Mr Darcy's Epistle by Wellman Jackie

Author:Wellman, Jackie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Edgar Roy
Published: 2022-02-21T00:00:00+00:00

In the meantime, a horse and rider crossed the new Regent Bridge (soon to be renamed Vauxhall Bridge) in West London. The horse stopped in the middle of the bridge and the rider climbed down.

“I have arrived,” he said aloud to nobody in particular. “Now to do what I can to assist my very best friend in the world.”

The citizens of London turned and gave Mr Wood-Carton odd looks. He didn’t notice and continued.

“I will begin in the west and will continue to the east. I will not rest until I have found the person culpable.”

With that he led his horse the rest of the way across the bridge. He turned in an eastward direction and walked parallel to the river towards Lambeth, his horse in tow.

He stopped outside a ramshackle public house. It was called The Great Fool and looked as if it might fall down at any moment.

“This looks as good a place as any,” he said to himself.

He strode into the public house. There was an atmosphere inside of strong tobacco and stale beer. He put his hand to his mouth and went directly to the small bar.

He spoke to the landlord, a plump and cheerful man who was reading a grimy pamphlet concerning all those found drowned in the river between Chelsea and Westminster in the last three months.

“Good day,” said Mr Wood-Carton, “might you be the landlord of this fine establishment?”

“Yes, I might be,” was the reply, the bright and cheery eyes never once raised from the pamphlet.

Mr Wood-Carton was nonplussed. What did he mean? Was he the landlord or wasn’t he? He tried a more direct approach.

“Are you the landlord of this fine establishment?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Excellent, then perhaps you can help me. My name is Mr Wood-Carton.”

“Well, Mr Wood-Carton, what can I do for you?”

Wood-Carton moved closer to the bar as if he wished to share confidential information. If he had looked around he would have seen all the other people in the public house huddled into little groups, talking together and not paying the least attention to Wood-Carton or the landlord.

“It is like this,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I have a friend who lives in Derbyshire. He considers me his very best friend in the world. And…”

He paused.

“And, Mr Wood-Carton?”

“Well, are you aware of anything suspicious occurring a week or two ago? Or any suspicious characters.”

The landlord looked at him blankly.

“I’m not sure I understand your meaning, Mr Wood-Carton. There are always suspicious characters this side of the river.”

“I see. And would any of these characters do mischief to another?”

“What do you mean by mischief, Mr Wood-Carton?”

“I mean would anybody bludgeon a man to death and dump his body in the river?”

The landlord looked at Wood-Carton with a mixture of bemusement and amusement. He toyed with him, stroking his chin as if giving the matter a great deal of serious thought.

“Bludgeon a man to death and dump his body in the river? Let me think. No, no I confess I cannot recall any such thing happening.

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