A deep file/one - a sly, designing fellow

- The 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, by Francis Grose.

 

It was sheer misfortune on Keziah’s part that she ventured downstairs once more, only to run directly into inspector Formby. She had been hoping to speak with Ash again. The day had dragged by, and every moment she had expected him to seek her out to further discuss their predicament, except he hadn’t.

A uneasy sense of guilt nagged at her as she knew she’d hurt him, but after a lifetime with her father, Keziah set great store by the truth. The last thing she wanted was to hurt him further by allowing him to believe things that were not, could not, be true.

That the man had become her friend, however, was undeniable. Like it or not, they were bound by circumstance, and, in all honesty, it just felt good to have someone other than Molly to confide in.

Molly, at least, had come out of this well, for which Keziah could only be grateful. The doctor had put her on bed rest for the next five days - as he had with Keziah - and unlike Keziah, Molly was being a dutiful patient. The duke’s staff had been very kind and attentive, and, for the first time in years, the poor girl was being fed well. Yes, Molly looked like she’d died and gone to heaven.

Keziah had visited her abigail, first to inform her that her sweetheart had not been a soldier at all, but Lord Ashwicke. Molly’s eyes had grown wide at this and she grabbed Keziah’s arm with her good hand.

“Oh, Miss Keziah,” she squealed with excitement. “You’d be a duchess!”

Keziah depressed any flights of fancy in that direction as fast as may be, but there was a look in the girl’s eyes that she couldn’t quite like. No doubt she fancied the idea of being abigail to a duchess, and who could blame her?

It was after this visit that Keziah headed downstairs, and after a discreet knock entered Lord Ashwicke’s office, only to find Inspector Formby kicking his heels by the fireplace.

“Oh, forgive me, inspector, I did not mean to intrude,” she said, backing out as fast as she could go.

“No, no, Lady Todd,” Formby said, his eyes alight with relief. “You’re just the person I wanted to talk to.”

Keziah groaned inwardly, but pasted a placid smile of acceptance to her face and went and sat down.

Naturally, Formby wanted to go over the events of that fateful night once more. Her relationship with Ash was brought up and the circumstances of their meeting and Keziah repeated the story she had told previously, which was pretty much true, excepting the nature of their meetings not being in any way romantic.

“Now, then, Lady Todd,” the inspector said, staring down at his notes. “After you ran from your father’s house, you came here, where the duke received you, and he called for a doctor.”

“Yes,” Keziah said, nodding. “He was most kind indeed. Everything was done to care for me and my poor abigail, and he stayed nearby at all times in case I had need of him.”

Formby gave her a hard look. “At all times?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, affecting a little sigh of the kind someone of a more romantic disposition might give on thinking of their beloved treating them with tender care. From the look that the inspector was giving her, he didn’t swallow it.

“He must have been very angry, to see you in such distress.”

Keziah met the inspector’s gaze and decided to take a different tack. “Lord Ashwicke is a very kind and caring young man, inspector, and he is in love with me.” She hoped Ash would forgive her for this and everything else she was about to say, but it was for both their sakes that the inspector should believe her. “He stayed at my side whenever he was able, naturally not when the doctor was with me, though he assured me that he would be waiting for me should I call. He takes such things very seriously, you see, and would not make such a promise if he was not going to be around to keep it. He returned to me as soon as I was alone and stayed at my side until morning.”

Formby stared at her and Keziah’s throat grew dry.

“It strikes me, Lady Todd, that a woman in love might say just about anything to protect the object of her affections.”

Keziah swallowed but held the man’s gaze, unwavering. “They might indeed, inspector. However, you knew my father, and so you may have a fair idea of my upbringing. Lord Ashwicke is a kind and decent young man …” she said, and then hardened her voice. “And a wealthy young fool. I will get what I can from him, whilst I can, and then move on.”

Formby’s eyes narrowed, but she doubted he was far from swallowing this story. It would be just what he would expect of Lord Todd’s kin.

“Sadly, he’s not quite fool enough to ever marry me,” she added, giving him a twisted smile. “He’s too much in awe of his grandmother to ever risk sullying the family with such a scandalous name as mine, and that was before this ghoulish affair,” she said with a snort.

Formby sat back in his chair, considering her with open curiosity. He pursed his lips, scratching behind his ear with his pencil. “Damned if I know what to make of you, Lady Todd, s’cuse my French,” he added with a smile, as if to take the sting out of his next words. “But I reckon you’re a deep one. Reckon you’re not tellin’ me the whole tale, neither.”

“I can’t imagine what you mean,” Keziah replied, her voice icy.

Formby chuckled, apparently unperturbed. “Reckon the old girl would be missin’ a trick an’ all, givin’ you the boot. Make a fine duchess, you would.”

Keziah stared back at him, not at all sure how to take that remark nor how to reply to it. There seemed no need, however, as the inspector was now lost in thought.

“May I go now?” Keziah demanded with growing impatience. She wanted away from this man as soon as possible.

“He could have done it,” he said, ignoring her request. Keziah’s heart leapt to her throat and settled there as Formby continued, his voice neither accusing nor in any way enquiring. He was simply thinking aloud, and Keziah’s blood seemed to chill in her veins. “What is it, ten, fifteen minutes from Abbey Green to here?” he mused, apparently considering the walk.

“I’m sure I have no idea,” Keziah replied, her tone bored and disinterested, though her stomach was tying itself in knots as he spoke.

“So if he ran or walked fast, he could have been there and back in the time the doctor was with you, no problem.” He smiled at Keziah as if they’d merely been discussing the likelihood that it might rain that evening.

“You’re a fool if you think him capable of such an act,” Keziah said with contempt, knowing that she must convince him away from Ash. “He’s a fop and a dandy, and has no more in his head past the latest style to tie his cravat or what latest on-dit is doing the rounds,” she said with heat as she stood and began to pace in her agitation. “Surely you cannot believe that a man of his age who is still ruled by his grandmother and hasn’t wit enough to take control of his own household could possibly have guts enough to face a violent man like my father?”

Keziah stared down at Formby with fury and he tilted his head a little, apparently accepting her argument. “You may be right at that, Lady Todd,” he said with a pleasant smile. “Perhaps the young man hasn’t the backbone for it, but,” he added, his expression shrewd as he fixed his attention on her. “I reckon you have.”

***

“Surely you cannot believe that a man of his age who is still ruled by his grandmother and hasn’t wit enough to take control of his own household could possibly have guts enough to face a man like my father?”

 

Ash stood outside his study door as Keziah’s words rang in his ears. Rationally, he knew that Keziah was protecting him, trying to move the inspector’s gaze away from his direction. But there was enough truth in the words, enough conviction in the way they’d been said to underline everything that he knew Keziah thought of him.

He swallowed down the bitterness of his disappointment with difficulty. It was nothing he didn’t know. She’d been very clear that there was and would never be anything between them.

This was what came from listening at doors, he thought, though his feet wouldn’t move him away. Now the inspector was agreeing that he didn’t have the backbone for it …

“But I reckon you have.”

Before Ash could think about it, he’d opened the door and stood glaring at the inspector before turning his attention to Keziah.

“Keziah, my dear,” he said, his tone firm and just a little irritated. “The doctor gave strict instructions that you were to remain in your bed.”

Keziah stared at him in silence for just a moment before taking her cue.

“Forgive me,” she said, her expression a little uncertain. “I wanted to see you.”

“I will speak with you tomorrow, once I am satisfied you have rested. Run along, now.”

She blinked at him, clearly surprised at being so summarily dismissed, but made no demur, clearly eager enough to rid herself of Formby’s enquiries with all haste not to protest his high-handed behaviour.

Mr Formby stood as Keziah left the room, and Ash regarded him with great disfavour.

“I believe I made it clear after your last interview that Lady Todd was too fragile to answer your questions. She has endured a dreadful experience and is physically wounded, not to mention the emotional strain she is under. I must insist that you leave her in peace until the doctor allows it to be otherwise.”

Formby looked back at him, a measuring look in his eyes that made the hair on the back of Ash’s neck prickle in an unpleasant manner.

“As you say, my lord,” he replied after a moment, and with a placid smile. “I’ll arrange to continue my interview with the young lady another time but … if I might have another word with you, then, your grace,” Formby said, flicking to a clean page in his notebook and looking up at him with an expectant air.

“No,” Ash replied, returning a cool expression. “You may not. I have business to attend to. I am busy all day tomorrow, but you may return the following afternoon at three PM. Good evening, inspector, I trust you can show yourself out.”

With that, Ash walked away, closing the door behind him as his heart hammered behind his ribs. He wondered how the devil he’d dared speak to the man in such a blunt manner, but his usual patience and tolerance seemed to be all used up.

Perhaps there was something to be said for committing murder, it did wonders for your confidence.

***

It was no problem to be up at such an unfashionable hour the next morning, as Ash had spent a wearying night staring at the ceiling and considering all the ways in which his life could go to hell.

So it was that he presented himself at the Abbey at seven AM sharp with his decision made.

It was gloomy inside after the bright spring morning that had greeted him. The streets had been relatively quiet at this early hour, and if not for the sordidness of his assignment, Ash could have found pleasure in the gentle warmth of the sun on his face and a sky that promised a glorious day. But now he stood in the chill of the abbey, the sun blocked out, though the great stained glass window glinted the colours of the rainbow at him, as he waited for a blackmailer.

He’d not long to wait.

A tall, thin man eased himself out from the shadows and moved towards him.

“Shall we,” he said, motioning to the benches that lined the abbey with a smile, for all the world as if he was inviting Ash to sit and take tea.

“No,” Ash replied, praying his voice didn’t tremble as he felt sick to his stomach. “Say your piece and have done.”

The man grinned, a thin moustache stretching out over a face that put Ash in mind of reptilian creatures with cold, staring eyes.

“As you wish, your grace,” he said with mock civility, bowing his head a little. “Though I think my note made my intentions clear enough.”

“So they did,” Ash replied, with a nod, staring at him, unblinking, though he wanted to look away and avoid that cold gaze. “So do what you will. You’ll get nothing from me.”

If it weren’t for the fact that he was struggling to stop himself from vomiting as his stomach tied itself into knots, the look on the man’s face would have been utterly comical.

“You can’t be serious,” he demanded, staring at Ash with such shock that for once Ash felt very sure of himself. “You’ll hang!”

Ash gave him a contemptuous look that swept him from head to foot and back again, imitating the manner in which his father had given anyone he deigned beneath him a set down to great effect.

“It’s not an easy thing to hang a peer, sir,” Ash replied, his tone cool. “I am the seventh Duke of Chartley, and I’m afraid it will take more than …” He waved a nonchalant hand in the man’s direction with a look of revulsion. “Than a fellow like you to end my line.”

“There will be a scandal,” the man hissed, stepping closer to Ash, his eyes glinting with malice. “You want to see your family dragged through the dirt?”

Ash forced himself with difficulty to not move, swallowing down the bitter taste of fear that had risen in his throat.

“I do not,” he replied, his tone short. “But if I dare to get rid of vermin like the viscount to rid myself of a threat, just imagine what I might do to perhaps …” Ash paused and looked him over, seeing the neatness and precision in his dress and person, the expert way he had tied his cravat, and took an educated guess. “His valet.”

For the first time in his life, Ash had the pleasure of seeing a man discomfited by a threat of his own making.

“Do as you will, sir,” Ash replied before turning on his heel. “But beware the consequences.”

Ash heard the sound of the abbey doors bang shut behind him and hauled in a breath, walking fast. He didn’t know where he was going, other than away from that vile creature, and moved quickly, darting anxious looks behind him, but no one seemed to have followed. Finding himself in a quiet back road with no one around, he leaned back against the wall and tried to breathe, to quiet his racing heart, and then doubled over, retching into the gutter as his stomach rebelled against the terror that had held it in such a tight grip.

He wiped his mouth on his handkerchief, realising his hands were shaking as he leaned back against the wall. “Dear God in heaven,” he whispered to the sky. “What the hell have I done?”

On legs that felt unlike his own, he forced himself to move on before he was seen. He’d been perfectly correct, of course, far harder to hang a duke than a mere commoner, but that’s not to say it couldn’t be done or that the threat was any less real. Especially as he’d not murdered a mere commoner either, but a viscount. If there was enough evidence to prove him guilty, he’d swing like anyone else.

It had been done before.

Not to mention the scandal. The idea of people talking about him and whispering behind his back was enough to make him want to retch again, and that was without even considering how his grandmother would take it.

Now that … that simply did not bear thinking of.