The Hidden Legacy

by Julie Roberts

  She stood and took his tirade with her head bowed. He was so very right – respectability was paramount in the society he lived in.

  ‘Yes. But I …’ Her words were cut off with Adam pulling her to him and stopping her confession with his lips. She should push him away, but her heart overruled her head and she gave in to what she wanted – Adam: his kiss, his love, and his respect. Breathless, she stepped back, determined to tell him. ‘I have something I need to say, something that will change what you feel –’

  The door burst open and Sarah came in, her face flushed and holding a casket in her hand. ‘Look, Miss Sanders, look, Uncle Adam, Papa made this. He carved it out of a tree and then made these patterns. Isn’t he clever? And inside I have a necklace of tiny pearls. Mama’s are larger, of course, but Papa says I can have those when I’m grown up.’

  Meredith wanted to scream. She had to tell him her other secret, but she forced a smile. ‘I’d love to see it. Come and sit on the sofa. I’m sure your Uncle Adam has much to organise for your father.’ The moment for truth had passed and she gave him a dismissive nod.

  Adam acknowledged with a nod of his own. ‘Quite, I will see you in a half-hour for dinner.’

  After so much mayhem, the quiet of the drawing room eased Meredith’s taut nerves and she half-listened to Sarah’s babbling words. ‘… Papa said this is very old wood.’

  ‘It’s beautiful. You can keep all your special treasures in it. I’m so pleased for you. Have you been wishing very hard at night when you say your prayers?’

  Bright red flushed Sarah’s cheeks. ‘Oh, yes, every night. But now he’s here, I’ll have to pray even harder so that he doesn’t go away again.’

  ‘We’ll both pray very hard.’

  What she didn’t say was that her prayer was a lot more complicated to achieve.

  Cook excelled with her cuisine. What she had been preparing that afternoon came to the table like a banquet. Simms and the footman flourished platters of duck, beef, and salmon; vegetables and fruit; the best wine.

  Adam rose from his chair and raised his glass. ‘To your return, Victor, and continued good health to us all.’

  Meredith gazed round the table at the family, even Sarah had been allowed to join them on this occasion. Miss Fox had been flamboyant all through the meal and she now signalled to Simms and he came forward and helped her to stand.

  ‘Well, Victor, I thought I would be gone by the time you finally decided to return. But here I am, weaker than when you went, but I hope your wandering days are over. There’s going to be a wedding shortly and Adam will need you to stand with him.’ She picked up her glass and made a toast. ‘To all our future dreams.’ Everyone repeated her words. ‘Well, gentlemen, I shall not sit again, I am retiring to my room; all this excitement has made me quite tired. I’m sure you both have much to talk about over your port and cigars. Sarah and Miss Sanders, will you kindly help me upstairs?’

  Meredith saw Sarah was about to protest, and she quickly stood up. ‘Of course we will, Miss Fox. Sarah must be very tired, it is long past her normal bedtime.’ She went to the old lady’s side and nodded to Sarah that they were to leave.

  Simms held open the door and followed them out.

  Meredith paused in the open doorway of the nursery room. Sarah was sitting in bed with a slate board on her knees.

  ‘Are you doing your school work? It’s a little late to be studying. Are you behind with your lessons?’ She hoped her portrait sittings had not caused Miss Fox to forgo giving Sarah her planned schedule of lessons.

  ‘Oh, no, Miss Sanders. I just like to draw all the time. It doesn’t have to be with charcoal or watercolours. This is fun. Would you like to see it?’

  Meredith sat on the side of the bed and took the slate from her. The girl had drawn a reasonable facial picture of her father.

  ‘You have a talent for portraiture. I have noticed when you draw the flowers in the garden, how well you capture each petal and leaf.’

  Sarah’s smile told a story of absolute pleasure and pride. ‘Could you show me how to make it better?’

  ‘Well, it’s a little difficult with only white chalk, but shading helps to give depth and contour. Rub your finger along the jaw line and reduce the thickness of the line.’ For a child of only eight years, her talent was extraordinary and needed nurturing.

  She had been twelve when Frederick had taken her into his care. He became both her school and art tutor; never losing his temper, never criticising when she couldn’t master a problem. She thought of the day they had spent in the orchard and used the fallen apples to demonstrate multiplication and division. Mrs Clements had brought a picnic lunch and then afternoon sandwiches. It would always be one of her dearest memories with him.

  ‘Should I show this to Papa?’

  Meredith heard the question, but she didn’t want to leave her thoughts, but hiding in dreams was not going to solve her problems. ‘Yes. I think he will be very pleased to see how well you draw. You can show him tomorrow. Now, it’s time to sleep. It’s been an exciting day for you.’

  Meredith stood up. ‘Good night.’

  ‘Good night, Miss Sanders. Thank you for helping me. Can we hurry and finish my portrait?’

  ‘Of course, especially now your father has come home.’

  ‘Could we have it very soon, as a special present for Papa?’

  ‘If we work hard with not too many stops, yes, I think we could.’

  ‘I’ll ask Cook to make a special cake. This has been the best day of my life.’

  The portrait would be the right ending to her time at Tallow House. With her commission completed, there was no reason to stay. The missing Turner would either be found or the magistrate would be investigating its disappearance.

  She had to tell Adam. Tell him so she could see his face, see his reaction. A letter would be a demeaning way, both for her and him. She would at least depart from him with her head held high.

  She kissed Sarah’s forehead. ‘Sleep well.’ Blowing out the candle, the room was touched by moonlight. A breeze lifted the candle smoke out of the open window.

  As she reached the door, Sarah called out, ‘We’ll be a real family now, with Papa home and Uncle Adam bringing you here.’

  Meredith didn’t reply. Not all dreams could come true.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The alleyway was dark and Adam had again become Dello Murphy, an Irish rogue. Below the tavern room of The Grapes Inn he opened the door to the tunnel, went in and closed it. His candle flickered. As the air stilled he hurried along to the door leading into the house near the Tower. The room was still bare and the key was still in the inner door lock. In the corridor he stopped and listened. The silence was uncanny, like a haunted house where living people feared to stay.

  Adam heard a cough and moved to the bottom of the stairs. He left his candlestick on a small table. Each tread creaked but he reached the landing without cries of alarm. His one purpose for returning was to look for the man who lived here.

  There were two doors and he chose the right; this room was dark and empty. As he opened the other a faint light split the darkness like a sword stroke. Adam eased the door wider and stepped inside.

  The smell hit him like a clenched fist and he stopped breathing; then slowly took shallow breaths. He crossed the room and stopped next to what passed for a bed. A man lay sprawled fully clothed amongst the ragged covers. He coughed but didn’t wake up.

  Adam prodded him with his boot. ‘Wake up, man. I have gold guineas if ye answer me questions.’ There was no reply and he used his boot again, this time moving the man onto his side. ‘I donna want to hurt yer, but I’m in a hurry.’ These words had an effect.

  ‘I don’t know anythin’, go away.’

  ‘Now that is yer first lie, the next lie and me boot will nudge a bit harder.’ What lay in the rags rose up on to its elbow. ‘Git up!’ The man tried, but fell back.

  ‘Yer ’ave te
r help me.’

  Adam lifted a breathing skeleton, for the man was no heavier than a child; his almost transparent skin the only thing holding his bones together. For all his anger against him, Adam pitied the poor wretch as he propped him against the wall.

  ‘Have yer anything to drink?’

  ‘There might be a drop of ale.’

  Adam picked up the tankard on the table and handed it over. When it was finished the bony hands gave it back.

  ‘Yer have a choice, man, quick answers for me guineas, or pennies if I have to squeeze it out of yer. What’s yer called?’

  ‘Cuba John.’ His words were slurred and difficult to hear.

  It needed little imagination to recognise that Cuba John had used his reward for services rendered in the opium dens. This time he had indulged too far.

  Leaning close to his ear, Adam asked, ‘Where’s Roseanna Lightfoot?’ Cuba drew away. ‘Gold or pennies, man?’ Adam held a guinea coin close so the man could see.

  ‘No! I can’t tell. She’ll ’ave me done in.’

  ‘Well, an easier question – where does she live?’

  Cuba John started to shake. His eyes began to roll, the eyeballs momentarily white. Adam grasped him by the shoulders. ‘Where does she live?’ The fool had poisoned his body to the point he was going to die. ‘Where, I need to know where?’

  Even in the throes of death, Cuba could still ask, ‘First, me gold.’

  Adam placed a gold guinea in his hand, ‘First one now, the other after. Where does she live?’

  He had to lean close to hear what the man said, but when he straightened he had what he wanted. ‘You’ve earned yer fee, man.’ He placed another guinea into his hand. The pity was he would never spend it. Perhaps whoever found him would at least pay for a coffin in the churchyard.

  Adam went into The Grapes tavern room from the street. He sat at a table in a corner and looked round for Woody. The man was serving tonight and he waited.

  ‘What be yer tankard?’

  ‘Woody, I need to talk to yer. Can ye be findin’ a few minutes fer me?’

  ‘Not ’til the serving girl gits ’ere.’

  ‘I’ll have yer best ale and wait.’

  The room filled to capacity and pipe smoke drifted high. Voices grew in volume as game stakes passed from loser to winner. Adam wondered if Woody would have any spare time even when the girl arrived.

  An hour later, Woody put two tankards down. ‘Thought yer might want a second and one fer me?’

  ‘Why not? Talking is thirsty work. Sit yer down, Woody.’

  The man’s bulk cut out most of Adam’s view of the tavern. He picked up the tankard, only wetting his lips. Woody downed a good half before putting his down.

  ‘So, where’s the fine talk and clothes ye had yesterday? A sailor once showed me a foreign animal; it changed colour when danger’s around. Are yer in some sort of trouble, Murphy?’

  ‘That’s fer me to know. I pay fer information, not questions.’

  Woody raised bushy brows. ‘Did ye find the girl? I didn’t. She ain’t my Merry anyhow.’

  ‘And what makes yer so sure?’

  ‘Because she’s dead.’ His words were resigned and held no doubt.

  ‘I’m sorry to ’ear that, Woody. I did find her and she’s safe. Have yer seen any visitors downstairs?’

  ‘No. Well, not that I’ve seen.’ He finished off the ale and nodded. ‘Would ye be buying another?’

  Adam had all the news he needed. Taking a half-crown from his pocket he put it on the table. ‘Buy another and keep the rest fer yer help.’ He got up and moved out into the tavern room. ‘Just keep watchin’. Remember I pay well.’

  At the door Adam looked back. Woody was downing his untouched ale. He wouldn’t be using his reward money tonight.

  One candle flickered as Adam closed the front door of Tallow House. The silence reassured him the household was asleep. Keeping his Dello Murphy clothes in his office at the warehouse made these forays doubly long. The time was now four o’clock; Simms would be having the servants up in another hour.

  His foot was on the first tread when the drawing room door opened and he was caught squarely in the light.

  ‘Adam?’

  For a moment he was taken by surprise, then realised his brother-in-law was standing in the doorway. He stepped back and turned. ‘Victor? What are you doing down here?’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep, the bed is too soft. I had forgotten how luxurious a feather mattress could be. Have you had a good night’s entertainment?’

  Adam took a deep breath and on a released sigh, it struck him that Victor saw nothing strange in his being out nearly all night.

  ‘Lost a few guineas on chance; then made it up on the trumps.’ That was as near the truth: a little simile. ‘Would you like my company for a while?’

  Victor opened the door wider. ‘Yes. Perhaps this is the best time for us to talk.’

  The drawing room was in shadow. Victor had only one candelabrum lit and this was placed on the mantelshelf above where he was sitting.

  ‘I already have a brandy, would you like the same?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ Adam sat down opposite Victor’s chair. When he was handed a glass, he saw how drawn and tired Victor looked. ‘What’s wrong?’

  His brother-in-law sat down and leant back, ‘I don’t know.’ He looked down at the glass in his hand.

  ‘You’ve been away four years, Victor. I hoped you were now at peace with yourself. Losing Beatrice was something none of us had foreseen, but the doctor did all he could. Her loss is something we all had to bear. But you have Sarah to consider.’

  ‘That’s the reason I’m here. Beatrice would not want me to shun our daughter. I was wrong to go and leave her. How has she been?’

  Adam had so much to tell him, but he could sense that Victor was suffering some form of guilt and so he said, ‘I suppose you could separate the years into three parts. The first year, when she was only four, the loss of her mother was uppermost in her mind. Beatrice was a dutiful and loving mother and Sarah missed her daily games, her goodnight kiss. But gradually, Aunt Izzie took her place.

  ‘Then she started to ask about her father. Your work at Kew Gardens always came first over wife and child.’ Adam stopped. He should not judge Victor. ‘I’m sorry. Forgive my outspoken comment.’

  ‘There is no need for an apology. I’ve had many lonely nights to regret that.’

  ‘Sarah slowly looked to me as the father-figure in her life. But she has never stopped asking after you. I have read parts of your letters to her about how you are and the West Indies. Old William Jacobs has been extremely diligent in looking after your affairs.’

  ‘Thank you, Adam, but what about the third part of Sarah’s life?’

  ‘This past year there’s been a change in her. She now has a schoolroom tutor, who is expanding her knowledge. But she has become very sad and tearful when she speaks of you. It’s the reason I commissioned Miss Sanders. She is a very competent artist.’

  Victor’s face brightened into a smile. ‘Ah, the talented Miss Sanders, do I detect a note of pre-husbandly pride? It is most unusual for a lady to be associated with business. Do you approve?’

  This time Adam smiled. ‘When you have known her a little longer, Victor, you will see a spark of determination that I or anyone else would find hard to undermine. It is, of course, her father’s fault. He seems to have been her guiding light in the world of painting – encouraging her to continue with his studio.’

  ‘You have seen her portfolio?’

  ‘Her gallery work, yes. That is why I am confident her portraiture will be perfection.’

  ‘You have seen how she has portrayed Sarah?’

  ‘No. None of us has, not even the child. But I believe it’s almost finished.’

  ‘So, now we go into the fourth part of Sarah’s life. You may find this hard to understand, Adam, but one evening I sat and
wrote a letter to Beatrice. As the words flowed I was able to cleanse my soul of her loss. See that I was in the wrong part of the world. The following day, I made arrangements to travel home.’

  Adam wondered why he had not written, but it didn’t matter – he was here, healed and ready to go forward.

  ‘You are welcome, Victor, to stay with us for as long as you like.’

  ‘Thank you. When Sarah is older, I will give her that letter and hope she will forgive me.’

  ‘Have no doubt, she is so thrilled you are home nothing is going to mar her happiness. Come, the household will soon be about and we should be away to our beds and leave them to their tasks.’

  Meredith hadn’t slept well. She had spent most of the night turning from side to side and plumping up the pillow.

  Where was the Turner? That, above all else, was what her future hung on. The Grapes Inn was not the place. That had become evident when she had been kidnapped by Madame Lightfoot. It left only the gallery.

  A light knock sounded on the door and Mrs Clements came in. ‘Good morning, Meredith.’ She placed a tray on a table by the window and pulled back the curtains. ‘It’s going to be a beautiful day.’

  ‘Yes, Clemmie, and I intend to use it fully. I shall be down shortly. Thank you for my tea.’

  ‘Mr Weston and Miss Sarah are already breakfasting. I believe they are going shopping directly.’

  ‘That will please Sarah. When they return, I can have her for our last sitting.’

  ‘I’m sure the family will be delighted, dear. You have worked so hard on it, Meredith. I know Mr Sanders would be your proudest admirer.’ Her voice broke on a sob, ‘Oh, what a sentimental old woman I am.’

  Meredith felt suddenly torn in two: she had adored Frederick as a father-figure and friend, yet he had left her never knowing what sort of a man he really was under the disguise he showed her. But she would never destroy Clemmie’s devotion and respect for him.