The Hidden Legacy

by Julie Roberts

  Then Victor Weston started to clap. ‘Bravo, Miss Sanders. It is a truly beautiful likeness of my daughter.’ He came forward and bowed to her. ‘I shall cherish it always.’

  From her chair, Miss Fox called her over. ‘My dear, I had no idea a woman could excel to such a high standard. You are surely destined to take a place in the artists’ world.’ She turned her head to Adam, who had remained close. ‘What do you say to this, Adam? You are about to take a wife who will be acclaimed by the mistresses of the houses, if not the masters.’

  He came forward and raised Meredith’s hand to his lips. ‘I don’t know if such a union is destined to happen.’ His words hurt, but she deserved his contempt.

  Finally, Sarah brought everything back to normal. She stood in front of her portrait and cried, big tears running down her face, and ran to Meredith. ‘Oh, Miss Sanders, it is beautiful. Am I really like that?’

  Meredith knelt and took a handkerchief from her gown pocket. She wiped away the tears and said very softly, ‘Yes, Sarah. You will be even more beautiful when you are grown up. I’m so glad you are pleased with it.’

  The child flung her arms round Meredith’s neck and kissed her cheek. ‘And you did this all for Papa, but he’s here now. Shall we have some tea and cake?’

  The room erupted into laughter and Simms, who had been standing back, awaiting the moment to proceed with the tea, stepped forward.

  Meredith tried to avoid Adam, but he was not allowing it. He waited until Simms removed the tea tray, and Victor with Sarah’s help took the portrait back to the studio.

  ‘Would you like a turn round the garden, Meredith? I think Aunt Izzie has had too much excitement and will doze a while.’

  She should decline, but she needed to get out of the confines of the room. The garden was the perfect place, but should it be with Adam? He would only wish to press her again about why she would not consent to a marriage date. But she was only putting off what needed to be said. ‘Thank you, just for a few moments.’

  To her surprise, he mentioned nothing about their relationship as they walked to the end of the garden and sat under the cherry tree. Then he spoke of his brother-in-law.

  ‘Victor says the garden is in need of attention. Would you agree?’

  ‘Perhaps a little weeding needs to be done. Do you have a gardener?’

  ‘Yes and no. My coachman does a little, but only when he is free from his own duties. I have kept him well occupied of late.’

  Again, there was a double meaning, and she made no comment.

  ‘Victor has also complained of the overgrown dog roses. As you have gathered, botany is his passion. Perhaps I will let him loose on it and see what wonders he can achieve.’

  ‘Oh, you aren’t going to let him make this into a formal garden, are you? I would hate that.’

  ‘You are planning to be here then?’

  She had fallen into her own trap. ‘I’m sorry, that was impudent of me. Of course you may do as you wish.’

  ‘That I may, madam.’ His manner and tone radiated his anger from earlier.

  She didn’t want to cause further upset and thought it prudent to return to the house. ‘I have a slight headache. If you will excuse me, sir, I will see you later.’

  Without giving him time to comment, she hurried back along the path and to her room. She lay on the coverlet. In truth her head did ache, but her heart ached more. If she took a few drops of laudanum she could sleep for an hour.

  Adam Fox! He had come back as though it had been nothing more than a worthless trinket he had been forced to deliver to save her. He was the most annoying, arrogant; she couldn’t think of one other name to damn him by and then the word love came into her mind. Oh, the man was impossible. Going to the wardrobe she picked up her valise and took a small bottle of laudanum from a side pocket the doctor at Harlington had prescribed when Frederick died. She poured a few drops into a glass of water, swallowed it quickly and lay down under the counterpane.

  Meredith was in a woolly world where nothing mattered: there were no problems, no people, no … She opened her eyes. The room was dark and Adam stood beside her bed holding a candlestick, his neck cloth missing and his shirt opened low to his waist.

  ‘Meredith, are you alright? We’ve tried to wake you several times.’

  She struggled up onto her elbow and rubbed her eyes. Everything was strange, as though her head was floating. ‘May I have a drink, please?’

  Adam put the candlestick down on the bedside cabinet and went back through the connecting door. A moment later he returned and handed her the glass and sat on the side of the bed.

  The cool liquid eased her throat and she sipped until the glass was empty. Handing it back, she asked. ‘What is the time?’

  ‘Everyone is asleep, it is past midnight. You were in such a deep slumber come dinner, we decided to leave you. But every time someone came in here nothing would wake you. What have you taken, Meredith?’

  Her eyes wouldn’t open properly and she still had a headache, but she recognised the demand of his words.

  ‘A few drops of laudanum. I just wanted to sleep and not have any dreams.’ She whispered the words, ashamed she had sunk to a point where she needed medicine to wipe away the decision she had to make.

  ‘Have I pushed you that far?’

  He sounded distraught and she gripped his arm, digging her nails into the flesh under his shirt. ‘No, it’s not you, Adam. It never has been anything you have done. Without you, where would I be at this moment? You are my knight who has defended me, risked all that you hold dear – your family – for me.’

  ‘Then what is left, Meredith? Are you saying I should choose my family above you?’

  She released her hold on his arm. In that moment she knew what she was going to do.

  ‘Yes.’ The hurt in his eyes was like a dagger through her heart.

  He picked up the candlestick. ‘Go back to sleep. We will discuss this tomorrow.’

  He walked through the door and she heard the key turn in the lock.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Meredith left her bedchamber. The only light to guide her to Mrs Clements’ room was from a small window halfway up the attic stairs.

  Gently shaking the woman, she whispered. ‘Clemmie, wake up. It’s Meredith.’ A snuffled sigh was her answer, ‘It’s time to get up.’ This time, Mrs Clements opened her eyes.

  ‘Meredith? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing, we’re going home. I’ve packed my valise. While you dress, I’ll pack yours.’

  ‘Going home? Do you mean Harlington?’

  ‘No. We’re going to Ludgate Hill.’

  ‘Why? What has happened?’

  Meredith didn’t want to get into a long conversation, especially as Cook slept next door. ‘I’ll explain later. Hurry, please.’

  Meredith helped Clemmie down the stairs. Outside Adam’s room she paused and listened; only the hall clock chiming four filled the silent house. She should have told him she was leaving – she wasn’t even sliding a note under his door. Her heartache weighed heavy in her chest as she crept down the stairs into the hall. She pulled the front door bolts and they went out into the street.

  To the east the sky had a pencil line of light pushing away the night. She walked as though alone, not glancing or saying anything to Clemmie, yet there was so much to be said. As the dawn filled the alleys and doorways a horse and cart slowed beside them.

  ‘Looking fer a ride? I’m going as far as St Pauls, if yer like to hop on the back.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. That destination will be most acceptable.’ Mrs Clements beamed up at the bearded trader. ‘Ludgate Hill is only a short walk from there. Come, Meredith, let us not keep our Good Samaritan waiting.’

  They pushed their valises between the vegetables and climbed onto the cart, dangling their legs over the back. The wheels rolled and rumbled along the cobbled road, the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves rhythmic a
s the tick of a clock.

  ‘Well, Meredith, we have nothing to do until we reach St Paul’s, except watch the beginning of a new day. What is all this about?’

  Meredith bit her lip and sighed; there was no way of avoiding the truth. She owed Clemmie that. ‘I can’t marry Mr Fox. His offer is generous, we get on well together, but …’ she paused a moment, ‘he doesn’t know about where I really come from – Blackfriars – about my real father.’

  ‘Mr Fox loves you, Meredith. You can’t just run away.’

  ‘I know.’ Her throat clogged with tears. ‘But I am what I am, a debtor’s daughter from Thames Street. But I do love him so, Clemmie, and I owe him so much.’

  Clemmie took her hand and patted it as a mother does a child. ‘Rest now, we will talk when we get home.’

  The route was a familiar one for Meredith, but this early in the morning it seemed different. Without the bustle of people, their voices, the trundling of cart and carriage wheels she could be back in the country. It didn’t soothe her agitation. She could read and write, she wasn’t a twelve-year-old illiterate anymore. There was no excuse for her thoughtless behaviour. Each turn of the wheels was taking her away from the man she loved. But this was her decision, the right thing to do.

  The cart stopped. They had reached St Paul’s Churchyard.

  ‘Thank you for the ride, sir, it did indeed save our legs a long and weary walk.’

  Meredith put their valises on the ground and they waved farewell as the cart rumbled on out of sight. As Clemmie had said, it was only a short walk to their home.

  The parlour was cold. ‘Why does an unlived in house always seem sad? I remember when we first came here, Clemmie, it took me days to make it feel like home.’

  ‘Don’t fret, dear; I’ll go to the market when we’ve settled in. I’ll buy us something special for breakfast to celebrate your first successful commission. Mr Sanders, God rest his soul, would be so proud of you.’

  Yes, he would, and she really was grateful to him for the home he had given her; for his tender ways in helping her achieve a talent that could have lain hidden forever.

  ‘I’m going downstairs. I’ll see you after you’ve been to the market.’

  Everything looked the same. She touched the blank space on the wall where the landscape painting was hanging before Adam had bought it. That now seemed a long time ago. So much had happened to her, to them, in less than two weeks. Was she a coward or a fool?

  The morning grew lighter and outside the sounds of the traders opening for business brought a sense of normality. Meredith went into the studio. She placed a canvas leaning against the wall on to the easel. Adam’s face looked back at her. What would he think when he found her gone? Ungrateful; that she had used him. That thought hurt. She took a charcoal stick and with bold strokes drew his shirt with the deep vee opening. Using her finger she shaded his dark chest, filled in the strong lines of his throat. She touched the lips she had drawn that Sunday afternoon. What was she going to do without him?

  Then Thames Street – the basement room – finally found its way into her thoughts. The urge to go back and make peace with her father became the most important thing she had to do. Perhaps, then, she could look to a future.

  She had heard Clemmie leave to go to the market. She locked the front door and walked towards St Paul’s and Blackfriars.

  Adam stood before the connecting door. Did he have the right to walk through? She had said no to his offer, yet he couldn’t accept that without talking to her again. He turned the key and went into her bedchamber. The bed was empty, all her toilette gone. He opened the wardrobe. Empty!

  His immediate reaction was a blinding anger, then shock. What was she playing at? He went to the studio; she was not there. He ran down the stairs, through the kitchen, and out into the garden. The early morning light cast shadows and the taller plants looked as though they were floating on dark water. He would find her sitting on her favourite seat; it was the only place he could think of. But she was not there.

  He went back to his study, hoping she had left him a note, but his desk was just the bare green leather square. She was gone.

  Then, let it be. But he couldn’t. Whatever real or imagined problem she had, he would solve it with her. Hadn’t he risked everything: his life, his reputation, his business; even his family’s position in society? Where would she go? The Harlington house would be re-let, she knew very few people in London. It only left Ludgate Hill; the only home she had.

  He raced up to his bedchamber and finished dressing. Within fifteen minutes he slammed the front door, no doubt waking those still asleep.

  He found a hackney and with the promise of an extra shilling he had the man whipping his horses into a gallop. The street door was locked. He banged the knocker over and over; he was certain this was where she had come. He had no other address, no names. The coachman coughed, ‘Me fare, sir, and the extra.’

  Adam’s mind was blank, not a thought would come into it. As he was about to instruct the coachman to return to Tallow House, Mrs Clements came into view carrying a well-laden bag.

  ‘Wait here; I may have another destination for you.’

  He hurried forward and relieved her of her burden. ‘Mrs Clements, where is Miss Sanders? The door is locked.’ He waved impatiently back along the street.

  ‘Locked? Perhaps she has gone to rest. Come, I have a key.’ Mrs Clements hurried forward, her agitation akin to his. When she unlocked the door, he wanted to push past, but held his impatience in check. Manners decreed that he follow her up the stairs.

  Waiting in the parlour, the minutes ticked like hammer blows from the mantel clock. Like a caged animal he paced the room until footsteps sounded coming from above. Only Mrs Clements came into the room.

  ‘I don’t understand where she has gone. But she wouldn’t have locked the premises unless she went out.’ Mrs Clements heaved a great sigh. ‘Mr Fox, what is happening? I’m far too old for all this …’ She broke off and covered her face with her hands.

  Adam guided her to the sofa and sitting down next to her spoke gently. ‘Is there anywhere special she might go? Does she have a favourite place, or someone she knows?’

  ‘No one, sir, only …’ Mrs Clements looked up at him, ‘surely, she wouldn’t go back there?’

  ‘Where, Mrs Clements? Tell me where?’

  ‘I can’t. It’s her secret, not mine to tell.’

  ‘What secret?’ His mind rolled the word around. She had mentioned that word to him before. There was something she wanted to tell him? ‘Mrs Clements, you have to tell me. I’m the only one who can help her.’

  The old woman looked down at her hands, twisted them round and round. ‘Why should I tell you, sir?’

  ‘Because, Mrs Clements, without her my life will be nothing. I love her and I know she loves me.’

  Her face softened and she smiled. ‘Do you love her enough to accept her as she is?’

  Her words made no sense, but he would agree with anything to get an address.

  ‘As she is,’ he repeated.

  ‘I don’t know the number, but there’s a house in Thames Street, in Blackfriars. I don’t promise she’s there, but she might be.’

  ‘What sort of house?’

  ‘I don’t know. You will have to search.’

  Adam squeezed her hand. ‘Thank you.’ He raced down the stairs and into the street. ‘Coachman, Blackfriars. And another shilling for your speedy horses.’

  The coach stopped somewhere in Thames Street and he got out. ‘Wait here. I’ll pay whatever you need.’

  ‘I’d be getting a fair number of rides back in the city. So it’ll cost yer, sir.’

  Adam nodded. ‘Whatever your charge, man, I promise.’

  He waited on the road. Which way? He was familiar with the docks area and this was not any different – poor houses, poor people. Women watched him from windows, others sitting on the front step. He noticed the child
ren had no shoes; their clothes ragged and dirty. He’d never had a need to visit Blackfriars before as his agent dealt with most of the routine work.

  What was Meredith doing here?

  He walked, looking from side to side. An inn was open and although he thought The Grapes a place of ill repute, it looked better than this one. Leaning against the doorway was a woman, her dark hair streaked with grey. She smiled, but her eyes were as lifeless as a corpse. There was no hiding what she did for a living as she raised her skirt and drew her bare leg in a semi-circle and beckoned him over.

  What was Meredith doing in an area like this?

  Passing a young girl scrubbing a step, he thought of asking if she had seen Meredith, but the girl’s eyes were lowered, watching her hands push backwards and forwards in some kind of rhythmic trance.

  Adam walked on. He almost missed her. Only her yellow gown stood out against the dark grey house. She sat on a basement step, her hands clasped in her lap, a blank expression on her face, her eyes staring, like a child forlorn and lost.

  He sat on the step next to her. ‘Hello, Meredith. May I sit here with you?’ She didn’t answer, didn’t even acknowledge him. ‘Are you visiting someone?’ He lifted her hand and despite the morning sun her fingers were cold. The movement seemed to bring her back to the present and she looked at him.

  ‘Adam? What are you doing here?’ Her glazed stare turned to one of fear. ‘You can’t be here, no one knows … did Mrs Clements … no, she wouldn’t …’ She tried to get up, but he held firmly on to her hand.

  ‘Yes, she did, Meredith, but only because I told her my life would be nothing without you. Why are you here?’

  She stilled; then she sighed. ‘This is where I was born. This is where I ran away from.’

  Adam didn’t know what he had expected her secret to be. But not this!

  She came from a riverside family, was part of what he had passed earlier walking along this road? It wasn’t possible; she was a lady of means. Frederick Sanders had been an artist, a man who belonged amongst respected citizens. His life in the underworld of Madame Lightfoot was a period outside that of his peers.