Page 25 of A Very Roguish Boxing Day
Down the hall, Dr.Pickering was holding his notebook open in front of her brother.Judging by the string of curses that emerged from Joseph’s lips, Gwen took it that he was showing her brother the drawing.
Gwendolyn turned to Mr.Finnimore.“Suffice it to say, my late husband had a very distinctive feature on his, er… anatomy.”
“Ah,” Mr.Finnimore said, strolling over to peer at Dr.Pickering’s notebook.His eyes went wide as he took in Gwen’s drawing.
“I will attend the autopsy this afternoon to confirm the accuracy of the drawing,” Dr.Pickering said.“But I believe this matter will soon be closed.”
Mr.Finnimore turned to Gwen.“Am I correct in assuming that you wish to take up residence in your new property effective immediately?”
“Indeed, I would.”Gwen caught Mariah’s eye.“Please pack all of my things.I will not be returning.”
Joseph’s furious face loomed before her.“The hell you won’t!”
Both Dr.Pickering and Mr.Finnimore opened their mouths to respond on her behalf.
But Gwen stepped forward before they could speak.“From this moment forward, I shall do as I please.”She jabbed a finger at Dr.Pickering’s notebook.“My drawing is accurate.And you know it!You have no authority over me anymore!”
Joseph’s expression was murderous.“We’ll see about that!”
Gwendolyn lifted her chin.“The fact that you are too stupid to recognize defeat when you see it does not affect me in the slightest.You are welcome to waste as much of your money on legal fees as you wish.”She stepped forward so that mere inches separated their faces.“But I will be moving to Frogcroft Cottage.And there is nothing you can do to stop me!”
Joseph was the one to flinch.“Fine!”he spat, wheeling around and stalking down the hall.“You’ve won this round.But don’t rest too easy.You haven’t seen the last of me!”
Chapter11
Indeed, Gwendolyn had not heard the last from her brother.
It was midafternoon on Gwen’s second full day in residence at Frogcroft Cottage, where she had settled along with Mariah, who had not been eager to continue in her brother’s employ.She was out in the garden, tending to her aunt’s bee boles, when little Timmy Michaelson, who lived down the lane, came running up to the house.
“Miss Gwendolyn!Miss Gwendolyn!”Timmy shouted, banging on the door.
Gwen had encouraged everyone in Merstham to call her by her first name, rather than Mrs.Simpkins.Perhaps someday she would grow used to using Maurice’s last name, but right now, hearing it dredged up unhappy memories.
She rose from her stool and came to look over the hedge.“I’m back here, Timmy.What’s the matter?”
Timmy ran over, and Gwen opened the gate for him.“It’s your brother!”
A chill swept through Gwendolyn in spite of the warm August sun.“My brother?”She swallowed the thick lump that had risen in her throat.“He’s… he’s here?”
“Not anymore,” Timmy said between pants.“Mr.Cutler ran him off.”
Timmy told her the whole story over a glass of milk and a slice of bread thick with honey.“He stopped at the Feathers to water his horses,” Timmy explained around a mouthful of crumbs.“Mr.Cutler had just finished making his daily delivery and spotted him.He gave a great bellow, pulled his cleaver from his apron pocket, and charged!”Timmy raised a fist to demonstrate, bumping his mug in the process.
Gwendolyn grabbed the tea towel and mopped the resulting ring of milk from Aunt Agatha’s old oak table.Gracious.She knew Aunt Agatha had loaned Mr.Cutler the money to open his butcher’s shop years ago.But she never would have expected him to chase her brother out of town with a cleaver!“What happened next?”
“Yer brother squealed like a piglet, that’s what happened.”Timmy took a slurp of his milk.“He ran back into the inn yard, just like this.”Timmy stood and did an imitation of a high-kneed, gangly gait that Gwen had seen Joseph use some fifteen summers ago while being chased by a dog.
“He scrambled back into his carriage,” Timmy continued, “shouted to his coachman to climb back up, and last I saw, they was leaving town at a pretty good clip.”
“Gracious,” Gwendolyn said, sitting back in her ladderback chair.“I will make a point of thanking Mr.Cutler.”
Timmy wiped his chin, which was sticky with a smear of honey.“I sure hope that’s the last we see of him.”
It was not.The following week, Joseph returned.Unfortunately for him, for many years Aunt Agatha had supplied one of her tinctures to the tollbooth keeper, Mr.Collins, to help ease his dyspepsia.Mr.Collins was therefore keeping a sharp eye out for Joseph’s carriage and turned him away when he tried to enter town.But the following week, he returned on horseback, hat drawn low, and managed to slip past Mr.Collins.
It was the blacksmith’s fifteen-year-old son, Robert Jenkins, who spotted him that time.It turned out that Aunt Agatha had once financed the repair of a significant leak in the roof of his father’s shop.Robert raised the alarm, and half the town rallied to run Joseph out of town.
The final time Joseph tried to bother her was the first week of September.By now, he had figured out that the townspeople were protective of Aunt Agatha’s beloved niece.He therefore waited until night had fallen to attempt to slink into town.
