Revenge (The Cardigan Estate Book 1)

by Emmy Ellis

  She rose and threw the thing in the fire. The flames devoured the page, and in some sort of purposeful rage, she went to the locked drawer and retrieved the other notes. She dashed them into the fire, too, crying away the frustration and anger she’d been experiencing.

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  In The Eagle, Jonathan was well and truly away with the fairies, drunk on scotch after scotch. He idly listened to Fiona chatting to another customer.

  “Well, Jack’ll be a while yet. He’s gone to Cardigan’s grave,” she said to Stanley, an old man at the end of the bar. “They were good friends, him and Ron. He’s meeting his mates after. The wake seems to have reunited them all. I shouldn’t wonder if Jack comes rolling in about two in the morning.”

  “Heart attack, you said?” Stanley spluttered through the gaps in his teeth.

  Fiona nodded. “Yeah. Shame, eh? He did drink some, though. That couldn’t have helped.”

  “I heard different. Shot in the head, some say.”

  “Well, you can’t believe everything you hear, can you? Gossip’s the worst kind of thing you can listen to. The rumours concerning Ron are a load of rubbish. It stands to reason people are going to think he met a bad end. It doesn’t look good that a gangland boss died legit.”

  Stanley sighed. “I don’t care what you say. I believe he copped a bullet. But, search me as to who did it, because there’s a pick of many a man who’d love to lay claim to that one.”

  “Hmm. His son-in-law’s sinking a fair few tonight. Can’t say I blame him. Not that I’m complaining, it’s more money in the till. But who knows how long it’ll be lining our pockets, because with Ron gone, no one knows whether his daughter’ll keep the pubs up and running. I heard she’s inherited the lot.”

  Jonathan gulped more scotch.

  “She’ll sell,” Stanley said, spittle dripping down his chin.

  “You’re in a shitty mood tonight, Stanley.” Fiona rolled her eyes.

  “Well, I’m only saying what’s true. She’ll sell, and she won’t give a tinker’s cuss as to what happens to you. Maybe the new owners’ll keep you on, but I doubt it. They’ll want fresh landlords.”

  “Are you calling me and Jack stale?”

  Jonathan gazed at a hazy-looking Fiona then gawped at the empty glass in front of him. The ice had melted to little bobbles. His head drooped, and nausea spread up his windpipe. A hard clap on the back had him feeling sick, and he turned to see who’d hit him.

  “Blimey, I was beginning to think I wouldn’t see you again,” Sonny said. “Where you been, mate?”

  Since Cardigan’s death, Jonathan had taken to staying later and later in Gracie’s company instead of visiting The Eagle. Sonny got no response except a watery smile.

  “You’re pissed as a fart.”

  “I know that. Came here to get away from…shit.”

  “Leona?” Sonny asked.

  “Especially Leona. Life’s a mess.”

  “And you’ve only just noticed? Bloody hell, it’s been a mess for months. What you doing in here getting so legless?”

  “Gracie’s pregnant.”

  “Fucking Nora. What are you going to do about it? With Cardigan dead—”

  “I know what I’m going to do about it. I’m going to go home and tell the old battle-axe that I’m getting an annulment. Then I’m going to ask Gracie to marry me.”

  “I think it’s time you went home, mate. I’ll drive you. I’ll take your car.”

  Vandelies Road was quiet when they arrived, the house in darkness. Sonny foraged in Jonathan’s pocket, found his house keys, and helped him to the front door.

  “Thanks, mate,” Jonathan said and lurched inside to bed, wanting nothing more than to forget.

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  Throughout her teenage years, Gracie had envisaged getting married and having children with the man she loved. Well, she’d found the man she loved all right, and was pregnant with his baby, but she wasn’t married. She’d been thinking about that all day at work, going into a daydream when the job she was doing had become boring.

  Mum had been giving her funny looks each morning after Gracie was sick. Jonathan had been distant and preoccupied the last few days, and she’d put it down to the fact he didn’t want her to have it, even though he’d said differently. He kept assuring her they’d get married, but not right now.

  His excuse came to her. He wouldn’t come to her penniless.

  It didn’t make sense, and she thought he was hiding something.

  She had to go and see him later. Mum wanted them to go to some charity ball in December. Maybe she’d get him to open up then.

  She felt sick.

  “Are you okay?” Mum asked, coming into the kitchen.

  Gracie rushed out of the room. On her knees in the downstairs loo, she hunched over the toilet.

  “My cooking’s not that bad, surely?” Rebecca laughed, leaning on the jamb.

  Gracie sat back and, wiping her mouth with tissue, looked at her mother. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  “There’s no need. I know.”

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  “I don’t want to be married to you anymore,” Jonathan said.

  Shocked, Leona sneered, “Well, then, I’ll stop ordering the beer, if it’s all the same to you.”

  “Do what you like. I’ve had enough. I’m going to see a solicitor. I don’t care about the poxy orders. There’s only so much a bloke can take, and I’ve taken all I’m going to.”

  What does he mean, he doesn’t care about the orders?

  “You want to be with that Rebecca, don’t you? It’s her who’s put you up to this. I knew she had a vendetta against me, but stealing my husband really takes the biscuit.”

  “You tried to steal hers,” Jonathan spat. “Or is it one rule for you and another for everybody else? You make me sick. I should have refused to marry you.”

  “That’s enough of that. I didn’t try to steal William. We loved each other, and she took him away from me.”

  “You loved him, but he didn’t love you. He loved her.”

  “Well, she would tell you that, wouldn’t she. Your precious business going down the drain and you engaging in adulterous behaviour won’t look too good when you try to divorce me.”

  “Non-consummation of marriage, your father being shot in the head, and you covering it up with the so-called Good Doctor Rushton, threatening me with all sorts… That won’t look too good for you. I’ll do whatever it takes to get rid of you.”

  Leona shook, and her head lightened. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Wouldn’t I? Just try me, woman.”

  Leona took a deep breath to steady her rapidly beating heart. She would not have her father’s real death in the papers. She’d possibly go to prison for what she’d done, going along with the cover-up.

  “Right, do what you like. I’ll not contest it in any way,” she said. “But it’ll still take time. To get an annulment, I mean.”

  “However long it takes, I’ll wait.” He turned to leave.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, eyes wide.

  “Out. Not that it’s any of your bloody business.”

  Leona narrowed her eyes, and all-consuming jealousy enveloped her. “Going to tell Rebecca all about it, are you? Going to let her know she’s won?”

  He walked out, slamming the door.

  One thing she’d make sure of was whether Jonathan was having an affair with Rebecca. That was something she just had to know for her own peace of mind. She wouldn’t rest until she knew the truth.

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  Pressure had lifted from Jonathan’s shoulders as he’d left the marital home.

  He’d gone to see a solicitor. The visit had been straight and to the point, and providing Leona agreed that they hadn’t consummated their marriage, the annulment should be plain sailing. That had been good to hear, and he went to his house to wait for Gracie. He’d tell her she should keep t
he baby. He’d marry her once it had been born. Just how he was going to explain his reason for waiting, he didn’t know. Perhaps there would be some kind of divine inspiration.

  Who knows?

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  Gracie knocked on Jonathan’s front door, and he answered it almost immediately. He must have been looking out for her from the window.

  He appeared tense, and it hiked up her nerves.

  In the small living room, she sat on the worn sofa and told herself to come straight out with it. “I’m going to keep our baby. I’ve been giving it a lot of thought, and I can’t get rid of it.”

  He sat beside her and held her hands. “If I could explain why I can’t marry you yet, I would. But I’ll marry you when I can. It’s impossible at the minute.”

  “There can’t be anything that could stop us being together. Unless you’re already married.” She laughed.

  Jonathan’s face paled.

  She stared at him. “Is that it? Are you married?”

  He blinked, and she felt sick to her stomach.

  Why hadn’t I ever realised?

  He squeezed her hands. “You don’t understand. I only—”

  “Save your breath. I’m not listening.”

  She ran from the house, got into her car, and drove away at top speed.

  Chapter Eighty

  A month had passed since Cardigan’s death, and Debbie had finally come out of the initial stages of grief. She’d been through the shock, upset, and anger, and now she was determined to live a full life, but before she did, she’d go and see Mickey. He’d come out of whatever hole he’d been hiding in, probably feeling safe now with Cardigan dead.

  But he wasn’t safe. Not by a long chalk.

  She had everything sorted in her mind. The parlour girls had promised they’d have her back, saying she was with them, so her alibi was set.

  Just in case.

  Chapter Eighty-One

  Harry and Mickey had tried hard to find out who’d killed Shirley Richmond. It most definitely wasn’t anyone in their circles, so they gave it up as being something they’d never know.

  They’d come out of hiding on the day of the funeral, hearing through the grapevine that the identity of Cardigan’s killer was uncertain. It could’ve been anyone, some said. The thing was, some undercurrent whispers said Mickey had done it, and Harry, being a selfish twat at times, hadn’t put the gossipers right.

  Going back to their former jobs as market traders and knock-off merchants, they kept a low profile all the same.

  Just in case.

  Chapter Eighty-Two

  George and Greg had taken over the manor. They had the contacts, and people knew where to get hold of them. George had settled down since Cardigan’s death, not wanting to inflict any more pain on a person than was necessary or requested. He was seeing a therapist.

  “I’m glad we found out it wasn’t Mickey who killed Shirley. I didn’t really fancy beating him up again,” Greg said.

  “Yeah. Unless Harry was lying when he said Mickey hadn’t left the safe house.” George rubbed his chin.

  “We’ll put it down to her getting killed by a nasty punter. That’s all it could have been. Poor cow.”

  They kept their eyes and ears open, though, as they might inadvertently find out who’d done it. Then they could confront them. So they scanned through the newspapers and kept an eye out.

  Just in case.

  Chapter Eighty-Three

  Sam was taking a while to become accustomed to his retirement. Cardigan’s death had been like a physical blow; he couldn’t get over the fact he’d never see Ron again. Never be needed by the big man to escort him round in the car. Never be needed to help out when there was a bit of bother.

  He’d had such a busy life with him, and now he had too much time on his hands. Time he spent sleeping the hours away, only to wake up and start the whole process again.

  He hated the fact he had no oomph in him to go after Mickey. All the fight had left him with Cardigan’s departure. He hoped his boss and friend would understand. And Sam also hated mornings. Another day where he had to find himself something to do, give his active mind something to think about. He usually ended up going back through time, reliving the years Cardigan had ruled the manor. He supposed someone else would have taken their place already.

  He didn’t care about any of it.

  Sighing, he wondered if he’d have changed any part of his life. Nah, he wouldn’t. He would’ve done things exactly the same, except maybe have known, somehow, that the bullet had been sailing through the air and he could have knocked Cardigan out of the way before it hit him.

  All his reasons for breathing air into his lungs had gone. He wouldn’t be long in following his master to the pearly gates.

  He sat back in his leather chair, tried to keep his eyes open, wishing he’d slip away. The promises he’d made to people filtered through his mind. He recalled the woman with all the children, the one who’d given him the bucket and brush. Leaning forward, he swivelled along on his chair wheels and reached into his desk drawer. He had a purpose now. Something to do with his boring day.

  He’d rung the bank and requested a withdrawal, picking it up the next day.

  The large padded envelope was sealed, its contents safe inside, the address on the front. He got up and put on his coat. It was only a walk to the end of the road where the little shop had a post office. He’d send it registered.

  At least he’d kept that promise. He’d let Ron down, and would be letting Leona down, but the woman in the flats would soon find out Christmas had definitely come early for her and her family.

  Chapter Eighty-Four

  Janine had been used to eking out the food ever since she’d been married and had watched her mother do the same throughout her childhood.

  Her husband, Kip, bent down and picked up the post. “There’s a big padded envelope here, just addressed to The Occupants.”

  “Give it to me.”

  Tearing it open, Janine pulled out the contents. It was a wedge of something inside a folded piece of paper. She gasped in surprise when the wedge turned out to be thick bundles of notes held together with elastic bands. There had to be about two hundred thousand there. She held up her hand, silencing Kip, and read the note, tears spilling down her face. Once finished, she passed the letter to Kip.

  I’m sure you’ll remember me as the man who borrowed the bucket. I just wanted to let you know how grateful I was for your help that day. There will be no hassle for what you did, and from the nature of my visit, you’ll know my friend’s death wasn’t the usual, and for keeping your mouth shut, I’m grateful.

  Take this money from me. I’m getting on a bit, so humour the old man, will you, and accept what I’m giving you in the good faith in which it’s been sent.

  I know you’ll burn this letter when you’ve read it, but before you do, take note of my address at the top of the page and write and let me know your name.

  I need to know it, see, to be able to leave you everything when I’m gone.

  It may seem odd to you, for a total stranger to leave you and your family his money, but I have no one else, and to give it to you would give me no greater pleasure.

  I’ll tell you again, there’s no hidden catch, and there’s nothing you need do for the money. Just give them kids the best you can with it, and if you must in years to come, laugh about the nutty old fella who gave you a fortune for the loan of a scrubbing brush and bucket.

  Good luck and happiness,

  Sam

  Chapter Eighty-Five

  Sam received the letter. Her name was Janine Felton, and she’d given details of her new address. Sam had done the right thing. He’d thanked her in the only way he knew how.

  The new address had him smiling. Janine wasn’t to know she’d bought a house that was dear to his heart. She didn’t know she’d be living in a home he’d been in more than a thousand times.

  Ron would have loved the iro
ny of it.

  Janine and her family had stepped up the ladder, more than a rung or two. They’d bought Ron’s old house in Vandelies Road, probably using the money he’d sent as a deposit.

  Once Sam had sent the relevant details to his solicitor, along with his request for a visit so he could write his final will and testament, admitting he was of sound mind and body, he felt lighter and happier than he had in a long time.

  The end was near, and after the solicitor had gone and the papers had been signed and sealed, he lay his weary head on the pillow he’d taken to using while sitting in his leather chair.

  He closed his eyes. Smiled. Feeling young again, he was going to meet Ron, where they’d be together once more. He was smiling because he wondered if God would be able to cope with the pair of them.

  Rogues that they were.

  Chapter Eighty-Six

  Having sold the house next door and putting the numerous public houses up for sale, Leona was ready to face her final mission. She’d received the annulment papers and signed them, sticking by her promise not to contest it in any way.

  She was going to follow Jonathan and see if he met up with Rebecca. She had to know one way or the other if Rebecca had succeeded in winning the war.

  She visited The Eagle and found out from Jack and Fiona that Jonathan lived just down the road. They expressed their sympathy that her marriage had been so short-lived. Leona basked in their apparent concern.

  “I’m so sorry to have to sell the pubs, but I’ve come to tell you that The Eagle won’t be one of the ones put on the market. My father had a particular fondness for this place, so if you’d like to stay, you’re welcome. Not that I’d butt into the running of it, of course. Carry on as you’ve always done.” She paused for a moment, thinking of what her father would’ve wanted. He’d said he didn’t want the place going to strangers, so… “I tell you what, I hope you don’t take this gesture the wrong way, but how about you two owning this place?”