Mrs. Hendricks Regrets

Karen Vogeley is a native New Yorker now living in the Great Plains. Karen has been writing short crime fiction for two years and has been published at MysteryNet. This is her first story for Orchard Press Mysteries.

It was a narrow and winding street, lit by gaslights that flickered in the mist that had descended around midnight. A small carriage slowly rounded the corner and stopped in front of a darkened townhouse and for a moment everything was still again, until the driver lowered himself to the street, opened the passenger door and carefully assisted a heavily veiled woman to the sidewalk.

The door of the townhouse opened and a white haired man waved them inside and led them to a small parlor at the rear of the first floor where red drapes shrouded the windows and a small fire burned in the grate. They sat on a horsehair sofa by the door as the old man walked to a large desk near the windows and turned to them.

"Mrs. Hendricks," he said. "I have your materials here. Please be assured that I want no trouble."

"No there won’t be any trouble at all," said Leon as he strode over to the man, removed the cosh he’d hidden in the pocket of his greatcoat and hit him squarely on the temple.

He fell to the floor, blood seeping from his ear, his face pale and his hands twitching.

"Leon! He’s not dead, is he?"

"No, my dear. I’m sure he’s just unconscious. Look at his chest – it’s moving up and down."

He looked at the letters scattered around the unconscious man, letters written in an elegant hand on fine paper, every one addressed to Mr. Leon Upson. Pamela Hendricks, the author of those letters, started to reach for them, but he held her back.

"Let me do this, you look so pale."

He picked them up, led her back to the sofa and kissed her gently as she sat down. She kissed him back, a little more passionately.

"I wish you hadn’t hit him," she said. "He was going to give us everything and put an end to this horror. I didn’t think we were in any danger."

Leon gently patted her gloved hand. "You’re inexperienced in the ways of the world, my dear. I knew he would try to deceive us. Do you see that bulge in his pocket? I’m sure it’s a gun. I couldn’t take any chances with your life."

He put the letters in her lap and asked her to make sure they were all there. She looked at them carefully before putting them in her reticule.

"I think so. I just knew, love, that when your house was burglarized something horrible would happen. I’m glad I was able to discover where this odious man lives. I couldn’t have deceived my husband much longer, considering the sums that were being demanded of me."

She sat quietly while he made a quick search of the room, making sure there would be no evidence of their visit. He was searching the desk with great interest when he realized she was speaking to him.

"Do you think he has the money here? Could we get it back?"

Leon slammed a drawer shut and turned to her.

"Nothing in there. We’d best leave now."

They left the house as silently as they had come. As he led her to his nondescript black carriage, he wished, not for the first time, that she were just a bit less clever. If she hadn’t found out the identity of the blackmailer he’d still be collecting his share of the take. Next time he’d be sure the woman he seduced wasn’t so inquisitive.