitting by a fire, smoking his long-stemmed clay pipe was Thirsk.
‘You!’ spluttered Jack. ‘So it is you!’
Thirsk appeared puzzled. ‘You seen surprised, Mr Flyford.’
‘Of course I am. I thought it was… never mind. Well, I suggest you get it over and done with quickly. However, if I can make one last request, please do not harm Bessie Acorn. Everything that was done was instigated by myself. She is innocent of my investigations.’ Thirsk cradled his pipe in his lap and was about to speak. ‘Oh yes,’ Jack continued rapidly, ‘I have one other final request. Please do not put me through another savage beating; my body cannot take further punishment. All I ask is that it is done swiftly and that I suffer as little pain as possible. Ah, one further last request. Could you let my sister know of my death? Say it was accidental. Spare her the sordid details. She can be contacted through the cathedral at Worcester. I think that is all. I am resigned to my fate.’
Sweet Smell of Murder Page 13