Free The Fabric of Murder (Mysteries of Georgian Norfolk Book 2) by William Savage Page A

another’s throat so quickly there is no chance for them to call out or fight back.
    No, from all Foxe had heard, George Bonneviot did not have the makings of a killer, unless it should be by some secret poison. From the description of him given both by the Misses Calderwood and Gracie Catt, Foxe had come to regard him as much too feeble. He could, of course, have paid some ruffian to do it – that was a point worth investigating – but he would not himself be capable of such a deed.

7
    The Fruits of Deception
    W hen Foxe entered the coffee house at ten the next morning, Brock was waiting. Since he had already finished his coffee and discarded the newspaper, it looked as if he had been there for some time.
    ‘Thought you might be in earlier than this.’ He sounded irritated. Brock didn’t like to be kept waiting.
    ‘Why?’ Foxe said. ‘This is quite a respectable hour to come here. I also have an appointment at eleven, so that leaves me a reasonable time to drink a dish of coffee and peruse the papers.’
    Foxe had not dressed in quite such an elegant manner this morning. He needed to look the kind of customer Mrs. Swan would want to serve in person, but not the kind she would remember for too long afterwards.
    ‘Do you have news?’ he asked Brock.
    ‘Wouldn’t have come here if I hadn’t. Nothing significant from those of Bonneviots’ men I’ve spoken to. They’re angry about being owed money and want their due – be sure of that. But that’s a simple matter of justice, in their eyes. I can’t see them doing more than breaking a few windows to let off steam. Trade seems brisk enough and a good weaver is always in demand. Of course, the ones that remain are the ones ’e treated better. Those ‘e already threw out have either left Norwich and gone elsewhere or found a new master. To be honest with you, I don’t see any of ‘em being angry enough with the man to kill ‘im.’
    ‘That bothers me, Brock. If trade is so good, why was Bonneviot laying men off at all? Forget the useless ones. Any master would get rid of them as soon as he could. It’s the others I’m thinking of: the ones who soon found a new master.’
    ‘See your drift. If another master was glad to have them at short notice, they must be good – or good enough.’
    ‘Anyone else you talked to?’
    ‘I wanted to talk to his foreman at the warehouse, but he said he was too busy. Now there’s another odd thing.’ Brock’s frown was so ferocious the waiter coming with Foxe’s usual coffee stepped back in alarm.
    ‘Ignore my friend,’ Foxe said to the lad. ‘He suffers from stomach cramps brought on by too much drink.’
    ‘I don’t drink much more than you do,’ Brock said. ‘Besides, this coffee would soon give any man the bellyache.’
    ‘Go on, Brock,’ Foxe said. ‘You said something about Bonneviot’s foreman was odd.’
    ‘Not him so much as his situation. His employer has just been murdered, yet ‘e’s rushed off ‘is feet. Doin’ what? I’d also say the man is happy as they come. Now, he may not have liked Bonneviot – ‘ated his guts even – but he’d worked for him for more than ten years, as I heard. Now ‘is master’s dead and the son doesn’t show any interest in the business. You’d expect an old hand like this cove – Jack Astle, he’s called – to be worried about ‘is job. But ‘e isn’t, it seems. Already staying on in the same position.’
    ‘Now that is odd, I grant you. Is the widow keeping the business on?’
    ‘That’s what I rushed here to tell you, only you were frolicking in bed with one of them Catt sisters, I guess, and not most keen to get up.’
    ‘For your information, Brock – not that it is any business of yours – I slept alone last night and this is always the time I come in here. Go on, my friend, and keep your thoughts to yourself.’
    ‘Keep your wig on. Here’s the real news. I’ve heard from several of the weavers who used to work for Bonneviot that his