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FRIDAY, 6 JULY 1821
As I hurried away, my thoughts continued to turn over every bit of factual information I could conjure up in regard to Priscilla Tremont’s disappearance. Long before I reached home, however, I arrived at the dismal conclusion that at this juncture I was quite short on facts and not a great deal longer on conjecture.
Since last evening and my unexpected dust-up with Olivia Tremont, I had begun to wonder again what, if anything, Mr. Carrington might have to do with the younger Tremont girl’s disappearance? Had that gentleman managed to snatch her before he left Margate for London that same evening? Did he perhaps now have her safe with him in Oxford, locked up perhaps, but nonetheless, safe? Was he keeping Priscilla prisoner in case he needed to use her as leverage in some ploy or other designed to force his son to return to Oxford and marry the girl he had been betrothed to since childhood? Or, since the older gentleman had somehow managed to stumble upon the dubious “truth” about me being an heiress, which, of course, might not be true at all, would he, if pressed, admit to his part in Priscilla’s disappearance and then release the girl if his son agreed to marry either me, or even the girl to whom he was betrothed?
Whether or not I would be willing to go to that length, meaning to wed Noble Carrington, in order to ensure Priscilla’s safety was another matter altogether, and one I did not wish to contemplate at present. I did, however, think it quite plausible that Mr. Carrington would seek to increase his chances for success by having two avenues open to him, rather than just the one. Of course, if either way met with success, that left poor love-struck Olivia without her beloved by her side. Suddenly, from the back of my mind, I recalled that upon my first early morning meeting with Olivia to watch the sun rise, she had asked if I would be willing to help her and Noble carry out a plan they had conceived to wed . . . but she had never revealed the details of that plan to me, or what part I would play in it. Might that, perhaps, now be a course I could take up with her, in an effort to learn . . . one, whether or not this dead girl was her sister; and two . . . to smooth over the riff that had sprung up between us by offering to help her carry out her plan to wed Noble Carrington.
Of course, I thought as I continued to walk, my head lowered against the ever-present wind blowing inland off the sea, if I were to succeed in lending a hand to assist Olivia to run away with Noble, then if Mr. Carrington did have Priscilla locked up, what would happen to her? Would the elder Carrington concede defeat and release her, or in an attempt to avoid prosecution, would he . . . contrive a manner in which to do away with the girl . . . permanently?
At length, I arrived at the conclusion that to pursue that particular course of action was far too risky and the end result quite possibly far too devastating. Then, as always in my mental efforts to arrive at a likely solution to the problem, I circled back around to the beginning and had to admit that so long as we did not know if Priscilla were dead or alive, the most prudent choice was to continue to search for her.
But, where?
I hoped that Mrs. Tremont had followed through on her promise to ask her husband to hire a carriage, or a pair of horses, and that he and Ashford, and perhaps also Noble, would ride further up, or down, the shore, at least as far as Ramsgate, and continue their search for the girl. Priscilla Tremont struck me as a resourceful young lady, lively and adventuresome. If she were being held against her will, I fully believed that if presented with an opportunity to escape she would latch onto it and eventually find her way home. I recalled her fearlessly hanging over the side of the railing on the pier in order to study the patterns in the water the day I walked out with them. Priscilla Tremont was not a shrinking flower and if it came to that, I am certain, she would do all in her power to save herself.
Perhaps she still might.
However . . . for the nonce, I was left without a fresh course of action to pursue. It was not now possible to mull things over with Olivia as she and I were no longer on congenial terms. On the other hand, Cathleen and I were on congenial terms, but her only concern now was to remain healthy so that her son might be returned to her bosom, figuratively and literally. So, that left Aunt Helen . . . and Wendy. I feared Aunt Helen had no desire to speak with me further on the subject of smugglers and what sort of mischief those ruffians were capable of causing, although so far as I could see, what The Gentlemen were capable of doing was already quite clear. Murder. Two young girls in as many weeks had turned up dead, meaning that murder in Margate was no longer a possibility; it was a proven fact.
So, that left me with only Wendy to turn to, a most unlikely confidante, to be sure, but for now, my only choice.
Upon entering the cottage, I determined to seek out our affable young chambermaid once again.
However, when Aunt Helen heard me in the corridor, she called to me from the parlour. “Juliette, is that you? Were you girls able to locate Mrs. Keller’s cottage with no trouble?”
I walked to where Aunt Helen sat on the sofa, the ball of blue yarn on her lap tempting Pansy, who lying on her back with all four paws in the air was frantically batting at the blue thread being jerked about by her mistress’s knitting needles.
“What are you making, Aunt Helen?” I attempted to remain calm as I removed my bonnet and sat down on the opposite end of the sofa.
She held up her work, the action further arresting Pansy’s notice, who spotting the yarn give a sudden jerk, thought that to pounce on the fuzzy ball would prevent it from falling to the floor.
“Pansy, no!” Aunt Helen laughed, as she rescued the wooly blue yarn, thereby insulting Pansy who was only trying to help. With an indignant flick of her tail, she instead abandoned the game to come and say hello to me.
I reached to take the cat onto my lap as Aunt Helen said, “I am making a pair of little bootees for baby Alistair. As you can see Pansy has been assisting me.”
“And you have been doing a fine job of it, too, haven’t you, little Miss P?” I tickled the cat beneath her chin. “I am certain Cathleen will be pleased with the gift. She was quite happy when I left her at Mrs. Keller’s cottage a bit ago. I daresay she was not even aware when I departed as she was already cuddling her babe in her arms.”
I only half listened to Aunt Helen’s next remark for as she was talking, I was mentally struggling with myself over whether or not to reveal to her what I had just learned from the constable, that another young girl had only just been found murdered. At length my resolve to say nothing lost out to my need to relay the tragic news.
“I have just come from Constable Fuller’s office,” I said. “Whilst I was there, his assistant rushed in to announce that the dead body of another young girl had just turned up.”
“Oh, my.” Aunt Helen lay down her work. “I expect you must be wondering if it could be the younger sister of your friend Olivia Tremont.”
“Indeed, I am.” I sighed. “But even if it is not Priscilla, that another young girl has been killed is a terrible tragedy. Are there typically this many . . . murders in Margate, Aunt Helen? Two young girls in the space of a fortnight seems a great many to me.”
Aunt Helen resumed her work, the action not escaping Pansy’s notice, who had already trotted back over to assist, leaving me to absently dust remnants of orange-coloured fur from the skirt of my sprigged muslin gown.
“That does seem a good many,” Aunt Helen agreed, “but unfortunately, unexplained deaths around here have been on the rise of late. And, I fear, the lot of them are related to certain . . . nocturnal activity, if you get my meaning.”
“I take it you are referring to smuggling?”
With a sigh, Aunt Helen nodded.
“With a rival gang having now formed,” I said, “I fear that type of, as you say, nocturnal activity is likely to increase, rather than the reverse.”
Aunt Helen looked a question at me. “A rival gang has formed?”
At that moment, I heard a noise coming from the corridor. Turning that direction, I caught sight of the tail of a brown fustian skirt. Snatching up my bonnet, I quickly rose. “If you will excuse me, Aunt Helen.”
I rushed into the corridor in time to see Wendy disappear from view at the far end of it.
“Wendy? Wait up! I need to speak with you!” I called out.
In the kitchen, I was relieved to find that neither Meg nor Mrs. McCurtain were about. Wendy had hurried into the tiny room she shared with Cathleen. Spotting me, she blurted out, “You said you would not tell the constable what I said!”
Shaking my head, I sat down on the edge of Cathleen’s bed. “I kept my promise to you, Wendy. I told the constable I had overheard a pair of gentlemen speaking about the rival gang last night at the Assembly. When he wanted to know if a name had been dropped, I relayed to him the name Tom Micah Jones. I assure you, that is the whole of what I revealed to Constable Fuller. Soon afterward his assistant rushed in to announce that . . . another young girl was found dead this morning. At once I wondered what you might know, if anything, regarding this new murder?”
Wendy’s brown eyes were wide. “I don’t know nothing, miss. But . . .” she paused. “I ‘spose it’d be easy enough to find out. Ain’t no secrets ‘mong thieves. And smugglers is thieves, ain’t they?”
“Smugglers are indeed thieves, Wendy. They are stealing from the Crown and the betterment of all England. Without the funds gleaned from taxes due on items that arrive in this country and on goods that leave it, the Crown hasn’t the necessary funds to build things for everyone’s use, such as roadways and schools.”
Wendy’s brown head cocked to one side. “I never thought of it that way, miss. Most ever’one hereabouts is just tryin’ to scrape together enough blunt to put food on the table.”
“I understand. But, as you can see, innocent victims are drawn into the fray. Do you think you could find out about this latest victim, at least learn the girl’s identity and how she . . . lost her life?”
“I’ll try, miss.” Wendy nodded. “But I won’t find out nothin’ jes sittin’ here.” The expression on her face was a bit of a challenge.
I rose. “If you will wait right here, Wendy.”
I hurried back to the parlour and inquired of Aunt Helen if I might send Wendy on an errand for me, which might take the housemaid away for the rest of the afternoon.
“That will be fine, dear,” Aunt Helen said without looking up from her work. Which was just as well, since her assistant was now curled up asleep by her side, the cat’s important part in the knitting now completed. “Where might you be wanting to send Wendy, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Um . . . Cathleen inquired earlier if any of the shops I have visited in Margate might have a baby crib, or perhaps, a perambulator for sale. She said her father left her sufficient funds to purchase both, and she would like to do so tomorrow. I thought it would save time if we knew exactly which shops carried what, so I would like Wendy to walk down to the Marine Parade and peek into a few shop windows for me.”
Aunt Helen looked up. “That is quite a good plan, dear. How clever of you to think a bit further down the road. Very well, Wendy has my permission to go, so long as she returns by teatime. Today is Meg’s half day and Wendy will need to help Mrs. McCurtain with both our tea and our supper. And, of course,” she added, “either you or I will be obliged to walk to Mrs. Keller’s to fetch Cathleen. I do not want her walking home alone. I fear she may have not regained all her strength, and a long walk might do more harm than good. You girls will, indeed, need to hire a carriage tomorrow if you plan to go out shopping.”
“I quite agree with you, Aunt Helen.”
I hurried off to relay the message to Wendy and told her to not only find out what she could of this latest murder in Margate, but to also search out the whereabouts of a crib and a perambulator for Cathleen to purchase on the morrow. Afterward, I retired to my bedchamber to continue to mull over the problem of the missing Tremont girl.
Several hours later, when nothing new had occurred to me, I confess I did not feel half so clever as Aunt Helen had declared me to be. I could not even think of a manner in which to approach Olivia in order to set things to rights between us.