1644
DAY EIGHTEEN: WEDNESDAY
Oh, this doesn't feel right. Where’s my curtains!? Where’s my soft bed? In fact, where’s that irritating Flit? Ah, right. I remember now. Bugger.
“Good morning, Rector. I see the rain has stopped?”
“Has it, Mobbs? I can’t tell, seeing as I’ve been locked up in this bloody room all night, without even a - you know what? A pillow wouldn't hurt? In fact a bed of any description might be advantageous right now -“
“Oh, you know how it is, Rector? We are - in between moves at the moment. There are several men under my command that think you should be thrashed for your crime, you know, but I’m inclined to - let you go? I’m sure that what you intended was meant as a Christian act.”
“Well, ah, now that sounds -“
“Commander!” Oh, I do wish these bloody Clubmen wouldn't shout! It’s all I heard last night - like, ‘who you bonking?’, ‘Where’s me cheese?’, ‘Is that a spot on your dick?’ You know, the usual. Now this over-efficient bloke?
“What is it, Vellapont?”
“Sir! They’ve found three bodies!”
“Where?”
“Tally Street!” Wait. Where do I remember that street name from?
Oh shit!
Oh crap!
Shitsticks!
Buggery buggery bugger!
Shit buggering shitsticks!
Tally Street!
Uh oh -
“Rector? You look as white as a sheet?”
“Abu. Bubabbubbu. Eblublublu -“
“Well, quite. Tally Street, you say?”
“Yes, Commander! They are bringing the bodies here now. In fact they should be downstairs, in the cellar - with the Apothecary, Augustus Winboll.” Wow. I might just have a chance then. Wait, three?
“Oh, him? Right, well, Rector? Would you mind accompanying me there, so as to administer to the deceased spiritually?” How can I say no? Besides, I need to know who this third person is.
Surprisingly, these stairs are easier today. I seem to be floating on a cushion of adrenaline. My heart’s beating so fast, it sounds like the noise from the battlefield on Vaxham Hill. Perhaps it’s cold down here, but right now, I feel nothing. Nothing at all. It’s all ended.
Oh no. What more is there to say?
“After you, Rector. Ah, Winboll? What have you determined so far?” You know, I can’t hear a word? Not one. All I can see are the waterlogged bodies of those dead men, Lord Anthony Cheetham-Hewe of the County of Moistershire, William Street and - oh God! And dear poor Raymond Letty! Sticks. Who the Hell killed him?! And what the Hell for?! Oh poor boy.
“Well, as far as I can ascertain, this body is of a male,” Wow! What gave it away, you bumbling idiot?! “And he is of advanced years -“
“I think we can dispense with the introductory bits, Winboll. We know by sight, though a little bloated, that these are the bodies of -“
“Nothing is ever for certain, Commander.”
“Winboll, in this case it is. What have you determined of their passing?”
“Well, they all drowned?”
“Are you asking us or telling us? Besides, the late Mr Street there has an obvious head wound.”
“Does he? I mean, yes he does! Now the Letty boy -“ Look at the poor kid? It’s like he didn't know what hit him? And I hope he didn’t, for his sake.
“Winboll, is there absolutely anything, anything at all, that might help?”
“Well, his humours are in turmoil -“
“So no then.”
“Well, what did you expect? I am only an Apothecary. I wave twigs about in a vain hope that it actually does something. I’m a potions man, Commander. If you want to loosen his stool, then -“
“That - won’t be necessary. I took the precaution just prior to this meeting of contacting the Field Surgeon, over at the battlefield. He’ll be here in a -“
Oh, dear God. He’s here already! Doctor Percy Cole, erstwhile cutter for the Roundabouts! And as I found out earlier, he is quite insane. And psychotic - and probably suffering from a dozen other undiagnosed psychological issues. I think I’ll keep to the shadows. It’s marginally safer here, as long as I don't mind those big bloody spiders.
You know, right now, I think I would rather face a ravenous dog with distemper than Percy Cole. Of course he doesn't look at all vicious, or homicidal. But I’ve heard it from the horse’s mouth, if that horse might be Frank Laud. Oh God! He didn't even pause then, cutting His Lordship open! He probably wasn't even aware the old man was dead!
I would say he’s efficient and quick with his cuts. I’m not going to, however, because he might add me to the pile of dead bodies he’s got hanging up in a cave somewhere, dressed like little girls. Or something. Probably. Seems the type.
“This one -“
“Lord Anthony Cheetham-Hewe of the County of Moistershire.”
“Yeah, that. Cardiac Arrest, brought on by sudden exertion.” Yep, that’s Trish Treyne alright. She’s got thighs like a Sailor. And I don't mean salty and shaky on dry land.
“And William Street?”
“Hmm. Looks like -“ Shit! Did he just look me in the face then?! I think he did! Maybe Jimmy Boots has told him! “Looks like blunt force trauma to the back of the head. Instant death. Almost expertly done.” Jesus! I wish he’d stop keep staring at me!
“And Raymond Letty?”
“This one’s odd. It looks like suicide. But, according to this report from the scene, there was nothing by which to cause this. He didn't drown, he didn't struggle, he didn't resist. He just died. But how he would have put himself down that well, without an abrasion on him is beyond me.”
“Well - that is certainly thorough, thank you Doctor Cole. Tell me, do you think one or all are accidental or -“
“Murder? William Street was certainly murdered. The Lord could have died naturally, and the boy, well, that’s a mystery. But in my experience of these things,” Which I bet is vast, “I would say the location of the bodies suggests a deliberate disposal, therefore, I would say their deaths are very much connected.”
“Yes, thank you, Doctor. You may leave, if you wish?”
“I - couldn't have a root around? It’s just that I rarely get to see dead bodies this - intact?”
“I - I don’t see why not?” I bloody do! That’s it! I’ve got to get out of here, before I vomit up my intestines! Oh God! That was the worst - no the second worst thing I’ve seen! The first? Flit naked. Need I say more?
Oh, thank God for an open window! Okay, I can now smell the streets of Upper Vaxham, but let me tell you, it’s a Hell of a lot better than the stench in that room! I mean, I thought my finger smelled bad! That was like a fanciful bouquet of glorious summer fragrances compared with the disemboweled stench of death.
Oh! Nearly!
Right. Stop thinking about it now, and it’ll go away. Let’s get my mind off it by looking at what Mobbs is doing over there? He’s talking to a number of his men, I see. He’s instructing them to go house to house to question everyone if they saw anything unusual that day. Interesting, and -
Shit! I’ve just realised! I need an alibi! I could say I was having an affair with Flit? No. Of course not - no one would believe I’d go interspecies. Trish? Hmm, I doubt I could get her to remember it, even if I did hammer it home, so to speak. What else is there? Of course, Dash has his suspicions. I gave him that cock and bull story, didn't I? I wonder if he still believes it? Or if he’s seen through it and is ready to speak his mind? Sure, a conspiracy of Royalist proportions is good enough for a small minded man like him, but Mobbs? He’s too shrewd, that one. He’ll see right through its pathetic logic.
Let’s think - everyone knows I got His Lordiness a prossie, so I’m implicated directly there. Everyone knows that William Street had it out for me, so a direct implication there also. It’s only poor Raymond I don’t have a - no, wait. Everyone knows how he infuriated me in the streets every now and then. Hey, if I didn't know the truth, even I would think I’m guilty! Sorry, Boss, but praying isn't going to cut it this time.
What if I run away? Yeah, right! And where to, exactly? I can’t travel far, I have nowhere to go - quite frankly, I’m buggered, by a long thick branch direct from the Tree of Despair in the very Pit of Hell. Oh, well. Suppose there’s always suicide -
You know, I wonder if the Tinkerleys is actually high enough to jump from? I suppose if I tie a length of rope - you know what? There’s only one way of finding out. And perhaps, on the way, I’ll die naturally of these bloody stairs? Fingers crossed! Right, for expediency of narrative, let’s just say I’m at the top, and forget all that heavy breathing stuff, eh? Yes, the power of storytelling at work.
Wow, it’s a bit cramped up here! It’s like a belfry, but without a bell. You’d think there would be a door up here, rather than a set of stairs that lead to nowhere - did you hear something then? Like a whimpering sound. Or shuffling. Wailing now. And more shuffling. Wait, there’s a hole in the wall here? Let’s look, and - oh my God! You will not believe it! Just look! Yes, the noises were her singing! Can you believe that? Completely tone deaf! And the shuffling? Dancing, I think? Okay, to you it’s more surprising there’s a girl locked up in a tower than wailing and shuffling being singing and dancing, but we all have different levels and speeds of surprise! Now comes the surprise about the girl locked up in the tower! Bloody Hell!
“Uhm, Miss?”
“Who’s that?”
“I was just passing, and -“
“That’s not my Father? Who are you!”
“Your Father? Who’s your Father?”
“Why Mr Edward Mobbs. I am Catherine Mobbs.”
“Ah, and I’m - Walter Mudd?” Yes. Knew that name would come in handy again eventually.
“Well, Mr Mudd, what is it I can do for you?”
“I was hoping to come in and kill myself by jumping from the roof?”
“Ah, I’m afraid I do not have the key on this side of the door, Mr Mudd. Perhaps an adjoining room?”
“That’s the thing. There’s only your room up here.”
“And lower down?”
“I don’t think it would be enough of a drop.”
“I’m - I’m sorry, Mr Mudd, but I don't know what to tell you -“
“Wait a minute. You’re Mobbs’s Daughter?”
“Yes. As I said, Catherine -“
“He has a Daughter?” See? I told you it takes a while for me to cotton on sometimes.
“I’m sorry, Mr Mudd, but I feel I am repeating myself. Yes. I am Cath -“
“Why are you - locked up here?”
“Father says it is for my own good. He says he saved me from marrying Gareth Holkenburd, as that man is a crook.” Really? Gareth Holkenburd died fifteen years ago, I believe? Mysterious circumstances, so I hear. Could it be -
“Miss Mobbs, do you believe this man is still a threat?”
“Well, Father says he is. He says it’s better for all parties if I remain in this room for the rest of my life.”
“And you’re happy with that?”
“If my Father says so, yes.” Bloody Hell. No brains as well as no ability to sing or dance. The dangerous trifecta.
“In that case -“
“Hello? Are you still there Mr Mudd? Do you still want to kill yourself? Because I know there’s a particularly large splinter in here that can go septic after a year or two? It might be a slow death, but -“ Ah, if she’s still talking, I can’t hear her anymore. And yes, I have a devious plan brewing. Right, where’s that Commander Mobbs when he’s at home? Aha! There he is, in his office. This crook has some blackmailing to do!
“Hey, my old mucker! Commie! How’s it hanging?!”
“Rector, this is most inappropriate -“
“I met your Daughter - that is to say, I had a conversation with your Daughter, which was -“
“What did you say?” Oh come on now! Surely this lifting me up and pinning me against the wall routine is over now? Ah well.
“She’s very - obedient, isn't she?”
“I will rip out your throat -“
“Always with the violence! What is it with you strong, muscly, efficacious lot? Can’t you give it a rest for a minute or two?”
“You are on dangerous ground, Posster!”
“I know, but look, it’s going to come out that I am involved in all three deaths down there, but, and here’s the kicker, none of them are my fault! Trouble is, all things will point to me. I’ve become desperate, you see, Mobbs? I am not guilty, but I’ve been forced to act as the guilty party in order to keep my head attached to my neck. I mean, come on! Who’s going to believe me that I didn't directly cause those deaths, but I will appear the prime suspect? Tell me you wouldn't take such drastic steps as me? Come on! Be honest?” Ah, that’s better. At least I can breath now!
“What do you expect me to do?”
“Simple. When all evidence points to me, ignore it, or dismiss it with logical precision, as I’m sure you’re able to do, given that you have all the brains in the family -“
“What’s that supposed to mean?!”
“Okay, okay. A slip of the tongue. I meant nothing by it. Truly. But I bet when that suitor came to call for your Daughter, he was shown short thrift? Perhaps you told him she had died? Then, against your hope, he went round spreading the rumour your Daughter was dead. You probably got to him too late to stop the rumours and had him - exited. Trust me, I understand. I really do. I don't blame you at all. So perhaps the sympathy came from people, and the presents rolled in. Someone told the Taxman, and they cut you some breaks. You weren't greedy. Of course not. But you had to live. You had to keep your Daughter alive. So you let them believe it. And your Daughter? She dotes on you, you know. Even now, she believes you protect her from the evils of the world. And I’m sure you do. Did. Until I came around. Please don't make me inform the Taxman, and get him back here? I really, really don't want to. It’s not my thing. But If I am cornered, then, so help me -“
“Alright, Posster. You made your point. Even if a little over dramatically. But then, I suppose, we are in the old theatre, where drama is very much at home.”
“I’m glad, and I hope I interpret it right, that we are on the same page. Mutually assured destruction, I believe it’s called? Oh, I know you’ll hate me forever, and probably want me dead, but while you’re doing that, I’m going to do my best to prove my innocence. Do we have a deal, Commander Edward Mobbs?” Take my hand. Seal the deal.
And here it comes, “We do, Rector Wilfred Posster. We do.”
“Well, if you don't mind, I have one Hell of a day to sleep off, and I’ll spend it in my room here. Don't want to raise suspicions, do we?”
Oh, believe me, I hate to do it this way. It’s the lowest form of extortion. It’s far too easy to hold a weapon over the loved one of your enemy. There’s no skill in it. None at all. There’s no adventure, no honour - no spirit. No, give me a handful of rich ladies and a vague plan any day. Much more entertaining. But it had to be done, you see?
I just wish I knew what happened to Sticks -
Oh, this doesn't feel right. Where’s my curtains!? Where’s my soft bed? In fact, where’s that irritating Flit? Ah, right. I remember now. Bugger.
“Good morning, Rector. I see the rain has stopped?”
“Has it, Mobbs? I can’t tell, seeing as I’ve been locked up in this bloody room all night, without even a - you know what? A pillow wouldn't hurt? In fact a bed of any description might be advantageous right now -“
“Oh, you know how it is, Rector? We are - in between moves at the moment. There are several men under my command that think you should be thrashed for your crime, you know, but I’m inclined to - let you go? I’m sure that what you intended was meant as a Christian act.”
“Well, ah, now that sounds -“
“Commander!” Oh, I do wish these bloody Clubmen wouldn't shout! It’s all I heard last night - like, ‘who you bonking?’, ‘Where’s me cheese?’, ‘Is that a spot on your dick?’ You know, the usual. Now this over-efficient bloke?
“What is it, Vellapont?”
“Sir! They’ve found three bodies!”
“Where?”
“Tally Street!” Wait. Where do I remember that street name from?
Oh shit!
Oh crap!
Shitsticks!
Buggery buggery bugger!
Shit buggering shitsticks!
Tally Street!
Uh oh -
“Rector? You look as white as a sheet?”
“Abu. Bubabbubbu. Eblublublu -“
“Well, quite. Tally Street, you say?”
“Yes, Commander! They are bringing the bodies here now. In fact they should be downstairs, in the cellar - with the Apothecary, Augustus Winboll.” Wow. I might just have a chance then. Wait, three?
“Oh, him? Right, well, Rector? Would you mind accompanying me there, so as to administer to the deceased spiritually?” How can I say no? Besides, I need to know who this third person is.
Surprisingly, these stairs are easier today. I seem to be floating on a cushion of adrenaline. My heart’s beating so fast, it sounds like the noise from the battlefield on Vaxham Hill. Perhaps it’s cold down here, but right now, I feel nothing. Nothing at all. It’s all ended.
Oh no. What more is there to say?
“After you, Rector. Ah, Winboll? What have you determined so far?” You know, I can’t hear a word? Not one. All I can see are the waterlogged bodies of those dead men, Lord Anthony Cheetham-Hewe of the County of Moistershire, William Street and - oh God! And dear poor Raymond Letty! Sticks. Who the Hell killed him?! And what the Hell for?! Oh poor boy.
“Well, as far as I can ascertain, this body is of a male,” Wow! What gave it away, you bumbling idiot?! “And he is of advanced years -“
“I think we can dispense with the introductory bits, Winboll. We know by sight, though a little bloated, that these are the bodies of -“
“Nothing is ever for certain, Commander.”
“Winboll, in this case it is. What have you determined of their passing?”
“Well, they all drowned?”
“Are you asking us or telling us? Besides, the late Mr Street there has an obvious head wound.”
“Does he? I mean, yes he does! Now the Letty boy -“ Look at the poor kid? It’s like he didn't know what hit him? And I hope he didn’t, for his sake.
“Winboll, is there absolutely anything, anything at all, that might help?”
“Well, his humours are in turmoil -“
“So no then.”
“Well, what did you expect? I am only an Apothecary. I wave twigs about in a vain hope that it actually does something. I’m a potions man, Commander. If you want to loosen his stool, then -“
“That - won’t be necessary. I took the precaution just prior to this meeting of contacting the Field Surgeon, over at the battlefield. He’ll be here in a -“
Oh, dear God. He’s here already! Doctor Percy Cole, erstwhile cutter for the Roundabouts! And as I found out earlier, he is quite insane. And psychotic - and probably suffering from a dozen other undiagnosed psychological issues. I think I’ll keep to the shadows. It’s marginally safer here, as long as I don't mind those big bloody spiders.
You know, right now, I think I would rather face a ravenous dog with distemper than Percy Cole. Of course he doesn't look at all vicious, or homicidal. But I’ve heard it from the horse’s mouth, if that horse might be Frank Laud. Oh God! He didn't even pause then, cutting His Lordship open! He probably wasn't even aware the old man was dead!
I would say he’s efficient and quick with his cuts. I’m not going to, however, because he might add me to the pile of dead bodies he’s got hanging up in a cave somewhere, dressed like little girls. Or something. Probably. Seems the type.
“This one -“
“Lord Anthony Cheetham-Hewe of the County of Moistershire.”
“Yeah, that. Cardiac Arrest, brought on by sudden exertion.” Yep, that’s Trish Treyne alright. She’s got thighs like a Sailor. And I don't mean salty and shaky on dry land.
“And William Street?”
“Hmm. Looks like -“ Shit! Did he just look me in the face then?! I think he did! Maybe Jimmy Boots has told him! “Looks like blunt force trauma to the back of the head. Instant death. Almost expertly done.” Jesus! I wish he’d stop keep staring at me!
“And Raymond Letty?”
“This one’s odd. It looks like suicide. But, according to this report from the scene, there was nothing by which to cause this. He didn't drown, he didn't struggle, he didn't resist. He just died. But how he would have put himself down that well, without an abrasion on him is beyond me.”
“Well - that is certainly thorough, thank you Doctor Cole. Tell me, do you think one or all are accidental or -“
“Murder? William Street was certainly murdered. The Lord could have died naturally, and the boy, well, that’s a mystery. But in my experience of these things,” Which I bet is vast, “I would say the location of the bodies suggests a deliberate disposal, therefore, I would say their deaths are very much connected.”
“Yes, thank you, Doctor. You may leave, if you wish?”
“I - couldn't have a root around? It’s just that I rarely get to see dead bodies this - intact?”
“I - I don’t see why not?” I bloody do! That’s it! I’ve got to get out of here, before I vomit up my intestines! Oh God! That was the worst - no the second worst thing I’ve seen! The first? Flit naked. Need I say more?
Oh, thank God for an open window! Okay, I can now smell the streets of Upper Vaxham, but let me tell you, it’s a Hell of a lot better than the stench in that room! I mean, I thought my finger smelled bad! That was like a fanciful bouquet of glorious summer fragrances compared with the disemboweled stench of death.
Oh! Nearly!
Right. Stop thinking about it now, and it’ll go away. Let’s get my mind off it by looking at what Mobbs is doing over there? He’s talking to a number of his men, I see. He’s instructing them to go house to house to question everyone if they saw anything unusual that day. Interesting, and -
Shit! I’ve just realised! I need an alibi! I could say I was having an affair with Flit? No. Of course not - no one would believe I’d go interspecies. Trish? Hmm, I doubt I could get her to remember it, even if I did hammer it home, so to speak. What else is there? Of course, Dash has his suspicions. I gave him that cock and bull story, didn't I? I wonder if he still believes it? Or if he’s seen through it and is ready to speak his mind? Sure, a conspiracy of Royalist proportions is good enough for a small minded man like him, but Mobbs? He’s too shrewd, that one. He’ll see right through its pathetic logic.
Let’s think - everyone knows I got His Lordiness a prossie, so I’m implicated directly there. Everyone knows that William Street had it out for me, so a direct implication there also. It’s only poor Raymond I don’t have a - no, wait. Everyone knows how he infuriated me in the streets every now and then. Hey, if I didn't know the truth, even I would think I’m guilty! Sorry, Boss, but praying isn't going to cut it this time.
What if I run away? Yeah, right! And where to, exactly? I can’t travel far, I have nowhere to go - quite frankly, I’m buggered, by a long thick branch direct from the Tree of Despair in the very Pit of Hell. Oh, well. Suppose there’s always suicide -
You know, I wonder if the Tinkerleys is actually high enough to jump from? I suppose if I tie a length of rope - you know what? There’s only one way of finding out. And perhaps, on the way, I’ll die naturally of these bloody stairs? Fingers crossed! Right, for expediency of narrative, let’s just say I’m at the top, and forget all that heavy breathing stuff, eh? Yes, the power of storytelling at work.
Wow, it’s a bit cramped up here! It’s like a belfry, but without a bell. You’d think there would be a door up here, rather than a set of stairs that lead to nowhere - did you hear something then? Like a whimpering sound. Or shuffling. Wailing now. And more shuffling. Wait, there’s a hole in the wall here? Let’s look, and - oh my God! You will not believe it! Just look! Yes, the noises were her singing! Can you believe that? Completely tone deaf! And the shuffling? Dancing, I think? Okay, to you it’s more surprising there’s a girl locked up in a tower than wailing and shuffling being singing and dancing, but we all have different levels and speeds of surprise! Now comes the surprise about the girl locked up in the tower! Bloody Hell!
“Uhm, Miss?”
“Who’s that?”
“I was just passing, and -“
“That’s not my Father? Who are you!”
“Your Father? Who’s your Father?”
“Why Mr Edward Mobbs. I am Catherine Mobbs.”
“Ah, and I’m - Walter Mudd?” Yes. Knew that name would come in handy again eventually.
“Well, Mr Mudd, what is it I can do for you?”
“I was hoping to come in and kill myself by jumping from the roof?”
“Ah, I’m afraid I do not have the key on this side of the door, Mr Mudd. Perhaps an adjoining room?”
“That’s the thing. There’s only your room up here.”
“And lower down?”
“I don’t think it would be enough of a drop.”
“I’m - I’m sorry, Mr Mudd, but I don't know what to tell you -“
“Wait a minute. You’re Mobbs’s Daughter?”
“Yes. As I said, Catherine -“
“He has a Daughter?” See? I told you it takes a while for me to cotton on sometimes.
“I’m sorry, Mr Mudd, but I feel I am repeating myself. Yes. I am Cath -“
“Why are you - locked up here?”
“Father says it is for my own good. He says he saved me from marrying Gareth Holkenburd, as that man is a crook.” Really? Gareth Holkenburd died fifteen years ago, I believe? Mysterious circumstances, so I hear. Could it be -
“Miss Mobbs, do you believe this man is still a threat?”
“Well, Father says he is. He says it’s better for all parties if I remain in this room for the rest of my life.”
“And you’re happy with that?”
“If my Father says so, yes.” Bloody Hell. No brains as well as no ability to sing or dance. The dangerous trifecta.
“In that case -“
“Hello? Are you still there Mr Mudd? Do you still want to kill yourself? Because I know there’s a particularly large splinter in here that can go septic after a year or two? It might be a slow death, but -“ Ah, if she’s still talking, I can’t hear her anymore. And yes, I have a devious plan brewing. Right, where’s that Commander Mobbs when he’s at home? Aha! There he is, in his office. This crook has some blackmailing to do!
“Hey, my old mucker! Commie! How’s it hanging?!”
“Rector, this is most inappropriate -“
“I met your Daughter - that is to say, I had a conversation with your Daughter, which was -“
“What did you say?” Oh come on now! Surely this lifting me up and pinning me against the wall routine is over now? Ah well.
“She’s very - obedient, isn't she?”
“I will rip out your throat -“
“Always with the violence! What is it with you strong, muscly, efficacious lot? Can’t you give it a rest for a minute or two?”
“You are on dangerous ground, Posster!”
“I know, but look, it’s going to come out that I am involved in all three deaths down there, but, and here’s the kicker, none of them are my fault! Trouble is, all things will point to me. I’ve become desperate, you see, Mobbs? I am not guilty, but I’ve been forced to act as the guilty party in order to keep my head attached to my neck. I mean, come on! Who’s going to believe me that I didn't directly cause those deaths, but I will appear the prime suspect? Tell me you wouldn't take such drastic steps as me? Come on! Be honest?” Ah, that’s better. At least I can breath now!
“What do you expect me to do?”
“Simple. When all evidence points to me, ignore it, or dismiss it with logical precision, as I’m sure you’re able to do, given that you have all the brains in the family -“
“What’s that supposed to mean?!”
“Okay, okay. A slip of the tongue. I meant nothing by it. Truly. But I bet when that suitor came to call for your Daughter, he was shown short thrift? Perhaps you told him she had died? Then, against your hope, he went round spreading the rumour your Daughter was dead. You probably got to him too late to stop the rumours and had him - exited. Trust me, I understand. I really do. I don't blame you at all. So perhaps the sympathy came from people, and the presents rolled in. Someone told the Taxman, and they cut you some breaks. You weren't greedy. Of course not. But you had to live. You had to keep your Daughter alive. So you let them believe it. And your Daughter? She dotes on you, you know. Even now, she believes you protect her from the evils of the world. And I’m sure you do. Did. Until I came around. Please don't make me inform the Taxman, and get him back here? I really, really don't want to. It’s not my thing. But If I am cornered, then, so help me -“
“Alright, Posster. You made your point. Even if a little over dramatically. But then, I suppose, we are in the old theatre, where drama is very much at home.”
“I’m glad, and I hope I interpret it right, that we are on the same page. Mutually assured destruction, I believe it’s called? Oh, I know you’ll hate me forever, and probably want me dead, but while you’re doing that, I’m going to do my best to prove my innocence. Do we have a deal, Commander Edward Mobbs?” Take my hand. Seal the deal.
And here it comes, “We do, Rector Wilfred Posster. We do.”
“Well, if you don't mind, I have one Hell of a day to sleep off, and I’ll spend it in my room here. Don't want to raise suspicions, do we?”
Oh, believe me, I hate to do it this way. It’s the lowest form of extortion. It’s far too easy to hold a weapon over the loved one of your enemy. There’s no skill in it. None at all. There’s no adventure, no honour - no spirit. No, give me a handful of rich ladies and a vague plan any day. Much more entertaining. But it had to be done, you see?
I just wish I knew what happened to Sticks -
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