by Betty Annand
Another man in the same emaciated condition nearby was removing the rag he wore for a shirt. Andrew thought he should get up and help them, but the weight was too heavy to allow it. He began to lose consciousness, and as his arm came up in protest it hit the pitchfork that was embedded in his chest. The sharp pain came and ended with Andrew’s last breath.
“Jaysus Mick! Why did you go an’ kill him? That knock on his knob would’a kept him out ’til we were long away.”
“I could see he were a bloody Englishman, Da. Here’s us starving and living in a dirt cave, and he’s riding around our country like he owns it. What’s he doin’ here anyway? I’m not a bit sorry I did him in, Pa. When I stuck him, I did it fer my kiddies and fer Ma.”
“I know, son. But, you’ll hang for it if they catch you.”
“Pa’s right, Mick. What are we going to do now, Pa?” Sean asked.
“First off we’re going to get something to eat. You, Rory, slit that mare’s throat. There’s enough meat there to feed all our families for a week.”
“I’m not about to kill a good horse like that, by Jaysus.”
“I’ll do it myself then. I’ll not go home empty handed this day.”
__________
It was Sunday morning and Richard was asleep in Rose’s bed when he heard a knock on the door. Rose was snoring beside him, so he slipped out of bed, pulled on his britches, grabbed the rest of his attire and went to see who was calling, hoping to send them on their way and leave before the rest of the family awoke. When he opened the door and saw the caller was a constable, he was all set to go quietly, when the officer said, “Is this the home of Rose Pickwick?”
“Yes, sir, it is.”
“Are you a relative of hers?”
“Just a close friend. Is there anything wrong, officer?”
“I’m afraid I have some distressing news.”
“Oh dear, I shall see if she is awake. You had better come in,” Richard said with a smile of relief as he let the officer in, before leaving to wake Rose.
Rose jumped out of bed with alarm when he told her what the constable had said. “Oh, no, don’t let it be Peter or Mildred,” she exclaimed as she ran to see if they were in their beds. Richard couldn’t help but feel sorry for her, so he dutifully followed along carrying her robe, since she wasn’t a pretty sight without her stays. Relieved to find her children safe and sound, Rose woke them and insisted they join her in the parlour to hear what the constable had to report. Her only other living sibling was a brother, Peter’s namesake, who lived somewhere in Australia. She hadn’t heard from him for many years and surmised the sad news had to do with him.
“It is my brother, Peter, is it not?” she asked the officer with dismay.
“No, Mrs Pickwick, I’m sorry to have to tell you, but it’s your husband, Andrew Pickwick.”
The constable mistook Rose’s sigh of relief as an exclamation of shock, and he took her arm and led her to a nearby seat.
“How bad is it?” Peter inquired.
The constable shook his head. “I am sorry, sir, but by all accounts I can assure you that he did not suffer.”
The officer then went on to relate what had happened. When Andrew didn’t return that night with the rented buggy, the owner reported it to the police. The next morning a search party was sent out, and Andrew was found a few hours later.
Before the constable took his leave, he asked if they would like him to deliver the news to Mr Pickwick’s daughter-in-law, Gladys Pickwick. Peter thanked him but said that it would be much easier for the poor woman if a member of the family was by her side when she was informed of the tragedy. He then assured the policeman that he would see to it in the next few hours.
__________
Gladys always felt at loose ends on Sunday nights now that she no longer attended church. She and Dolly had finished washing up after their dinner when she had an idea. “Dolly, I think we should begin packing. Gamby said we would probably be able to move as soon as he returns. Now you can take these papers and carefully wrap all the pieces of furniture from your dollhouse and put them in the wooden box under your bed. I think I shall begin by packing my ornaments.”
Dolly’s eyes lit up. “I can hardly wait,” she exclaimed. “As soon as we are in our house, Gamby is going to buy me my very own pony!” She took an armful of paper and went upstairs singing, “A pony, a pony, I’m going to have a pony; I shall brush him and ride him, and I shall never be lonely.”
Gladys laughed as she went into the parlour to begin her packing. She took down the blue and grey turtle doves and held them against her breast. Memories of their wedding night came flooding back, and she whispered, “Oh, Tom, I miss you so very much.” The thought of leaving the house they had been so happy in brought tears to her eyes, and she wondered if she would be as happy at Oaken Arms. She had loved helping Andrew plan and choose furnishings for all the rooms in their new mansion, but now that it was almost completed, she was surprised by the contradictory mixture of feelings she was having.
She knew that being the mistress of such a huge manor would entail a lot of responsibilities, and she feared that when Andrew saw how little she knew about the proper protocol for a lady of such a high station, he might begin to see her for what she really was. Down deep, Gladys also knew that Rose Pickwick was partially right when she said she would always be a sow’s ear. Unfortunately, there was still a part of her that liked it that way.
As she wrapped a dainty china cup in a piece of linen, she told herself that once she actually moved into Oaken Arms, she was bound to feel like a lady, or as Rose put it, a silk purse. Then her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Andrew!” she said as she threw the door open. But the man standing there was not her father-in-law. He was a small dumpy, characterless looking fellow who held out a pudgy hand that was as soft and white as a lady’s, and said, “I am Peter Pickwick.”
His tone was so pompous, she almost laughed, but good manners prevailed, and she, reluctantly, offered her hand. Instead of shaking it, Peter grasped it firmly, turned it over and saw the scar on her palm. “Aha! Gladys Tunner, I believe.”
Gladys snatched her hand back, her face turned deathly white, and she had to hang on to the door frame to prevent falling. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” she stammered.
“Oh I believe you do. The Gladys Tweedhope you claimed to be died when she was a baby in a place called Old Nichol, but then you know all about that because you came from that same place.”
“Even if I did, I cannot see what that has to do with you.”
“Come now, even you must be aware that it is a crime to marry someone under a false identity.”
Terrified, but trying not to show it, she asked, “I still cannot see that that is any of your business. What is it you want with me?”
“First off, I want you and that bastard of yours out of this town.”
Dumbfounded, Gladys stood staring at the man for a few seconds, thinking she must be dreaming, but then she straightened her back and glaring at him, replied, “How dare you call my daughter a bastard. I think your step-father will have something to say about that.”
“I think not!” he said, then making a noise that sounded more like a snort than a laugh added, “he is legally my father and not my step-father, but that’s of little consequence since he shan’t have anything to say about anything anymore, that is, unless he says it from his grave.”
“What do you mean from his grave? Andrew is in Ireland and will be home anytime now.”
“Ho! You call him Andrew. Now I know what sort of sinful acts have been going on here. Well no more of that. I am not in the least sorry to tell you that your father-in-law, or should I say ‘lover,’ was robbed and killed three days ago in Ireland.”
Gladys was so shocked by the news that the insinuation went unnoticed
, “I don’t believe you.”
“Well, you can believe it, or not, but Andrew Pickwick is dead. Now it is I who owns his estate, including that mansion he has built.” Gladys, still in shock, stood with her mouth hanging open as he continued with his tirade, “And just to show that I am not as hard-hearted as you may think, if you leave Dover, I shall not say anything about your crime. But if you do not, I shall personally see to it that you are thrown in jail and that brat of yours is put in an orphanage.”
Although Peter had no idea how serious a crime Gladys had committed, he talked with such certitude that Gladys believed him.
“But where can we go? If you cannot consider my welfare at least think about the welfare of my daughter, and I might add, your niece.”
His reply came sharp and direct, “Do not call her my niece. She could belong to anyone for all I know, and as for where you can go, you can go straight to hell or crawl back into the gutter where you belong.” Gladys almost slammed the door in the man’s face, but she was in need of further information, “Very well, we shall be gone in a month, but when is Andrew’s funeral?”
“That is none of your business, and if you do find out, I warn you, do not think of attending it.”
Gladys’s reply was swift, “That is not only cruel, but it is despicable!”
“Oh, is that so?”
With that, he turned and departed.
As soon as Gladys closed the door, her legs gave away, and she sank to the floor with a loud cry of anguish.
Dolly was on her way downstairs when she heard her mother cry out. “What’s the matter, Mama?” she asked, as she knelt down and put her arms around Gladys.
“Oh, my darling,” Gladys sobbed, “it’s your Gamby.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Dolly refused to accept the news that her grandfather was dead. Gladys tried to explain how he had met with an accident and was now in heaven with Tom and Millie, but she persistently argued, “Mama, do you remember our turtle dove poem? Gamby will come back, Mama, you shall see.”
During the next few days, Dolly ate very little and spent most of her time looking out the window, but Gladys had too much on her mind to worry about her. They had less than a month to pack and leave, and when they found somewhere to live, it was imperative she find employment. She had only enough money to rent a flat and keep them fed for about two months. Women barmaids had become unpopular, since the general consensus was that men were far better suited for the job, so it was unlikely she would be able to find that type of employment. She probably could find a job as a housemaid, but it would be impossible to work ten to twelve hours a day and look after Dolly as well.
Andrew’s friend and lawyer, Randolph Mansfield, was also shocked when he heard of his good friend’s death, but the manner in which he received the news caused him as much anger as grief. Early Monday morning, Peter Pickwick came to see him, and without any show of respect or feeling, announced that Andrew had been robbed and killed. He then had the audacity to ask if Andrew’s will had been changed. Randolph knew that it hadn’t, but told the greedy young man that he would have to wait until the official reading to find out.
He had never been so tempted to commit a crime as he was that day. It would be so easy to forge Andrew’s name on the new will that left half of Andrew’s estate, and Oaken Arms, to his daughter-in-law and his granddaughter, but in the past few years the handwriting experts had become so proficient at detecting false signatures, he was afraid of being found out. Two days later his friend, the coroner, who also shared a dislike for Peter Pickwick, dropped by his office and gave him something to take to Andrew’s granddaughter.
At first, Gladys greeted Randolph warily, not knowing who Peter had talked to and what he had revealed, but when she saw how earnest the lawyer was with his offer of sympathy, she relaxed. He was the first visitor they had since Andrew had been killed, and it was comforting to finally have another adult to talk to and to share in her grief. Randolph, pleased he could be of help, stayed and visited longer than he had planned. He also wanted to spare Gladys the humiliation of attending the reading of the will in the presence of the rest of the family and told her that Peter Pickwick, as the only male heir, would inherit most of Andrew’s wealth, which included Oaken Arms. The townhouse was left to Rose, along with a generous yearly allowance.
Surprisingly, she showed no signs of emotion over what seemed to be very poignant and devastating information, but Randolph reasoned that she might be so upset over the injustice of it all, she didn’t know what to say. He knew it would be of little comfort, but decided it only fair to tell her what Andrew had hoped to accomplish on his return home.
“Although it does you little good now, Gladys, I want you to know that Andrew had me make out another will in which you and Dolly were the main beneficiaries. He intended to sign it as soon as he returned.”
“I knew he intended to put both our names on the deed to Oaken Arms, Mr Mansfield, and I suppose when the shock of his death wears off, I may feel anger and resentment toward him for not seeing to it before he went away, but right now I just feel sad. I am also terribly afraid. Everything we had is gone, and I don’t know what to do.”
“I can sympathize with your situation, and I wouldn’t blame you if you were upset with him. Mind you, he did have a reason for putting it off. I don’t know if you were aware of it, but he was trying to obtain a divorce.”
“No I didn’t, but I know he was not fond of his wife, or her children for that matter,” she replied.
“That’s true, but that wasn’t the reason he wanted the divorce. Andrew confided in me before he left, and I am confident he wouldn’t mind me telling you this now. He loved you very much and intended to ask you to marry him.”
“Oh!” Gladys’s surprise was evident.
“You had no idea how he felt?”
Gladys shook her head. “I loved Andrew, but not as anything more than a father-in-law.” She gave a small disparaging laugh, and added, “I suppose that is one thing to be thankful for. I would have had to say no to his proposal.”
Randolph suggested that she contest the will, especially since he would be happy to testify that Andrew had a new one drawn up and intended to sign it, along with the deed for Oaken Arms, on his return to Dover. When she declined his offer, and said she was going to be leaving Dover in a week or two, and had no intention of ever returning, he could hardly believe it. Gladys could tell he was puzzled, but she didn’t dare mention Peter’s visit or offer an explanation. She did, however, inquire as to when and where Andrew was to be buried. Randolph replied that Rose and her family were insisting that both Gladys and Dolly not attended the service.
“That is a shame! Dolly deserves to be there for her Grandfather’s burial.”
When Randolph suggested she should protest, she informed him that she wanted nothing more to do with the family. He was about to inquire why, but the tone of finality to her statement changed his mind, and he agreed to do whatever he could. Randolph was a good lawyer, and through the years had developed a good sense of perception. Therefore, he could tell when someone had something to hide. He liked Gladys the first time he met her, and as much as he wanted to know what it was that prevented her from accepting his offer, he also knew that it was none of his business.
Putting his hand on her shoulder, he said, “If you ever need my services, Gladys, I will be here, and I shall take your case free of charge—not only for your sake, but for Andrew’s too. He was a good friend.” Gladys hugged him, and he was about to leave when he noticed Dolly sitting quietly beside the parlour window and remembered he had something to give her.
Calling her to him, he said, “Dolly, your grandfather loved you so dearly that he told everyone he met that you were his little turtle dove. He showed all his friends the little pin you gave him; he was that proud of it. Now you know that some bad men robbed and killed your grandfather. Well
they took all his clothes and even his watch and fob, but there was one thing they did not take. Do you know what that was?”
Dolly’s solemn face looked up at the lawyer as tears began running down her cheeks. This was the first time anyone but her mother had told her that Gamby was dead, and her belief in his return was shattered. Unable to answer the man, she just shook her head.
“It was something he had clasped tightly in his hand like this,” Randolph held his clenched fist out for her to see. “Something he prized more than anything else in the whole world.” Then he opened his hand.
“Oh, Gamby!” Dolly cried, as she took the little dove pin. “Mama, Gamby didn’t forget me. See, he saved this just for me, so I would know how much he loves me, even if he couldn’t come back.”
Once again, Randolph told Gladys to let him know if she wanted to contest the will, hoping she had changed her mind. She thanked him again and said she would think about it, but she knew that would never happen. If it wasn’t for Dolly, she might have stayed in Dover and taken him up on his offer. Having lost everything she had worked for, it might be worth the gamble, but she loved her daughter too much to take that chance.
Not long after Randolph had gone, Bob Hennessy arrived. Tears ran down his cheeks as he hugged Gladys and Dolly and expressed how sorry he was. “Sure and I’m so ashamed. Andrew did so much for the poor folk over there, and then it was some o’ them that murdered him.”
“There are bad people everywhere, Bob. Besides, I remember Andrew telling me how destitute they were, and when a man has to watch his children die of starvation, I guess he will do anything to save them. The men who killed Andrew must have been that desperate.”