Mr Fox sat down on a table. ‘Well, Miss Sanders, is there more? Have you told me everything? I cannot assess the situation unless you have.’
Her moment of decision had arrived – keep quiet or tell him about last night. Locking her fingers together she looked down, humiliated. Shame surged through her. But if she didn’t tell him, and it came out later, he might not trust her about anything else she told him. ‘Not all, sir.’
He crossed his arms. ‘Then continue, Miss Sanders, with your tale of woe.’ An edge of anger had now come into his voice.
‘Last night …’ Perspiration wetted her forehead, blackness filled her vision, and she fainted.
She opened her eyes. Mr Fox knelt beside her on the floor, his arm supporting her shoulders and he was fanning her face with his receipt.
‘Lie still, you’re as white as this paper.’ He fanned her face for a few moments longer, then said. ‘Try to sit up,’ and eased her to a sitting position.
‘Thank you, sir. I am perfectly all right now.’
‘All right, is it? Pray tell me what monstrosity happened here last night?’ His voice was calm, a total contrast to the thunderous look on his face. He stood up and offered his hand.
Meredith ignored those strong fingers; he had touched her quite enough and she struggled to rise with as much dignity as her predicament allowed.
‘You’re quite the independent lady, Miss Sanders. Please, sit down on a stool while I call Mrs Clements –’
‘No!’ Her outburst stopped his flow of words. ‘Clemmie knows nothing about this matter. She is not to be involved.’
‘That may not be possible. Given the enormity of your father’s crime and the little time you have to return the stolen masterpiece –’
Meredith interrupted again, ‘No, Mr Fox. This is my problem, I will deal with it.’
‘On your own, I think not. Now complete your story before I tire of all this and return home.’
The last fifteen minutes had clearly shown she could not face this alone. She had to put her trust in Mr Fox.
‘Very well, sir. Last night a man entered this house and came to my bedchamber …’ She paused; she really didn’t want to tell him. ‘He threatened me, saying that he could get in here at any time. He had a message, “find the painting”. He also said he would climb in beside me if he came again.’ She choked on the last word; the thought was unbearable and she couldn’t look at Mr Fox.
His strong hands pulled her close, his arms wrapping round her like a shawl, the warmth of his body easing away her fears and she cried – all her pent-up emotions flowing away with her tears. He was so solid, someone she could lean on, depend upon. She wanted to stay where she was forever.
But that was not to be. He pushed away and held her at arm’s length. ‘You cannot stay here. You will come home with me.’
‘No. I will not. It is improper for me to live under your roof, even if it is for my protection. I thank you for your consideration.’
‘Madam! Have you no sense in your head?’
‘Sir! I know what I am to do. I shall go to The Grapes Inn and search for room six. If the painting is not there, maybe there will be a clue, a diary, a …’ She trailed off. How could she go to an inn on her own?
Mr Fox raised his hand. ‘Miss Sanders, I have known you only a few days, but I cannot believe you are capable of any underhand dealings. If you are, you have hoodwinked me and I shall, indeed, feel a complete fool if you are found to be of a criminal persuasion. But I am putting my faith in you being a person who has been caught up in a most scandalous scheme by someone you dearly loved. I will go to The Grapes Inn. Alone.’
Meredith stared at him. She couldn’t think, couldn’t reason, but she did make one decision. ‘Thank you. I am persuaded that your trust is something I shall hold dearly. But I cannot allow you to do this for me alone. I will come with you. I have to know what Frederick was doing and why. He wasn’t lacking money, his estate proves that. Oh …’ Another thought had struggled into her consciousness. ‘Is that what I have inherited?’
‘That is not a problem we have to worry about now. Our priority is the painting. We cannot go as we are. Our manner and dress will instantly block any questions we need to ask. How are you as an actress, Miss Sanders?’
‘An actress? I don’t understand?’
‘You need to be some kind of tavern girl and I’ll be a river man. We will require the appropriate clothes, I know of a second-hand stall that will do us well.’
‘Is that really necessary?’ He was rolling her along like the winter wind.
Mr Fox raised his eyebrows and Meredith now recognised it as something he did when he was becoming impatient. ‘Believe me, it is very necessary. And you need to lose your lady’s voice. It may be wiser for you not to speak and leave the talking to me. We need to have false names.’
‘False names, but why, this is making a simple task into a melodrama, sir. I simply want to go and look at the room and find an answer to the lost painting.’
‘Don’t you think the innkeeper will be suspicious if two well-dressed people, especially one a lady of your position, start asking questions about his inn? Mr Sanders would not go there fashionably dressed. I can assure you I am far more familiar with the types who frequent The Grapes Inn. They are men who work in my warehouses, Miss Sanders. Now, let us get back to our preparations.’
Meredith made no reply. It seemed wiser to go along with his plan.
‘I shall be Dello Murphy, and you?’
She hesitated, and then said, ‘I’m Merry, sir, a girl who frequents the taverns.’
‘Merry, is that short for Meredith?’
‘It could be, I suppose. Will it do?’
‘Yes, it is most fitting.’
CHAPTER FIVE
His reflection in the mirror pleased him: a black jacket, wrinkled cotton shirt that had once been white, canvas trousers smelling strongly of tar, and a pair of battered boots.
‘Very good, Fox. It’s been a long time since those childhood play-days.’
His jocular words did not match his stern face. Doubt her or trust her? These words had plagued him all the while he searched for the tavern clothes. He had much to lose if he was being dragged into a scheme of crime, especially as his trade was Import/Export of any goods he could negotiate. If the Customs men found any mismatched goods to the declared import papers, he could be accused of being in collusion with an illegal act, even smuggling. Any untoward investigation could mean his business would suffer, including the possibility his loyal clients would take their business elsewhere. And if he were charged with a felony, it would take a great deal of persuasion to get a verdict of not guilty in a magistrates’ court.
Fox poured a small glass of brandy and sat in his chair by the fireplace. There was without doubt one element of this scenario he could not let go – even if the discrepancy his agent had found was a genuine clerical error – he needed to seek out the truth. He was now in a position to assess Miss Sanders, who had shown her dependence on him and by going along with her scheme he could now watch and wait. Yet she had portrayed such innocence and he truly hoped she was not involved with her father’s villainy.
He wondered how she was coping, and her given name slipped past his lips. ‘Meredith.’ So formal; somehow the name Merry suited her better, but he was not yet able to call her either; social manners forbade such familiarity. He laughed out loud. They were about to embark on a clandestine venture, alone, with no chaperone and he was worried about names! But if this escapade should become known, her reputation would be ruined.
Why hadn’t he insisted that he go alone? Because he knew, after only an acquaintance of a few days, she would follow her own mind. This way, he had her under his protection – physically – albeit against all propriety.
He returned his empty glass to the table and blew out the candles. The room went pitch black, not even a slit of light showing under the door. He went behi
nd the closed curtains, opened the sash window and stepped out onto a narrow ledge above the garden. Within his arm’s length a tree towered beyond the roof. He had wanted to have it cut down, but Aunt Izzie had persuaded him otherwise. Now he thanked her stubbornness for there was no way he could have walked out through the front door without the risk of being seen by the household. After dinner he had given the impression he was retiring for the night with a bottle of brandy and the business accounts.
He reached out to a stout branch and tested the bough with his foot, heaved forward and started descending bough to bough. Boyhood memories had played a trick on him – he was no longer the child who could scamper around woodlands playing hide-and-seek like an agile monkey. As he continued to descend the leaves that were beginning to bud on the thin twigs whipped against his face. Then his foot touched the top rung of a ladder he had propped against the lower trunk earlier and a few seconds later he reached firm ground. He hurried along the path, passing the stone bench, to the gate at the bottom of the garden.
Adam paused and looked up at the moon in a starlit sky. Once he stepped into the alley beyond, he placed his own reputation, business, and his family’s future on a young woman’s plea for help. He ran his hand over his disguise. Only time would tell if he had made the correct decision.
At the end of the alley he got into the hackney carriage that waited for him.
Meredith remained in the gallery mulling over what she had agreed to – but she finally had to admit this was the only way she could get into the Grapes Inn. Two hours later a woman delivered a package containing her disguise. She locked the front door and went to her bedchamber.
The garments were like the clothes her mother had worn: washed out cotton, ragged hem, the once pretty lace border around the scooped neck torn and hanging loose. She couldn’t put them on, the memory was too painful. Yet, if she didn’t do this, Frederick would be the one to suffer. Death did not mean he wouldn’t be branded a thief and a forger. The events that were happening were beyond her control. She was being pulled into a web that was weaving her past and future together; she was becoming a criminal herself.
A soft tap on her door made her push the clothing under her pillow. She rolled on to the bed, took a book from the bedside cabinet, posing a scene of calm contentment.
‘Come in,’ she called.
Clemmie bustled in. ‘That is just what you need, Meredith, a little reading and then an early night. I’ve brought your supper on a tray, is there anything else you need?’
‘Nothing else, thank you, Clemmie. You’re quite right, this is just what I need.’ She feigned a yawn. ‘I will soon have the candle doused and be asleep.’
‘Then I will retire too. City life is far more hectic than in the country.’
‘Clemmie, do you regret leaving Harlington? I should have given you the choice; I just assumed you would come here with me. If you want to go back –’
‘Of course I don’t, Meredith. Please don’t think that. I only meant … well, there are so many people and the carriages rush by without a thought of us poor folk walking. But the markets provide us with fresh produce each day. It just takes me longer to walk there and back to buy it.’
‘Then I must go with you on the days I do not go to Tallow House.’
‘Oh, I’m not complaining. Sleep well, dear, good night.’
Meredith felt a pang of guilt as Clemmie closed the door. She was allowing Frederick’s past to overshadow everything else in her life.
She locked her door. Now was the time to change and become Merry, the tavern wench. She unbuttoned her gown, stepped out, and laid it on the bed. Taking the clothes from under the pillow she fingered the threadbare red dress and grey shawl; both would offer little warmth on a cold night. Even the shoes were shabby; she would feel every flint and cobble.
She slipped her arms under the red skirt and into the bodice. The smell of body odour made her retch and she held her breath – she was a child again, poor and dirty – She sighed and held her hand over her nose and mouth. But she had no time for self-pity and pushed her bare feet into the shoes. As she pulled out the pins her hair tumbled into dark curls and she ran her fingers through the thick strands to create a tangled mass; combs were a luxury for waterfront girls.
A stranger stood reflected in the long mirror. This is what she would have been had she not run away – Frederick had been her salvation – her repayment tonight was to meet Mr Fox. She blew out the candles. The landing was as dark as last night; the stairs seemed more steep than usual, but she made it to the front door.
Outside was a hackney carriage. The door opened and a stranger alighted and held out his hand.
‘Mr Fox?’
The reply was low and lilting. ‘It be Dello Murphy, ma’am, protector of Merry.’
His unexpected Irish accent and jovial manner coaxed her response. ‘Cor, Dello, abou’ time, it’s mighty naughty for a tavern girl to be ridin’ in a coach with a gentleman.’ Her words came out so easily; what was happening?
Meredith sat opposite Mr Fox, his disguise as alien as her own. In the enclosed space she could smell the worn leather seat pads and cigar smoke clinging to the inside lining. Mr Fox’s breath came across to her, clean, and she could see his face as they passed by lighted buildings. Only now did it come to her that the intimacy of their ride could place her in a very delicate position if she were exposed as a lady of means. But she did not voice her concerns. The coach stopped and they alighted outside the inn.
Mr Fox whispered close to her ear. ‘Play-acting time,’ and draped his arm around her shoulders, steering her into the tavern room.
First the noise hit Meredith; then the smell of ale; then the men sat at the tables. The years rolled back to when she had been sent to similar inns to find her father. Everything was overpowering and she turned into Mr Fox. He tightened his grip on her shoulder.
‘I’m here, Merry. There is an unoccupied table in the corner.’
She drew a breath and looked at his face, saw him smile and raise his eyebrows. That look spoke volumes, saying: you wanted to come with me, Madame Adventurer.
He was challenging her. She tilted her chin. ‘I am quite all right now, sir. Let us continue with our ruse.’
The tavern was crowded. Tradesmen were lifting mugs to their lips swallowing thirstily, their clothes only a notch above the sailors in their ragged jerkins and canvas trousers. Burning tobacco smoke swirled in a fog around the blackened beams and thinned out over the yellow stained ceiling.
Meredith followed Mr Fox between the tables, his arms waving here and there as though he were familiar with all, his hips swinging to avoid the clientele.
Mr Fox was good. He had asked for play-acting, so that’s what she would give. She slipped the shawl seductively from her shoulders and feigned a smile to her lips. When they reached the empty table she sat down on a stool offering the best view of the room.
Adam moved his seat close and his body heat warmed away her cold fear. She leant towards him. ‘Who are those gentlemen?’ She pointed a finger towards a few well-dressed young men of means.
‘It is better you don’t know, Miss Sanders.’
‘I disagree, sir. Please, explain. Your tone is somewhat disapproving, I think.’
His eyes met hers, dark and stern. ‘So be it. They are dandies, gentlemen of breeding, and their tavern wenches who will persuade them to lose their guineas in the dice games played later.’
The girls were young and pretty, but their powdered faces and painted lips turned them into harlots who bedded and fondled for money. One of the dandies pulled a girl down onto his knees, pushed the dress off her shoulder, and ran his fingers down into the bodice. Seductively, the girl wrapped her arms around his neck.
Meredith gazed in utter horror, yet fascinated. This was her past world – a place she had thought never to return to. She shouldn’t be here. What had she been thinking when she questioned Mr Fox about Aldgate? She d
idn’t have to be told what those girls were – they were what she could have become – working for money to pleasure any gentleman able to pay the landlord’s price. Maybe she would have been lower, fit only for the sailors.
Now was not the time to sink into the pit of darkness she had climbed from. So she asked, ‘How do we find out about room six?’
‘An opportunity will arise, from an unexpected quarter, no doubt. It’s a busy night for the innkeeper; that’s good. We can move around without too much curiosity. You have the key?’
‘Of course, do you think I would come without it?’ Forgetting her role-part her words carried clearly beyond their table. ‘Ouch!’ She felt his boot stamp down on her toes.
‘By ’eavens, girly, how long have ye been practisin’ them posh words?’
How stupid of her and, to avoid his eyes, she looked down at her hands.
A serving woman put two mugs of ale on their table, and leant towards Mr Fox.
‘Anything else, luv? My name’s Sal and I can git yer anything.’ She slid round the table and sat on his knee. ‘I’m free in fifteen minutes. Give yer gal the slip, she’s not yer type, I can give yer ten times the pleasure than that skinny mouse.’ She breathed in and her bodice tightened. ‘I haven’t seen yer ’ere before. I can show yer the ropes, so to speak.’
‘Well now, Sal, that could be sometin’ I might like. What room number be ye upstairs?’
She put her lips to his ear, ‘Five,’ and nibbled his earlobe, ‘one to four is always reserved for the dandies. You’ve not enough silver in yer pocket for those girlies, laddie.’
‘I thought there were six rooms ’ere? Who has that one?’
Sal ran a finger down his cheek and onto his lips. ‘Askin’ questions around ’ere, laddie, yer might end up in the alley with a knife in yer back. Six is in the cellar. It’s a private rent.’
Mr Fox may only be play-acting, but the woman’s behaviour was insulting. All Meredith’s past instincts came to the surface. She stood up and gave the serving woman a shove, sending her sprawling on the floor.
The Hidden Legacy Page 5