Til Death Do Us Part

Til Death Do Us Part by Sara Fraser Page A

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Authors: Sara Fraser
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the most accomplished actors and actresses in the kingdom, and I intend to present the works of our finest playwrights for the delectation of the inhabitants of these cultural deserts. Currently I’m scouring the Midlands for venues which can be utilized for the staging of those entertainments, and I’m wondering if you could suggest any such likely places in this vicinity?’
    â€˜If you can wait here for a few minutes, I’ll make out a list of possible buildings and directions to them,’ Mence offered.
    â€˜I take that very kindly, Master Mence. Very kindly indeed. And while I’m waiting I’ll enjoy a bottle of your very finest brandy.’
    â€˜Certainly, Sir. I’ll have it brought to you immediately.’ Mence bowed and exited, telling the waiter hovering outside the door, ‘Bring a bottle of the best brandy to this gentleman, and look sharp about it.’
    Next he went to the stables and told the hand, ‘There’s every chance the flash bugger who booked in last night might try and do a runner, so tell me straight away if he brings any baggage out here.’
    For his part, Archibald Ainsley would most certainly try to decamp without paying his bills should it prove necessary, but his present intention was to fully explore what opportunities for profit this vicinity might hold for him. So, before studying the list John Mence gave him of possible venues and their locations, he followed his usual practise of going out on foot to familiarize himself with the town, its immediate environs and best escape routes should he need to make a hurried departure.
    When Ainsley left the Unicorn he turned eastwards and strolled up to the town’s central crossroads then went southwards along the High Street. At this hour of the morning with most of the townspeople and their children in their workplaces there were few pedestrians and sparse traffic and Ainsley made leisurely progress, halting at intervals to peer though the bullseyed casements of a shop or workplace.
    A smart-looking covered gig with a glossy-coated horse was tethered outside one shop front which bore an ornately lettered sign proclaiming it to be ‘Bromley’s Stationery Emporium for All Articles of Stationery, Rare and Antique Books and New Literature’.
    As Ainsley neared the gig a man dressed in clerical clothing came from the shop carrying letters in his hand. He halted by the side of the gig, opening and scanning the letters.
    Ainsley’s eyes widened in shock.
    â€˜Surely it can’t be! Can it?’ He quickened his pace and called. ‘Walter Courtney? Is it you, Walter?’
    Walter Courtney froze motionless as the other man reached him exclaiming, ‘As I live and breathe, it is you, Walter! Godammee! It must be nigh on five years since we last parted! What brings you here?’
    By now Walter Courtney was fast recovering from his initial shock, and his mind was racing as he stepped back from the gig and faced his questioner. He forced a smile.
    â€˜There’s no need to shout, Archie. I still have my hearing. Now where the devil did you spring from?’
    â€˜Never mind that! Have you not got so much as a handshake for an old friend?’
    Ainsley reached for the letter-holding hand, and as Courtney jerked that hand away two of the opened letters dropped to the ground.
    Ainsley bent and lifted them, swiftly scanning their addresses.
    â€˜Both post paid, and addressed to “XYZ”.’ He grinned, gave an exaggerated wink and tapped the side of his long nose with a forefinger. ‘You’re still on the “Lonely Hearts Lay”, I see.’
    â€˜And you’re still minding everyone’s business but your own, I see,’ Courtney snarled and tried to snatch the letters back.
    Ainsley fended him off. ‘Take care! There’s a fellow in the shop staring through the window at us.’
    Courtney’s eyes flicked to the distorted image of

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