‘Good,’ Axwell declared. ‘I wouldn’t want him to miss his own hangin’.’
‘What are you doing here?’ Jack was still in a state of shock. He wasn’t quite convinced if he were actually still alive.
‘Scrutton here has been followin’ you for days.’ Beside Axwell, Old Faithful nodded dutifully.
‘I thought he was Bowser’s man. But I lost you tonight.’
‘No one ever loses Scrutton,’ Axwell answered on his behalf.
‘Foggon, lay Mr Bowser oot on the table; and Scrutton, you gan an’ fetch Doctor Arnetoft,’ Axwell ordered. The man inspecting Bowser carefully turned the merchant over on his back and straightened out his legs on the table top. A groan was evidence enough that Bowser was still with them. Pity, thought Jack, his own body again peppered with bruises, fortunately none of them life-threatening this time.
As Axwell strode over to his captives and ordered their removal to New Gate, Jack reflected that without Bowser’s attack, and the vital seconds that it ate up, he might now be dead. Catherine hadn’t stepped in to halt his beating, though she had intervened earlier. She had tried, that is what counted. And now she was… Where was she? A quick glance round the warehouse told him she wasn’t there. On second inspection, neither was the tea caddy!
LIX
Axwell was too preoccupied to notice Jack slipping out of the side door by which Catherine had entered earlier. It was completely dark outside in the shadow of the building. He edged his way to the waterfront. Across the river, there was still activity on the quayside, the participants oblivious to the drama being enacted only a short stretch of water away.
He stood on the wooden wharf and listened. There was no sound except the lapping of the water against the posts beneath his feet. The moon threw its helpful light over the planking. Not a soul to be seen. She could have got away over the bridge and into the town, but as she had nowhere to lie low, that would be a dangerous route. The Catherine that had revealed herself tonight was unflappable and resourceful. She wouldn’t panic.
At the edge of the wharf, some steps ran down to the water. Jack peered over. A rowing boat was tied up, bobbing gently on the river. The Frenchman must have arrived in it. There would be a vessel, probably one of Bowser’s, further downstream that he would have come from and had planned to return to. Only now he wouldn’t. But Catherine could.
Jack tiptoed down the steps and ducked under the platform. He stood on a strut just above the waterline, close to the steps and the boat, but out of sight. He waited.
About ten minutes later, he heard footsteps. They were heavy like a man’s.
‘Flyford, you there?’ It was Axwell. ‘Flyford?’ he called again in annoyance. The footsteps paced to the other end of the wharf and then halfway back again. A curse, then the sergeant retreated, a door was closed and all was quiet again. Shortly afterwards, he heard a babble of voices disappearing down the street towards the bridge. Axwell was taking the prisoners away.
To fill in the time, Jack began mulling over the events of the last few days. He had underestimated Axwell. At some stage, he must have believed Jack’s story enough to have had him followed in order to try and track down Acorn’s murderer. Used again! Digges, Acorn, Bessie, Catherine, Thirsk, Bowser, Courtney, and now Axwell. The irony was that the sheriff’s sergeant had caught himself a murderer, yet was unaware that he had netted a far greater prize – a French spy ring. Jack would enjoy enlightening him – especially when he had embellished his own part in the affair. Handing over the chief French spy would be the coup de grace. Play his cards right and he could even end up a hero.
Was that footsteps? Jack stiffened. They were so light that he could hardly hear them until she was above his head. She had had the self-control to wait until the coast was clear. But her stealth showed that she was still on her guard. Quietly, she made her way down the steps. Jack waited tensely while she put the tea caddy into the boat. Then he made his move. He swung onto the bottom step and grabbed her wrist. Most women would have jumped or screamed with fright. Not Catherine De Gassard. No sound. She didn’t even struggle.
‘You are not thinking of leaving us, are you Catherine?’
He pulled her round; their faces were nearly touching. The shadows were on his, the moonlight on hers.
‘I decided that I had outstayed my welcome.’ She met his look straight on. He felt himself weaken. Her aroma, her voluptuousness, her closeness to his body – she was intoxicating him without even trying. Those lips that demanded to be kissed, those eyes that made him quiver every time he gazed into them. He let go of her wrist. Why was he always so pathetic in her presence?
‘Are you going to take me to prison?’
How could he? How could he let them put a rope around that soft, sculptured neck? For that would surely be her fate. She had saved him once; the least he could honourably do was to save her now. He knew he was inventing excuses to avoid admitting that the only reason he was doing it was that he loved her.
‘No. You know I could not.’
She smiled, not with relief, nor with triumph; she smiled with a lover’s complicity.
‘However, I cannot return entirely empty-handed. I will relieve you of the tea caddy. My reputation in this town is so low that I will need the contents to raise it even a notch. They will also seal Bowser’s fate for I am sure, without a confession, he will never be found guilty of Acorn’s murder.’
Catherine leant down into the boat and lifted out the box. For a horrid moment, Jack thought she was going to toss it into the water.
‘Here. Now that our work has been uncovered, the contents will be of little use to my paymasters; the invasion will have to be elsewhere. I will cause you no more trouble.’ She handed over the caddy. ‘My parting advice, dear Jack, is to steer clear of actresses.’
‘I could never have steered clear of you.’
She stroked his cheek with the back of her hand. ‘If circumstances had been different, we could have made a fine couple.’
A lump in his throat prevented him from replying. She leant forward and kissed him. His head swam as her lips lingered on his. Clutching the caddy, he hadn’t the presence of mind to fold her in his arms, to hold her tight as he had dreamed of doing so often.
‘Goodbye, Jack.’ Catherine stepped nimbly into the boat.
He wanted to say so much. Now that the moment was right, he was incapable of forming the words. Instead, he untied the rope in silence as she took up the oars.
‘One more piece of advice, Jack. Make an honest woman of Miss Acorn. If you do not act swiftly, someone else will take her from you.’
She pulled on the oars and the boat moved smoothly away from the wharf. Jack watched her glide further into the moonlit river. When she was almost out of sight, he found his voice. ‘Do you love me?’
She called back. He couldn’t catch what she said. Now he would never know.
LX
It was after midnight, and Jack was standing in front of Acorn’s house. He was wretchedly tired and his limbs were aching. So much had happened that night – and he still had one last act to perform. Since leaving Axwell at New Gate Gaol, he had pondered Catherine’s parting words. Though his heart would always be Catherine’s, he recognised Bessie would make a good wife. She was bright, efficient, resourceful – and she was an exceptional romp. That decided it. He would tell her that Bowser was arrested, explain her father’s innocence, and then he would ask for her hand. Gratitude, if nothing else, would sway her.
A great deal of gratitude had been shown by Axwell when Jack had turned up at New Gate Gaol bearing the tea caddy. Axwell had been confused by the presence of Mansart, the Frenchman, and none of his captives were in the mood to enlighten him.
Jack told him of his breaking in to Bowser’s house to try and find Courtney’s letter. His description of finding the caddy was that of a smooth operation, neatly carried out. ‘Knowing Bowser had got rid of the original box at Crindle’s, the tea caddy was the obvious hiding pl
ace because it was the least obvious one. I just knew the letter must be hidden in there. Then I escaped with the caddy, easily eluding his pack of pursuers.’ With no one to challenge his story, he might as well make capital out of the situation. Once he realised the contents of the caddy pointed to Bowser’s treachery, Jack went on to explain, he realised there must be an accomplice.
‘But Miss Balmore?’ Axwell sighed with amazement.
‘Beautiful woman, I grant you, and one who could blind most men, as she had done with Mr Acorn. I think only I saw through her scheming charm. Call it instinct or a divine message, call it what you will, I knew she was not to be trusted and that is why I gave her the tea caddy in order to flush her out. Bowser and Balmore were connected.’ Jack conveniently didn’t explain how, and Axwell failed to pick up on the point. ‘My stratagem did unmask her. I am only aggrieved that I was unable to apprehend her. She must have dropped the caddy during her flight from the warehouse. I found it on Bottle Bank. I would guess that she made off in the direction of Durham and the south. I would send men after her immediately. Unless she has found a horse, she may not have gone far.’ At least the time they wasted would help Catherine get clean away.
‘You’ve done your country a great service, bonny lad.’ An even better service to your reputation, thought Jack. ‘I’m heartily sorry for the problems I gave you, though your stories aboot Mr Courtney an’ Mr Southby didn’t help your cause.’ Jack could afford a magnanimous smile. ‘I thought you an’ Thirsk were in league. Then he disappeared. You don’t know anythin’ aboot that, do you?’ Jack shook his head.
‘It was after our last meetin’, when you wouldn’t give us the name of the man you suspected, that convinced us that you were tellin’ the truth. So I had you an’ Miss Acorn followed. It was Miss Acorn who led us to Bowser. She was spotted followin’ him across the bridge to Gateshead. By that time, I’d found oot that Crindle was an associate of Bowser’s – his chief “persuader”, shall we say. Wi’ no real evidence – an’ Crindle deed, like – all we could do was keep followin’ you two in the hope that you’d force him into action.’ Suddenly Axwell laughed. ‘I thought he might kill you next, an’ then at least we’d be on hand to convict him. When we knew you were in the warehouse, we gave him enough time to do somethin’ to you.’
Jack’s jaw snapped open like a dropped portcullis. ‘You mean to say you were going to let me be sacrificed to catch Bowser! Am I supposed to be relieved to hear that my murderer would swing?’
Still grinning, Axwell said, ‘Well, what could I do, bonny lad? Now that I know he’s a Frenchie spy, I’ll make sure the doctor keeps him alive long enough to hang.’ Axwell had a heart the size of St Paul’s Cathedral!
LXI
The door was locked. Jack had to batter it several times before his knocks were answered. It was opened, not by Hilda as he expected, but by Bessie. She didn’t attempt to hide her surprise.
‘I am sorry to raise you at this hour. I thought Hilda would answer.’
‘She is out for the night. Staying at her mother’s,’ she said distractedly.
‘Can I come in?’
‘I suppose so.’
Bessie closed the door behind him. A solitary candle flickered miserably in the hall.
‘I did not think to see you again.’
‘Nor I you.’ They stood awkwardly.
‘I have come to bring you news of this night’s events. Bowser is under lock and key in New Gate.’
‘Oh, Jack, that is truly good news.’ Her voice suddenly bubbled. ‘Tell me, how did it happen? Jack, are you injured? Your face! Come into the parlour.’ This was more like the Bessie he had grown fond of – this was the Bessie he wanted to marry.
Despite his weariness, he retold his story, for Bessie made an excited and appreciative audience. This time he told the truth, except for the part about letting Catherine escape. The mention of Catherine’s connection brought the predictable outburst.
‘I knew that doxy was involved in my father’s death! Did I not say so at the outset? If she had not bewitched him, he would never have gone to her house and found all that intelligence.’ Jack let her rant. If he was about to propose to Bessie, this was no time to defend Catherine.
Then the enormity of what she had done hit her. ‘My insistence that you persuade Balmore to contact Captain Hogg only pushed you into a deadly trap. How can you forgive me? She was like an evil spider. She could not have wanted you, as I suspected, if she was willing to see you brutally done to death.’
On completion of his tale: ‘Jack, you have been so brave. I owe you so much.’
This was the moment to press his suit.
‘There was another reason I came back tonight. A more important one.’ Bessie was all attention now.
‘Bessie, would you consider becoming my… what in God’s name is that?’
‘What?’
‘I heard someone on the stair.’
Bessie gave a nervy laugh. ‘’Tis nothing. You must be hearing things.’
Another perceptible creak followed. ‘There is definitely someone there.’
‘It must be Hilda. Jack, do not go!’
He was at the parlour door before she had finished her entreaty.
‘Good evening, Mr Courtney.’
Courtney stopped his careful negotiation of the stairs. Jack was too tired to be angry.
‘I felt a dizzy turn and Miss Acorn kindly let me lie down upstairs,’ Courtney explained, though no explanation had been requested.
‘You are better now, I trust?’
‘Yes, thank you. Miss Acorn,’ he addressed Bessie, who was now hovering in taut embarrassment by the parlour door, ‘I thank you for a most pleasant evening and I hope that my unfortunate turn did not spoil it for you. I had hoped I could leave without disturbing you.’
‘You did not disturb me, Mr Courtney. It was Mr Flyford who raised me from my slumbers.’
‘You look as though you have been in yet another fight.’ Courtney couldn’t help observing.
‘I have.’ Jack hadn’t the energy to give any further details.
‘Then I bid you goodnight, Miss Acorn.’ He bowed solicitously. ‘Goodnight, Mr Flyford. And do not worry; Miss Acorn has explained to me about Mr Garrick’s unfortunate illness… I am sorry; what amuses you?’
‘Nothing, Mr Courtney, nothing.’ The reply did not remove Courtney’s quizzical expression but he said no more. Jack let him leave wearing Bessie’s beloved “major” wig. It looked as ridiculous on Courtney as it had done on him.
‘So you broke the news of Garrick’s non-appearance?’ observed Jack on re-entering the parlour.
‘As gently as I could.’ Jack knew how torridly gentle that would have been.
‘I thank you then. You have returned the favour that you owed to me. I am totally clear of Bowser, Garrick, and now, it appears, you.’
‘I did not just do it for expediency,’ she said, much aggrieved. ‘Tyler Courtney is to be my husband.’
‘Has he asked you?’ Jack said with genuine surprise.
‘He will.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘I have Lady Lammondale’s letter.’
Jack couldn’t help bursting into laughter. ‘You have learned from a master. Your father would be proud of you.’ It was good to see her laugh, too.
When they had finished, she took Jack’s hand. ‘Before Tyler appeared, you said there was something you wanted to say to me.’
He gazed into her piercing, enquiring eyes. He had always thought of her as being older. Now he realised how young and fresh she was. He had had his chance that evening she had broached the subject of marriage. He hadn’t wanted her then. Suddenly, he wanted her now.
‘I forget. It can have been of no consequence.’
LXII
Two days later, the coach rattled through Pilgrim Gate and on up Northumberland Street. Passing Bowser’s house, Jack shuddered as he remembered his last bowel-quivering visit. The night before,
word had come that Bowser had died of his wounds. Axwell would be upset, as would the town worthies. His hanging would have been the social gloat of the year.
He had been seen off by his fellow actors. Mr Southby had insisted on a drink at the Queen’s Head before departure. Mrs Trump had cried. Only Courtney had not been there. Jack thought it might be embarrassment, but Septimus Spong said he was completing negotiations with Mr Carr, the banker, about next season. The outlook was good. Next winter’s work was secured. No Catherine Balmore, of course. The new leading lady was to be Miss Bessie Acorn. By next season, it would probably be Mrs Bessie Courtney.
The coach bumped along the Great North Road. The trees on the verge of the Town Moor were in bud. The expanse of moorland was deserted. He sighed as he thought of how he had lost Bessie. You never realise what you’ve got until you let it slip through your fingers. He had said his farewells to her at the house. She had hugged him and thanked him for everything he had done. When he had tried to turn the hug into a kiss on the lips, she had demurely slipped from his grasp. He had intended to spend his last night in her bed – for old time’s sake, nothing more. When he had tried her door, it had been locked.
Now he was heading back to Edinburgh. Well, Digges would be happy to see him. This time he wouldn’t be so naïve. And at least Digges was amusing company. Newcastle had left him physically and emotionally battered. Digges, and the buxom widow, Mollie Dodds, would restore his flagging spirits.
His thoughts were disturbed by a familiar smell. He glanced across to the heavily-coated gentleman opposite him. He had a snuffbox in his hand – fancy enough for Bowser to covet. The scent was cinnamon. The sweet smell of murder. The man caught Jack staring.
‘Do you object, sir?’
‘Not at all, sir.’
The man took a pinch, sniffed it noisily into his nostrils, then sneezed.
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