Shattered Dreams Page 5

  She thought about what had just happened, and shook her head in disbelief. Had Mr Tingay told her the truth when he had said that there was no housekeeper job available? Or was it more likely that he didn’t consider her worthy of the job? He had certainly been interested in how old she was, and had been quite apologetic when he had shattered her world, but had he been truthful?

  Even if he had lied, Tilly couldn’t ignore the fact that the current incumbent, Mrs Dandridge, was at least twenty years older, and had a husband who filled the role of butler. Tilly knew that she couldn’t compete with that, and suspected that whether the Dandridges’ were good at their job or not, Mr Tingay didn’t consider Tilly old enough to be his housekeeper.

  Her thoughts turned to his warning that nobody would offer her a job like that of housekeeper without wanting to interview her first. That being the case, why would anyone send her a letter that quite clearly offered her a job they knew didn’t exist? What was the purpose of playing such a cruel and senseless trick on her? Why would Mrs Bolsworthy do that to her?

  Because of Mrs Bolsworthy’s recommendation, Tilly was now destitute, with no prospects, and no hope of redemption any time soon. Why would anyone hate her so much that they would purposely throw her life onto a path of such destruction?

  She had worked well for Lady Attingham. There had been no discord there, and no reason to suspect that the old woman had not been happy with her work. So why would Mrs Bolsworthy do such a heinous thing as to recommend a job that she knew wasn’t available?

  Tilly swiped angrily at the tears on her cheeks, and made her way back toward the main street. Maybe someone would be able to tell her if there was a women’s refuge, or something, in the area. If she could at least get a roof over her head, she could start to make enquiries whether someone; anyone, needed a scullery maid.

  Decision made, she lengthened her stride and hurried back toward the busy coaching inn. As she went, she quickly blocked out the little voice of doubt that asked her what she was going to do if there was no refuge.

  Without food: she could just about survive; for a day or so anyway. Without a job: well, she could continue to search for one, and be prepared to do whatever was needed in order to earn some money; within reason.

  However, without anywhere to at least get warm, dry and clean: she was sentenced to death. If she couldn’t present herself neatly, she wouldn’t get a job. Without a job, she couldn’t get accommodation, food, and the daily necessities she needed just to survive, it was as simple as that.

  With her mind going around and around in a desperate whirl, she ducked her head, tried to ignore the bitter wind that chilled her to the bone. Whether she could afford accommodation or not, she desperately needed a drink, and somewhere to get warm while she tried to decide how she was going to find someone to employ her.

  Harry studied the relentless downpour outside the window, and cursed fluidly.

  “What do you think it is all about, Harry?” Barnaby asked with a frown. He threw the letter back onto the desk, and propped his boots up beside it. “Why do that to anyone?”

  “Ever heard of a Mrs Bolsworthy?”

  Barnaby screwed his eyes up, and peered through the window across the valley. “No. It doesn’t ring any bells with me.”

  “She is the one who recommended the job,” Harry sighed, and watched Barnaby’s brows rocket skyward.

  “Did you get a description?”

  Harry nodded. “She sounds suspiciously like someone I have seen in town, but cannot be sure.”

  He searched his memory for the last time he had seen the rather rotund lady in town, who matched the description Tilly gave him. It must have been several weeks ago now. He could remember her because she had looked as though she was searching for something; or someone, and muttering to herself as she pushed rudely past people.

  “The young girl, Tilly, was absolutely devastated, Barnaby. So much so that, for a moment there, I thought she was going to pass out when I told her that I already have a housekeeper.”

  “No job or family back home?”

  “No. Her mother is dead. No mention of her father, and her employer died, so Tilly needed to leave her position.”

  “It sounds like she is a perfect candidate to vanish,” Barnaby growled in disgust. “God, Harry, just what have we stumbled into here?”

  Barnaby’s words rang hollowly in Harry’s ears, and refused to be ignored. “What do you mean; she is the perfect candidate to vanish?”

  “It reminds me of a case I heard about a few months back,” Barnaby mused. “A young girl was sent to take up a new position in a respectable house; a scullery maid, or something. Anyway, her delighted family scraped enough money together to buy her a ticket, and put her on the post chaise. They never heard from her again. When they did go after her, they learned that the house she was supposed to go to work at didn’t actually exist.”

  “Where was this?” Harry asked with a frown. A sickening sense of dread swept over him, and he knew how that he had been wrong to let Tilly leave the house.

  “Somewhere in Yorkshire, I think,” Barnaby replied with a frown.

  “Were the Star Elite involved?”

  Barnaby nodded slowly. “The girl just vanished though. The town had a busy coaching in, just like this one, and there were just too many people around to notice her. The investigation has been shelved for now because there are no leads.”

  Harry cursed bitterly, and fought the sudden urge to punch something.

  “Someone got their hands on my seal, and forged my signature,” Harry snarled. “Jesus, Barnaby, if I can get proof that either of the Dandridges’ sent that letter to Tilly, I am going to damned well make sure that they never get out of prison.”

  “Where are they at the moment?”

  He ran his hands down his face wearily. “In the kitchen.”

  “What about the Dandridges’?” Barnaby asked, and threw a furtive look at the door as he leaned forward. “Have you been able to find much out about them?”

  “Apart from what Hugo has already told me? Not really,” Harry sighed. “I know for a fact that they do far too much sneaking around to be trusted. Charles Dandridge goes out at all hours of the day and night, and is away for several hours at a time.”

  “Where to? Do you know yet?”

  “I followed him through the woods to the far end of town, but lost him again. By the time I got back, Mrs Dandridge had also left the house, but must have gone the opposite way. It was a good couple of hours before either of them came back. The damned woods are so dark, and lead to several roads. It is impossible to know for sure if either of them went into town, were collected by someone in a carriage, or went to one of the nearby villages.” He looked at his friend. “It’s why I sent for you.”

  “I am glad you did,” Barnaby declared firmly.

  Harry nodded to the woods at the front of the house, which covered half of the hillside and led to the south side of Tooting Mallow. “They are the thinnest and relatively easy to get through. The woods out back are the worst.”

  Harry stared at the rivulets of rainwater on the window, but saw nothing of the shadowy landscape outside. Instead, his mind was focused firmly on the hauntingly beautiful face of the woman who, he suspected, would be a part of his dreams forever. Tilly.

  He was angrier with himself more than anyone else, because he knew that should have given her a roof over her head for a couple of nights while he got to the bottom of the letter, and she decided what to do with her life.

  As his eyes refocused on the gloom outside of the window, he turned his attention to the huge building nestled across the valley. Even from a mile or so away, the place looked dark and sinister.

  “What is that place?” Barnaby asked with a scowl.

  “It’s Tooting Mallow Poor House: the arse end of hell.”

  “I cannot believe that anyone would willingly go there,” Barnaby growled.

  “People do though.” Harry just hoped to God tha
t Tilly hadn’t.

  “Do you think that Dandridge has a mistress in town?” Barnaby mused thoughtfully. From what he had seen of Charles Dandridge, the man was lucky that he had managed to find someone as dog-eared as Mrs Dandridge. It would be a fine miracle indeed if he had actually acquired a lover as well.

  Harry snorted and shook his head. “I doubt it,” he replied absently.

  For some reason, he couldn’t get his eyes off the huge poor house. He prayed that Tilly had taken his advice and caught the first post chaise out of town. However, the God awful end of the world place that people were often forced to go to, was there; just on the horizon. He knew, deep inside, that someone as worried, destitute, and helpless as Tilly, could very well turn to the poor house for help.

  The thought of someone like her ending up in a place like that made him feel a little sick.

  He had only ever been in a poor house once, and that had been to fetch someone the Star Elite had needed to help with one of their investigations. It was worse than prison.

  It wasn’t that the place had smelled, or had been full of people dragging chains behind them. It was just that the people who needed a poor house to help them survive had a sense of helplessness, and hopelessness about them that had truly horrified him. He had wanted to open the doors and let everyone out so that they could be free of the shackles of destitution, but knew that even if he did, they probably wouldn’t leave because they had nowhere to go.

  The poor house was, for most people, the very last resort. People were only ever forced to go to one, they never went through choice. Unfortunately, by the time a person sank to such levels of despair, they were unable to find any way to claw back out. They turned up on the doorstep of a poor house, penniless and broken, in search of a bed, and somewhere dry to stay. Once there though, they rarely left again.

  “I can keep watch on Mr Dandridge tonight,” Barnaby sighed. “Do you have a room for me here?”

  “Top of the stairs. The spare rooms are on the right,” Harry replied. When he sensed Barnaby was watching him, Harry turned to look at his friend wryly. “Thank you for coming. Although, once you taste Mrs Dandridge’s cooking, you may wish you had chosen a room at the tavern.”

  Barnaby grinned at him. “Do you think she is trying to poison you by stealth?”

  “God knows,” Harry growled, and threw his friend a rueful look. “She certainly isn’t looking for a recommendation. That much is a fact.”

  “What do you want to do about that?” Barnaby asked as he nodded to the letter. “I think it is safe to assume that one of the Dandridges’ had something to do with it. If they didn’t send it themselves, they signed and sealed it for someone else to send the letter. What I don’t get is; why? What would they want with someone as young as Tilly? Why put the letter in your name?”

  Barnaby didn’t say as much to Harry, but the young woman who had just left was downright gorgeous. She was young, beautiful and beguiling; but what would the Dandridges’ want her in Tooting Mallow for?

  He studied his friend carefully, and wondered if Harry was actually thinking about the investigation at all; or whether he was focused more on the young woman.

  “What bothers me is, why lure Tilly here and then allow her to leave again?” Harry whispered, unable to get his mind off her.

  Barnaby looked at him in the eye. “It is only my opinion, you understand? I rather believe that she would have been better off staying here.” He nodded toward the window. “They have brought her here for a reason: we just don’t know what it is yet. Out there, she is vulnerable because she has nobody to protect her. Here, although she has the Dandridges’ under the same roof, at least she can call out for help if they try anything. We can guard her a damned sight better if she is here.”

  “Like what? What could they try? Why?” Harry felt like he wanted to beat his head against the table, and cursed in bitter frustration when the answers weren’t forthcoming.

  “God knows, but we will find out,” Barnaby promised.

  After several moments of thoughtful silence, he pushed to his feet and fetched Harry’s jacket.

  “Where am I going?” Harry asked as he took it off him.

  “After her. Get her back here, Harry, before they get to her,” Barnaby growled with a nod toward the window.

  Harry didn’t need to be told twice. He snatched his jacket off his friend on his way to the door.

  The busy tap room was noisy, and packed with smoke and people in equal measure. Tilly jostled her way to the bar, where she paused to catch her breath for a moment while she tried to decide what to ask for. She had never been in a tavern before and had no idea what was on offer. Somehow, judging from the rather lower class people who were there, she didn’t think wine was available, and had no idea if they had even heard of elderflower water, or lime cordial.

  When the barman finally looked at her, she opened her mouth to speak only to close it again with a snap when a mug of some kind of fetid brew was slapped on the bar before her.

  “Coin,” the barman grunted.

  “Pardon?” Tilly felt pinned to the spot by his surly stare, and wondered for a moment what kind of language he grunted in.

  “A’penny for the ale. You want it or not?”

  Tilly hesitantly handed him one of her few precious coins, and watched his eyes widen. He snatched it off her with such speed that she didn’t even see his hand move. Before she could blink, several coins of change were shoved across the bar at her seconds before he turned away.

  She quickly turned away and studied the room in search of a dark, quiet corner to hide in. Thankfully, just such a place appeared through a gap in the people. She hurried over to the solitary stool in the corner and took a seat, then suddenly wished she hadn’t.

  In stark contrast to the raucous revelry within the hostelry, she suddenly felt cold, scared and incredibly alone tucked away all by herself as she was. She took a sip of the liquid the man had called ale, and wondered whether it was really mop water in disguise. She wrinkled her nose up and slid the mug back onto the table with a sigh. If she sipped it slowly, she could take an hour or so to drink it, and thaw out while she did so.

  How long she sat there for she couldn’t tell. There was no clock within the room, just plenty of people. She knew better than to take the coins she had left out of her pocket so that she could count them, so tried to remember how much money the bar keeper had shoved at her while she weight up her options.

  There was enough to pay for a room overnight, but it would take a large chunk of the money. She could just about afford a meal, and would have some money left over, but had no idea if she would have enough to purchase a ticket on the next post chaise out of town like Mr Tingay had suggested.

  “You alright, dearie?” an old woman asked as she took a seat beside her.

  Tilly looked at the old woman. “I am fine, thank you,” she replied woodenly.

  “Not from around ‘ere are you?” the old woman tittered. “Take a word, dearie,” the woman added conspiratorially as she tapped Tilly’s forearm.

  Tilly nodded warily as she studied the woman. It was difficult to decipher her age; she could be anything between one hundred, and two hundred years old. Her teeth had clearly long since rotted to blackened stubs, and her hair had not seen a pair of sheers for many a good year. But it was the weariness in her eyes that warned Tilly that the old woman had seen the worst side of life imaginable. Tilly couldn’t help but wonder if she was seeing a window through to her future, and suddenly started to feel terribly afraid.

  “Keep an eye on the barkeep,” the old woman warned. “I wouldn’t trust that one as far as I could throw ‘im. Keep your bag with you, and don’t go anywhere alone with ‘im.”

  “I am not that kind of woman,” Tilly replied somewhat primly.

  The old woman laughed. “Won’t matter none to ‘im; if you know what I mean,” the old woman gurgled. “You ain’t from round these parts, is you?”

  Tilly shook her h
ead, but didn’t tell the woman where she did come from.

  “When do ya leave ‘ere then? Ain’t no coach ‘til ‘omoro,” she croaked. “Where’s ya stayin’?”

  It took Tilly a few minutes to decipher what the old woman had said because her accent was so thick that it was difficult to understand. When she did translate enough to get the gist of what the old woman had just said, she wasn’t quite sure how to reply. She didn’t want to tell the woman that she had nowhere to go because in doing so, would reveal just how vulnerable she was to a veritable stranger. Although this was the furthest she had ever been away from Lincolnshire, even she knew not to take strangers, even old ones, into her trust.

  “I have to find somewhere to stay yet,” she replied obliquely.

  The old woman shook her head and studied Tilly closely. She glanced around the tap and lowered her voice as she leaned closer.

  “Take a word, dearie. Don’t stay out at night round here.” She tapped the side of her nose; then gave Tilly a direct look that suddenly made the hairs on Tilly’s neck stand on end. “Try to stay ‘ere, if there’s room. Don’t go out a’ter dark, and get the first coach outta town. It ain’t the place for ya ‘ere.”

  Before Tilly could open her mouth to reply, the old woman picked up her ale and disappeared into the crowd.

  That was the second time in the space of an hour that Tilly had been warned to get out of town, and it left her with a feeling of doom that made her want leave her ale, the tavern, and follow everyone’s orders, and leave town.

  If only I could, she thought morosely, and settled back on her stool to sip her ale, and she decided whether she could afford to.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Harry sighed and stomped into the crowded tap room of the busy coaching inn. So far, he had scoured the entire town from east to west, and north to south, but there was no sign of her.

  Nobody in the busy coaching yard had seen anyone who matched Tilly’s description. One of the stable lads had thought he had seen someone who looked vaguely like her, but hadn’t been sure, and had no idea which way she had gone. The coaching inn was the last place he could think of to search, except for the poor house, and he hoped to God she hadn’t gone there.