The Path of the Wicked Read Online Free

write to Mr Godwit.
    By the magic of our new penny post, his reply arrived the day before we were due to leave.
    Dear Miss Lane,
    I am happy to agree to your terms as stated, including expenses, and look forward to your arrival, which, according to my best calculations, is likely to be in the middle of next week. You ask if I can recommend a nearby inn for yourself and your maid, with stabling for your mare. Since our local hostelry would hardly be fit accommodation and the hotels of Cheltenham are a good three miles away, I hope you may find it convenient to lodge in my bachelor establishment. My housekeeper heartily welcomes visitors, having so few, and is even now shaking the lavender out of her best sheets. My stables are modest and my groom fulfils a dual role as gardener, but I am sure we can accommodate your mare suitably and offer our own oats, hay and good grazing. If your maid would consent to share with our girl, Suzie, I am sure we could provide for her equally comfortably.
    I entirely understand your warning that you are not able to guarantee success. I assure you that even in agreeing so kindly to take up the case you are contributing very greatly to the peace of mind of Stephen Godwit.
    I liked the tactful mention of a housekeeper, giving respectability to the proposed arrangement. As for my maid, I’d mentioned in my letter that she would bring my heavy luggage by stagecoach, but Tabby had not reappeared. Tabby had been my assistant and apprentice, willing to be called my maid on occasion – though incapable of behaving like one – but in the last few weeks she seemed to have reverted to her street-urchin way of life. I’d seen her now and then in Abel Yard but could only get a word or two out of her before she disappeared again. I was worried, but knew that while she was in her present mood it would be no good trying to chase after her. I finished packing my small trunk with clothes, sketching materials and a few books, wrapped it in hessian, roped and labelled it with Mrs Martley’s help and then went down to the mews to find two lads to carry it to the alcove under the stairs, ready for the carter. There, sitting on a mounting block, looking every bit as disreputable as the ragged lads around her, was Tabby. Her eyes were sunken, cheeks pinched and pale. She didn’t look particularly pleased to see me, so I just said hello to her and offered twopence each to the two biggest lads. When they and I came back down with the trunk, Tabby was waiting in the alcove. She watched impassively as they set it down and were given their pay.
    â€˜You didn’t need to have paid them that much,’ she said. ‘Penny was enough.’
    I sat on a step of our staircase and signed to her to join me. From the smell, she’d given up washing. I resisted the temptation to move up several steps.
    â€˜I’m going away for a while,’ I said. ‘Not long, probably.’
    â€˜Oh, you are, are you?’
    â€˜I thought you might like to come with me.’
    She considered.
    â€˜D’you need me?’
    â€˜I might. For one thing, I need somebody to see that trunk to a village near Cheltenham.’
    â€˜Where’s that?’
    â€˜Quite a long way.’
    She knew London down to the darkest basements and alleyways. Further than that was either not far or a long way.
    â€˜What are you going for?’
    â€˜A case. There’s a man accused of murder.’
    â€˜Did the one he murdered deserve it?’
    Tabby’s and the law’s idea of justice seldom coincided. That was part of the problem between us.
    â€˜It was a woman, a governess, so probably not. And I don’t know if he did the murder. That’s what we’re supposed to find out.’
    More consideration, then a grudging concession.
    â€˜If you want me to, I’ll come.’
    Details were settled through the rest of the day. I booked a place for her, travelling outside, on the Berkeley