Cat Carlisle Book 2. Terry Thomas Lynn
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kept quiet. The stakes were too high. Claris Broadbent would seize the knowledge and use it to sabotage Carmona’s plan. Taking the high road, she stuffed her anger aside and forced a congenial smile. The look on her father’s face shifted from surprise to curiosity. David Broadbent wasn’t used to his headstrong daughter giving in so quickly. Carmona looked down at her feet, smoothed her skirt, and forced an acquiescent smile. ‘Can’t blame me for trying.’ She kissed her father’s cheek and then her mother’s.
‘I’m tired. Good night.’ She turned and walked out of the room, leaving her parents in stunned silence. Had her parents not stared at each other in shock at Carmona’s sudden change of emotion, had they happened to turn their glance to Carmona’s reflection in the mirror over the fireplace, they would have seen the devious expression on her face. Had they seen the expression, they would have been very concerned indeed.
Carmona’s room was at the back of the house, close to the library. She had chosen it because she loved the sunlight that flooded through the large window in the afternoon and because the room was big enough for her to have a fireplace with two comfortable chairs in front of it, along with a huge desk where she studied. She and Edythe had spent hours there, playing games as children, planning their lives as they grew older. There was no fire now. Her maid, Liddy, met her at the door.
Carmona had never wanted a maid. She didn’t like being waited on. She liked Liddy, though. Over the years, the two of them had become trusted friends, had shared their dreams and secrets.
‘I’m just leaving. How did it go? Did you talk to them?’
‘I did. My mother said no.’ Carmona stripped off her clothes and threw them on the bed. Liddy started to pick up the clothes. Carmona stopped her. ‘Just leave them. I’ll put them away when I get back.’
‘So what will you do?’
Carmona pulled on a pair of her father’s corduroy trousers and an old fisherman’s sweater. She donned a dark coat and hat, along with warm gloves. ‘I’m going out.’ She raised the sash of her window and swung one leg out. She smiled at Liddy. ‘Don’t worry. I have a plan.’
‘That’s what I’m afraid of. You’re going to get me fired,’ Liddy called out just as Carmona swung her other leg out the window and disappeared into the frigid night air.
* * *
Phillip arrived at Beth’s just as she and Edythe, along with Carmona, were sitting down to dinner. He didn’t care that he was three hours late, all but ignoring Beth’s four o’clock edict. The house smelled of onions and chicken. His stomach rumbled in response to the enticing smells, but he had no inclination to sit down to a meal with Beth or Edythe, not that they would ask. Dining with those women and their surly attitudes would do nothing for his digestion. He popped his head into the kitchen.
‘You’re late,’ Beth said. The look on her face made it clear she wasn’t glad to see him.
Edythe shot him a glance and slammed a serving plate piled high with meat and potatoes down on the table. Carmona Broadbent jumped at the sudden crash, her eyes moving from Beth to Edythe and, finally, to Phillip. Phillip had always liked Carmona. Although she was a bit chunky and thick-ankled, she wasn’t half bad. The Broadbents were rolling in money, but Carmona didn’t put on airs. Phillip knew Carmona fancied him. A wink from him would cause Carmona’s pretty skin to blush a becoming shade of rose. Her eyes danced when she saw him.
‘I’ll just get down to it. Shouldn’t take long.’ He winked at Carmona and – satisfied with her response – headed towards the small room that held his mother’s desk. Once he was certain no footsteps followed, he methodically took everything out of the desk, in search for any stray envelopes of cash. His mum was known for stuffing pound notes in envelopes and hiding them all over the office. A thorough search – including looking through all the books – netted him a few coins and an unopened pack of cigarettes. He cleared the papers out of his mother’s desk – he would go through it all later – and stuffed them, along with the few clothes he had, in a carryall. He slipped out the front door without saying goodbye.
By the time he made it to the Dirty Duck, all the tables were taken and the bar was standing room only. Jem looked up when Phillip came into the pub, took one look at Phillip’s face and poured him a pint and a shot of whisky. The whisky went down too easily. Phillip accepted the second one and took his drinks to the back of the room, waiting for the couple who sat at his favourite table to leave. Timing was a funny thing. Had the pub not been crowded, had Phillip been sitting at his table, he would have seen the two men loitering in the alley that led to his cottage. But Phillip’s obsession with the unfairness of his life rendered him oblivious to the two men. When the couple who sat at his table tottered out of the pub on unsteady legs, leaning against each other for support, Phillip ordered another round and spent the next two hours drowning his sorrows and listening to the regulars sing their bawdy songs.
Rivenby was a small village, and the Dirty Duck its only pub. During the week, things got quiet around nine-thirty or ten. Most of the patrons were farmers, who had early chores in the morning. Soon Phillip was alone at his table. Jemmy came up with the bottle of whisky and two glasses, a rag hanging out of his back pocket. He poured a drink for Phillip and for himself.
‘For luck,’ Jemmy said.
‘God knows I need it,’ Phillip said, surprised that his words slurred. He sipped the drink. ‘You’ve probably heard what’s happened.’
‘Yep,’ Jemmy said. He busied himself wiping down the other tables around Phillip, polishing them to a high shine. ‘It’s a shame. But you’ve got a roof over your head and a wee bit of money. That’s something.’
Phillip never ceased to be amazed at the way gossip travelled around a small village. ‘It’s complicated, Jemmy.’
‘It always is.’ Jemmy picked up the bottle, filled his glass, and waved it at Phillip. ‘Another?’
‘No. Better not.’ Phillip stood. ‘What do I owe?’
‘On me tonight,’ Jemmy said.
‘Thanks, Jemmy.’ Phillip grabbed his hat and headed towards the door.
‘Mind how you go, mate.’ Jemmy sprayed lemon oil on Phillip’s table and started to rub it with sweeping circular motions.
Phillip stepped out into the clear night and shivered. Rivenby was a far cry from the warm seaside towns that he and Lady Blythedale had visited, places with azure seas, white sand, and golden sun. God, could matters get any worse? He ran the numbers in his head once again as he tried to find a different way to make the money he inherited from his mum and the money he could get from the sale of his cottage cover his debts and give him a fresh start. He would need a place to live, no matter where he went. No matter how he played it, there simply wasn’t enough.
Phillip didn’t notice the two men who blocked his way until he bumped into one of them.
‘Excuse me,’ he said.
‘Not so fast, Mr Billings.’ They wore dark suits and hats pulled down low over their heads. One of them was tall and rangy. The other short and thick, with a nose that resembled a mangled cauliflower. Phillip looked around. The street was deserted. No one would come to his rescue. His eyes darted, looking for an escape path.
‘Don’t even think about running, boyo.’ The tall one spoke with a thick Irish lilt. ‘You’re piss drunk and you’d never get away.’
‘I – I – I don’t have your money yet,’ he said. ‘But I’ll have it in a week or so. I’ve got an inheritance coming, and I’ll pay. I owe ten pounds. You’ll get it all. Just give me a week.’
‘Oh, you’ll pay all right, boyo, but the price has gone up. You’ll pay fifteen pounds.’
‘Hey, that’s not what we agreed,’ Phillip said.
‘Keep talking and we’ll make it twenty,’ the tall one said. He nodded at the shorter man. Like a flash, his fist flew, landing a punch