Til Death Do Us Part by Sara Fraser

stationary gig around the corner from the terrace of opulent houses, Walter Courtney was briefing Sylvan Kent.
    â€˜I found out from the house agents that she’s renting this place here by the month, and it’s costing her plenty, so she’s definitely got money to spare. Her cover story is that she wed very young. Her husband was a lot older than she, and he died very soon after they wed. She and her mother had always lived together and she’s temporarily renting the house here because to remain at her family home at this time is too painful for her after her mother’s death last year.’
    â€˜And where does she say this family nest is?’
    â€˜A hamlet called Bradley Green. It’s close to Feckenham Village where I have my lodgings. But it’ll take me a little time to check out her story, because I’ll need to tread very carefully. These country yokels are always suspicious of any stranger making enquiries. But if she does own the property there, and she really is on her own now, then it could be very good business for us, and quickly completed.’
    Kent chuckled. ‘And if she’s as toothsome as you say she is, then I’ll enjoy the work for a change.’
    â€˜Just don’t mess up,’ Courtney warned. ‘And keep off the drink, because you’ll need to keep a clear head to handle this one. She’s a fly bitch, not a gormless old maid.’
    Kent stepped down on to the road, unhitched the saddled horse from the rear of the vehicle and mounted it as his companion drove away.
    He trotted around the corner and along the terraced street and reined in before the house he sought. Dismounting, he tied the horse’s reins to one of the bollards that fronted the pavement and rapped the highly polished lion’s head door knocker. From the corner of his eye he glimpsed the slight movement of the lace curtain in the bow window.
    When the diminutive maidservant opened the door he smiled down at her. ‘I take it that you are Milly.’
    Her eyes widened in shock and she bobbed a curtsey and blurted, ‘That’s me name right enough, Sir.’
    â€˜Well, Milly, will you be so kind as to tell your mistress that Major Christophe de Langlois has come to see her.’
    â€˜Major Cristo—’ She screwed her face with the effort of trying to repeat his name.
    Still smiling, he enunciated slowly, ‘Major Christophe de Langlois.’
    â€˜Major . . .’ A pause. ‘Christophe . . .’ A pause. ‘De . . .’ Another pause. ‘Lang . . . Lang . . . Langos, Sir?’
    He chuckled jovially. ‘I trust that will do well enough, Milly.’
    Before she could reply Ella Peelson came to the door herself and gently directed her maid. ‘You may go to the kitchen, Milly; I’ll receive this gentleman myself.’
    Kent swept his top hat from his head and bowed. ‘Have I the honour of meeting Mrs Adelaide Farson?’
    She curtseyed. ‘You have, Sir, and I trust that I have the honour of meeting Major Christophe de Langlois.’
    They smiled at each other.
    Sylvan Kent was telling himself, ‘This bodes well! If all goes to plan, I’m going to thoroughly enjoy fucking this one.’
    Ella Peelson, taking in his handsome face, fine teeth, well-groomed thick dark hair, powerful physique, elegant clothing, scented emanation of expensive pomade, was telling herself exactly the same.

FOURTEEN
Redditch Town
Saturday, 26th January
Morning
    N o snow or rain had fallen for four days and the skies were clear. In the Mountebanks’ encampment in a Lodge Farm meadow, Elias Bradshaw was telling his second-in-command, Corporal Taylor, ‘It’s market day, and the ground’s firm enough now for us to drum up some trade. I’m going to see the Constable and find out if we can make use of the Green.’
    In the slum-filled cul-de-sac known as Red Cow Yard, Ezekiel Rimmer was in discussion with a