Anna Jacobs (30 page)

“You’re a clever woman, Evadne.”

“I am, aren’t I?”

What, Justin wondered, had Fleming done to make Hammerton angry?

* * * *

Hammerton stared at his wife and resisted the urge to thump her, because it wouldn’t do any good. When she was afraid she became twice as stupid. “Don’t you know that Evadne Price is the cousin of Redway?”

Jean blinked and shook her head.

“What exactly did you say to her?”

“Nothing much, just small talk. We met when we were both powdering our noses.”

“Going for a piss, do you mean?”

She flushed and began to shake. “Please don’t be so crude, Cyril.”

He scowled at her. “What—did you—say to her?”

“All we talked about was how good the food was and then
she
said I must go round to her house next time. I th-thought you’d be pleased about that. You
want
me to get to know the right sort of ladies.”

“The right sort, yes. But there are certain people who are
not
useful to me. She’s one.”

“Perhaps if you wrote me a list, I could avoid the people you don’t want me to know?”

If he gave her a list Jean would only betray herself with those people. “I’m glad you’re trying to mix more, but don’t go to the Price woman’s house. Accept her invitation but send word that you’re ill at the last minute. Right? That way she can’t take offence.”

“Yes, Cyril. How clever!”

He looked at her with disfavour. What was the point of earning a lot of money on black market ventures if you had a wife like this one? No matter what sort of clothes he bought Jean, she always looked what she was: a plain, plump and rather stupid woman.

“I’ll—um—go and check how Cook is doing.”

Was all she was good for, running his house? Indeed, she got on better with their cook than she did with the well-off ladies she should be associating with. She was of no help to him socially in his new role as one of the richest men in town.

Nor was Fleming, who seemed to be behaving very strangely lately, as if he thought himself above the law. Not wise, that. Of course, Fleming was somewhat concerned about his gambling debts. He wasn’t as good a card player as he thought and when the gambling fever gripped him, didn’t bother to keep count of how deep he was getting.

Most people were fools, even the so-called clever ones.

* * * *

As they got the shop ready for opening on Tuesday, which was Christmas Eve, Aubrey told Ted he had a friend staying with him, a friend who didn’t want to be seen by Fleming or his men.

Ted shot him a quick glance. “There seem to be a lot of people at odds with your father lately.”

“He’s been setting a few backs up—but then he always did.” More memories slipped into place. “I can remember as a lad being beaten up by some other boys. He was furious that I hadn’t hurt any of them in return, but I never was any good at fighting. So he had them beaten up and they didn’t come near me again—nor did anyone else, even those who’d been friendly before.”

“Must have been lonely.”

Aubrey nodded. “But I did have my sister. Anyway, enough of that. My visitor is still in bed. He was very tired, hasn’t fully recovered from his war injuries yet. I’ll introduce him to you later.”

From then on they were too busy to chat. It seemed as if everyone who needed to buy a last-minute Christmas gift had decided on a book and wanted advice about choosing just the right one. Which sent coins clinking into the till and had Ted looking pleased.

Jim stayed upstairs for most of the day and took a nap in the afternoon, so what with the busy shop, there never seemed to be a convenient time to introduce him to Ted.

As they were closing up, a group of three scruffy-looking carol singers appeared and sang “Good King Wenceslas” with more vigour than skill. Ted gave them sixpence and let them each choose a book from what was left on the penny tray. After that he looked at the clock and said, “I reckon we can close now. I want to go home and you said you needed to nip along to the market for some more food.” He pressed a small envelope into Aubrey’s hand. “Your wages. Have a good Christmas.”

When he’d gone, Aubrey ran upstairs to tell Jim he was going out to the market, then did a rapid round of shopping. He’d been invited out to the Hall the following day for Christmas lunch and was going to risk taking Jim with him—if his friend could be persuaded to show his face in daylight. He was quite sure Serena and Marcus would welcome any friend of his and he’d buy a cake or some biscuits to take along as an extra present. People at the markets were relaxing the food regulations a little, unofficially of course, but no one was reporting the infringements.

While he was out he nipped over to the Weaver’s Arms to wish Mrs Beamish a merry Christmas and give her the small present he’d bought—a book, of course.

“And here was me thinking you’d forgotten me,” she teased. “Wait there.” She nipped into the back and came out with a plate covered in layers of greaseproof paper. “I’ve got a cake for you. Keep it in a tin and it’ll last for days. Why don’t you come back for a drink later?”

“Not tonight. I’m exhausted after being on my feet all day and I’m going to have an early night. After Christmas, maybe.”

She pulled a face. “Come tomorrow night, then. We’ll be closed, but you’ll be here as my guest, not a customer.”

“Well, maybe just for a quick drink.”

“If you don’t turn up, I’ll come and fetch you.”

He smiled as he walked home. She was a lovely woman. It was good to make new friends. She, Jim and Ted weren’t the sort of people his father would approve of, but he didn’t care about that. He liked people who were warm and friendly, decent people without any pretensions.

After Christmas he’d go and see his father, face up to his past. But for now he just wanted to enjoy his first peacetime Christmas for several years.

* * * *

On Christmas Eve, Ernest made arrangements which would show certain people that he wasn’t a man to be trifled with. After that he went to the club, because he had nowhere else to go and to his annoyance, had found he wanted company on this night of supposed celebration. Though what there was to celebrate with a son like his, he didn’t know.

To his surprise the house seemed empty without his daughter and he actually missed her. And Serena
was
his daughter, because he was the one who’d housed her and reared her, not James Lang. She’d been quite a nice little child and he’d enjoyed people commenting on how pretty she was or how clever.

She might not have done him credit as she grew older, the cunning bitch, but she had still been there, someone to talk to. Or she had been until she took it into her head to run off to marry that fellow. There had to be a way to force her to come home again, a way to get the marriage annulled. He’d get Tolson to swear she was still a virgin. The man would do anything to have some of his gambling debts cancelled.

Ernest looked round, scowling. A house was so more comfortable with a mistress in it, and Serena had been good at running things, very good. He could see that now that the little touches were missing, the flowers, arrangements of leaves, small items of comfort set just where you needed them.

If he could get Frank back and see him married to a suitable young woman from a good family, there would be no need to re-marry, something Ernest didn’t really want to do. If he had Serena here again, that would be enough.

There were Christmas Eve parties being held by some of the town’s leading citizens, he knew, but this year he’d not received any invitations, which had surprised him. He’d have to look into that in the new year, make sure one or two men who were under obligations to him started inviting him round to dinner again. Only he needed a woman to be his hostess when he invited them back, dammit.

He’d treat Serena more carefully when he got her back, show her he valued her. That was where he’d gone wrong with her, he could see that now.

He met Hammerton at the club, but no one else was there whom he knew or wanted to know, just a couple of old fogies who had no family and almost lived here. “Where is everyone?”

“They’re all at home with their families,” Cyril said. “Or at the Pulvertons’ party. They didn’t invite me this year. I’ll make sure they regret that. Fancy a glass of claret?”

“Lovely.” Ernest sat down, feeling better already for having some company. But after they’d dined, conversation flagged a little.

“Fancy a few hands of cards?” Cyril asked.

“’Fraid I can’t afford it at the moment. You’ve been too damned lucky lately.”

“I’ll take your IOUs. I know you always pay in the end.”

“You’ve got too many of those already. No, I think I’ll have an early night. And you’ve got a wife at home. Won’t she be missing you?”

“She’s fussing over the grandchildren’s presents. I came out to escape that. You sure you won’t play?”

“Certain.” Ernest stood up. “I’ll see you after Christmas.”

“Mmm. Want a ride back?”

“No, thanks. It’s not far. A walk will do me good.”

But his way led past his offices and he scowled at the blackened ruins. The fire had held off inquiries for a time, but what the hell was he going to do now about paying Hammerton back? He couldn’t hold on to Serena’s annuity for much longer and the annual payment that he needed so much wasn’t due until April.

He entered his house feeling aggrieved and when Ruby came to take his coat, so far forget himself as to snap at her.

She looked at him in shock.

“Sorry.” He studied her. Not a bad looking woman. “Bring a tea tray to the sitting room, will you?”

“Yes, sir.”

When she came in with it, he stood up and took it from her, seizing the opportunity to press her breast.

She jumped back like a scalded cat.

“Why don’t you join me in a cup, Ruby? You must have been on your feet all day.”

She edged back to the door. “No, thank you, sir. It wouldn’t be right.”

Clearly she wasn’t free with her favours. He scowled then shrugged. Better that way, really. He’d send a message tomorrow to a man who was sometimes of use to him and who could always provide a woman to see to his needs. You had to celebrate Christmas one way or the other.

Scowling at the tea tray he went across to the decanter that always stood ready nowadays, pouring himself a big glass of brandy. A man needed something to make him sleep.

Chapter 16

Christmas morning dawned with lowering skies and a threat of rain. Aubrey got up later than usual and since there was no sound of Jim stirring in the attic bedroom, he made his way downstairs, shivering in his dressing gown. He opened the damper on the kitchen stove in case there was any residual glow that could make it easier to get the fire blazing, then he went out to the lavatory.

When he came out of it, he found his way barred by two men, one of them Sam Hudd, and was so shocked by this unexpected sight that he couldn’t for a moment move a muscle. As they advanced on him, he let out a yell but they grabbed him and although he struggled, they were far stronger than he was and it didn’t take them long to subdue and gag him.

“Stick him on the cart,” said Hudd. “I’ll go inside and get some clothes for him.”

The other man nodded and slung the bound man over his shoulder, carrying him out of the back gate and rolling him up in some old carpet that was lying ready on the handcart.

Aubrey found himself lying in stifling darkness, breathing air so filled with dust and stale smells that he felt he was being smothered. He had to tell himself sternly not to panic. He knew who was behind this, of course he did, had done from the minute he’d seen Hudd. He could even guess why he’d been taken—the same old nagging to follow his father into the business of charging high rents for ill-maintained and crumbling properties—which included making sure rents were paid, even if the tenants starved, something Aubrey had never been able to stomach.

He wriggled but the ropes round his wrists didn’t give at all, so he lay waiting, angry and ashamed that it’d been so easy for them to catch him. But if his father thought he could coerce him into working and living with him, he would soon discover that his son had changed. Even Serena had rebelled in the end, once their mother was dead.

Then it suddenly occurred to Aubrey that Jim was still in the house and he began to worry about his friend, who was not yet fully recovered from months of surgery and might be permanently harmed if treated roughly. But although he strained his ears, he could hear nothing.

It seemed a very long time before he heard voices close by and the cart started moving, bumping him to and fro, helpless in his dusty straitjacket.

* * * *

Jim half-woke when he heard Aubrey go downstairs, and came fully awake as he heard Aubrey yell out suddenly a few minutes later. He rolled out of bed and ran to stare out of the window, watching in horror as two brutal-looking men subdued his young friend, tied him up and carried him out through the back gate.

When one of them walked purposefully towards the house Jim hurriedly straightened the bedcovers, shoved his clothes into his suitcase and pushed it under the bed. Then he went to peer down the stairs. He knew better than to tangle with men like that in his present physical condition, and besides, he’s be of more use to Aubrey if he stayed free. He heard footsteps coming upstairs and drew back, but not before he’s seen the man reach the landing below and check all three rooms before going into the one where Aubrey slept.

There came sounds of drawers being opened, occasional grunts of effort or annoyance, then the intruder came out on to the landing carrying a suitcase. He stopped there and set it down. Jim wondered what he was doing and to his surprise the man started up the stairs towards the attics, presumably to check that no one had witnessed what had happened.

Jim tiptoed across to the bed, glad he was still barefoot. As he slid under it, he hoped desperately that he hadn’t left anything out to show that the room was occupied.

Footsteps went towards the next room then came into Jim’s. From underneath the bed he could see only the man’s heavy boots and the lower few inches of his trousers. For a few nerve-racking moments he tried to keep his breathing quiet while the other turned from side to side as if studying the bedroom.