by Issy Brooke
“Not if I mess up your hair,” he threatened, and she squealed and ran from the room.
9
Emily Johnson could not be found. Adelia was immediately suspicious of that.
Anne, however, didn’t think it was at all strange or suspicious. “She does this a lot,” she explained as they gathered in the hallway for their expedition to Great Yarmouth the following morning. “The housekeeper said that a breakfast was sent up to her and then she dressed herself for walking and left but didn’t say where she was going.”
“Where is she likely to be?”
“There is no ‘likely’ with Em. She might be out sketching, or she could have gone to see Mrs Macauley. She does that frequently. We might even bump into her in Great Yarmouth, which would be rather jolly, don’t you think?”
“I suspect she’d not see it as remotely jolly,” Theodore said. “Can she laugh at all? I’ve never seen it happen.”
“Theodore!” said Adelia sternly.
Anne frowned and looked a little hurt. “Papa, that’s rude. She can be delightful company. But she won’t be delightful around you, if that’s your approach. You have to be nice to people to see the best in them.”
Adelia had to agree with that. Anne went on. “Come on; the wind is getting up and I must warn you that I took a turn about the garden before breakfast, to catch the early sun, and I noticed then that the clouds were high and speckly and lined. There will be a brisk wind indeed at the coast. Mama, tie on your hat as firmly as you can.”
They set out into the rising winds.
Anne had not exaggerated. The tide was high and the sea was being whipped to a foam. It was impossible to walk along the front and they soon abandoned any hope of exploring the town’s two piers. One had to lean into the wind to avoid being thrown to the floor and even then, every step was an effort. Adelia tried to shield herself behind Theodore but even he was struggling.
They did not even attempt to be holiday-makers, and instead headed inland towards White Lane. They decided to go and see what they could find out at the house called Finches, which had been named as a place where Spenning had once, perhaps, had business dealings or connections. And it was where Emily claimed to have occasionally seen Florence Spenning. They didn’t know the name or occupation of the householder, but they were hopeful they’d soon find out.
They were sheltered from the worst of the weather by the tall buildings. They reached an elegant house built during the Regency of King George IV, though it didn’t quite have the splendour of the houses of Bath or Cheltenham. Great Yarmouth was noted more for its fishing boats than its balls these days, though it had had its glory during the wars against Napoleon, when it had been linked with the Admiralty in London and played host to many a fine officer.
For of course, where officers went, ladies would follow.
But this house, though at first glance a wealthy one, seemed on closer inspection to be a little faded. The baskets of trailing flowers by the door were bright and cheerful, though banging against the wall alarmingly in the high winds. Yet the door itself had peeling paintwork. The house was loved, then, but the occupiers were making the best of limited means.
Theodore had noticed it too. “They are people of high ideals but fortune is not currently favouring them,” he said. “Yet they are not poor. At least, not yet.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Anne as they hovered by the gates.
“We should have brought Smith,” said Adelia. “She could have spoken with the staff more easily than we can.”
“I could try. I am not quite as fancy as you two are,” Anne said.
“Fancy?” said Adelia in astonishment. “Whatever do you mean?”
Anne just laughed. She walked off and approached the main door. Theodore took Adelia’s arm and drew her out of sight.
“Theodore,” Adelia said in a demanding tone. “I am not fancy. Why, according to many of the better sort of people, I will never be fancy enough, due to my background!” She was not of an aristocratic family, and there were those who would never forget that.
“It is precisely due to your background that you are fancy indeed,” he said in reply. “You have to work twice as hard. I have noticed it, always, and it’s something I admire about you.”
“But your mother – oh, hush,” she said suddenly, as if it were he who was breaking the silence. “I can hear voices.” She broke free from his grasp and tried to peer around the stone column where the gate hung. A gust of wind caught the back of her hat and lifted it clean from her head, tearing the lace from up under her chin. She cried out automatically and lunged forward to try and catch it as it danced up into the air.
Theodore caught at her sleeve just as the wind whipped up her cloak into his face, and she stumbled, and he fell against her, and they both froze. They were caught out in the open, in the middle of the open gates, he fighting off her cloak and she reaching out for her hat which was now lodged in a rhododendron.
She would have laughed as she could picture how the tableau looked from the outside, but the look of fury on the butler’s face stopped her. He was standing on the top step of the porch and Anne was two steps below, apparently midway through an entreaty, her hands still upraised in pleading. The butler stared past her and glared at Adelia and Theodore.
He said something sharply to Anne, and then stepped back, slamming the door.
Anne tossed her head and came back to her parents with a stiff look on her face.
“Mama, he was most rude. Whatever are you doing, and why is your hat in the hedge?”
“Theodore, if you would…” Adelia pointed at her hat and Theodore dutifully went off to try and retrieve it. It was just out of reach. While he threw sticks at it, Anne told Adelia what the butler had said.
Which was very little, as it happened.
“I am aware that I do not speak like a local,” Anne said. “So I did my best to imitate a more homely style of speaking. It turns out that I am rather better at impersonating people on paper than in real life.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes. I enquired as to the occupants of the house – a perfectly civil question, I think – and he told me to go away.”
“Just like that?”
“As baldly and as plainly. I began to speak with him further but we were somewhat distracted by the shenanigans between you and father. Papa, be careful; you’ll have your eye out!”
Adelia noticed that Theodore had progressed to using much larger branches and his aim was getting worse. She strode over and took up a branch from the floor. With one quick movement she had launched it into the bush and dislodged the hat which Theodore did manage to catch with a fumble of his hands. He passed it over to her sheepishly.
She set it back on her head and said in explanation to Anne, “Well, since our Edith got me interested in archery, I find my hands and my eyes work together rather well. I practise frequently.”
Theodore ignored her comment and asked Anne what she had found out.
“Nothing, papa.”
They all grumbled together. The wind started to bring some light spots of rain. Without much deliberation, they retreated to the nearest coffee house to plan what to do next. Mr Hedges, of course, was their next target. But now they wanted to know exactly who lived at Finches, and what their connection was to the Spennings.
And how did Miss Johnson know about it?
Finally, they had some good luck. Not that Theodore believed in luck, of course. His scientific soul rebelled against anything that smacked of the irrational, but chance encounters were commonplace and this respectable coffee house brought them just such a success.
It was through Adelia, of course. They seated themselves at a small circular table in the bay window of the coffee ship, and he placed an order for a pot of tea and a selection of sandwiches and cakes.
“To keep the cold out,” he said when Anne protested that he was being over-indulgent.
When the black-clad serving maid broug
ht the tray of refreshments over to their table, Adelia simply came straight out with her query.
“We have just passed a rather nice house two streets down,” she said. “It’s called Finches. I was wondering if you knew the owners? Perhaps they frequent this place? This is such a lovely little establishment,” she added, making the maid smile. “I love the flowers in the vases.”
“Finches, yes, ma’am, I know it. The owner is hardly ever there, though. That’s a Mr Pickworth and he works most of the time in Norwich. He’s a business sort of man.”
“What sort of business?”
“I’m sorry, but I have no idea. I am sure it’s perfectly respectable. His wife is very proper, you know, a true Christian lady.”
“In which church is she active?”
“The Church of England, of course,” said the maid in horror, as if anything else was rank paganism. “She works with the poor and the destitute. She’s such a force. We’ve far too many fallen women here, you know, on account of the … the sailors.” The maid dropped her voice in case her words offended the other diners.
“Oh, sailors,” repeated Anne with a smile on her face. Theodore wondered what inspiration that had sparked for her next novel.
He found himself suddenly side-tracked with a more horrible thought. What if he appeared in the books in some form? He realised he would have to read them. Except if he did, and there was some character based upon him, and it was not flattering…
No. He could never read them.
His attention was dragged back to the conversation. Adelia was asking, “Is there a particular charity to which Mrs Pickworth devotes her time? She sounds a most excellent woman and I am always seeking opportunities to play my part in society too.”
“Mostly, it’s the workhouse. It’s not too far from their own house, really, though you wouldn’t think it. It’s a very progressive sort of place and does a lot of good work for the deserving poor.”
“What happens to the undeserving poor?” Anne asked.
The maid looked down her nose at Anne’s silly question. “They get exactly what they do deserve,” she replied with contempt. She whisked the tray away, and left them to their light meal.
As soon as the maid was out of earshot, the three of them leaned forward and began to converse in quiet, urgent tones.
“If Miss Johnson is to be believed, Mrs Spenning frequents this particular house,” Theodore said.
Anne shot him a dark look. “Of course Em is to be believed,” she hissed. “And there is one thing this obviously means. Mrs Spenning is, in spite of all appearances, a charitable woman, working in secret – just as the Bible commands us – to improve the lot of mankind. Don’t you think?”
“It is possible,” said Adelia, but she pursed her lips. “Miss Johnson thought that Mrs Spenning’s involvement here was covering up some other motive. Is that possible?”
“Perhaps,” said Anne. “I want to believe Em but she does have a particular antipathy to Mrs Spenning that clouds her judgement.”
“Eat up,” said Theodore. “We will get nowhere by speculating. We are heading, as soon as you two have finished dithering, to the workhouse. We will put Mr Hedges to one side, for the moment, and follow this lead. Adelia, do you want that egg sandwich?” His hand was already halfway to it. She sighed, and picked up a scone instead.
They found the workhouse easily. The wind had not let up one bit while they had been in the coffee shop and now the air was flecked with rain coming in almost sideways. Theodore was getting concerned for the health of his wife and his daughter, but he knew better than to suggest they all abandoned the chase for the day. Like most women who had to step outside in inclement weather, though they were adorned on the outside with pretty fabrics and ribbons, they were clad underneath in layers of firm, sensible and warm clothing. As long as they didn’t linger too long in the open, the refreshing ozone of the coast could only do them good, he thought.
The workhouse was built in the characteristic brown cobbles of the area, with its windows and doors framed in a lighter stone. It was long and low, only two storeys high, and set back from the road with a paved yard separating it from the public thoroughfare. There was a main entrance, and they set off towards it, but Adelia suddenly grabbed Theodore’s arm and pulled him to a halt.
“Anne, stop,” she said. “Look!”
Theodore spotted the two figures immediately. Two women came out from a smaller door a little further on from the main entrance, and turned towards them, making for the pavement on which Theodore and the others were standing.
“That is Florence Spenning,” Adelia said. “Anne, who is the other lady?”
“I don’t know. But let us go and greet them. It would be strange if we did not say hello.”
“I agree.”
Theodore had not met Mrs Spenning and was not sure which one of the two she was. He assumed that he would soon find out.
He did not.
As the three of them resumed on their way, the two ladies who approached remained in deep conversation and did not look up until the last minute.
Adelia said, “Mrs Spenning, what a lovely surprise to see you here!”
One woman, a matronly sort with a thick waist, began to turn their way. The other woman, who was pinched-looking around the face, gripped the matron’s arm and tugged at it, rising up to say something in her ear.
The matron nodded.
Her gaze did not rest on Adelia, nor Theodore, nor Anne. It slid past them, and the smaller woman increased her pace, pulling the matronly lady along with her. They passed on by in utter silence, their heads held high, their backs rigid, without a single nod or word of acknowledgment.
For one brief, strange minute, Theodore wondered if he had died without realising and had become an invisible ghost. He was not used to being ignored.
Adelia stopped stock still and whirled around as if she were going to call out.
Theodore said, “That was a very deliberate act indeed. Which one was Mrs Spenning?”
“The thin one,” Adelia said. “The one who warned the other not to speak to us.”
Anne was shaking her head. “She gets more and more rude. But at least we know one thing. Just as I said, Emily was correct. Mrs Spenning has some connection indeed to this workhouse and this charity.”
“But what connection?” Adelia said.
“And is it at all relevant?” Theodore added. He was still smarting from being treated with no more respect than a common servant. The rain began to come down in earnest. The two women had disappeared from view and their chance of following them had been lost – it would have been foolish to attempt a chase in this weather, anyway. “She is rude – they were both rude – but if that were a crime, the jails would be overflowing.”
They made their way back to the railway station, and Theodore let Adelia and Anne chatter away between themselves.
His mind was on other things. He decided he had to dig even deeper into the business affairs of Spenning, his widow, and Mr Calcraft too.
Tomorrow, regardless of the weather, he would head to Norwich, possibly for a few days. If he could get hold of the “slippery” solicitor, Mr Hedges, too, then all the better. Perhaps he would have more luck there.
He pressed his lips together in determination.
He would get to the bottom of all of this.
10
Theodore set out to Norwich with a light step and his son Bamfylde in tow. He was positive that he would discover things about Spenning and Calcraft – he was less certain whether those discoveries would lead to anything.
He resolved, instead, to continue strengthening his new relationship with Bamfylde, and to enjoy whatever novelties Norwich could present to them.
They dropped their bags at a rather nice hotel in a quiet backstreet just a short walk from Norwich’s main market area. The streets were cobbled and many of the buildings were built at least partly from timber. The cathedral’s spire seemed to dominate from wherever t
hey were, a pale spear shafting up into the grey-blue wide sky.
It only took them a few casual enquiries for them to quickly find the offices of Mr Hedges, the solicitor. The brass name plate by the door proclaimed this was merely a subsidiary office, and that Mr Hedges’s main seat of business was London, which they already knew. The windows of the office were shuttered from the inside and there was no way of telling what was within until they entered its cool, calm gloom.
The noise of the street faded behind them. The door was made of thick oak, and deadened all the racket of cartwheels and hooves, shouts and bells and music.
It was almost the very epitome of a traditional business devoted to the practice of the law. There was a solid dark desk, dark wood shelves, tomes bound in dark leather, dark parquet flooring, and a general feeling of the dark weight of history upon everything.
Except, that was, for the young woman who was sitting where a clerk ought to have been seated. She was dressed soberly, it was true, in dark brown, with her hair neatly coiled up under a modest and somewhat old-fashioned cap. But she actually appeared to be working. There was a ledger in front of her, and a pile of papers to the side.
She looked up at the intruders, and gave them a polite, restrained smile. She didn’t get up. “Good day, sirs. How may I be of assistance?”
Theodore found himself temporarily stymied. On the one hand, he was inordinately proud and supportive of his daughters who were all forging new paths in the world. On the other hand, he knew his daughters well and loved them very much, which meant that he felt that they were unusual and remarkable women, and had a right to be making unconventional life choices.
Other women, however … well, this woman could be anyone! Was she really educated? Was she really clever enough? Often, women could be rather … well, other women could be …
While Theodore was in the grip of his doubt, Bamfylde stepped forward. “Good day, miss…”