The Second Mrs Thistlewood Page 9

  ‘Started during the meet at Spa Fields, missus. The talk of taking up arms set tempers flaring and ’undreds went on the rampage, smashing shop windows, stealing weapons, doing what they thought was wanted of ’em. They were furious Prince Regent won’t give much money to feed them poor mariners, and about the corruption in government. They were angry. Troops came to disperse ’em and even read The Riot Act.’

  ‘How does this concern me?’ I hope he’s about to tell me Arthur was arrested for inciting the riot. Perhaps he followed through on his promise to seize the Tower and burn London’s bridges.

  ‘Mr Thistlewood was trying to rally support for an attack on the Tower of London, but the people who turned up to hear ’im thought it was a bad idea so turned tail and fled. And then your ’usband didn’t get the support ’e expected from the troops and instead of joining with ’im, they was hunting ’im. ’E ’ad to run for ’is life!’

  ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘From me stepfather, missus. ’E’s acquainted with your ’usband, and they ’ave the same opinions on many things to do with the government. Me stepfather was with yer ’usband when the trouble started.’

  ‘And where is my husband now?’ Please God, let him be languishing in gaol.

  ‘Gone into ’iding. Said ’e’ll get word to you when ’tis safe to do so, but to warn you it might be a long wait.’

  My heart flutters. ‘What’s your name, boy?’

  ‘John, missus. John Davidson.’

  I retrieve my reticule from beside my chair and take out a sixpence.

  ‘Thank you, missus.’ He flips his cap onto his head and follows Nancy out of the room.

  I press my palms together and thank God for the wonderful news.

  Arthur is a wanted man.

  1817

  Chapter 19

  Arthur is pale and gaunt, his eyes rimmed with violet shadows. The basement room is airless, and a chamber pot festers in a corner, giving off pungent fumes of human waste. There are stains on the tangled bedsheets and Arthur’s clothes are filthy.

  This is my first visit to his hiding place.

  ‘Why didn’t you come sooner?’

  I cower on the edge of his bed, elbows pressed to my sides.

  ‘Well?’ He waves his arm, dismissing the brute who led me here at knifepoint.

  I wait for his henchman to climb the stairs and step outside before answering.

  ‘Every time you have a visitor, you risk being discovered.’ My voice is reedy, barely recognisable as my own.

  Arthur steps towards me and raises his hand. I shrink away, but instead of striking my face again, he reaches into the basket beside me and pulls out a cloth containing bread and cheese.

  ‘Eat with me.’

  I shake my head.

  Arthur tears off a small hunk of bread and holds it out. ‘I said eat with me.’

  ‘I had something earlier.’

  ‘Then eat again. For all I know, you’ve poisoned the food.’

  The thought crossed my mind. I blame Beckey for mentioning hemlock when Anna was unwell. An apothecary agreed to sell it to me, but I lost my nerve and asked for a small bottle of aniseed oil instead.

  I accept the piece of bread and chew slowly. It clings to my tongue and the roof of my mouth and I cannot swallow. Arthur passes me the flagon of ale. I take a sip and it almost chokes me. Arthur pulls a knife from under his pillow and cuts off a wedge of cheese. My stomach turns and I taste bile, but I know what I must do. I take a small bite and force myself to swallow, helped by another sip of ale. Satisfied the food poses no risk, Arthur rips into the bread and crams it into his mouth.

  My legs ache from trying to suppress trembling. My shoulders twitch, and a pressure builds in my bladder.

  Arthur wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve. ‘Thought you didn’t want to see me, Susan. Assumed you’d abandoned me.’

  ‘No, Arthur. The only reason I didn’t come was to protect you.’

  He stares at me, eyes flinty, lips twitching. At last he looks away, and the tension eases in my limbs.

  ‘I’ve worried about you. You can’t stay here forever. What will you do?’

  ‘What do you want me to do? Give myself up to accusations of treason? They’d march me to the gallows saying I incited the murder of Cabinet ministers and the Prince Regent.’

  ‘Isn’t that what you wanted? A violent uprising?’

  ‘It was rhetoric!’

  He had me fooled.

  ‘Can you persuade the authorities your intent was only to stir up feelings?’

  Arthur paces the room, banging his temples with his fists. ‘Doubt it. No one will listen. Nothing I say will convince them.’

  A glimmer of hope for me then.

  He stands over me and grips my shoulder. ‘I have form, Susan.’

  A shiver passes through me. ‘What form?’

  ‘There are people who will say I’ve shown unreasonable levels of violence in the past.’ He resumes pacing.

  ‘Have you?’

  ‘I did what any other fellow would have done in certain situations. There’s one man out there, blind in his right eye and walks with crutches. For a few shillings, he’d accuse me of attempting to murder him.’

  ‘And did you?’

  Arthur’s mouth lifts at the corners. He says nothing. Doesn’t need to. He drags a rickety old chair across the room, places it in front of me then sits and takes my hands in his.

  ‘I’ve been unkind, and I’m sorry.’ He looks around the room, then fixes his eyes on mine. ‘Cooped up in here, I’ve had time to reflect. I may have mistreated you and had an indiscretion or two, but I want a second chance, Susan. We’ve misjudged each other. Let’s move away from London, start again somewhere else and enjoy one another’s company like we did in the early days of our marriage.’

  Memories dance before me. My imagination peels away layers of time and I find the Arthur I fell in love with. Smart, handsome and opinionated, but with laughter in his eyes and a gentle manner. From somewhere deep in my heart, a sliver of affection resurfaces.

  ‘Do you mean it, Arthur? Your henchman brought me here with a knife held to my back.’

  ‘Captivity’s sending me mad, Susan. I wasn’t thinking straight and was desperate to see you.’

  ‘And if I’d refused to come, would your man have killed me?’

  Arthur shakes his head. ‘No, he was only instructed to frighten you, to make sure you came. Believe me, Susan, I want to give you the life you deserve. Help me. Get me away from here.’

  I slip my fingers from his grasp, wondering if I’m capable of loving him again. I’ve no choice but to try, otherwise I’ll risk having another of his thugs hold a knife to my side.

  ‘It won’t be easy, Arthur. I’ll end Nancy’s contract. She’s an unnecessary expense.’

  ‘Agreed.’ His face is lined with determination. He slides off the chair and kneels before me. ‘Forgive me, Susan.’ He peppers my hand with kisses. ‘I know I’ve not always been a kind husband, but from this day forward, I’ll love and respect you.’

  For the first time in our marriage, Arthur’s offering something that resembles a genuine apology. His expression is sincere, his eyes full of adoration. What choice do I have other than to believe him?

  I invite Nancy to join me at the kitchen table.

  ‘With things as they are, I regret I must release you from our employ.’

  Her face drops. ‘I wondered if this day was coming. Where’s Arthur?’

  I stiffen at her lack of respect. ‘Mr Thistlewood is in lodgings elsewhere for the time being. I’m not at liberty to tell you where.’

  She raises her eyes to the ceiling. ‘How much notice?’

  ‘One week. That should suffice for seeking alternative employment.’

  ‘Very gracious,’ she says, her tone loaded with sarcasm. ‘I’ve got options. Seeing as I’m no longer wanted here, I’ll leave as soon as I can.’

  ‘Would you like a letter
of reference?’

  Nancy stands and puffs out her chest. ‘That won’t be necessary, but thanks anyway. Now, excuse me while I pack up me things.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Nancy sucks in her cheeks. ‘I only did what I did ’cos your husband threatened to hurt me. You know what he’s like. He means trouble.’

  ‘He’s changed.’

  Nancy shakes her head. ‘Men of his type never change.’

  ‘I have his word.’

  ‘Then there’s no point disputing it. Good luck, Mrs Thistlewood.’

  A shadow of doubt engulfs me.

  As evening draws in, I crave company. I call at Beckey’s and ask if I may sit with her for a while.

  Samuel’s out attending to an emergency, and Beckey’s glad of my visit. She has proven herself a genuine friend since learning of the warrant for Arthur’s arrest. I’ve enjoyed several delicious dinners with her and Samuel, and Beckey gave me three fashionable winter dresses which she claims do not fit any more although there’s no evidence to suggest she has gained weight.

  I share the news of Arthur’s dreadful lodgings and the decision to end Nancy’s employment.

  ‘What does he plan to do next?’ she asks.

  A breath catches in my throat. ‘The only viable option is to leave the country.’

  Beckey cocks her head to one side. ‘A perfect opportunity for a fresh start. Are you open-minded about where you go? And is Arthur willing to work?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure he is. Do you have an idea?’

  ‘It’ll break my heart to have you so far away, but there is something I can do.’

  ‘Oh, Beckey, please tell me more.’ I sound desperate, but my dear friend may be about to solve the biggest dilemma I’ve ever encountered.

  ‘I have a brother in America. Matthew borrowed money from Samuel to set up a business and has yet to repay the debt. I could write and ask him to take on Arthur. Matthew owns a large printworks. He can provide a position for Arthur and an apprenticeship for Julian.’

  ‘You’d do that for us?’

  Beckey’s face softens. ‘It’s a pleasure to help.’

  Snuggled in bed, I try to imagine a life in America. I’m excited. Beckey let me read her brother’s letters describing the sights and sounds of New York. It’s so different to London. More exotic. Eagerness gets the better of me and I slip out from beneath the covers. The remnant of a candle burns in its holder, the flames casting an enticing glow over the blue paper enclosing Emma. I stroke the ribbon, still taken aback by the generosity of the gentleman who bought it for me.

  I decide to retrieve my money from its hiding place to check there’s sufficient to pay for three passages to America. As I push a hefty wooden trunk along the exposed floorboards, I cringe at the loud scraping noise and hope it didn’t wake Nancy. I press on one end of a short floorboard and grasp the opposite end with my fingers when it tilts upward a few degrees. A large splinter slides under my fingernail. I squeal but persevere with raising the board. After considerable effort, it pulls free. I reach for the candle and hold it above the gaping hole. Something is wrong. I reach into the darkness and grope around for the old scarf in which I wrapped Arthur’s winnings. It must have slipped deeper when I made the last withdrawal. I tilt the candle, lowering it towards the hole. Hot wax drips into the void and the small flame illuminates the gap beneath the floorboards. I sit back on my haunches, and the room sways. A heavy feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. The money has disappeared.

  Did I hide it somewhere else? I wrack my brains, recalling every action from when I retrieved the bundle a week ago. There’s no doubt I replaced it here. I remember snagging my skirt on the same splinter that drew blood from my finger tonight. No one else knew the money was there, unless…

  I run up to the garret, stumbling on the stairs, holding my breath in case it extinguishes the candle. I burst through the door and the flickering light confirms my fears. The room is empty.

  Nancy has gone.

  Chapter 20

  Mother lays thin slices of bacon side by side in a hot pan. The sizzle is comforting, the aroma mouth-watering. Two days at home with my beloved parents have restored my sanity. But they are not yet aware of the reason for my visit.

  We sit together at the oak table in the centre of the kitchen. My youngest brother departed earlier on an errand and the two older ones left late yesterday evening to return to their own families. I’m relieved to have my parents to myself. We settle down to a breakfast feast and eat in companionable silence. I wipe my plate clean, mopping up every glisten of grease and a slick of yolk with a generous hunk of fresh bread. It is the most delicious meal I’ve eaten for many weeks.

  ‘Tell me, Susan, how much money do you need?’

  My cheeks burn. ‘Father?’

  ‘It’s been years since you came to Horncastle. I read the newspapers and have seen reports of riots that also mentioned Arthur’s name. Things must be difficult for you with him in gaol.’

  ‘He’s not in gaol.’

  Father raises his bushy silver eyebrows. ‘Then where is he?’

  ‘I can’t say.’ I’m wringing my hands beneath the table, uncomfortable withholding the truth from my parents. My mother’s homely face is full of pity. I’m determined not to cry.

  ‘We plan to leave England and put this dreadful time behind us,’ I say, with forced levity. ‘We’ll start afresh, re-establish ourselves away from all this trouble. My dear friend Beckey has written to her brother calling in a favour, advising him a debt will be repaid if he takes Arthur on at his print works and Julian as an apprentice. Her brother has a thriving business in New York.’

  Mother catches her breath. ‘Must you go so far away? We might never see you again.’

  I stare at my lap. I’ve chosen to forgive Arthur and must not waver. ‘Mother, it’s six weeks by packet ship. My brothers can manage the business while you and Father spend time with us after we’re settled.’

  Mother grimaces. ‘Such a visit is unlikely, as you well know. Arthur deserves his fate but I can’t believe you’re allowing him to drag you into his mess.’

  I reach across the table for her hand. ‘It took something as drastic as this to show Arthur how unreasonable he’s been. We’ve talked it through, and he acknowledged he was disrespectful. He apologised and assured me he’s a changed man.’

  Father frowns.

  Mother rolls her eyes. ‘A leopard does not change its spots, Susan. Arthur’s the same man he’s always been, and always will be.’

  ‘No, Mother, not this time.’

  ‘Is it what you want?’ Father’s eyes bore into me, watching for every tiny twitch of reaction.

  ‘Yes, Father.’

  Mother rises from her chair and glides out of the kitchen. I know her heart is breaking. Mine is too.

  Father lets out an exasperated sigh. ‘Very well. I’ll provide sufficient money to pay for three passages to America. There will be a little left over to cover basic expenses and tide you over until Arthur receives his first wages.’

  ‘Thank you, Father.’ I hesitate. ‘We’ll repay you one day, I promise.’

  Father rolls his eyes. ‘Perhaps, Susan, but never make a promise unless you can keep it. I’d prefer you to consider the money as a gift from a father to his daughter.’

  Mother’s eyes are red. She clings to me, and I wrap my arms around her, whispering reassuring words. I wonder if we’ll ever see each other again. With a heavy heart, I board the coach and begin the long uncomfortable journey back to London.

  The stagecoach rumbles and jolts, bouncing along rutted roads and throwing me from side to side. It’s a wonder the horses do not lose their footing and tip the coach on its side. I’m certain that by the time I arrive home, I’ll have multiple bruises from knocking against the side and the bony elbow of the elderly lady next to me. Thank goodness Father paid extra for my comfort, otherwise I’d be riding headlong into a storm along with the poor wretches outside.

&n
bsp; Hailstones beat against the carriage windows and draughts seep through the edges of the doors. With one hand, I pull a coarse blanket across my legs and over the lap of my neighbour. My other hand grips the box given to me by my father. I still don’t know what’s inside.

  At last I stumble through my front door. The house is cold and unwelcoming. No fires burn in the grate. No candles flicker in the sconces. The pantry is almost empty, and all I can find to eat is pickled onions and plum chutney. I’ll go out early tomorrow morning for provisions.

  Fatigue catches up with me and I struggle up the staircase, clutching my travelling bag in one hand and Father’s wooden box in the other. I sit on the edge of the bed and place the box on my lap. After closing my eyes and counting to ten, I prise open the lid.

  Tears drop to my dress and spread into a dull pink stain. Father has saved us. I flatten the bundle of notes and count them twice. Two hundred pounds.

  Chapter 21

  Tired and hungry, I sit next to Julian on the edge of a narrow bed. I open a package that Beckey pressed into my hand moments before the carriage rolled away from our home. Monkey biscuits. I offer them to Julian. He hesitates, then helps himself to three before pushing my forearm away. My stomach is churning, my heart racing, but I force myself to nibble on a biscuit. I can’t shut out the image of Beckey’s tear-stained face when we said farewell to each other. There was a finality about it, and the enormity of what we are doing settles heavily on my mind.

  Our cabin is small with two beds separated by a battered chest of drawers, and the cramped space smells of weak stomachs from previous voyages. A crewman said the Perseus transported convicts to New South Wales. How apt that Arthur should join the same ship. I glance at the door. He should be here by now.

  My eyes ache from lack of sleep, and I’m on edge. I worry about forgetting to call myself Mrs Wilkinson and blowing Arthur’s cover. Thankfully, Arthur’s contact, Mr Moggridge, booked the berths, because if it had been left to me, I’m certain I’d have used the name Thistlewood. I’m nervous about this clandestine behaviour, but Julian’s taking it in his stride. He follows my instructions without question and sticks by my side like a limpet clinging to a rock. Or am I clinging to him? It’s hard to tell.