Chapter 6
‘I’m afraid I underestimated Sir Drayton’s enmity towards your father.’ Benedict’s rueful comment as he sat down for dinner was met with an assortment of remarks, most of which were unrepeatable, being descriptions of various parts of Sir Drayton’s anatomy.
Ben didn’t know whether to laugh or express outrage considering the sentiments referred to his superior. That said, some of the observations were uncannily accurate… After choking into his wine, he decided to go with discretion - by simply moving the conversation swiftly on…
‘…Which makes it all the more fortunate that I am not here in my official capacity,’ he continued carefully.
‘That’s splendid, Mr Hartley,’ Alexandra beamed. ‘We are, of course, delighted you are settling in South Devon. I assume your job keeps you particularly busy.’
‘Robbing widows of family heirlooms is an especially nasty business,’ Rhys added.
‘Most definitely, my lord,’ Ben sighed. ‘I believe all four ladies are intensely distressed, though it could have been worse since only one item was taken from each of their jewellery boxes.’
‘So it wasn’t just at Mrs Pettigrew’s. How strange, an honourable thief, perhaps?’ Arabella suggested lightly.
‘I believe all four ladies are well acquainted, which certainly suggests a connection between the thefts,’ Rhys speculated.
‘Indeed, I’m told that all four have even employed servants from the same domestic agency - Pembroke and Associates Domestic Services.
Perhaps you know of them? They are on Lower Warberry Road in Torquay…
’ He paused as the door opened. ‘Ah, here is Gladys with our first course.’
‘You must be certain to try Mrs Brown’s potted shrimp, Mr Hartley, it’s simply heavenly,’ Alexandra suggested.
‘I’ll have some,’ Daisy declared, all but smacking her lips.
‘Aunt Charlotte would have your guts for garters if she heard you making that dreadful noise in polite company,’ Florence told her twin.
‘I’m not making it in polite company,’ Daisy scoffed. ‘Mr Hartley is a friend of the family, aren’t you, Mr Hartley?’
‘I would certainly like to think so… and, of course, you may call me Benedict,’ Ben smiled.
Inside he was mulling over the domestic services connection.
It was impressive that the Shackleford agency had managed to uncover something in two days that the Torquay police hadn’t unearthed in over three weeks.
He smiled and nodded at the maid as she offered him some of the fabled potted shrimp.
‘I’m not familiar with the Pembroke Agency,’ he continued once the door had shut behind the maid.
‘But I will be certain to ask about them when I visit one of the earlier victims tomorrow.’ He turned to Bella, adding, ‘Since I am bound by my superior’s orders, I am not permitted to actually request your presence, Miss Arabella, but having witnessed first-hand your persuasiveness with Mrs Pettigrew, it would be most helpful if you happened to be visiting Mrs Dorothy Thomas at around nine in the morning…
’ He helped himself to a piece of bread before adding, ‘As I’m sure you are aware, Mrs Thomas lives in Braddon House at the top of Braddons Hill Road. ’
‘How coincidental,’ Arabella responded with a small smile, ‘I was only thinking of visiting the lady tomorrow to express my sympathy, and naturally ask if there is anything I can do to help…’
‘What the devil do you think you’re doing, Lottie?
’ Henry hissed, striding over to the ladder, now wobbling precariously as his sister tried to raise her foot high enough to reach the next intact rung of the ladder.
Unfortunately, however, said foot was entwined in heavy skirts, pulled tight by her bustle, and she didn’t dare free a hand to untangle it.
‘What the deuce does it look like, you… you… clodpole,’ Charlotte shot back through gritted teeth.
‘I’m a clodpole. May I remind you that I’m not the one stranded on a ladder that should have been condemned years ago – as you would have ascertained before you started climbing if you’d been wearing your spectacles…’
‘At this particular moment I consider myself fortunate that the sight of you is merely a round blob,’ Charlotte retorted, ‘Your overindulgence in Mrs Williams’ Madeira sponge has done nothing for your waistline or your appearance.’
‘In that case, I will take my corpulent middle elsewhere,’ Henry snapped back. ‘Perhaps if you shout loud enough, someone will hear you.’
It had to be said that Charlotte generally viewed most of her brother’s statements as bluster and bluff.
However, on this occasion, she feared she might have finally gone too far – indeed, she was actually worried that he intended to simply leave her hanging there – especially when he disappeared back around the corner of the house.
She gave a thoroughly un-Charlotte like whimper. Naturally, this wasn’t the only time she’d been in a hobble, but it was the first time she was truly worried that Henry wouldn’t be there to pluck her from … well, if not death, something equally inconvenient.
She looked down at the ground. Had it always been that far away?
Then she looked up. The open window was about three feet away, as far as she could tell without her spectacles.
She could have sworn it looked closer when she pushed the ladder against the wall and started climbing.
Then, she looked down at her feet, one of which she’d managed to wedge on the fragment of the broken rung.
The other foot was dangling in mid-air – thank goodness she was wearing her best drawers – though she had to admit the chances of anyone admiring them from the bottom of the ladder were fairly slim.
‘Charlotte.’ The sudden, loud whisper nearly had her letting go of the ladder. Heart pounding, she looked around wildly.
‘Up here, you mutton-headed female.’
Charlotte looked up to see Henry’s head sticking out of the open window. He hadn’t left her after all. Seconds later, Albert’s head appeared beside him.
‘Well, I’ll be…’ was the sum total of the coach driver’s concise assessment of the situation.
‘I can’t quite reach you at the moment,’ Henry hissed. ‘You’ll need to get closer to this window.’
‘If I could get closer to the deuced window, I wouldn’t have needed rescuing.’ As she spoke, Charlotte’s heated whisper gradually turned into something a little louder.
‘She’s got a point,’ Albert observed.
‘It’s your dratted skirts, woman. You’ll need to take ‘em off.’
‘Are you completely bacon-brained, Henry Shackleford? I’m halfway up a deuced ladder.’
‘And you won’t be getting off it any time soon if we don’t rid you of some of… some of…’ he paused, waving his hand in the vague direction of her nether regions, ‘your… behindativeness’
‘That’s my bustle,’ was the indignant response. ‘I can’t undo the damned thing without letting go of the ladder.’
‘P’raps Miss Charlotte could use a pair o’ scissors,’ Albert suggested.
‘Do you happen to have a pair secreted about your person?’ Henry commented – not without a smidgeon of sarcasm, it has to be said.
Albert shook his head sadly, then stopped, frowning.
‘I do ‘ave me fruit knife. I like to keep it on me fer when I fancy an apple – on account o’ me missin’ teeth.
’ He opened his mouth wide to show Henry the gaps.
‘Took ‘em out meself when they wos givin’ me jip. Tied a bit o’ string round the bad’n, an’ the other end to old Ned along wi’ a smack on ‘is rump to get the lazy blighter movin’.
Bit bloody cheaper than usin’ a tooth-puller. ’
Thankfully, the coach driver didn’t appear to need an answer, and wincing, Henry stepped back with a small cough, rapidly moving the conversation on. ‘Is the knife on your person, Albert?’
‘Aye, it is.’ Albert rummaged around in his pockets and after a few seconds triumphantly pulled out a small pocketknife that looked as though it had been last used in the local knacker’s yard. Grimacing, Henry gingerly took hold of the handle.
‘Do you ever wash it, Albert?’
‘Wot fer?’
Henry swallowed, imagining Charlotte’s reaction to the blade touching any part of her apparel. There was no way he could simply give her the knife to use – even if she had both hands free, she’d likely have an apoplexy. It was no good, he’d have to do it for her.
‘What the devil are you doing?’ his sibling hissed. ‘My arms already feel as though they’re about to drop off. At this rate I won’t be able to put pen to paper for weeks.’
Though Henry privately thought that might be no bad thing, he was wise enough to keep his opinion to himself. Sticking his head out of the window again, he leaned down.
‘Right, Lottie. I’ve got something we can use to… er.. to lighten the load, so to speak…’ He briefly waved Albert’s knife in the air, making sure to keep it too far away for his sister to see clearly. ‘I’m going to come down to you.’
‘What the devil are you talking about? The ladder will collapse with your weight on it as well as mine.’ Wisely, she didn’t repeat the bit about Mrs Williams’ Madeira sponge.
‘Albert will hold my legs,’ Henry went on, ignoring Albert’s startled frown. ‘Then he’ll lower me down until I’m level with your err… with your…’
‘…Get on with it Henry, I believe I’m fully versed in the parts of the female anatomy you will need access to if your bird-witted plan stands any chance of succeeding.’
Henry nodded gratefully. ‘Right then, I dare say we should get on with it,’ he repeated, turning to Albert, who was now regarding him in alarm.
‘Wot if I drop you, Mr ‘Enry?’
Henry swallowed, wishing he’d brought a flask of brandy with him.
‘That’s defeatist talk,’ he declared determinedly.
‘This’ll take no more than a couple of minutes.
’ He turned away from the window. The room was empty but for a small stool in the corner.
With a brief nod to himself, Henry hurried over and picked it up.
‘I’ll stand on this,’ he proposed, placing it underneath the window, ‘while you put your arms around my legs.’ He stepped gingerly onto the stool and turned to look back at the hapless coach driver.
‘Right then, you manoeuvre me out of the window while I hold on to the sill – a bit like a wheelbarrow. Then, once I’m over, you can lower me down gently until I’m level with Miss Charlotte. ’
‘I’m really not certain about this Mr ‘Enry.
‘I have every faith in you, Albert.’
Sighing, the coachman bent down and wrapped his arms around Henry’s legs.
‘Stay calm, Lottie, I’m com….’ His reassuring words were cut off in mid-flow as Albert lifted him into the air and shoved him out through the open window.
He was horizontal for long enough to note Charlotte’s shocked features staring up before he swung downwards towards the side of the house at breakneck speed, dropping the knife in the process.
In fairness, there were three positives in the whole process.
Firstly, Albert didn’t let him go; secondly, the knife he dropped shot down Charlotte’s bodice before getting tangled up in her stays; lastly – and arguably most importantly - the sudden violent impact with the wall didn’t actually kill him.
That said, he was only vaguely aware of his sibling using him as a convenient extension to the ladder after evidently divesting herself of the cumbersome bustle.
Charlotte thought it prudent not to mention that the interesting changes to his nose might not have been entirely caused by the impact with the wall.
By the time Henry came round fully, his sister’s bustle was sitting at the bottom of the ladder like something Aggie might have brought in, and its owner was safe and sound in the room regarding him with true concern – though he might have been mistaken since his burgeoning black eyes and possibly broken nose made it difficult to see clearly.
A few minutes later, Albert was helping him to his feet, all the while apologising profusely. Surprisingly discomfited at the thought of her part in the whole debacle, Charlotte handed him her handkerchief and hurriedly turned to examine the room they’d found themselves in.
Dabbing at his nose, Henry swallowed a groan and tried to speak. ‘I ding by dose bight be brogen.’
Wincing, Charlotte turned back. ‘I think it gives it character,’ she declared stoutly, peering at his nose. Then, she frowned and sniffed the air, her expression changing. 'Do you smell that?'
'I dode doh, I can'd smell adythid.' Henry's response was muffled by the handkerchief.
Charlotte ignored him, sniffing deeply. 'It smells sweet. Almost sickly sweet, like something...' She trailed off, then grimaced. 'Like something rotting.'
She marched out into the long, dark corridor, her sensible boots echoing on the bare floorboards. The hallway ran the length of the house, ending in a set of stairs leading down. On the right were two more doors, both closed. ‘Have you been in the other rooms?’ She asked as Henry followed her.
‘Doh.’ Henry’s answer was short and to the point.
‘D’you want me knife?’ Albert shouted from the doorway.
Charlotte grimaced, instinctively wiping her hand along her skirts.
‘I think I’ve handled your weapon quite enough for one day, thank you, Albert,’ she muttered, venturing further down the hall.
Seconds later, she pushed open the first door.
It was empty except for dust and a broken chair, though the smell was stronger.
She stepped back into the corridor as Henry caught up with her, still holding the handkerchief against his nose.
Without speaking, he followed her towards the second door.
Taking hold of the knob, she glanced back at him, swallowing a sudden dread.
Then, gritting her teeth, she turned the knob and pushed, only to meet a sudden resistance, as though something was blocking it from the other side.
The sweet, cloying smell surged out into the corridor, making even Henry gag despite his broken nose.
Charlotte put her hand over her nose and mouth and pushed harder. The door opened a few more inches. She peered through the gap.
At first, she saw nothing unusual. Then her eyes travelled downwards, and she gave a small scream behind her hand.
On the floor, propped up against the door, was a body.