Meg Alexander - The Passionate Friends

He tried without success to hide his feelings, and his expression roused her to fury.

“Quite the fine gentleman, ain’t you? Ashamed of your poor old mother? You done nothing to help me, Charlie. Now it’s time to pay.”

“Don’t be a fool,” he told her roughly. “I’m naught but a poor parson.”

“And on the way to being a rich one. You was always smooth, my lad. Now your lady wife will help me.”

His face grew dark and the look in his eyes was frightening. She cowered away from him.

“You’ll stay away from her,” he said softly. “Shall I remind you how I serve those who cross me?”

She made a feeble attempt to placate him. “I shan’t do nothing you don’t like, but I must have money, Charlie. Even the men round here don’t want me now I’m sick…”

The preacher had been about to grip her wrist. A reminder of his capacity for inflicting pain would have done no harm, but now he shrank back. Thank God he hadn’t touched her. He had no difficulty in guessing at the disease from which she suffered. It was a common cause of death in prostitutes.

“Here!” He threw a handful of coins on to the wooden chest. “This is all I have with me.”

“It ain’t much, Charlie. Can you come tomorrow?”

“No, I can’t.” He was about to say more when a man and a woman entered the room.

“It’s no matter, Nellie. Tomorrow we’ll all go up town to hear the Reverend preach. I hear it’s a rare treat.” The woman laughed, and even her companion smiled. They had him in their power and they knew it.

The preacher ground his teeth, but he knew when he was beaten. With a sudden access of native cunning his mother had used her newfound knowledge of his coming fortune to surround herself with friends. She must have promised them a share.

“I’ll come at the same time,” he said.

Judith was puzzled. She’d promised to accompany the Reverend Truscott to the charity tea in aid of the foundling children. When he didn’t arrive she decided that she must have mistaken his instructions. Eventually, she went alone, only to discover that he had been called away on parish business.

The next day, at her stepmother’s insistence, she stayed indoors to wait for his usual daily visit, but he did not arrive. That evening, a note was delivered to her, explaining that he would be away for several days in connection with a family matter. This did not trouble her unduly. In fact, it was something of a relief to be spared the need to agree with his sententious remarks.

She took herself to task for this unworthy thought. No one was perfect, least of all herself, and if her betrothed seemed, at times, to be a little pompous, it was easy to forgive his didactic manner. He was a good man. That she believed with all her heart.

She stayed in her sitting-room all morning, conscious of her own failings. She had not been entirely truthful with the man she was to marry. What would he say when he learned that she was actually writing a novel? It could not be considered a suitable occupation for a preacher’s wife, but the story begged to be written. Throughout each day she found herself composing further snatches of dialogue, or planning yet another scene.

She was not destined to be left in peace for long. At nuncheon that day, Mrs Aveton made her displeasure clear.

“Must I tell you yet again?” she cried. “You have not bought above one half of the items on your list. You put me out of all patience, Judith. Peace will return to this household only when you are wed and gone from here.”

Judith doubted the truth of this statement. Mrs Aveton’s daughters were as ill-tempered as she was herself, and the servants were treated frequently to the sound of quarrelling, screams, and wild hysterics. Neither of the girls had yet been sought in marriage. They had neither fortunes, not a pleasant disposition to recommend them.

“Must I go back to Bond Street, ma’am?” she asked hopefully. She welcomed any excuse to get her out of the house.

“I see no other way of obtaining your necessary purchases,” came the sarcastic reply.

“And I may take the carriage?”

“I suppose so. At least you will be there and back more quickly than you were the other day. You must watch this habit of dawdling, Judith. It cannot please your husband.”

Judith felt a tiny spurt of rebellion. Was everything she did now to be directed to that desirable end? Her face grew wooden. She’d buy those last items as quickly as possible. Then she’d pay a visit to Mount Street. Perhaps it was folly. She suspected that it was, but at that moment she longed to be with those who loved her.

With Bessie in attendance, she hurried through her shopping, paying scant attention to the items on her list. It was done at last, and glancing at the clock in Bond Street she discovered that she had at least an hour of freedom before her absence would be remarked as being unduly long. It was a bitter disappointment to discover that Perry and Elizabeth were away from home, and that Prudence had been ordered to rest that day.

“Lord Wentworth will see you, ma’am. At present he is speaking to the doctor, but if you would care to wait…?”

The butler opened the door to the small salon, but Judith shook her head.

“I won’t disturb him. Pray give my regards to Lady Wentworth. I will call again at a more convenient time.”

She turned away, and was about to leave when Dan threw open the library door, and hurried towards her.

“I thought I heard your voice, Judith, don’t run away. Come and talk to me!”

She hesitated, looking doubtful, but he gave her a reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry! I intend to keep my word. I shall say nothing to distress you.”

He had disturbing news, but at Sebastian’s insistence he knew that he must keep it to himself.

The Bow Street Runner had followed the Reverend Truscott to his destination in “The Rookery”. When the preacher left he’d knocked at the same door on the pretext of discovering the whereabouts of a well-known fence, but the man who opened it had sent him on his way.

“Best peddle your wares elsewhere,” he’d snarled. “There’s plenty as will buy your gew-gaws at the drinking shop, and no questions asked.”

The Runner retired to consider his next move. It was soon decided when the man left the hovel with a woman on each arm. He followed them for several yards, and turned in behind them at the drinking shop.

They didn’t suspect him, he was sure of it. After all, the man himself had suggested the place as the ideal spot to pursue his supposed nefarious activities.

Smiling pleasantly, he settled himself close by the tattered trio, and received a slight nod of acknowledgement in reply.

He’d been hoping to engage them in conversation, but the older woman was already quarrelling with the owner.

“No more credit, Nellie. If you ain’t got blunt you’ll get no drink from me—”

“Shut your face!” The woman slammed a coin down on the counter. “There’s plenty more where that came from. Now give me a bottle!”

The man bit the coin, and whistled in surprise.

“Come into money, have you? Where’s the body?”

The woman ignored him. Picking up the bottle, she returned to her companions. The three of them soon emptied it, and bought another.

The Runner waited. At the rate they were drinking they would soon begin to talk more freely. He had underestimated their capacity, though the older woman had been far from sober when she’d entered the place. Even so, a third bottle was half-empty before she set it down, wiped her lips, and subsided into helpless giggles.

“It wuz ’is face!” she explained to her companions. “Proud as Lucifer, ’e is, but we’ve got ’im now.”