Sweet Smell of Murder

by Torquil R. MacLeod

  ‘You are right to mock me, but you are wrong to think I have run out of people to accuse.’

  ‘So who have you got your eye on now?’

  Jack afforded himself a laugh. ‘Sergeant, even if I told you, you would never believe me. I cannot believe it myself, and as I have been wrong about everything up to now, I will keep my own counsel on this one.’

  ‘No clue?’ Axwell tested.

  ‘No, Sergeant. If I accuse this man – and I am wrong again – then I would be safer in your New Gate Gaol.’

  Axwell screwed up his eyes for a moment, nodded, then left.

  Jack was making progress. Axwell had departed without making a threat.

  XLII

  It was the first night of The Relapse and it was a triumph. Jack wondered why they hadn’t done a Restoration comedy before; the audience delighted in the heavy-handed humour. Digges never did them in Edinburgh because he said the theatre-goers were more sophisticated these days. Jack’s estimation of the Edinburgh public didn’t match Digges’. The only difference Jack could see between the patrons of Edinburgh and Newcastle was that the latter tended to get drunker and rowdier more swiftly.

  Afterwards, there was an excited atmosphere in the dressing room, applause still ringing in their ears. Courtney came in and announced that they would put on three extra performances as there was bound to be universal interest when word spread of the play’s success. When Courtney had finished, he asked Jack to step outside for a moment.

  ‘You did well tonight, Flyford, but you must pay heed to your voice. You sometimes mumble. Some of your words were getting lost. And do not get carried away with the audience’s laughter. Let it almost fade before continuing.’

  As a young man who was becoming confident in his own abilities – albeit without the slightest justification – Jack resented Courtney’s sage advice. However, he let it pass as he was feeling guilty at voicing his unfounded suspicions about the actor.

  Courtney languidly put an elegantly attired arm on Jack’s shoulder in a gesture of intimacy. ‘Mr Bowser informs me that, through your good offices, Mr David Garrick is to grace this theatre. I cannot hide my pleasure at such a joyous prospect.’

  Again, Jack didn’t speak. This time, horror denied him speech. ‘However,’ Courtney continued, ‘arrangements must be made. Our season ends in a month and plans must be set. A date must be fixed. What play do you think he will want to perform? Parts will have to be allocated. We will make an announcement soon so all will have a chance to gain admittance. Would he do more than one performance? What do you think we should charge? Double? I suppose it depends on the sum that Mr Garrick demands; he will not be cheap.’

  Jack had never seen Courtney so animated. But he had to interrupt before a complete itinerary had been decided upon.

  ‘Mr Courtney, I am afraid I do not know when Garrick will come.’

  Courtney’s expression creased into one of surprise. ‘I have the word of Mr Bowser that the visit will be imminent. Are you saying he is mistaken?’

  Jack shuffled uneasily. ‘Not exactly mistaken. I think he does not appreciate the scale of Mr Garrick’s commitments. A man of his outstanding reputation has many demands placed upon him.’

  Courtney was now crestfallen. ‘Will he be able to come at all?’

  Jack hesitated. Tell him no – the truth – and it would get back to Bowser in a trice. Better to play for time, though that was running out at an alarming rate. He was set for an almighty fall – he could feel it.

  ‘Do not worry yourself, Mr Courtney, Garrick will come soon. It is just that I have not heard from him as yet. So until I do, it might be best to wait before making final plans. I am sure he will let us know what he wants to perform.’

  This cheered Courtney up. ‘I understand. And now that I know he is definitely coming to Newcastle, I can at least put up notices to that effect even if I leave the date vague. Something of the like’ – and here he raised his hand dramatically and wrote with his finger in the air – ‘“This theatre is proud to announce that the world’s greatest thespian, Mr David Garrick, will be gracing our stage in the very near future”. The wording may not be exact, but that is the gist.’

  Jack groaned to himself as Courtney rushed off to put his lie into print. He was not only going to disappoint Bowser and Courtney, but also he was going to let down the whole of Newcastle.

  He went outside the theatre for some air. He needed to clear his head and order his panicky thoughts. He was in a mess, and there seemed no way out. If life became any more complicated, he would have to admit to killing Acorn himself and hope for a quick execution.

  Tunkle stumbled past him on the way to his hut. He was drunk as usual. He laughed inanely, which he now did every time he saw Jack. Fortunately, he hadn’t tried to get any more money out of him. Just as well; Jack had none to give. Jack kicked the wall in frustration and swore loudly.

  ‘You will ruin your shoes if you make a habit of attacking walls.’

  Jack swivelled round. Before him, in the shadows, stood Catherine Balmore.

  ‘Please forgive my vulgar language. I had no idea you were there.’

  ‘You are forgiven.’ Even in the dim light, Jack could see her cheeks rise as a smile formed. ‘Do you not think tonight was a victory for the company?’

  ‘Oh it is nothing to do with the play. It was a great success because you were wonderful… as usual.’ A frog caught in his throat as he paid the compliment.

  ‘That is most kind of you, young sir,’ she curtsied. ‘Now, will you do me one more gallant act this night?’

  ‘Of course I will, Catherine.’ His heart pumped within his chest.

  ‘Captain Hogg is detained on military duties. Would you be kind enough to escort me to my abode?’

  ‘I would be most honoured. But would you not rather take a sedan?’

  ‘No. It is not so cold tonight. A walk will enable me to calm down after our performance. It was well liked and that always thrills me so. Does it not you?’

  ‘Yes, most certainly,’ and she took the arm he offered.

  ‘Besides, while we walk, you can tell me what troubles you so much that you feel you must kick down the very theatre.’

  Jack floated along the street, his arm linked with hers. The physical contact excited him, yet her closeness, the intoxicating smell of her, made him relax. In her company, he felt safe and tranquil.

  ‘Now tell me, Jack, why are you so bothered, this night of all nights?’

  ‘It is the matter of Acorn’s death which still plagues me.’

  ‘How so? I hear that his murderer was found murdered himself. Which shows you were wrong about Mr Courtney.’

  ‘Yes, I was very wrong about him.’ How much else could he tell her? It was so easy talking to such an assiduously attentive and attractive audience. ‘The trouble is that Sheriff Ridley’s sergeant is unconvinced. He thinks I did it, in collusion with Thirsk.’

  ‘That is plainly nonsense!’ Her indignation was reassuring.

  ‘I know it is, but he does not think so. He has even forbidden me to leave Newcastle.’

  ‘Why, were you thinking of leaving?’ she asked in some surprise.

  ‘Well, not immediately. It is the suspicion that I find plays upon my nerves. My position is made the more serious because Thirsk has escaped the town despite the sergeant’s order to stay. With only one of his suspects still here, he will be watching me closely.’

  ‘I do not envy your position,’ she said with sympathy, squeezing his arm gently as she did so. The touch instantly triggered a rash of excited goose pimples. His hopes, which had gone into hibernation of late, now awakened rapidly.

  They came out of the crowded, noisy lanes around the Bigg Market and stepped into the wide expanse of Pilgrim Street with its expensive shops and respectable houses, a number of which boasted lanterns at their doors. Two carriages trundled past. A group of drunken young rakes staggered in the opposite direction. They shouted out ribald remarks until
one of them recognised Catherine and called for quiet. ‘Hold your tongues. ’Tis Miss Balmore from the theatre! Madam, pray forgive us, we did not realise it was you.’

  ‘I will only forgive you if you all come and see me when I perform next, the night after tomorrow.’

  Enthusiastic assurances were given. Jack admired how casually Catherine had handled the situation. And more delightfully, they would think that he was her beau. He gloried in the envy this would create in their alehouse conversation.

  The upper end of the street near the wall and gate was quieter; they walked in silence. Jack wasn’t sure where Catherine was staying until she stopped in front of a tall, elegant building. Noticing that he was appraising the house, Catherine said, ‘Of course, as a mere actress, I could not afford to reside in so beautiful a house. Captain Hogg is allowing me to stay here for the duration of the season. It is the town house of his cousin, but his relation rarely leaves his country home these days, which is most fortunate for me.’

  ‘Most,’ Jack almost hissed as he thought of the blubbery captain. How could she let him touch her? Even worse, did he come to her chamber at night?

  ‘Jack, I will think hard on a solution to your problem. Somehow, the sergeant must be made to realise that you have nothing to do with the murder.’

  ‘It is kind of you. However, I know where the answer lies. Unmasking the real murderer.’

  ‘So the sergeant obviously does not believe it was the man found in Sandgate.’

  ‘Crindle? Crindle was the same fellow responsible for the attack on myself. No, it was not him. I know who did it. My problem is that I cannot prove it.’

  ‘You know the murderer? May I ask who it is?’

  ‘You may and I will answer you. However, you will think me mad.’

  ‘Jack,’ she said tenderly, ‘I will not. Have I done so thus far?’

  ‘Very well. Prepare to be shocked. It is none other than Mr Bowser.’

  Catherine made no immediate reply. In the dark, with her face hidden under the brim of her fashionable straw hat, it was difficult to tell whether she had registered what he had said, so he repeated the name. Eventually she spoke.

  ‘There must be some mistake. I cannot pretend to like the gentleman, particularly his crude ways, yet I cannot believe that he would kill his own partner.’

  ‘I know it sounds inconceivable. I do not understand why he would do it either. What I do know is that only he could have done it.’ And Jack went on to explain about Bowser’s snuff.

  ‘Your story certainly points the finger in his direction, though I must confess, I cannot come to terms with what you say. But if you are right, I imagine Mr Bowser will be a very dangerous enemy.’ She leant forward and held his head between her gloved hands. ‘I think it might be wise to slip away from Newcastle for a short while.’

  Her touch gave him courage. ‘If I run, I will always be suspected. I have no alternative but to prove him guilty, by hook or by crook, if you will pardon the pun.’

  Fleetingly, the moon broke through the clouds and he could see worry etched on Catherine’s beautiful face. Then she kissed him briefly on the lips. It happened too quickly for him to savour the moment, though he relived it a thousand times throughout that night.

  ‘Thank you for escorting me home.’ Before he could frame an appropriate reply, she had gone into the house.

  XLIII

  ‘Why, Jack, you are flushed. Is it a fever coming on or is there another explanation?’ Bessie stood at the foot of the stairs. Her mockery contained no humour. ‘Let me guess. Could it be that you were waylaid by some trollop?’

  ‘It is obvious that you know where I have been. Despite your unkind insinuations, I have done nothing to reproach myself for. Miss Balmore asked me to escort her to the house of Captain Hogg’s cousin, which I did. That is all.’

  ‘Should you not have been escorting me? After all, it is my bed in which you lie each night, not hers.’

  ‘Stop this at once!’ shouted Jack, his patience snapping. ‘I will not tolerate your constant abuse of Miss Balmore. If you think I find your jealousy of her attentions to myself flattering, then you are mistaken. I find it most unappealing.’

  ‘I am not jealous of her. You can have the bitch for all I care!’ And then an instant later she was sobbing uncontrollably. At first Jack was glad. It served her right for being so foul about that most sublime of women. As her shoulders shook, her cheeks awash with tears, she stuttered out the word ‘sorry’ between great gulps of breath. Jack’s resolve melted and he went to her and put his arm around her shaking body. She kept repeating the word ‘sorry’.

  ‘Bessie, please calm yourself. I did not mean to upset you. I should have brought you back.’ She started it and he ended up feeling guilty. How did women always manage that? Jack marvelled.

  A glass of wine in the parlour did the trick. Her spirits soon revived. Each had forgiven the other many times, as young lovers do.

  ‘So who escorted you back tonight?’

  ‘Mr Courtney. He was most kind.’ Why did he feel uneasy every time Bessie uttered Courtney’s name? Maybe it was the softness that crept into her voice whenever she mentioned him. The tiff that had subsided so quickly could erupt again just as swiftly.

  ‘As I walked back with Tyler,’ – it was bloody “Tyler” again – ‘it made me think about Bowser. One thing did become clear. The letter. It makes sense that Bowser used the letter to keep him in Newcastle. Without Tyler, the theatre would have collapsed, and Thirsk would have gained control. With Tyler, Bowser has won his battle with his rivals in the town.’

  ‘I can see Crindle being Bowser’s man. They come from the same mould. I agree with you, yet it does not explain why Crindle had me beaten to a pulp or why Crindle was killed. It fitted in with Courtney, but not with Bowser. Bowser could not have known I was suspicious of him because I only realised it was him two days ago! And surely Bowser would not have murdered your father just to get the letter; your father was already using it to keep Courtney here in Newcastle.’

  ‘I have given thought to that also. That,’ she said pointing to the table where the simple box sat as a constant reminder of what had taken place in the room, ‘contained the letter. That we definitely know. It held many letters and documents. There must have been something in the box, other than the letter, that Bowser was willing to kill for.’

  ‘A secret document? Another incriminating letter?’

  ‘Your guesses will be no different from mine. When I “accidently” opened the box and discovered the correspondence from Lady Lammondale, there were other papers in there. I briefly looked through, but none of them appeared as interesting as that letter. What I did realise was that my father kept his most important papers locked away in there.’

  ‘We know the box has not been forced,’ observed Jack, who picked it up and idly toyed with it in his hands. ‘Bowser must have used the key. You said something before to me about your father keeping the key around his neck.’

  ‘Yes, always. He was most particular about that. And it could only be seen if he disrobed.’

  Jack placed the box back on the table. ‘I do not recall seeing that your father’s clothes had been disturbed. Though, in the confusion, I might not have noticed.’

  ‘I am positive they were not. Which only leads us to one conclusion: that my father deliberately opened the box to show Bowser something.’

  ‘Could he have been blackmailing Bowser in the same way that he had a hold over Courtney?’

  ‘That is possible, though, if he had, I doubt he would have opened the box in front of Bowser with whatever he was blackmailing him with inside. My father would have been more devious in his approach. Now that I think on it, I suspect he never showed Tyler Lady Lammondale’s actual letter, but probably quoted from it to prove he knew the contents intimately. He would not have risked losing such a precious document by flaunting it in front of his victim. The same line of reasoning would apply to Bowser. My father never conceded
an advantage.’

  ‘So what you are saying is that your father innocently showed Bowser something in the box, without fear or hesitation. Yet this unknown paper was enough for Bowser to kill him on the spot.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That is all very well but, as we do not know where or what it is, we cannot proceed. Bowser is still out of our reach. The cause is hopeless.’ Jack slumped dejectedly into the seat opposite Bessie. Only a short while ago, he was walking on air after being kissed by Catherine. Now he had been brought back down to earth. Catherine couldn’t save him from his mounting problems, though her advice to escape the town might be worth heeding. It was the sort of counsel he liked hearing because it matched his own inclination. Yet now that Catherine had kissed him, and once more shown concern for his wellbeing, it would be harder still to tear himself away. He could leave behind Bowser and Axwell – but not Catherine. And Bessie. He was fond of her, too. That he could not deny.

  ‘Not all is lost.’ Bessie had that determined look in her eyes, which Jack was learning to recognise as a danger signal; and the danger usually involved him.

  ‘We do not know what the paper is. However, we do know where it is likely to be kept.’

  ‘Do we?’ Jack responded cautiously. Common sense gave him the answer. It was what it might lead to that made him ask the question.

  ‘It must be at Bowser’s house. So we must find it.’

  There was that bloody “we” again. ‘We?’ Jack reiterated.

  ‘Well, you. You must break in and search for it.’

  This was a nightmarish suggestion. He would have a better chance of living if he volunteered to fight the whole French army single-handedly. ‘Bessie, what you propose is sheer madness. I might as well sign my own death warrant.’ His voice was rising rapidly into a frightened squeak. ‘Bowser has already killed two people, probably dozens more for all we know. He is bound to catch me. “Oh, sorry, Mr Bowser, thought I had dropped my handkerchief the last time I was here. Did not want to disturb you so I climbed in through the window. Seems I was wrong. Must have been another house. Got to rush way. Meeting someone. I bid you farewell.” That will convince him. I will be carried out of there, feet first. And that is if the Lord is being kind.’ Fear often produced a surprisingly coherent ranting.