Page 36 of The Rum and The Fox

Chapter 15

A bully trap - a brave man of mild appearance

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

Ash wondered if he might lose his stomach for the second time that day as Inspector Formby walked into the room flanked by his constable. Both of them were grim-faced, and it seemed to Ash that the inspector was giving him a particularly searching look.

Once Grant had removed himself, Ash took a breath and his courage in his hands.

“To what do we owe the pleasure, inspector?” he demanded, hoping he sounded as cool and irritated as he’d meant to and not as if he were quaking in his boots.

The inspector gave Ash another measuring look that made his heart kick behind his ribs before taking out his blasted notebook. Ash was of a mind to have that notebook from him and throw the damn thing in the fire, he was so sick of seeing the wretched thing. But the inspector took his time, flicking through the pages one by one and then reaching for his pencil, licking the end with a thoughtful expression which nearly had Ash reaching for his pistols again in frustration.

Of course, he knew the inspector was doing it simply to rattle him, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t working.

“Ah yes, here were are,” Formby said, sounding satisfied and looking up at Ash with a smile that seemed wholly inappropriate. “I had an unexpected visitor this afternoon,” he said, scratching his chin and staring at the book as though the secrets to the universe were written there. Perhaps they were, but Ash wished he’d bloody well get on with it. “Reckons he saw you at the scene of the crime, your grace.”

Formby looked up from his notebook to stare at Ash. “What do you say to that, sir?”

“I say it’s a hum,” Ash replied, turning away to fix himself a drink and taking care that his back was to the inspector so that he couldn’t see how badly his hands were shaking. He took a fortifying swallow of brandy, closing his eyes for a moment before turning back to the inspector. “You see, I had a visit myself, rather earlier than you did,” he added with a thin smile. “From a man who said he would tell you he’d seen me at the scene if I did not pay for his silence.”

Ash had the pleasure of seeing that he had surprised Mr Formby.

“I see,” the inspector replied, staring at Ash as if he could read his thoughts if he looked hard enough. “I take it that you did not pay?”

“Of course he didn’t pay,” Keziah retorted, glaring at the inspector. “Why should he? He’s done nothing wrong, and the man is a thief and criminal.”

Formby’s eyes narrowed. “You know who it was, then, Lady Todd?” he asked, his tone curious.

Keziah nodded. “I can take a guess based on the description of the man Lord Ashwicke told me about. I would suggest that it is Martin Snyder, my father’s valet and often partner in crime.”

“Ah.” The inspector nodded, but continued to study Keziah in a manner which made Ash nervous, so heaven knew what it was doing to her. Not that Ash could perceive the slightest sense that she was ruffled. He was aware of a rush of pride as he looked upon her. She was fearless and strong. Many of the young females that fluttered around him, hoping to snare a wealthy duke, were simpering, giggling, spoilt creatures with empty heads. He wondered how any one of them would survive everything that Keziah had and still come out fighting like a lioness. He made himself a silent promise that no matter what happened, he would protect her and see her cared for. She deserved a little ease and comfort after all she had endured.

“So, may I take it that you refute the accusations against you?”

There was lump of ice sitting heavy in Ash’s gut but he nodded, keeping his face expressionless. “You may,” he said, taking a moment to finish the last of his drink. “If I am to take it that you won’t be arresting me on the say-so of a man whose testimony would be torn apart by any decent lawyer, I would ask you to leave now.”

Inspector Formby nodded and grinned at Ash, apparently not the slightest bit perturbed. Somehow it only served to make Ash more nervous still.

“Oh, I’ll go, your grace,” Formby said, looking far too pleased with himself for comfort. “But I’ll be back again.” He stood and stared at Ash, the amusement falling away from his expression. “Damned if I know what’s going on here,” he said, his voice low and considering, as if he spoke only to himself. “But I don’t reckon I’m being told the God’s honest truth. Not by either of ye,” he added, sounding rather annoyed now. Suddenly, the smile was back, though, and he wagged a finger at them. “But I’ll get to it, don’t you worry. I’ll get to it.”

“I wish you luck with your endeavours,” Ash said, and for once he was pleased to hear his words dripped ice.

“Don’t need luck, Lord Ashwicke,” the fellow said, chuckling to himself as he made for the door. He turned and tapped his finger to his nose. “Just a bit o’ nouse, is all.”

***

Two days passed, and Mr Formby found himself becoming increasingly impatient. The duke was right about one thing: Mr Snyder, valet to Viscount Rennard, was not a respectable man. His testimony alone would not be enough to convict a peer of the realm, but Formby was damn sure that the duke had been there. The fellow was quite obviously head over heels with Lady Todd, and Formby too long in the tooth to judge on appearances alone. He might look like a foolish young dandy, but people could surprise you when the things they held most dear were put at risk.

What he needed was evidence that placed him at the scene. Another, reliable witness would do it. Getting to his feet, he stuck his head out of his office to call from constable Greenly.

“Here, sir!” called a voice from the cells.

Making his way down to the holding area, Formby nodded a greeting to his colleague, who was holding a young boy of perhaps eight or nine by the ear.

“And the other one,” Greenly instructed, as the boy scowled at him and reluctantly turned out his pockets.

“What you got ‘ere, then?” Formby asked, grinning at the boy who glowered back at him.