Page 41 of The Return of the Rake

“Stay out of it,” Bill shouted, though he made no move to strike King. “This is between a man and his wife.”

“I don’t think you’ll be speaking to the lady again until you’re sober,” King said steadily, glad to see the captain had the sense to run to the poor woman and take care of her.

“Says who?” Bill demanded, his colour rising to such a pitch King wondered hopefully if he might do the world, and his wife, a favour and have an apoplexy. Sadly, it was not to be.

“Who do you think?” King replied calmly. “Would you like to argue the point?”

Bill glared at him, the desire to beat King’s brains in quite evident in the violent dislike that shone in his eyes. King knew it would not end here, not when his neighbours had come out to watch and were seeing King shame him by showing him for the coward he was. Yet, though his intellect might not be a strong one, Bill had enough sense to know that an altercation with King would be painful and bad for his health, so he contented himself with spitting on the ground at King’s feet.

“Keep her. The stupid bitch is nothing but a worthless whore in any case,” he sneered, at which words King raised his fist and Bill took several anxious steps backwards.

“Get out of my sight,” King replied through gritted teeth. “Now.”

Bill did as he was bid, and a moment later the door slammed.

“What the devil are you looking at?” he demanded of the inhabitants of the other cottages, who were staring at him with mingled appreciation and apprehension but did not budge.

King waited a moment to be certain Bill wouldn’t get up the nerve to come back before turning in time to see Captain Dearborn solicitously helping the woman to her feet. She was a young woman, and rather pretty, King noted, wondering how on earth Bill had persuaded the poor creature to marry him.

“Oh, o-oh, sir, please don’t tr-trouble yourself,” she wept, looking quite overcome by Dearborn’s concern.

“It’s no trouble at all, madam. Oh, but your poor eye, it is already dreadfully swollen. Come, come along now. Let us get it seen to.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “N-No, I cannot. He’ll be ever so c-cross with me and—”

“He’ll lay another hand on you over my dead body! I’ll kill him first,” the captain said furiously, and with such sincerity even King was taken aback, looking at the man with dawning respect.

He wondered if the fellow really meant it, for whilst he’d been a soldier once, he was clearly not entirely whole and had none of the bulk nor the viciousness that Bill Jenner possessed. Either way, he knew just how likely it was that the woman would go back to the brute and that the good captain would not be there to save her in her hour of need. Bullies rarely struck their victims in full view of the world, but in private, behind closed doors where no one could call them out for their cruelty.

Still, his passionate outburst seemed to have had a profound effect on Mrs Jenner, who was looking at the captain with cautious admiration.

“You are too good, sir,” she said quietly. “To concern yourself with the likes of me, but I’m afraid it will bring you nothing but trouble. I will do well enough, I assure you.”

She spoke with quiet dignity, and though her eye was swelling visibly, and the signs of fading bruises were clearly in evidence upon her slender arms, there was a glimmer of strength in her still that shone despite the misery of her situation.

“The captain is right, Mrs Jenner. To go back inside now would be to invite another, worse beating. I am on my way to the vicarage. Why not let me escort you to the Reverend Honeywell, and if you so desire, you might return to the cottage tomorrow, once Bill has gone to sea. Perhaps by the time he returns he’ll be in a better frame of mind,” he added, though they both knew that was a risible sentiment.

Mrs Jenner hesitated, glancing at Captain Dearborn as if wondering what he might think of the idea.

“It’s an excellent solution,” the captain said gently. “The reverend is a jolly good fellow, and his daughter Miss Honeywell is there, not to mention Mrs Mabbs and Mrs Addie. It’s all quite proper for you to spend the night there. Though I do not believe you should ever return here if you have an alternative.”

King had to work to keep his mouth shut at the fellow’s naivety, for it was obvious to him what the answer was if it wasn’t to the captain.

“I don’t have an alternative,” Mrs Jenner replied, her tone weary, confirming King’s suspicions. “But if you think I ought to go the reverend, just for tonight?”

“I do,” he said with a definite nod, taking her arm and linking it through his own. “Come along with us and we shall see you safely to the vicarage.”

“So kind,” the poor woman said faintly, giving him a wan smile.

King’s heart went out to her, as it had to so many women over the years, tied to vicious brutes they could not escape. He remembered how furious Anne had been when she spoke of Mrs Jenner, the impotent rage he had seen in her eyes and the understanding that in trying to help they might just make a dreadful situation intolerable. He hoped it was not the case now, but he knew Mrs Jenner would go back to that wretched house and her wretched husband and eventually he’d beat her a little too hard or a little too often, and her days would be done. It was sickening.

The thought that no one would miss Bill Jenner turned in his mind, along with the knowledge that he could dispose of the fellow himself if it came to it, but—as wicked as the world believed King to be—he was no cold-blooded murderer, however tempting the idea.

They made slow progress, what with the captain’s limp and his fair companion’s obvious fatigue and distress, but eventually the vicarage came into sight.

“Oh, my dear!” A kindly faced lady with a baby on her hip emerged from the house, exclaiming at the sight of them. She then ran back inside, calling as she went. “Reverend! Reverend Honeywell, Mrs Addie! Come, oh, do come at once!”

Mrs Jenner shrank back, glancing up at the captain. “I don’t want to cause any trouble,” she said, trembling at the very idea.