CHILLINGWORTH
MEWS
Anton Palmer
www.AntonPalmer.co.uk
Copyright 2017 Anton Palmer
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PROLOGUE
James Chillingworth thrust his fists deeper into the pockets of his heavy overcoat, his breath clouding in the chill December night and merging into the fog that was beginning to form. He felt his heart start to race as he caught sight of a scrawny figure limping towards him out of the mist, a walking-cane clacking noisily on the road to aid its passage. The pale green light of a gas street-lamp dimly illuminated the hazy vapour behind the shady form as it approached.
“Good evening, James.” The figure touched its hat as a mark of respect.
“Good evening, William.” James Chillingworth’s hands remained buried in his coat pockets.
No respect was due.
No respect was reciprocated.
“If you’ve called me here to see the progress on the new school, James, then I’m afraid there’s not much to show…as you can see. I doubt there will be much progress now until the New Year – 1900, James, the twentieth century – can you imagine the possibilities?”
James Chillingworth’s face, with its tight-set lips, betrayed no ounce of imagination.
Unperturbed, William continued, “The foundations have been dug out - if you look, you can see that they’re deeper than is usual. I secured the services of an architect from London and according to Mr Willis, the modern trend is towards a deeper foundation filled with concrete to support the footings. Adds to the cost, of course…”
James waved a hand to silence his younger brother. “I’ve not called you here for that, William. We are here to discuss a matter of a far more serious nature, I’m sad to say. Although, I have a pretty good idea that you know what I’m talking about, don’t you, brother?”
The Reverend William Chillingworth ran a finger inside his dog-collar, loosening the starched white band for a moment. Despite the chill of the murky evening, he was starting to sweat.
“I have no idea to what you are referring, my dear, James.”
“Oh, for the love of God, man. Just admit what you have done.”
The Reverend slowly shook his head, his gaze struggling to meet that of his elder brother.
“I’m talking about young Dorothy Bridges. A good, Christian woman, engaged to be married…”
William’s heart began to pound at the sound of the girl’s name, perspiration now evident on his brow.
“What the hell is wrong with you, William? You took the girl’s innocence and then, if that wasn’t enough, you proceeded to…to…God forgive me, I can barely bring myself to utter the word-” James took a deep breath before continuing, “You proceeded to sodomise her!”
William’s gaze dropped to the ground.
“You left her bleeding in the church! It’s just fortunate that her father is a fellow mason and had the decency and good grace to speak to me about it first. Hopefully, the incident will never become public knowledge and allow you to bring even more shame on the family name.”
William’s eyes lifted back up to his elder brother, the hint of a smile on his gaunt face.
Had James smoothed things out for him again?
“I’ve given the man some money - for his silence - and Dorothy has been sent to recuperate with relations on the south coast for the foreseeable future. Not surprisingly, the prospect of continuing to live in the same town as you makes her sick to her stomach. Jesus Christ! I’ve had enough, William! I can’t keep handing out hush-money - making charitable donations in your name to keep up the pretence that you are a respected and honourable member of this community: orphanages, hospitals…” he swept a hand towards the freshly dug trenches, “this new bloody school. I’m done with you, William - you have been a blight on our family for long enough.”
“I know, James. I know…and I’m truly sorry, I really am. Thank you, James, thank you. I do appreciate you sticking your neck out on my behalf,” he crossed his chest, “as God is my witness.”
“You don’t need to thank me, William. I gave the girl’s father my assurance that his daughter would never have to see you again.”
“Are you sending me away, brother?”
“In a manner of speaking, William…in a manner of speaking.”
James clicked his fingers and two bulky figures stepped out of the shadows behind his brother. The vicar turned at the sound of their footsteps as the burly newcomers grabbed an arm each and dragged him to the edge of the freshly dug foundations. James picked up a brick from one of the stacks nearby and hefted it in his hand, testing its weight. He smiled approvingly and stepped towards his younger sibling, removing the man’s hat and tossing it into the trench behind him.
“Please, James… my dear brother. Please, there must be another way…”
James lowered the brick for a moment and pondered. “Albert!”
“Yes, sir?” The man on William’s left turned his attention to his employer.
“Do you happen to be carrying a knife of any sort?”
“I do, sir.”
James held out a hand, “If you would be so kind…”
The man reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a sheath knife, nestled in a well-worn, brown leather pouch, placing it into his boss’s outstretched palm.
James unsheathed it and turned the blade over in his hand. “Is it sharp?”
“Very sharp, sir.”
“Good, good. Release my brother’s arm if you would be so kind, please, Albert.”
“As you wish, sir.” Albert dropped his grip on William’s arm and stepped a pace to the
