A bugaboe - A sheriff’s officer

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

 

Constable Greenly regarded the man before him with an air of deep suspicion. The intelligence just put into his hands was undoubtedly something that his superior would want to be informed of immediately. Yet having had the misfortune as to wake Inspector Formby in the early hours of the morning on a previous occasion with what turned out to be a wild goose chase, Greenly decided that a bit of caution and a little more information was required.

“How d’you know ‘e’s dead?” Greenly demanded, narrowing his eyes at the rather gaunt man before him.

“Well, the bloody great hole in his chest was something of a giveaway,” the fellow before him replied, deadpan.

“’Ere, don’t you get cheeky with me,” Greenly replied, with as much patience as anyone was entitled to past midnight. “It’s me who’ll ‘ave to go an’ wake the inspector, and I want to know the bloke is good and dead afore I trouble meself to do so.”

“He’s dead, all right,” the man said, glowering at him and looking none too pleased about it either.

“Well, that’s all right then,” Greenly said, with dignity, and went away to wake his superior.

***

Mr Formby stared down at the crumpled figure of Viscount Rennard and felt none of the satisfaction his sergeant might have expected him to feel. That a violent and unpleasant man had been removed from the society was certainly something he could find pleasure in, but that he had not been the instrument of its coming about … that rankled.

The man was slumped in front of the fireplace and the cause of death only too apparent. Formby inspected the body and looked around the room for the fifth time, his greying brows drawn together so hard that his eyes felt the weight of them. He sighed and relaxed his face, rubbing his eyes with his fingers and then looking up as young Greenly came in.

“Well?” Formby demanded.

“According to Mrs Richards next door, shots were heard around nine thirty, sir,” Greenly said, looking down at a notebook. “She’s keen to tell me that she don’t stick her nose into anyone else’s affairs, though, and wouldn’t say much. Strict religious, she is,” the constable added, looking a little uncomfortable. “Kept quoting scriptures at me, and seemed to think Lord Todd was a devilish fellow. Live by the sword, die by the sword; blimey, if she said it once, she said it ten times.” Greenly rolled his eyes, but the inspector nodded in agreement.

“I’m with her on that one,” he said with a snort.

The constable rubbed the back of his neck, staring back at his notes. “Only other thing I could get from her was that she saw two women running from the house a half hour or so before the shots were fired. And I have three witnesses that saw a man hurrying away from the house, though one of them’s a tad bosky, to say the least,” he added with a frown.

“Description?”

Greenly gave him a look of disgust and shrugged. “Not much to go on. Great coat with a fair few capes, and a hat obscured his face. Average height. They thought he was a young fellow on account of the way he moved, but nothing further than that as yet.”

Formby nodded.

“Next of kin?” he said, feeling the frown settle on his face once more as he looked down on the late viscount’s mortal remains.

“Yes, sir, the daughter I told you about. Apparently she’s missing, along with her maid. Mrs Richards said she couldn’t swear it was them running from the house earlier in evening, as she only saw their backs, but she thought it likely.”

Formby nodded. “I want her found immediately, get onto it.” That line of enquiry was bound to be fruitful. “Anyone else work here?”

“Only the fellow what reported the murder, sir,” Greenly said, flicking back through his notebook; “Chap by the name of Snyder, Martin Snyder. The late Lord Todd’s valet, by all accounts. Said he was asleep in his bed, as Todd had dismissed him for the evening, but came down when he heard the shots. Though ‘e’s a right shifty devil, if you ask me.”

“And I’ll be sure to do so, if I want your opinion,” Formby replied, his tone dry. His constable grew a little red about the ears before giving a stiff nod and retreating, leaving the inspector to cogitate in peace.

He remembered the names and faces of people who had fallen foul of Rennard in the past, and wondered if any of them were capable of such an act. There were a number of people to consider, that was for certain, though to his knowledge none of them were in Bath at this moment, but that would need a thorough investigation.

The fact was, a man like the viscount could have any number of enemies, though the daughter had to be a suspect if she’d run like she had. Just because she’d left didn’t mean she hadn’t come back again. He hoped that wasn’t the case, as he had little difficulty in imagining what her life had been with such a father. Though, of course, she could be every bit as black-hearted and ruthless as her sire. He’d seen enough of the world not to believe a woman couldn’t commit a crime, even one as bloody as murder. The fairer sex could be every bit as formidable as any man.

Nonetheless, Mr Formby could only hope that whoever had done it had a rock solid alibi or was as black hearted as his victim, as right now he felt more like shaking the man’s hand than stringing him up.

But only time would tell.

***

Keziah woke late and groaned as her body took stock of the damage that had been wrought. Despite the vociferous protests of the maid that had been sent to care for her - who insisted the doctor had instructed she stay put - Keziah insisted on getting up and getting dressed.

She couldn’t think what her father’s next move would be, but she doubted her being under the duke’s roof would be enough to change his goal of marrying Lady Ashwicke. He had few other options, after all, and his time was running out. The more desperate he became, the more dangerous with it. He’d simply find a way around these new developments, most likely discrediting her as a mad woman with a taste for low life and drink. She’d seen enough of her father’s machinations to know just how easily an honest reputation could be ruined, and how much easier to do it when the woman was under your control?

She must speak to Ash, and fast, so that they could consider their next move. Keziah was uncomfortably aware that she had ruined everything for him. At least before he had known the when and where of Lord Todd’s attack, but now … now they did not know what to expect.

She did her best to tidy her appearance, but could only hold back tears as she looked in the mirror. Her lip was split, swollen and bruised, and a dark purplish patch of skin encircled her right eye. The maid, whose name was Sarah, did her very best to arrange her hair, but Keziah’s head was so bruised that the slightest touch was agony. In the end they left it loose and she had to be satisfied at that. At least Ash would see that she’d not imposed on his kindness with anything less than desperation. Not that she thought that of him. If she’d simply said she’d been a little frightened, he would have taken her in without batting an eyelid. He was that sort of man.

With the aid of Sarah’s arm to support her as her legs felt like a new born colt’s, Keziah made her way down the stairs. Here she was settled down in the parlour where a cheery fire was blazing, and was promised that the duke would be informed that she wished to see him.

She didn’t have long to wait, and confessed to herself that she could now breathe again. Though she had not wanted to admit it, she had been waiting since the moment she’d woken for the news to reach her that the duke had been murdered. There had been such anger in his voice and expression last night when she’d seen him that she’d feared he might do something rash. But here he was, so all must be well, for now, at least, and … then she saw the look in his eyes.

“Ash?” Keziah got to her feet as he closed the door, and by the time he turned back to her she had grasped his hands. “Ash, what is it? What’s happened?”

“I did it,” he said, the words barely audible.

He looked sick and pale with dark circles beneath his eyes that spoke of a trying night, and at first she couldn’t begin to understand what he meant.

“You did it?” she repeated, staring at him and wondering what he looked so wretched about.

“Yes,” he said, an uncertain smile at his lips. “I never thought I could do such a thing, but … well, it seems I can, if the circumstances are right.” He frowned at that and swept a hand through his usually immaculate hair, making it all in disarray. “Or perhaps that should be wrong?” he muttered, puzzled.

“Ash?” Keziah repeated as she began to make sense of his words. A strange feeling was growing in her chest that she couldn’t decipher. He was dead. Her father was dead. It seemed improbable, impossible, but she could see that Ash believed it true. She swallowed, hard, dizzy with shock, her emotions in turmoil.

The loss of her father meant an escape from tyranny, but also the loss of a roof over her head and the only protection she’d ever known, but still she couldn’t regret it. But that Ash had darkened his own soul, and that she knew he’d done it for her, not for his own protection, and that tore at her heart.

“Ash, tell me what you’ve done,” she said, her voice faint, needing to hear the words before she could really believe it true.

Keziah walked over to him and took his hand. Such a familiar gesture was quite inappropriate, of course, but he looked so lost, and … and she wanted someone to hold her hand, too, as she felt rather adrift herself.

He looked at her then, meeting her eyes and clinging to her fingers as though he might be pulled under the tide if he did not. “I killed him,” he whispered, and, despite having guessed as much, Keziah gasped and put her hand to her mouth.

They just stood there for a moment, the two of them bound inextricably together, their hands clasped and eyes full of horror.

“Did anyone see you?” she asked, trying to force her brain into action. The only - the only - thing that mattered now was seeing that Ash was safe. He should not suffer when all he’d done was to act to protect her.

He shrugged and then shook his head. “No, I don’t think so, at least. I kept my head down and it was dark.”

Keziah nodded, still finding it hard to believe that sweet-natured, kind-hearted Ash … Ash, of all people, could have killed a tyrant like her father. She stared at him, quite at a loss for words.

“I don’t know what to say.” She realised that she was still holding his hand and that he seemed unwilling to release her. Keziah found she didn’t much care. They were in this terrible mess together now, and she felt her grip on reality was somehow connected to her hand on his. If she let go, she would begin to panic and everything would fall apart. “Thank you, Ash. Thank you for standing up for me, for protecting me. You’re a hero.”

She meant the words, every one of them, with all her heart, but they sounded strangely hollow. Perhaps Ash heard that, too, as he made a sound of disgust and let her hand go, walking to the fireplace where he stared into the flames, his expression unreadable. “I’m no hero, that’s for sure,” he muttered, shaking his head. Keziah moved to stand beside him, troubled by the derisive tone of his voice. “I was never more terrified in my whole life. My God,” he whispered turning to look her in the eyes. “When he fired at me, I thought I was dead, and …” He swallowed, such despair in his expression that her heart ached.

“But you didn’t run, Ash,” she said, her voice soft as she reached out and placed a hand on his arm. “You were terrified and you still carried on, you didn’t run away, you stood and faced him. That’s heroic, isn’t it?”

He blinked, his throat working as he struggled to control his emotions. “I don’t feel very heroic,” he said, the words strained.

“Well,” she said, reaching up to place a kiss on his cheek. “You should.”

He drew in a breath and the look in his eyes made her realise she had overstepped the mark. She ought not encourage any feelings in that respect. As easy as it would be to do so, it wasn’t fair. Keziah could not allow herself to marry a man unless she loved him, and her feelings for the duke were not of that nature. She thought him sweet and kind and caring, he would be a wonderful husband, no doubt, but he didn’t have the strength of character that she desired in a man. She needed someone strong and decisive, a man of honour who would never be swayed by anything but his own convictions. She wanted a tower of strength to lean on in a world that she had discovered could be cruel and uncertain.

The duke’s actions last night had indeed been heroic, but they’d been wrought of strong emotions and circumstance, and she doubted he’d repeat them.

Keziah looked away from him and moved to sit down, her legs still strangely weak. She closed her eyes with a weary sigh. Looking up again, she saw Ash take the seat opposite her, his expression troubled.

“We must decide what happened last night,” she said, drawing his attention back to her.

Ash frowned and she sighed at his lack of understanding.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“My father was murdered last night, Ash,” she said, her tone gentle though he winced at her words nonetheless. “Look at me.” Keziah gestured to her battered face and watched the realisation dawn in his eyes. “The death will be investigated, and I’m going to lead them to your door simply by being here.”

If she’d thought him pale before, his features were now stark with fear. “Calm down,” she said, her mind working to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. “You were with me all night after the doctor left me.” She saw the surprise in his eyes and gave a wry smile. “I think this murder is going to ruin any shred of reputation I might have clung to, so it makes little odds now.”

“But …”

“Listen,” she said, her tone severe as she held up a hand to stop him speaking. “I came to you after my father beat me. You took me in and cared for me and once the doctors were gone, you stayed with me, in my room. As far as any investigation is concerned, we are lovers, do you understand?”

If the situation hadn’t been so terrible, Keziah would have enjoyed the two high spots of colour that now embellished his alabaster complexion. He looked acutely uncomfortable and Keziah could only smile in response.

“I assure you it’s for the best.”

For a moment, he was silent, staring at her with an expression that she couldn’t decipher, and then a look of certainty crept into his eyes as he spoke again. “In that case,” he said, sounding uncharacteristically sure of himself, “I’ll marry you.”