The Widow of Red Lion Row by Viveka Portman

Author:Viveka Portman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Escape Publishing
Published: 2020-11-25T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Margaret felt Anne’s icy hand grip her own as a pair of dirty, worn brown boots drew up before her and splattered her short-hemmed skirt with grey, reeking mud.

Her heart gave a nervous thump and she looked up into the pock-marked face of an unfamiliar man.

Anne tugged her hand again, to draw her away in another direction, but the man’s face peeled into a smile.

‘Good evenin’, ladies,’ the man said, and both women stilled at the surprisingly polite greeting.

Margaret looked at the man’s face again. His skin really was in abominable condition, but his teeth, although crooked, were white and unbroken. Her gaze flittered to the staff in his hand—that clearly marked him as a watchman or parish constable.

‘Good evening,’ Margaret replied, feeling somewhat reassured.

‘I’m Mr Fetter, the constable around these parts,’ he introduced himself. ‘And what might you two ladies be doing about town this evening?’

Margaret guiltily clutched the package of condoms in her spare hand, and a blush reared up her neck and settled on her cheeks.

‘We was going for a constitutional walk,’ Anne said gruffly.

Mr Fetter raised a sparse-looking eyebrow. ‘A cons-ti-tutional, eh?’ he enunciated the word carefully. ‘Not really the place for it, now is it?’

Margaret knew that as a parish constable, it was Mr Fetter’s duty to examine all suspicious characters as well as those behaving in an idle, loose, or disorderly manner and take offenders to the watch house. Still, she didn’t think two women walking at dusk ought to be defined as suspicious, loose, idle or disorderly.

Though she didn’t want to risk raising the man’s suspicions even further.

‘No, I suppose not,’ she agreed after a moment of hesitation, and turned to Anne, ‘Perhaps we ought to return home then?’

‘Mayhap we should,’ Anne readily agreed.

Fetter smiled, a peculiar mix of patronising insincerity. ‘I should be very glad to escort you,’ he tapped his staff on the ground, and another spray of muddy water splattered the women’s skirts. Margaret recoiled, but Fetter offered her his elbow and politeness insisted on her accepting.

It was as she moved to take the constable’s arm he noticed the paper package in her hand.

‘Hello,’ he said gesturing to the package, ‘and what are you carrying there?’

***

Grimsby moved forwards, unnoticed in the gloomy street.

What the devil was Fetter doing speaking with Margaret? He could see the constable take her arm, and then gesture to whatever the lady was carrying.

‘What are you carrying there?’ Fetter’s voice carried through the cold air as clearly as if he’d spoken beside him.

Grimsby quickened his pace, as Margaret stammered a fumbling response.

‘Don’t look like nothing to me,’ Fetter replied his eyes narrowed. He extracted his arm and thrust his hand forwards, clearly expecting Meg to hand over the package.

Grimsby’s curiosity grew to ire as Margaret recoiled from Fetter’s outstretched hand.

‘Good evening,’ Grimsby interrupted smoothly, drawing up beside the odd trio. ‘Mr Fetter, the very gentleman I was looking for,’ he smiled, and turned to bow to the ladies.

Her face frozen in horror, Margaret bobbed in response.

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