The Penmaker's Wife Read online

  It was easy then to convince myself that Angelica’s bereavement, and her other family matters, were the only reasons we were suddenly seeing so much less of one another, but they were not. I saw her at Alexander’s trial and she seemed momentarily brighter. It lifted my hope that we would again soon be as we once were, but before long Angelica was to be deeply troubled by other matters that overshadowed all else that had happened that year.

  Birmingham

  1893

  A month had passed since Alexander almost beat William to death. His trial was held at the recently built Victoria assize courts on Corporation Street. Designed by Aston Webb and Ingress Bell, the richly ornamented building was an eclectic blend of French Renaissance and Gothic architecture, constructed in red brick and faced with intricate, deep-red terracotta mouldings. With its picturesque towers and projecting pillars, Angelica thought it more like a fairy-tale castle than a court of law, although she expected Alexander had had no such fancy when he was first brought there.

  The trial did not take long to conclude, and by the time the jury had reached their decision and the judge was ready to give his sentencing speech, the courtroom was heaving under the weight of all the people who had come to see judgement passed on this young man from the prominent and well-respected Hampton family. The case had made all the local newspapers and some further afield. Now, irrespective of the judge’s verdict, it seemed that public opinion would ensure the young man in the dock would face a life of shame for what he had done. Angelica only hoped it would not have too detrimental an effect on the Hampton and Moore penmaking business, although in time she intended to disassociate the business from the Hampton name, thus limiting any damage it might cause.

  Alfred Moore was seated beside Angelica, close to the dock and the judge’s ornate canopied chair, and although Alfred had said very little since the proceedings began, it was clear to Angelica that he was deeply troubled by everything he had heard. His sunken features bore a solemnity that was matched only by the accused, and every now and then as the proceedings progressed, he would shake his head and pull at his beard as if unable to believe his ears.

  ‘Who would have thought it?’ he said, speaking in a whisper as if to himself as the jury’s verdict was announced. He turned to Angelica. ‘Stanley Hampton, God rest his soul, would turn in his grave if he knew what a remorseless monster his son had become.’

  ‘At least the jury reached the right verdict,’ Angelica said through her veil.

  ‘How could they not?’ Alfred said. ‘I’m afraid Alexander was poorly advised by his council when he entered a plea of not guilty. I suppose they were hoping for a lesser charge and subsequent sentence.’ He gave a low harrumph. ‘We’ll soon see how that little gambit turns out.’

  Angelica hoped the judge would show no leniency towards Alexander for what he had done to her son. She thought it a pity that transportation was no longer an option.

  ‘Jealously was at the root of it, I suppose,’ Alfred continued in a contemplative tone. ‘He was angry at William for sharing his father’s affections, and no doubt his wealth. That’s what it was.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Angelica said, unsurprised by Alfred’s shift in sentiment towards Alexander. He had crossed a line no gentleman should cross. He had betrayed his class, proving himself to be of no higher moral standing than a common thug.

  She turned to William, sitting to her left beside Louisa, who had insisted on being next to him so that she could help him through the ordeal of reliving the terrible incident all over again. William had spoken very little all day, and then largely only to protest at having to attend the hearing at all. Angelica glanced at him, trying not to draw his attention to the fact that she was again studying the stitches and contusions on his face, and the swelling around his right eye, which even now made it difficult for him to see properly. It chilled her to her core to think that he might have lost the use of his eye altogether had Alexander not been pulled off him when he was – or worse, that Alexander might have killed him, as she had at first supposed.

  The ordeal had, however, served to bring William and Louisa closer together, and for that Angelica was thankful. Now it seemed as though Louisa could no longer bear to look at the young man in the dock, even though she had previously been so besotted with him. There was no doubt in Angelica’s mind that Louisa fully shared her father’s disappointment in Alexander, and it gave Angelica great comfort to know that their opinions in that regard were never likely to change.

  Ahead of them, the elderly judge in his bright red gown and his wig stirred into life and someone called, ‘Please be upstanding for His Lordship, Judge Phineas Whyte.’

  Many of the crowd began to cough and clear their throats as they rose, as if they had been holding back until the general noise in the room was sufficient to mask the sound.

  When the room settled again, the judge stood before them. He looked over the assembly briefly from the top of his glasses, and then with a gravelly voice, his eyes squarely on Alexander, he said, ‘Mr Alexander Hampton, as we have heard, it is the verdict of this jury that against the charges of inflicting bodily injury, with or without a weapon, upon the victim, Mr William Chastain, you are found guilty. In weighing up the mitigating circumstances of the case, I have taken into account your fractious state of mind following the recent and untimely death of your father. However, your attack on Mr Chastain was one of a most savage and brutal nature, and in light of the evidence and statements presented to the court here today, I find your paltry excuses for the attack to be entirely without foundation or provocation by the victim. Under the Offences Against the Person Act 1861, I therefore offer no leniency and sentence you to ten years’ imprisonment.’

  The room suddenly erupted with a tremendous din as the people began to cry out, some against the judgement, but the great majority all for it. Angelica sat down again and flung her head back, her eyes lifting all the way to the coffered, Tudor-style ceiling as she began to smile and replay the judge’s words in her mind: Ten years’ imprisonment. She thought that would do very well.

  She felt a hand on her shoulder and she twisted around in her seat. Effie and her parents were in the row behind her, and here was Effie returning her smile to show her shared satisfaction at the justice William had received. Angelica raised her veil and smiled more fully now as their eyes met, and she wanted nothing more than to embrace Effie. Perhaps it was because they had not shared a moment’s intimacy since Stanley died, or because of the euphoria she felt at hearing the judge’s sentencing statement, but she was surprised by the level of emotion she had begun to feel towards Effie. How Angelica had missed her – she who had never once let anyone close to her heart before. She raised a hand to her shoulder and risked a touch, and then a gentle squeeze of Effie’s hand before letting it go again lest anyone should notice the affection in her eyes and realise there was more to it than simple friendship.

  ‘It’s an outrage!’ someone further back in the crowd shouted.

  Angelica knew the voice. She immediately stood up and spun around to see Jack Hardy pumping his fist in the air in protest. A few other voices quickly joined him in support.

  ‘Order in the court!’ the bailiff shouted. ‘Order!’

  Angelica turned back to the dock, where Alexander was now being led out in handcuffs to begin his long sentence, deprived of all the finery and advantage he had been born into. As the room fell silent again and the prisoner was led away, he lifted his bowed head and she caught his eye. She raised an eyebrow and a wry smile creased her lips, letting him know how satisfied she was. In return, Alexander could do no more than grit his teeth and pull a sour face. The promising life that was once before him was now no more, and there was nothing he could do about it.

  With the trial concluded, Angelica simply wanted to return to Priory House and once again start her life afresh, putting everything that had happened, first with Stanley and now with Alexander, behind her, but as soon as she stepped outside, she knew that w
as not to be. Jack Hardy was there in his sagging black suit and bowler hat, standing beside a lamp post opposite the building’s main arched entrance, tapping out his pipe. As soon as he saw Angelica, he put it back into his jacket pocket, and with his eyes squarely fixed on her, he came striding across the road.

  ‘You go on with Louisa,’ Angelica said to William. Louisa and her father, and Effie and her parents, were already walking ahead to their carriages. ‘I believe Mr Hardy wishes to speak with me. I shan’t be long.’

  William didn’t seem to mind in the least. He was no doubt keen to return as quickly as possible to the privacy of the carriage, where people could no longer stare at the cuts and bruises on his face. He simply gave a nod, and arm in arm he and Louisa continued on their way.

  Angelica met Mr Hardy in the street, which was empty of traffic due to there being no thoroughfare as yet because the area outside the assize courts was still under construction.

  ‘Good day to you, Mr Hardy,’ she said in an assertive tone. ‘If you have something to say to me, then say it quickly.’

  ‘In a hurry to be somewhere, are you?’ Hardy said with a mocking smile. ‘I, on the other hand, have precisely nowhere to be. You saw to that well enough, didn’t you?’

  ‘Your services at Hampton and Moore were no longer required.’

  ‘Right. So you said. But we both know that’s not the real reason now, don’t we?’

  Angelica huffed. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  Hardy stepped closer until Angelica could smell the tobacco on his breath. ‘I mean I know what you’re up to. I’ve had Alexander’s trust for a while now, and even before his father died, he told me he had his doubts about you.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Angelica said. ‘Alexander’s doubts . . . He voiced them to me before he tried to kill my son.’

  ‘And that’s really why you sacked me after his father died, isn’t it? Working as closely together as we did, you thought sooner or later he might confide in me and tell me about his concerns, and maybe I’d believe him, eh? Well, you were too late. He’d already confided in me, and he told me plenty about you, too.’

  ‘What could Alexander possibly have told you about me?’

  ‘Enough to be going on with,’ Hardy said, sounding confident. ‘Let’s just say that whatever Alexander knows about you, I know about you. While I grant you that may not be much just now, if there is something you’ve not been on the level about, I’ll find out what it is.’

  Angelica gave a dry, humourless laugh. ‘And just what do you suppose that could be, Mr Hardy?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, but I think a little digging into your background could be a good place to start looking. As I said, it’s not like I’ve got anything else to do with my time at the minute, is it?’

  ‘Time is a precious thing, Mr Hardy. You would do well to use yours to find yourself a new position in another factory before you find yourself without a roof above your head.’

  ‘I’ve enough money to keep me going for a while. Stanley saw to that in his will, didn’t he? It’s like he knew I’d be needing something to help his son out when the time came, and now it has. As soon as I heard the poor young man had been arrested, I knew all of Alexander’s suspicions were right. Now, you said if I had something to say, then I should say it quickly. I just wanted you to know that I’m on to you, and I mean to do something about it.’

  Angelica laughed again, but there was a nervousness to it this time. ‘Then you, sir, are as delusional as Alexander Hampton! Good day to you!’

  ‘Good day, madam,’ Hardy said, touching the brim of his hat as Angelica turned on her heel and left for her carriage.

  The return to Priory House was an uneasy one for Angelica. All the way home, first through the grey city streets, and then the leaf-strewn late-autumn countryside, she silently cursed Hardy for so quickly denying her the pleasure she had felt at seeing justice done for her son in the courtroom. She would have liked to savour the moment, and converse with her travelling companions in celebratory tones at the outcome, but she had other things on her mind now, and in truth William appeared to draw no satisfaction from it. He had forever lost a brother, after all, however hard Alexander had beaten him, and for reasons William would never truly understand.

  She tried to recall what she had told the Hampton family about herself. Surely it had not been much, and then mostly before Alexander was old enough to take any interest in such matters. But he had clearly become inquisitive as his years matured. What had Stanley told him? Again, she thought hard on what she had said about her past, of France and of marriage to an Englishman, of his trade and of his death. Surely that was all.

  But perhaps it was enough.

  There were certainly things in her past that she would rather no one know about, least of all Jack Hardy, who was now clearly on a crusade to clear Alexander’s name, or at the very least enact revenge for him by upsetting everything she had achieved since coming to Birmingham.

  She could not allow that.

  By the time the carriage arrived back at Priory House in the grey of the late afternoon, Angelica understood that for now at least she had to keep a close eye on Hardy. She needed to know what he was doing and where he was digging for information. To do that, she first had to learn his address, and she knew just where to find it.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The pen factory on Legge Lane was in darkness when Angelica arrived. She had decided to go there after the workers had been dismissed for the day because, although by her late husband’s benefaction she now owned half the business and had every right to go there whenever she chose, she wanted to be discreet. She held her oil lamp before her, and in its pale amber glow she thought the various contraptions that combined to manufacture Hampton and Moore pens sinister-looking things as she made her way between them, like apparatuses from a torture chamber. The fly presses cast long, contorted shadows, which moved around her as she went, reaching in towards her one minute, and then receding again the next as she passed them. It was so quiet she could hear her lamp hissing in front of her like a snake.

  She stooped and lifted the hem of her dress as she reached the ironwork stairs and began to climb them, wondering why she felt so nervous. It was not because she was afraid to be there at the factory alone after dark. If she were, she would have asked her driver to come inside with her instead of waiting with the carriage in the street outside. No, she was nervous because of Jack Hardy. She had felt that way since they exchanged words outside the assize courts earlier – that creeping, almost suffocating feeling that calamity was close at hand if she could not prevent it.

  At the top of the stairs, she entered the main office and set her lamp down on the desk. It was not a large room; the lamp’s glow lit the space sufficiently to see what she was doing. The filing cabinets were to her left: tall oak chests four drawers deep with brass handles. She slid one of the drawers open and welcomed the noise it made as she peered down over its contents. This was where she would find Hardy’s address. Here were all of Hampton and Moore’s employee records, past and present. She withdrew the section in the folder marked ‘H’ and took it to the desk. Hardy’s details were easy to locate.

  Angelica slid the lamp closer. ‘Navigation Street,’ she said under her breath.

  She knew where Navigation Street was – it was not far from the town hall to the south – but what to do about it? To know what Hardy was doing she would have to follow him, but she couldn’t very well do that herself. He would all too easily recognise her, and it would be a laborious task that she was ill-equipped for. She had to hire someone – someone capable, whose discretion could be guaranteed, no questions asked. She closed the folder again and returned it to the filing cabinet, thinking she would have no trouble remembering the address. She was just about to close the drawer, anticipating the grating sound it had made on opening it, when another sound made her catch her breath. It was distant. It sounded like a door opening or closing, she couldn’t be sure whic
h.

  Angelica caught up her lamp as she made for the door to see who was out there. She went to the railing that ran alongside the walkway above the lower shop floor and held the lamp out over the edge. She couldn’t see anyone, but the light from her lamp only reached so far, and more than half the floor below was hidden from view by the level above it. She squinted into the darkness, her breath now short and rapid. Then she gasped as she saw the glow of another lamp.

  ‘Who’s there?’ she called, supposing it had to be her driver for some reason, although she could not fathom why.

  When no answer came and the lamplight drew closer, its bearer still out of sight for now, she knew it could not be her driver or he would have answered her call. She lowered her own lamp and watched the other grow brighter, until very soon whoever was carrying it came into view, although Angelica still had no idea who it was. The figure wore a cape with the hood drawn up. He or she was heading straight for the staircase.

  ‘Who is it?’ Angelica called again, growing impatient. ‘Why don’t you answer?’

  This time she thought she heard laughter. It was no more than a faint giggle.

  ‘Effie, is that you?’

  Angelica went to the top of the staircase. The figure at the foot of the stairs was now bathed in lamplight, and even before she pulled her hood back, Angelica knew she was right.

  ‘Surprise!’ Effie called, laughing again, more loudly this time. ‘Did I scare you?’

  Angelica took a deep breath, thankful at least that it was not some robber come to break into the factory safe. ‘Not at all,’ she said, straightening her back and pushing her chin out to give the impression that she was completely unfazed by the matter. ‘But whatever are you doing here at this late hour?’