‘Why do you chase after that doxy Balmore when you have got me?’ Bessie was standing naked by the bed. The flickering candlelight played tantalisingly over her body, accentuating the roundness of her young breasts, still-flat stomach that would soon disappear with children, and the smooth curves of her thighs. She was very beautiful in her own way, and highly desirable. And he was going to leave her behind! He must be mad. ‘And will you wear this for me?’ she said, producing that awful wig. ‘You know what it does to me.’
How could he refuse? His clothes were off when he suddenly stopped. It must have been the reference to Catherine that sparked it off.
‘What is the matter?’ asked Bessie, who was now demurely sitting up in bed, though her bosom hung seductively over the sheet.
‘Bowser. I have just remembered what Catherine said.’
Bessie petulantly covered up her breasts and huffed. ‘Her again!’
‘No, you do not understand. It was a remark she made. She had heard through Hogg that Bowser’s men were searching for something that had been stolen. Now we know the only thing I took was the tea caddy. Is it worth going to such an effort to recover?’
‘Tea is an expensive item.’
‘Possibly, but surely not so expensive that Bowser sends his men out to find it.’
‘That is strange. Bowser called yesterday. No, he did not try anything,’ she answered his unspoken enquiry. ‘He appeared too preoccupied for that. He did ask where you were that night. I repeated what I told him at the time, that you were out drinking with Southby.’
‘Did he believe you?’
She was shocked. ‘Of course he did. I lie better than you.’
‘We must look at that tea caddy again.’ Jack sprang back into his breeches, scooped up a candle and rushed out of the door, ignoring Bessie’s cry of, ‘Not now, Jack, wait until after.’ And then a plaintive, ‘Do you not want me?’
‘Lord love us!’ exclaimed Jack. He stood just inside the parlour door. Even by the limited candlelight, he could see the mess. Acorn’s chest had been smashed open, its contents of documents and letters strewn over the floor. There were even some women’s knick-knacks – handkerchiefs, baubles, a lace cap; Acorn must have loved his wife enough to have kept them. Every drawer and cupboard had been opened and ransacked. On further inspection, both the drawing room, which was only used for special occasions, and the dining room had been subjected to the same rigorous attention.
Back in the hall, he met Bessie, who was now in her nightgown. ‘I am afraid Bowser did not believe you.’
Bessie went into the parlour and gasped. ‘Oh no, what have they done? All this for a tea caddy?’
‘Presumably, they have got it back.’ The last time he had seen the object, it had been hidden behind the chest.
‘Not unless they searched the kitchen. When I saw Bowser approaching the house yesterday, I hurriedly put it in there, just in case. It would have been difficult to explain if he chanced upon it.’
‘More than that, I suspect. If it is still here, I would gamble we will find more than best Indian. If his roughnecks have found it – and he thinks we know what it contains – we had better go and dig our own graves now.’
This hurried them into the kitchen. The tea caddy was still where Bessie had hidden it – in the cool pantry.
‘What I do not understand is how they could have searched the house without Hilda hearing them.’
‘Hilda.’ Bessie said in alarm. ‘Goodness, they may have…’ She didn’t want to take her train of thought any further. ‘You take the caddy to the parlour. I will see if Hilda is all right.’
It took Jack twenty-five frustrating minutes to try and work out how to find what he was sure were the hidden contents of the caddy. He turned it up, this way and that. He pressed every part of the sides, the top and the bottom in the hope of setting off a spring that would open up some secret compartment. He even unscrewed every piece of brass – handle and all. Then, in exasperation, Bessie suggested he lift up the trays of tea inside the box. Typical of a woman to suggest the obvious.
She was already in a foul mood. She had discovered a drunken Hilda slumped across her bed. On waking her roughly, it transpired that some fellow had appeared at the kitchen door and asked the maid out for a quick ale. With Hilda’s looks, invitations of this kind were few and far between. She didn’t remember much else. Bessie would sort her out in the morning when she sobered up.
But then Bessie cheered up. There was something underneath the tea. ‘This must be the letter,’ he said, passing Bessie a musky, faded piece of paper. The writing was in a woman’s hand.
‘Yes, this is it. What an odd place to keep it. Why did he not lock it away somewhere safer?’
‘It was safe. Is it not the last hidey-hole one would look for important papers? Bowser was not to know some lunatic would be stupid enough to steal it.’
Bessie flashed an apologetic grin. ‘I am sorry for being so cross with you. Yet surely you cannot blame me.’
‘At least I did not risk my life in vain.’
‘All right, you are my brave Leonidas. Now, what else is in there?’
Jack reached in and pulled out a batch of papers tied round with a piece of blue ribbon. There was nothing old about this little lot.
XLIX
‘What on earth was your father doing with these?’
Bessie couldn’t reply. She was as nonplussed as Jack. In the bundle were notes (in different hands); stories torn carefully from newspapers; and three small maps, which between them covered the east coast from Hull to Berwick. Handwritten numbers had been added at various points on the maps, mostly near to the coastline.
Between them they sifted through the bundle. One newspaper story announced: This week a foreigner, who calls himself Timothy Cecilion, was apprehended at Sunderland on suspicion of being a French spy, and since committed to Durham Gaol as he could not give a satisfactory account of himself. He had resided there for six or eight months past, and has made observations on, and draughts of that and the neighbouring harbours of Hartlepool, Tynemouth &c. but till of late pass’d unnoticed, further than being look’d on as a general stranger. A chilling, hand-written note in the margin said, “must be silenced”. Another piece of newspaper, dated two weeks later, reported the strange death of Timothy Cecilion, suspected French spy, while awaiting trial in Durham Gaol.
Yet another note was simply headed Militia followed by a list – Durham 400, Northumberland, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Berwick 560, York city and West Riding 1240, North Riding 270, East Riding and Hull 400.
‘Look at this one,’ said Jack, holding a piece of paper to the candlelight, ‘about two engineers caught at Marlborough Head, St Catherine’s. In the linings of their coats, they found drawings of all the harbours and rivers and plans of the fortifications along that coast. Numbers of guns, weight of metal, every sort of detail. Apparently they were waiting for a boat to take them to Holland.’
‘French?’
‘No. One was a Scotchman, the other English. We still have our enemies within.’
Bessie shook her head for the umpteenth time. ‘I just cannot believe my father could be associated with all this.’ The word that remained unspoken was “traitor”. ‘These things may not have come from here,’ Bessie said hopefully. ‘Maybe Bowser only took the letter and happened to put these in the same safe place.’
‘That could be true.’ Jack ran his fingers through his hair, which flopped about his ears. ‘But I think Bowser did get these from here. It is no accident that we found them along with the letter. I cannot imagine that Bowser killed your father just for that. Though he obviously used the letter to keep Courtney here as your father did, there must have been another reason.’ He wanted to spare Bessie any more grief, yet he had to say it. ‘All this information here gives Bowser a motive. He has suffered at the hands of the French. Look at his colliers that have been seized. If he discovered your father was gathering intelligence for the French, as all this po
ints to, then he probably felt it was his duty to kill him.’
Bessie remained in brooding silence. Now that Jack’s initial excitement was over, he suddenly realised how cold he was, standing there in only his breeches. He went upstairs to put some clothes on. On his return, Bessie had bucked up.
‘Jack, I understand what you have said and I cannot deny that everything points to my father. However, consider these points.’ Jack had learned to respect her sharpness; anyone who dismissed Bessie Acorn lightly was asking for trouble.
‘If what you say is right, why did Bowser not go to the authorities with the evidence instead of killing him?’
‘Maybe an argument broke out.’
‘Hardly. Remember, father was struck on the back of the head. Surely during an altercation, the blow would have been at the front or side of the head.’
‘Very well, I agree.’
‘Having killed him, he could still have handed these over to the sheriff or Axwell or Captain Hogg, but he didn’t.’
‘Not without admitting to murder. How could he explain the papers without implicating himself?’
Bessie frowned. ‘Well, why is Bowser so intent on getting the caddy and its contents back? He has been searching high and low for it. It is obviously very important to him.’
‘Probably he is afraid these papers will be used against him.’
‘How? If we approached the sheriff, it would be impossible to prove they came from Bowser’s house. He could say he’s never seen the tea caddy before and the only people who could identify it are his servants, and they would be too frightened to do so. Even if he admitted the caddy was his, they only have our word for it that the papers were ever there. He could say we put them in there to implicate him. And how could we explain how we came by them? Who is going to believe us, especially you?’ she added, rather unnecessarily Jack thought.
‘Of course, there is another explanation. Your father and Bowser were in this together and they had a disagreement. Your father might have decided he did not want anything more to do with it, whatever it was, and Bowser killed him to protect himself.’
Bessie nodded sadly. ‘You may be right. Whatever the circumstances, Bowser is connected with this dangerous material. Of that I am convinced.’
There was nothing that they could do now. They would clear up in the morning. It was decided that the caddy would live in Bessie’s bedroom. As Jack put the papers back, he spotted on the corner of one of the maps (the one from Hartlepool to Bedlingtonshire) some scribbled numbers: I III LVIII VII VIII. He wondered fleetingly if it was a place reference. He folded up the map and put it away with the rest. He was too tired to give it any further thought.
L
It was like facing the Spanish Inquisition. You told your story. They didn’t believe you. You changed your story. They believed you even less. Not that Tyler Courtney was being unpleasant; just impatient. It was Bowser’s scowling that really put the wind up Jack. He had been dragged down to the theatre to explain exactly when David Garrick was going to make his long-awaited appearance in Newcastle. Jack had considered fainting again but quickly abandoned the idea. Bowser would probably kick him until he got up.
Straightaway, Bowser demanded whether Garrick had been in contact. First Jack said no. That was not good enough for Bowser, so Jack said yes. Then Bowser wanted to see evidence. He would! Jack said that he couldn’t show them the letter from Garrick as it contained extracts of a very personal nature. He didn’t expand, which left Courtney and Bowser exchanging surprised glances. As Jack had told them on many an occasion that he knew Garrick best when he was a young boy, they drew their own dubious conclusions. It threw them enough to give Jack time to think. If he was to survive the meeting, he would need to go on the attack.
‘The reason I have not told you about his communication is that David is still unsure of the exact date.’ Before they had time to object, ‘He says he will reach Newcastle about ten days hence. As near the first of March as he can make it.’
‘It cannot be that day,’ Bowser snapped abruptly. ‘Business to attend to. After that date, it’s fine.’
‘No matter,’ put in Courtney. ‘He will be here for a day or so – we will need to rehearse. We will make sure that the play does not take place on that day. And has Mr Garrick given any inkling of the piece he would wish to perform?’
‘Not definitely.’ Courtney was abashed. ‘However, he did write that it might be appropriate to do a play by Mr Colley Cibber, as a mark of respect.’ This immediately rekindled Courtney’s interest. Cibber was one of the most acclaimed playwrights of the first half of the century, responsible for setting the fashion in sentimental comedies. Cibber had even become Poet Laureate. Though he had died last December, Courtney could see the mileage to be made out of Garrick performing a Cibber work.
‘Old “hatchet face” himself,’ Courtney laughed, referring to Cibber’s famously haggard visage. The way Courtney then talked, one would have thought that he had known Cibber personally. Jack had done enough to get himself momentarily off the hook, though it only gave him about a week to get out of Newcastle – or trap Bowser.
As Jack was leaving, Bowser yanked him unceremoniously to one side. ‘Did Mr Garrick mention the snuffbox?’
‘Oh, indeed. He was fulsome in his praise of it, though he said that he felt it only proper to thank you in person when he comes north.’
Bowser seemed pleased. ‘I’ll look forward to him staying under my roof.’
‘I am sure he cannot wait,’ said Jack trying to move off.
‘By the by,’ Bowser said almost pleasantly, ‘you don’t happen to have a tea caddy in your possession that does not belong to you?’
Jack froze for a second before rallying, hoping that his fright wouldn’t give him away. ‘Sir, I detest tea. So why on earth should I have a tea caddy?’
Bowser let him go, after one more parting shot: ‘You know, I’ll make sure this burglar hangs.’
Outside, Jack leant against the back wall of the theatre and gulped for air. Despite the chilly day, beads of sweat ran down his neck.
‘He bloody knows. He knows it was me!’
‘Calm down, Jack,’ Bessie commanded.
Jack wrung his hands. Bowser’s direct question had taken him by surprise. The threat of hanging almost made him suicidal. A few swiftly downed gins on the way back had done nothing to settle his fraught nerves. In fact, the alcohol had only fuelled his imagination. Was it the drink or was there someone following him? Now he was a quivering wreck.
‘Do they usually hang burglars around here?’
‘Depends on who’s been burgled, I suppose. Now that you mention it, they did string up that Alice Williamson for theft on the Moor last summer.’
‘Oh, sweet Jesus.’ Jack chewed distractedly at his fingernails. ‘That is not the only reason I have got to get out of here, Bessie. Bowser and Courtney expect Garrick to appear by the beginning of next month!’
‘What makes them think that?’
‘Because I bloody told them. God almighty, I had to tell them something.’
‘Sit down,’ ordered Bessie, ‘and stop whining like a pathetic mutt and let us sort the matter out.’
Jack was all for continuing to stomp around the room. One severe look from Bessie had him scuttling into a chair.
‘Right. Let us review the situation. Bowser is the problem on two counts. Firstly, he believes you have the tea caddy. Secondly, he is expecting Garrick to arrive soon.’
‘I am so glad that has clarified matters,’ Jack said sarcastically. ‘I feel reassured already.’
‘Jack, sometimes you have no backbone.’
‘Once Bowser has finished with me, I will not have any bones left at all! It is your fault that I am in this predicament in the first place,’ he added viciously.
‘Not entirely. I was not the one who told the world that you were David Garrick’s greatest friend,’ she reminded him sharply. ‘However, this is not the time to apportion blam
e. I am well aware of the sacrifices you have made on my behalf.’ The starchiness left her voice. ‘Do not think I am not conscious of the huge debt I owe you.’
Bessie stood up, poured Jack a mug of beer and handed it to him. ‘Now, as I view it, there is a benefit to be gained by Bowser’s threat on two fronts.’
‘I cannot see it,’ Jack mumbled wretchedly into his mug.
Bessie ignored the remark. ‘Bowser may think you have the tea caddy, but we know that Garrick’s appearance is important to him. Whatever he thinks, you know he will not risk getting rid of you until Garrick has left.’
‘But he is not coming!’
‘Bowser does not know that – and he must remain in ignorance. If he finds out that Garrick is a figment of your imagination, he will immediately have you kidnapped, killed or whatever he pleases.’
‘Why do we not merely return the tea caddy?’ Jack brightened. ‘Leave it outside his house, or drop it over the garden wall.’
‘Jack, sometimes you appear to have no brain in your head. If he already suspects you, he will assume you have seen the contents. Do you think he will let you live with that knowledge?’ Jack spluttered into his beer. ‘The only reason he has not acted thus far is because of his overblown vanity. He imagines the universal acclaim he will receive as the man who brought David Garrick to Newcastle.’
‘What is to be done?’
‘We have a week to solve the problem. The only way to do that is to work out exactly what Bowser is doing and how we can take the offensive to him.’ Jack definitely didn’t like the sound of this. ‘I will fetch the tea caddy. We will go through all the contents once more. There must be something in there that will give us the weapon we need.’
While Bessie was out of the room, Jack grabbed the jug of beer. He didn’t bother pouring it into his mug first.
It was useless. They had examined every piece of paper again – and then a second time. It appeared that Bowser or Acorn or both were at the centre of a spy ring gathering information for the French. But even that didn’t make sense. Was the much-talked-about invasion going to come on this north-east coast? Everyone was assuming it would be on the south coast or that of East Anglia because of the proximity to France. Yet now that the French had access to the Austrian Netherlands, might they not unexpectedly strike further north? Judging by these figures, it wasn’t the best defended shoreline in Britain. Furthermore, it was close to Scotland and there was also the possibility of support from that quarter. The ’45 rebellion was still fresh in many minds. During his time in Edinburgh, Jack hadn’t come across overt Jacobitism, though there were the occasional veiled references to gatherings behind closed doors where the “King over the water” was toasted in secret. Jack had been too young to appreciate the importance of the ’45 at the time, though he had vague memories of his father ordering his sister to start shifting some of the most important pieces of their household belongings ‘just in case the savages turn in this direction’. He did remember the general rejoicing when the Scots packed up and headed north again – at Derby as it turned out – and Charles Edward Stuart’s subsequent defeat at Culloden.
Sweet Smell of Murder Page 24