CHAPTER 31: Gentlemen of Business

 

It was not the handsome inn on Prospect Square nor the resort hotel at the Wells, but a quiet, secluded little hotel in a less commercial district of the town where they found Charles Crowder. It was the sort of place where gentlemen of business engaged in the more illicit aspects of seafaring commerce might meet with their captains in perfect discretion. Scratch the cellar floor, Jack supposed, and one would find a timbered tunnel leading to one of the many shallow and hidden tributaries that meandered up into the coastline beyond the Heathpoole quayside.

The dour clerk behind the desk this morning was not about to allow them upstairs to harry one of his guests. But Dalton recited his credentials, explained that their business was a legal matter and expressed regret should they be forced to bring a constable onto the premises. With this last the clerk agreed, and reluctantly sent a boy upstairs to fetch Crowder down. Jack nodded for Alphonse to slip round the back in case their quarry attempted to bolt. But he might have known any fellow willing to leave his own wife in such a state would not scruple to crow about it.

“You had better be here to return my wife to me,” Crowder exclaimed as he stormed down the stairs, a timorous servant at his heels. “Otherwise, you have no legal business of any kind with me. She may have gone crying on your shoulder, Dance, but I’ll have her in the end. I am entirely within my rights.”

“Gentlemen!” hissed the clerk. “Be so good as to take your business into the parlor.” He nodded them into an adjoining room fitted out with several small tables and clusters of chairs where two or three parties of gentlemen were conducting business. Dalton lead the way to a vacant corner table and Jack ushered Crowder and his man in before him.

“Well, where is she?” demanded Crowder, rounding upon Jack.

“Safe,” Jack replied, gazing back at him coolly. He was not inclined to hurry this moment; he was going to enjoy it too much. “She is nearby, but for obvious reasons, she has no wish to see you. We are here to make sure she never has to again.”

Crowder took a menacing step toward him just as Alphonse came into the room behind him. Jack was just fantasizing about the single blow that would wipe that expression of smug superiority off Crowder’s face when Dalton stepped into the breach to explain their position. From a prudent distance, Jack unrolled the charcoal sketch. Crowder’s response was an angry bark of brittle laughter.

“That is only a facsimile, it’s not proof,” he scoffed. “And anyway, what of it? A man may discipline his own wife.”

“Life-threatening cruelty is a crime, Mr. Crowder. Even against one’s wife,” Dalton replied calmly. “I do not speak at present of the crime of employing brigands to assault another gentleman, although we have witnesses who will testify to this, as well.”

That slowed Crowder’s outrage for a moment. He was apparently less sure of his battery rights over victims who were not bound to him in marriage.

“I demand the presence of my lawyer,” he snarled. “You cannot force me to sign anything. It will never stand up in court.”

“No, indeed,” Dalton agreed. “We prefer you to sign of your own free will. Which is perfectly legal without benefit of counsel.”

“And if I refuse?”

Jack nodded to Alphonse, who had already signaled to the hired carriage outside where the others were waiting. Alphonse went to the parlor door and escorted in Tory, with Jenny on her arm. Jenny wore a fresh frock and a straw hat draped with heavy gauze that concealed her face; Tory had gone to her lodgings to collect them. They stood in the entry for a moment, long enough for every other gentleman in the room to glance up and note their presence, the uncommon sight of two women in this private room devoted to the business of gentlemen, and a very small Negro man. Then Alphonse brought them forward.

“Refuse,” said Jack quietly, as Crowder glared at his shrouded wife, “and Mrs. Kennett will remove her veil. We will take a deposition from every gentleman in this room to support the veracity of our sketch. You will be in Chancery within a fortnight to answer a charge of extreme marital cruelty. A charge sensational enough, I believe, to have repercussions all the way to Leeds.”

“You may end this now, with a signature freely given,” Dalton put in. “Or end it later, in a court of law. The choice is entirely yours.”

Other men in the room were discreetly shifting in their seats to gaze at them. Crowder wrenched his eyes away from his wife and noticed their interest. He glared at Jack, who stared back at him without another word. He glared at Dalton, who produced a pen. The document was placed on the table before him.

“I suppose you know this will devastate your son, Madame,” he growled, not looking up from the deed. “Whose only crime is wanting his mother.”

Jenny staggered on Tory’s arm as if she’d been struck again. Jack moved to her other side, but he could already feel her posture stiffening as she steadied herself, briefly, on the support of his arm.

“Pay particular note to the clause which forbids any future contact of any kind,” suggested Dalton. “Legal, physical, written or verbal.”

“I see it,” Crowder grunted.

“And here,” Dalton continued, smoothly, “a bond of twenty-thousand pounds to be forfeit if you break the terms of this deed.”

“I am to take all the risk, I see. And what am I to gain from this piece of extortion?”

“Your reputation, sir,” murmured Dalton.

Charles Crowder set his mouth and signed the deed.

“And what shall she forfeit,” he grumbled on. “She’s never had twenty-thousand pounds in her life.”

Dalton glanced up. “Mr. Dance?”

Jack stepped up to the table and wordlessly signed the deed as trustee for Mrs. Jane Kennett Crowder. When he straightened up, Crowder was almost smiling at him, a cold, mirthless leer.

“So you presume to offer the protection of a husband, do you?”

“Of a friend,” said Jack. “I would not burden her with another husband.”

“We shall see how far your protection reaches,” Crowder spat, pushing suddenly to his feet. Turning to Jenny, he hissed, “And as for you, if you think —”

“Tut, sir,” Dalton interrupted, as he inserted himself between them. “The next word out of your mouth to this lady will be actionable.”

Crowder spun about like a bear in a pit, finally turning his fury onto Jack.

“This is not over,” Crowder fumed. Then he shouldered his way out of the room.

An hour later, Charles Crowder and his servant boarded the coach for London. Tory and Jenny had retired to the carriage, but Thomas, Kit and Mr. Delaney had appeared in the hotel lobby with Jack, Alphonse and Dalton to convince him that any future time spent in Heathpoole would be futile.

“Your recommendation to me was in no way overstated, Mr. Dalton,” said Alphonse, reaching up to shake the conveyancer by the hand as the coach rattled off. “You have been a very great help.”

“Delighted to be of service, Mr. Belair,” replied Dalton, with a little bow. “Please do not hesitate to call upon me again.”
    
And thank you, Mr. Belair,” Jenny spoke up, earnestly, as the gentlemen climbed back into the waiting carriage.

“It’s fortunate for us you’ve been spending so much time at the solicitor’s,” Jack agreed, settling in beside Alphonse. “Short of wringing that fellow’s neck, I shouldn’t have known which way to proceed.”

“But it is my pleasure,” Alphonse replied, nodding to Jenny. “My purpose in coming to this country was to fight against slavery. It is very gratifying to have finally won a victory.”

 

 

Top: Brooks’ Club, from Microcosm of London, Thomas Rowlandson, 1808.
Above: Capote hat with veil, Regency fashion plate