The Hidden Legacy

by Julie Roberts

  Meredith held back the tears that had been building since they returned from Madame de Foile’s shop.

  Everyone connected with the Turner had disappeared. For the hundredth time, she wondered why Frederick had done what he had. But the answer to that was gone forever. She laid her head onto Adam’s chest. He felt solid, dependable, and safe.

  He pulled her close, saying nothing, just holding her. Finally, Meredith said, ‘So we are at a dead end.’

  ‘Not quite. Frederick had been very careful not to be found out. A careful man is often a creature of habit. He must have used the gallery to copy the painting. Room six is much too public. We know others had a key. The original must be somewhere in the Ludgate premises.’

  Meredith pulled away from him. ‘But I have looked. It’s not there.’ Adam smiled and that protected feeling cloaked her.

  ‘The coach is ready. Go and collect the keys and let us go hunting.’

  Meredith opened the street door. Instantly there was the smell of her oils. In the gallery, her paintings were hanging on the walls, nothing had changed – but everything had changed.

  ‘I could never abandon this studio. It will always be part of my life, no matter what happens in the future. It’s not because of Frederick, but that painting will always be a necessity in my life. Selling them isn’t what matters, although that does help to lighten one’s living costs.’ She paused as a frown creased Adam’s forehead. ‘Have I said something untoward? My independent words, perhaps?’

  ‘I would not wish to curb your enthusiasm, Meredith, but marriage means we will both have to compromise a little.’

  She bit her lip, holding back the hot words she wanted to say. Instead she replied, ‘That is all for another time. We are here to find the Turner. Shall we start in the studio?’

  ‘Very well; you are sure there are no hidden cupboards in this room?’

  ‘No. I had the panels covered with this linen. Mrs Clements and I cleaned every inch. It’s not hidden here.’

  In the studio, there was little to move or find. The planked floor was sound and the walls were brick from ceiling to floor. She went up to the parlour and ran her fingers around the panelled walls, calling to Adam, ‘Each one of these is quite sound. I’ve tapped them too, there isn’t any hollowness.’

  Adam came in saying, ‘The kitchen is sound too. There are only cupboards and drawers and definitely no loose floorboards.’

  They had searched the safe part of the house where they hadn’t needed a chaperone – but now they were going up the stairs to her bedchamber. Adam would see where she undressed and slept in the large bed. She sensed a tension in him that matched her own nervousness as she led him out of the parlour. Yet excitement flowed through her the moment they ascended the stairs. She tried to ignore it, but she couldn’t. Adam was her lover. There were only two rooms; hers and Mrs Clements. Her cheeks were burning. How stupid to be shy when they had already shared a bed. The distance between them was a bare few inches, and as she reached to open the door, Adam placed his hand over hers.

  ‘Our night was not a mistake, Meredith.’

  He stepped even nearer and her breath quickened, he was going to kiss her. Beyond the door her soft, comfortable bed was waiting for them.

  ‘No. But it has caused a complication that I don’t know how to deal with …’ His kiss forbade her to finish and she let him open the door and carry her inside.

  He laid her down and she sank into the warmth of the feather mattress. His eyes were very dark, his face taut, but as she touched his cheek with her finger he relaxed.

  ‘I know this is wrong, Meredith, but you are mine and no one, a fraudster or magistrate is going to take you from me.’ She wanted to cry, because that was exactly what she was – a fraudster. She had to tell him now, while he still had his self-respect and could walk away without the shame of seducing her.

  ‘Adam, please, you must listen to me.’

  He put his finger over her lips. ‘Later. Only you can stop my blood racing through me like a stampede of wild horses; cannot you feel it? I can feel your pulse.’ His fingers were on her wrist and he smiled. ‘It does not tell lies, my sweet.’

  She sensed her skirt rising, his fingers sliding along her silk stockings to the fine hair and he stroked her so softly that an involuntary moan left her lips and a wonderful sensation rippled and fanned through her. She closed her eyes, savouring the moment, so different from the first time, because she now knew the pleasure of his touch. He gently kissed her lips and ran his tongue inside. She closed her lips and drew him in, sucking the rough tip.

  His breath came in gasps and with his other hand he tore away the fall of his breeches. She felt his hardness against her, then his skin. He slid into her and there was no pain, just his hardness thrusting deeper, sending exquisite sensations spiralling deeper into her belly.

  ‘Meredith!’ Adam moaned her name as he arched above her and her throbbing body reached up and moved with him until there was only the descending pleasure back to reality.

  His weight moved from her and she opened her eyes and turned to him.

  Adam was everything she wanted as a husband. She knew he had far more than lust in his heart, and was sure it would grow into a deep love. His strong fingers brushed a loose strand of hair from her face and he kissed her cheek. ‘You are perfection, my love. Just think how wonderful it will be after we are married.’

  ‘I love you, Adam. But I can’t marry you.’ The pain on his face sent waves of utter despair through her.

  ‘Why?’ It was one word of total dejection. ‘Am I so unacceptable? I offer you a comfortable home. I have not forbidden you to continue painting. Aunt Izzie is now old and frail; you will be mistress of the house.’

  Adam moved off the bed, tidying himself.

  Meredith got up and pulled her skirt into order. ‘Because I’m not who you think I am.’ She had finally said it, but her words were drowned by a crashing, splintering noise, followed by the terrified neighing of horses and the shouting of men above the screams of women.

  ‘What the hell’s going on out there?’ Adam went to the window. ‘My God, a coach has turned over coming out of the Belle Sauvage. The horses are down and trapped in their harnesses. Wait here.’ He ran from the room.

  She rushed to the window. Adam was pushing his way through the crowd to the lead horse that was screeching in terror and trying to get free of the harness. He caught its reins, straining to calm the beast while stablemen from the inn pulled the travellers free. A quiver ran through her, every nerve screaming, warning her Adam was in danger. The horse was fighting his hold and might kick him any minute; he could be injured, even killed.

  Meredith shrieked at him through the window panes. ‘Adam, look out, mind its hooves, it’s trying to get up. Oh, my dearest, please be careful.’

  Out of the mêlée the neighing and shouts lessened, the dishevelled passengers were being helped back into the inn. The stablemen had all but the lead horse untangled and a boy led each animal away. Adam stood stroking the neck of the horse and with each soothing touch the horse stopped quivering and came under control.

  She turned to the mirror. Both combs were loose and her hair was a mess of falling curls around her flushed face. So, this is what a woman in love looks like. She clipped the stray locks back into place. Panic spread through her like wildfire. She had to get out of her bedchamber. She had become a wanton wench, doing what many got paid to do. But she loved Adam, didn’t that make it different? Not in the eyes of the law.

  Meredith ran with the devil chasing her up to Frederick’s attic room where she had found the receipts and key to room six in The Grapes Inn – the room that had proved his guilt and association with Madame Lightfoot. She sat at the desk and laid her head on her arms. Love and hate mingled like vines twisting tighter and tighter until one had to die.

  She had hated her father and loved Frederick. Did she now hate Frederick and … she couldn’t love h
er father, ever. Yet when she had seen him that first moment in room six, there hadn’t been that thorn of hate she had been carrying in her heart all these years.

  She gazed at a shaft of sunlight shining off one of the wooden panels. Something about it didn’t fit in with the ones either side. Its raised central section looked wrong. Was it the light playing tricks, or the different grains of the wood? She went over and ran her fingers along the groove, finding a small metal circle, no bigger than a nail-head. Lightly touching it the panel opened no more than the thickness of a knife blade. She knelt down and eased it wider and saw the edge of a framed picture inside.

  Meredith didn’t touch it. Her mind was numb, both with fear and relief. This had to be it, Frederick wouldn’t hide away one of his own canvases. She pulled slowly. Was this Turner’s own hand, his artistic genius? The canvas which he made minute touches, and flourishing strokes on? Was she going to see what the Master had done? She pulled it free and propped it against the panelling. Her heart beat so fast it muffled her hearing, yet the footsteps racing up the stairs, Adam calling, forced her back to this moment of discovery.

  ‘I’m here,’ she called, ‘in Frederick’s attic.’

  He came in, but she didn’t move. How could she have missed this panel?

  ‘I’ve found it, Adam. It has been hidden here all the time.’ She sensed him behind her. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Nothing, my love, except now everything will be all right.’ He pulled her up and wrapped her in his strong arms. ‘All we’ve got to do now is take it back to where it belongs.’

  She leant against him and whispered between her sobs, ‘Yes.’

  Several hours later, a jaunty Dello Murphy went into The Grapes Inn and found Woody sat at a table playing dominos with two sailors.

  ‘When yer finished, Woody, a word? I’ll be sittin’ over in the corner.’

  A few minutes later the man arrived, carrying two tankards. ‘Thought yer’d be thirsty.’

  Adam nodded and took a long draught of the ale. ‘I’m in a hurry, man, ’ave yer any more news for me?’

  ‘Nothing; all is very quiet down below, if yer git me meaning.’

  Adam had one last task to finish. Then he hoped never to hear about room six or Madame Lightfoot again. Meredith could be his, happy and free to marry him as soon as possible.

  ‘I’ve a little bit of a job for yer in the morning. Be at the back gate at six o’clock. There’s a package to be delivered.’

  ‘I’m not an erran’ boy, Murphy, and I don’t git up with the birds.’

  Adam ignored his remarks and pressed home his winning hand. ‘Not even for ten guineas?’

  Woody stopped drinking and put the tankard down. ‘Now, what would yer be paying that kind of money fer?’

  ‘Like I’ve said before, I pay fer no questions, just yer time.’ Adam saw the man dither, could see the money was like a gem stone to him.

  ‘Well now, yer asking a lot of me with all this mystery and no answers. How much danger is there?’

  Adam wouldn’t lie; he had to give him a truthful answer. ‘I don’t know. We could both be standin’ afore the magistrate come noon.’

  ‘That’s not good news, Dello. But you’ve not done me wrong so far. I’ll trust yer one more time.’

  Adam nodded. ‘Six o’clock outside the backyard.’

  Woody nodded his agreement and went back to his ale.

  ‘Yer can finish mine.’ Adam placed a few coins on the table and pushed his half-full tankard over. ‘Donna be gettin’ drunk. I won’t wait if yer not here.’

  Adam stood in front of the connecting door to Meredith’s bedchamber. He held the key in his hand; he had only to put it in the lock and turn it. But she had accused him once of treating her like the tavern wench, Sal. That she was not, and he returned the key to his desk drawer, left, and made his way down to the drawing room.

  ‘Good evening, Aunt Izzie.’

  She was in her usual chair, a glass of her pre-dinner sherry on a small table.

  He sat down and his thoughts went back to when there was only Aunt Izzie and him. Sarah ate early and would be ready for bed. It had been a special time for him and his niece – thirty minutes of reading her a poem or a short piece from one of the Greek mythologies. They had a special relationship; not of father or uncle, but friends. He would miss that now Victor was home. It was a father’s duty to read the bedtime story.

  Where was Meredith? His impatience was irritating. He wanted tomorrow over and Meredith his, to have and to hold until death do them part. When the gong sounded, she came through the door. Her pallor surprised him; he had expected a radiant fiancée, with all her troubles solved.

  ‘Miss Sanders, at last, I was beginning to wonder if something was wrong.’ Miss Fox waved for his support as she tried to stand. ‘You do look a little peaky, dear. Have you had a busy day?’

  Meredith nodded. ‘Yes. Miss Weston and I spent the late afternoon finishing her portrait. The extra sitting time has tired us both. But she is most anxious for it to be ready for tomorrow.’

  Victor Weston arrived and bowed to Meredith. ‘Good evening, Miss Sanders. I hear from Sarah that you have a surprise for me. It will be an honour to be present at the unveiling.’ He offered his arm to escort her into dinner, leaving Adam burning with envy.

  Dinner had passed socially enough and Aunt Izzie and Victor were battling out a game of backgammon.

  Adam touched Meredith’s arm. ‘Would you like a little evening air? The garden is well sheltered.’

  ‘Thank you, yes. I do have a slight headache; a little fresh air may do it good.’

  He led her out along the passage and into the garden. Taking her hand he tucked it into the crook of his arm and she trembled for just a second. ‘It’s the reaction, Meredith, to everything that has happened. A quiet stroll will ease away your tension.’

  She sighed, but made no reply.

  ‘Would you like to sit on your favourite seat? I always seem to find you there with Sarah.’

  ‘I would. How have you managed to achieve a country garden in London?’

  ‘That is Aunt Izzie’s doing. She never wed and lived most of her life in the country with her father, who was not partial to town life. She only came here when my sister died to help with my guardianship of Sarah.’

  They reached the seat and she sat down. For a few moments Adam remained standing; then he joined her. He took her hand and rubbed his thumb along her wedding finger. ‘After tomorrow, will you agree to a marriage date?’

  ‘No, Adam, I will not agree. We have yet to get the painting back to the Royal Academy. You said earlier that you would make the arrangements. Have you?’

  ‘Yes. It will be delivered anonymously early tomorrow morning. You may have no fears tonight and sleep well.’

  ‘That, I think, will be impossible. I should be there when it is put back.’

  ‘No.’ Adam’s tone was sharp. ‘You must be nowhere within the area. You must be here in your bedchamber, asleep or awake, but there you must be.’

  ‘I am to be safe, while you put yourself in danger of being associated with this …’ She struggled for the correct word and he said it for her.

  ‘Theft?’

  ‘Yes, if you must put it so bluntly, Frederick’s villainy.’ She looked away from him into the dark garden.

  He could see she was fighting an inward battle of guilt, but he was determined she would not be implicated should anything go wrong. Beyond that his personal involvement was his to deal with.

  He spoke softly, hoping to calm her. ‘Everything will go according to my plan. It is a beautiful evening, let us not quarrel. Come, there is more to see beyond this seat, we may even see an owl. I hear its cry sometimes.’ He got up and held out his hand and led her to the seat under the cherry tree. Instead of inviting her to sit down, he pointed to the moon, just past its zenith, shining in a starlit sky. The owl hooted somewhere close.
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  ‘Did you hear him? I think Mr Owl is welcoming us to his night world. We will take that as a good omen.’

  Meredith sighed. ‘It is remarkable that a country bird should be in London. I love their soft silent flight and calling voice.’

  Adam pulled her back against him and kissed her neck. ‘For you, I would fly to that round white orb, if you asked it of me.’

  She turned in his arms and looked at him with no shyness, no shame. ‘I am yours forever, Adam. I want you to remember that.’

  ‘Those are ominous words, as though you will not be here.’ A sense of foreboding came over him. ‘I don’t understand what you mean?’

  Meredith didn’t answer, but wound her arms round his neck and kissed him. When she moved away, he caught and pulled her back. ‘Tomorrow, we decide a date.’

  Meredith had been awake for hours listening for any sound that told her Adam was about. His desire to keep her away from the Royal Academy, and the painting, sprang from his love for her. It also put him in the greatest of dangers. On the other hand, her disobedience could put him in the worst of circumstances.

  Into the silence of the house, she heard the closing of Adam’s door. She leapt out of bed and opened her door a few inches. A creak came from one of the stair treads and then the sound of the front door being opened.

  Meredith closed her eyes and laid her head against the panel. ‘Please, God, keep him safe.’ She looked back at the bed; there was no use thinking of rest or sleep now. She would dress and check Sarah’s portrait. There was nothing needed, but it would occupy her mind while she waited for Adam to return.

  Adam left Tallow House in his disguise of Dello Murphy. His coachman, a trusted man who his father had found half-beaten to death in an alley years ago, had proved a loyal and faithful servant. He would not gossip about this strange rendezvous.

  The coach turned into Ludgate Hill. To deaden the rumbling sounds of the wheels, Jackson had bandaged them with strips of canvas. Hence they arrived like a phantom as the dawn light tinged the sky.