‘Monsieur Mansart, this is the troublesome actor of whom I spoke.’ Jack noticed that Bowser pronounced the ‘t’ in Mansart.
‘Please,’ The Frenchman fussed, ‘please do not give my name.’
‘Do not fret, monsieur, he’ll not see out this night.’
‘You will be discreet,’ pestered Mansart.
‘Bodies are pulled from this river every day. One more won’t make any difference.’
So that was it. The end. How had it happened? Where in the devil’s name was Hogg?
‘You might kill me,’ Jack croaked in a surge of defiance, ‘but you have lost your tea caddy with all your treasonous information in it.’
Mansart glanced at Bowser in alarm. Jack decided to press home his advantage. ‘It is in Captain Hogg’s possession. You and your treacherous cause are lost. I expect the brave captain to be here with his troops any minute now.’
Bowser’s raw features broke into an unpleasant grin. ‘I think not.’
The reason for his infuriatingly calm response became clear when a side door opened and in stepped the last person on this earth that Jack expected to see. She took off her cape and handed it to one of Bowser’s henchmen. The gesture suggested that Catherine Balmore had not come to rescue him. She wore breeches like a man’s and a riding jacket – unusual garb, but on Catherine most fetching. The tea caddy she held in the crook of her arm confirmed that he had blindly walked into a trap.
It was difficult for Jack to explain his feelings at that exact moment as Bowser walked down to greet her. Mansart followed. The woman who had captivated him these last few months; the woman who had shown concern and affection for him; damn it, the woman whom he loved had deliberately handed him over to his deadliest enemy, condemning him to death. His rising anger was quickly replaced by a numbing despair. How could she? Digges had once warned Jack that women would be the death of him if he let them manipulate him. Not even Digges could have realised how literally that would come true.
He could hear Catherine and Mansart exchange words in French. He was too far away to pick up what they said and his French had sadly lapsed since his Oxford days. The conversation reverted to English and Jack saw Bowser jerk his thumb in his direction. Catherine stared along the tables, said something to Bowser and advanced towards Jack. Behind her, Bowser opened the tea caddy and took out the contents for Mansart to view.
Catherine arched an eyebrow at the ruffian standing guard. He obediently withdrew out of earshot, though he kept a wary eye on his captive.
‘Why?’ was all Jack could say. He examined those beautiful eyes, searching for an answer.
‘Why I am I here? Or why are you here?’
‘Both,’ he said managing to inject some fury into his voice.
‘The first is because it is my task. I am French.’
‘You do not sound it,’ Jack found himself saying almost conversationally.
‘My mother was English. She was ostracised by her family when she fell in love with my father. Balmore was her family name. De Gassard is mine.’
‘That is no reason to be involved in all this.’
‘I could say it was for my country or that I am doing it to get revenge for my mother’s treatment, but the real reason is that I cannot resist an adventure. If it helps my beloved France, all well and good.’ She flashed him one of her famous smiles. It didn’t melt him this time.
‘And Bowser?’
‘Unpleasant, but useful. Like all men, he has his price. He is greedy for money and hungry for power. We pay him handsomely for his efforts. You know his love of snuff? That is how we reward him – with special snuffboxes. They are all ornamented with valuable stones. If he needs funds, he simply detaches a jewel and sells it.’
‘What about his lost colliers?’ Though death wasn’t far away, Jack was going to have his curiosity satisfied before he went.
‘A mere show. He pretends to pay a ransom and we keep his ships safe until we are ruling this country, and then he will have them back. Everybody believes he hates the French.’
‘And you?’
‘I was sent to be his contact. It was he who arranged for me to join the theatre. Unfortunately, he had to dispose of Miss Hogarth first. I believe Crindle left her floating in the river. Mr Acorn needed a new actress to replace her and he was delighted to take me on when he thought Bowser would see off his debtors, though I flatter myself that Mr Acorn did not need much persuading to engage me.’
Acorn wasn’t the only fool to fall under her spell, Jack reflected ruefully.
‘I can understand Bowser’s greed, but how did you sate his lust for power?’
‘Though he would happily betray anyone for money, in this venture the quest for power is a far more intoxicating drug. When we invade, he will be given a position of authority in the town – deputy to the military governor possibly. And then he can lord it over all the fine families that look down upon him and have done everything they can to thwart him and his ambitions. No doubt he will gleefully take his revenge,’ she said with undisguised distaste.
‘That is why he kept the theatre going?’
‘In part, to keep frustrating his enemies who wanted the theatre back, though, more importantly, I still need a reason to stay until my mission is completed.’
‘And does that mean ravishing Hogg?’ Jack said nastily.
‘I have never ravished Captain Hogg, nor him me.’ To his surprise, Jack felt exhilarated at her confession. Not that it really mattered now. ‘I have merely charmed vital information out of him about deployments of troops, coastal defensive positions, military plans and the like. With the knowledge Bowser has also collected through his numerous business connections, this north-east coast will make an ideal area for the invasion. It is also near enough for disaffected Scotchmen to join our banner.’
Jack listened to her talking breezily about the most dangerous invasion plans since the Armada, yet he took nothing in. She hadn’t shared Hogg’s bed. The thought swirled around in his head. He just had to ask: ‘Have you given yourself to anyone in Newcastle?’ he interrupted.
Such a question, coming out of the blue, caught Catherine by surprise. Her smooth features wore a perplexed expression. ‘Is it important to you, Jack?’
‘As I am about to die, yes.’
‘The answer is no, though Mr Acorn made his intentions clear.’
No accompanying smile this time. Her eyes engaged his. ‘There is only one person who has laid claim to my affections during my time here – and that is you, Jack.’
His heart thumped like an excited child who has been told of a wonderful treat in store. ‘So why have you led me here?’ The question carried no venom, no rebuke. He would die bravely (well, he would try not to scream too loudly) if he knew why the woman he worshipped had betrayed him.
‘Oh, Jack, you left me no choice. Did I not try and warn you on more than one occasion? Did I not give you money so that you could escape? I have already saved your life once. When Bowser planned the attack on you, he wanted you dead because he saw you as a danger – I had to tell him, Jack, that you’d been in the house when he murdered Acorn. But I made him assure me that Crindle would not kill you. I wanted you to be beaten just enough to dissuade you from investigating further. Of course, at that time, I did not realise how brave and bold you are. Afterwards, I was horrified to see what had been done to you when I visited the Infirmary. Yet you continued to press on, regardless of your own safety. That is why I admire you so. As soon as I knew that you had cleverly pieced together that Bowser had murdered Acorn, I tried to get you to quit the town. Then when you came with the tea caddy and you told me that you knew about the meeting, I could no longer protect you. Your knowledge was too great, putting our plans and our lives in jeopardy. It grieves me to see you thus, but the matter is out of my hands.’
Jack wanted to rant at her, plead with her, make her feel guilty for what she had done to him, make her admit that she loved him. Each emotion fought for a voice. He could
say nothing. It was his own bloody fault he was sitting strapped to a rough wooden chair in a smelly warehouse, surrounded by French spies, and not the slightest chance of being rescued from certain death. At that moment, Newcastle didn’t have anything to recommend it.
LVIII
Bowser approached, leaving the Frenchman to scrutinise the maps.
‘You’ve wasted too much time on this feeble play-actor, m’dear.’ Catherine cringed at the familiarity. ‘You should’ve let Crindle settle the matter.’
Bowser took out his snuffbox and went through his practised routine. On snapping the box shut, he said, ‘’Tis strange that I should be discovered through my snuff.’ Jack realised that Catherine must have been telling him everything right from the beginning.
Bowser standing there in front of him, boorish and gloating, gave Jack unexpected courage. His hatred of him was so strong that it pushed his dread into the background. He had nothing to lose, his life was already forfeit. And he had even fooled Catherine into thinking him ‘brave and bold’, so he might as well act the part during his final performance. ‘Was Acorn in on this? Is that why you killed him?’
Bowser laughed, revealing a disgusting display of discoloured teeth. ‘Acorn? That puffed up peacock! No, ’twas his lust that brought about his downfall. His passion for Miss Balmore here led him to visit her house. She wasn’t at home. Unfortunately for him, his curiosity led him to snoop amongst this lady’s private papers, probably to discover if he’d any serious rivals for her affections. Most ungentlemanly.’ Jack silently agreed, as his own misfortunes had begun with Acorn reading his private correspondence. ‘He came across Miss Balmore’s carefully gathered intelligence. Worried about its content, he took the papers and then didn’t know who to approach with them. He certainly didn’t want to see a noose around Miss Balmore’s pretty little neck. What was more natural than to turn to me, his business partner? I had no inkling of what he wanted to discuss when he took me back to his house – most secretive he was. When he produced the papers, he asked me what we should do. I had to kill him. Inconvenient, though necessary,’ he shrugged matter-of-factly. ‘If I hadn’t, I’m sure someone else would’ve done so eventually.’ Jack knew the list. He had accused half of them himself.
‘One stroke of good fortune was finding the letter from Courtney’s titled strumpet in the box in which Acorn had locked away Miss Balmore’s papers. I used it, through Crindle, to ensure Courtney stayed at the theatre.’
‘And then you killed Crindle and planted Acorn’s box to deflect suspicion.’
‘I didn’t kill Crindle. I have people who do things like that for me,’ he said indicating the glowering brute guarding Jack. Bowser grew angry at the recollection. ‘’Twas your interfering that forced my hand. He was a most useful associate.’
‘I am surprised you can summon up such sentiment,’ Jack said sarcastically.
Bowser’s hand thwacked into the side of Jack’s face, making him reel back as far as his bindings allowed. Catherine gasped.
Jack licked the blood that trickled from his swelling lip. The shock of the smack brought home his appalling predicament. He hoped his death would be as painless as possible. A prayer his sister Rachel had taught him half formed in his mind. Another vicious slap forced it back into a lost chamber of his memory.
‘Mr Bowser, that is enough,’ he heard Catherine protest.
Jack opened his eyes. Was there yet hope? Would Catherine somehow save him?
‘I know you have to kill him. There is no need to torture him also.’ No, she wouldn’t.
‘Best get it done. Guthrie!’ Bowser called across to Jack’s wary overseer. ‘You and Craggs take him out. Drown him well.’
Guthrie began to loosen the ropes. When all seemed lost, Jack had one last, frantic flash of inspiration. ‘Garrick,’ he blurted out. ‘Garrick. How will you explain my absence to him when he arrives tomorrow?’
It created the effect he wanted. Bowser and Catherine exchanged anxious glances.
‘It could be awkward,’ Catherine suggested.
Bowser stroked his chin. ‘It’s gone too far now.’ He reached into his pocket and produced his snuffbox. He didn’t attempt to open it. Then he gave it a decisive tap and popped it back into his coat. ‘I’ll tell him that Mr Flyford has been unavoidably called away. A relative is at death’s door. Sends his regrets and suchlike.’ Bowser nodded to Guthrie to continue.
‘But,’ – this was Jack’s final desperate throw of the dice – ‘Miss Acorn will know I have disappeared. She will report it. She will know that I have not gone to see a relative.’ Of course she wouldn’t miss him at all – she would suppose he had safely caught his ship. Only when Bowser appeared in public again (and was not behind bars) would she realise that something had gone wrong; unless she assumed that Jack was completely feckless and had run off without rendezvousing with Captain Hogg. Her present low opinion of him would probably lead her to that conclusion.
‘I will see Miss Acorn does not say anything. After all, my future wife must learn to obey.’ This was even worse. He was going to his death knowing Bessie would end up with this loathsome creature. Bowser’s confidence made Jack think he had already extracted a promise of marriage. ‘If she takes it into her head to cause problems, she too will end up in the river.’
‘Do not lay a filthy finger on her!’ Jack shouted. His empty threat only produced a leer. The implication was that the vile traitor had already laid more than a finger on her. That was his fault, too, for arriving back so late from Bowser’s house.
The final knots were untied and hands hauled him to his feet. Guthrie and Craggs pulled Jack across the warehouse floor. But he couldn’t go to his watery end without causing Bowser some grief. The firm grip ensured it couldn’t be physical.
‘Bowser!’ he shouted out.
Bowser was walking back towards the Frenchman. His call was ignored.
‘Bowser!’ There is something you should know about Garrick.’ Guthrie cuffed him and he stumbled to his knees on the rough wooden floor. He was immediately wrenched back to his feet.
‘Wait.’ Bowser’s curiosity had been stirred. ‘What should I know about Garrick?’ There was now a gap of about fifteen feet between them.
Jack’s mind was clear of confusion. His head may have been beaten until he felt sick; he may have discovered some extraordinary truths that he could not fully comprehend; yet now, when it came to the crunch, he was mentally sharp. Maybe imminent death had removed the clutter. He knew that during his final moments, he would probably scream and plead cravenly for his life, but first he would somehow get back at Bowser.
Jack raised a wintry smile. ‘My friend, David Garrick,’ he said mockingly. Bowser stiffened. ‘He is not coming tomorrow.’
‘What d’you mean?’ Bowser took a pace forward.
‘He is not coming. He never was coming.’
‘What d’you mean?’ Bowser repeated. Even Catherine’s lovely face was covered in confusion.
‘For the simple reason that I do not know David Garrick. I never have. I just made up the story to impress you and Acorn. A goodly jest, do you not think?’
Bowser stood motionless in shock as the news sank in. Catherine understood. Jack was glad to see she registered amusement. Bowser did not. It only took a few strides for Bowser to reach Jack.
‘So where is my snuffbox?’ he yelled in Jack’s face.
Jack grinned. ‘It has gone to a bad home.’
Bowser, shaking with rage, grabbed Jack’s collar. ‘Where is it, you little turd? Where?’
They were now nose to nose. ‘I gave it to Thirsk.’ This puzzled Bowser. ‘Crichton Thirsk. Your old rival.’
Bowser snapped. He went berserk, laying into Jack with windmilling fists. Jack could do nothing to resist or protect himself, as he was pinned by Guthrie and Craggs. The ill-directed blows reined in, accompanied by an avalanche of oaths. Through the pain of the pummelling he was taking, Jack rejoiced in the knowledge that he had upset B
owser far more than he could have hoped.
His eyes were closed when the shouting started. Was it the Frenchman? There was a punch to his stomach, and Jack lurched forward. He had been let go. He crashed heavily to the floor. There were more cries. A voice yelled, ‘Everyone hold still.’ A pistol shot cracked out in reply. Then there was the crashing sound of a volley from blunderbusses. Jack started, but kept his eyes firmly shut. He trembled so much that it was fortunate he was already lying on the ground. Feet ran past his head. ‘Stop him!’ the same voice barked. Then another ear-battering bang, the noise bouncing around the cavernous building. For Jack, the confusion lasted an eternity, though it must have only been seconds. He didn’t move throughout.
Jack was grabbed and pulled to his feet. ‘Still wi’ us, bonny lad?’ Axwell smirked at him.
The smoke was clearing. Mansart, Guthrie, Craggs and three others, one clutching a bleeding arm, huddled pathetically together surrounded by a ragbag of men with firearms pointed and blades drawn. Jack recognised Rickaby among them. And there, over the end of one of the long tables, Bowser lay slumped, blood oozing through his jacket. One of Axwell’s men bent down to examine him. ‘He’s hit, but he’s still breathing.’
Sweet Smell of Murder Page 27