SHATTERED DREAMS
By
Rebecca King
Shattered Dreams
By
Rebecca King
© Rebecca King 2015
SMASHWORDS EDITION
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
COMING SOON……
OTHER BOOKS BY REBECCA KING
Cover Design by Melody Simmons from eBookindiecovers.
CHAPTER ONE
Matilda ‘Tilly’ Fenton slowly stepped down from the post chaise, and looked around her in disbelief. Dazed, tired, and confused, she stared in shock at the hustle and bustle of the busy coaching yard, and suddenly wished that she was back in the tranquil haven of Cambley Hamden.
She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but it hadn’t been this. People were everywhere, and hurried this way and that, almost frantically, as they went about their business with a swiftness that left her somewhat breathless.
The worry and doubt that had plagued her throughout her three-day journey suddenly resurfaced and, for one brief moment, she wanted to climb back into the post chaise, close the door, and pretend that she wasn’t there.
“You can’t go back,” she whispered to nobody in particular. “It is far too late for that. Give it a chance, Tilly, old girl.”
She wasn’t sure why she had said that aloud because she rather suspected that nobody could hear anything over the cacophony of shouts, whistles, bangs, and general hullabaloo within the packed courtyard. Somehow though, the sound of her own voice made her feel a little less alone.
The scent of hay, horse dung, and sweaty people, made her stomach roll alarmingly. Although it had been several hours since she had last eaten, her sickness steadily increased the longer she stood there, and wasn’t helped by the fact that whenever she took a deep breath, all she could smell was acrid urine.
She glanced down at the fetid muck beneath her now muddy boots and sighed in disgust. Could this day get any worse?
Her fingers tightened painfully on the handle of her battered old bag; her only prized possession, as she stared in dismay at an altercation between two stable hands in the far corner of the yard. The young lads didn’t seem to care that there were ladies in the yard, and used ribald language that was loud and brash as they insulted each other.
Tilly glanced around to see if anyone was going to tell them to stop, but the rest of the stable hands, coachmen, passengers, and locals, within the tightly packed courtyard didn’t seem all that interested. In fact, most of them appeared completely oblivious to what was going on around them.
Slightly discomforted, she turned away and contemplated the huge tavern in front of her. Did she have enough money to go in? Could she afford the time and money for a drink, if she did?
“Ahem.”
“Sorry,” she muttered, and hurriedly stepped aside when she realised that the rest of the passengers couldn’t get off the coach until she moved.
She took several steps away, and turned around slowly in a circle as she studied the long rows of stables that lined two entire walls of the courtyard, the horses, carriages of all shapes and sizes, deliverymen, bags, boxes, barrels, and stable hands that were practically everywhere.
It was madness. It was incredibly noisy. It stank to high heaven, and seemed to have no sense of order to it.
Determined to get out of the melee, Tilly began to look for someone who could help her.
“Excuse me,” she called to a huge, burly man who was pushing a cart in the opposite direction. She sighed in disgust when he didn’t reply.
“Please?” she called to a lady who was hurrying past clutching a large reticule, but she too ignored her.
Tilly began to feel invisible, and turned around to stare at the tavern again. If she was honest, she didn’t want to go inside because she would be expected to purchase something and didn’t have much money in her pocket. The last thing she needed was to fritter away the last few pennies she owned on luxuries, like food and drink. Painfully aware of the emptiness of her purse, she decided not to bother, and ruthlessly ignored her stomach when it suddenly grumbled loudly in protest at being denied sustenance.
Unable to stand the terrible din a moment longer, she turned toward the main gates.
“’Ere, watch out!”
She gasped and staggered back in horror when the wheels of a huge post chaise rolled past mere inches from her feet, and splashed her with mud from the large puddle in front of her. The lower half of her dress was immediately soaked with fetid water, the stench of which made her wrinkle her nose up in disgust.
“Oh no,” she moaned as she studied the dark brown stains that now covered her clothing.
It’s my last clean dress as well, she thought morosely.
Still, determined not to be thwarted by a few drops of mud, Tilly squared her shoulders and stared at the entrance of the yard with renewed determination. The sudden movement of a carriage several feet away warned her that if she didn’t move away from the puddle, the stains on her dress were going to get considerably worse.
She glanced about her worriedly while she tried to decide what to do. Thankfully, she spied an empty space against the tavern wall a few feet away and quickly hurried toward it with a sigh of relief. Once there, she took a few moments to shake the worst of the muck off her dress, and assess the damage to the material.
She had spent nearly every penny she had scrimped and saved over the past three years on the ticket for the post chaise to get here. She simply didn’t have the money spare to purchase something to eat before she tried to find Mr Harrington Tingay’s residence. She certainly didn’t have enough to buy a new dress so that she had something decent to wear when she met with her new employer. She had no choice really but to try to find her new home, and hope she got the chance to do something with her dress before she met with Mr Tingay.
When another carriage sped past, and the coachman blew his horn loudly to announce its departure, Tilly knew she had to get out of the chaos while the going was good, and hurried toward the entrance gates with long, ground-eating strides.
A thrill of anticipation began to blossom deep within her as she thought about the wonderful new job that awaited her, and it fuelled her determination to leave the commotion of the busy coach yard behind. It was foolish to linger in a dingy old place when she could be somewhere warm, dry and safe, like Mr Tingay’s house in Benningon Green.
She squealed, and fell back against the tavern wall when another coach rumbled past without warning. It was so close that the wheels brushed against the skirts of her dress. She sent a silent prayer of thanks heavenward when she wriggled her toes and realised they were still there. She knew that if she didn’t get out of here soon, she would be lucky if she got out at all with her life intact. However, before she could go anywhere, she had to find out where Bennington Green was, and looked around the yard once more in search of someone who could give her directions.
“Excuse me,” she called to a huge, burly man who was busy rolling a barrel toward a large square hole in the ground.
“Get out of the way,” he growled at her, and made no attempt to stop until he reached a second man, who was beside the tavern wall, waiting to slide t
he thing into a large hole in the ground.
She watched them for a moment, and wondered if one of them would have the manners, or the decency, to ask her if she was alright. To her consternation, neither of them bothered to even look at her again. It was as though she didn’t exist. She frowned at them and wondered if she should just ask for directions anyway. Unfortunately, the rather unfriendly look in the burly man’s eyes was more than enough to warn her that she would get no help from that quarter even if she asked, so she turned her back on them and searched the yard for someone who looked a little friendlier.
To her dismay, most of the people with whom she had spent the last three days in the post chaise, had all vanished. It was going to be impossible to get someone to stop and talk to her, even if she did manage to find anyone who knew the area well enough to be able to give her accurate directions.
When a tall, lithe man hurried past her, she opened her mouth to speak only to close it again with a snap when he leered lecherously at her, and eyed the gentle swell of her bosoms beneath her dress with far more familiarity than was polite.
She turned her back on him in disgust as the firsts tendrils of fear began to form deep within her. Was everyone in Tooting Mallow so rude and unhelpful?
“How do I get help?” she whispered morosely.
“Wha’cha say?” The lithe man grinned toothily at her as he sidled closer.
Tilly opened her mouth to speak only to close it again with a snap as she studied him a little more closely. Although he appeared to be friendly enough, there was something dark and dangerous in his eyes that warned Tilly that he was not as amenable he seemed, and most definitely not someone whom she should trust to give her directions to anywhere nice.
Rather than speak to him, she quickly turned away and paused only long enough to allow another chaise to enter the yard before she hurried out of the gates. The blast from the driver’s horn sounded loud in her ears, but she didn’t bother to stop and look at it.
Unfortunately, when she finally stepped out into the main road, her relief was cut horrendously short. She stared around her in dismay, and wondered what she was going to do now. The people who hurried up and down the busy thoroughfare appeared to be just as rushed as everyone inside the coaching yard. It was going to be impossible to get anyone to stop long enough to give her directions.
Didn’t anybody at Tooting Mallow go about life at a normal, sedate pace? As she studied her surroundings, she rather suspected not.
Although it didn’t appear to be market day, people scurried in all directions. Regal ladies glided along, escorted by debonair gentleman, who guided them carefully around the vagabond street urchins who were chased away from shops by angry shop keepers. Chickens and pigs squealed and squawked as they ran in and out of people’s legs. Carriages rolled to the left and the right of her, but wove in and out of other parked and moving conveyances so that it was difficult to tell who was going where.
Her head began to whirl with the sights, sounds and scents that seemed to batter her senses. She started to feel horribly drained from the effort it took to absorb it all, and could feel the first stages of a headache start to form as she tried to decide what to do.
She didn’t know what she had really anticipated Tooting Mallow to be like; a rather quaint suburb maybe, or a more rural part of London where nothing much happened. What she hadn’t expected was the rather lower class, run down, dreary gathering of buildings that were of an indefinable age, stretched out for miles, and crammed to the rafters with people who were surly, rude, and obnoxious.
Determined to shake off her worries for now, she straightened her shoulders and, with no firm idea of where she should go, turned to the left and began to walk.
At first, she did what she would have done back at Cambley Hamden, and nodded and smiled at people as she passed them, even though she didn’t know who they were. Unsurprisingly, the locals in Tooting Mallow glared back at her as though she had committed some sort of cardinal sin, and hurried past warily. By the time she reached the end of the road, she gave up all attempts to be nice, and didn’t even bother to look at anyone.
Eventually, she neared the end of the road, and stood at the crossroads for several long moments while she contemplated what to do now. Houses stretched in all directions, and there were no clear street signs, or anything, to tell her where she was. It would take her forever to find the Rectory in Bennington Green, if she didn’t manage to find someone to help her.
Someone, somewhere, must be prepared to help her, surely to goodness?
After what had happened in the coaching inn, she was a little reluctant to ask anything from anyone, but it was going to be dark soon, and she simply couldn’t bear the thought of being outside, all alone in this hostile environment.
With no help in sight, she slowly began to walk down the road to the right of her. Thankfully, she eventually came across two elderly ladies who had stopped in the middle of the path to gossip.
Tilly decided to seize the opportunity, and approached them.
“Please, could you help me?” she asked rather hesitantly.
The women stopped talking, and turned to look at her. Tilly shivered. Their eyes, while not altogether hostile, were not friendly either. Still, they were the only people around who didn’t seem in a hurry to go anywhere and, unless she was going to throw herself into the path of a speeding carriage in an attempt to get it to stop so she could plead for help, she had no choice but to ask the ladies for assistance.
“I am trying to find Bennington Green. Can you tell me which way to go? I am new to the area, you see.”
“I wouldn’t be telling anyone around here that, ducky,” one of the women tittered. She threw a ribald look at her friend, and they grinned toothlessly at each other for a minute before the woman closest to Tilly pointed toward the hill behind them.
“Bennington Green’s up that way. Top of the hill, turn right.”
“Thank you.”
Tilly turned around and studied the long road up the hill behind her, and struggled not to cry. Behind her, the women had resumed their chat, and had seemingly forgotten all about her. Tilly didn’t bother to interrupt them again, not even to say thank you. Right now, she wasn’t sure whether she would be able to get the words past the sudden lump in her throat.
She slowly began to walk up the hill, painfully aware that dread suddenly dogged her every step.
She hated to admit it, especially given that there was nothing she could do to change the situation, but Tooting Mallow was not a nice place to be.
She rather suspected that her decision to accept this once-in-a-lifetime offer of employment had, in fact, been the biggest mistake of her life.
Harrington ‘Harry’ Tingay threw the letter back onto the desk with a sigh of disgust.
If it wasn’t one thing going wrong at the moment; it was another, he mused with a snort.
He turned his attention back to the book on his lap and studied the numbers in his financial ledger again, this time a little more closely.
Unless he had started to lose his grip on reality, someone had tampered with his accounts. A careful attempt had been made to erase all trace of the numbers he had written in the book yesterday. A small blob of ink now sat where the number four had previously been written, and above it was a neatly scripted number three. Although a decent enough attempt had been made to make the new entry look like his writing, Harry knew that there had been no blobs of ink in his book at all when he had closed the ledger the last time he used it.
If this ledger had contained details of his personal finances, he would have lost his temper by now, and had his butler, Dandridge, and his housekeeper wife, out of the house before he sent for the magistrate.
Thankfully, the ‘accounts’ in the fake ledger were part of his current investigation for the Star Elite. The sole purpose of the book was to gather the evidence he needed to confirm that his supposed housekeeper; Roberta Dandridge, and her wastrel butler husband; Charles
Dandridge, were fraudsters who stole from their employers.
Thankfully, his trap appeared to have worked.
He tossed the ledger back onto the desk in disgust, and shook his head. How anyone could do such a thing and consider, for one moment, that they wouldn’t get caught was simply astounding. He couldn’t quite believe that they had been so blatant about the changes they had made to the book. It was either extremely arrogant, or the desperate act of someone who needed to get their hands on some cash, and quickly.
A part of him struggled to believe that they would be so obvious about what they were doing. A blob of ink in a book? Surely to goodness they didn’t think he was that blind, did they? The idea annoyed the hell out of him, to the point that he just had to prove to himself that his suspicions were correct, and his eyes weren’t deceiving him.
Could the Dandridges’ really be that stupid?
Once he had closed and locked the study door, he made his way over to the safe, which sat in the wall on one side of the fireplace. He carefully withdrew the small notebook, which was an exact copy of the ledger on his desk, and sat down to compare it to the newly adjusted accounts.
At least one whole pound had been skimmed off the fictitious records in the last week alone. Not much by a wealthy man’s standards, but it was a heck of a lot of money to someone as poorly paid as a housekeeper.
Over the course of time, if the Dandridges’ continued to skim funds off the accounts like this; they would net themselves a tidy income, in addition to their normal wages. That didn’t take into account the money they would make once they had pawned the numerous household ornaments that had started to disappear from around the house.
It was a very profitable enterprise really; if it wasn’t so damned blatant.
So far, the notes within the safe hadn’t been pilfered, but he knew it was only a matter of time before his butler, Dandridge, found his way inside and helped himself. Harry was confident that Dandridge’s grubby little fingers would be unable to resist the lure of the twenty or so crisp, one pound notes Harry had carefully, deliberately, left visible on his desk for Dandridge to see. Those notes were now safely stashed, temptingly, inside his safe.
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