The Silent Boy by Taylor Andrew

Author:Taylor, Andrew [Taylor, Andrew]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Mystery, Historical, Mystery & Detective, Thriller & Suspense, Fiction, Historical Fiction, General, Genre Fiction, Literature & Fiction
ISBN: 9780007506576
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2014-08-28T05:00:00+00:00

Mr Horton knew the value of theatre. He ordered his groom to ride to Charnwood, with orders to bring George White to the Vicarage immediately.

Wrenched from his natural habitat and transplanted to the awful surroundings of the Justice Room, the boy was already terrified. Mrs West might own most of Norbury but, since her husband’s death, Mr Horton united in his plump person the principal powers of both Church and State. The sanctions at his command ranged from earthly imprisonment to eternal damnation.

He hammered the flat of his hand on the table. ‘Empty your pockets, boy.’

The freckles on George’s face glowed, given unnatural prominence by the pallor of the surrounding skin. One by one he removed the items in his pocket. A half-eaten apple. A penknife with a wooden handle and a broken blade. A length of twine. A twist of tobacco. A short-stemmed clay pipe. When he had finished, he stood motionless, hands by his side, looking at the floor.

‘Ha!’ the Vicar said. ‘Shoes.’

The gardener’s boy looked up. Savill saw the muscles twitching below his eyes and around his mouth. He slipped off his shoes. Horton gestured, silently ordering him to shake them out.

One shoe disgorged a length of brass wire, with loops tied in both ends. The other a scrap of folded paper that fell with a clunk on the table.

‘A snare, eh? Poaching in the Park covers, no doubt. An offence against God and man.’

The boy stared at him. How old was the lad, Savill wondered? Ten or twelve? Charles’s age, give or take a year, but much heavier in build. His skull tapered from a broad chin to a small forehead, almost invisible beneath the ragged fringe of ginger hair.

‘Unfold the paper. On the table, where I can see you.’

George’s hands were shaking. The paper had been torn from a newspaper. It contained two shilling-pieces.

‘Where did you get that money?’

‘My granny gave it me, your honour, I swear it.’

‘Don’t add perjury to your crimes, you wretched youth.’ Horton leaned across the table. ‘Where?’

‘Gentleman gave it me, sir. He was lost. I told Miss Horton, sir, I told her.’

‘What was he like, this gentleman of yours?’

‘Face like a gypsy’s, sir, for all he was a gentleman. A big black hat. He rode over by the back way, from the common. He was looking for the way to Bath.’

‘What else?’

‘Nothing, sir. That was all. Then Miss Horton came, and he went.’

The Vicar sighed and shook his head. ‘You’ll have to do better than that, George.’ He pointed at the snare and money. ‘I’ll have to commit you. Perhaps it’ll be the Assizes for you, perhaps not. But you’ll lose your position in any case.’

George’s eyes darted from Mr Horton to Savill and then back again.

‘I wonder what Mrs White will have to say. She’s not getting any younger, is she? Mrs West might have to put her out of the lodge cottage if she’s by herself. I suppose she’ll have to go on the parish. You know what that means.

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