Morgan's Run

Thus Richard set off to walk clear to the other side of Bristol in time to secure a two-shilling seat on the box; this necessitated sitting on top of the coach exposed to the elements, but the day did not promise rain.

Posting i

He was still lounging there when William Insell ran through the gates and paused to look about, chest heaving.

“Willy!”

Insell came hurrying over. “Oh, thank God, thank God!” he gasped. “I feared ye might have left.”

“What is it? A

“Not ill, no,” said Insell, pale eyes goggling. “Worse!”

“Worse?” Richard grasped his arm. “Is she dead?”

“No, no! She has made an assignation with Ceely Trevillian!”

Why did that not surprise him? “Go on.”

“He came to see the hairdresser fellow next door—or so he said, but the next moment he was aknocking on our door, and I had not got up the stairs from the cellar when A

Richard disbursed a pe

“Tell me, Willy. My coach will be called at any moment.”

“They made no secret of it—it was just as if they had clear forgotten I was in the house. She asked him if he wanted to do business with her, and he said yes. But then she did one of her flouncing acts—said the time were not right, you might come back. Six o’clock this evening, she said, and he could stay the night. So he went next door to Joice the hairdresser—I could hear him neighing through the wall. Then I waited until A

“Bath! Bath!” someone was shouting.

What to do? Damn it, he needed this job! And yet the man in him was outraged that A

How, wondered Dick, sensing terrible trouble brewing but not able to find out what kind of trouble, can I demand the truth from a thirty-six-year-old man, son though he is? What is going on, and why will he not tell me? That cringing creature Insell sits fawning at his feet—oh, there is no harm in him, but a good friend for Richard he is definitely not. Richard, Richard, steady on the rum!

At a little before six, just as Mag was about to serve supper to a pleasantly full tavern, Richard and Insell got up. Amazing how well he stood the rum, thought Dick as Richard walked an arrow-straight line to the door with Insell weaving behind him. My son is horribly drunk, trouble’s in the wind, and he has shut me out.

Twilight still infused the sky with a subtle afterglow because the weather was fine; Richard walked so swiftly that Willy Insell was hard put to keep up with him, the rage in him growing with every step he took.

The front door was unlocked; Richard slipped inside. “Stay down here until I call you,” he whispered to Willy, then ground his teeth. “With Ceely! Ceely! The bitch!” He started up the stairs, fists clenched.

To find the scene inside the bedroom one straight out of a classical farce. His lusty inamorata lay on the bed with legs akimbo, Ceely on top of her clad in his lace-trimmed shirt. They were heaving up and down in the traditional motion, A

Richard had thought himself prepared for it, but the anger which invaded him drove reason from his brain. In one wall was a fireplace, beside it a scuttle of coal and a hammer for breaking down the larger chunks. Before the pair on the bed could blink, he had crossed the room, picked up the hammer and faced them.

“Willy, come up!” Richard roared. “No, do not move! I want my witness to see ye exactly as ye are.”

Insell walked in and stood gaping at A

“Are you prepared to testify, Mr. Insell, that ye’ve seen my wife in bed doing business with Mr. Ceely Trevillian?”

“Aye!” gulped Mr. Insell, trembling.

A

“Damned bitch!” Richard shouted, turning his head to glare at A

Trevillian tried to slither away; Richard took his shoulder in an agonizing grip and tapped the hammer very gently against his sweating brow. “No, Ceely, do not move. Otherwise your blood will be all over this pretty white counterpane.”

“What are you going to do?” whispered A

Richard obeyed with a spitting sound of contempt, though the hammer remained much closer to his hand than to Trevillian’s.

Think, Ceely Trevillian, think! He is murderous but not by nature a murderer—work on him, calm him, get this thing going in the direction it was intended to go!

Richard lifted the hammer amid A

His hand shot out too quickly to see, took Trevillian by the throat and lifted him bodily to kneel in the middle of the bed. “I have here a witness that ye stole my wife, sir. I intend to prosecute ye for”—he hesitated, plucked a figure out of nowhere—“a thousand pounds in damages. I am a respectable artisan and I do not relish the role of a cuckold, especially when my cuckolder is a turd like you, Ceely Trevillian. Ye were willing to pay for my wife’s services—well, the fee has just gone up.”