The Passionate Friends
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It was unsigned, but no signature was needed. The letter was authentic. Only his mother had ever called him Charlie.
“Is it far?” He spat out the question to the boy.
“Not far. I allus walks it, rain or shine.” The child inspected him with critical eyes. “Best hide that ticker, guv’nor, and the chain. You’ll lose it, certain sure.”
The preacher said nothing. He never walked abroad without his knife, a long and narrow blade, honed to razor sharpness. As a child, he’d learned to take care of himself. His lips drew back in a snarl. He was more than a match for any ruffian.
Now anger threatened to choke him. It was sheer ill-luck that had revealed his whereabouts. The Gazette, which had carried the announcement of his betrothal, was unlikely to fall into his mother’s hands. In any case, she could not read. He’d thought himself safe. Yet some cruel trick of fate had given her a friend who was sharper than herself.
He glanced about him, and was not surprised to find that he was being led towards the parish of St Giles. He knew the area well, but he had not thought to enter it again.
Preoccupied with the scarce-veiled threat contained in the message, he was unaware that he was being followed. Even so, he pulled his cloak close, sinking the lower part of his face deep within its folds. Then he glanced about him before he entered the maze of alleys which led far into that part of London known as “The Rookery.”
Behind him, Dan prepared to follow, but his way was blocked by a thick-set individual wearing a slouch hat and a rough jacket out-at-elbows.
“Not in there, sir, if you please! You wouldn’t come out alive.”
Dan stared at the man. He was an unprepossessing individual. His broken nose and battered ears suggested a previous career as a pugilist. When he smiled his missing teeth confirmed it.
“Out of my way, man!” Dan snapped impatiently. The figure of the Reverend Truscott had already disappeared.
“Now, sir, you wouldn’t want me to plant you a facer, as I must do if you intend to be a foolish gentleman? I has my orders from his lordship…”
“Who are you?”
“A Redbreast, sir.”
“You mean you are a Bow Street Runner?”
The man threw his eyes to heaven, and dragged Dan into a doorway. “Not so loud!” he begged. “You’ll get my throat slit.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No, you won’t, young sir. You’ll slow me down. This ain’t the place for you. Now be a good gentleman, and leave this job to me.” His tone was respectful, but extremely firm.
Dan thought of pushing past him, but the Runner was already on his toes, ready for any sudden move. “We’re wasting time,” he said significantly.
“Then I’ll wait for you here.”
“Best go back to Mount Street, sir. I may be some time.” He turned quickly and disappeared into an alley way.
Wild with frustration, Dan retraced his steps. The delay had lost him his quarry.
Damn Sebastian! Why must he always be one step ahead? Then common sense returned. At least his lordship had wasted no time in setting enquiries afoot. The Runner had seemed competent enough. His very appearance would make him inconspicuous in that nefarious area.
Dan himself was unarmed. It hadn’t occurred to him to carry a weapon. Now, on reflection, he knew that the Runner had been right to stop him.
Always a poor parish, in the previous century the Church Lane rookery had reached the depths of squalor with its population of hawkers, beggars and thieves. Every fourth building was a gin shop, where the verminous inhabitants could drink themselves into oblivion for a copper or two. Stupefied with liquor, they could forget the filthy decaying lodging houses in which they lived under wretched conditions.
The narrow warrens and dimly lit courts had always attracted a transient population. Overcrowding was rife, and it was easy enough for the worst of criminals to cover their tracks, hiding in perfect safety among the teeming masses. They issued forth only to rob the unwary, and murder was a commonplace.
Dan shuddered. He didn’t lack courage, but, unarmed, he’d be no match for a mob. He’d been a fool to think of entering that slum alone. His very appearance made him a tempting target. An attack might, at best, have left him injured. He could be of no possible service to Judith then.
Meantime, the Reverend Charles Truscott had penetrated to the very heart of the thieves’ den. As a child he’d grown accustomed to the sight of the tumbledown hovels, the piles of rotting garbage in the streets, and the all-pervading stench.
Now he had grown fastidious, and the smell which assailed his nostrils made him want to gag. Then his guide pushed open a door which swung drunkenly on its broken hinges, and beckoned him inside.
“Up there!” The boy jerked a thumb towards a rickety flight of stairs and vanished.
The preacher found that his stomach was churning, and he could taste bile in his throat. He was tempted to turn and flee, but he dared not risk the loss of all that had been so hard-won.
He schooled his features into an expression of smooth benevolence, mounted the stairs, and knocked at the door which faced him.
It swung open at his touch, and for a moment he thought the room was empty. He looked about him in disgust. He’d seen squalor in his time, but this was beyond all. Flies swarmed over a broken bowl of half-eaten food, and looking down, he saw that they had laid their eggs. The place was bare, except for a single chair without a back, and a battered wooden crate. A heap of rags lay upon the floor, but there was neither bed nor mattress.
“Well, Charlie, how do you like it? A regular palace, ain’t it?” A face peered out at him from beneath the heap of rags.
The preacher stared at his mother without affection.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought you’d be long gone.”
“In a wooden box? That would have suited you…”
He was in full agreement with this sentiment, but he must not antagonise her.
“I meant only that I thought you would have found a better place.”
“Ho, yus? Look at me, Charlie!” With a swift movement she thrust aside the rags, and staggered to her feet. He was aware of the strong smell of gin.
“You’re drunk,” he accused.
“Drunk for a penny, dead drunk for twopence,” she jeered. “Well, son, how would you like to see me on a stage?” She thrust her face so close to his that the stench was overpowering.
He hadn’t seen her for years, and now the raddled features shocked him. Nellie Truscott had been a beauty. Her looks were all she had had to offer in the marketplace. Now she was painfully thin, her hair grey and unkempt, and her face bloated with excess.
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.
Chapter Three
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.”
“And not before time!” the man agreed. “That devil done you wrong, my lass.”
The Runner was puzzled. Had the woman been younger he’d have drawn the obvious conclusion, but this raddled creature must be in her sixties. He eyed her closely. There was something about her features which struck a chord…the nose, perhaps, or the sunken eyes?
From what little he’d seen of the Reverend Truscott’s face he couldn’t be sure, but his suspicions grew.
“You’ll know us next time,” the younger woman snapped. “Wot you starin at?”
“Just looking about me. I’ll move on. Ain’t nobody here who’s likely to be of use to me…” He scowled and left them.
His report to Sebastian had been succinct, and it roused fresh hope in Dan.
“It does seem that he gave them money,” he said eagerly. “Why would he do that?”
“There could be a number of reasons…charity among them.”
“But it isn’t his parish,” Dan protested. “Why would he go so far? He seemed to know the place well, or so the Runner said. And how was he able to walk there unmolested? Your man warned me against attempting it.”
“You forget that the Reverend Truscott is a man of the cloth. That alone is sufficient to protect him.”
Dan sniffed. “He was so heavily muffled that he might have been anyone.”
“Perhaps he’s known in the district,” Sebastian said gravely.
“Perhaps he is.” Dan’s voice was full of meaning. “Well, I’m not satisfied, for one. Your own man thought there was something strange. Did he not mention a certain resemblance in the woman?”
“And what of that? Even supposing that it’s true, we have no proof. It was merely an impression…”
“It ain’t very savoury, though.” Perry had been listening with interest. “St Giles is the worst sink in London. It wouldn’t be the place I’d want to find my relatives…”
“The man can’t be blamed for his connections,” Sebastian said firmly.
“But, Seb, only thieves and vagabonds live in ‘The Rookery’. You know its reputation. As for the women…”
“Again, I say we have no proof. The Runner may be mistaken. Truscott’s visit may have been no more than a simple act of Christian charity.”
“You sound more like Frederick every day,” Perry told him in disgust. “Next thing you’ll be following our elder brother into Government.”
“Not so!” Sebastian laughed and shook his head. “And, Perry, he did well enough for you. Without his help you might have lost Elizabeth.”
“I know it. I have much to thank him for. He surprised me then, you know. I thought him a model of rectitude, but he moved fast when there was danger.”
“And I shall do the same.”
Dan’s face cleared. “Then you won’t let it go?”
“No! I won’t let it go.” Sebastian looked at his adopted son. “Prudence and Elizabeth are troubled and I won’t have my wife upset at a time like this.”
“Shall you tell them anything?”
“Only that our enquiries are going forward.”
“Then I may not tell Elizabeth of the Runner’s findings.”
“Certainly not. We have discovered only that the Reverend Truscott paid a visit to a squalid part of London. All the rest is merely surmise. Would that satisfy Elizabeth?”
Perry smiled at his brother. “How well you know her! She is afraid of nothing. Not even your famous Runner would stop her if she set her mind upon entering that infamous district.”
“Exactly!” Sebastian looked at his companions. “This information must go no further than the three of us. I’ll let you know when, and if, I have further news.”
With this his listeners had to be content, though Dan had grave misgivings. Of the three of them he alone had seen the preacher’s furtive manner, which was not that of a man of God bent upon some charitable enterprise.
Now he led Judith into the library with the air of a man who had no other thought in mind than welcoming an old friend.
She glanced at the sheets of paper which covered a large table.
“But I’m disturbing you,” she protested.
“I’m glad of the interruption.” Dan gave her a mischievous smile. “Now I shall be able to bore you with some of my ideas…”
“You won’t do that.” She glanced down at the drawings. “Warships, Dan? Surely the war with the French is at an end? Did not the Peace of Amiens come into effect only last month?”
“The Earl of Brandon thinks it but a cessation in hostilities. Perry and Sebastian agree with him.”
“And what do you think?”
“I think we shall be at war quite soon. Napoleon has lost none of his ambition to make himself the master of Europe and beyond. Our Fleet is all that has stopped him until now.”
“But this present Treaty?”
“Will give him time to build up his reserves, and to commission new ships. He has suffered heavy defeats at sea. That is where he must destroy us first.”
“And are the French ships better than ours?”
“They are faster, and lighter too. Our own are built for strength. The first essential role of a warship is to carry armaments into battle, and the gun decks must be able to take the weight of the artillery.”
“I see. It must be difficult to strike the right balance between strength and speed.” Her attention was engaged at once.
“That’s it exactly. I knew you’d understand. Too many guns and too much weight reduce the sailing qualities of a vessel. There’s so much to consider.”
“Such as?”
“Seaworthiness, maintenance, manoeuvrability, stability, different weather conditions, and accommodation.”
“Such a list!” She began to smile.
“What is it, Judith?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I thought you might have changed in these past years, but I see that you have not.”
He raised an eyebrow in enquiry, but she laughed and shook her head. “I meant only that you are still intrigued by technical problems. It is the thing I remember most about you.”
“Is it?” His voice was heavy with meaning.
Aware that she was treading on dangerous ground, Judith tried again. “Of course!” she told him lightly. “I recall the day we met when you hung upside down on a small craft by the river at Kew. We all thought you were about to dive beneath it to examine the hull.”
He chuckled. “I remember. Perry gave me a roasting later. You stayed behind when the others moved away. Why did you do that?”
“You didn’t worry me!” she murmured. “You left me to my thoughts. I didn’t feel obliged to talk to you.”
Dan grimaced. “You must have thought me a boor, busy only with my own concerns. Perry informed me that I might, at least, have engaged you in conversation.”
“There was no need,” she told him briefly. “The silence was so comfortable.” She held out her hand. “I think I must go now.”
“Not yet!” He took her hand, but he did not release it. “May I not show you what I’m working on at present?”
Judith was tempted. There was plenty of time before she need return home and when he drew out a chair for her she sat beside him to examine the drawings. There was much she didn’t understand, but her questions were both pertinent and sensible. Spurred on by her interest, Dan was soon well launched upon his favourite subject. Apparently absorbed, he was quick to sense her growing ease of manner, and pleased to see that her somewhat strained expression had disappeared.
Then, as the clock struck five, she jumped.
“Great heavens! I have been gone this age,” she cried. “Will you give my kind regards to Prudence and Elizabeth?” She rose as if to take her leave. Then her heart turned over as he gave her a dazzling smile.
“You have encouraged me to be selfish,” he accused. “I’ve spent the last hour speaking of my own affairs, and you have told me nothing of your own.”
Judith returned his smile. “I couldn’t get a word in,” she teased gently.
“But you are still writing? Are they still short pieces?”
Judith hesitated. “No…”
“Then what?” Dan looked at her averted face, and his eyes began to sparkle. “Judith, have you started on a book at last? You always meant to write one.”
She blushed. “I don’t know how good it is. It is just that…well…I was trying to make sense of the world, and it helps to put my thoughts on paper.”
“But that is splendid!”
“It is probably quite trivial.”
“No, I won’t have that. You haven’t got a trivial mind. How much have you done?”
“Just a few chapters,” she murmured. “Perhaps I’m wasting my time. I’m not the best judge of my own work, I fear.”
“Then I’ll indulge in a great impertinence. Will you let me see it?”
She flushed with pleasure. “I’d be glad of another opinion,” she confessed. “You always used to read my things, and I found your comments helpful.”
“Then it’s settled. When can you bring the manuscript?”
“I don’t know.” Judith’s eyes grew shadowed. “I…I have other commitments…”
“Ah, yes, I understand.” Dan’s manner became formal, and for the first time a silence fell between them, though the forbidden subject of her marriage occupied each of their minds.
Judith found the tense atmosphere unbearable. She thrust out her hand and prepared to take her leave.
“Too late!” a merry voice cried. “We’ve caught you and we won’t let you go.” Elizabeth swept into the room accompanied by a chattering group of children.
Judith smiled in spite of herself as Sebastian’s three boys bowed politely to her. They were clearly impatient to reach Dan’s side.
Then Perry walked in, holding his elder daughter by the hand, and carrying his younger girl. He was quick to dismiss an anxious tutor, and a hovering nursemaid.