Chapter 12 #2
“I didn’t see any but those I knew would follow Lawson taken up, which means Jimmy took the rest to my warehouse on the other side of the docks in time,” King said, with evident satisfaction.
“The manager there is a good fellow, he’ll choose those best suited to the work there, and the others I have plans for. ”
“What plans?” Repton asked, looking quite befuddled by the speed with which everything had happened, for while King had been plotting and planning for some years, he’d never shared his plans with Repton.
“You’ll see, old man,” King said with a chuckle. “But I cannot tell you yet, not until I’ve agreed all the details with my new business partner.”
Repton looked at him in shock as they climbed back into the waiting hackney cab. “A partner? But you swore you’d never work with a partner. Nothing but trouble, you said.”
“True,” King replied, hiding a smile. “But in this case, I think there will be many excellent compensations.”
“I can hardly believe I am saying it, but how glad I am to return to this little out of the way town, and to see the sea again,” Repton said, gazing eagerly out of the window as the carriage made its way through Winsham Woods.
Now and then the vista would open up, giving them a glimpse of the sea in the distance, cold and blue and sparkling in the sunshine on a crisp autumn morning.
“What’s that place, Tommy?” Repton asked, for King had invited Tommy to come with them, knowing the lad was eager to show off to the residents of the town, now he was so finely dressed and gainfully employed.
Tommy looked out as the carriage made its slow way up a rise, giving them a view over Winsham Woods, and of what looked like a ruined castle peeking through the trees.
“That’s Winsham Castle,” Tommy said. “It’s haunted.”
King laughed at that, having heard the same stories when he was a boy. “So they say.”
“Who does it belong to?” Repton asked. “Is it inhabited?”
King shook his head. “It belonged to a fine family once, named Midwinter. They were wealthy and well respected, and they had one son named Robert, whom they spoiled and doted upon. He went to the devil, gambling away the family’s fortune.
I remember him myself one time, raising merry hell in the town.
I was only a little lad, and I kept well clear of the trouble.
I remember crawling under a table in the bar whilst men broke each other’s heads all around.
He’d come home whenever he ran out of money and the poor fools kept paying until he’d ruined them entirely.
The old man died that same year, of a broken heart people said, and when the son came home again for the funeral, his mother told him there was nothing left to sell, for the castle itself was entailed. ”
“What happened?” Repton asked, gazing at the castle that looked romantic set against the woodland, which was turning colour and blazed in a hundred shades of yellow and orange, gold and bronze.
“Robert Midwinter fled abroad, having abducted and wed a young heiress, but it did him no good, for the father refused to pay her dowry. That’s the last anyone heard of him or his bride.”
“Did he have any children?”
King shrugged. “If he did none of them have ever returned to lay claim to the old place. Old Mrs Midwinter abandoned it and returned to live with her sister, and she died some years ago. Since then, the place has been empty. I used to play there as a lad, but in those days, there was a groundskeeper still, and he kept the place secure, as I know to my cost,” he added with a laugh, remembering having been soundly thrashed for trespassing on more than one occasion.
“A sad tale. I feel sorry for the poor young woman he abducted,” Repton said mournfully.
King nodded. “We can only hope Robert died and left her to return home to her family,” he said but then the carriage turned a corner and, attention diverted, he cared nothing for the tales of other men, as he glimpsed the great wall that surrounded Hatherley Hall and its grounds.
The carriage wended its way slowly, for the road was steep as it wound past Hilltop House and then Willow House and soon, they were passing the church and the vicarage.
King felt a swell of affection for the Reverend Honeywell and smiled ruefully when he considered what the old man would think of his plans.
He’d never had a father in his life, not one that counted, but Honeywell had tried to guide him, had been a friend and a comfort when he could, and King realised his opinion mattered to him.
He hoped the old man would approve. Not that it would stop him if he did not.
Finally, King’s smart, glossy black carriage clattered over the cobbles as it progressed into the town.
People looked up as they passed, for there were few visitors at this time of year and each new arrival was a curiosity and a morsel of gossip to be chewed over at mealtimes.
A private carriage and such fine horses would not only be marked, but recognised too, for they knew now who owned such a luxurious equipage, and some would likely never forgive him for it.
This thought only made King smile, imagining just how deeply his plans would stick in their throats if Anne was brave enough to join him in them.
When the carriage finally halted outside The Mermaid’s Tale, King climbed out, looking up at the pretty building with satisfaction. There were no geraniums left to give a splash of colour, the cold weather would not allow such displays, but the place looked as neat and elegant as always.
Tommy moved to follow after him, but King turned back. “Stay put, lad. We’re staying at The Ship this time.”
Tommy’s face fell and King smiled, aware he’d heard of the splendid meals Mrs Fairway cooked and had been eager to swan about town in his new togs and with a full belly, smirking at his good fortune all the while.
“Don’t worry, Tommy. You’ll get your chance, but it wouldn’t be proper to stay here. Not this time.”
“Why not?” Tommy demanded, for he had not yet taken to the notion that it was not his place to question his master.
King shut the door, leaving Repton to explain that a fellow could not court a lady whilst staying under her roof without having the gossips set fire to their tongues.
Not that he cared what folk said about him, but he’d not have Anne embarrassed for the world.
He might be a poor catch for such a fine lady, but he’d not disgrace her more than his being who he was would do. That was quite sufficient, after all.
Walking in through the front door of the hotel, King’s spirits lifted, a future he’d never dared to picture suddenly before him in dazzling colours.
The now familiar scent of lemon polish, and the trace of her perfume that seemed to linger on the air throughout the hotel, made his guts clench with longing.
He hurried to the desk and, with a surge of impatience, smacked the bell several times, hoping she would come running with a scold upon her lips for whoever had summoned her so peremptorily.
Before Anne appeared, however, Captain Dearborn emerged from the dining room, his expression one of such relief that King suspected he knew what had occurred before the man spoke.
“Thank God,” Dearborn said fervently, speaking in hushed tones. “I feared you would not return for days. There are redcoats everywhere, and… and a body was discovered this morning, washed up upon Camber Sands.”
King glowered at the man, glancing about to ensure they were not overheard. “What of it? It’s nothing to do with us. Just keep your head and no one will so much as look at you.”
Dearborn looked abashed and nodded but ran a hand through his hair. He was pale and tired, as if he had slept little in the days since King had left town. “I know. I know you are right, only… only I feel so…”
King reached out and shook the man. “For the love of God! You have rid the world and that poor woman of a curse. Moreover, you had no ill intentions towards him personally, it was self-defence. I thought you were a soldier. Surely, you’ve killed before?”
The captain stood taller, a more familiar glint of pride sparking in his eyes. “That was war,” he said stiffly. “I never killed a civilian.”
“Well, bully for you. It’s a new skill,” King said, impatient now, for he did not like discussing such things in a public place. Yet he saw Dearborn’s shock at his words and knew it was not good enough. He rubbed the back of his neck, unsurprised by the captain’s sharp retort.
“Not one I wish to cultivate, I thank you.”
“No, I know,” King said with a sigh. “I beg your pardon. It’s a bloody awful thing, I know it is. But you did nothing wrong. You meant him no harm, and I was the one who convinced you to cover it up. Your conscience is clear.”
Dearborn snorted. “If only that were true. I… I just feel such guilt towards his poor wife. For all that he was a blight on her existence, she is all alone now. She has no family, no one to support her. Her rent is paid until the end of the year, but after that, she has nowhere to go.”
King nodded. “We’ll find a way to help her. Mrs Adamson will think of something, through her club perhaps. Isn’t that what it’s for, to help women?”
The captain nodded but still looked distressed. “A sensible notion. Mrs Adamson is just the person to help her. I only wish I could do something myself.”
“Then do so. Keep an eye on her.” King hesitated, knowing he had his own reasons for remarking it. “She looked at you like you’d hung the moon, you know.”
Dearborn looked surprised by this, and remarkably pleased.
“She did?”
“She did,” King agreed solemnly. “And she needs a kind, decent fellow to take an interest in her after everything she’s been through.”
Dearborn turned pink. “Oh. Oh, no. I mean. How would it look. Surely…” He hesitated, looking torn. “You don’t think it’s too… too terrible a thing for me to even consider… I mean, it would look very bad if anyone ever…”