Chapter 14: The pen is mightier than the law

“Everything Greenaway has said is a lie. Where are his witnesses? His evidence? His proof of my so called conspiracy to murder?”
Cornelius Clark stood cocksure before Ivan Crossley, flatly denying everything I had said about me being knocked unconscious while in his house, and then having a pack of staghounds set on me.
He was correct of course. I had no witnesses, and no proof, just a bump on my skull.
“The evidence is lying scattered in the fields by Quantock House,” I said, knowing Clark was unaware of the deaths of Maddox and Jason.
“The ripped to shreds bodies of Silas Maddox...” I saw the surprise and shock flame in Clark’s eyes, “and Jason, the illegitimate son of Cornelius Clark.”
The howl of anguish he gave when he heard Jason was dead showed Cornelius Clark thought more of his simpleton son Jason, born on the wrong side of the blanket, than of his legitimate son Jarvis.
“You murdering bastard! First you kill Jarvis, and now Jason. I rejoice that your slut of a wife, Caroline Ashford, died because of me. I wish I had been at Hungerford to see her burn, but at least the plan hatched by me and Helen de Troyes worked to perfection, and the Ashford whore died, along with the rest of your family.”

My knife was in my hand as soon as he mentioned Caroline, and it was only Ivan Crossley, grabbing my wrist with surprising strength, which stopped my blade slitting Clark’s throat.
“No, Jack. He said that to bait you. He wants to die, and have you hanged for his murder. He has the syphilis, and knows he will not last six months. Should he avoid the noose regarding his involvement in the murder of your family — condemned out of his own mouth — I will ensure he is incarcerated in Wivelescombe Asylum, where the locals go to watch the lunatics. He will be the star attraction, and your revenge will be all the sweeter for that.”
The red mist, which engulfs me at these times, faded. I looked at Cornelius Clark and gave him a fulsome smile.
“I will be one of the onlookers when you are banging your head against the walls of your cell, and go raving through the locked corridors. Syphilis inflicts a horrific ending on a man, and I shall enjoy every minute watching your agonizing extinction.”
My revenge was nearly complete, but Eloise de La Zouche, or Helen de Troyes as those in England know her, still eluded me. I would be unable to rest until I had killed her, and neither would Caroline, Molly, Domina, and John-Jarvis.

“I will need to search Clark’s house for any information relating to Helen de Troyes, an alias of Eloise de la Zouche.” I said to Ivan Crossley. “Your brother-in-law suspects her of killing Sigismund von Metzendorf, which is probably a blessing, but she is also wanted for the murder of Octavius Hardy, and is involved with a group of wealthy, powerful, men who are seeking to bring a narcotic into the country, which could destroy the moral fibre of the kingdom.”
The last statement was not strictly true, but I needed legal entry to Quantock House to right a wrong committed by Cornelius Clark.
Ivan Crossley nodded. “Yes, John did give me some details of the mysterious woman. After I have locked this wretch up for the night I will provide the necessary document for you to search Quantock House.”

Next morning, I rode to Quantock House accompanied by Casper Shufflebottom. We entered the house through the kitchen, and came upon Bathsheba lackadaisically scrubbing pans. I showed her the warrant authorising me to search the house, and informed her Clark had been arrested for conspiracy to murder and was likely to hang, unless the pox took him first.
Bathsheba burst into tears, not because of the fate of Clark but she now had no employer, or accommodation.
“What shall I do, master? Where shall I go?”
“I see no reason why you should not remain here until ordered to leave. Is there any food in the house?”
She stopped sniffling. “There’s some bread and bacon in the pantry, but I can always fill my belly by working on my back.”
I fixed her with a stern gaze. “Clark is dying of the pox, and it is highly likely you too are infected. You cannot be allowed go about spreading the disease, and will have to find other employment to fill your belly.”
Her eyes blazed with anger. “I ain’t got the pox. I never allowed Cornelius in my madge, or even my bed...”
“But when I was first here he ordered you to your bed, and said he would soon join you,” I said, perplexed by her fury and denial.
“Cornelius would never have got his pego up, even if I’d been willing to let him plug me. He pretends to be a lusty and well-endowed lover, but his pego would not fill a keyhole, and is always as limp as a lettuce leaf. He got the pox from some Bristol whore – Lord knows how he managed to plug her long enough to catch it.” She drew breath and calmed down. “When in my bedroom he would watch me undress while he fiddled with himself. Sometimes he would make me diddle myself with the handle of a hairbrush. I always imagined it were a real man’s pego doing the business.” She smiled, wistfully, before continuing. “Cornelius liked to watch when me and Stan did it; he bored spy holes in the wardrobe and would watch us from inside.”
“Stan? Would that be Stanley Kenton?”
She nodded. “He was an old man, but very energetic for his years. Every afternoon he would plug away at me for an hour or more. He certainly got his shilling’s worth of my madge, although it took him a day to build up enough energy to plug me again.”
“A shilling’s worth? Clark said you charged Kenton a crown each time he plug — galloped you.”
She shook her head. “I only got a shilling each time. Cornelius must have kept the rest for himself – no wonder he wanted Stanley to plug me more than once a day.”
“But you accused Stanley Kenton of rape. Clark threatened him with the magistrate unless he signed over the business and Quantock House to him.” “I don’t know nothing about that, sir, believe me. Cornelius said Stanley Kenton wanted to plug me, and would pay a shilling each time he did. I liked the old fellow; he was kind and considerate, and always thanked me afterwards — not many men are as polite as him.”
Bathsheba had no reason to lie, and I believed she was telling the truth.

“Well then, Bathsheba, as you are not carrying the Spanish Disease, I see no reason why you should not ‘fill your belly by working on your back’ as you so eloquently and elegantly expressed. However, you are a comely, voluptuous, and well-made lass, and could expect a higher remuneration if you made more of your undoubted attributes, and presented yourself in a more salubrious fashion.”
I saw she understood not one word I had said, and it was Casper, more acquainted with whores and harlots than I, who explained.
“Scrub the accumulated filth from off your body, and get to look, and smell, sweeter. Wear dresses, clean ones, which show off your dumplings. A better class of men will then be attracted to you, and will pay much more than a shilling to get into your mutton.” He flashed a conspiratorial grin. “They may even thank you afterwards.”
She smiled and curtsied. “Thank you, sirs. I shall do as you suggest. I will put kettles of water to boil on the kitchen range, and there’s a horse trough out the back by the stables.” She looked at Casper with a cheeky smile on her face. “If anyone would like to to scrub my back I will be ready in a hour or so.”
We watched the sway of her hips as she left the room, and I heard a sigh from Casper.
“We best start looking through Clark’s documents, and unearth the one I am particularly interested in before her bath water gets cold,” I said.
Casper merely smiled.