The Constant Heart

by Dilly Court

  'No. That's impossible. I don't believe you.'

  'I'm afraid it's true. Look! I'm not wearing his ring.' Rosina held out her left hand. 'There was a terrible row – you slept through it all. But I broke off my engagement to Harry and I threw the ring at him. Roland must have picked it up and put it in his pocket. Apparently he forgot it was there, and when he came to see you the ring fell out of his handkerchief into your teacup.'

  Sukey's eyes filled with tears and her lips trembled. 'He told you this?'

  Rosina nodded.

  'Why didn't he come to me first? He should have told me himself.'

  'He didn't want to hurt you. And he was afraid that your father might sue him for breach of promise.'

  Sukey leapt to her feet. 'I don't believe you. I want to hear it from his lips.'

  'He's gone abroad on business. I really am so sorry, Sukey.'

  With tears pouring down her face, Sukey wrenched the ring from her finger and threw it at Rosina. 'You should have told me sooner. You ought not to have let me go on dreaming of a rich husband. I've told everyone I could think of and now I'll be a laughing stock.'

  'What can I say? It was all a terrible misunderstanding.' Rosina picked up the ring, trying not to look relieved. She was desperately sorry for her friend, but now she had the ring in her possession she would be able to give it back to Harry and he would drop the charges against Walter.

  'You'd better go,' Sukey said, mopping her eyes with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. 'I thought you were my friend, but you could have saved me from this humiliating situation. One word from you and I would have known that it was all a mistake, but you chose to keep quiet and allow me to make a complete fool of myself. I hate you, Rosina. I never want to see you again.'

  'But, Sukey . . .'

  'Go away. Leave me alone.' Sukey collapsed onto the sofa in a flood of tears.

  Reluctantly, Rosina left the parlour and let herself out of the house. She hesitated on the doorstep, gazing down at the diamond ring lying in the palm of her hand. Who would have thought that such a small object could cause so much distress? She was deeply troubled by Sukey's plight, and yet part of her was rejoicing that she held the evidence in her hand which would prove Walter's innocence. Walter! Her heart seemed to miss a beat. For that split second on the wharf she had been convinced that Walter and Will were the same person. Had she been dreaming? Was it simply wishful thinking or an overactive imagination? She had never seen Will in daylight. She had never seen him unmasked. But the Walter who had stood up to Harry on the wharf had seemed like a completely different person to the young man who had toiled quietly in her father's counting house. She closed her fingers around the cold, hard diamond.

  'And where do you think you are going with my daughter's engagement ring?'

  Rosina spun round to face Captain Barnum. She had been so deep in thought that she had not heard the door open behind her. Towering over her, Ham Barnum seized her by the wrist and forced her fingers open. He took the ring from her hand. 'That belongs to Susan.'

  'No, Captain Barnum. It does not. I've explained the mistake to Sukey. I'm terribly sorry, but it's all true.'

  'I don't care whether it's true or not. The fact is that Mr Roland Rivers gave my daughter an engagement ring. I intend to sue him for every penny he's got. I'll not have my daughter's good name ruined by a libertine.'

  'You mean as you ruined my mother's good name?' Rosina glared up at him, unafraid and furious. 'Now you know how my grandpa must have felt when you seduced my poor mother.'

  Barnum flinched as though she had slapped his face. 'Shut your mouth, girl. You don't know what you're saying.'

  'You know it's true, but that is all in the past now: what matters is that Walter has been accused of stealing the ring and he is innocent. Please give it back to me, Captain Barnum. If you don't then Walter will go to prison for a crime that he did not commit.'

  'Bah! That young man deserves all he gets. I've suspected him of stealing from my boats all along, although I couldn't prove it. He thinks he has some grudge against me, of which I know nothing. Let him rot in jail for all I care. And you, young lady, keep away from my daughter. If you ever come near my house again I'll have you thrown out like the common little slut that you are.'

  Rosina threw herself down on her knees in the dust. 'Please, Captain Barnum. I'm begging you . . .'

  Barnum went into the house and slammed the door.

  Walter's last chance was gone. She rose slowly to her feet, too shocked even to cry. The only person who could save him now had travelled abroad and might stay there indefinitely if Captain Barnum carried out his threat to sue him for breach of promise. She must see Walter. She must find out what had happened to him. Rosina ran, ignoring the concerned comments from the men on the docks as she raced over the cobblestones heading for the dock police station. She arrived breathless and dishevelled with her hair tumbling loose around her shoulders and perspiration streaming down her face. She barged in through the doors, not caring what the men inside would think of her. She marched up to the counter where the desk sergeant was writing something in a book.

  'Where is he?' she demanded. 'Mr Walter Brown was brought in here a little while ago. I want to see him.'

  Without looking up, the sergeant continued to write. 'Take a seat, miss.'

  'No, I won't take a seat. I want to see Walter. I know he's here.'

  'Take a seat, miss, or leave the premises. I'll see to you in a minute.'

  Rosina paced the floor, wringing her hands. She could not rest until she discovered Walter's fate. After what seemed like hours, but the large white-faced clock on the wall indicated that it was only a few minutes, the sergeant put down his pen and stared at her. 'Now what was it that you wanted, miss?'

  She gripped the edge of the counter, her knuckles showing white beneath the taut skin. 'My friend, Mr Walter Brown, has been wrongly arrested. Please may I see him?'

  'You may.'

  Her heart leapt in her chest. 'May I see him now?'

  'You can see him in court tomorrow morning, miss. He'll be up before the magistrate on a number of charges.'

  'But that's impossible. You've got it all wrong.'

  The sergeant glanced over his shoulder as an inner door opened and Harry strolled into the room. 'Do you know this young person, Mr Gostellow?'

  'What are you doing here, Rosie?' Harry demanded, frowning. 'You shouldn't have come.'

  'You're absolutely right, sir. May I suggest that you escort the young lady from the building before she gets herself into trouble?' The sergeant glowered at Rosina.

  She forced her lips into a smile. 'Please, sergeant. May I just see Mr Brown for one minute? That's all I ask. One little minute.'

  Harry took her by the arm. 'Come away, Rosina. You're making a scene.'

  'I'm sorry, miss. Best do as Mr Gostellow says. You can't do no good here.'

  Before Rosina could protest any further, Harry had steered her out of the police station. 'You little fool; you'll only get yourself into trouble. Go home, Rosie. There's nothing you can do to save your lover. Walter Brown will go to jail for a very long time. If they can find enough evidence against him he will probably be hanged for piracy, and, if not, I can assure you that after a few years in prison he will wish that they had stretched his neck on the gallows.'

  Chapter Seventeen

  The magistrate ordered that Walter be held in custody at Newgate pending trial in the Crown Court, and without bail. Rosina caught only a brief glimpse of him as he was led into the dock and then taken away to the cells after the charges were read and he had put in a plea of not guilty. She left the courtroom in a daze. What chance did Walter stand when Harry could afford the best brief in London? It was all so terribly unfair, and she quite simply did not know which way to turn. As she walked homewards from East Arbour Street in Stepney, she racked her brains trying to think of someone to whom she could turn for advice. It was raining, and after the heat of the previous few days the moisture e
vaporated in hissing steam as it touched the pavements. She had not thought to bring an umbrella, and by the time she reached Ratcliff Highway she was soaked to the skin. It was less than three months since her birthday when she had collected her new bonnet from the milliner's shop. So much had happened in that short time: she had been a carefree girl then, with the world at her feet; now she and her family were facing ruin and the man she loved – for she was certain that Walter and Will were the same person – was facing imprisonment or even death if the case of piracy could be proved against him.

  'Rosie? Come inside, girl. You'll catch your death of cold.'

  Old Jamjar's familiar voice brought her to a halt. The shrill chatter of the exotic birds inside the shop echoed in her ears; it sounded as though they were mocking her sad state. 'Mr Jamjar?'

  He hooked his arm round her shoulders, guiding her into the dark recesses of his shop. Fronds of potted palm brushed her forehead and the fuggy atmosphere of the interior made her gasp for breath. The pervading odour was a choking combination of damp earth and bird droppings, but old Jamjar seemed impervious to the smell. He helped her to a chair. 'You look done in, girl. What were you doing all alone and wandering about in the rain?' His wrinkled face was close to hers and his beady black eyes were filled with concern.

  'I've just been to the police court and seen a friend sent down to await trial. He didn't do it, Mr Jamjar. Walter is an innocent man.'

  'And you care a great deal for this friend of yours, if I'm not mistaken?'

  Rosina nodded. 'I – I do.'

  'And what does the good captain say about all this?'

  'My papa is a sick man. He had to go to the country to recover from an illness.'

  'Then you need someone to give you good advice, my dear.' He shambled off into the darkness and returned seconds later with a slip of paper in his hand. 'Go and see this man. Tell him that old Jamjar sent you. If Septimus Sumption can't help you, no one can.'

  She peered at the spidery scrawl; in the dim light it was difficult to make out the address. 'Thank you, Mr Jamjar.' She tried to get up, but he pressed her back onto the seat.

  'You're going nowhere until you've had a restorative cup of mint tea. If you go down with a chill, you'll be no use to anyone.' He disappeared once again into the back of the shop.

  All around her the birds squawked and uttered shrill cries as they fluttered about in their cages. She was shivering violently now, even though it was hotter in the shop than it was outside. Her teeth chattered against the china mug as she attempted to sip the drink which he handed to her. The clear brown liquid smelt of mint and something much stronger; she coughed as the raw spirit caught the back of her throat.

  Jamjar took a swig of his drink and chuckled. 'That's good navy rum, Rosie, my girl. That'll keep the fever at bay.'

  She left the shop with a warm glow in her stomach and a muzzy feeling in her head. The mint tea laced with rum had certainly warmed her chilled flesh and had given her the courage to seek out Mr Sumption at his address in Naked Boy Yard, which turned out to be as insalubrious as its name might imply. Picking her way through piles of rotting vegetable matter and excrement, Rosina bunched up her skirts to prevent them from trailing in the filth. A huge rat ran over her feet as she entered the tenement building and the stench of unwashed bodies, urine and stale tobacco smoke made her retch. She covered her nose with her hand and made her way down a narrow passage, checking the numbers scratched on the peeling paintwork of the closed doors. At the very end she found Sumption's room, and she knocked on the cracked panelling. When she received no answer, she gave the door a push and it opened. She went inside.

  She had expected that a man of the law would have some sort of office, even in a rundown establishment such as this, but the only furniture in the room was a truckle bed in one corner, a table piled high with books, and a chair by the empty hearth in which a man lay slumped and apparently asleep. Loosely clasped in his hand was an empty glass, which seemed in danger of falling to the floor at any moment.

  Rosina cleared her throat. 'Ahem. Mr Sumption?'

  He stirred, opened one eye and then appeared to go back to sleep. She went over to him and tapped him on the shoulder. 'Mr Sumption, I need to speak to you, sir.'

  He opened both his eyes this time, staring at her blearily and in an unfocused manner. 'Who the devil are you?'

  A miasma of stale alcohol hung around him, and it was making her feel sick. 'Mr Jamjar sent me. He said you might be able to help a friend of mine who is in trouble.'

  'Oh, trouble. I'm well acquainted with trouble. You might say that trouble is my middle name, Miss . . . er, what is your name?'

  'Rosina May. Will you help me, sir? But first I must tell you that I have no money at present, although I swear on my honour that I will pay your fee as soon as I am able.'

  Septimus sat upright, wincing with pain and clasping his hand to his forehead. 'At least you're honest about it. Pass me that bottle.' He nodded in the direction of a bottle, which was just beyond his reach.

  Rosina gave it to him. 'Haven't you drunk enough already?'

  He took a long draught of the spirit and pulled back his lips in a satisfied sigh. 'Never enough, my dear. Never enough to blot out the tragedy of my talent wasted and my life – a travesty. What did you say you wanted?'

  She was not certain how much he was capable of understanding, but she knew that she had no option other than to confide in him. She looked round for a chair, and, finding there was none, she sat down on a pile of leather-bound law books and began her story. He seemed to be taking it in, although he fortified himself at regular intervals with sips from the bottle. When she had finished he was silent for a while, as if mulling it over in his mind.

  'Have you any money at all, Miss May? I seem to have drunk the last drop.'

  'No, I haven't. And if I had I would not give it to you at this moment. You can't possibly think straight if you're drunk.'

  He rubbed his stubbly chin, grinning ruefully. 'I am at my most brilliant best when I'm three sheets to the wind.'

  She rose to her feet. 'I can see that I'm wasting your time.'

  'No. Stay, please. I'll take the case, even though I'll probably regret it later. Your devotion to your man is most touching. If only all women were as faithful as you, Miss May. I, alas, was not so fortunate as your Walter.'

  'Then you will help me?'

  He nodded his head. 'It seems to me that your only chance is to persuade the one person who knows the truth to return to London to testify on Walter's behalf.'

  'But Roland Rivers has gone to Holland on business and to evade a breach of promise suit brought by the Barnums.'

  'Then you must go to Holland and put your case to him.'

  She stared at him in horror. 'I can't do that. I haven't any money and I couldn't go all that way on my own.'

  'Then your man will go to prison for a very long time, or even worse.'

  'You should go to Holland, not I.'

  He uttered a snort of derisive laughter. 'Look at me, Miss May. Do you think that a man like Rivers would take any notice of a fellow like me? I think that you are the only person who might persuade him to return to London to bear witness.'

  'But I wouldn't know where to begin looking for him.'

  Septimus eased himself out of his chair and stood up, swaying slightly. He lurched over to the table and riffled through a pile of books, tossing the discarded ones on the floor. 'Aha, this is the one.' He flipped through the pages. 'It is a directory of London companies and their foreign holdings. Here you are. Rivers and Son, Import and Export Company, trading with – et cetera, et cetera. And their address in Rotterdam is . . .' He tore the page out of the book and handed it to her. 'Go there and doubtless they will know where to find Mr Roland Rivers. The rest is up to you.'