The Penmaker's Wife Read online

  ‘What if I do mind?’ the woman said, sitting up and straightening her tatty hat as she did so.

  Angelica stood over her and picked up the coin.

  ‘’Ere,’ the woman said, ‘no need to be hasty.’ She stood up, offering out her hand for the coin, and Angelica pressed it into her palm. Then she stepped back to let the woman pass.

  Hardy removed his hat and set it down on the seat beside him where the prostitute had been perched. ‘I don’t much care for your choice of meeting place,’ he said as he watched the woman go. ‘I’ve been propositioned four times already this evening, and been met with more unsavoury glances while I’ve been sitting here waiting for you than my nerves are fit for. Besides that, the place positively reeks.’

  Angelica sat in the Windsor chair opposite him. ‘No one will mind our conversation in a place like this,’ she said, unbuttoning her coat.

  Hardy laughed dryly. ‘No one will hear it over this din! I swear this must be the only tune that bearded old fool in the corner knows.’

  ‘Then that is all the more reason to have chosen such a place,’ Angelica countered. ‘Now, are you going to sit there complaining all evening, or do you wish to hear what I have to say?’

  Hardy’s eyes narrowed on her. ‘I very much wish to hear what you have to say, madam, but if you’ve called me here to deny the things I already know to be true, you’re wasting your time and mine.’

  ‘I can assure you, Mr Hardy, this meeting will not be a waste of my time. Whether or not it proves to be a waste of yours will be entirely up to you.’

  ‘And just how did you know where to find me?’ Hardy protested, apparently too caught up with his own questions to give Angelica’s words any thought. ‘I suppose you’ve been following me,’ he added. ‘I take great umbrage at that, or would you have me believe that your presence in London at this time is purely coincidental?’

  ‘It is no coincidence,’ Angelica said. ‘I’ve had someone following you since our last conversation outside the assize courts after Alexander’s trial.’

  Hardy’s cheeks, still slightly flushed from his encounter with the persistent prostitute, reddened further. ‘Then you’ll know I went to see an eminent genealogist by the name of Mathias Pool in Hurst Street,’ he said. ‘That was time very well spent, I can tell you. You see, I now have in my possession a copy of your certificate of marriage to one Jonathan Wren, whom I shall be meeting on his return to London in a day or two. Pool connected you both via your maiden name, and I fully expect Mr Wren to confirm Pool’s findings when I see him – confirm to me that he is your husband, and is not as dead as you would have everyone of your acquaintance believe.’ Hardy gave a snort. ‘I am sure, madam, that I need not spell out the implications of such a discovery. I also have a copy of your death certificate, and your son’s, too, issued here in London, while all the while you were both alive and well in Birmingham. Do you mean to deny any of this?’

  Angelica shook her head. ‘I deny none of it. Everything you say is completely true, and so much more. I faked my death, and that of my son, to escape our impoverished lives in London – to save us both. Jonathan Wren is my husband, and by all accounts is indeed very much alive and well. You have uncovered my deceit and proved my marriage to Stanley Hampton to be bigamous and therefore illegal.’

  ‘But, if you do not deny any of this,’ Hardy said, ‘why then are we here? What more of the matter is there to discuss?’

  Hardy’s right hand was resting beside his pint. Angelica reached across the table, meaning to place her hand gently on his, but he snatched it away, his eyes suddenly full of alarm.

  ‘What’s your game?’ he said, studying her warily.

  Angelica smiled at him. ‘We don’t have to be enemies,’ she said, speaking softly. ‘Quite the opposite, if it pleases you.’

  ‘It doesn’t please me, madam,’ Hardy said. ‘It doesn’t please me at all. Now, I’ll ask again, why have you called me here?’

  Angelica withdrew her hand. ‘I thought we could discuss a mutual arrangement,’ she said. ‘One that would make you a wealthy man.’

  Hardy laughed. He slapped the table. ‘Is that so?’ He shook his head. ‘I’m afraid my silence cannot be bought.’

  ‘But you have not yet heard my offer.’

  ‘It would make no difference, madam,’ Hardy said. ‘Stanley Hampton was a very good friend to me, and I shall never forget his kindness. Now that he’s dead, my duty is to his family – his proper family – to Alexander.’ He paused and sipped his ale. ‘You confirmed a moment ago that what I’ve told you is true, but you also said there was more to it. What more do you refer to? Was Alexander right all along? Did you turn Stanley’s will to your own advantage, meaning to exclude Alexander from his rightful inheritance?’

  ‘If I were to tell you all I have done since first meeting the Hamptons, Mr Hardy, I’m afraid your silence would cost me everything I have.’

  Hardy leaned in. ‘Perhaps that is the price you must pay for your lies and your secrets,’ he said. ‘If you wish the authorities, and Jonathan Wren in particular, to remain oblivious to the fact that both you and his son are still alive, that is.’

  ‘I see you’re a very shrewd man, Mr Hardy. You appear to have turned the tables on me, but you set a very high price. For your silence, you wish to know the truth of all I have done, and would take everything I have gained from it?’

  ‘Not a penny less,’ Hardy said. ‘I want nothing for myself, you understand. It all belongs to Alexander, and I aim to see that he gets it. Tell me what you’ve done, hand over everything that doesn’t rightfully belong to you, and then take your son far away from Priory House and never return.’

  Angelica said nothing for several seconds. She simply fixed her eyes on Hardy, pretending to think the matter through. Give it all up? The idea was as preposterous as the thought of telling this man what she had done to obtain it. Still, there he sat, looking rather smug in his apparent victory. But this was not over. To the contrary, she thought their little game was playing out very well. She had not gone there to flirt with him, or to offer him payment for his silence.

  ‘It seems you leave me no choice, Mr Hardy,’ she said, going along with him, trying to sound as meek as she could manage. ‘I’ll tell you everything, but not here. The music may be loud, but I must be careful. After you have bled my purse dry, I should not be able to buy my way out of trouble again should anyone else hear a word of what I have to tell you.’

  ‘What do you propose?’

  ‘There’s a passageway outside. We can continue our conversation there.’

  With that, Angelica stood up and turned to leave.

  Hardy rose with her. ‘Before we go,’ he said with some haste, drawing her attention back to him. ‘Soon after you sat down, two men came and sat at the bar, not far from us. I’ve noticed they keep looking over at you.’

  ‘Are they still there now?’

  Hardy gave a nod.

  ‘Does one of them have bushy black sideburns and a flat nose?’

  ‘He does. Do you know them?’

  ‘No, thankfully. They were outside when I came in. It seems they’ve taken an interest in me. I shall have to watch my back when we leave.’

  ‘I’ll see you safely to a cab,’ Hardy said. ‘Don’t you worry. I may appear mercenary in my pursuit of what I believe to be right, but I wish you no harm.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Hardy. I feel so much better for knowing that. Now, let’s get this over with, shall we?’

  ‘After you, madam,’ Hardy said, and then he followed Angelica outside.

  The passageway that was Wapping Old Stairs was initially not as quiet as Angelica had anticipated. A few prostitutes had gathered beneath the lamp post outside the pub, touting for trade. In the shadows further along, between the pools of light spilling from the pub windows, one of the women had a punter against the wall of the adjacent wharf building, but once they had passed beyond the pub windows, and the amber lamplight was replace
d by the silver-blue hues of the moon, they were entirely alone.

  They went to the very end of the passageway, to the stone steps that at low tide ran down to a small beach where once pirates and smugglers were hanged and then chained to wooden posts for three tides, until their bodies became blackened and bloated. But there was no sign of the beach or the posts now. It was close to high tide, the greenish-brown Thames water lapping at the steps partway down, hiding all trace of the area’s bloody history.

  Angelica gazed out across the water momentarily, towards the sufferance wharves and Bermondsey beyond, thinking of Effie, hoping she was still sound asleep in her bed and had not yet missed her. She turned around to face Hardy, her back to the Thames, and felt her pulse quicken with anticipation, knowing this would soon be over.

  ‘Do I have your word as a gentleman that what I tell you here tonight will go no further, however much it horrifies you?’

  Hardy gave a sombre nod. ‘Provided you adhere to our agreement, my lips will remain sealed.’

  ‘Very well,’ Angelica began. She drew in the cool night air and gazed absently past Hardy, along the passageway. They were still alone. ‘My life here in London was not to my liking,’ she said. ‘When William was born I felt so ashamed of myself, so guilty to think that I had brought this innocent child into a world of filth and starvation. This new life I held in my arms resolved me to find a better future for both of us. You can understand that, can’t you?’

  ‘I can understand it,’ Hardy said, ‘but I cannot condone the bigamous manner in which you’ve attained it. Your husband, Mr Wren, has done very well for himself, by all accounts. You need only have stood by him.’

  ‘I needed a more certain future for William,’ Angelica said, her eyes suddenly appealing for Hardy’s sympathy. ‘I tried to raise what money I could. I debased myself and became no better than these women in the passageway behind you. I fell in with the wrong kind of people. They were cruel to William. Then one day William took a beating and I snapped, as any mother might. I killed the man who beat him, which is why I had to leave London, faking my death so the authorities wouldn’t come after me, faking William’s death so I could take him with me without fear of his father pursuing us and taking him back.’

  ‘All for William, eh?’

  ‘Yes,’ Angelica said with conviction, suddenly wide-eyed. ‘Everything I have done has been for my son – for the future I promised him when he was born.’

  ‘Why Birmingham?’ Hardy asked.

  ‘I had to flee. Birmingham was as good as anywhere, and while not then a city, it was a town large enough to hide in – a town full of opportunity. Once there I sought to make the acquaintance of well-to-do ladies, hoping to strike up a friendship with one of them.’

  ‘Mrs Hampton,’ Hardy said.

  ‘Yes, Georgina took to William and me instantly, particularly to William. At first, I thought to obtain a position with the family – a roof over our heads and food in our bellies, but once I saw how the Hamptons lived, and how their friends lived, I knew that was the life I wanted for William, so I hatched a plan to get it, starting with Georgina.’

  ‘Mrs Hampton died in an accident,’ Hardy said in a matter-of-fact tone, challenging the suggestion that it could have been anything else.

  Angelica raised her eyebrows at him. ‘Did she? I was with her, and my recollection is quite different. We were out shopping with the two boys, Georgina and I. We were on the High Street and the boys had been told to hold on to their hoops, not to roll them in case they spooked the horses. Even so, William would give his a little roll now and then and it was on one such occasion, when Georgina’s back was to me, taking in one of the shop display windows, that I gave his hoop a firm push. I held him back, hoping that Alexander would go after it, which of course he did. I had timed it well, waiting for the right moment. I had seen the carriage across the street that Alexander was now running towards, and I had seen the fast carriage turn the corner behind us. I raised the alarm, knowing that any mother would see the danger her son was in and run out after him, which Georgina did, oblivious to the fast carriage coming the other way.’

  Hardy’s face reddened with anger. ‘Then you as good as murdered her! She was carrying Stanley Hampton’s child!’

  ‘Yes,’ Angelica said, showing no remorse. ‘I told you what I had to say would horrify you, Mr Hardy. If your stomach is too weak for our conversation, perhaps I had better not go on, because I’m afraid the rest of what I have to tell you will not fall any easier on your ears.’

  Hardy drew a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

  ‘Georgina stood in the way of my plans,’ Angelica continued. ‘How could I marry Stanley otherwise? He was a good man. He would not have entertained anything more than the idea of me while Georgina was alive. It took longer than I imagined, but I had to be patient. Stanley was such a long time in mourning, but very gradually I began to notice the way he looked at me. I pretended not to of course, teasing him, although it was soon obvious to everyone else who saw us together.’ Angelica smiled to herself. ‘Yes, I teased him all the way to the aisle.’

  ‘You’re a monster!’ Hardy said, seething.

  ‘I do what I must,’ Angelica replied, ‘and I can see the extent to which it already pains you, so I will say no more. It was never my intention to make you suffer like this.’

  ‘But you must tell me,’ Hardy insisted. ‘Our deal, remember? I want to know everything you’ve done, or I shan’t hesitate to go to both the authorities and to your husband. Whatever would your precious William think of you then?’

  Angelica scowled at the thought. It had always been her greatest fear that William might someday learn the truth about his father, and of the terrible things she had done, but Hardy was no threat to her tonight. She had seen to that.

  She laughed at him. ‘You poor fool. I never intended to tell you everything. I just wanted you out here where we could be alone.’

  With that, she reached beneath her coat and drew out her reticule, which was hanging from a cord around her neck. She opened it and reached inside, and it was only then that Hardy seemed to realise the full extent of what Angelica was capable of. His eyes widened. He appeared to be in fear of his life at last. He grabbed her arm, squeezing it tight, restraining her movement.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he said, his tone suddenly full of alarm. ‘What have you got in there? A pistol? Show me, and do it slowly.’

  Hardy relaxed his grip a little, and Angelica pulled out a small drawstring purse. She shook it up and down and the coins inside began to clink and clank together.

  Hardy’s brow set into a deep furrow. ‘Money?’ he said, incredulous.

  It was money, and yet it might as well have been a gun, for it would prove just as deadly. Over Hardy’s shoulder Angelica saw that the passageway was no longer empty. Two men had emerged into the moonlight and were striding briskly towards them – the same two men who had been waiting for her outside the pub when she arrived, and had followed her inside. Now they had followed her out again, waiting to hear the jangle of her money purse – their signal to act. It had not been difficult to find such men, who would do anything for a price and ask no questions. She had once known such people better than she had liked, and little had changed in London since then.

  Hardy seemed at a loss to understand Angelica’s actions. ‘What is this madness?’ he said. ‘Whatever are you doing, woman?’

  Angelica did not answer his question. She continued to shake her purse, and slowly she began to smile at him, holding his stare and his attention so that he would not turn around. It was a sympathetic smile, but one that offered no apology. As far as Angelica was concerned, this had to be done. Hardy had given her no other choice. He had pursued her, intent on ruining her one way or another. Now the matter would be settled.

  ‘Goodbye, Mr Hardy,’ she said as both of the men she had hired that afternoon arrived together and began to strike their blows. She flinched as the vicious assault began,
but she stood her ground, watching as the points of their knives continued to stab, stab, stab into Jack Hardy’s sides. His jaw dropped, his eyes began to bulge, and his face contorted and shook with terror in the pale blue light of the moon. He did not cry out; perhaps the knife blows had instantly taken the wind from his lungs. There was no sound other than the repeated thudding of the men’s fists against Hardy’s coat as they forced their knives into him over and over again until his eyes fluttered and his body at last went limp.

  Angelica stood back as the men went through Hardy’s clothing, like hungry hyenas over a fresh carcass, taking everything they found on him: his money, his pocket watch, anything that could identify him. They then dragged his body to the steps, lifted him by his hands and feet and threw him down into the Thames to wash up somewhere, anywhere away from the place of his murder. Angelica did not linger in her moment of triumph. She knew the Thames well enough to know that the strong current would quickly carry Hardy’s body away, perhaps to be discovered in a day or two, or never at all. As the two men let go of him, she simply tossed her purse to the ground beside them and calmly walked away, content that her secret was once again safe.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Winson Green, Birmingham

  1896

  What a fool I’ve been.

  But doesn’t love make fools of us all at one time or another? I have asked myself over and over again whether I would have done anything differently had I known then why Angelica was really in London. If she had confided in me, would I have tried to talk her out of having poor Mr Hardy murdered, knowing that to do so would likely spell the end of our relationship? Could I truly surrender that much for a man I never really knew? I have searched my soul long and hard since Angelica came to me and told me what she had done, but I do not know the answer. Does that make me a monster, too? I know only that my conscience will be at war with my heart over the matter until I draw my dying breath.