The Troublesome Apprentice (The Adventures of Xavier & Vic Book 1)

by Liza O'Connor

  “Mr. Thorn has gone to do so now.” At least she hoped he had.

  “Who?”

  “My boss…”

  “Oh…yes…” she replied in confusion. “Thank you for staying with me. I told Burns no visitors, because I can’t bear pretending any more, but you are different. You know the truth. I don’t have to pretend with you.”

  “No, you don’t. Mrs. Wimple, are you aware your mother-in-law, Catherine, died on Friday?”

  “The policeman told me, but I had not known before.”

  “It was in yesterday’s paper.”

  “I didn’t receive yesterday’s paper. It is possible Burns hid the article to spare me.”

  “Did he think Lady’s Catherine’s death would upset you?”

  “We were not close. She preferred another young woman for Edwards and she never let a chance go by when she wouldn’t remind me he could have chosen better. I believe marrying me was the only time Edward went against his mother’s wishes in his entire life. She dominated and controlled everyone. I doubt the Queen could be half as intimidating as Lady Catherine.”

  “I still do not see the butler’s need to protect you from the truth.”

  “Yesterday was a special day for me. I had planned a romantic day with Charles and…” Mrs. Wimple blushed. “It turned out to be even more romantic than I intended.”

  Vic stared at the radiant happiness lighting her face.

  Mrs. Wimple dipped her head coquettishly and laughed. “Romantic enough that the proof I would have needed for an annulment no longer exists, but it didn’t matter to me. Once I had experienced such wondrous pleasure, I no longer cared if my church declared it as a sin. Edward had been right when he chided me to take a lover. I deserve to have pleasure.”

  “Do you believe Edward would have allowed your love affair to continue had he not died today?”

  “As long as we remained discreet, yes, I do.” She brushed the quilt with her hand as if wanting to iron out the wrinkles. “He cared what others thought, but with discretion I imagine we both could have found some middle ground of happiness.”

  “This seems a profound shift in your attitude since the last time we spoke,” Vic said.

  “It is,” Mrs. Wimple admitted. “You have no idea how Charles has changed me. Had you suggested there might be a day when I would even think about taking a lover, I would have declared you mad. I was raised in a strict Catholic home and I would have sooner died than to consider such an immoral act. But I didn’t know how transforming the sharing of love could be. I would do anything for Charles.”

  “Will you marry him, now you are a widow?”

  “For propriety, I will try to persuade him to wait a year, but yes, when he asks, I will most happily marry him, and until then I will most willingly be his lover.” Mrs. Wimple stared at Vic. “I have shocked you.”

  “I am only astounded this union can be so life changing.”

  “You have never experienced it?”

  Vic shook her head. “Not yet. I have just come from school where I remained focused on my classes as the dean advised.”

  “He gave you wise counsel. Believe me, concentration is not possible for a full week once you have experienced such pleasure. Even now, telling you about it has washed away my grief and given me a soothing comfort.”

  “I am glad. I know you consider this case closed, but I have some outstanding questions, and Mr. Thorn will expect them resolved.”

  “Yes, I imagine he is a hard taskmaster.”

  “The best usually are.”

  “Well, ask whatever you wish.”

  “The letter Lady Catherine sent you. Do you still have it?”

  “Yes, it’s in the drawer right there.” She pointed to the side table. Vic opened it and pulled out a box. “I kept all her correspondence. When I would receive one, I would have Burns make me a very stiff drink and I would come up here, dress for bed, and drink my comfort as I read. I hoped by the end of the scolding, the drink would have set in and I’d fall off to sleep. In the morning I’d wake and remember the vitriol contents, but it would no longer upset me quite so much.” She glanced at the box and smiled at Vic. “You may take them with you if you like. It should impress your boss, for I’d never give such private communications to him.”

  Vic smiled at her. “I will bring them back, but yes, I would like to take them if you don’t mind.”

  “You may read them here, if you wish. Charles thought them most hilarious and took a few home to read again. However, he brought them back, so they should be near the top.”

  Vic opened the first envelope. It was the one Mrs. Wimple had described in her last meeting; the one Xavier had insisted Lady Catherine could not have written. She lifted the second note and compared the handwriting. They were similar, but the earlier letter seemed to have a steadier flow. The last post showed frequent stops and starts, as if the writer carefully formed the shape of each mark.

  “It is a shame Lady Catherine was not born a man,” Mrs. Wimple said. “She would have made a formidable general.”

  Vic glanced at the content of the earlier note. Lady Catherine dictated to Mary precisely how to manage Edward’s life. What time he should awake, what he should eat, how long he should read the paper, with special orders not to allow him to linger too long on the gossip columns, as he was apt to do. Edward’s wardrobe received attention as well as Mary’s management of the house. Nothing seemed to escape the old woman’s dominion. Lady Catherine went so far as to specify the exact combination of oats and hay Edward’s horse should be fed.

  “She takes meddling to a form of warfare,” Vic said.

  “Yes! You stated it precisely! Warfare, and I was a helpless peasant without a single weapon to stay her attack.”

  Vic sighed and refolded the sheets. “I am sorry your life has held such trials.”

  “My miseries are behind me now,” Mrs. Wimple assured her. “However, I do owe Edward one thing. If Mr. Holmes finds he was murdered, I would like you to bring his killer to justice. Do not concern yourself about the cost for, with Lady Catherine and Edward’s death, I am now a very wealthy woman.” Mrs. Wimple spoke with great sadness.

  “His mother frequently hints in her posts that I married him for money, but I didn’t. I married him for love, and I was certain we would be the happiest of couples, for his admiration of me seemed so genuine.” Mrs. Wimple’s eyes filled with new tears.

  Vic offered her a dry handkerchief. “Tell me about Charles.”

  The lady smiled at her. “I see what you are about, trying to distract me from my pain.”

  Vic nodded. “If only for a moment. When and where did you two meet?”

  “We met three months ago when Mrs. Barber’s husband fell ill and she brought Charles in his place to a dinner party I gave. In truth, I did not care for him at first. He was shamefully forward in his preference of me. I remember rapping the knuckles of his hand with my spoon for grabbing my leg underneath the dinner table. While it had to have hurt like the devil, he feigned not to notice as he continued making moon-eyes at me. By the end of the night, he had me so flustered and outraged I didn’t know what to do.”

  A faint smile crossed her lips. “I swore I’d never let him set foot in my house again, but when he arrived the next day with two dozen roses, I allowed him entrance. He apologized most earnestly for embarrassing me but insisted I had bewitched him. He declared himself my love slave, awaiting my command.”

  Vic could only imagine how seductive such a declaration would be to a woman undesired by her husband through the whole of their marriage.

  “As he reminded me last night, I was not an easy seduction. I tried my hardest to resist him and, at one point when I felt myself weakening to his persistent charm, I broke it off entirely.”

  “After that your husband sent you the letter telling you to take Charles as your lover?”

  “Yes. What a horrible time for me. It had broken my heart to send Charles away, and he refused to go qui
etly. He camped out on my steps. He serenaded me at my windows. He sent me love letters every hour. All I ever wanted was a man to love me, and here was Charles, wanting me so much he would humiliate himself for all to see. I could not bear it and had Burns physically remove him from the property, telling him I never wanted to see him again.”

  Mrs. Wimple shook her head in sadness. “I cried all night—more than I had ever cried for Edward. I hurt so much I truly wondered if I would survive. The next morning, Edward’s letter arrived. You cannot imagine my rage. I had turned Charles away because God would see any love between us as a sin. I was Edward’s wife, and I had sworn fidelity to him. Despite all his neglect and his disappearance, I had always been, and continued to be, a faithful and good wife. Now, I discover he didn’t give a damn about my virtue and goodness. I had given Charles up for nothing.”

  Vic sighed. “So when did Charles return?”

  “I did not hear from him until Friday. I had hurt him with my rejection, so he remained away, and I did not know his address and thus could not send him a note telling him to return. You cannot imagine my relief when I received a letter, begging me to grant him an audience on Saturday, for his life without me was an empty void. I answered his note, admitting I now lived in the same hell. I told him to come at nine, and remain as long as he wished.”

  “Did this letter have a return address?”

  “No, but the messenger had been told to wait for a response,” she explained.

  “So you still do not know where he lives?”

  Mrs. Wimple gave her a sly grin. “I instructed Burns to have a footman follow the messenger. I know it sounds devious, but I had gone through absolute hell these last weeks, all for the lack of his address. I was not going to take any chance of losing him again.”

  “And where does he live?”

  “In the East End, which is not fashionable, and thus explains why he never wrote the address on his letters.”

  “Did you get the exact address?”

  “Of course, but why do you need it? Ah, to impress your Mr. Thorn, for he surely could not find it. 14 Wickham Road.”

  Vic thanked her. “We will find who killed your husband, and I wish you the happiest of lives. I presume Charles is not here today. Did he leave last night or this morning?”

  “He was gone when I woke. Burns might know when he left,” she admitted while blushing with either embarrassment or perhaps the memory of the pleasure they had shared.

  “And when do you expect him back?”

  “Not for a week. He left a note on my pillow. He has business in France that will keep him a week, perhaps two. But he promises me a great surprise when he returns.”

  “Any idea what he plans?”

  Mrs. Wimple grimaced. “I both hope and fear it will be an engagement ring. While shockingly soon in the public’s mind, he knows I have truly been without a husband for almost two years, and waiting out a year of mourning is as farcical as my marriage.”

  “Did he know you hired Mr. Thorn to find your husband?”

  Mrs. Wimple frowned. “No…the matter never came up, nor did I want it to. I was concerned he would think I actually wanted Edward back, which I did not. I had even contacted a priest the day after speaking with you and verified what you had suggested was indeed possible. The priest had listened to my story and assured me an annulment could be arranged in such a situation.”

  “Were you planning to ask for a financial settlement?”

  “I had thought I would marry Charles soon after the annulment and would thus have no need of her money. However, after discovering Charles’ address on Friday, I suspect some sort of agreement would have been necessary.”

  Burns entered and suggested his madam should take her lunch soon.

  “I will keep you no further.” Clutching the box of letters, Vic kissed the lady’s hand and promised to be in touch. The butler followed her to the door.

  “Did Mr. Thorn leave with the carriage?”

  “Hours ago,” Burns replied with a distinct edge of reprimand to his voice.

  “If he should return, will you tell him I’ve gone home?”

  “I live to do so.” The butler shunted her out of the house, slamming the door behind her.

  Vic walked to the corner to flag a hired cab. She could not shake the feeling someone watched as she waited for what seemed an eternity for a carriage to appear. Finally, one pulled to the side of the street for her. She studied the driver’s face with mistrust. He reminded her of a snake poised to strike. While she could find no logical reason to reject the ride and another might not pass this hour, still she could not make her feet step forward.

  “Ain’t got all day,” the driver growled.

  Suddenly a frantic whistle drew her attention. Davy drove his carriage full speed towards her. He passed the other vehicle and for a terrible moment, Vic feared he intended to drive on by. She sighed with relief when he pulled in front of the fellow. Vic ran forward to meet him.

  “Here now, that’s my punt!” the driver yelled at Davy.

  Vic opened the door and slipped inside and Davy took off as if the devil himself gave chase. The sudden lurch forward sent Vic, who had not yet taken her seat, into Xavier’s lap.

  “Tell me you were not about to get in the carriage pulled to the side,” Xavier growled.

  “Actually, I was not, for my feet would not move towards it, but I could not logically tell you why, other than I felt myself in danger.”

  “Were you at least carrying your gun?”

  “No, Gregory did not place it in the package he sent.”

  Xavier pushed her off his lap onto the floor of the carriage. “Damn fool, do you have any idea how much trouble you almost caused me?”

  “Trouble I caused you? You are the one who ran off without a word and never returned.” Vic resumed her usual seat opposite Xavier.

  “I would not have left you there had I known you were unprotected. What was the purpose of teaching you how to shoot a gun, if you fail to carry it on your person? Do you believe the men waiting inside the carriage to abduct you would allow you to borrow one of theirs?”

  “How do you know men waited in the carriage?”

  “Because I recognized the driver. He has a penchant for picking up young dandies and holding them in an opium den for a few days until the parents shell out a thousand pounds to get their prodigal son back. By the time the ransom is paid, the hostage has acquired an opium addiction.”

  “If you know who he is, why doesn’t Scotland Yard arrest him?”

  “For what? Taking young boys to an opium den? He’s just a driver.”

  “But you said men lurked inside the carriage.”

  “There’s nothing illegal about taking more than one passenger. No boy or parent has ever risked disgrace to come forward and file charges. It’s quite an ingenious business. Low risk of being caught because he’s not greedy with the amount of the ransom, and since the boys return addicted to opium, the parents underestimate his part in the abduction. They mistakenly believe their sons went willingly to the opium dens, as young men are apt to do, and fell prisoner to the drug, and if not for the kind driver who was willing to retrieve them for a thousand pounds, they might have never recovered their darling progeny at all. And since the boys are now addicted, they will voluntarily return to the dens and are retrieved frequently by Cabby Cane for more rewards from shamed and grateful parents.”

  Vic shook her head. “It truly is the perfect crime. But in my case he would have discovered no parents and no money.”

  “Perhaps no parents, but do not think for a moment your sister and that presumptuous butler of yours would not have found something to sell to raise a mere thousand pounds.”

  Vic nodded in agreement. “I am glad I did not force my feet to move forward and very grateful you finally remembered where you had abandoned me.”

  “And?” Xavier demanded.

  “And I will not leave without my gun in the future.”


  Evidently satisfied with her answer, he turned the conversation to their case. “I went to the morgue. The dead man is not Edwards. The identification was made by information in the man’s vest pocket and jewelry which Mrs. Wimple had identified as her husband’s.”

  “I am very sorry to hear that,” Vic admitted.

  “Really? I thought you had taken a liking to the beautiful ersatz Mrs. Wimple.”

  “I had, which is why it saddens me. Edward must be part of Charles’ plot to kill the real Mrs. Wimple so he can take her place.”

  Xavier stared at her a long moment. “Brilliant.”

  “Well, it lacks the repetition of Cabby Cane’s crime, but it will allow Charles and the ersatz Mrs. Wimple to live in great luxury, style, and respectability for the rest of their lives.”

  “Do you have any proof? Perhaps in the small box you clutch?”

  “Letters from Lady Catherine, including the last one she presumably wrote, and a letter from Charles as well.”

  “Well done!” He yanked the box from her hands and dug in like a greedy child. “I don’t suppose you were able to obtain any dull but useful information such as Charles’ address?”

  “Fourteen Wickham Road, which, according to Mrs. Wimple, is not a fashionable section of town and thus explains why Charles kept it a secret. She had his messenger followed to discover it.”

  “You don’t say. I never thought the foolish woman had it in her.”

  “She also asked me to point out she would have never given you the letters or the address.”

  “Lucky I have an apprentice she likes more than the fictional Mr. Holmes.”

  Vic laughed, which earned her another glare. “I can’t help it. I am most amused when clients call you Mr. Holmes.”

  “So, any idea when they plan to knock the woman off?” he asked as he studied the letters, holding them side by side.

  “Not for a few weeks. His note says he’ll be gone a week or two. No doubt to avoid conversations with the police investigating Edward’s death. When he returns, Mrs. Wimple anticipates an engagement ring with a marriage to follow soon despite her preference to wait a year.”