Occupied with her task she was only aware that the cellar door had opened when the candles flickered on the table.
‘And who might ye be?’ The deep voice filled the room.
She dropped the candlestick and the flame went out. She had forgotten to lock the door. Now she was found out – with another drunken man barring her way of escape. His hands grasped her shoulders and swung her to face him.
‘Let go of me.’ Meredith pulled away from him. ‘Get out. You have no right to come in here.’
He stepped back a pace. ‘I could say the same to you.’
His voice was not slurred and he didn’t smell. He towered over her, large and muscular, but his clothes were clean. The lights from the table played on his face and she recognized him as one of the men who had provided the diversion in the tavern room last night; then a second recognition.
The lines on his face made him look older and his hair was greying, but it was the scar on his forehead she couldn’t take her gaze from – the scar she had given him when he had threatened her mother with an axe. The last time she had seen him was the evening before her twelfth birthday in Newgate prison. Her father! The man she had run away from!
He mustn’t find out who she was. The excitement of finding the hidden door vanished, and fear raced to take its place. He picked up a candle from the table and bent towards her.
‘I’m sorry I frightened yer. My name’s Woody, I work here. Come up to the tavern and have a tot of brandy.’
‘No!’ In the daylight he would surely recognise her.
‘I think yer should, missie, yer don’t look too good. Come.’ He put his big hand around her arm and pulled her forward.
Meredith cringed from him, ‘No! I won’t go.’
‘It’s for yer own good. Come.’
She tried to pull away from him. The table tipped and the flames stretched into elongated cones of fire. Two of the candle stumps had not waxed to the table and fell on to the floor, one so close to her dress hem a brown scorch mark darkened and flared. Meredith screamed.
From the doorway a black silhouette sprang forward; her assailant toppled over as he was pushed aside. When her rescuer turned on his heel, she recognised Mr Fox. He stripped off his jacket and smothered her burning hem.
‘What be going on ’ere? Are ye all right, girly?’
‘I don’t know … I mean, yes. What are you doing here?’
Her father got up from the floor looking thunderous and lunged at his attacker and both men fell to the ground with a thud. Fox was younger, more nimble and was up while his opponent panted for breath.
‘He wasn’t hurting me, sir. There’s a lot to explain –’
She was cut off by a roar from her father who was now standing.
‘Sir, please. My friend did not mean to hurt you. Please, accept his apology.’
Mr Fox, standing behind her, exploded with a roar of his own. ‘I can do me own fightin’, without any apologies comin’ from a colleen ’alf me size. Should they be necessary; which they aren’t.’
Meredith moved between them. ‘I thank you both for your help. Fighting over me is quite worthless.’ Raising her hands, one at each antagonist, she continued sweetly. ‘Perhaps a tot of brandy, in the tavern, is a fair reward for both of my gallant defenders.’ She lowered her eyes to the floor, clasped her hands, hoping she looked the picture of a demure damsel in distress.
‘Very well, missie.’ Woody looked across to Mr Fox, ‘You be paying, of course.’
Adam’s body relaxed and she breathed a sigh of relief. ‘May I have a few words with you, sir?’
‘That you may, madam.’ Fox waved at his opponent. ‘Go upstairs and find a table.’
The man nodded. ‘I didn’t mean yer any harm, missie.’
Mr Fox picked up the candlestick and drawstring bag from the floor and blew out the candles. ‘I’m sorry –’
He cut off her apology. ‘Are you completely mad? Coming here alone, to a tavern, to this room where anything could have happened to you.’ Taking hold of her arm he led her out into the corridor and locked the door.
‘Mr Fox, why didn’t you come to Tallow House as you promised? You know my time is running out.’
‘Miss Sanders, I do have a business to attend, and unfortunately, that had to take my full attention today. Captains do not wait while I run backwards and forwards to Tallow House, with I will add, no new information to give you. I am here now, to try and find some clue, no matter how small, to help you. And just in time, it seems, to stop you burning to death.’
For the first time, Meredith saw a side to Mr Fox she had not yet encountered – a man capable of decisive decision.
‘I’m sorry, I thought I could –’
‘And, by doing this escapade …’ He waved his arm in a speechless gesture. ‘I’ll take you back to Ludgate Hill.’
‘You cannot. That man is waiting for you.’
‘I know where he is. I’ll come back later.’ He turned towards the tavern room steps.
‘I didn’t come in that way, there’s a backyard.’ Meredith pointed in the opposite direction.
‘And how did you find out about that?’
She had no intention of telling him about the scene in the tavern room. ‘I consider it improper for me to go into such a place alone, so I looked for another entrance.’
Mr Fox’s stern expression changed to a smile. ‘Perhaps Dello Murphy will forgive you your mad impulse, just this once, Miss Sanders. Please, lead the way out.’
Beside the busy road, Meredith stopped. ‘Your chivalry is of the highest regard, sir, but I managed to get myself here, I can see myself back.’ She didn’t want Mr Fox to waste time escorting her, when he could be seeking information they so desperately needed. ‘Please, Mr Fox, I shall be quite safe.’
A hackney carriage stopped a few yards away. ‘If I put you in that coach will you promise to go straight home?’ He waved to the coachman and the horses moved forward.
‘Yes. But will you come and tell me what you’ve found out?’
As he closed the coach door she sensed his indecision in leaving her. ‘I will not do anything else, I promise. Just hurry and see if you can find out more about that room.’
‘Very well, Miss Sanders. We need information and this man may be able to give us our first clue.’ He stepped back and the coach drew away.
During the journey she thought about Mr Fox fighting her battles. She had a past he must not know about – the paternal father whom she had not seen in ten years and was petrified to acknowledge. Mr Fox would despise her for lying. And more important, he might think she had deceived him about Frederick and Madame Lightfoot. A confession would not help her find the painting.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Satisfied Meredith was safely on her way home, Adam Fox returned to the tavern. He sized up the angry man before him and recognised the challenger of the quarrel last night.
‘Now me hearty man, what be all that shenanigans below?’ Adam asked as he sat down.
‘I just went in to ’elp the girl and she acted like I was a thievin’ footpad.’
‘The girly didn’t invite yer in, then?
‘Well … no. I saw a light. I ’elps a bit with the tenants.’
‘Tenants yer say. How many use room six?’
‘Dunno. They comes and goes. Arty sorts, looks like they could do with a good feed.’ He laughed at his own words. ‘Thin as them brushes they use.’
‘What say we ’ave a jug of ale to drown our little girly’s tantrum?’
‘Thank ’ee. The innkeeper stocks a good cask of ale. Yer packed a good fist to me jaw’
Adam ordered a quart jug and waited, not speaking until the order was placed on the table. He filled the man’s tankard to the brim, his own only half. He raised his tankard. ‘’ere’s to a new beginning. I could use some ’elp with a little bit of business I have the good fortune to be tenderin’ for.’
; ‘Now, what sort of business would that be? I ain’t into the smuggling. I’m a good carpenter; wood carving an’ furniture, simple, nothing fancy.’
Adam studied the man: he was middle aged; well fed and big shoulders bulged under his shirt – a waterfront man. He would hold up well in a fight.
‘Tell me … what be yer name, man?’
‘Ah, me name. Let’s just keep it to Woody. That’s me name around ’ere.’
‘Tell me about room six?’
‘Not much to tell. Like I said, they be arty sorts. Reeks of paint, but ne’re seen a picture. They brings in stuff, ne’re seen anything go out. But see, I ain’t here all the time.’ He drank until the tankard was empty and put it back in the middle of the table. ‘That be a fine ale, a pity to let it go flat.’
Fox refilled the tankard and watched him drink it in one go. When Woody banged it back on the table he asked, ‘Have yer ever seen an elderly man?’
‘Perhaps.’ He pushed his mug forward. ‘Thirsty work, thinking.’
‘Mebbe another jug’ll help?’ He signalled to the innkeeper and when it arrived refilled the man’s tankard.
‘A funny dressed man used to come, like yer say, middlin’ old, older than me. He reminded me of a joker, always wore bright colours. I haven’t seen him for some time.’
‘’ave yer ever seen a big dark-skinned woman?’
‘Don’t think so. If she comes at night, I wouldn’t see her.’ He banged his mug on the table again and gave a loud laugh. ‘Plenty of them dark beauties come in with our gentlemen customers. Yer want me to get yer one?’ Woody helped himself to the last of the ale.
Adam knew he had got all the information he was going to get today. He got up and slapped the man on the shoulder. ‘See yer soon, Woody.’ He put a silver coin on the table. ‘Pay the ’keeper and the rest is yers fer seein’ who comes and goes to room six fer me.’ He sauntered past the counter and left through the tavern door.
He had promised Meredith to go directly to see her, but to arrive in his Dello Murphy outfit could cause much concern. Instead he went to his warehouse office, where he had changed that afternoon. When he reached the building, the painted brick name of Fox and Son, Importers and Exporters, stabbed at him. When his Irish grandfather had arrived in Liverpool from Dublin, he had just one guinea in his pocket. He had set about buying and selling and within a few weeks his guinea turned into six pounds. Two years later he owned a warehouse in London, met Molly Gunn, and married her. A year later, the warehouse sign read, Fox and Son. That had remained a truth until the death of his father a few years ago.
He should have the name repainted – A. Fox, Importer and Exporter – but keeping the original made him feel there was still a bond to the man who had loved and taught him his trade. He often sat at his desk having imaginary discussions with him – asking his advice, answering with his own decision. He had travelled far and wide, wheeling and dealing with merchants to establish a sound business. So far, he had increased tonnage, negotiated good prices and invested some of the profit in steam machinery. Now he was ready to expand further. Life had been going well until the complication of Meredith Sanders. She was impulsive, strong-willed, and nothing like any other woman he had ever met. A fluttering fan and a dropped handkerchief wasn’t her way of attracting attention.
He climbed the outside steps that led directly into his office. He liked the uncluttered room, with only a heavy desk and chair set on the simple wooden floor. The only decoration was on a brick wall: a framed painting of a schooner in full sail, racing over the waves.
The persona Dello Murphy disappeared into the private washroom. Fifteen minutes later, Adam Fox walked out suitably attired as a man of means. He sat at his desk and let his thoughts wander in and out of the mystery that had developed concerning Frederick Sanders – a man he knew nothing about except from the adoring words of his daughter. The unexpected appearance of Madame Lightfoot set a far more sinister cloak of evil on the man. What had started out as an import documentation query was now drawing him into a felony that could have serious criminal consequences for him. He was not only putting his business at risk, but his family’s good name. He did not move amongst the elite of society, but his aunt and Sarah would be shunned by the circles they did have friends and acquaintances in. The more he analysed his thoughts, the more he realised the outcome could have immense social barriers raised against him. He had promised Victor that he would care for Sarah in all aspects of her upbringing. Izzie was a frail old lady now, and he could not have her remaining days tainted by his actions.
He drew a sheet of paper from his desk drawer, picked up his quill, dipped it into the ink pot and made a list.
Is a Turner really missing from the Royal Academy?
There has been no theft reported in The Times.
Who is Madame Lightfoot?
The midnight intruder must be part of the scheme.
Would the next move be a demand for money?
What would the consequences be to Miss Sanders if he went to the constables?
But he had agreed to help Meredith and would not go back on his word. He had set himself a fine line to walk along – search for the truth, and protect his family. He must be careful not to fall into the wrong side. He would wait for Woody’s report and Madame Lightfoot’s next demand. He stood up, adjusted his neck cloth, pocketed his list and left.
The gallery bell tingled when he stepped inside. Adam saw no one and instantly felt concern. Was Meredith not back? Surely she was not still in Aldgate? He turned to go to her private rooms when the door of the studio opened and she waited in the doorway. First he felt relief, then chagrin. Had she been hiding? Who from, him? He wanted to scold her daring madness of that afternoon, and at the same time protect her from all that was spiralling towards her. She looked pale and tired. He had an overpowering desire to take her in his arms, hold her and tell her everything would be all right. Tell her he had made a little progress at the tavern; that the odd-job man was going to keep an eye on the room. He wanted to kiss her sad eyes, her beautiful mouth – breathe in her sweet scent. Take her home with him, where he could protect her. He was speechless for a moment.
‘Good afternoon, sir.’
She didn’t move into the gallery, so he walked towards her and saw the strain of her dilemma showing on her face. ‘Are you all right, Miss Sanders?’
‘Yes, thank you, although this afternoon was surely a traumatic affair.’
‘What the hell were you doing there?’ Her off-handed manner amazed him. ‘Do you realise how dangerous … have you not a grain of intelligence in that head of yours?’ The restraint of trying to keep calm, hide his worry, failed and he closed the gap between them and pulled her into his arms and kissed her fully on the lips, not caring whether she saw him as an accomplice, client, or lover.
Her reaction was fire and ice. She melted into him and returned his kiss, then pushed him away, her words clear as frozen water. ‘Don’t ever, do that again! I am a lady, not Sal from the tavern, who you found so easy to please.’
Adam didn’t recognise her at that moment. She had gone rigid, her arms held straight at her sides, hands balled into fists. Her dark blue dress had long sleeves and the bodice buttoned to her neck. She had combed her hair flat across her head and pinned it into a bun. The transformation was unacceptable.
‘What have you done to yourself? What has happened to you? Did that man touch you?’
‘No, he did not.’
‘Then why have you attired yourself in such a way?’
‘I am a lady. Not a woman from the waterfront.’
‘Meredith, please. I did not mean to degrade you. I am worried about you –’
She raised her hand for silence. ‘Mr Fox, I do not expect you to be my bodyguard. However, I do appreciate your help and I do have a grain of intelligence to accept it! Mrs Clements has gone out, but I think, under the circumstances, as my partner in this criminal venture, we c
an take tea together in my sitting-room.’
Mr Fox formally bowed. ‘Thank you. Tea would be most appreciated.’ He would agree to anything, to bring her back to her beautiful and spirited self. She locked the street door and he followed her up the stairs to the first floor.
The room was a pleasant surprise with a window overlooking the street. Observing protocol, he made no attempt to sit down until invited. This seemed a courtesy he was not to be offered as Meredith waited in the doorway.
‘May I sit down?’ He waved his hand towards one of the armchairs.
‘My apologies, sir, please be seated. I will make the tea.’
What had happened to make her so frosty? Surely, the escapade into Aldgate had not offended her senses so much that she now felt compelled to become a sour spinster? No, there was something else wrong, but at the moment, it would be unwise to pursue the subject. He sat down and waited.
Meredith came back a few minutes later and set the tray on a low table by the other matching chair. Her hand trembled as she poured the tea into the cups. He leant forward, taking the tea she offered. ‘Thank you, Miss Sanders.’ She did not look at him.
He was stunned at the strength of his feelings for her. They had lost their camaraderie somewhere along the way this afternoon. Had he misjudged her independent manner, was it just a maiden’s bravado? He was so lost in his thoughts he did not fully hear her when she spoke.
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