Page 96 of Gentleman Jim

“A former churchman, yes,” she said. “He was expelled from his order, I believe.”

“No former about it. Went back, he did. Gave up the drink.” Mullens drained his glass. “Pious fool.”

St. Clare looked at him. “Went back where?”

“To his church, I reckon. Somewhere in Devonshire. Damned if I know.”

“Devonshire?” Maggie’s expression turned hopeful. “Do you know the name of the church?”

“Why would I?” Mullens was quiet a moment, his wiry brows beetling. “He did come back once, now I recall it. Thumping his Bible at us. Said as how we was to repent. Tossed him out on his arse, the boys did. Never saw him again after. Might be dead for all I know.”

Maggie was undeterred. “He was friends with one of your barmaids, wasn’t he?”

Mullens snorted. “Who says so?”

“Wasn’t he?” she pressed. “I thought he might have been acquainted with Jenny Seaton.”

Mullens cackled. “Jolly Jenny? There’s a name I’ve not heard in years.”

“You remember her working here?”

“Nothing wrong with my memory, missus. Hired the wench meself, didn’t I? She were only sixteen—straight off the farm—but comely as a dove. Didn’t know nothing about ale, nor men, that one.” His mouth spread in a toothless smile. “She soon learned.”

St. Clare’s hand tightened on the back of Maggie’s chair. He had to force his fingers to unclench.

Maggie cast him a concerned look. Are you all right?

He gave her a brief, tight smile. Never better.

A decade had passed since he’d last seen Jenny Seaton. He’d never meant anything to her, and she’d never meant anything to him. Now wasn’t the time to start feeling protective of her.

“A game girl, she was,” Mullens went on. “But she were never friendly with Tuck. Never met him, don’t think, excepting once—a fair dustup they had.”

Maggie’s brows lifted. “They quarreled?”

“Something like. Saw him drinking when she came in. He was fair done for, couldn’t see straight, nor walk upright. Had to be doused with the pump afore he could get himself home. ‘What’s that vicar doing here?’ she asks. ‘Him, a vicar?’ we says. ‘This here sot who’s pissed himself?’ Crying with laughter, we were. Then she commenced crying herself, flew at the man with her fists. Had to pull her off him, we did, the mad cow.”

St. Clare’s gave him an alert look. “When was this?”

“Don’t rightly know.” He shrugged. “A long time hence.”

“Was Gentleman Jim still her beau at the time?” Maggie asked.

“Her beau!” Mullens laughed. “Is that what you heard?”

St. Clare went still. For an instant his breath seemed to stop in his chest. “Wasn’t he?”

“Pour me another.” Mullens blindly thrust out his dirty glass.

This time Maggie took it. Rising from her chair, she crossed the small room to the table with the bottle on it, returning with a fresh drink a moment later. She helped Mullens to find the glass with his hand. “We understood that Jenny Seaton and Gentleman Jim were… That is… That she was his sweetheart.”

“Oh, he fancied her, he did. But he were a strange one, Jim was. A right mysterious devil.” Mullens downed a swallow of his wine with another congested cackle. “He never had no sweetheart.”

St. Clare held the chair as Maggie sat back down.

“May I ask…” She hesitated. “When Jenny quarreled with Father Tuck…was she with child?”

“Not so’s anyone would know. I did hear tell she might have been, but never did find out for certain. She disappeared not long after. Went home, some of the fellers said, to that farm she come from.”