Highgate Rise

by Anne Perry

  “I wouldn’t dream of going without you,” Charlotte said candidly.

  While Charlotte and Gracie were following the path of Clemency Shaw, Jack Radley looked up one of his less reputable friends from his gambling days, before he had met Emily, and persuaded him that it would be both interesting and profitable to take a turn around some of the worst rented accommodation in London. Anton was very dubious about the interest it would afford, but since Jack promised him his silver cigar cutter—he had given up the habit anyway—he understood the profit readily enough, and agreed to do it.

  Jack absolutely forbade Emily to go with them, and for the first time in their relationship he brooked no argument whatsoever.

  “You may not come,” he said with a charming smile and completely steady eyes.

  “But—” she began, smiling back at him, searching for a lightness in him, a softness in his expression which would allow her to win him over. To her surprise she found none. “But—” she began again, looking for an argument in her favor.

  “You may not come, Emily.” There was not a flicker in his eyes and no yielding in his mouth. “It will be dangerous, if we have any success, and you would be in the way. Remember the reason we are doing this, and don’t argue the toss. It is a waste of time, because whatever you say, you are not coming.”

  She drew in a deep breath. “Very well,” she conceded with as much grace as she could muster. “If that is what you wish.”

  “It is better than that, my love,” he said with the first edge of a smile. “It is an order.”

  When he and Anton had departed, leaving her on the doorstep, she felt completely betrayed. Then as she gave the matter more reasoned consideration, she realized that he had done it to protect her from both the unpleasantness of the journey and the distress of what she would inevitably see; and she was pleased that he showed such concern. She had no desire to be taken for granted. And while she did not like being denied or countermanded, she also did not like being able to prevail over his wishes. Getting your own way too often can be singularly unsatisfying.

  With an idle afternoon on her hands, and a mind teeming with questions, she ordered the other carriage. After dressing extremely carefully in a new gown from Salon Worth in Paris, a deep thunder blue which flattered her fair coloring, and embroidered lavishly in blouse front and around the hem, she set out to visit a certain lady whose wealth and family interests were greater than her scruples. This she knew from high society friends she had met in the past, at places where breeding and money were of far more account than personal affection or any form of regard.

  Emily alighted and climbed the steps at the Park Lane address. When the door was opened, she presented her card and stood her ground while a slightly disconcerted parlormaid read it. It was one of Emily’s old ones from before her remarriage, and still read “The Viscountess Ashworth,” which was very much more impressive than “Mrs. Jack Radley.”

  Normally a lady would have left her card so the lady of the house might in turn leave hers and they would agree on a future time to meet, but Emily was clearly not going to depart. The parlormaid was obliged either to ask her to go or to invite her in. The title left her only one choice.

  “Please come in, my lady, and I will see if Lady Priscilla will receive you.”

  Emily accepted graciously, and head high, walked through the large hallway decked with family portraits, even a suit of armor on a stand. She took her place in the morning room in front of the fire, until the maid returned and ushered her upstairs into the first-story boudoir, the sitting room specially reserved for ladies.

  It was an exquisite room, decorated in the Oriental style, which had become popular lately, and full of chinoiserie of every sort: lacquer boxes, an embroidered silk screen, landscape paintings where mountains floated above mists and waterfalls and tiny figures like black dots traveled on interminable roads. There was a glass-shelved cupboard containing at least twenty jade and ivory figures, and two carved ivory fans like frozen white lace.

  Lady Priscilla herself was perhaps fifty, thin and with black hair of an unnatural depth that only her fondest friends imagined to be her own. She was wearing magenta and rose, also embroidered, but perfectly symmetrical. She knew it was a mistake as soon as she saw Emily.

  “Lady Ashworth!” she exclaimed with courteous surprise. “How charming of you to have called upon me—and how unexpected.”

  Emily knew perfectly well she meant “how uncouth and without the appropriate warning,” but she had come with a highly practical purpose in mind, and had no intention of jeopardizing it with impulsive words.

  “I wished to find you alone,” Emily replied with a slight inclining of her head. “I would like some confidential advice, and it suddenly occurred to me that no one in London would be better able to give it than you.”

  “Good gracious. How you flatter me!” Lady Priscilla exclaimed, but her overriding expression was not vain so much as curious. “Whatever do I know that you do not know quite as well yourself?” She smiled. “A little scandal, perhaps—but surely you have not come alone at this time of day for that.”

  “I am not averse to it.” Emily sat down on the chair indicated. “But that is not why I am here. It is counsel I want, in certain matters in which I now have the freedom to be my own mistress—” She let it hang in the air, and saw Priscilla’s sharp face quicken with interest.

  “Your own mistress? Of course I heard of Lord Ashworth’s death—” She composed her features to the appropriate solicitude. “My dear, how awful. I am so sorry.”

  “It was some time ago now.” Emily brushed it aside. “I have remarried, you know—”

  “But your card.”

  “Oh—did I give you one of the old ones? How careless of me. I do apologize. I am getting so shortsighted these days.”

  It was on Priscilla’s tongue to say “A small pair of spectacles, perhaps?” but she did not wish to be too offensive in case she did not learn the cause for Emily’s consulting her, and then how could she relate it to others?

  “It is of no consequence,” she murmured.

  Emily smiled dazzlingly. “How gracious of you.”

  “If I can help?” Priscilla offered intenüy.

  “Oh I’m sure.” Emily settled a little farther into her seat. This could have been quite entertaining, but she must not lose sight of her reason for coming. Clemency Shaw’s death was enough to sober any amusement. “I have a certain amount of money at my disposal, and I should like to invest it profitably, and if possible where it is both safe and reasonably discreet.”

  “Oh—” Priscilla let out her breath slowly, a dawn of comprehension in her face. “You would like it to return you some profit, but be inaccessible to your family. And you are married again?”

  “I am.” Silently Emily thought of Jack, and apologized to him. “Hence the need for the utmost … discretion.”

  “Absolute secrecy,” Priscilla assured her, her eyes alight. “I can advise you very well; you certainly came to the right person.”

  “I knew it,” Emily said with triumph in her voice, not for investment, but because she was on the brink of discovering exactly what she sought. “I knew you were the very best person. What should I do with it? I have quite a substantial amount, you understand?”

  “Property,” Priscilla replied without hesitation.

  Emily schooled her face very carefully into disappointment.

  “Property? But then anyone who wished could ascertain exactly what I owned, and what income it brought me—which is precisely what I wish to avoid!”

  “Oh my dear—don’t be naive!” Priscilla waved her hands, dismissing the very idea. “I don’t mean domestic residences in Primrose Hill. I mean two or three blocks of old tenements in Mile End or Wapping, or St. Giles.”

  “Wapping?” Emily said with careful incredulity. “What on earth would that be worth to me?”

  “A fortune,” Priscilla replied. “Place it in the hands of a good business
manager, who will see that it is let advantageously, and that the rent is collected every week or month, and it will double your outlay in no time.”

  Emily frowned. “Really? How on earth would rent for places like that amount to much? Only the poorest people live in such areas, don’t they? They could hardly pay the kind of rents I should wish.”

  “Oh yes they can,” Priscilla assured her. “If there are enough of them, it will be most profitable, I promise you.”

  “Enough?”

  “Certainly. Ask no questions as to what people do, and what profit they in turn can make, then you can let every room in the building to a dozen people, and they will sublet it, and so on. There is always someone who will pay more, believe me.”

  “I am not sure I should care to be associated with such a place,” Emily demurred. “It is not—something—”

  “Ha!” Priscilla laughed aloud. “Who would? That is why you do it through a business manager, and a solicitor, and his employees, and a rent collector, and so on. No one will ever know it is you who owns it, except your own man of affairs, and he will certainly never tell anyone. That is his purpose.”

  “Are you sure?” Emily widened her eyes. “Does anyone else do such a thing?”

  “Of course. Dozens of people.”

  “Who—for instance?”

  “My dear, don’t be so indiscreet. You will make yourself highly unpopular if you ask such questions. They are protected, just as you will be. I promise you, no one will know.”

  “It is only a matter of—” Emily shrugged her shoulders high and opened her eyes innocently. “Really—people might not understand. There is nothing illegal, I presume?”

  “Of course not. Apart from having no desire to break the law”—Priscilla smiled and pursed her lips—“these are all highly respectable people with positions to maintain—it also would be very foolish.” She spread elegant hands wide, palms upwards, her rings momentarily hidden. “Anyway, it is quite unnecessary. There is no law to prevent your doing everything I suggest. And believe me, my dear, the profits are exceedingly good.”

  “Is there any risk?” Emily said lightly. “I mean—there are people agitating for reforms of one sort or another. Might one end up losing it all—or on the other hand being exposed to public dislike, if—”

  “None at all,” Priscilla said with a laugh. “I don’t know what reformers you have heard of, but they have not even a ghost of a chance of bringing about any real changes—not in the areas I propose. New houses will be built here and there, in manufacturing towns, but it will not affect the properties we are concerned with. There will always be slums, my dear, and there will always be people with nowhere else to live.”

  Emily felt such a passion of revulsion she found it almost impossible to hide it. She looked down to conceal her face, and searched in her reticule for a handkerchief, then blew her nose a good deal less delicately than was ladylike. Then she felt sufficiently composed to meet Priscilla’s eyes again and try to make the loathing in her own look like anxiety.

  “I thought it was such slums that reformers were involved in?”

  Now the contempt in Priscilla’s face was easily readable.

  “You are being timid for no reason, Emily.” The use of her name added an infinite condescension to Priscilla’s words. “There are very powerful people involved. It would not only be quite pointless trying to ruin them, it would be extremely dangerous. No one will cause more than a little inconvenience, I promise, and that will be dealt with without your needing even to know about it, much less involve yourself.”

  Emily leaned back and forced a smile to her face, although it felt more like the baring of teeth. She met Priscilla’s gaze without a flicker though inside she was burning with a hatred that made her want to react with physical violence.

  “You have told me precisely what I wished to know. And I am sure you are totally reliable and unquestionably are fully aware what you are dealing with. No doubt we will meet again on the matter, or at least you will hear from me. Thank you so much for sparing me your time.”

  Priscilla smiled more widely as Emily rose to her feet. “I am always happy to be of assistance to a friend. When you have realized your assets and decided what you would like to invest, come back and I shall put you in touch with the best person to help you, and to be utterly discreet.”

  Money was not mentioned, but Emily knew perfectly well it was understood, and she was equally sure Priscilla herself took a proportion for her services.

  “Of course.” Emily inclined her head very slightly. “You have been most gracious; I shall not forget it.” And she took her leave and went out of the house into the cold air of the street where even the manure on the cobbles could not spoil its comparative sweetness to her.

  “Take me home,” she told the coachman as he handed her up. “Immediately.”

  When Jack returned tired and dirty, his face ashen, she was waiting for him. He was just as somber, with an underlying anger equal to hers.

  He stopped in the hallway where she had come from the withdrawing room to meet him. She still found his step on the black-and-white flagstones quickened her heart and the sound of his voice as the footman took his coat made her smile. She looked at him and searched his dark gray eyes, with the curling lashes she had marveled at—and envied—when they first met. She had considered him far too conscious of his own charm. Now that she knew him better, she still found him just as engaging, but knew the man behind the manners and liked him immensely. He was an excellent friend, and she knew the supreme value of that.

  “Was it very bad?” She did not waste words in foolish questions like “How are you?” She could see in his face how he was, that he had been exhausted and hurt and was as violently angry as she, and as impotent to change or destroy the offenders or to help the victims.

  “Beyond anything I can convey in words,” he replied. “I’ll be lucky if I can get the smell out of my clothes or the taste out of my throat. And I don’t think I’ll ever completely lose the picture of their misery. I can see their faces every time I close my eyes as if they were painted on the inside of my eyelids.” He looked around the huge hallway with its flagged floor, oak-paneled walls, the sweeping staircase up to a gallery, the paintings, the vases laden with flowers two and three feet tall, the huge carved furniture with gleaming wood and the umbrella stand with five silver- and horn-handled sticks.

  Emily knew what he was thinking; the same thoughts had passed through her head more than once. But it was George’s house, Ashworth heritage, and belonged to her son Edward, not to her except as a trust until he was of age. Jack knew that too, but they both still felt a taste of guilt that they enjoyed its luxury as easily as if it had been theirs, which in all practical ways it was.

  “Come into the withdrawing room and sit down,” she said gently. “Albert can draw you a bath. Tell me what you learned.”

  Taking her arm he went with her and in a quiet, very grave voice he described where Anton had taken him. He chose few words, not wanting to harass her nor to relive the horror and the helpless pity he had felt himself, not the nauseating disgust. He told her of rat-and-lice-infected tenements where the walls dripped and hung with mold, of open sewers and drains and piles of refuse. Many rooms were occupied by fifteen or twenty people, all ages and both sexes, without privacy or sanitation of any kind, without water or drainage. In some the roofs or windows were in such disrepair the rain came in; and yet the rent was collected every week without fail. Some desperate people sublet even the few square yards they had, in order to maintain their own payments.

  He forbore from describing the conditions in the sweatshops where women and girls worked beneath street level, by gaslight or candlelight and without ventilation, eighteen hours a day stitching shirts or gloves or dresses for people who inhabited another world.

  He did not go into any detail about the brothels, the gin mills and the narrow, fetid rooms where men found oblivion in opium; he simply stated their ex
istence. By the time he had said all he needed to, to share the burden and feel her understanding, her anguish at the same things, her equal sense of outrage and helplessness, Albert had been twice to say his bath was getting cold, and had finally come a third time to say that a fresh bath had been drawn.

  There were in bed, close together and almost ready for sleep, when she finally told him what she had done, where she had been, and what she had learned.

  Vespasia took the questions to Somerset Carlisle, when the parliamentary business of the day was done. It was after eleven in the evening chill with a rising fog when she finally reached her home. She was tired, but too filled with concern to sleep. Part of her thoughts were turned towards the matters she had raised with him, but a good deal of her anxiety was for Charlotte. It was not untouched with guilt, lest by suggestion, the offer of Percival and the carriage, and the ready ease with which she had taken the children to Caroline Ellison, that she had enabled Charlotte to embark on a course which might become personally dangerous. At the time she had simply thought of Clemency Shaw and the appalling injustice of her death. For once she had allowed anger to outweigh judgment, and had sent the woman she was most fond of into considerable risk. It was true; she cared for Charlotte as much as anyone, now her own daughter was dead. And more than that; she liked her—enjoyed her company, her humor, her courage. It was not only rash, it was completely irresponsible. She had not even consulted Thomas, and he of all people had a right to know.

  But it was not her nature to spend time over what could not be undone. She must bear it—and take the blame should there be any. There was no purpose to be served in speaking or writing to Thomas now; Charlotte would tell him, or not, as she wished; and he would prevent her from continuing, or not, as he was able. Vespasia’s meddling now would only compound the error.

  But she found it hard to sleep.

  The following evening they met at Vespasia’s house for dinner, and to compare notes upon what they had learned, but primarily to hear from Somerset Carlisle the state of the law they must fight, deal with, and change if possible.