Jane and the Sins of Society

by Sarah Waldock

  “I happen to agree with you, sir, but my master says we must honour his finer feelings. My lady achieved a most unwontedly unladylike sniff,” he added.

  “Ha! Well no flies on her. And your master is?”

  “Sir Caleb Armitage, sir. Late of the army and you know what officers are.”

  “Hmm, indeed. Well, we shall have to see how it goes. I don’t want to see more of you than I have to, but you’d better acquaint yourself with my rooms.”

  “Indeed, sir, in case I have to move around at night without my quarry hearing me,” said Fowler. “You don’t give a view halloo until the fox is spent. I also need to acquaint myself with your medicine so I know how much to give you if needed.”

  “As it might be. It is a weakness of my heart; I take digitalis if that means anything to you.”

  “I am familiar with the effects of the extract of foxglove on arrhythmia,” said Fowler. “Also that it can kill someone without heart problems for slowing the heart, or be fatal in overdose. I think the nature of the wager, however, is such as to avoid anything which could be the laid at the door of the cowardly creature who sets the killing in train.”

  “Well, you know your business. I’m going to ignore you.”

  “Very good, sir,” said Fowler, bowing.

  Chapter 19

  Jane looked through the late editions of the newspaper and froze. A small item had caught her eye.

  “A shock for Mrs.M- D- following so soon after the death of her father, to return from a drive in the park to discover that her husband Mr. W-D- had plunged to his death from an upper storey window after a fire had got out of hand. The fire was quickly brought under control by servants, who said that the door out of the room had become stuck, and needed the combined strength of two footmen to open it.”

  “Ella,” said Jane, “Find out the address of Mrs. Maria Devlin. We are going to call on her; bring your pistol.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Jane,” said Ella.

  It did not take Ella long to find out where Mrs. Devlin lived; she was adept at using the grapevine of the servants. She set out with Jane.

  There was plain smoke damage on the white stone above an upper window. Jane narrowed her eyes. A man who was not a complete idiot should have been able to scramble across to the next house to raise the alarm, or even drop onto the semi-balcony of the floor below.

  She knocked, and sent up her card to Mrs. Devlin when the rather smoky butler let her in.

  Mrs. Devlin saw her very quickly, in a lower, and unburned chamber.

  “I’m sorry about the smell, Lady Armitage,” she said, nervously.

  “I take it you are also short one footman, who tendered some excuse about a house of death, or made sick from breathing smoke?” said Jane.

  Mrs. Devlin paled.

  “How could you know that?” she gasped.

  “Because I know how the man who wagers works,” said Jane. “I want to know why.”

  “Why? Because the bastard did the same thing to my father, that’s why!” the colourless little woman flared up into anger, and she clenched her fists, colour to her face making her suddenly, paradoxically, better looking. “And because he’s taken my father’s money to waste on gambling, drinking, and going out with his high class friends, without a by-you-leave to me, who was a helpmate to Papa when he was making his money, nor letting me spend more than he let me have in an allowance, and what’s to go to our children if he fritters it all away?”

  “How do you know he had your father killed?” asked Jane.

  “Because he boasted of it when he was drunk,” said Mrs. Devlin. “I said that now poor papa was dead in a freak accident, he would do well to permit me to hold the reins of the factories, as I knew how they worked, and how to continue to build up the business. He slapped me, and told me that I knew nothing as women are too feeble-minded to understand business. He said one reason he killed papa was to get hold of the capital, and another was because the old gager – his words – was asking questions about why I was so quiet and withdrawn. I don’t care how much you censure me, or if you have me hanged, my children are free, you have no idea what it is like to live with a monster!”

  “On the contrary,” said Jane. “My first husband was just exactly such a controlling man. I did not kill him; he managed to get into bad enough company to be killed by his companions. How old are your children?”

  “Ellie is seven, and already he calls her stupid and useless. He sees little of Jenny, who is five, and he has praise only for Richard, so long as he doesn’t take after me.” She sobbed.

  “My Frances was not even a year old when Frank died, and he blamed me for birthing a useless daughter, using me before I was recovered from the birth to punish me for having a daughter, and to get a son as soon as possible,” said Jane. “If I had lived with him until she was seven, I suspect I, too, would have accepted such a way out. I am not going to put this case into the files my husband has compiled for Bow Street, though of course he knows I have come here and why, but he will agree with me that you have saved the country the price of a length of rope, and you will just have to live with having taken a life. But I need you to tell me the name of the man with whom you wagered.”

  Mrs. Devlin stared.

  “Dear G-d, Bow Street know about this? Lady Liddel told me it was utterly safe, she ... she hates her husband, though she did not tell me what abuses he heaped on her, so it must be bad, yes?”

  “I doubt the inoffensive Sir Henry heaps any abuses on the fair Rosalind,” said Jane. “In fact, knowing her as I have since we were children, it is more likely to be the other way round. She told me he was boring, and I suggested that she not do any wagering. I could not know she had passed on this method of murder to anyone else.”

  Mrs. Devlin shuddered.

  “Murder! That’s an ugly word.”

  “It’s an ugly business, Mrs. Devlin. You did not push your husband out of a window, but you still murdered him. I can see why the damage to your immortal soul would be worth it, to preserve your own life and wellbeing, and that of your innocent children. I take it amiss that Rosalind did not pass on to you that I knew what is going on; and I take that as a sin against you. She could have told you when she came to pick you up for the drive, so you could have had the choice to dismiss the new footman.”

  “I am not sure I would have done,” said Mrs. Devlin. “I have been at the end of my tether.”

  Jane nodded. She understood. She preferred not to speculate what she might have done, had someone offered her a way of being free of Frank which involved nothing more than placing a silly-sounding wager.

  “So who is the man?”

  “I don’t know. I do not know his name. Lady Liddel took me to a soirée, and said that her friend, that’s me, was willing to bet her husband would live to a ripe old age. And ... and it just carried on from there. She said someone would call on me to collect his winnings.”

  “I see,” said Jane. “Unfortunately, if I have someone left here to arrest him when he comes, it will bring you into it. Perhaps you can insist on writing him a bank draft, and then he will have to give you his name.”

  “I ... very well, Lady Armitage. Thank you for understanding.”

  “I understand, I cannot approve, but until there are laws which permit a mother some rights over the fruit of her own womb, rather than giving them all to their father, and indeed rights over her own body, then the lawgivers can scarcely complain if a woman takes the law into her own hands,” said Jane. “I trust you will pray about this, most seriously.”

  “Yes, I will,” said Mrs. Devlin. “Papa would be most shocked; he was a good man! And he only cared about me, but William only wanted our money, he was so greedy!”

  She burst into tears. Jane patted her on the arm, and left.

  Jane took Ella on a shopping expedition on the way home, both to settle herself down, and to show her own new daughter that she valued her.

  “Happy birthday, Cecily,” said Jane, when they
got home, with parcels.

  “It ain’t my birthday,” said Cecily.

  “No, but we missed too many, so here are gifts for an extra one,” said Jane, handing her parcels. Cecily’s eyes were wide.

  She carefully opened the parcels, staring first at the beautifully-made parian fashion doll. Jane had managed to persuade Walter’s employer to sell her an older one, as she was a good customer.

  “She’s a bene dimber mort!” gasped Cecily.

  “You need pretty things in your life,” said Jane. “And the other main parcel is a fairly new novelty, I thought it amusing.”

  Cecily unwrapped the other parcel.

  “A little telescope?” she said, and put it to her eye. “Oh! The pretty patterns!”

  “Yes, it is called a kaleidoscope,” said Jane. “It has two mirrors set at an angle to make one section of pretty shapes of coloured glass beads become a whole pattern by being reflected. By shaking it, you may get a new pattern. The third gift I left downstairs; you will want it when you are dressed as a boy.”

  “I may still go and see if Fowler needs me?”

  “Most certainly. I will have Jackie pass by regularly as well. But I thought if you had a hoop and stick, you would have an excuse to be loitering, because you are playing in the street,” said Jane.

  “I have always thought what fun they look,” said Cicely.

  Fowler explored the two rooms thoroughly, counting silently as he moved between pieces of furniture. Then he tied a neckerchief over his eyes and walked about, almost faultlessly, negotiating his way around.

  The old man watched him quizzically.

  “What are you doing that for?” he demanded.

  “If it’s dark when cully comes to stick your spoon in the wall for you, I’ll know where I am, and he won’t. When I was man of all work, before I became Sir Caleb’s valet and helper, I did this in any room I might have to serve tea. A big tray obscures your vision. I figured that if I knew my way around blind, I wouldn’t do something like fall over a footstool. It’s stood me in good stead since, keeping guard for my gentleman.”

  Fowler did not point out that it was partly fear for his position which had initially driven this form of learning blind. Frank Churchill, that charming man, was less than charming if crossed, and Fowler, new to a position that was almost butler, was terrified of being turned off if he tripped on any of the silly little pieces of furniture that Churchill liked to have cluttering the place up, to show apparent wealth, and indeed of incurring a beating, or having the urn of boiling water emptied on him. Fowler recalled the time Churchill had held Jane’s hand under the spout of boiling water because she had spilled a little, a very little, tea in handing it to her husband. If there had been a man who wagered in those days, Fowler would have had no compunctions about making a wager to rid his lady of the nastiest fellow Fowler ever wanted to meet.

  Fowler strongly suspected that Jane only had the use of her hand because Churchill had ordered her to treat the burn so that she would still be able to play the pianoforte for him. He had been careful not to run the water on her fingers but nearer the wrist, where it could be hidden.

  Well, those days were over, and nowadays Fowler was glad to serve as happy a couple as you could ever have, and do what he could to help catch crooks. He performed a quick minuet step sideways around an occasional table, and pirouetted to avoid the old man’s stick thrust out.

  “And how did you do that?” asked the older Radcliffe.

  “Heard it,” said Fowler. “I ain’t always been with Sir Caleb, and I know how to dodge the blows of less temperate masters. Heh, and what’s more, I’ll be carrying a pocket full of boys’ glass marbles to trip cully, given the opportunity.”

  “There’s a lot more to being an assistant to a Bow Street Runner than I realised.”

  “I think it’s just that my master takes it more seriously than some,” said Fowler, dryly. “And he believes in making sure he, and all his men, are as fit and able as possible. Not being prepared kills people a lot faster than ill intent on the part of crooks kills ‘em. See, Mr. Radcliffe, if you think someone has broken into your house at night, what do you do?”

  “Light a candle and go looking for them,” said Radcliffe.

  “And that’s where you could end up with a pistol ball in you,” said Fowler. “Same as Sir Caleb did once. We talked that over, and it was because he was in a strange place, and that’s why we go over any strange place now until we can do it blindfold. He lived, thanks to Mrs. Jane’s, that’s Lady Armitage’s, ministrations, being before they married. But now, if we carry a glim, it’s a dark lantern. And we wear heavy wool stockings over the silk ones, for silence but warm enough not to lose feeling in inclement weather, not shoes which can slip. And if forced to show a candle, hold it away from the body, in your left hand. Most people hold a candle in their right hand, just in front and to the side. Any burglar with a barking-iron, gun that is, who sees a glim will fire to his right of it and slightly above, which has a good chance of taking the person with the candle in the chest, see?”

  “My goodness, Sir Caleb has put a lot of thought into it.”

  “Sir Caleb is hoping that if there are serious reforms to Bow Street, there might be a training school, same as there is for midshipmen,” said Fowler. “I can also describe to you accurately all your knick-knacks and where they are, and list the periodicals on your table. I will notice a piece of wallpaper or fabric which is not faded where a picture or mirror may have hung and has been recently moved, and if a display of ornaments looks incomplete. Sometimes distraught people who have been burgled do not seem to realise all that is missing. And sometimes people claim to have been burgled and do not tell all the pieces that have gone.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “Well, one reason might be that a subordinate member of the household has taken and sold a piece, but does not want that to be noticed when, say, a senior relative comes calling, and so stages a burglary to cover it. Or maybe as a matter of an insurance claim. Even respectable people can be exceedingly dishonest when it comes to insurance claims.”

  “That don’t surprise me. Well, well, you have entertained me enough with the bad habits of crooks and ninnies, now you may help me to take off my shoes, and get me onto the day bed, I want a nap. You can make yourself scarce. Henderson has his own tea caddy and kettle in his room; tell him I said you could drink tea with him. I pay for it anyway, so he can’t complain.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Fowler.

  Chapter 20

  Cecily skipped down the street chasing the iron hoop. The skill of bowling it, and even more, doing tricks with it, was not so easy as the boys she had seen playing with it had made it look.

  Cecily was not, actually, wearing the clothes she had been wearing when she moved in with her new parents. Caleb had looked her over before she left, frowned, and muttered something about an ‘anomaly’, and said that a fine hoop and stick did not go with an urchin who might be supposed to have stolen it. Cecily could see this logic, and was consequently dressed after the fashion of a grocer’s son, or similar, or as Caleb said, the son of a sergeant in the army, which she might lay claim to, with nankeen breeches, woollen stockings and sturdy brogues, and a short jacket of cloth de Nimes. She had a soft hat with a peak, common to boys of all classes, also in the de Nimes cloth. It was a lot more comfortable than her old, mismatched rags, and Cecily found no difficulty in strutting like a boy out in new finery with a new toy. She jauntily sent her hoop ahead, and turned the hoop stick sideways to rattle along the railings as she ran to catch up with it. She replied to angry shouts of servants, emerging from areas to berate her, by giving them the time-honoured salute of the English, said to date back to Agincourt to demonstrate how many bowmen still had their bow fingers.

  She would miss being coarse, when being a lady. However, if she was allowed to be a boy from time to time, it would relieve the tensions.

  She reached the house where Fowler was liv
ing and frowned. How was she supposed to carry messages, if Fowler didn’t know she was there?

  She slipped down the area steps and banged on the door.

  It opened violently, and Cecily was greeted by an apron smeared in blood.

  The apron appeared to be intimately attached to a man with a big knife in his hand and a scowl on his face.

  “’Ere! I don’t make good eatin’, I’m too scrawny!” said Cecily.

  “Don’t make ... hahaha, you are a caution, brat!” the cook laughed a big belly laugh. “So, whaddya want?” he asked.

  “I wanna talk to Mr. Fowler,” said Cecily.

  “Ho, and what makes you think a niffy, top-lofty feller like a gentleman’s nurse would want to speak to you?” demanded the cook.

  “Well, if he won’t talk to his son, I’m reckoning he’ll be sleeping on the parlour sofa for the rest of his life as I have a message from Ma,” said Cecily, cheekily.

  “Huh, well, you’d better come in,” said the cook. Cecily followed and sat herself down on a stool at the kitchen table while the cook sent a maid scurrying to find Mr. Fowler.

  Fowler’s immobile face showed no surprise over having suddenly acquired a son, and he scowled at Cecily.

  “What do you think you’re doing, disturbing me in a live-in position?” he demanded.

  “You went off without leaving ma the dibs to pay for the coal,” said Cecily.

  “Ho, did I, now?” said Fowler. “You tell your ma the coal money is in the crock on the overmantle, same as always. If she ain’t spent it on a new bonnet. And if she has, she can burn the bonnet, for it’s all the coal she’ll get. And when you’ve told her, you can come and hang around outside if you don’t make a nuisance of yourself, in case I need you to run to the apothecary for me.”

  Cecily cracked an urchin grin. It was fun play-acting like this. And now Mr. Fowler knew she was around and recognised that she was there to run messages. It would be a good idea not to rattle her stick on the railings in this street, or she might get run off. But she could learn how to do tricks with the hoop.