“Ah,” said Eustacia appreciatively. “I’ve given orders for us not to be disturbed. I can trust Millie, though. She doesn’t care what I do.”
“I know, I found her for you.”
“And jolly good job you did too. Without you supporting me, I would be living in a hovel in Banbury now.”
Victoria shrugged. It was the least she could do for Lord Colchester’s relatives, and she liked Eustacia; it made the spending more palatable. She cut the end of both cigars with the silver clippers and handed them to Eustacia.
With a trembling hand, Eustacia stuck both cigars in her mouth and lit them both at the same time. She inhaled expertly and, taking them out, blew a smoke ring that soared to the ceiling. Nodding, she handed back a cigar to Victoria. “As perfect as ever, thank you Victoria.”
“They’re good, aren’t they?” Victoria said with a smile. “I’ve changed suppliers recently. These are said to have been imported from Cuba.”
“They are certainly more fragrant,” Eustacia said with a frown, “it makes a difference knowing they were rolled in Spitalfields.”
“That’s what I thought. Carruthers thought I might be interested.”
“Good man, that Carruthers. If only I’d had a butler like that—”
“Tell me about Ponsonby Butterworth,” Victoria said hurriedly. That was the only thing about talking to Eustacia. She was easily distracted onto the most esoteric topics.
Eustacia took a large puff at her cigar and blew another smoke ring at the ceiling. “You must remember I didn’t see cousin Augustus very much in the early years.”
Victoria nodded, she knew this already. “He was in training to be Lord Colchester as the heir presumptive, the Colchesters never being a very fertile lot, and the peerage was being passed to him by a long removed great uncle. I was just a poor cousin who lived in the country.”
“Hence his original name of Augustus Ballington.”
“Yes. Now I am the last of the Ballingtons.” Eustacia pursed her lips, but brightened again. “Anyway, the thing about Augustus was, that he was always in the company of a friend Ponsonby Butterworth.”
“Gosh, what a mouthful.”
“Yes. My friends and I used to call him Poisonby Butterworth. He was overtly charming, but one couldn’t help feeling as though he was watching you at the oddest moments.”
“Do you know if he had a brother?”
“Yes. Paul Butterworth. I think his parents had slightly lower ambitions for him, given his name. He really was a piece of work. I remember Poisonby joking that his brother was around and people should watch out for their belongings.”
“What an awful family.”
Eustacia nodded vigorously. “It’s why I couldn’t understand Augustus’ fascination with Poisonby, apart from the fact that superficially they looked fairly similar.”
“Gosh, I wonder why Lord Colchester never spoke of him.”
“Probably the trauma.”
“Trauma?”
“Of course. Wouldn’t you feel a little shocked if your best friend died suddenly at the ripe age of thirty two from a gunshot wound to the head?”
“Goodness.” Victoria took a hasty pull from her cigar and knocked the long length of ash that had gathered into a small tray on the table next to her. Ponsonby Ballington was dead and yet his brother, Paul, who now called himself Mr. Durnish, and yet who didn’t look old enough to be sixty-whatever, was looking for him.
“Indeed. And the funny thing is, no one was charged with the crime. Poor old Augustus became a recluse for the year. Wouldn’t allow anyone to see him. Only emerged when it turned out his great uncle had died and he ascended to the title. He aged ten years in the short time.”
“Shocking!”
Eustacia giggled and held her cigar aloft. “Undoubtedly for him. His hair had turned all white.”
“Did you see him much?”
“No, not after that. Mind I had never seen him much beforehand. I wanted to tell him when my parents had died.” Eustacia frowned. “But he refused to see me. He said he was terribly sorry, and that he felt for me, and would I like this house in Stockwell? It felt like he was buying me off in some sort of way, but I didn’t mind much. A house in Stockwell was not to be sneezed at.”
“Yes. I only found about the house when I went through his papers.”
“And that was when we met,” Eustacia said. “Did you think I was his mistress?”
Victoria thought for a few seconds about her dead husband’s generally odd behavior. “Mmm, not as such, but I was intrigued.”
“Good girl.”
“So, err, what happened to Ponsonby Butterworth’s remains?” Victoria had to have something to tell Mr. Durnish just in case he hadn’t been aware of his brother’s death, unlikely as it sounded.
“Oh, his parents buried him, I think. Closed casket obviously, given the gunshot wound. It was fairly quick. His brother came home on leave—he had just enrolled in the navy, and was about to leave for the continent. The whole of Banbury was agog. I don’t think poor old Poisonby would have expected so many mourners at his funeral. Getting shot in the head pushed the numbers up markedly.”
“Eustacia! You can’t say that.”
“I can say what I like, Victoria. I’m nearing that time when I’ll go, and certainly apart from yourself and perhaps Millie, I don’t expect anyone else at my departing.”
“Gosh.” Victoria was not sure how to respond to Eustacia’s brutal assessment. It was a sobering thought. Victoria was uncomfortably aware that apart from her brother and her friend Agatha, that her own funeral too might not be that well attended, apart from the usual members of the ton that liked to gape at the expected ceremony of the occasion. “Eustacia, do you mind me asking you something personal?”
“Good Lord girl, not at all. What is it?”
“Would you have liked to have had a husband?”
“Hmm, you mean one more potential person at my funeral?”
“I’m not sure I quite meant it—”
“Yes, I would. But it didn’t happen for me. That’s what Augustus tried to blackmail me about. There was a man… but, oh well. There you go.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I must admit it would have been nice to have shared some of the things in life with someone. I have been quite lonely at times. But I’ve kept it at bay.”
Victoria nodded. She knew all about keeping things at bay. “I’ve taken up a lot of your time.”
“Nonsense. It’s nice to reminisce. Why I remember old Poisonby and Augustus tricking me once. We were at a ball and they came in wearing each other’s clothes. I couldn’t tell who was who, especially when it came to marking my dance card.”
Victoria took a deep pull at her own cigar and settled back. Eustacia was off again on a tangent. She would spend half an hour more with her and then get back to Colchester Mansions. She needed to update Carruthers, get him to ride to Banbury and make a copy of Ponsonby Butterworth’s death record and close the Durnish case. She didn’t want to deal with whoever it was any further.
Although Durnish’s name did keep appearing in the disappearance of all these young girls.
Victoria was desperate for a restorative cup of tea when she arrived back at Colchester Mansions. The traffic on the London streets was becoming more and more dense as the spring turned into summer. Omnibuses and coffin cabs proliferated, causing hold ups in the most unlikely of places. She regretted the impulse of buying her white open barouche now. It had seemed at the time a good way of getting rid of money and keeping up with her image of a fashionable woman. It didn’t shield her from the stink of the city, or the stares of those less fortunate.
Carruthers greeted her with an apprehensive expression. “Miss Fanthorpe is in the drawing room, my lady,” he intoned in his best butlering voice. Victoria groaned.
“Tea please, Carruthers.”
He nodded and disappeared in the direction of the kitchens. Victoria pulled off the sm
all cockade hat that she was wearing and tossed it onto the hall table along with her pelisse. Without giving herself time to reflect, she walked briskly into the drawing room.
“Dear Miss Fanthorpe, how lovely to see you.”
Miss Fanthorpe sniffed. “It’s alright, you can drop the act, Lady Colchester. I must admit I was taken in at first, but Guthers sent me on the right track.” Miss Fanthorpe sniffed again. “I say, have you been gambling or something?”
Victoria frowned. Whatever had led her to think that? “No, of course not. I may not be the ninny that you thought I was, but I certainly do not gamble.”
With money. Other things perhaps though.
“I thought I caught a waft of cigar smoke.” Miss Fanthorpe glanced at an open window. “It must be coming from outside.”
“I did see a gentleman walking down the street smoking when I arrived back,” Victoria said hurriedly. Damn Eustacia and her smoke rings.
“Oh that must be it. I was just visiting to catch up on Mr. Cryne. He’s proposed and father is expecting me to give him an answer.”
“My congratulations,” Victoria murmured.
Miss Fanthorpe flapped an arm. “If it wasn’t expected of me, and if Father didn’t want me to do it, I wouldn’t. Don’t see the point in having a man just so that he can prop you up socially and spend your money. Of course most of the time it is the other way round. I can understand that.” Miss Fanthorpe stopped and put a hand to her mouth. “Begging your pardon, Lady Colchester.”
Victoria yawned. “No offence taken, Miss Fanthorpe. Now then, as regards Mr. Cryne…” Victoria paused. She had received more information on Mr. Cryne from Carruthers. What had he said? A leopard can’t change his spots. She pursed her lips. All she could do was to relay the facts. Passing on her butler’s observations would be prejudicial and sway Miss Fanthorpe’s mind unnecessarily. But then there was the cryptic entry from the book of secrets too—but that surely had to be about the older Mr. Cryne, not the one who was currently dangling after Miss Fanthorpe.
“I would like everything, warts and all,” Miss Fanthorpe said into the lengthening silence. “I can tell you are holding something back, like you did last time. It can’t be very good for business to hide information from your clients, you know.”
Really, Rosa Fanthorpe was too clever for her own good. “I have made some enquiries.”
Miss Fanthorpe nodded impatiently. “Yes, yes, do go on.”
“I understand that Mr. Cryne has a predilection for high steppers.”
“Just like many men.”
“But that he hasn’t been seen with anybody recently.”
“Good for…” Miss Fanthorpe caught the look on Victoria’s face. “Me?”
“Someone I know.” Victoria paused; there wasn’t any other way to phrase it. “Someone I am quite close to, said that a leopard doesn’t change its spots.”
“Oh.”
“Yes.”
“Um.”
“Yes?”
“You couldn’t quite, explain that for me could you?”
“I think what my acquaintance was trying to say was that if a man liked variety, he would continue to seek variety, and just because there was no evidence of any activity, it doesn’t mean to say that it is not going on.”
“Oh.”
“Yes.”
“So you don’t think that I could have taken away any of his desire to seek the company of these… high steppers?” Miss Fanthorpe finished in a very quiet voice, her normally domineering tone absent.
Victoria softened her own voice. “I’m not sure any woman could capture this type of man’s attention for long, no matter how beautiful–or rich–they are.”
“Was Lord Colchester like that?” Miss Fanthorpe asked curiously.
Victoria rolled her eyes. Here she was trying to be tactful for Miss Fanthorpe when in reality the girl was as hard as a rock.
“Lord Colchester was entirely different.” True, but not in the way people expected.
“You were very lucky.”
Now the chit was trying to probe into her relationship. If she was going to play at that game...
“You might as well know that outside of the six months’ time frame you allotted me, Mr. Cryne also sent the new Lady Beauregard a note of the most salacious nature suggesting all sorts of unmentionable things that he would like to enact with her.”
Miss Fanthorpe gasped. “That can’t be right. I have allowed for everything that you have said to me until now, but really, that is beyond the pale.” The girl’s gaze sharpened. “You aren’t jealous, are you? I saw you dancing with Mr. Cryne at that ball. He was talking in a very animated way to you.”
Really, Miss Fanthorpe was getting beyond annoying now. “I think if you do not need my services any longer, you may leave.”
“But Lady Colchester—”
“Please do not bother to pay the bill. I will make sure I make my own contribution to the selected charity.”
“I—”
“Carruthers? Miss Fanthorpe was just leaving.”
Carruthers appeared at the door as if he had been waiting to come in. He was at his most imposing. He held the door open whilst Miss Fanthorpe sat in her chair immobile for a few seconds.
“I would like that tea after Miss Fanthorpe has left please, Carruthers.”
“Of course, my lady.”
Miss Fanthorpe stood and swung her head between the butler and Victoria. Without uttering another word, she gathered up her bag and scuttled to the door. Carruthers followed her into the hall, and from the bang of the door, obviously ushered her out at high speed.
CHAPTER 14
The travelling forge had enough items in it to shoe a horse, create nails for timbers and fix a cart wheel. Bill stood stripped to the waist in the middle of it, paying close attention to the chatter going on around him as he forged another horseshoe for spares.
“You know, Greta, if you tried a little bit of oil on your third leg, you might find that you can deal with the dried skin a bit better. I’ve had marvelous success on my backward knees.”
“I generally use Harper’s clippers on my hair. When one has so much, especially on the back, the long handles are very useful for dealing with the mane.”
Bill didn’t know what it was, but whenever he set up his little forge, the members of the troupe, men and women would often gravitate towards his fire as if towards a camp hearth. He only had to put in a word here or there, and the conversation would flow. It was a great panacea on the long days when he was constantly working. On the other hand, the troupe conducted their work at set times only, when the paying public was let in at a penny an entrance to see the Unusual Oddities in all their glory.
There was Greta, the lady with three legs and four arms, Mary who had been born with backwards knees, Wolfman’s cousin, Dogman whose hair grew all over his body and many others of different shapes and sizes. The list was endless, and each had invented their own tent to show off their unique attribute in. Greta had drawn on the Goddess Vishnu for her inspiration, she of the many arms. She wore a gold hat and a sari, and wiggled her head from side to side as the paying audience gasped at her limbs. Mary would crawl across the floor and allow people to touch her legs for an extra fee. Dogman had built a cage of wooden logs in front of his stage, and bounded around barking, and picking up objects that the public would throw.
None of them found it demeaning. Bill had broached that subject on his first night of joining them. And none had taken offence to his question. Mary had laughed and disclosed that she had a very happy husband and three children living down the road from Beaconsfield. Her work in the travelling fair gave them a very nice life, thank you very much, and in fact they were quite rich. Dogman disclosed with a wink that the ladies quite liked his hirsute touch. That was enough for Bill; he didn’t pry any more.
Bill had been with the troupe for three days and no one had mentioned the acrobat. Bill had been accepted immediately, a good smith that was read
y to travel, and with a travelling fair show at that, was very hard to find. He had shoed all of the horses, helped the entertainers put together new stage sets and even forged a set of gate posts for a member of the public passing by on their way to see the show.
He had begun to despair until he was asked to repair a cart that held a jumble of spares in it. The wheel of the cart needed to come off, and so he emptied its contents out onto the muddy field in which they were encamped. First out was a jumble of ropes attached to a piece of board. Then came a long pole, and finally a placard. ‘Acrobat’ was the only word emblazoned on the wood. It was short, and sweet, but it showed that some part of Wolfman’s story had been true.
But it meant that Bill had wasted three days and he had missed his opportunity. Just thinking about it made him angry. Ignoring the conversation around him and picking up one of his crowbars, he turned into the heat of the forge and heaved. He grunted satisfyingly as his muscles popped, and his shoulders strained. What he would do when he found Pedro… His knuckles turned white, and the crowbar began to give, unbending from its hook shape. He was going to give Pedro what for and then he would, he would get Victoria.
Yes, that is what he would do. The metal screamed in his hands as it straightened. He would convince her she was the only woman in the world for him, and then she would elevate him from being who he was into… what?
Greta and Mary screamed as the crowbar broke apart with a loud bang in his hands. He turned to reassure them, to see not just Greta, Mary and Dogman looking at him, but many of the other troupe performers too.
Amongst the hair on his face, it was hard to see that Dogman’s mouth hung open, but the drape of his mane gave an obvious shape to his slack jaw.
“Um. Bill. Um. Did I really just see you break a crowbar with your bare hands?” Dogman enquired, finally managing to get the words out.
“Did you see his muscles?” Mary cried, and clapped her hand over her mouth. “I’m married,” she muttered. “I was only looking out of interest.”
Greta nodded. “I’m not married, but that was an amazing feat.”
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