To pluck a crow with someone - to settle a dispute / reprove someone

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

 

Keziah felt her heart leap to her throat as Mr Formby’s gaze settled on her and stayed there.

“I d-didn’t do it,” she stammered, clutching at her sodden skirts and beginning to shiver all at once. She turned to Ash, hoping he could see that she was telling the truth, knowing that he’d believed she’d done it, too. Would he regret marrying her so hastily if he realised there had been no need, though the fact she was innocent might not keep her from the gallows after all. Ash clutched at her hand, though, such love in his eyes that she wondered how she could ever have doubted it. He was loyal and steadfast.

He would never leave her, never betray her, never hurt her.

After years of living under her father’s tyrannical rule, that seemed something of a miracle.

“Would you like to tell me what happened, then, your grace?” Mr Formby said, and she was relieved to note the compassion in his voice. Perhaps, if she told him everything, he would believe her? So she nodded.

“I am an excellent shot, Mr Formby, it’s true. My father taught me, just as I told you, and that night, I left the house, with a loaded pistol, fully intending to kill Martin Snyder.”

She felt Ash’s hand tighten on hers and her throat grew thick. “I couldn’t let him hurt you,” she said, turning to her husband and feeling an ache in her chest at the idea she might yet be taken away and never see him again. “Not after everything you’d done for me.” Keziah took a breath and steadied herself before carrying on. “I had already sent Martin a note. I told him that I would pay the bribe he demanded and that he must meet me if he wished to get hold of it. But in truth, I intended to shoot him. Before I could go to the meeting, though, my maid, Molly Sweet, came to find me,” she said, gesturing to the girl who was sitting shivering by the fire. “She didn’t know about my plans, though, inspector. Molly is innocent in all of this. So she did not know how ill-timed it was when she brought me a message from Frankie here.”

Frankie swallowed audibly and backed up, shuffling himself behind Keziah’s chair.

“There, now, Frankie, it’s alright,” she soothed him. “The inspector has already promised that you’ll go free so long as you tell the truth.” She turned back to Mr Formby, giving him a fierce look that dared him to prove her a liar. Formby sighed, but nodded his agreement.

“Well, then,” she carried on, giving Frankie a reassuring pat on the arm. “Frankie here knew the kind of men my father and Martin were and decided to give Mr Snyder a taste of his own medicine. In short, inspector, he tried to blackmail him. He said that he would tell you that he’d seen Martin murder my father. Seeing as you now know the man was already on the run for murder, I imagine this was a very real threat to him despite the fact he hadn’t done it. But Frankie was far out of his depth, and when they met, Martin tried to silence him for good. Poor Frankie got away by the skin of his teeth and ran to me for shelter, as I’d once been kind to him. I took him to hide in the abbey, where he remained until lunchtime. I had not the leisure to explain to my maid before that moment, what with your unfortunate visit,” she said with an anxious smile at the inspector, hoping perhaps he had a sense of humour. “At that point, I sent Molly to find him and to secured him a room in a lodging house where he could hide until we decided what best be done.”

Keziah paused, wondering if Mr Formby believed a word of what she was saying. His face was inscrutable and she simply couldn’t tell, but there was no backing out now, so she ploughed on, bolstered by the firm grip of her husband’s hand on hers.

“In short, inspector, after calming Frankie down, deciding what must be done, and taking him to the Abbey to ensure he was safe, I was late for my meeting with Martin. I ran as fast as I could and stupidly tripped over my skirts, and I dropped the pistol and very nearly broke my idiotic neck. I-I think perhaps that is when your witness saw me,” she said, faltering a little as she knew how damning it must look. “Anyway.” She cleared her throat, willing her voice to remain firm though she felt the forceful desire to bury her face in Ash’s shoulder and weep. “I carried on as fast as I could and I got to the position I’d chosen. I was so relieved when I found Martin still waiting for me,” she said, feeling her heart race as she lived the moment again and remembered how her blood had seemed to burst through her veins as she prepared to commit murder. “I had raised the pistol to take my shot when … I heard a shot that wasn’t mine, and Martin fell. I froze for a moment, wondering what was happening, but everything was still. I waited until I was sure there was no one around, and then I crept forward. I could see his body on the floor and no one appeared to be about, so … I ran closer to … to check.”

Keziah swallowed, remembering how she’d almost slid in the blood and gore that had spattered the street behind the body. “He was dead. Shot in the head,” she said, forcing down the roil of nausea as she remembered her skirts trailing in his blood. “I-I don’t remember much else, only that … that I ran home.”

The room fell silent and Keziah looked over at Mr Formby to discover him watching her, his face intent.

“I didn’t kill him, inspector,” she repeated, her grip on Ash’s hand so tight she must surely be hurting him, but she could not let go. “I had every intention of killing him, it’s true, and I would have done it, but I didn’t, I swear it.”

Mr Formby glowered at her and sat back in his chair, looking less than pleased. “Aye, reckon I believe you, too, your grace.”

“Well, you need not look so disappointed, sir,” Ash said, his voice taut and angry.

Formby snorted and shook his head. “Oh, I ain’t disappointed that it weren’t Lady Ashwicke,” he said, giving them both a rueful smile. “Truly, I’m relieved. After life with Lord Todd, well … reckon you could do with a bit of peace, eh?”

Keziah let out a breath that turned to a sob as the relief hit her all at once. They were free … truly free! It was … a wonderful feeling.

Miraculous.

“Hey, now,” Ash said, putting his arm around her and allowing her to rest her head on his shoulder. “It’s all alright now, no need to turn into a watering pot.”

“N-no, I know,” she said, sobbing harder. “And I’m going to ruin your poor coat, weeping all over it.”

“Damn the coat, and the cravat, if it comes to that,” Ash said, his voice soft as he smiled at her, though she thought she could see sadness in his eyes and wondered at it. Did he regret their marriage now, after all? Now that she was in no danger of being convicted, had he finally realised his mistake? She was from a scandalous family, had not a farthing to her name but the staggering debts of her father’s, which Ash would now have to bear. Misery wrapped around her heart at the idea that he wished he hadn’t been so dreadfully hasty. But he loved her, she reminded herself, he did. She repeated the words to herself, praying that they still held true as he turned back to the inspector.

“You have no one else in your sights for these crimes, then, inspector?” Ash asked as Keziah tried hard to pull herself together.

Formby pursed his lips, leaning on his desk and looking down at it with a frown.

“I’ve felt, from the start, that there is someone on the outside, manipulating events, someone who gives the order, but never gets their hands dirty, but …” He sighed and shook his head, sitting back and looking like he might tear out what little remained of his hair in frustration. “Damned if I know,” he exclaimed, looking less than pleased. “And I just wish I did. Whoever it is, they’re crafty, powerful, too, I’d say, and I reckon I’ll never get a conviction, though in all honesty, with the likes of Lord Todd and Martin Snyder gone from the world, I doubt I’m as sorry as I ought to be.”

“You have no suspicions, then?” Ash pressed, his eyebrows raised a little.

“Oh, I got plenty of ‘em,” Formby chuckled. “But nought I can prove, just a feelin’ in me gut.” The inspector fell quiet, frowning for a moment, apparently considering something. He stood abruptly and walked to the door, opening it for them.

“Well, away with you, then, don’t be offended if I hope never to see any of you again.”

Ash snorted and took Keziah’s hand once more, for which she was absurdly grateful.

“The feeling is entirely mutual,” Ash said, his tone dry. “I can’t tell you the dreams I have had about what I want to do with that wretched notebook of yours.”

With that, he inclined his head to the inspector and guided Keziah out of the room.

***

Inspector Formby watched as the Duke and Duchess of Chartley left the room, with Frankie and the maid scurrying behind them. Only the dowager duchess remained, as he’d suspected she might. A sudden flash of inspiration had hit him like a lightning bolt and he was almost ready to laugh at the sheer audacity of it. There was no way of proving a thing though, and they both knew it. He refused to admit he was glad of it.

“Not such a fool as I perhaps thought, inspector,” she said, a rather knowing smile at her mouth as she held out one elegant, gloved hand.

Mr Formby stared at her for a moment, and then took her hand with care, raising it to his lips. “You know,” he said, his voice low. “The first time I ever saw you, I thought to myself, now there’s a duchess.”

The dowager gave an unladylike snort, but from the glint in her green eyes, the remark had not displeased her.

“Oh, but just wait, inspector,” she said, her voice low and confiding. “From what I’ve seen so far, I think my new daughter-in-law may even out-duchess me.” She winked at him before turning and walking to the door.

“That, your grace, is just about the most terrifying thing I’ve heard in some years.”

Lady Margaret’s laughter echoed around the station, and the inspector could only smile as he closed the door behind her.

***

The carriage ride home was quiet, the atmosphere rather strained. Strange, Keziah reflected. They were free of the death sentence that had seemed to press against them all like a knife blade held to their throats, and yet the sense of unease lingered. There was tension in the air, an unspoken sense that all was not yet as it ought to be.

Keziah swallowed, shifting in her damp clothes and shivering.

“We should do something for Frankie,” she said, clinging to Ash’s hand, terrified that he might withdraw his at any moment. She was being foolish, she kept repeating that to herself, but she had the sense that Ash was withdrawing from her and she could not account for it. All she knew was that the idea terrified her.

“Yes,” he said, nodding, though he didn’t turn and look at her. “I was thinking an apprenticeship of some kind. I shall speak to him and see if anything is of interest. Watchmaking, perhaps?” he added with a wry smile, though Keziah felt her heart lurch at the sadness of his expression.

“Yes,” she agreed, trying to sound cheerful. “He’s certainly good with his hands.”

They both chuckled, but it was a rather desultory sound.

The journey was a short one, and soon the carriage had completed its ponderous journey through the city, drawing up outside the duke’s residence on Royal Crescent.

The wind whistled over the Crescent Fields from Beechen Cliffs, and Keziah shivered harder as it cut through her clinging skirts.

“Come along, before you catch a chill,” Ash chided, guiding her inside as Grant opened the doors to them. He turned back to help the dowager down, and Keziah watched as Grant fussed around her.

“Oh, do stop being such an old woman, Grant,” the dowager scolded, though not unkindly.

Grant took this without comment, merely observing, “If you grace would like to retire to the yellow salon, I shall have tea brought forthwith, and perhaps a glass of Madeira, to keep out the chill.”

Lady Margaret acquiesced to this with a smile as Grant hustled one of the footmen off to fetch her shawl and another to see the fire did not want for attention.

“The staff are devoted to her,” Keziah observed, realising that she was surprised by this.

“Yes, they are. She’s really not such a tyrant as all that,” Ash said, watching Keziah’s gaze as the older lady followed Grant to the salon. “Well, no, that’s a lie, she really is, but … In truth, she really is rather kind and fiercely loyal under that rather terrifying exterior.”

“Very deep down?” Keziah queried, cocking an eyebrow.

Ash laughed and nodded. “I admit, I sometimes forget it’s there myself, but … it is.”

“She’s too hard on you,” Keziah said, looking away from him as she walked to the stairs, anxious at what he might see if he looked in her eyes, but surely the tenor of her voice had been enough.

“Ah, well,” Ash said with a shrug as he followed her ascent. “I’m not the man she hoped for. My grandfather and my father were huge men, both physically and metaphorically, heroic figures, in fact. She sees none of that in me, and so is disappointed. Only natural, I suppose,” he added with a sad smile.

“No, it isn’t,” Keziah snapped, pausing on the stairs. “It’s idiotic beyond words.”

Ash looked back at her in surprise and Keziah blushed, realising she’d just rather badly insulted his grandmother. She cleared her throat and carried on up the stairs.

“I shall see you in a little while,” Ash continued as they walked to her room, his tone polite and formal as Keziah’s heart plummeted. “I … I think perhaps there are things we should discuss.” He gave her a smile that did not reach his eyes and turned and left her at her bedroom door.

Keziah said nothing, though a painful, icy sensation prickled in her chest at his words, yet she was too awkward to know how to tell him that she didn’t want to let him go yet, or ever, and that she didn’t want a discussion about anything, anything at all. Opening the door, she stepped inside and closed it behind her.

The room was quiet and still, though she knew Molly would be here any moment, bustling about and getting her from the sodden pelisse with nimble fingers. Her bonnet was likely beyond repair, and she dreaded to think what her hair looked like beneath it, sodden as it was, the occasional, icy drip still running down her neck. She’d likely get a scolding for not having begun herself.

Yet she could not move.

She was free, she told herself, free of her father, free of Martin, free of debt and the constant fear of starvation or disgrace, of bailiffs knocking on the door or those who were being blackmailed by Lord Todd regarding her with hatred.

It was all over.

She was the Duchess of Chartley, a powerful, wealthy woman with everything she could wish for and a husband … a husband …

Keziah turned and grasped the door handle, wrenching it open. Hurrying down the hallway, she found Ash’s door and rushed through it, forcing her way in without even knocking.

There was an exclamation of horror from his valet, who was holding Ash’s mauled coat with the expression of someone in deep mourning, and Ash himself turned, his hands at his cravat, his eyes wide as he saw her tumble into the room.

“Keziah, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“I … I …” she began, staring at his valet and wondering how to tell him to get the hell out as he showed no inclination to move.

With one reproving look, Ash had more effect and the valet hurried away with an indignant expression, carrying the duke’s dishevelled jacket like a wounded comrade.

So now they were alone, but Keziah still didn’t know what she wanted to say. Blushing furiously, she stared at her husband, who looked just as awkward.

“Yes, we need to talk, don’t we?” he said, sounding stern and serious and as far from what she had come to expect of him as could be. He turned away from her and continued to undo his cravat, flinging the sodden material onto the dressing table.

No, no, no, Keziah cried inwardly, she had meant to stop this speech, not hasten it.

“Best get it over with, I suppose,” he added, sounding like he regretted what he would say next, and it made Keziah want to fall to her knees and beg him to reconsider. “I realise that … that our marriage was … is not what you had hoped for, nor I the kind of man that you likely intended to marry,” he began as Keziah felt a lump grow in her throat. No, Ash, please don’t, don’t send me away. The words jostled in her brain, the pain of them heavy in her chest, yet her throat was too constricted and she could not force them through.

“So …” he continued, “I thought, perhaps, it would be best if … if we come to agree what … what …”

Keziah could hold back the tumult of emotion no more. The fear and stress of the past days combined with misery as she feared she might lose her only chance for happiness before it had even begun, and she began to sob, her arms clutching at her sides, pitiful, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Keziah!” Ash exclaimed, turning and rushing over to her. He hauled her into his arms, holding her tight as she clung to him in turn. The now familiar scent of him embraced her as he did, fresh linen and soap and a light citrus aroma that had become so very dear to her. “Don’t cry, please, I can’t bear it. Come now, love, it’s … it’s not so bad, you’ll see …” he said, stroking her hair. “I was going to tell you, you see that I’ll keep my word if that’s what you want now… I won’t interfere with … with your life …”

Keziah shook her head and sobbed harder still, wishing she could get the words out. Instead, she looked up at him, his handsome face blurred through her tears, but not so distorted that she could not see the misery in his eyes.

“Is it … do you want … to … to divorce me, is that it?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “Because if it is … I … I don’t think …”

“No!” The word was wrenched from her mouth as Ash stared at her, obviously as miserable as she, and utterly confused. “No, I won’t let you divorce me, I won’t!”

Ash laughed, though it was a hesitant sound. He reached out a hand and touched her face, looking a little unsure, as though he wasn’t convinced he had the right to touch her so.

“Let me?” he repeated, sounding incredulous. “I will not divorce you, Keziah. I know I am a selfish wretch, and I know well that you do not feel the same, but … but I love you. I have loved you from the start, from that very first night I saw you, and I will not let you go, at least … not entirely.” The look in his eyes was so honest and so very raw that Keziah’s breath hitched. “I cannot say that I will not mind if you take a lover, for I shall, very much, but I forced you into this marriage when I knew it was not what you wanted and …”

“Shut up!”

Ash stopped as bid, his eyes wide as anger finally broke through the knot in Keziah’s throat. “You did not force me into this marriage, Ash, you sought only to protect me, to save me, I know that.”

Ash smiled, but shook his head. “That’s not entirely true, though,” he said, looking away from her. “I wanted to make you my wife and I knew that you would never marry me, not unless you were desperate. I took advantage of that desperation.” He moved a little closer, resting his hands on her waist and looking down at her. Keziah stared at those soft, mossy green eyes and felt something in her heart expand and settle into place, for good. “I suppose I’d hoped, in time, that … that perhaps you might … become fond of me.”

“Oh … Oh, Ash,” Keziah sobbed, hitting his chest with frustration as the tears overcame her again. “I … I’m n-not fond of you, y-you foolish, absurd creature, I … I l-love you.”

Ash became utterly still, the only sense of movement his eyelashes as he blinked, staring at her as though he’d stepped into a mirage. “What?” he asked, sounding a little breathless. “W-what did you say?”

“You don’t expect me to say it again, s-surely?” Keziah retorted, having barely got it out the first time.

“Yes, I dashed well do,” Ash said, his tone rather firm. “I want to be good and sure I heard you right because frankly … it’s a little hard to believe!”

“Why?” Keziah demanded, folding her arms and wondering what about it was so unbelievable.

Ash ran a hand through his hair, never taking his eyes from her. “B-because you want some heroic figure, like a … a soldier or … or … I don’t know! Someone who can fire a blasted pistol and handle a sword and protect you from …”

Keziah had, by now, had quite enough of this nonsense and launched herself at him, pressing her mouth to his and stopping his words. She pulled back, looking up at him a little shyly after her boldness.

“I love you, Ash,” she whispered, watching his eyes grow wide. “I love you so much. I would not have the most heroic fellow in the whole wretched world over you, for he would likely forget my birthday, or get cross with me for being too outspoken and bossy, or for besting him with a pistol, and he would never remember how much I like sugared almonds or that I don’t like the cherries in my fruit cake, and he would never be so very kind and sweet-natured and patient and simply … the best man I have ever known.”

“You really mean it,” he said with a huff of laughter, sounding astonished and bewildered and rather wonderfully happy.

“Yes,” she said, staring at him and feeling her own happiness swell at the expression in his eyes. “I do, so much and y-you …”

“If I haven’t yet made my feelings clear,” he said, his tone amused and rather determined, “I have a rather fine idea of how to fix that.” He pulled her into his arms in a rather ruthless fashion and kissed her, hard, only to let her go a moment later.

“I say, get this blasted bonnet off,” he exclaimed, tugging at the ribbons before throwing the offending item clear across the room.

“You’ve ruined it,” Keziah said, grinning at him.

“Get used it. I should,” her husband advised with a stern nod. “I fully intend to ruin dozens of ‘em, hundreds, if they interfere with me kissing you.”

Keziah laughed and allowed herself to be treated really rather harshly as she was pulled back to him and kissed very thoroughly indeed. When he finally let her go, she was breathless and dizzy with joy.

“This dress is damp,” he observed with a frown. “You should take it off immediately, before you catch a chill.”

“Do you promise to warm me up if I do?” Keziah asked, her tone low as she watched a tinge of colour highlight her husband’s cheeks.

She opened her mouth to tease him a little more, but Ash stepped forward, his fingers beneath her chin, tilting her head up and pressing his lips against hers, a barely-there touch that made her shiver with longing nonetheless.

“You’ll never, never, be cold again. I promise.”