The ground was bone hard as he ran across Nuns Field. The moon illuminated his path before flitting behind a cloud and racing out the other side. In his haste, he stumbled on the frosty white grass, grazing his knee. Cursing, he hauled himself up and made Bessie’s tree without further mishap. His animal enthusiasm took him swiftly up the first two branches. Above him was Bessie’s room, a candle in the window. That was the pre-arranged sign that all was clear. It was not needed. Jack knew exactly where Acorn was and would remain. He reckoned he and Bessie would have a clear half hour.
It was only when he was leaning over the branch that nestled close to the window – and his direct route to the pleasures Bessie had promised him – that he froze. His lustful anticipation had taken him far beyond the height that his head could stand. He was breaking out in a cold sweat. The ground seemed to rear up towards him, only to sink away far, far below him. In the name of the devil, why had he agreed to climb the tree? He had always been afraid of high places. Had not his sister teased him unmercifully about his irrational fear after she had rescued him from the lowest branch of their old apple tree? What now? He clung like a limpet to the trunk of the tree, unable to move either downwards to safety or the short distance to Bessie’s room.
Jack heard the window open. He could not see Bessie; his eyes were so tightly closed they were starting to hurt. ‘What are you doing? Hurry before the room becomes cold.’
‘I cannot. I am…’ He was reluctant to admit his weakness.
‘What?’
‘I am… stuck.’
Bessie snorted and put her hand over her mouth to stop herself laughing, which only made it worse.
‘’Tis no laughing matter,’ Jack said irritably. ‘I might fall and harm myself.’ This was met by a burst of uncontrolled giggles. Wiping away the tears that streamed down her cheeks, she enquired if he was intent on spending the rest of the evening making love to the tree. Jack knew he had to do something. His fingers were freezing and his grip was beginning to loosen.
‘If you insist on staying there, you will not want these.’ Out of sheer curiosity Jack had to open one eye and squint. He blinked. He could see Bessie’s lovely naked bosom above the window ledge. It is amazing how swiftly desire can conquer fear. Jack was through the window in a trice.
It was when their combined passions were at full tilt, and Bessie’s yelps of joy were at their height, that Jack could have sworn he heard the unmistakable thud of the front door shutting. Jack stopped abruptly. ‘What?’ Bessie screamed in annoyance.
‘Ssshh! Listen,’ he whispered viciously. A murmur of voices came drifting up from far below. Another door was opened, then shut, followed by silence. ‘It must be your father. What is he doing back here?’ This was the last place – and position – he wanted Acorn to find him in.
Bessie reluctantly disengaged. Throwing on her nightgown, she crossed to the door and pulled it slightly ajar. She listened for a few minutes before closing it. By this time, Jack had frantically fought his way into his breeches.
‘It is my father. I do not know who he is with. Look, you must go. If he finds you here, the consequences do not bear thinking about. When he thought you were useful to him, he was happy for you to bed his daughter, but now…’
Jack stopped putting on his jacket. ‘He knew?’ he said incredulously.
‘Of course. It was his idea.’
Jack was dumbfounded. ‘I thought you came to my bed because you wanted to.’
‘Not at first. Now I have grown fond of you – and your appendage,’ she added with a smirk. ‘Why else do you think you are here tonight?’
‘I suppose,’ he replied huffily, pulling his jacket over his shoulders. The bitterness he felt broke through. ‘Have you done this sort of favour for your father before?’
Bessie did not answer. Jack sat on the bed and slipped on his stockings and shoes.
‘You have to leave. I would not have you harmed.’
‘Do you really care?’ He sounded like a spoilt child who had just had his favourite toy taken from him. ‘And, pray, how shall I go?’
‘Out of the window and down the tree.’
‘You jest! I cannot do that.’ The thought was too horrific to contemplate. Even being horsewhipped by Acorn seemed the more attractive option. ‘If you think—’
Bessie held up her hand to silence him. They stood completely still. An inner door opened. Then the front door. They heard it close.
‘Thank the Lord for that; they have gone,’ said Jack with relief. ‘I will slip out the front.’
‘Wait. I will go down and make sure my father has definitely gone.’ Quietly, she left the room.
What a fiasco! What a day! What a night! The sooner he left Newcastle, the better. He would never come back. What really upset him was that Acorn had sent Bessie to his bed. Why was he always being used? Suddenly, his fuming self-pity was cut short by a rasping scream. Followed by another.
Jack rushed down the stairs into the hall and towards the open doorway of the parlour. There, he halted abruptly. Bessie was not screaming any more; just sobbing uncontrollably. Her figure hunched, her shoulders pumping up and down with grief, bent over a still body. Blood trickled from under the white wig – torn and askew, and partly embedded in a gaping wound – to form a crimson halo around Acorn’s head. Jack felt sickness rise in his throat. He turned away, fighting for breath. How sheltered his life had been! Last winter in Edinburgh, he had passed a man sitting in a close, frozen to death by the bitter cold. The sight had not frightened him. The man seemed to have retained his dignity; he could have been asleep. This was different – the body crumpled; fresh, oozing blood. So arrogant in life, so humbled by death. This was someone he had talked to this morning! And Bessie’s outpouring of emotion made it horribly real.
Real, too, were the implications as they slowly began to thaw the numbness that had enveloped his mind. Acorn murdered in his own house. You didn’t need to be a Dictionary Johnson to work out it was murder: a large brass candlestick lay close to the slumped body, the extinguished candle on the floor by the table, a pool of wax still shiningly warm. Jack also in the house. Not easy to explain. In bed with the man’s daughter. Acorn returns unexpectedly, discovers him – fight ensues. Acorn dead, Jack guilty. Bessie could vouch for him. But would she compromise herself by admitting that they were in bed together in the first place? If it was her word against his, his head was as good as in the noose.
Another unpleasant thought flashed through his mind. The dead man had only that morning dismissed him from the company. Had Acorn told anyone else? If he had, then the finger could also be pointed in Jack’s direction. Certainly some would see it as sufficient motive. This would teach him to think twice before diving into a quick dalliance. The safest course was to get out of the house and out of the town as swiftly as possible.
But what of Bessie? He couldn’t leave her like this. She turned her puffy, tear-stained face towards him. Jack instinctively went to her side and gently raised her to her feet. He looked into her eyes, the haughty self-confidence replaced by touching vulnerability. She tried to speak but the words failed her. Jack’s protective embrace grew firmer, to still her shaking body. ‘Bessie, I must be gone from here. To get back to the theatre. I dare not be found in this house.’ The words came out in a rush.
Bessie pushed herself away, her eyes in wild panic. ‘Jack, you must not leave me. Please, Jack, please.’
She had never used his Christian name before. Now the helpless pleading made him feel guilty for wanting to save his own skin. ‘I cannot remain. If I am discovered here, I will be in grave trouble. I cannot tell them why I am here. It will look bad for me… and for you.’ Would the authorities suspect Bessie? He immediately dismissed the thought.
She fell back into his arms, crying once more. Between each sob, she kept repeating the word ‘please’. Jack could not desert her – yet. He stroked her hair gently while he desperately thought what to do. ‘Listen, Bessie, I must go back to the theatre before anyone misses me.’ He felt a sudden tightening of her arms around him. ‘Do not worry. After the performance, I will return as though I am still living here. With luck, your father will not have told anyone of my banishment. While I am away, you must gather up your courage and go and tell someone in authority… whoever is entrusted with upholding the law in these parts. Tell them that you found your father’s body.’ This produced a further wave of tears. ‘Tell them the truth about hearing someone coming in with your father and then leaving. But do not mention my being here. Now listen carefully. The clock on the mantel says the hour is eight. Wait about thirty minutes before you go out. Say that you heard the other person departing the house, that you came down straight away, discovered your father and left immediately to seek help. That will enable me to say that I was at the theatre at the time the murder took place.’ Bessie said nothing. ‘Bessie, do you understand me?’ Her head, pressed against his chest, nodded twice. He prayed to God she did. Why, oh why had he walked away from Oxford and the quiet life?
Out in the cold street, Jack reflectively pulled up his collar. The dead body was not the only thing that preoccupied his thoughts. What was it about the scene in the parlour that pecked at his brain like a persistent bird as he hurried towards the theatre? For the very life of him, he could not put his finger on it.