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THAT NIGHT AS I LAY in bed waiting for sleep, my thoughts continued to mull over the harrowing event that had taken place that day. I kept wondering if there was anything I could have done differently. I knew that even to think on such a possibility was useless, since once events unfolded they cannot be altered, no matter how fervently one wishes it. Still, I decided that the only thing that might have altered the outcome was if I had blurted out to the authorities that the funds in my reticule were not my own, that all the banknotes I carried had been provided to me by Mrs. Dandridge, and there were plenty more where those came from! But, what good would that have done? No doubt, I would have been branded a liar, or, indeed, a thief for stealing from her! Or, viewed with greater disdain for blaming someone else for my crime rather than owning up to the despicable deed myself.
Of course, I am exceedingly grateful to Mr. Sheridan for coming to our rescue and perhaps convincing the magistrate that neither Tilda nor I were aware that the banknotes in our reticules were counterfeit. So . . . all things considered, I suppose, the outcome was the best it could be. Our fate now lay in someone else’s palm. Which was not the least bit reassuring. I hated having no say in a matter of such grave import, or of being left with no choice but to sit idly by and wait until the next chapter in the saga of my life unfolded. But, at this juncture, what else could I do?
Once more, my thoughts turned to the possibility of conducting a search for the printing press used in forwarding the crime. This house and the rambling estate where it lay being a goodly distance from Town, made it the perfect location where a person of a criminal bent might carry on such a nefarious deed.
Latching more firmly onto the notion, my thoughts turned to wondering exactly when the crime might have been set in motion, and who might have initially prompted its onset. I soon settled on the notion that the inception lay at the feet of the late Mr. Dandridge, although that would seem to imply that the real Mrs. Dandridge, meaning the dearly departed Miss Cordelia, would have also had knowledge of her husband’s criminal pursuits. However, since neither of them were now living, to verify that theory rendered it of no consequence, so I summarily dismissed it.
However, having learned that one of their sons had been hanged for a criminal charge (the nature of which I was not privy to) but which could have very well been the business of forging banknotes, as it was a crime punishable by death, was a possibility. Although Mr. Sheridan had not mentioned why the Dandridge son had hanged, I did know, that in the past two decades since the war ended, counterfeiting had been on the rise in England. I recall reading detailed reports of a series of high profile trials conducted at the Old Bailey, and knew that as a result, a number of perpetrators had been apprehended and put to death. If Mr. Dandridge was, indeed, the instigator of the corruption in this family, apparently he had somehow managed to escape both capture and censure. So far as I knew, he had not been hanged until dead but had passed due to natural causes.
Because the banknotes in both hatboxes were faded and quite old, excepting, of course, the bundle of fresh new bills I had recently discovered, seemed to indicate that the bulk of them had originally been manufactured a good many years ago. Which again pointed to Mr. Dandridge as being the original instigator of the family business.
From Lady Jersey and her set, I had heard that upon his death, Mr. Dandridge left his wife with a mountain of debt and that due to her own cunning, she had managed to climb out of it on her own. But . . . was that the whole truth? Perhaps, Mrs. Dandridge, who at the time, I assume meant Miss Cordelia, but . . . perhaps, not. Perhaps, by that juncture, Miss Cordelia’s wits had already gone begging, which is when her sister-in-law, the present Mrs. Dandridge appeared on the scene and it was she who revived, or simply elected to carry on with, her late brother’s scheme of forging banknotes. Then, when she saw how easy it was to pass them, it was she who kept the family from debtor’s prison by putting to good use the stash of false funds in her possession. Having already demoted her brother’s wife (Miss Cordelia) to the role of lady’s maid, and boldly assuming her brother’s wife’s identity, she enlisted the aid of her nephews, David and Conner, to revive, or continue on with, the illicit operation.
Of a sudden, I recalled a remark I had heard from David as he and Josie were conversing in the corridor the day I inadvertently came upon them. David had asked Josie to tell Norris that he finally got ‘the beast running’ and that Norris would know what he meant. He then winked at Josie, which rather suggests that she also knew to what he was referring.
Then, later, when Josie told me that Mrs. Dandridge (I am assuming she meant the real Mrs. Dandridge) had promised her that she could one day be housekeeper, indicates that she had been with the family for a good many years. Since, as Tilda declares, servants know everything, that means that Josie could very well have been aware of the family’s illegal doings. And also explains why Norris thought it necessary to do away with her. Despite it being David who got the ancient printing press up and running again, I still believe that the hand controlling the family business today belonged to Norris.
Plus, she is also methodically removing each and every obstacle that she believes could hinder her success. Since she is determined to be the new lady of the house, with untold funds at her fingertips, means that the woman now parading as Mrs. Dandridge might very well be next in line on Norris’s list of hindrances to be disposed of.
Upon drawing that deadly conclusion, a shudder escaped me but did not hinder me from continuing to ponder the puzzle. It was soon after David wed Norris that he got the printing press running and began to freely spend money, purchasing costly jewelry for his grandmother, his niece, and his new wife. Unfortunately, it was quite soon thereafter that I discovered the bundle of fresh new banknotes in the hatbox beneath the old lady’s bed.
So far as I could determine, the pieces of the puzzle did seem to be falling into place. Except for the final most important component, the printing press itself . . . the location of which might be known only to those family members currently involved in the dishonest scheme.
* * * *
FOLLOWING BREAKFAST the next morning the post was delivered. The girls both received letters from home and also learned with surprisingly little enthusiasm that they’d been invited to several more balls and receptions. Thereafter, both Hannah and Ellie repaired to their bedchamber to read their letters and also to compose replies. Back in our room, I softly suggested to Tilda that she and I take a leisurely stroll about the estate grounds.
During my ruminations the night before, I had not fixed upon a reason why Norris seemed to have taken such an intense disliking to my little maid, other than that the housekeeper was an evil person with a vindictive nature, and by accusing Tilda, a person of lesser consequence than she, of a crime she herself had committed, she could remain free of the hangman’s noose and Tilda would instead hang for Josie’s death, and whatever other crimes Norris could conceive of. But, perhaps Norris feared that Josie might have taken Tilda into her confidence and Tilda now knew of Norris’s involvement in the counterfeiting operation. Either way, I did not wish to leave my maid here alone, so would continue to take her with me wherever I went. As expected, Tilda readily agreed to my notion to indulge in a pleasant stroll about the estate.
In case the day again turned rainy, or we stumbled and fell into a mud puddle left from yesterday’s downpour, I suggested we change into less fine frocks than the pretty morning gowns we’d worn down to breakfast. After doing so, Tilda and I set out, although mere moments before we left the house, I decided against pausing in the kitchen to request a bit of bread, or fruit, as I did not wish to alert Norris to the notion that my maid and I were setting out to explore the grounds.
Instead, we simply made our way into the garden and settled on the benches where we often sat. After lingering there a short while, we rose and quietly let ourselves out through the gate and hastened onto the dusty path that led away from the house.
“Are we lookin’ for somethin’ special today, miss?”
“Indeed, we are, Tilda.” I replied, keeping my tone low.
After a pause, she asked, “Do we know what we’re a-lookin’ for? Is it bigger than a breadbox?”
I grinned. “I expect so. Although I confess I haven’t a clue what it might look like. Some sort of machine with perhaps levers and pulleys and such.” Having never before laid eyes on an actual printing press, I had no clue as to the appearance of such a contraption. True, one would not expect to find such an apparatus within a tenant farmer’s cottage, yet, in this case, it seemed a likely spot to set up a press if one did not wish it to be easily uncovered by certain individuals, such as lawmen, intent upon locating it.
“I suspect, Tilda,” I began, “that the banknotes in the hatbox Mrs. Dandridge gave us are all . . . forgeries. Churned out on a printing press by someone who resides here upon the Dandridge estate. I am hoping that you and I can locate the machine used to spit out the bogus bills.”
“Oh, my, miss. I’d a-never guessed such a thing!”
“Do keep your tone low, Tilda. We do not wish anyone to overhear, or even hazard a guess, as to what we are about today.”
“Indeed not, miss.”
To either side of us ragged hedgerows sadly in want of trimming obscured most everything that lay beyond them. In places the hedgerows disappeared altogether and we could see quite a good ways into the distance, perhaps a mile or more. A patchwork of green fields devoid of sheep, cattle, or a cultivated crop, stretched far and wide with nigh on anything save a copse of trees, or tall grass, to break up the monotony.
Tilda cast a long gaze over the landscape. “So far, I don’t see nothin’ but brush and weeds. No cottages, or nothing.”
Shading my eyes from the sun, I, too, scanned the horizon that stretched before us. “Nor do I. But, then, I scarcely expect to see the machine sitting beneath a tree, or resting idle in an open field.”
“Perhaps it might be near a stream,” Tilda suggested. “Would it not need a water wheel to make it go? Like a mill? Where I grew up, there was a mill perched alongside a stream and it . . .”
I grinned. “I rather expect this machine will be housed within a structure, Tilda. Outdoor elements, such as rainwater might very well ruin it, cause the intricate workings to clog up, or perhaps rust or such like.”
When we drew closer upon a cluster of thatched huts, each one more derelict looking that the last, we strained to see through the brush at what remained of the dilapidated structures.
“The windows appear to all be either broken, or missing,” I mused.
“Likely nothin’ more’n rats er’ varmints a-livin’ there now.”
Several yards further on, Tilda pointed towards a ramshackle building sitting off to our left, it all but hidden from view by a stand of leafy shade trees. “Might a machine be a-sittin’ in that barn over there?”
I turned to gaze that direction. “It does seem a likely spot to hide such a thing. Let us . . . cautiously, head that way.”
We soon found that to strike out across the overgrown field was nigh on impossible, for running along the backside of the hedgerow was a sturdy fence completely enclosing the field.
“I recall seeing a ha-ha some distance back,” said I. “Which will allow us to climb up and over the fence.”
Tilda giggled. “I wonder why they call it a ha-ha?”
“I couldn’t say. I agree it does sound amusing.”
Turning to retrace our steps, we soon came upon the triangular-shaped affair that allowed us to climb up a few steps, then go over the top of the fence and easily walk down the other side before we once again set out across the field toward the ramshackle building in the distance.
Before approaching too awfully close to the weathered structure, I spotted a thin wisp of smoke curling up from the rooftop, coming I assumed from the opposite side of the building before lazily drifting away on the breeze. My pulse accelerated. Someone was there.
“Perhaps we should turn back,” I whispered. “I shouldn’t wish to encounter anyone who might inquire what we are about.”
“We could always beg a drink o’ water from ‘em. At least we’d find out who’s there,” she added with a shrug.
Considering a moment, I agreed. “Very well. Let us begin to chatter and laugh with one another as we approach, in an effort to throw off suspicion.” After another moment elapsed, I said, “Remember to say nothing about a printing press, Tilda. Or ‘the beast.’”
“I won’t say nothing, miss. I ain’t stupid.”
“I am aware that you’ve not got windmills in your head, Tilda. Not yet, at any rate.”
“You’re a-larkin’ with me now, ain’t ye, miss?”
We exchanged a few more lighthearted remarks as we drew nearer the ill-kept building.
Coming around the side of it, Tilda and I both stopped short. A few yards from us stood a familiar figure wearing brown trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. His wheat-coloured hair had fallen over his brow and partially covered his face. Nonetheless, I recognized the fellow and was genuinely pleased to encounter him.
“David!” I exclaimed, surprise in my tone as I quickened my pace. “So, this is where you reside, is it?”
Diverted by the sound of my voice, the young man glanced up from his task of raking leaves and debris into a pit in the ground. Red and orange flames snaked up from the center of the pit that was surrounded by large rocks. Drawing nearer, and getting a closer look at the fellow, I realized with a start that, despite him looking enough like David to be his . . .well, brother; it was not David I was addressing. I could also not help noticing the large pistol protruding from the man’s leather belt.
“We was jes walkin’ and grew thirsty,” Tilda interjected, even as I drew to a halt, my heart now thumping a good deal faster.
Still, I managed to say, “Might you spare us a cup of water, sir?”
The fellow seemed uncertain how to respond. Clear to me was that he was, indeed, possessed of a stocky build and stood several inches shorter that his older brother David.
I remained rooted in place a few yards from him, and Tilda, perhaps sensing something amiss, did likewise.
Following the breath of silence that ensued, she bravely asked, “Is there a stream nearby where we might scoop up a bit o’ sweet water?”
Her innocent query seemed to placate the wary chap, who was staring at the pair of us with no recognition whatsoever. Lifting a finger, he pointed. “Back the way you come, ladies, ye’ll find running water in the stream, on th’ other side of the road. Off ye’ go now.”
“Ah,” said I, hastily gathering up the ends of my long skirt before whirling around. “We shall just be off then. Thank you, David.” I called over my shoulder. “Ta!”
Tilda, whose countenance had grown a bit curious, said nothing.
The pair of us fairly ran back through the field the way we’d come. Gaining the road, we continued to walk rapidly away.
“Miss, you knows that weren’t David, don’t ya’?”
“Indeed, Tilda. I am well aware that that man was not our friend.”
“Do ya’ ‘spose it was the other grandson? The one Norris says took off for the continent after he got hisself in trouble? I forgit ‘is name.”
“Indeed, I do believe we inadvertently stumbled upon Conner Dandridge’s hiding place. A fact I am certain Mr. Sheridan will be most interested to learn of.”
“D’ ye’ think the printin’ machine was hidin’ in the buildin’? Do ye’ think it was Conner who’s been a-makin’ up them ‘filthy rags’?”
My head jerked around. “How is it you are familiar with that vulgar phrase, Tilda?”
She thrust her nose in the air. “I knows things, miss.”
“I daresay you do.”
“What do ye’ think we oughts to do now, miss?”
“I shall pen a note to Mr. Sheridan straightaway and hope he arrives quite soon after receiving it.”
“Makes ye’ wish Mr. Gant was here, don’t it? Flick of a lamb’s tail, he’d drive us into Town. No need to trust anyone here ’bouts.”
Back at the house, I did, indeed, hastily pen a note to my friend, but, of course, knew I had no choice but to entrust it to a footman to deliver as quickly as possible to Mr. Sheridan at the Home Office. In it, I simply said I wished to see him at once, without delay.
To calm myself and in the hope that nothing we did today would appear out of the ordinary, I asked Tilda if she’d help me wash my hair. We had no sooner finished the complicated task when a sharp rap sounded at our bedchamber door. Tilda and I were both startled when without waiting to be invited to enter, in stalked Norris, her attractive face once again an angry, red thundercloud.
