Page 34 of Barely a Woman
Steadman edged nearer to Prudence. “But given that you are blackmailing Mulroy, by your own admission, how can you say you have left the criminal life behind? Blackmail is an imprisonable offense.”
Prudence forced a matronly smile. “Oh, Steadman. You would not send an old woman to prison?”
“You sent your own mother to prison with your testimony. And as you have become a God-fearing Christian, what is the famous saying about the treatment of others?” Prudence sat in silence, cutting her wavering gaze between her interrogators. He snapped his fingers at Morgan. “Morgan, your father was a vicar. What is the saying?”
“Therefore, all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.Gospel of Matthew, chapter seven, verse twelve.”
“There you have it, Prudence. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. And as you sent your own mother to prison, then I assume by the standard of your God-fearing principles, you nowwantto go to prison.”
Prudence stared aghast. “Why would Iwantto go to prison? I’m just an old woman with rheumatoid knees.”
“You were quite spry when running away from me,” said Morgan. “Too fast for rheumatoid knees.”
“Did I say knees? I meant elbows.”
“I see,” said Steadman. “Then explain how you manage to lower bottles of contraband gin into the space beneath the floor with rheumatoid elbows.”
Prudence narrowed her eyes again. “How did you know about that?”
“A guess. You have always kept contraband gin beneath the floor of every place you’ve lived.”
“But not here.”
He smacked the heel of his boot three times on the floor at his feet, revealing a hollow beneath. “And you’ve always placed your table over the hollow space to prevent visitors from walking over it.”
“Oh, yes,” she said. Her benign smile betrayed alarm. “There is nothing in the hollow space.”
Morgan pushed the table a few inches toward Prudence. “Then you won’t mind when we confiscate whatever is in the hollow space? Given that it is empty?”
“You wouldn’t.”
Morgan waved the same piece of paper on which she had been writing. “We have a warrant.”
The old woman’s defenses crumbled. “You cannot! My life savings are tied up in that gin. Do you want an old woman with rheumatoid knees to starve?”
“Rheumatoid elbows,” Morgan said. “And you will not starve in prison. Consumption will kill you first.”
Prudence glared at Morgan in silence as Steadman checked his smile. Then the old woman faced him, her expression grim. She heaved a defeated sigh. “What do you want to know?”
“I thought you would never ask. Now, who is behind the extortion scheme? Answer truthfully, or we will also confiscate the French port you keep in your cart in the barn.”
She deflated. “I may have heard something.”
“Enlighten Mr. Brady and me.”
She leaned toward the table and motioned him and Morgan to do the same. Then she whispered, “You cannot tell anyone it was me who peached.”
“We promise. Now, who is behind this?”
She breathed deeply. “Three-Finger Jack. But I’ve nothing to do with him.”
Steadman was familiar with the man. Not a throat slitter, but capable of any misdeed short of that. “Where does he reside these days?”
“Stoke Farthing, just past Broad Chalke, with his wife and five brats. He visits the tavern in Broad Chalke every evening.”
Steadman rose and donned his top hat. “Now, that wasn’t so difficult, was it? We will not impose on you any further, Prudence. It was a pleasure to see you again.”
“Likewise. Now, leave and don’t come back. And take Miss Brady with you.”
