The Penmaker's Wife Read online

‘Come in!’

  Angelica pushed the door open to find Alexander getting dressed for dinner. He was buttoning up the neck of his shirt as she entered the room, which was dimly lit by the bedside lamp and the pale moonlight from the tall mullioned window. One of the panes was open, drawing in the night air, making the room decidedly chilly.

  Alexander did not look pleased to see her. ‘What is it?’ he said, dour-faced. ‘I’m rather busy, as you can see.’

  It had not escaped Angelica’s attention that Alexander’s attitude towards her had cooled considerably since his father died, but he had never been quite so curt with her before. ‘This is yours,’ she said, holding out the pen she was carrying. It was an old and unremarkable black dip pen. ‘It belongs in Stanley’s collection.’ She corrected herself. ‘In your collection.’

  Alexander took it from her. ‘Where was it?’

  ‘William had it. Stanley was in the habit of letting him borrow it. He’s just finished using it to write a letter.’

  ‘Thank you for bringing it to me. It’s one of the earlier pens my father collected.’

  ‘I think that must be why William liked to use it,’ Angelica said. She went to the window and closed it. ‘If you’re not careful you’ll catch a chill.’

  ‘I feel quite warm, thank you.’

  ‘Then perhaps you have a fever. Here, let me feel your forehead.’

  Angelica went to him, but he backed away. ‘Whatever’s the matter?’ she asked. ‘Have you been at the brandy already?’

  ‘A little,’ Alexander said. ‘Look, was there anything else? I’m trying to get dressed.’

  ‘No, that was all. Unless you’d like me to help with your tie.’

  ‘I can manage, thank you,’ Alexander said, his tone now brusque to the point of sounding rude.

  Angelica shook her head. ‘Young man, I’ll not leave your room until you tell me what’s the matter.’

  Alexander gave a loud sigh. ‘Very well, if you insist, I’ll tell you. I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit.’

  ‘What don’t you like? Whatever are you talking about?’

  Alexander began to pace the room, if only to distance himself from Angelica. ‘My father’s will,’ he said, raising his voice. ‘And your treatment of Mr Hardy. Yes, I’ve heard all about that. Will you be paring down the servants as well? Who’s next? Perhaps we no longer need a butler, or what about the housekeeper? Is Missus Redmond to go as well?’

  ‘I let Mr Hardy go because, as far as the pen factory is concerned, you and William are perfectly capable of filling both his and Stanley’s shoes, and because all the while Mr Hardy remains, so will Hampton and Moore remain the same. You and William are young. You have fresh ideas. I don’t want them quashed by Mr Hardy’s old values. You both respect him too much not to be guided by his opinion. As for the servants, I was considering taking on more. I always told Stanley he should have a valet. You can hire one for you and William if you like, subject to my approval, of course.’

  ‘Oh, of course,’ Alexander said, with more than a hint of sarcasm.

  ‘And what is that supposed to mean?’

  Alexander sighed again. He paused before replying, as if biting his tongue while he decided whether or not to hold back what he wanted to say. He chose to speak his mind. ‘Well, it’s your house now, isn’t it, and your factory, too?’ he said, his eyes narrowing on Angelica as he spoke. ‘They were both to be mine when my father died. You knew that and you made him change his will. You want it all for yourself, don’t you?’

  Angelica drew a deep breath and slowly let it go again. She stepped closer to meet Alexander’s accusing stare. ‘My dear Alexander,’ she began, ‘you are not to believe that your father did not have your best interests at heart when he changed his will.’ She gave an exasperated sigh. ‘But I’ve explained all this to you already. The new will was written because at the time we thought you too young for such responsibilities, and—’

  ‘There it is,’ Alexander cut in. ‘You say, we thought, when what you really mean is that it’s what you thought, not my father. I know what my father wanted.’

  ‘Do not presume to know what was in your father’s mind after our marriage, Alexander. He loved me and he trusted me, as you now must. The house, the business . . . you’ll have your share of them in time.’ She went to place a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to reassure him, but he pulled away. ‘If only you could see how irrational you’re being,’ she added. ‘I understand why, of course I do, and I can forgive you for it. Your father is dead. It’s a very difficult time for you, as it is for all of us.’

  Alexander went to the door and opened it, inviting Angelica to leave. ‘I don’t want your forgiveness,’ he said. ‘I want back what you’ve stolen from my father – and from me!’

  There it was, Angelica thought, as blunt as any accusation could be. But however cold Alexander’s words sounded, they did not come as a shock to Angelica. ‘I think you must have had more brandy than you let on,’ she said as she swept out of the room.

  Fifteen minutes later, Angelica was sitting in the drawing room with a glass of Madeira, as was her custom before dinner, when she heard what she thought sounded like someone shouting. It was a distant, unclear sound, easily dismissed to imagination, so she gave a shrug and continued to sip her drink as she ruminated over her recent conversation with Alexander. A few seconds later, however, she heard a thud from one of the rooms above that was enough to shake the chandelier. This she had most definitely not imagined. It jarred her nerves and made her jump in her seat. She stood up and called for the butler.

  ‘Mr Rutherford!’

  She went to the door and heard the shouting again, more distinctly this time. It was definitely coming from the floor above. She went to the main staircase, still calling for the butler.

  ‘Mr Rutherford! Where in God’s name are you?’

  At the top of the staircase it became clear to Angelica that the sound was coming from one of the bedrooms. She hurried along the corridor to find out for herself what was going on, and as she reached the source of the sound, she realised it was coming from William’s room. She abandoned the courtesy of knocking first and instead thrust the door open to see both William and Alexander on the floor in the middle of the room. William was lying on his back with Alexander sitting on top of him, beating him senseless. Beside them was the pillowcase she had not long since given to the maid, Sarah, to have laundered.

  ‘Alexander! Stop it at once!’ Angelica yelled, moving towards them, but Alexander did not stop. He continued to beat William, who did nothing to stop him.

  ‘Mr Rutherford!’ Angelica called again. She grabbed Alexander’s shoulders in an attempt to stop him, but he was too strong for her. He would not stop. ‘Alexander! You’re going to kill him! Please!’ she pleaded, just as Mr Rutherford arrived.

  Rutherford’s face as he entered the room was filled with alarm at the sight that greeted him. Wasting no time, he rushed in behind Alexander and thrust his arms beneath his, bringing his hands up behind Alexander’s head in a full nelson hold. Then he stood up from the squat he’d lowered himself into, pulling Alexander up with him.

  ‘Now then, Mister Alexander,’ Rutherford said as Alexander continued to struggle. ‘Calm down, won’t you?’

  Angelica went to her son. ‘William,’ she said, gently stroking his brow, trying not to look at the blood on his face.

  William did not stir.

  ‘William!’ she said again, louder this time and with a degree of panic in her voice as she realised he could not hear her.

  She looked up at Alexander, who by now had stopped struggling. ‘Look what you’ve done,’ she said, her words cold and detached. ‘You’ve killed him.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  There would be no dinner served at Priory House that evening. When the police arrived, everyone who had anything to say about the incident in William’s bedroom was gathered, solemn-faced, in the drawing room. Angelica was seated in one of th
e armchairs, while Mr Rutherford was on the settee beside Alexander in case he tried to do anything foolish, and there was the maid, Sarah, who was sitting in another of the armchairs. Alexander hadn’t said a word; his indifferent expression having remained fixed the entire time since his attack on William had been discovered. On the table before everyone was the bloodstained pillowcase, which had been deemed important in helping to ascertain what had driven Alexander to act as he had.

  ‘Come along now, sir,’ the policeman said, standing before everyone. ‘Your silence won’t help anyone, not least yourself.’

  The plain-spoken policeman had introduced himself as Sergeant Beauford. He was a tall man with a tidy head of salt-and-pepper hair, and he had a thick moustache that sat like an inverted chevron on his upper lip. He stooped over the low table and picked up the pillowcase.

  ‘Now what about this?’ he said, looking at Angelica. ‘You said you gave it to the maid, madam.’ He turned to the maid. ‘Sarah, is it?’

  ‘That’s right, sir. Sarah Smith.’ Her voice sounded tremulous. A moment later she began to cry. ‘I’m afraid it’s all my fault. I saw it was the late Mr Hampton’s pillowcase. Well, it was in Mister William’s room with blood on it and all, and I thought Mister Alexander should know about it, so I took it to him.’

  Alexander spoke at last. ‘You have no blame in this, Sarah,’ he said. ‘My actions were entirely my own, and I do not regret them.’

  Angelica shot to her feet, furious. ‘You monster!’ she said, her tone seething. ‘How can you sit there before me and say such a thing? Explain yourself!’

  ‘Now, now, Mrs Hampton,’ Beauford said, waving Angelica back into her seat.

  Alexander sat forward. ‘I gave your son every opportunity to explain to me why my father’s bloodstained pillowcase was in his room,’ he said, his face reddening as he spoke. ‘He denied all knowledge of it. I asked him whose blood it was and how it got there, and he just stared at me, but the answer was clear enough.’

  ‘And just what answer was that, sir?’ Beauford said.

  Alexander looked bemused. ‘Isn’t it obvious? It was my father’s blood, coughed into his pillowcase when William went into his room in the middle of the night and smothered him with it, immediately before he raised the alarm and reported him dead. At seeing the blood, he removed the pillowcase and replaced it with a fresh one so no one would know what he’d done. Then he hid the evidence in his room until the dust had settled.’

  Beauford began to shake his head. ‘Now why would young Mister William want to kill your father, whom I might add was already a very sick man by all accounts? Where’s the motive?’

  ‘My father’s business, of course,’ Alexander said. ‘William was to inherit a sizeable chunk of it.’ He scoffed. ‘He could hardly do that while my father was alive, could he?’

  ‘But as I understand it,’ Beauford said, ‘your father left the business to Mrs Hampton, not to her son.’

  A cold expression washed over Alexander as he turned back to Angelica. ‘Of course. It was you who brought the pillowcase out from William’s room to have it laundered. You knew it was my father’s pillowcase and that there was blood on it, and yet you’ve raised no question over it. Did you think you were protecting William? Or perhaps you were both in on it together.’

  ‘This is preposterous!’ Angelica said.

  ‘Is it?’ Alexander snapped back before Angelica could continue. ‘You had everything to gain, and through you, so did William.’

  Angelica gave a humourless laugh. ‘If your accusations bore any truth, and they do not, do you really suppose that I would hand such a damning piece of evidence to a maid for laundering?’

  Alexander did not answer.

  ‘No one in their right mind would do such a thing,’ Angelica continued. ‘They would burn the pillowcase, or at least bury it deep in the ground where it would never be found.’

  ‘Then what were you doing with it when you left William’s room earlier?’ Alexander asked.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Hampton,’ Beauford said. ‘I should like to hear the answer to that question myself.’

  ‘And hear it you shall,’ Angelica said. ‘Mr Rutherford, would you go and fetch Missus Redmond.’

  Rutherford shot to his feet. ‘Of course, madam,’ he said, a look of puzzlement on his face.

  ‘Missus Redmond?’ Beauford said, looking equally puzzled.

  ‘She will bear witness to what I’m about to tell you,’ Angelica said.

  Rutherford wasn’t gone long, presumably because, like all good attentive housekeepers, Missus Redmond wasn’t far from the keyhole. They both stood together beside Sergeant Beauford.

  Angelica glanced at Alexander before speaking. She thought he looked less confident now that Missus Redmond had been called in. Here was someone he had clearly not accounted for during his damning accusations. But then how could he? Angelica picked up the pillowcase. She did so very slowly, drawing everyone’s attention to it. Then she stood up and let the material unfold to reveal the bloodstain.

  ‘This is my blood,’ she said, looking at Alexander. ‘I was in my late husband’s room this afternoon, where I accidentally knocked over a glass vase. It smashed and I cut myself. I grabbed the first thing that came to hand to stop the bleeding, which happened to be this pillowcase. I called for Missus Redmond to have someone clear up the mess, but by the time she arrived, I’d dealt with most of it myself. Missus Redmond insisted on tidying up the rest in case I cut myself again.’

  Beauford turned to Missus Redmond, who was already nodding.

  ‘It wasn’t worth calling one of the maids to do it,’ she said. ‘If I hadn’t cleared up the rest of the glass, Mrs Hampton would have done it before the maid arrived.’

  ‘I didn’t want the entire household to know I’d broken the vase,’ Angelica said.

  ‘Of course not, madam,’ Redmond said. ‘So we managed it between ourselves. The cut on madam’s arm wasn’t so bad, but it wouldn’t stop bleeding, so I suggested she continue to hold the pillowcase there until it did.’

  ‘Where exactly did you cut yourself?’ Beauford asked. ‘Can I see it?’

  ‘Certainly,’ Angelica said, putting the pillowcase down and unbuttoning her cuff. She pulled up her sleeve to show the cut, which, now fully dried and healing, was no more than an inch long.

  Beauford leaned in for a closer look, his moustache twitching as he did so. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Well, that explains it then.’

  Angelica buttoned her cuff again. ‘I was in my husband’s room collecting his pocket watch for William, which Stanley had left to him in his will. It was in the dressing table drawer, which was stiff when I opened it. The table rocked, and the vase went crashing to the floor. I then took the watch to my son in his room, which is why I was leaving his room with the bloodstained pillowcase when Sarah passed. The bleeding had stopped, so I gave her the pillowcase for laundering.’ She turned to Alexander again, now with a cold stare. ‘You see, it was all perfectly explainable. Why didn’t you come to me about it? I could have cleared the matter up in seconds. My poor William . . .’ She put a hand to her mouth as her words trailed off. A moment later, she added, ‘I’m afraid your irrational behaviour has led you astray. You and William both stood to inherit your father’s half of the business between you when you were old enough and responsible enough, which I’m afraid is now something you have very much brought into doubt.’

  ‘Brought into doubt?’ Alexander repeated.

  Angelica shook her head, smiling sardonically. ‘Do you really suppose that you have not forfeited all that you stood to inherit? When you almost killed my son, your stepbrother, you lost your place in my heart forever. Even now he is fighting for his life, and you had better pray that he survives your insanity, or it will be your life as well as his.’

  Beauford cleared his throat. ‘I think I’ve heard all I need to hear,’ he said with a sigh as he looked down at Alexander. ‘Unless you’ve anything further to add, sir, I’ll ha
ve to ask you to come along with me.’

  Alexander did not have anything further to say. If he was sorry for what he had done then his featureless expression did not show it, although Angelica suspected he was feeling very sorry indeed, as much for himself as for poor William now that his actions had proven to be without foundation. As Alexander was led to the door, Angelica couldn’t help but consider the deeper ramifications of his actions. He had been very foolish. There was no doubt that he would go to prison for what he had done, bringing shame upon himself. As a result he would lose everything. All that his father had built would fall entirely to William, and what of Louisa’s affections now? With Alexander out of the way, surely William’s chances of winning her hand were greatly improved, and in doing so William would have it all.

  Angelica began to think ahead, and she tried not to smile in front of Sergeant Beauford and the servants as she pictured her son one day in the future with everything she had ever desired for him. Yes, Alexander had been very foolish indeed, just as Angelica knew he would be.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Winson Green, Birmingham

  1896

  1893 was a black year for the Hamptons. Stanley was dead and, as a result, Alexander was now facing trial for his savage attack on poor William. When I heard the news I was naturally mortified. We were all still deeply mourning Stanley’s death, and suddenly William’s life, too, was hanging in the balance. Angelica told me everything that had happened that evening, leaving no detail out. Looking back now, I can see that she was perhaps unnecessarily thorough in her explanation, as if trying too hard to ensure that I could see matters no other way than as Sergeant Beauford had. But she had been thorough for a reason, and it was only later that I came to understand just how far she was prepared to go for William’s happiness.

  Angelica and I saw much less of each other after that. She was mourning Stanley’s death, and had William to console, and there was little place for anyone else in her life at the time. I understood, of course. I tried to be patient, each day willing the cloud that had descended over her to lift and allow our lives to resume their former happy rhythm, but as much as I was led to believe it, they never truly did. Angelica had me wrapped around her finger, and I took it all in, blinded as I was by my love for her.