The Wicked Trade (The Forensic Genealogist Book 7), Nathan Goodwin [little red riding hood ebook TXT] 📗

Another snort from Samuel and a shaky drawing of breath from Hester.

‘Or,’ Jonas continued, ‘you can live and take a share in the five-hundred-pound reward.’

Samuel closed his eyes, as the realisation of what was being asked of him took hold. ‘You be wanting me to turn King’s evidence…’

‘Correct. I want to bring down the entire Aldington Gang—clean this ugly stain from the coast.’

‘Oh, Sam! There bain’t no choice here. You got to be a-doing it.’

‘And what?’ Sam begged, glowering at Jonas. ‘You be expecting those men—men what kill anything what stands in his way—to be letting that happen? Sir, you be presenting me with no choice, but whether I be leaving this earth whip-sticks at the gallows or longly and excruciatingly, beaten to the last breath in a month-or-so’s time. Bain’t no actual choice.’

Jonas offered a cold sneer. ‘At Bow Street, we help those who help us. If you would volunteer the necessary information we seek, you would be given a new name and identity far from this damnable place.’

Samuel looked at Hester, but his eyes quickly darted away in thought.

‘In short, Samuel Banister,’ Jonas clarified, ‘you leave here with me a handcuffed prisoner or you leave here with me as a free witness.’

He looked again at Hester, this time for reassurance. She nodded and Samuel stood. ‘Let me be dressing right, then I be coming.’

Ann heard the street door close from her tentative position on the stairs—not up where they thought her to be and not down—privy to the conversation which she had just heard. Her tongue rested on her lip and she debated what to do. She had come here to warn Sam, to tell him of her shocking discovery, that Jonas Blackwood was an officer from Bow Street and not any one of the various characters who he had purported to have been. Ann felt cheated, violated, even. The complexity and detail of his explanations to her that day in the Packet Boat Inn were astonishing, even to a person such as she, who was so used to warping and colouring the truth; he was exceptional at his job, that much was apparent to her. It had taken weeks of slow enquiries to trace the elusive man back to the offices of Bow Street.

Ann hesitated as to which way she should go but, on hearing a sniffle from downstairs, descended to the parlour, where Hester was trying to regain her composure. The grotesque fury in her eyes was accentuated by shadows cast on her face, drawn and twisted by the candle in her trembling hand.

‘You be too late,’ Hester seethed, angry spittle fleeing the corners of her mouth.

‘I heard everything… He’s been given a reprieve—a new life for you all.’

‘What you blethering about, girl of Satan? I don’t be a-going nowhere. I be having nothing more to do with that man... I be a-hearing the whispers, about what he been a-doing.’ The look, so bilious and cutting, told Ann everything.

‘You’re not so innocent yourself, though, are you, Mistress?’ Ann replied coolly, withdrawing a leather purse from around her neck and pulling out a guinea coin, tossing it across to Hester, as she headed to the stairs. ‘It might not be too late,’ she muttered.

 Chapter Thirty-Two

Morton read the letter for a third time. ‘Report from J. Blackwood, Principal Officer, Bow Street. The Packet Boat Inn, Dover. 7th August 1826. My investigations on the south coast are continuing with promise. There is absolutely no doubt that the smuggling audacities occasioned over several years in these parts can be attributed to a gang operating from the village of Aldington—some eighteen miles inland from here. Whilst many witnesses will speak freely of this fact, few will identify the individuals concerned. I have secured a key witness from this notorious smuggling fraternity, Edward Horne. I am convinced by this man’s account that he was present at the time of Morgan’s shooting. He attributes the killing to the gang’s second-in-command, Samuel Banister of the beforementioned village. My inquiries into this aspect, as well as the wider surveys into these barbaric criminals continues. Your obedient servant, J. Blackwood.’

The trial documents now started to make sense to Morton. Samuel Banister, in turning King’s evidence against his fellow smugglers, had gained immunity from his own crimes. He had likely received a substantial share of the reward, which he had taken off to some place unknown, leaving his wife and children behind.

In many respects, this document finalised the case for Morton. He had an abundance of information on what Ann Fothergill had got up to in the 1820s, but at some point, prior to taking ownership of the Bell Inn, she and the Aldington Gang had gone their separate ways. Now that Morton was here, however, he felt that he might as well finish going through the documents which he had pre-ordered, despite believing that there would be no reference to Ann. Once he had received Arthur’s DNA results through, the case would be closed satisfactorily.

Morton set the document to one side, then began to wade through the final letters in the box. He quickly came upon another, written by Jonas Blackwood, adding a fitting postscript to how Morton was feeling about the Fothergill Case’s having reached its conclusion: ‘Report from J. Blackwood, Principal Officer, Bow Street. The Packet Boat Inn, Dover. 17th October 1826. Please find attached my final report into the successful arrest of the leading figures in the Aldington smuggling gang, which were occasioned last night by myself, Thomas Nightingale and Lieutenant Hellard from the Blockade Service. The prisoners will be taken today to Deptford, where they will receive individual interrogation whilst awaiting trial. In exchange for his testimony, the main witness has requested to be assisted in his passage to Chicago, Illinois. The successful outcome of this case means that I