The Fabric of Murder (Mysteries of Georgian Norfolk Book 2)

by William Savage

  ‘Good work, Brock. Now sit quiet and let me think a while.’ Foxe drank some more coffee, then leant back in his chair and closed his eyes. He remained like that, not moving, for a full five minutes at least. All at once he sat up, opened his eyes and turned to Brock in excitement.

  ‘Thanks to you, Brock, I can see I’ve been on the wrong track. I even suspect I’m wasting my time this morning with Mrs. Swan too. Still, I can’t disappoint my friend, so I’ll still need to go. I just hope it doesn’t cost me as much as I fear it may.’

  ‘Hope you know what you’re going on about,’ Brock growled. ‘Hell’s Teeth if I know.’

  ‘Brock. Forget the weavers and the foreman. The answer isn’t there. You can forget about the new buyer or owner or whatever as well. I’ll find his name from elsewhere. What I want you to do next is vital.’

  ‘What is it then?’

  ‘I need you to find a man who has been willing to kill someone for payment, Brock.’

  ‘Got someone you dislike, have you? Look, Foxe. You could find twenty or more men willing to do that if you paid them enough. Can’t you help me narrow it down a bit.’

  ‘Not someone who would kill, Brock, someone who has – and recently. Someone who seems to have more cash about him than he should. If I’m right, it won’t be the kind of person you or I would choose – assuming either of us would stoop so low. It has to be someone a stranger could find. Someone desperate and not too expensive. Someone others would give as a name if they didn’t want to get involved.’

  Brock thought a moment, then smiled. ‘McSwiggan. That’s your man I reckon.’

  ‘Why him, who ever he is.’

  ‘A nasty, verminous, mean, vicious, loud-mouthed shit is who ‘e is. Scotsman, so he says, but I don’t believe ‘e’s ever left Norfolk. He’s just the type to talk big and take anyone’s money for whatever dirty work they needed done. Coming on a man at night from behind and slitting his throat would be exactly McSwiggan’s style.’

  ‘Find him! I don’t want you to do more than that for now. Find him, find out what he’s been up to the past few days and see if anyone has noticed him getting more drunk than usual or having money to burn.’

  ‘Right you are, though ‘e don’t move in the kind of areas I’d be happy to go into much. Mind if I use one or two others? Reliable blokes.’

  ‘Not at all, Brock. I don’t want you getting hurt. Nor your friends either. If it comes to laying hands on this McSwiggan, we’ll leave that to the constables. But there won’t be any use in doing that without having enough to hang him first. From all you say, I can’t see him confessing or – much more important – telling us who paid him to do it.’

  ‘That’s true enough,’ Brock said. ‘He’s been in enough tight places to know every trick there is for getting away. Take care! He’s a slippery bastard. Unless you have a case not even an elver could slip out of, ‘e’ll laugh in your face.’

  ‘Right. To it, Brock! That is, unless you want any more of the delicious coffee they sell here.’

  ‘I’d rather drink water straight from the gutters!’

  ‘Be off then. I have to leave soon to meet my wife.’

  ‘Merciful God! You haven’t married one of those Catt women, ‘as you? Or even both on ‘em?’

  ‘Whatever put that idea into your head, Brock? Mrs. Eleanor Foxworth is young and pretty, I grant you, but she is already married to a most respectable gentleman. They have come to our fair city to visit certain relatives. Knowing its renown for the production of fine worsteds, they have also decided to buy material to make Mrs. Foxworth a new gown. They may also look for a similar amount for Mrs. Foxworth’s sister, as a gift.’

  Brock threw back his head and roared with laughter, thus causing several of the older customers to wake up and look around in surprise. ‘I don’t know how you thinks these wheezes up. I won’t ask who is to play the part of your wife. It ‘as to be Kitty. But you’re a braver man than most to take her into a mercers!’

  ‘I agree, Brock. But needs must. I just hope my bravery is not tested further than I fear.’

  #

  Mrs. Swan turned out to be a gaunt, grey-haired woman, a little above the average in height, but otherwise unremarkable. Her manner veered between oily, obsequious and patronising. It suggested to Foxe that she would do well in the general run of things to leave the selling of her wares to her assistants.

  Kitty Catt, of course, played her part to perfection as the pretty ingenue, married to a doting older husband. She had hidden her hair under a mousy brown wig and dressed in a sober, provincial day-gown and petticoat. It was what anyone might expect of someone wearing her best, yet more at home in a far smaller town than Norwich.

  As Mrs. Swan brought out swathe after swathe of rich silks and satins, Kitty exclaimed in excitement at every one. Of course, had Mrs. Swan bothered to take note, she might have realised all was not quite as she imagined. This girl she took as naïve rejected all the outdated and remnant stock she was trying to palm off on her. None quite matched the colours Mrs. Foxworth had in mind. They were likely to resemble materials she knew her friends were using. When the shopkeeper brought out several bolts of embroidered and ornamented silk in peculiar dyes of maroon and purple, Mrs. Foxworth seemed first to look on them with delight. Then she said they were far too expensive and showy for their home town of Cheltenham.

  Why she picked on this innocent market-town in Gloucestershire, Foxe had no idea. Yet, it seemed to serve well enough. Mrs. Swan clearly knew nothing of the place. She doubtless assumed it to be the sort of small, rural township common throughout the eastern counties of England.

  ‘Lah, Madam! This is indeed lovely, but it will not do to dress so far above our station, will it, dear Mr. Foxworth? That would only excite comment of an envious nature. Nor would I have you waste our money on such expensive cloth. Our small assemblies and balls attract few of the gentry. Yet those who do condescend to appear would never feel it right for a simple merchant’s wife to dress more richly than them.’

  ‘Whatever you say, dearest,’ Foxe replied. He was trying to catch the tone of a husband willing to indulge his new wife in almost anything. He too had dressed as simply as he could, while retaining the appearance of a gentleman. His brown coat and matching waistcoat were of excellent worsted brocade, but neither displayed the embroidery in gold or silver thread that he loved so much.

  For some time, Kitty engaged in the prettiest dithering about her choice between several fabrics of but modest expense. That left Foxe free to draw Mrs. Swan into conversation.

  ‘You show an excellent and extensive knowledge of the fabrics of these parts, madam. I am glad we were recommended by our hosts to come here to make our purchases.’

  ‘You are most kind, Mr. Foxworth. I own that few mercers and haberdashers can match my experience or understanding. My late father and grandfather, you see, were both noted master weavers of this city. I grew up amongst looms and bales of cloth of all kinds.’

  ‘Indeed? A most helpful start for a mercer. I am told that you are, alas, a widow. But perhaps you have a young son you are grooming to succeed you?’

  ‘No, I fear not, sir. My husband and I were blessed with two sons, but both died while still infants. Now only my daughter remains. I am delighted to say, she is now married with children of her own. I will be the last of our line to work in the textile trade.’

  ‘Ah, that is sad. Of course, you mentioned your late father but a moment ago. But perhaps he had a son to succeed him?’

  Mrs. Swan’s face darkened somewhat, before resuming its professional blandness.

  ‘My mother died when I was young and my father married again. As you can imagine, he was eager to have sons to succeed him. Yet the one who did come – aye, and near cost his mother her life in doing so – has interest neither in business nor cloth.’

  Foxe judged it best not to pursue that point further. It would not do to raise Mrs. Swan’s suspicions by showing too close an interest in he
r family.

  ‘So his widow, your step-mother, now runs the family business?’

  ‘Her! She has not the wit of a chicken. No, my father died but a few days ago, sir, and I fear his business is to be sold.’

  ‘Ah, that is sad,’ Foxe said. ‘Forgive me, madam, for treading on such recent grief in my ignorance. It was but idle conversation. I had no idea I might stray into what cannot fail to be the most painful recollections for you.’

  Kitty, despite her quiet murmuring and fluttering over the bolts of cloth, had kept her ears alert. Now she came to Foxe’s rescue.

  ‘My dearest husband,’ she said. ‘I am most grateful for your patience. This is such a large expense that I determined to make the best choice possible. Now, if it is not too much of a strain on your purse …’ Here she added a simpering laugh. ‘… I have chosen a fabric for the gown and two others for the petticoat to go with it. I believe that five or six yards of each one should be ample for my dressmaker to work with.’

  What she had chosen was most cleverly done. They bought a simple linen cloth for the lining of the gown and some stiff silk moiré taffeta in a deep tawny colour for the gown itself. For decoration, Kitty chose several yards of rich lace and some matching ribbon. All appeared quite suitable for a wealthy merchant’s wife. Even somewhat plain for her apparent hair colour and complexion. Yet Foxe knew that, set off by deep cuffs of the ivory silk and the tumbling mass of auburn curls that were Kitty’s trademark, it would look stunning.

  Mrs. Foxworth scorned a matching petticoat. Instead, she gave her husband a tiny kiss on the cheek and begged for his forgiveness in selecting a fine silk brocade. This would match the lace and was embroidered with bouquets of yellow roses and swathes of ribbon, picked out with gold wire. To that she added a good, flowered calamanco worsted for the lining.

  ‘Now for my sister’s gift,’ Mrs. Foxworth said. Her supposed husband winced inwardly, but managed to keep his composure. ‘I believe she will look well indeed in this deep maroon silk brocade for the dress. The one with the pattern of bows and ribbons in silver thread. Linen again for the lining, of course.’

  Foxe thought of Gracie’s mass of dark hair. Her sister had chosen well.

  ‘Perhaps the petticoat might look best in silk brocade also. I think this deep pink would suit. It has a lovely pattern of embroidered flower-sprays. Yes, that will be best. We might take her some striped camblet for lining, I think. Will that not cost too much, Mr. Foxworth?’

  Foxe knew he was being let off lightly, so hastened to agree at once that it was within his means. He was deeply suspicious of this meek, restrained version of Kitty, so prudent in spending his money.

  An assistant measured out the cloth and Mrs. Foxworth wandered about the shop, still exclaiming over ribbons and buttons of all kinds. Meanwhile Foxe took a last opportunity to pry a little further into Mrs. Swan’s affairs.

  ‘It is sad your brother will not follow his father into the same trade, Mrs. Swan …’

  ’Step-brother,’ Mrs Swan interrupted.

  ‘Ah, yes. Step-brother.’

  ‘Since his mother was so often in poor health, my father set me to raise him. It was not what I would have chosen, but I did my best.’ Mrs. Swan was clearly rehearsing an old grievance. ‘My father gave him a good apprenticeship too. Now his mind is full of nonsense about going on the stage. Is acting a respectable mode of life, Mr. Foxworth?’ Foxe agreed that it definitely was not.

  ‘He has turned his back on weaving altogether, so it seems. Not that it would have mattered, in the event.’ Mrs. Swan seemed glad of a chance to unburden herself of her feelings. Foxe had noticed before that people spoke of things to a stranger that they would never dream of mentioning amongst their own. They assumed they would never see their hearer again, and he or she would know no one of note to whom they could spread gossip.

  ‘My father was a fine weaver, sir, but a poor man of business. Rash and headstrong in all things, as well I know. Prone to quarrel as well, I am afraid to say. I did what I could, but he would never listen to a woman, be she wife or daughter. Before he died, I understand he had sunk so deep into debt that his business would have been forfeit to his creditors before long. Wife, son, relatives will find little in what remains.’

  This was such a sudden and complete revelation that Foxe thought he should change the topic at once. He doubted she would give him the names of those to whom her father owed so much. And to ask would be quite foreign to the character he was playing.

  ‘I believe my wife is ready …’

  Mrs. Swan, however, was not so eager to find another topic. ‘Of course, due to his quarrel he had to raise more capital. To go into debt is to set yourself at hazard, I say. Still, one was ready to lend him what he needed, as a certain person told me. Now the business is foundered and others must meet the costs.’

  ‘Mrs. Swan. I do beg your pardon, but my wife has been waiting for me some little time, I believe …’

  At that, Mrs. Swan seemed to pull herself back to the present, though with some effort. She reckoned up the cost, smiling to herself while she did it. Foxe handed over a pile of gold sovereigns that might have kept a family of poor weavers in a fair way of life for many years. Then, giving strict instructions their purchases were to be delivered to their coachman, who would call the next morning, the couple left.

  Neither commented on their thoughts until they were back in Kitty’s neat house and awaiting her maid, who was bringing tea.

  ‘Well,’ Kitty said. ‘Did you like my performance?’

  ‘Perfect as always, my dear. Yet …’ But Kitty had broken into peals of laughter.

  ‘Could you but see your face, Ash! I do declare that I have discomforted you as your attentive young wife. Yet she was so careful of your fortune and so modest in her choosing.’

  ‘That’s what bothers me, Kitty. I can’t help feeling that I am soon to be presented with one more account to settle this day. One that may make the large amount I have already paid seem small in comparison.’

  ‘Large amount? What large amount?’

  ‘Perhaps not large by your normal standards, Kitty dear, but still enough to lighten my pocket a good deal.’

  ‘Did you not like what I bought?’

  ‘In truth, you chose in excellent taste. I am sure you will look ravishing in the dress that you will have made for you. Your sister will also stun any audience in the cloth you chose for her. But …’

  ‘So you would not be ashamed to be seen with either of us at this ball?’

  ‘In no way! I should be honoured to have either you or your sister on my arm, for you would both far outshine the other ladies present.’

  ‘That is good, Ash. And if having one Catt sister on your arm would be such a distinction, to have one on either side must be doubly so. Do you not agree?’

  ‘What! Take both of you!’

  ‘Of course, Ash dear. No woman could possible receive a gift of such magnificence as the fabrics and trims you bought today and not desire the earliest opportunity to show herself off in them.’

  Foxe groaned and hid his head in his hands. If he had feared she was up to something, this was far beyond his worst expectations.

  ‘Ash! I will be quite put out if you take on so. You yourself said taking me would be an honour. How can two honours become a disaster?’

  ‘My dear Kitty. I already have something of a doubtful reputation with some persons of note in this city. Not that I have ever sought to make any secret of my relations with you or your sister. Indeed, I have counted your company as something to be shown to all. But to arrive at a ball with the two of you …’

  ‘It is settled, Ash. Gracie and I talked of it yesterday evening and we are sure your reputation, such as it is, will survive. Besides, do you not always make sure each sister receives the same attentions as the other? Speaking of which, my sister not only has news for you, but, hearing of the agreeable time we spent together recently …’

  ‘Kitty! Kitty! I yie
ld. Only let me go now to rest and renew my strength for what your sister has in mind.’

  ‘You make her sound like a wrestler with whom you must contend at peril of your life.’

  ‘That is an excellent analogy! A bout with either of you is enough to test the strength and skill of any man, though the contest is, I own, most sweet. Nay, do not frown, Kitty. For if you may jest with me and tease, may I not do the same with you? Though I dare say I will scandalise the whole of Norwich, I will take both you and your sister to the ball and hold my head high. The ladies will tut and frown, but I vow every man in the place will be consumed with envy. And I will also visit your sister in the next day or so, as I had already determined to do. When, as I am sure she will, she comes to you to make comparison, I will do my best not to be found wanting.’

  ‘As if we would compare!’

  ‘As if you would not. No, no, Kitty. Delay me no more. For I have much to think about and have neither the time nor the capacity for more distractions.’

  And with that, Foxe hurried to the door and out of the house, lest his resolution crumble to nothing at the touch of Kitty’s soft fingers.

  8

  Secret Shelves

  Foxe waited until the earl’s footman had withdrawn from the library at Pentelow Hall. Then he crossed the huge room to stand again before the bay of shelving that had attracted his attention on his last visit. He considered that a bad flaw in the design. Had the exterior presented a more uneven appearance, he would never have noticed anything amiss. Still, the sixth and seventh earls probably expected few but invited guests to enter this room. The purpose of the deception had likely been more to deter servants or more curious guests from seeing whatever the shelves concealed. He hoped it would not be lewd books. That would be boring.