Reckless Rules (Brambridge Novel 4) (22 page)

It wasn’t hard to find Pablo Moreno’s tent. It was the biggest of them all. A surly man carrying a mop and bucket pointed it out.

“Can’t you tell which one is the Master’s? Don’t expect to find him there, though. Been empty for weeks. He comes and goes as he pleases.” The man darted a look left and right. “Looking for work, are you? My advice, leave well alone and get away as far as possible.” He nodded and spat on the ground.

Bill caught his arm as the man spun away. “Who should I go to if he isn’t here?”

“Persistent, are you? Despite my warning?” The man sniffed and put down his bucket. “Jimmy Carandel runs the troupe in his absence. Although you wouldn’t think it since the young man has shown up.” He spat again. “Good thing he’s away as much as the master. Ain’t had nothing but trouble since he arrived.”

“Where’s Jimmy Carandel’s tent?”

The man pointed with a mop in the direction of a gaily painted tent that stood slightly apart from the rest. “He should be in there.”

Bill tried to thank the man, but he merely picked up his mop and bucket, and walked away while Bill was still talking. Raven nudged Bill on the shoulder; his bucket was empty and the great horse was hungry. Bill scratched Raven on the mane. “Just a bit longer, lad.”

He loosely tied his reins to a railing and walked across to the tent. The tent flap was closed, although a light shone underneath the canvas, and loud voices escaped into the night air.

“He’s done it again, Jimmy. He’s not been back six months and old Bertino has caught yet another cold and is complaining that he cannot and will not go out as the Grande Salvatore.”

“Damnit, Fred. Every year we have this. We were lucky that year that Pablo coerced that young girl into throwing the knives for us. We haven’t been as lucky since. Bertino has us over a barrel. He knows that he is the number one act in this troupe. And he knows that as Moreno has been away so much he can play up all he wants. We just won’t give into him this time.”

“He says that if you make him do it, he’ll walk. He won’t stay with us.”

“That is a problem. He’s never threatened that before.”

“He says that the troupe is changing. That there are new acts he doesn’t like.”

“Bloody Pedro. It’s him that Bertino doesn’t like. Bertino was around when there was that unfortunate incident with that girl that the boss tried to sweep under the carpet. Everyone knows it was Pedro. The boss says his son has sworn he’s changed. If you ask me he’s got rose-tinted spectacles on. I mean, my god… the bite marks…”

“I think Bertino can’t stand the fact that Pedro’s act
when
he cares to show up is stealing all the crowds.”

“He’s just not reliable. God knows what he is doing when he’s not here. And the boss ain’t around to ask either.”

“That still doesn’t help us with Bertino…”

Bill coughed, and waited. There was a small silence. The canvas flap of the tent was thrust upward and a small face appeared.

“What do you want?” it said brusquely with the voice of Fred.

“I couldn’t help but overhearing that you have a problem with one of… some of your acts.”

“Yes, and?”

“I thought I could help.”

The small face brightened considerably. “You can throw knives?”

Bill shook his head, and Fred’s face fell. “No. But I have a replacement act which I guarantee will pull in the crowds.” He crossed his fingers behind his back. At least that is what Dogman, Greta and Mary had said.

“What is it?”

“Look, let me in to speak to Mr. Carandel and I’ll show you.”

“Hmmph. I suppose you can come in.”

Fred pushed back the tent flap further to allow Bill to duck in. The tent was sparsely decorated on the inside, though packed full of crates that had indecipherable markings on the side. Fred perched himself on a pile of boxes. “Jimmy, this man thinks he can provide us with an act that will draw in more crowds than the Grande Salvatore.”

“I didn’t quite say that…”

“What is it?” Jimmy Carandel was a very tall man with skeletal features. His voice boomed low from his body. He frowned darkly as Bill took in the piles of crates.

“It’s a strongman act.”

“Oh yes?” Jimmy turned to look at Bill for the first time, revealing a lopsided face, only half of which moved.

“I do a variety of things that show how strong I am.”

“Strong man acts are two a penny,” Jimmy said flatly, the immobile half of his face giving him a menacing air.

Bill could feel the opportunity slipping away from him. “How about if I show you?”

Jimmy smiled with one half of his face. “What good timing. You won’t have to show just us. Mr. Moreno would be delighted to observe too.”

Bill turned on his heel to face back towards the entrance to the tent. First an outsize top hat appeared, and then the rest of a man with shaggy white hair and blue eyes.

His resemblance to Pedro was unmistakable.

CHAPTER 21

Celine could not tell Victoria anything more about the involvement of Edward Fiske with Mr. Durnish. She became visibly distressed as Victoria tried to probe further. It was only after half an hour that she managed to persuade the woman to leave. That just left Mrs. Prident to deal with.

“Mrs. Prident, could I ask you to go back to your post just for a little while longer? I wish to make sure that no other girls go missing. I have been told that some girls go back to streetwalking as it gives them a good income and not such a bad life.”

“I certainly will, Lady Colchester,” Mrs. Prident said, prodding Brutus with her foot. “But I must tell you that neither Rosie nor Maisie were streetwalkers. They were poor dairy maids who came from the country to seek their fortune and ended up in the pauper house. They had very little knowledge of men. It was evident in the way they gossiped.”

Victoria nodded as if to agree, but was totally at sea. How would a woman gossip differently if she did have a lot of knowledge of men? She had to confess that her relationship with her husband had not been of that kind. It was hard to describe it as a relationship at all. And yet when she was with Bill she felt like she could float away. Perhaps that was what Mrs. Prident meant.

“Brutus, move,” she commanded, clicking her fingers at the big dog. The wolfhound clambered slowly to his feet, releasing Mrs. Prident, and trotted slowly to Victoria’s chair. He laid his big head on her lap, and a protective paw over Ponzi’s small body.

“The big lump really likes you, doesn’t he?” Mrs. Prident said with her first smile of the day.

“I’m not sure,” Victoria said softly. “Oh, you mean the dog?” She pushed her fingers through his shaggy mane. “I think he likes me because he has to. He is more interested in Ponzi than anything else. He knows that if he treats me well he gets a position in the household.”

She blinked.

Was that it?
Had she inadvertently stumbled on the reason that Bill wanted to marry her—because he wanted a position in society, just as his dog wished for his place in her life? And he had left her hanging because he knew that that reason would be unpalatable to her?

“I had better go. You will contact me, won’t you?” Mrs. Prident said anxiously.

“Yes, of course.” Victoria continued to stroke Brutus’ head as Mrs. Prident was escorted out by Carruthers.

The point about position in society had reminded her of her unpalatable meeting with Mr. Durnish, formerly Paul Butterworth. There was no coincidence that Mr. Cryne had been in his hallway. The entry under Cryne in the book of secrets, and the activity described by Celine all pointed to a joining up again of old cronies.

But until she found page thirty one of the secret book, she would not understand how they were all connected, apart from the too coincidental appearance of Mr. Durnish every time a girl disappeared from the pauper farms, and the activities of Mr. Cryne junior in spiriting away Rosie and Maisie.

Unfortunately, apart from the book and her marital painting, there was nothing left of Colchester’s belongings in the house in which he would have hidden page thirty one. He hadn’t been a reader, so there hadn’t been any books to get rid of. All the rooms had been cleared and refurbished with Victoria’s taste. Even the servant’s quarters in the attics had been done out.

There was no use in getting that book out again. She had read it clearly each time. There was
nowhere
the page could be.

It wasn’t as if Lord Colchester had had any friends with which to deposit such a document. Was she being too hasty, however? Rule number six said
don’t jump to conclusions.
They all could have had their individual reasons for being connected.

Oh goodness.
The rules
. Mr. Durnish knew all about the rules. She couldn’t ignore it very much longer. She could no longer tell herself that the connections were just coincidence.

Victoria had already once broken the rules that day by letting too many of her true feelings show with Celine. Perhaps it was time to break the rules again. There was no way that Mr. Durnish was going to tell her everything himself. She would need to confront him directly.

“You have another visitor, my lady.” Carruthers did not even bother to poke his nose in at the door this time. But the obvious lilt to his voice heralded that the visitor was someone different.

A tinkling laugh resounded in the hallway. “Thank you, Carruthers. As proper as ever.”

“Lady Anglethorpe, it is my pleasure,” Carruthers said with feeling evident in his voice.

Victoria sighed. On any other day a visit from her good friend would have been a pleasure. They so rarely had any time together. But three visitors in the morning was rather tiring. She pushed Brutus’ head off her lap and stood up.

“Agatha,” she said, shaking her black mood away. Somewhere in the depths of her subconscious the beast stirred slightly. “Come in. I’m afraid I gave the last of my cigars to Eustacia, so all we can enjoy is tea.”

“How is the old biddy?” Agatha said cheerfully. “The last time I met her with you she told me to look out for you. Can’t have been doing too good a job because Carruthers looks concerned and Celine has just paid me a visit.”

“They are spying on me?” Victoria gulped.

Agatha marched to where Victoria stood and looked her squarely in the face. “Hmm. Freddie was right.”

“Freddie!”

“You’ve overdone it on the rouge and missed a brass pin in your hair. Something’s up.”

“I… I can’t talk about it.”

“Are you sure? It’s nothing to do with Stanton’s brother?”

“Bill?”

“Ah. Bill is it? Not so long ago it was Mr. Standish or ‘oh no it’s that bloody smith again.’ What happened to the year of avoidance?”

“It’s nothing to do with him.”

“I used to enjoy the way he called you his little doughnut in French.”

Victoria choked back a laugh. She had forgotten about that. ‘
Mon petit beignet de crème’
was the first endearment that he had thrown in her direction. And that was not his only foray into another language. The notes attached to the never ending bunches of flowers he left had invariably started with ‘
Melita
’, a term which she had needed to look up, being surprised to find it meant sweetness in Latin.

By Minerva, she really hadn’t given Bill his due, had she? Victoria had always thrown his origins in his face, or more used them as an excuse to protect herself. How on earth had a smith learnt to speak Latin and French, and yet use them in such a way as to put her back up so consistently that she never looked any deeper?

Agatha raised an eyebrow. “You can tell me what is wrong when you are ready. I’m here to offer some light-hearted relief. I hear that Pablo Moreno’s troupe is back at the Bartholomew Fair.”

“Not the one where you stood in for the Grande Salvatore?”

Agatha nodded with a smile. “The exact same one. I haven’t told Henry, but I thought it would be
interesting
to revisit. I hear that the Grande Salvatore is not showing but they have a new act pulling in all the crowds.”

“Don’t you think we should tell Henry where we are going? After all, you hardly volunteered for the role before,” Victoria said doubtfully. Her brother was quite protective over his wife.

Agatha waved her hand in the air. “You think he doesn’t already know where I’m going? The man who knows where everybody is all of the time?”

That was a good point. Even now Carruthers was probably sending a footman back over to the Anglethorpe’s house to let Henry know where his wife was and what she was up to. After all, Carruthers had worked for Henry.

She hoped that was as far as the allegiance went. If Henry knew what she was up to now—

“Come on, Victoria. It will be good for you. A bit of light relief.”

“I’ll come. Just let me change my clothes. I’d rather wear something a little less dressy if we are going to mix with everyone else.”

Agatha laughed again. “Why do you think I wore my favorite boots?” She lifted up the hem of her brown dress to reveal a pair of sturdy man’s boots tied securely around the ankle. “Henry keeps trying to make me throw them out.”

“All the better for tripping him up with.”

“Of course.”

It was a short carriage ride to the Bartholomew Fair in the early evening sun. They took Agatha’s carriage, which was discreet and unmarked. As they drew near to St Bartholomew’s church just outside the walls to the City of London, it became evident that the troupe was popular. Crowds thronged the streets, and they left the carriage to walk on foot. Victoria pulled up the hood on her drab brown coat and sank deeper into its shadows. A board proclaimed the order of acts. The big event was merely called ‘The Last Act’ and was scheduled for an hour hence. Already the crowds were circulating around the smaller tents, visiting the individual acts that would put on as many performances as were wanted as soon as the tent was filled to capacity.

They visited a tent where a man with no limbs rolled a cigarette and lit it with just his lips. Victoria averted her eyes and read from the placard attached to the booth’s walls that the man had lost his limbs in the Peninsular War. Yet another soldier debased to earning his living like Mrs. Prident’s husband. She really would have to do something for the lady.