The Wicked Trade (The Forensic Genealogist Book 7) by Nathan Goodwin (types of ebook readers TXT) 📕

middle of Brookland to steer folk off following his path.’

The news was met with gasps and tirades of incredulity.

‘Gracious heart alive!’ one shouted.

‘I bain’t standing to see old Quested’s body hanging in the middle of the village—bain’t right,’ another ranted.

‘Disgusting.’

‘He not be there long before folk cuts him down and buries him proper, don’t you worry.’

‘I best make this me last pint if I bain’t got no more tub-running duties,’ one jested, to the murmured agreement of numerous others.

Ann continued to listen for several minutes more until the questioning of the visitor bearing the news of Cephas Quested’s death had ceased. She closed her eyes, fighting against the fog in her mind, trying to retain all that she had heard.

She opened the door and strode confidently through the bar, glancing sideways to the landlord. ‘Thank you kindly,’ she called, marching out of the street door and into the freezing air. She looked up at the ominously grey sky, certain that snow was imminent.

Thirty-three minutes later, Ann re-entered Braemar Cottage, shivering. She found John in the parlour in front of the burning fire, building a tower from small rectangles of wood.

‘Where be your mum, John?’ Ann asked, trying to stop her teeth from chattering.

‘Upstairs,’ he replied, without taking his eyes from the stack in front of him.

Ann touched his mousey hair with a smile.

‘Ann! Ann! Do that be you?’ Hester shouted from upstairs, her voice nettled and upset-sounding.

Ann rushed up the stairs and into the main bedroom.

‘He be back to life!’ Hester declared. Her cheeks were lined with tears that plopped from her chin into her lap.

Samuel was sitting up in the bed looking brittle and frail, like a man twice his age, shrinking back from the boundary between life and death. For the first time, he smiled. It was a thin smile which appeared to be effortful. ‘Hester be telling me you be saving my life,’ he wheezed. He feebly offered his left hand. ‘Nice to meet you.’

Ann shook his hand and could not contain her gratification at his recuperation. ‘How do you be feeling?’

‘Like I been struck by a cart,’ he answered. ‘You be freezing cold.’

Ann shrugged. ‘I be needing to sit by the fire and you be needing rest,’ she advised sagely. ‘Now be getting some sleep.’ She patted his leg and made for the door, followed by Hester.

‘The Lord be looking favourable on you today,’ Ann said, upon reaching the parlour. Standing with her back to the fire, she folded her arms and held a posture of knowing self-importance.

‘What do that little comment supposed to be a-meaning?’ Hester snapped.

‘He granted your wish—the Aldington Gang be no more.’

‘Because why?’

‘Because they hanged Cephas Quested,’ Ann revealed. ‘He went to the gallows at Newgate this morning.’

John looked up, interestedly. ‘Hanged him?’

‘What?’ Hester shrieked. ‘Oh, my good merciful Lord! And where did you be a-hearing such blessed news?’ Hester begged, doubt quickly abrading her initial elation.

‘It be all the talk at the Walnut Tree. Quested be dead and the gang be disbanded.’

‘The Aldington Gang be no more,’ Hester exhaled, in an almost dreamlike fashion. She moved over to the window and gazed out at the light dusting of snow falling from the sky, repeating to herself in a whisper, ‘The Aldington Gang be no more. Thank you, Lord. Thank you.’

‘They be hanging his body in chains in the village of Brookland—a warning to others,’ Ann added, delighting in her role as news-bearer.

Hester turned. Her eyes locked with Ann’s but her thoughts were elsewhere. ‘’Tis time you be on your way.’

‘Pardon, Mistress?’ Ann said.

‘It be time you be a-leaving.’

‘Right this moment?’ Ann demanded. ‘In the snow? It be pretty nigh dark out there.’

Hester raised her shoulders. ‘I don’t be a-wanting you in my dwelling-house no longer. Good day to you.’

‘Do she be going?’ John questioned.

‘Aye, that be right,’ Hester said.

‘But I be liking her,’ he complained.

Ann crouched down so that she was level with the boy. ‘Goodbye, John. I be seeing you around, certain-sure of that.’

Without another word, she raised herself up, opened the street door and stepped out into the dusky late afternoon. The door closed behind her and she stood, barefoot in the white ground with her back to Braemar Cottage.

It was time to move on.

Chapter Five

6th March 1821, Aldington, Kent

‘What do you mean, she be gone?’ Sam asked. He was sitting up in his bed, cocooned in blankets, watching the snow softly tumbling outside his window, a small pile mounting against the glass pane.

‘I be a-meaning that she be gone—went on her way two day ago,’ Hester informed him. ‘She be a dirty street-vagrant. I don’t be a-knowing why it causes you such bother.’

Sam didn’t quite know why it bothered him, either; but it did. He touched the ugly scarring on his right shoulder—all but completely healed, now. All because of Ann Fothergill, a stranger who had tended to his wounds for three weeks, but of whom his fever had clouded any lucid recollection. He knew, by the way that Hester spoke of Ann, that she likely had not been treated well in his house, despite her apparent altruism.

‘Did she be saying where she were headed?’ Sam asked, wincing in pain as he tried to lift his right arm higher than his chest.

Hester shook her head. ‘To the godless back streets of Dover, I shouldn’t be a-wondering. A black-tan such as she be back in prison before the week be done.’

‘Were she treated good here?’ Sam asked.

‘’Course she were,’ Hester retorted defensively. ‘Now you be a-getting some rest, Samuel.’

Sam slowly swung his legs out of the bed.

‘What do you think you be a-doing?’ Hester demanded.

‘Getting meself some work,’ he answered, reaching down to the bed