by Dilly Court
Sarah slept little that night. She had had to share her bed with Nettie as all the habitable bedchambers were now occupied, and the rest were in such a state of dilapidation that it would take an army of cleaning women to make them fit for use. She had forgotten that Nettie talked in her sleep and when she pulled the coverlet off her for the umpteenth time Sarah had had enough. She got up, wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and went to sit in the chair by the window. The carriage sweep glittered with frost in the pale moonlight and the yew trees took on an even more sinister shape silhouetted as they were against the rime-encrusted lawn. A barn owl swooped past the window, graceful and deadly in its hunt for food, and the distant bark of a dog fox shattered the silence. She huddled in the chair, shivering in a chilly draught from the casement window, curling her bare feet under her in an attempt to keep them warm.
She must have dozed off, or else she was dreaming, but the sound of horses’ hooves on the gravel was real enough and she was suddenly wide awake. Peering out of the window she saw that the grounds were suddenly alive with movement. In the pale green light of early dawn she saw men in uniform mustering in front of the house while others took charge of their mounts. Steam rose from the horses’ coats and she could hear their snorts and whinnies mingling with the staccato bark of the officers’ orders.
She leapt up and ran to the bed, shaking Nettie by the shoulders. ‘Wake up. The police are here and the revenue men too, unless I’m very much mistaken.’
‘What? Go away, I’m asleep,’ Nettie groaned, pulling the covers over her head. Sarah could see that it was useless to try to wake her. She dressed hastily and ran to Davey’s room, hammering on the door and calling his name. Moments later he opened it, still wearing a nightshirt that had belonged to one of the former residents.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘They’ve arrived. The police and revenue men are outside now.’
‘We need to get our stories straight. I’ll go downstairs to warn Parker, and you’d better rouse the others.’ He closed the door without giving her a chance to argue.
Even before she had reached his room Moorcroft appeared in the corridor fully clothed. ‘I heard them arrive,’ he said tersely. ‘I didn’t disrobe last night as I had a feeling this would happen. Where’s Davey?’
‘He’s getting dressed and then he’s going downstairs to wake Parker.’
‘I’ll do that, and I suggest you assemble everyone else in the drawing room. We don’t want to get in the way of the authorities.’ He strode off towards the head of the stairs, leaving Sarah to knock on Mrs Arbuthnot’s door. She had just roused her from her sleep when Mary came padding barefoot along the landing. Her blonde curls were tumbled about her head and in the half light she looked like a sleepy cherub. ‘What’s happening, Sarah?’
‘The revenue men have come to catch the smugglers, so we must keep out of their way. Wake the boys and bring them down to the drawing room. We’ll wait there.’
‘All right. How exciting.’ Mary danced off to fetch her brothers.
In spite of everything her enthusiasm brought a smile to Sarah’s lips. To the children it was all a game, but only the adults would realise how high the stakes were.
‘Sarah, dear. Would you come here and help me with my laces?’ Mrs Arbuthnot called in a plaintive voice. ‘I can’t manage without Dorcas. It’s very trying.’
Minutes later Sarah and Mrs Arbuthnot were descending the stairs when the sound of shouting and the pounding of footsteps made them falter. ‘What’s happening?’ Mrs Arbuthnot whispered in Sarah’s ear.
‘It sounds like the Trigg woman. I’d know that voice anywhere.’ Sarah hurtled down the remaining stairs and arrived in the entrance hall as Mrs Trigg forced her way between two burly constables.
‘Don’t you touch me,’ she screamed. ‘I’ll have you know that I’m a respectable businesswoman. Mr Fitch will vouch for that.’
‘She’s a criminal,’ Sarah cried, pointing a finger at Mrs Trigg whose feathered hat had fallen over one eye and the sleeve of her mantle was hanging in shreds as if someone had tried to restrain her and in the process had ripped the material. ‘She’s in with the smugglers. Just ask the men who are locked in the cellar.’
‘They’re nothing to do with me, you lying bitch.’ Mrs Trigg lurched at her but the elder of the two constables seized her, pinning her arms to her sides.
‘Now, now, madam,’ he said sternly. ‘Calm yourself and stop fighting. You’ll come off the worst.’
She turned on him, baring her yellowed teeth in a lupine snarl. ‘I’ll have you demoted to – to whatever is beneath your rank now. I have influential friends. Mr Fitch will be here directly and he’ll put you in your place.’
‘Is that so, madam? Then perhaps you’d best find somewhere to sit quietly and wait until he arrives.’
Sarah moved swiftly to fling the drawing-room door open. ‘In here, constable. We’ll keep an eye on her for you.’
Mrs Arbuthnot hurried to her side. ‘Indeed we will. It will give me great pleasure to assist the law.’
‘You’re a stuck-up old cow.’ Mrs Trigg spat on the floor. ‘That’s what I think of you, you sugar maker’s whore.’
‘That’s enough of that, madam.’ The police officer manhandled a protesting Mrs Trigg into the room. ‘I’ll leave this person to your care then, ladies.’ He turned to his subordinate. ‘Keep an eye on them, Barley. We’ve got enough on our hands today.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Barley saluted smartly as his superior walked away, passing Moorcroft who was coming from the direction of the kitchen.
‘Your sergeant needs you, constable. He’s having a bit of difficulty with two men he’s apprehended in the cellar while the revenue men search for contraband.’
‘I’m on my way, sir.’ The constable hurried off and Moorcroft entered the drawing room, closing the door behind him.
‘Just you wait until Mr Fitch arrives,’ Mrs Trigg said mutinously. ‘You’ll suffer for this, Sal Scratch.’
Sarah clenched her hands at her sides, controlling her temper with a supreme effort. ‘You’re a wicked woman and you should be punished.’
‘What a lot of boobies you are.’ Mrs Trigg glared at each of them in turn. ‘I could take you lot on with one hand tied behind my back, and I’ll fetch you one if you come near me, old lady.’
Mrs Arbuthnot flew at her and, catching her unawares, gave Mrs Trigg a shove that sent her staggering against the wall. ‘You killed my husband. You’re an evil woman.’
Mrs Trigg curled her lip. ‘And you’re a fat old fool.’
‘Don’t speak to her like that,’ Sarah cried angrily. ‘You’ll keep a civil tongue in your head while you’re in this house.’
‘It’s Mr Fitch’s house and he’ll send the whole lot of you packing as soon as he gets here. It’ll be the workhouse for you, Sal Scratch. It’s where you came from and it’s where you’ll end up.’
‘Not while I have a breath left in my body.’ Mrs Arbuthnot yanked Mrs Trigg’s hat down over her eyes with such force that one of the ostrich feathers came away in her hand. She threw it onto the embers in the grate where it sputtered and burst into flames. ‘There! That’s what I think of you, madam.’
Sarah stepped in between them as Mrs Trigg struggled to get her hat off and Mrs Arbuthnot squared up to her like a prize fighter. Lemuel and Jonah were jumping up and down, chanting ‘Fight,’ while Mary looked on open-mouthed.
‘Stop it, both of you.’ Sarah had to raise her voice in order to make herself heard and Constable Barley stepped in to restrain Mrs Arbuthnot, who was muttering about having an old score to settle.
‘Now, now, ladies,’ he said mildly. ‘Let’s behave with a bit of decorum, shall we?’
‘She killed my husband,’ Mrs Arbuthnot cried, fisting her small hands. ‘She burned down our sugar mill and ruined us.’
‘Oh, shut up and sit down, you stupid mare.’ Mrs Trigg sank onto a chair, fanning herself with her ruined hat. ‘I’
m saying nothing until my boss gets here. He’ll sort you out, just you wait and see.’
Sarah led Mrs Arbuthnot to the sofa and pressed her down onto the cushions. ‘She’s not worth it, ma’am. Don’t stoop to her level.’
Jonah and Lemuel subsided onto the window seat, sighing with disappointment. ‘They won’t take my dolly away, will they, Sarah?’ Mary asked anxiously. ‘Or the doll’s house.’
‘No, of course not,’ Sarah said with more conviction than she was feeling. The whole world seemed to have gone mad and nothing was certain. She was eager to find out what was happening, but she feared that a fight might break out between the widows if she left the room. If she had not seen it with her own eyes she would not have believed that mild, sweet-natured Sophia Arbuthnot could suddenly become a tigress driven by anger and the desire for revenge, whereas Mrs Trigg was undoubtedly a hell-cat who had been raised in the rookeries of St Giles where only the strongest and fittest survived. It was a frightening combination.
‘A carriage has just pulled up outside,’ Jonah cried excitedly. ‘Can we go and see who it is, Sarah?’
‘No, you may not,’ she said firmly. ‘We’ve been told to wait here and that’s what we must do.’
‘It’ll be Fitch,’ Mrs Trigg said, smirking. ‘He’ll put a stop to this, and then we’ll see who comes off best.’
They did not have long to wait. George Fitch was apparently a match for the police and the revenue men as the door was flung open and he marched into the room, stopping to take in the scene with a scowl contorting his features. Mrs Trigg leapt up and ran to his side. ‘I’ve been assaulted, sir. That old witch attacked me and ruined my best hat.’
He brushed her hand off his sleeve as if it were an irritating insect. ‘Be quiet, woman. There are more important things than your damned hat.’ He turned to Sarah and his expression was not encouraging. ‘You are a meddling little baggage and I want you and your cronies out of here immediately. This is my house and you are trespassing.’
Sarah was about to argue but at that moment Moorcroft entered the room followed by a man who was a stranger to her.
‘Bertram?’ Fitch stared at him, eyebrows raised. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I asked my brother to come here today,’ Moorcroft said smoothly.
‘You were my lawyer, Martin. I don’t deal with the junior partner when there is this much at stake.’
‘When will you accept the fact that I am no longer your solicitor, George? I’ve told you on two separate occasions that you must find another man to handle your affairs.’
Bertram Moorcroft shrugged off his overcoat and laid it neatly on the back of a chair together with his bowler hat and gloves. ‘I’ve travelled all night to be here, Mr Fitch. I came because something important has come to light. A certain document has been found – namely, the will of your late sister, Elsie Fortunata Fitch.’ He took a scroll of parchment from his coat pocket and waved it in the air.
‘What? No, that’s impossible.’ The colour drained from Fitch’s face.
‘Is that because you knew where the will was hidden?’ Bertram said icily. ‘It was delivered into your safekeeping, and yet strangely enough it went missing.’
‘My nephew Tobias stole it from my house. What you have there must be a forgery.’
‘Tobias cannot speak for himself,’ Martin Moorcroft said slowly. ‘But he swore his innocence and I believed him. The will was never lost or even mislaid, was it, George? You destroyed it because you wanted the property for yourself.’
Fitch made for the door. ‘I don’t have to put up with these wild accusations. Whatever you have in your hand cannot be my sister’s will. Now let me pass, officer. There are more important matters for me to attend to.’
Constable Barley barred his way. ‘I have orders to keep you in here, sir. You may not pass.’
‘This is preposterous. I’m being held prisoner in my own house.’
‘But this is not your property.’ Bertram unrolled the document. ‘I can assure you that this is Elsie’s last will and testament as dictated to a member of the staff at the Charing Cross hospital.’
Fitch’s mouth hung open and his eyes bulged. Sarah thought he might fall down in an apoplectic fit at any moment, but he recovered himself enough to splutter and shake his head. ‘Nonsense, I don’t believe you. My sister was in no fit state to make another will.’
‘Did you visit her in hospital, George?’ Moorcroft’s tone was sombre and he nodded when Fitch shook his head. ‘I thought not. Continue, if you please, brother.’
Bertram held the scroll up for all to see. ‘When I received this I had to make certain that it was valid, which is why there was a delay. However, probate has been granted and my brother and I are executors. We will see that Miss Fitch’s wishes are carried out to the last letter.’
‘I suppose she left the whole bloody lot to Tobias,’ Fitch snarled. ‘Well, he’s dead and I’m his next of kin, so there shouldn’t be a problem. Now if you’ll excuse me I have to go and speak to the revenue officers. Someone, namely my caretaker, Parker, has been using my cellars for receiving and dealing in contraband. I want him arrested.’
‘No!’ Sarah protested angrily. ‘That’s a lie. Parker was only following your orders, Mr Fitch.’
‘Don’t take any notice of that stupid little trollop. She’s in league with them. Now let me pass, my good man.’
Constable Barley blocked his way, staring straight ahead with an impassive expression. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I’m just following orders.’
Fitch turned to Moorcroft. ‘Martin, tell this man to let me pass. I’m the master of the house, and I insist on being treated with the respect due to my station in life.’
‘You don’t own this property, Mr Fitch.’ Bertram stepped between them. ‘You may see for yourself that Miss Fitch’s will is very simple. She left the house to Tobias for his lifetime, but if he should die the whole estate goes to her natural daughter, Nanette Fitch.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Fitch snarled. ‘The child died soon after birth.’
‘That’s not so and you know it,’ Bertram said calmly. ‘When Tobias realised that she was dying he told her what he knew of the deception and gave her the news that her daughter was alive and well.’
‘This is true,’ Moorcroft added hastily. ‘Tobias only discovered the truth when he became involved with Trigg and his wife, which I have reason to believe that you engineered, Mr Fitch, because it suited your purpose to involve your nephew with your underworld contacts. Tobias became your go-between in your dealings with the Triggs, who were only too happy to fence smuggled goods, and having become involved Tobias was unable to break the cycle.’
‘This is all nonsense,’ Fitch protested, looking round the room as if expecting to find support and failing miserably. ‘This is a made-up story to discredit me.’
Moorcroft shook his head. ‘Sarah was witness to a deathbed confession from Tobias Grey’s own lips. We can only imagine how Elsie must have felt as she dictated her will to one of the nurses at the Charing Cross hospital.’
‘But that will is invalid,’ Fitch said triumphantly. ‘She wasn’t in her right mind. The will in my possession is the legal document.’
‘But that will is lost, Mr Fitch. You said it had been stolen.’ Moorcroft exchanged meaningful glances with his brother.
‘I-I was mistaken,’ Fitch muttered. ‘My man Dobson came across it only the other day. I meant to tell you, but with all this going on I became confused.’
Bertram nodded his head. ‘That’s very interesting, but Elsie’s last will and testament was witnessed by two doctors at the Charing Cross hospital and she managed to sign it despite the severity of her injuries.’
‘And that means,’ Moorcroft added with a hint of a smile, ‘that Nanette Fitch inherits the entire Blackwood estate.’
The room echoed with silence, broken by the sudden appearance of Nettie who pushed past the startled policeman. ‘What’s going on? A
ll hell’s broken loose in the kitchen. There are uniformed men all over the place and they’ve got two villains trussed up like turkeys and shouting their heads off. And who’s this Nanette Fitch?’
Mrs Trigg rose to her feet. ‘All this has nothing to do with me. I came because he asked me to,’ she said, pointing a shaking finger at Fitch. ‘And I want to know what they’ve done to my hubby. He’s been missing for months and that’s not like Trigg. I reckon they done him in for the money, the murdering swine.’
‘Shut up, Trigg.’ Fitch turned on her in a fury. ‘Keep your stupid mouth shut, woman. Who cares about your husband anyway? He was a villain and a thug, and if he’s met a sticky end it’s only what he deserved.’
‘Oh, you brute. You callous bugger. You was pleased enough to hire him to do your dirty work.’ Mrs Trigg attempted to lunge at him but was held back by Constable Barley. ‘He got me into this,’ she shrieked. ‘I was a respectable workhouse mistress until that man persuaded Trigg to turn to crime.’
‘She’s deranged,’ Fitch said coldly. ‘Arrest her, constable. She’s the one who’s guilty of fencing illegal goods. She’s been using her job as my agent to steal from me and conceal her own nefarious deeds.’
Moorcroft laid his hand on Fitch’s shoulder. ‘As your former solicitor I would advise you not to say anything that would incriminate you further.’
‘I’ve paid you a fortune to act on my behalf, Martin. I’m reinstating you as from now.’
‘I was unaware of your criminal activities then, and it would be improper for me to act for you,’ Moorcroft said icily. ‘I’d advise you to seek legal advice from another law firm.’
‘Just a minute, everyone,’ Nettie said, holding up her hands. ‘Will someone tell me what’s going on? And who’s this Nanette Fitch? I’m Nanette but I ain’t no Fitch.’
Bertram shook his head. ‘I don’t think it concerns you, miss. The person in question is heir to this whole estate but she is at present unknown to us.’
‘And that isn’t you, girl,’ Fitch snapped. ‘This whole thing is ridiculous. Blackwood House belongs to me, and that woman is to blame for everything.’ He pointed at Mrs Trigg. ‘Arrest her now.’