Hilda, her usual moody self, carelessly laid the food and drink on the table. The beer in the pitcher spilled over the edge as the liquid ebbed and flowed until it settled.
‘That will be all for now, Hilda,’ said Bessie. Hilda retreated with a banging of the door.
Jack watched her go behind Bessie’s shoulder. If he had his way, that impudent hussy would be thrown out onto the streets. He sat at one end of the table, with Bessie at the other. They had to lean across to help themselves to the array of dishes set before them. There were pullets’ eggs, cold buttock beef, chicken stuffed with more eggs, ham, pheasant, and a selection of puddings. Jack poured Bessie some beer.
‘This is a veritable feast.’
‘It is a special meal for you, dear Jack. You have been so thoughtful over these past few weeks. I know you have suffered gravely, and now that horrid Axwell has put further pressure on you. I hope that this will take your mind off things awhile…and afterwards…’ Bessie ran her fingers seductively over the top of her breasts, which were pushing their delightful way out of her dress. ‘I promise you can have me any way you want.’
‘I will hold you to that.’
Jack’s carnal desires had landed him in the midden in which he was now wallowing, and yet he was still falling for the same old manoeuvres. He knew she wanted something out of him still. All he needed was an incentive, and she knew which one to put on offer. Only prison or a monastery would help save him from himself and, as things stood, the former appeared the most likely route to celibacy.
It didn’t take Bessie long to get round to the subject on her mind. ‘I saw you leave with Southby after the rehearsal.’
‘We went for a drink. What else?’
‘And what did you discover?’ She tried to keep her impatience at bay.
‘He admitted to killing your father.’
‘I knew it!’ she said, wringing her hands in excitement. Then she paused. ‘You mean he just told you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can we have him brought to justice?’ she asked cautiously.
‘No.’
‘No? Why not?’
‘Because he did not do it. He thought Mrs Trump had committed the murder, so he wanted to take the honourable course and sacrifice himself for her. He loves her, you see.’
Bessie shivered. ‘How grotesque! What a pairing! It makes my stomach churn to even think about it.’
‘Sometimes you have no generosity of spirit, Bessie. You can see no good in anyone.’
Bessie ignored his observation. ‘So Mrs Trump killed my father.’
‘No. She is innocent also.’
‘They cannot all be innocent,’ she cried in frustration. ‘Someone delivered the blow that took my father away.’
‘Someone did, and now I am convinced I know his identity. Strangely, it is the one person we never really suspected.’
‘Well?’ she demanded.
‘Bowser. Lazarus Bowser.’
Bessie cocked her head as though she had missed what he’d said. Slowly, the name sank in. ‘That cannot be true. For what reason? Surely he had nothing against my father? How can you be sure?’ The questions gushed out like water from a fissured dam.
‘I do not have the faintest idea why he should kill your father. However, I am sure. It was the cinnamon-scented snuff. The reason I thought it was Southby was because he had the same. The trouble is that Bowser only gave it to Southby a few days ago. Southby did not have it at the time of the murder. The snuff I smelt that night is specially made for Bowser to his own particular specifications. None of our suspects take snuff, except Southby.’
‘Could he not be lying?’
‘He could about the snuff, but he obviously had no idea about the existence of Lady Lammondale’s letter and where it was taken from. He did not even know what part of your father’s head he was supposed to have hit. No, the one thing I did glean today was that Southby is not our man – and Bowser is.’
‘I am afraid it is difficult to comprehend. He has no motive. Jack, you must be mistaken.’
‘I am right. The problem is that I cannot prove it. I cannot even supply a reason for it. There must be something we have overlooked, something that has been staring us in the face. Could it be a matter concerning their business relationship?’
‘I think not. They had been partners too short a time to have had a serious disagreement.’
‘Could it have been to do with you?’
‘How so?’
‘Maybe your father was not agreeable to the idea of Bowser marrying you. Bowser may have raised the matter. Or he might have passed a coarse remark about you that enraged your father.’
‘Even if he had, my father was too much the pragmatist to take umbrage. Bowser’s money was too important to him. Though I now know Bowser can be lewd; I could not believe his outrageous behaviour on his last visit. Just pulled his breeches down and muttered something about “storming the main gate.” I will never know what possessed him.’
Jack took a guilty bite of his pheasant and avoided catching her eye.
‘He is an old lecher. I will allow him some slapping and some tickling, but not what he was so ardent about. Anyway, I prefer a young lecher like yourself. Come here.’
Jack obediently walked to the other end of the table, tossing away his pheasant leg. Bessie rose to meet him and planted a kiss upon his lips. ‘Why do you not take what was denied Bowser?’
They kissed with lusting passion. He pushed her against the table and she eased herself back, knocking plates from the surface, so she could lie flat. She pulled her skirts up. Nothing but expectant young thighs. She had either anticipated such an event or had deliberately manufactured it. Whatever, he needed no further invitation.
Hilda burst in without knocking. There was her mistress, stretched out on the table, legs in the air, groaning loudly, food all over the floor, and the dislikeable Flyford, in an upright position, rutting away for all he was worth.
Jack looked up in horror. ‘Bugger off, Hilda,’ he panted. ‘Can’t you see your mistress has not finished her main course yet?’
‘I can see that,’ she replied tartly.
‘Don’t stop, Jack, don’t stop,’ Bessie moaned beneath him.
‘Hilda, give us two more minutes. I cannot last longer.’
‘I’ll tell him to wait.’
‘Oh, Jack, faster!’
‘Who to wait?’ said Jack slowing.
‘That sergeant. Sergeant Axwell.’
Jack stopped abruptly.
‘Don’t stop now!’ Bessie screamed at him.
‘Who does he want to see?’ Jack gasped.
‘You. Sez he wants a few words.’
‘Jack!’ Bessie demanded.
‘Tell Axwell I am coming.’
‘I hope Miss Acorn is alreet?’ Axwell said a few minutes later in the privacy of the parlour. ‘Sounded in some pain.’
‘Something in the food disagreed with her,’ Jack replied dismissively.
Axwell raised his eyebrows knowingly. Jack hoped he and Bessie wouldn’t become the talk of the taverns.
‘Anyway, Sergeant, it is very good of you to enquire after Miss Acorn’s health, but I am sure that this is not the purpose of your visit.’
‘Nah. I’ve come to ask you where Thirsk is. He’s disappeared, like.’
‘Why should I know where he is? Despite your idiotic theories, I have no connection with the man.’
‘Strange thing to say considerin’ I’ve seen the two of you together.’
Jack’s heart fluttered. Had he been spotted on the bridge with Thirsk? ‘Where?’
‘You’ve had meetin’s wi’ him. In taverns doon on the quayside.’
‘Those. There is nothing suspicious in them. He wanted me to join him at the Moot Hall. He made me an offer which, though I reflected on it, I declined.’ With Bessie out of earshot, he could safely make the admission. ‘I felt I owed loyalty to Mr Acorn’s company. After all, he was the one who engaged me.’
Axwell’s permanent expression of disbelief wavered. ‘So you say you know nowt aboot Thirsk’s vanishin’ trick?’
‘Sergeant, why should I? Once I had turned him down, he was no longer interested in me.’
Axwell fell silent. Both were standing during the conversation and as the silence grew, Jack felt increasingly awkward. He sought sanctuary in a seat by the fire. Axwell, without embarrassment, watched him. Such quiet scrutiny was unnerving. At last he spoke. ‘I cannot fathom you.’
Relieved that Axwell had at last opened his mouth, Jack responded: ‘I am a straightforward fellow. I mean no one any harm. Yet due to circumstances beyond my control, I find that I am the subject of your suspicion. You are wrong about me.’
‘I don’t know. Mind, I’ve given some thought to what you said last time. Aboot Mr Southby. He could be connected to Thirsk. An’ if he’s sweet on Mrs Trump, well then?’
Jack braced himself. ‘Sergeant, I know you are not going to thank me, but Mr Southby is not your man.’
‘But you said…’
‘I know what I said,’ Jack put in hurriedly. ‘I said I thought it was Southby. Before that, I said it was Courtney. Well, I was wrong on both counts. It just seems to be a habit I have got into.’
‘You play a funny game for sure.’ The sarcasm returned. ‘So who do you think it is then? Or have you run oot of folk to point the finger at?’
‘You are right to mock me, but you are wrong to think I have run out of people to accuse.’
‘So who have you got your eye on now?’
Jack afforded himself a laugh. ‘Sergeant, even if I told you, you would never believe me. I cannot believe it myself, and as I have been wrong about everything up to now, I will keep my own counsel on this one.’
‘No clue?’ Axwell tested.
‘No, Sergeant. If I accuse this man – and I am wrong again – then I would be safer in your New Gate Gaol.’
Axwell screwed up his eyes for a moment, nodded, then left.
Jack was making progress. Axwell had departed without making a threat.