“Betrothed to Garingham? Blessed Mother o’ God, isn’t that perfect.”
“Do you know Sir John Garingham?”
“Everyone knows Garingham. Years ago, the old Earl Edward Garingham owned everything and everybody. Miners hadn’t been indentured for years, but woe betide the ones who tried to quit Garingham.” He puffed slowly. “One by one, disaster struck the mines. Every few years one caved in, or give out. The son, John Garingham, was ruined with spoiling. The finest schools, expensive holidays in Scotland. I’ve heard he goes shooting with the king. The king mind y’, and those boys do a good deal more than just shooting.” He chuckled.
“I dare say you’re right, but isn’t that sort of expected, I mean, by men of that class?”
“Not if they got no money. It takes a lot of money to ramble with royalty.”
“But the coal mines…”
Father Tim snorted. “Down to practically nothin’, ten years ago at least. Just before Christmas the last good one collapsed up near Tebay.”
Sam’s heart was racing. “So there’s no money coming in now?” Father Tim shook his head and Sam looked around the room. “Is there a telephone? I need to call London.”
“Yes! I’ve just got one.” Father Tim beamed. “Hardly ever been used. Never called London, this is marvellous.”
“I’ll pay you for the call.”
“Nonsense, laddie. Teach me to make m’ dogs sit. That’ll be payment a plenty.”
Sam gave the operator Isabelle’s phone number. It took an hour for the call to go through. When Sam heard Isabella say that Elly was well, he breathed a sigh of relief.
The next morning, Sam bid Father Tim and his dogs goodbye, and caught a train to Grassington. The tiny station was deserted. He walked down a country lane for an hour before finding the village. The grocer was making a delivery to Dr. Vickers’s dispensary, so Sam paid him for a lift. At 2:00 the grocer’s boy loaded his cart. When it started to rain the boy headed for the pub. “Can’t go now, road’s too wet.” At 4:30, the boy said, “Can’t go now, be dark soon.”
Sam spent the night in a room over the pub. Annoyed at having wasted an entire day, he bought a local paper and bored himself to sleep with the prices of wool and sheep dip.
Chapter 21
Monday, January 4, 1904
Grateful for a day off, Elly slept late, washed, dressed, and met Michael at the underground. She had never traveled on this small subterranean railroad. It was exciting. After a few stops, they were at South Kensington Station, Exhibition Road, practically in front of the Gildstein Gallery. A sign outside read:
Premier Exhibition:
ROBERT DENNISON
Oils and Pastels
January 5th - 10th
Elly held her breath as they walked up the three front steps and went inside. Just past a small reception area, they turned the corner. Elly nearly fainted. Directly in front of them, in an ornate gilded frame, hung Autumn Lady.
Michael caught his breath and grabbed her arm. The warm copper of Autumn Lady’s hair flew wild against a background of mottled leaves. It was hard to tell if she was lying down or standing up, surrounded by brilliant clusters of reds and yellows. The intensity of her green eyes and the hint of a seductive smile held him captive. He pulled his eyes away from the painting long enough to look at the pale trembling girl on his arm.
“Rob looked at you and saw her? She’s beautiful. No mistaking it’s you, but...” he shook his head.
Elly silently prayed, please God, don’t let anyone else recognize me. As they walked into the main room, she broke into a grin. Immaculately framed, hanging on pristine walls, were paintings she loved, and some she had never seen. She saw the school chapel with the river in the background. She could almost smell the fresh-cut grass and hear water running over the rocks. Hearing voices, she followed Michael toward a second room that housed the pastels. Workmen pulled a partition, shortening the space. Robert was concentrating on the construction and he did not see his friends. He wore his usual dark suit, but his shirt was new, and his tie was a bright combination of colors no school-master would ever wear.
A well dressed, elderly man directed the workers. “A little further chaps, that’s it. Jake, mind your end.”
“Sorry, Gov’.” A man with matted yellow hair caught the partition just before it slammed into the wall.
Robert clutched Mr. Gildstein’s hand in both of his. “This is a dream come true, sir. Thank you so much.”
“You’re a gifted painter, Mr. Dennison. I always said so. I’m only pleased no one else has been shrewd enough to give you a show before now. We’ll make money together. Wait and see.” He put a fatherly hand on Robert’s shoulder, and saw Michael and Elly in the doorway. “Your friends?”
Robert turned. “Yes. Indeed they are.” The three hurried toward each other, hugged and laughed. Robert introduced them to his benefactor.
Michael gave Robert a playful sock on the arm. “Rob, these paintings are marvelous. That picture of Elly is as good as anything in the National Portrait Gallery.”
Mr. Gildstein nodded. “It’s better than some.” He waved goodbye, and walked past Jake, still fiddling with the partition.
Jake sunk onto his haunches, slowly turned his head, and settled his eyes on Elly. Silent as a snake, he slithered from the room.
Robert looked so handsome, and his smile was so inviting, Elly wanted to throw herself in his arms. Instead, she pretended to study his pictures.
Robert stared lovingly. “I’ve been looking at that painting, wondering if I’d dreamed you.” She smiled shyly, but did not speak. He asked, “So… You’re all right, then?”
She forced a big smile, but a black cloud seemed to cover her. I am not all right. I’m trying to hide from my father, and a huge picture of me hangs in the foyer, for the entire world to see. Robert waited. His soft brown eyes were full of concern. She clenched her jaw. He risked everything for me. I have to risk this for him. Squeezing her hands into fists at her sides, she took a deep breath. “Yes, thank you. I’m absolutely fine… And you?”
“Actually, I’m frightened to death.”
Michael laughed. “Why? Mr. Gildstein just said that you’d make money together. He’s the authority, isn’t he?”
“Pray God, he’s right.” He looked back at Elly. “Oh, my sweet girl.” He reached for her and she threw herself into his arms. They held each other tight. “You have no idea what that school was like without you. I have missed you so much.” He kissed her forehead and cheeks. “The very thought of spending the rest of my life at a place like that…”
Michael threw up his hands. “Rob, it won’t happen. This time next week, you’ll have a slew of commissions and be setting up your own studio.”
Chuckling softly, Robert let Elly go. “Thanks Mike. I needed to hear that. In fact, thanks for everything. You’ve been a rock.”
“I haven’t, actually. I became the world’s worst coward when I got your second letter. Elly’s made a lot of friends. You’ll need to thank them.”
Robert gave her a squeeze. “Have you really? That’s wonderful. I want to hear everything that’s happened.”
After supper at a nearby pub, Michael took Robert and Elly to the room he rented in wig-master Eugene’s large flat. They hung their coats by the front door, and Michael led them down a long hall leading to the bedrooms. He listened at one door and moved on, whispering. “That’s my darling Sandra’s room. She’s playing Miranda in The Tempest. She’s been on trains for two days and she’s dead tired. I’ll stay with her tonight. Here’s my room. Sorry for the mess.” He bid them good night, and left them alone.
Elly looked around the room. The wooden floor was bare and the white walls void of any decoration. A small desk was covered with books and scripts, and the bedcover lay crooked. She joked, “I’ll wager Sandra’s room looks better than this.”
Robert’s heart pounded. He opened his hands. “Elly, darling, you don’t have to stay. I’ll take you
home this instant, if you want to go.”
She looked at the floor. “I don’t want to go, just yet.”
He watched her for a moment, then walked over to the window, closed the drapes and hung on to them with both hands.
Elly’s heart pounded. “Do you want me to stay?”
“More than anything. I wasn’t sure you’d want to.” There were tears in his voice.
“I, I want to talk.” She gasped for breath. “Can we just… talk?”
“Oh, yes, please. That would be marvelous.”
Chapter 22
Tuesday, January 5, 1904
It was two o’clock Tuesday afternoon when Sam Smelling finally arrived at the moorland dispensary of Doctor Frederick Vickers. The rustic medical center was clean, dry, and relatively warm. The walls were rough stone, and the roof was layered with thick slate. At first, Sam couldn’t tell the doctor from his patients. Everyone wore heavy work boots and rough woven clothes. Only an intelligence behind his eyes, and long, clean, delicate fingers, made Dr. Vickers stand out from the rest. It was after 4:00 when the surgery emptied, and the doctor had a moment for Sam. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“You can tell me about the early morning of December 23, 1885.”
A half-smile appeared on the doctor’s face. “I’ve been waiting eighteen years for someone to ask me about that night. I’m famished. Let’s have our tea.”
After a tasty meal of pork pie and mushy peas, Dr. Vickers sat back with a tall glass of ale. “You saw the folks that came in today?”
Sam nodded, enjoying his glass of black stout.
“They are what they seem to be, nothing more and nothing less. Folks in the big houses, y’ never know who you’re dealing with.” He laughed sadly. “It’s taken eighteen years for someone to notice that something was wrong that night. Eighteen years. The worst night o’ my life, the night that child was born. What’s your interest?”
“The child, Elisa. She’s eighteen and trying to escape marrying Sir John Garingham.”
Dr. Vickers grimaced. “Good luck to her. That union was signed and sealed the moment she was born.”
“You see nothing wrong in it?”
“I see everything wrong in it, but what’s t’ be done? That bastard, Tony Roundtree, married the mother, Bertha, before the child was born, so Elisa’s his property. I’m surprised he didn’t marry her off last year, at seventeen. Garingham paid off Tony’s debts and promised to keep him on a generous allowance. In exchange, Garingham was to marry Elisa and get a share of her fortune.”
“Did Bertha willingly marry Anthony Roundtree?”
“Oh, my grief, man. That poor woman was in such torment, she didn’t know if it were day or night. She’d been in labor three days before they called me. Three days! They’d a good midwife, Betty Graves, she was the best there was.”
“Where is she now?”
“Dead, long ago. But that baby was so twisted up inside, she wasn’t skilled enough to handle that. After poor Bertha died, and I cut the child from her belly, I was sure she’d be deformed in some way. Year-after-year I was amazed to see her grow healthy and beautiful. I watched from a distance, mind y’. I wanted nothing more to do with that bastard Roundtree.”
“Would you stand up in court and testify that Bertha Roundtree was not in a rational state of mind when she married Anthony Roundtree?”
He snorted a laugh. “Do you know how little my life would be worth, if I crossed Roundtree and Garingham together?” He paused, looking at the ceiling. “I wonder if anyone would believe me. What’s the word of a country doctor against an earl and his father in-law?”
“They wouldn’t go so far as murder, surely?”
“They may have already.”
“What are you saying?”
“I had a patient, about ten years ago. Al Sanderson, been in the military, serving in Suez. His family was from Tebay, and they all worked in Garingham’s mine. He came home, went back into the mines and a beam fell on him. On his deathbed, he told me that while he was in Suez, he got a letter from his sister saying that Garingham threatened to collapse a shaft on his whole family, unless he arranged for the murder of Charles Roundtree. The poor sod was a regular serviceman, no money or connections, his whole family in Tebay. Didn’t know what else to do, so he gave a local thug a pound, and Charles Roundtree’s body was found floating in the canal.”
The blood drained from Sam’s face. “May I make a call?” He walked to the telephone box in the corner.
“You may.”
“I’ll pay for the call.”
“And being a poor country doctor, I’ll accept payment. Please, help yourself.”
Sam was already cranking the handle. He rang Isabelle, and the call went through in only a few minutes. Smythe answered, saying that Her Ladyship was out, not expected home until late, and His Lordship was in Kent. Her Ladyship had specifically wanted Mr. Smelling to know that all was well with Elly Fielding. After leaving Dr. Vickers’s number, Sam asked Smythe to tell Isabelle that Elly Fielding was in danger and needed protection immediately. Smythe promised to leave the message where Her Ladyship would see it, directly upon her return. Sam thanked him and hung up.
Shaken, he turned back to Dr. Vickers. “This man, Sanderson… is his sister still around?”
“Couldn’t say. Never knew her.”
“Roundtree’s sister, Elisa’s Aunt Lillian. What’s she like?”
“A frightened rabbit. Worst fate in the world, the spinster sister of a mean-spirited brother. Nowhere to go, totally dependent. I’ve heard he beats her.”
Sam looked grim. “Tell me about Reverend Laurence Folen.”
“That old sodomite! What do you want to know?”
“I want to know about that night.” Sam sat down, ashen.
Dr. Vickers smirked. “Roundtree had found Folen with his stable boy and threatened to tell the Bishop. Folen did what he was told.”
“Even going so far as to commit bigamy?”
“What?”
“In all probability, Charles Roundtree was still alive on December 23.”
Dr. Vickers started laughing and did not stop until tears ran down his cheeks.
*
After Smythe hung up the telephone, he wrote a very careful note:
Your Ladyship,
Sam Smelling called from Grassington 9 - 8, at 6:00 this evening. He wants you to know that Elly Fielding is in danger and needs protection immediately.
Smythe
He took the note upstairs to Isabelle’s boudoir, pulled a chair in front of the door, and placed the note on the chair, so she could not possibly miss it. An hour later, Cindy and Bella raced down from the nursery with armloads of pictures they had painted for their mummy. Knowing that her mistress was out for the evening, the accompanying nanny opened the door to the boudoir. The little girls ran past her and plopped their paintings on a chair that had conveniently been left in front of the door.
Chapter 23
Wednesday, January 6, 1904
The alarm clock rang and Robert groaned. “What’s the time?”
“Seven.” Elly kissed him good morning and reset the clock for eight-thirty.
He pulled the cover over his head, disappearing into the warm darkness.
Elly climbed off the bed, still in her rumpled frock. The coal fire had gone out hours ago and the floor was like ice. Shivering, she pulled on her shoes and coat, wrapped her scarf around her hair, tiptoed from the flat, downstairs, and outside to the quiet residential street. The omnibus stop was a five-minute walk. It was still dark, and very few people were about. Today was the first rehearsal of The Tempest. She planned to have breakfast at the boardinghouse, change into a fresh frock, and get to rehearsal before ten.
“Autumn Lady.” It was a man’s voice.
She froze, then quickened her pace.
A man stepped in front of her. “Didn’t you hear me call you, Autumn Lady?”
She recognized Jake, the gallery worker
with the matted yellow hair. Relieved to see a familiar face, she released her breath. “Oh, good morning. You startled me.” He stood squarely in front of her, his arms behind his back. A harsh gust of wind pushed her off balance, and blew his yellow hair oddly askew. Forcing a smile, she looked into his steely eyes. Her voice sounded hoarse. “That’s a lovely painting, but I assure you, I wasn’t the model.”
The wind blew again, pushing his hair further over his face. He made no attempt to straighten it. He was wearing a wig. His lips spread into a sneer, revealing the gap from a missing tooth. “Yorkshire lassies shouldn’t tell lies.”
Elly’s eyes grew huge. She lunged sideways and ran back toward Michael’s flat. Jake followed, cursing under his breath. She passed a narrow alley without seeing a huge man standing in the shadows.
Jake yelled, “Catch her, Mick!”
The huge man grabbed her from behind. She flayed her arms and legs, screaming at the top of her lungs. Jake forced a foul smelling cloth over her face. Her kicking legs gave way, as she lost consciousness.
End of Book Two
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