The Thieftaker's Trek (eBook)

Joan S. Sumner (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2018 | 1. Aufl. 2018
327 Seiten
Bastei Entertainment (Verlag)
978-3-7325-4802-6 (ISBN)

Infos

Murder. Abduction. An attic full of frightened children.

London, 1810. The industrial revolution roars across England like a steam locomotive. Cotton mills and factories rake in profits thanks to cheap labor. Not from illicit African slave trade-but by enslaving little children.

When young Harry is lured from home with a penny, he can hardly believe his luck. Now he can help his widowed mother put food on the table. But Harry doesn't return home. Just another victim from the slums. Until Peter Frobisher takes on the case.

Frobisher has his own dark past. He's a 'thief taker,' a bounty hunter of sorts. He tracks down criminals for a living, so finding a child should be easy. But the more Frobisher unravels, the more sinister the reality becomes. The trail leads Frobisher away from the city, onto the English canal network, and beyond to Derbyshire.

When a dead body turns up, what started as a missing child case becomes a hunt for survival.

Author Joan Sumner spins adventure and mystery into The Thief Taker's Trek-a meticulously researched tale of London's industrial boom and the dark side of prosperity.

About the Author

Joan Sumner, MBA (Dundee)and Fellow of Chartered Institute of Personnel and Development, has a working background across the private, public, and voluntary sectors. Semi-retired, she has settled in Midlothian, Scotland to write, closer to family and friends.
An award winning historical novelist, Joan formerly contributed self-help articles to a national weekly. Her travel abroad articles and occasional BBC radio contributions mostly starred her vintage MGB car.

Joan's small garden hosts a family of hedgehogs, giving enjoyment to everyone she knows! She is a member of the Society of Authors, the Edinburgh Writers' Club, and the National Trust for Scotland. She paints, plays tennis and golf, and loves to travel - particularly by car.

But her passion is weaving mystery stories around little known historical facts.
Author Website: www.joansumner.com

Textauszug

CHAPTER 1

Even though he was only little, Harry knew when things were bad. First there was the letter, then Ma shouted at him about the milk, and then the man called Watkins came. The landlord had banged on the door after Ma shut and locked it, shouting words Harry wasn’t supposed to know.

She’d sat with her arms crossed on the table, put her head down and started to cry. Ma didn’t yell like his baby sister Meg – all loud and red. His mother’s tears just dropped on her hands without making a sound and her shoulders shook.

It frightened him.

Harry cuddled into her side, like she sometimes did to make him feel better, but she pushed him away without looking. Ma was probably still angry about the milk but he didn’t know what to say. Everything was different since his little sister had come.

It was better when Pa was here.

Harry wiped the floor with the mop. Ma stopped crying when he finished but her head was still down on the table and she looked asleep.

He wanted to go out to play but knew better than to leave without her say-so. He stopped watching her and kept quiet, batting a paper ball with a bit of stick in front of the fire where the pot was hung for supper.

When Ma finally raised her head, red-eyed, she made him promise never to go anywhere with Watkins.

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” he swore, but didn’t know what it meant. It was what his big brother George said when he was serious. Harry didn’t want to leave his friends and go up to live with Jesus but Ma looked happier.

She got up from the table. She emptied hot water from the kettle into the basin and started to wash the breakfast plates. Ma was staring out of the window above the sink at the tiny backyard beyond. He stood on his stool but couldn’t see anything worth looking at outside.

“Wiped those drips off the dresser?”

“Yes, Ma.”

“Boots.” She pointed at Harry’s feet. “You’ll need to go back to Betty and see if Daisy’s still got milk for the baby. Ask for just a little. Take a coin off the table and don’t forget to bring back the change.”

He was glad to escape.

He clattered up the cobbles to where their lane met the High Street and the cow.

Betty was sitting on her three-legged stool, dark hair and pink cheek resting on Daisy’s soft side, as her hands pulled on the dugs in turn, squirting milk

into a jug.

“Back again?” asked Betty.

“I spilled it all.” Harry handed over his empty can. “Ma’s angry. Need just a little bit more from Daisy for the baby.”

“Well, let’s have a go. You’d best go and ask her nicely.”

“Daisy,” he called to the cow that gazed down at him. “Please can you give us a bit more for Meg?”

“It’s working, Harry! Don’t forget to thank Daisy.”

“You’re the bestest cow in all London.” He beamed and, when Daisy dipped her head and gave a short deep low, Harry patted her long face. “How much, Betty?”

“This one’s a present from Daisy to little Meg. Just get it home careful.”

“Ta, Betty.”

Harry carried the milk slowly over the slippery cobbles, holding the coin tight in his hand and hoping it would make his mother nice again.

“Ho there, Harry!”

Harry slowed and grinned at the man standing at the entrance to their street. “Can’t stop now, mister.” He burst through the door and laid the coin on the table. “Ma, Daisy gave it to Meggie as a present!”

“We’ll say no more about it then,” said Ma, putting Meg in her cradle, then she pulled him close in a gentle hug. “Good job it didn’t hit the mending! I’ll take the basket up to Mrs Jones and then I need to have a quick word with Widow Turner. Don’t you go opening the door to anyone.”

“Yes, Ma.”

“Be a good boy and watch the baby. She should sleep until I get back.”

After his mother left, Harry got out his slate and chalk and practised his letters and numbers. Meg snoozed. A while later he climbed onto a chair to reach for the family Bible on the dresser but the shelf was too high.

He noticed the letter lying lower down. It was opened but that didn’t interest him. He wanted to copy the fancy writing on the outside. Wiping off his slate, he tried to match the words. It wasn’t easy to make out what all the words meant.

He recognised Bisset and chalked his version as Harry Bisset just like Ma had showed him. He cleaned the slate and copied his name lots more times, wondering how long his mother would be.

When he got tired of copying the words, he put the letter back on the dresser and decided to draw the little elephant Pa had brought him from India.

When Ma came in, she looked at his picture and burst into tears. He dashed over and threw his arms round her legs.

“Don’t cry, Ma. What’s wrong? I been good, honest!”

“Oh, Harry,” she said. “It’s not you. I’m being silly, that’s all. Let’s have a cup of tea. I bought us a biscuit to share as a treat.”

He rushed to get the mugs and carefully carried their precious bowl of sugar to the table as Ma filled the teapot. They ate the biscuit with their tea, taking tiny bites to make it last as long as possible.

Harry looked at the change on the table. “Can I count it?”

Ma nodded. “Fetch down the old baccy pouch.”

He always had fun doing this. He upturned the ‘rainy-day’ bag and, as usual, sniffed the nutty smell of tobacco left in Pa’s empty canvas wrapper.

There weren’t as many coins as usual but he put all the farthings, ha’pennies, pennies and the very few silver coins into separate heaps. Harry added Ma’s mending money and counted how many coins were there.

His mother, slowly sipping her second cup of very weak tea, seemed to be dreaming before she did her own count.

But something was different. When the others came home for their midday meal, Ma sat down at the table instead of ladling the turnip broth straight away.

“More news, my lovies.” Ma sounded choked. “A letter came to say Pa’s got another medal coming soon and there’s a bit about the widows’ pension.”

“What good’s a medal now he’s dead?” Liza, his middle sister, kicked the table leg, tears streaming down her face. “I just wanted him safe home.”

“So did we all, lovey. So did we all.” Ma was rubbing her hand back and forward on the rough surface of the table. “I talked to one of the widows this morning and she told me how the pensions work. It’s not always the same amount, nor given regularly because it comes from donations, not from the army.”

“What’s donations mean?” Harry was pleased he’d got his question in before anyone could stop him.

“It means we’re not out of the woods yet, Harry, and we still need to be very careful with money. All the families of soldiers that died can get a share of the money collected from rich people,” Ma said. “But how much we get is worked out on how much the wealthy hand over each month. Trouble is there’s more and more widows after every battle.”

“It’s a bit like trying to cut up an apple so everyone’s got equal shares,” explained Martha, his biggest sister.

“It’s lucky Sir Gilbert’s been helping with the hampers, but we have to sort this out for ourselves.” His mother’s face went a bit pink. “So, we must keep quiet about it and not bother Mr Harper if he’s sent to see us.”

Harry looked at each face in turn. They were gazing into space, except his mother. She stared at the letter on the table. Eventually she folded it and got up to serve the meal. Quietly, they ate their soup before going back to work.

Then Jimmy arrived with his wooden sword and the ball his sailor father had given him and Harry was allowed to go out to play in the courtyard. His mother gave him the milk can and a coin for Daisy’s evening milking.

They had a sword fight until the other boys came out for a game with the ball.

“Look, Harry! That big fellow’s back. Wonder why he’s allus hanging round here.”

“Probably waiting for somebody.” Harry scarcely looked at the large man leaning against the vennel wall. His attention was fixed on the ball. “Watch out, Jimmy, or they’ll win!”

Their game didn’t need any rules; it was a way to play outside and still keep warm. Harry had already taken off his coat, making sure the coin was in his pocket. He was easy to spot in his colourful striped pullover.

“Ma asked me about him last night,” panted Jimmy. “I think she’s going to find out what he’s doing here. He seems to watch you most.”

“Cause I’m bestest! But I gotta go and get the milk. Won’t be long, so try and keep the ball till I gets...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 10.7.2018
• Verlagsort: Köln
• Sprache: englisch
• Original-Titel: The Thieftaker's Trek
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Historische Romane
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Krimi / Thriller / Horror ► Historische Kriminalromane
• Schlagworte: 18. - 19. Jahrhundert • Black Death • british crime • british mystery • Charlie Tuesday • Child labor • Child Labour • cotton mill • crime books fiction • crime ebook • CS Quinn • Derbyshire • detective books • detective book series • Downton Abbey • ebook crime fiction • England / Großbritannien • family secrets • female author • fire catcher • historical crime • historical London • historical mystery • Historischer Kriminalroman • Industrial Revolution • investigator • Jack the Ripper • kindle thriller • Krimis • London 1800s • Mass production • missing persons • Mystery • mystery books • mystery novel • mystery novels • Mystery Thriller • old london • Plague • Police • Polizei / Geheimdienste • Quinn • scottish author • Secrets • Slavery • Slum • slumlord • spinning ginny • Spinning Jenny • Spitalfields • suspense thriller books • textile industry • the pest • thriller kindle books • top hats • True Crime • unsolved crime • Urban legend • Victorian mystery • Whodunnit • woman writer
• ISBN-10: 3-7325-4802-3 / 3732548023
• ISBN-13: 978-3-7325-4802-6 / 9783732548026