Page 76 of The Armor of Light
Spade nodded.
Jarge said: ‘This proves that Alf Nash is a traitor. Therefore, he must be the one who informed on Jeremiah.’
‘That’s what I think.’
Jarge looked grim. ‘I believe I know what needs to be done next.’
‘I’m sure you do,’ said Spade.
14
AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE, Hornbeam was speculatively eyeing Isobel Marsh.
She was known as Bel, but she was not beautiful. However, she was lively, and Hornbeam’s family liked her. Bel had stayed over last night. At breakfast, Deborah and Bel were looking at prints in a magazine calledThe Gallery of Fashion, and laughing at what they considered to be ridiculous hats, wide-brimmed and festooned with ribbons, feathers and brooches.
Howard was laughing with them, and that was what had caught Hornbeam’s attention. Now he studied Bel more closely. She had bright blue eyes and a full red mouth, with lips that struggled to close over very prominent front teeth. She might do very well as a bride for Howard.
Her father, Isaac Marsh, had the best-run dyeing business in town. He employed a dozen or so hands and made plenty of money. Some years ago Hornbeam had made discreet enquiries as to whether Marsh might want to sell the business. It would have made a splendid addition to Hornbeam’s empire. But the answer had been no.
However, Bel was an only child. If she married Howard, they would inherit the dye shop. And it would effectively become Hornbeam’s.
As he watched the young people at the table, Howard said: ‘It looks like a family of pigeons are nesting in that hat!’ The girls giggled and Bel playfully smacked Howard’s arm. He pretended that it hadhurt and said his arm was broken, and Bel laughed again. She seemed to like Howard.
Hornbeam had never before seen Howard flirting. The boy was good at it, in his way. He had not got that from his father. Well, well, thought Hornbeam, maybe I’ll get the dye shop after all.
His wife, Linnie, asked the footman for more milk. Wearing his usual tragic face, Simpson said: ‘I’m sorry, madam, but just at the moment there is no more milk.’
That irritated Hornbeam. Could all these servants between them not manage to organize enough milk for the family breakfast? He said crossly: ‘How can we have run out of milk?’
‘Nash did not deliver this morning, sir, so I’ve had to send the maid to the dairy. She should be back any minute now.’
Linnie said: ‘That’s all right, Simpson, we can wait a few minutes.’
‘Thank you, madam.’
Hornbeam did not like Linnie’s way of being forgiving to the servants, but he said nothing because he was thinking about something more important. Simpson’s announcement had rung an alarm bell. Alf Nash had not delivered milk this morning. Why?
Hornbeam was troubled by the negative result of his search of Spade’s warehouse. He suspected that the cunning Spade had moved the offending leaflets, probably after getting a tip-off. But who could have warned him? Hornbeam had not yet figured this out. Meanwhile, this was a new development. What had happened to keep Nash from his round this morning?
Hornbeam was worried. He stood up. Linnie raised an eyebrow: he had not finished his coffee. ‘Something I need to take care of,’ he muttered by way of explanation, and he left the room.
He put on his coat and hat and a pair of riding boots to keep his legs dry, then left the house. He hurried anxiously through the rain to the dairy and stepped inside gratefully. There was a small crowd of people, mostly servants from the big houses north of High Street,all carrying jugs of various sizes. His maid, Jean, was among them, but he did not acknowledge her.
Nash’s sister, Pauline, was behind the counter, briskly serving the unusual number of customers as fast as she could. Hornbeam pushed his way to the front. ‘Good morning, Miss Nash.’
She gave him a cool look. ‘Good morning, Alderman. I’m sorry you haven’t had your delivery—’
‘Never mind that,’ he said impatiently. ‘I’m here to speak to Nash.’
‘I’m afraid he’s in bed ill. Would you like some milk? I can lend you a jug—’
Hornbeam was in no mood to take insolence from a woman. He raised his voice. ‘Just take me to him, will you?’
She hesitated, looking insubordinate, but she did not have the courage to defy him. ‘If you insist,’ she said sulkily.
He stepped around the counter. Pauline abandoned her customers and led him into the living quarters. He followed her up the stairs. She opened a door and looked in. ‘Alderman Hornbeam is here, Alfie,’ she said. ‘Do you feel up to seeing him?’
Hornbeam pushed past her. The bedroom was instantly recognizable as Nash’s by the smell of curdled milk. It was decorated simply in plain colours and lacking any feminine touches such as cushions, ornaments or embroidered fabrics. Although Nash was in his thirties, he was still single.
