Read Online Petty Treason by Madeleine E. Robins - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Madeleine E. Robins
Ads: Link
Finally I stayed away, Miss Tolerance. It is not to my credit—”
“But perhaps not to your discredit, either,” she said.
“And there is worse.” His voice dropped low. Miss Tolerance had to make an effort to hear him over the clamor of carriages and vendors around them. “When I visited her I saw—several times, I saw marks. Some on her wrists, twice on her neck: the marks of fingers, as if he’d held her down …” Colcannon paused to recover himself. “That was when I asked my solicitor what I might do to help my sister, but the answer was very little. Unless he beat her bloody on the steps of Parliament it is unlikely the law would have taken notice. And Anne would say nothing against him; she feared to do so, I think. He was the Devil to her.”
An unpleasant idea had occurred to Miss Tolerance.
“Mr. Colcannon, had your sister any friend who might have shared your suspicions and, perhaps, taken steps to put an end to it?”
“Friend? Miss Tolerance, I don’t believe my sister knows above a dozen people in the city. We grew up in Somerset; she married after a short season and set up housekeeping. She had very little time to forge friendships before her marriage, and I doubt she has done so since—” He stopped and turned to look at Miss Tolerance with dismay. “You do not use the word friend to mean a friendly acquaintance, I take it.”
“I mean it in the sense of anyone who might feel strongly enough to take drastic action to help your sister, sir.”
“You are asking if my sister had a lover.”
Miss Tolerance maintained an attitude of polite inquiry.
“You have only to meet my sister to know the thing is quite out of the—”
“Mr. Colcannon, if the question could occur to me, you may be certain it will occur to Mr. Heddison and his constables. If you truly wish me to keep your sister safe you must be honest with me. You must trust me, as well, to keep anything I learn a secret. Might your sister have a friend who, even without her awareness, knew of her situation and thought to repair it?”
To his credit Mr. Colcannon appeared to weigh the sense of Miss Tolerance’s words before he spoke. “I know of none,” he said at last. “Indeed, when you have met my sister you will see how very unlikely such a thing is. It was d’Aubigny who … formed connections outside of his marriage. Nor were his liaisons discreet. He made certain all the world knew of them. My sister finally ceased to go into company to avoid the humiliation.”
If that were so, Miss Tolerance reflected, the Widow d’Aubigny was more sensitive than half the wives in London. What had the girl expected, married for her fortune as she plainly had been? But was Colcannon aware of the motive his story suggested? There was no time to ask a question which would have doubtless offended her client: they had turned the corner into Half Moon Street, where the crowds were still jostling for a better view of the murder house. Indeed, as they approached the door they heard a
heated conversation between the same manservant who had admitted Miss Tolerance the day before and a tall, flashily dressed man who stood on the step, waving his pocketbook about in a fashion she thought very ill advised.
“Only a little peek in the murder room,” the man was insisting. “The lady wouldn’t never know I been there.”
The manservant rejected this plea with the air of one who has heard it before. He was firm, but as he recognized Mr. Colcannon he adopted an expression of more explicit outrage and rejected the offer again, more firmly. The thin man cast a bitter look at Mr. Colcannon and Miss Tolerance and turned on his heel, muttering that he had no doubt these ‘uns would be admitted without payin’ a shillin’.
Colcannon pushed past the gawker as if he were not there, greeted the servant by name (Beak, identified in the Coroner’s Court as the chief manservant of the house) and started into the house. Beak admitted them, but
“But perhaps not to your discredit, either,” she said.
“And there is worse.” His voice dropped low. Miss Tolerance had to make an effort to hear him over the clamor of carriages and vendors around them. “When I visited her I saw—several times, I saw marks. Some on her wrists, twice on her neck: the marks of fingers, as if he’d held her down …” Colcannon paused to recover himself. “That was when I asked my solicitor what I might do to help my sister, but the answer was very little. Unless he beat her bloody on the steps of Parliament it is unlikely the law would have taken notice. And Anne would say nothing against him; she feared to do so, I think. He was the Devil to her.”
An unpleasant idea had occurred to Miss Tolerance.
“Mr. Colcannon, had your sister any friend who might have shared your suspicions and, perhaps, taken steps to put an end to it?”
“Friend? Miss Tolerance, I don’t believe my sister knows above a dozen people in the city. We grew up in Somerset; she married after a short season and set up housekeeping. She had very little time to forge friendships before her marriage, and I doubt she has done so since—” He stopped and turned to look at Miss Tolerance with dismay. “You do not use the word friend to mean a friendly acquaintance, I take it.”
“I mean it in the sense of anyone who might feel strongly enough to take drastic action to help your sister, sir.”
“You are asking if my sister had a lover.”
Miss Tolerance maintained an attitude of polite inquiry.
“You have only to meet my sister to know the thing is quite out of the—”
“Mr. Colcannon, if the question could occur to me, you may be certain it will occur to Mr. Heddison and his constables. If you truly wish me to keep your sister safe you must be honest with me. You must trust me, as well, to keep anything I learn a secret. Might your sister have a friend who, even without her awareness, knew of her situation and thought to repair it?”
To his credit Mr. Colcannon appeared to weigh the sense of Miss Tolerance’s words before he spoke. “I know of none,” he said at last. “Indeed, when you have met my sister you will see how very unlikely such a thing is. It was d’Aubigny who … formed connections outside of his marriage. Nor were his liaisons discreet. He made certain all the world knew of them. My sister finally ceased to go into company to avoid the humiliation.”
If that were so, Miss Tolerance reflected, the Widow d’Aubigny was more sensitive than half the wives in London. What had the girl expected, married for her fortune as she plainly had been? But was Colcannon aware of the motive his story suggested? There was no time to ask a question which would have doubtless offended her client: they had turned the corner into Half Moon Street, where the crowds were still jostling for a better view of the murder house. Indeed, as they approached the door they heard a
heated conversation between the same manservant who had admitted Miss Tolerance the day before and a tall, flashily dressed man who stood on the step, waving his pocketbook about in a fashion she thought very ill advised.
“Only a little peek in the murder room,” the man was insisting. “The lady wouldn’t never know I been there.”
The manservant rejected this plea with the air of one who has heard it before. He was firm, but as he recognized Mr. Colcannon he adopted an expression of more explicit outrage and rejected the offer again, more firmly. The thin man cast a bitter look at Mr. Colcannon and Miss Tolerance and turned on his heel, muttering that he had no doubt these ‘uns would be admitted without payin’ a shillin’.
Colcannon pushed past the gawker as if he were not there, greeted the servant by name (Beak, identified in the Coroner’s Court as the chief manservant of the house) and started into the house. Beak admitted them, but
Similar Books
