CHAPTER TWELVE
The following evening saw Angelica waiting with great anticipation for the arrival of their guests at Priory House. After so many years, she knew Alfred Moore and his daughter Louisa very well. She had watched Louisa transform from a small girl into the young lady she was today, but this was the first time William would see her since they were children, and Angelica had high hopes for them. She had spent most of the day with the housekeeper, Missus Redmond, ensuring that the entire household was as prim and proper as it could possibly be. She had also gone over the particulars of the meal more times than she knew was necessary, but she was determined that everything should be just right.
She sipped her Madeira wine and glanced over at the clock on the mantelpiece above the drawing room fireplace. It would soon be seven, at precisely which time Alfred and his daughter would arrive – punctuality being ever close to Mr Moore’s heart. Angelica had put on one of her finest pale blue evening gowns for the occasion. It had an awkwardly large bustle, but she thought it made the gown look all the more elegant. The men would of course be in their dinner suits and bow-ties, so as the only mature female in attendance, she had to make every effort.
She heard voices and laughter in the hall outside, and turned to the door as it opened. It was William and Alexander, still laughing at whatever it was they had been talking about as they entered. Alexander, who was trying to tie his bow-tie, had a broad smile on his face. She thought they both looked such handsome young men in their tails and white waistcoats, and she had to concede that if there was a love match here for Louisa, it would be hard to call.
‘Mother!’ William said as soon as he saw her. He kissed her cheek and turned back to Alexander, who was dawdling towards them, at the same time looking down at his bow-tie as his fingers became knotted with the silk. ‘Help him, will you, Mother? He’s been at it now for at least twenty minutes.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Alexander said. ‘Every time I think I’ve got the hang of these wretched things, it all falls apart on me.’
Angelica smiled as she went to him. The tying of bow-ties was something she had become quite adept at since marrying Stanley. ‘Couldn’t you have helped him, William?’ she asked as she untied the knot Alexander had made so she could start over again. ‘Heaven knows Alexander has always helped you when you’ve needed him.’
‘And I have always helped him, Mother, as well you know,’ William said, sounding exasperated. ‘I’ve shown him a hundred times at least, but it’s simply not fitting for one gentleman to help tie another’s bow-tie. He’s usually very practical. I really can’t understand it.’
‘Knots aren’t my thing,’ Alexander said as he tried to watch what Angelica was doing.
‘You can say that again,’ William said. ‘You’d be of no use to the navy!’
‘It’s just as well I have no interest in the navy then, isn’t it?’
William scoffed. ‘They wouldn’t have you!’
They both began to laugh together as Angelica snapped Alexander’s bow-tie into place. ‘There,’ she said. ‘Now, calm down, the pair of you. Our guests will be here shortly.’
The door opened again and Stanley popped his head in. He was dressed almost identically to the two boys, except that his waistcoat was of ivory silk jacquard. Angelica thought his attire looked a little tighter than usual and she made a mental note to call on his tailor.
‘My shirt is missing a stud!’ he said, brushing a hand over his chest where the small black stud should have been. ‘Do you think anyone will notice?’
Angelica went to him, thinking that father and son were both very much alike when it came to dressing themselves. She wished Stanley would allow her to hire a valet, but he wouldn’t hear of it. She checked the buttonhole, and then looked down into his waistcoat. She gave the hem a tug and the errant stud fell into her hand.
‘Bless my soul!’ Stanley said, laughing to himself as Angelica fixed the stud into place. ‘It was there all the time.’
The sound of the front door opening drew everyone’s attention.
‘They’re here,’ Stanley said. ‘I’ll take them off Missus Redmond’s hands and bring them in for a drink before dinner.’
The clock on the mantelpiece chimed seven as Stanley left. He was gone no more than a minute, and when he returned he had their guests with him. Seeing Louisa enter, wearing a beautiful yellow calf-length gown, Angelica’s first thought was that she would do very well for William indeed. She was without question the prettiest fourteen-year-old girl Angelica had ever seen, with her doe eyes and long blonde ringlets. But what would William make of her?
Angelica stole a glance at him out of the corner of her eye, and she was delighted to see the colour rise in his cheeks as his eyes widened to better take Louisa in. Even before they had been announced, William had taken a step towards her, clearly keen to reacquaint himself with her now that he was old enough to appreciate her beauty.
‘Our guests have arrived,’ Stanley said, closing the door behind him. ‘Alfred, Louisa, you remember young William here, don’t you?’ He laughed. ‘And Alexander, for that matter. They were both much smaller when you last met.’
‘I’m pleased to see you again, sir,’ William said to Alfred as they shook hands, and Angelica couldn’t help but notice his eyes stray towards Louisa as he bowed his head.
Unlike Stanley, Alfred Moore was a short, stout man, with a full, brown beard that was grey at the edges. His suit was also grey, his waistcoat ruby red to match his bow-tie, and he had the most strikingly unusual hair, which, although thinning, was a foot long and fell in waves of grey and brown streaks on to his shoulders.
‘The pleasure is most certainly mine, young man,’ Alfred said, his voice always sounding a little coarse to Angelica, hinting at his working-class roots. ‘I’ve already heard good things about you from Stanley, and from Mr Hardy, with whom I’m sure you and Alexander spent an agreeable day at our pen factory yesterday.’
‘Yes, sir. It was most agreeable.’
‘Good. Good,’ Alfred said, adjusting his round, wire-framed glasses. ‘I’m sure you won’t remember my daughter, Louisa,’ he added, turning to her. ‘Perhaps unsurprisingly, given her father’s prowess with numbers, she has a keen interest in mathematics, which is something I’m told you have in common.’
William raised his eyebrows. ‘Really?’ he said, looking at Louisa, who seemed to shy away from his gaze. ‘Perhaps we can discuss our shared interest in the Queen of the Sciences someday. The work of Gauss is of particular interest to me.’
Louisa gave a small curtsey. ‘I’m sure your learning would quickly put mine to shame.’
‘Then I would be very glad to teach you.’
Alfred took his pocket watch out from his waistcoat and checked the time, eyeing the clock on the mantelpiece as he did so. ‘You’re a full two minutes out, Stanley,’ he said as they all made their way further into the room.
‘Have a glass of sherry, won’t you?’ Stanley said. ‘What do a couple of minutes matter between old friends?’
They both laughed, gravitating towards the drinks table as they did so, leaving Louisa and William alone together. Angelica hoped he was about to say something light and encouraging to her. She watched for Louisa’s smile in response, but it did not come. Instead, with nothing further spoken between them, Louisa left William and came over to her and Alexander, whom she had known on and off since very early childhood. As bright as William was, Angelica began to question his ability to woo Louisa unassisted.
‘Louisa!’ Angelica said as she arrived. ‘It’s lovely to see you again. I swear you become prettier each time I see you.’
‘Do you really think so?’ Louisa said, smiling coyly as she looked at Alexander as if to ask whether he thought the same.
If Alexander understood her meaning he gave nothing away. His polite smile remained fixed. It was, however, immediately apparent that Louisa had eyes for him. Perhaps she always had. And yet Alexander seemed complet
ely oblivious to her affections, for the time being at least.
‘Yes, I do,’ Angelica replied, glancing at William, hoping he would join them, but as she did so she saw him heading for the drinks table to talk with Stanley and Alfred. ‘When I last saw your father,’ she continued, ‘he told me you have your mother’s eyes. They’re a beautiful shade of blue. Your mother must have been a very striking woman.’
‘I believe so,’ Louisa said. ‘I never knew her, of course. I’ve only ever seen a few photographs of her.’ Without pausing she turned to Alexander and said, ‘How have you been, Alex? You look very smart. Quite grown-up.’
‘Well, I am fifteen, Lou,’ he said with a small laugh. Then he pulled a serious face and added, ‘Schooling ages you, you know?’
‘Yes, I suppose it must,’ Louisa said. ‘Do you like my dress?’ She held the frame of her crinolette and gave a twirl.
‘It’s very nice,’ Alexander said without conviction. He looked over at the drinks table. ‘Will you both excuse me? There’s something I’d like to discuss with your father.’
Clearly not marriage, Angelica thought as Alexander left them. ‘Boys are easily distracted,’ she said to Louisa, brushing her shoulder gently with the palm of her hand. ‘I think your dress is exquisite.’
Louisa’s smile returned. ‘Thank you. You’re very kind.’
‘According to Aesop,’ Angelica said, ‘no act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted. Do you believe that to be true?’
‘Yes, of course. Kindness is among the greatest of virtues.’
Angelica laughed to herself, wondering how many times Louisa had been told that. She thought her very naive to unequivocally believe something she had no real experience of. Kindness was not always well meant. She had to agree with Aesop, however, that kindness, well meant or otherwise, was indeed never wasted.
She took Louisa by the hand. ‘Come along,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and find out what the men are talking about.’
As they arrived, Alexander was in full flow, speaking with great passion.
‘Surely, the question of leakage has much to do with controlling the flow of ink?’ he said, animatedly gesturing with his hands. ‘If no air is permitted into the barrel – if the ink reservoir could be fully sealed when the pen is not in use – then the capillary action that allows the ink to flow from the nib would be prevented, and it would not be possible for the pen to leak.’
‘Ladies!’ Stanley said as Angelica and Louisa arrived. ‘Alexander was just telling us about his visit to the factory yesterday.’
‘Mr Hardy was very instructive,’ Alexander said.
‘Yes,’ William agreed, ‘and now my unfortunate stepbrother finds himself tormented by the desire to invent a pen that doesn’t leak!’
Everyone except Alexander and Louisa began to laugh.
‘You really shouldn’t trouble yourself,’ Alfred said. ‘It is an accepted understanding that fountain pens leak, and will likely ever do so.’
Alexander sighed. ‘That is not Mr Hardy’s view, and having spoken with him at length over the matter, neither is it mine.’
William scoffed. He turned to Alfred. ‘Surely it’s the profit margin that matters,’ he replied. ‘And if everyone else’s pens leak, then the pens created by Hampton and Moore are at no disadvantage.’
‘Perhaps for now,’ Alexander said. ‘But imagine being able to offer our customers a pen they can carry in their breast pocket all day without fear of the ink ruining their suits?’
Louisa stepped closer to Alexander, drawing his eye. ‘I’m sure if anyone can solve the problem, you can.’
‘Hear, hear!’ Stanley said. ‘You keep dreaming, my boy. There’s plenty of room for invention and progress at Hampton and Moore. Why, I’ve half a mind to create a department solely to tackle the problem.’
‘Think of the cost!’ Alfred said, wide-eyed.
‘That, my friend, is your job,’ Stanley said with a laugh. ‘Now, I think it’s time we put our business to one side and enjoyed some dinner. I’m positively famished.’
As they went through into the dining room, they were met by the butler, Mr Rutherford, standing tall inside the doorway, his chin proud, his hair slicked tidily back off his brow. He offered up a bottle of wine to Stanley, the dark glass contrasting against the white of his glove.
‘The 1870 Haut-Brion, sir,’ he said. ‘I’ve decanted three bottles as requested.’
‘Thank you, Rutherford,’ Stanley said, turning to Alfred with a smile. ‘Your favourite, I believe.’
‘Good man!’ Alfred said, patting Stanley’s back. ‘I thought you said it was all gone?’
‘After your last visit, it nearly was, but Rutherford managed to find a few more bottles.’
Alfred laughed to himself. ‘Then you’re a good man, too, Rutherford.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Rutherford said, and everyone went to their seats.
As she sat down, Angelica’s mind was far from the wine and the meal. That William, who shared Alfred’s love of financial matters, could someday gain his approval to marry his daughter, she was in little doubt. But what of Louisa? She shared William’s interest in mathematics, but Angelica feared it would not be enough – at least not while Louisa harboured such apparent affection for Alexander.
Thankfully, Alexander seemed too blind, or too distracted by his leaking-pen problem, to see it for now, so she supposed there was time. This was, however, the best match she could hope to achieve for William and she did not want to see it slip away. If her son married Louisa, William would effectively own at least half the business when her father died. It promised her son too great a future for her to leave the matter to chance for long.
After dinner, Angelica found herself sitting alone in the dining room, the men having gone back to the drawing room for their port and cigars, taking William and Alexander with them, and Louisa . . . Where was Louisa? Angelica wasn’t sure. Perhaps she’d had too much wine and hadn’t been paying attention when Louisa said where she was going. Much to Angelica’s chagrin, the girl had been moon-eyed over Alexander all through the meal, so she half expected that, if she cared to look, she’d find her peeping through the drawing room keyhole, unable to take her eyes off him.
She heard footsteps out in the corridor and rose from her chair. ‘Louisa!’ she called, going to the door. ‘Missus Redmond, is that you?’
On opening the door she felt a cold blast of air on her face and she wondered where it had come from. Perhaps an open window somewhere, or had one of the servants left the main door open? It had been a warm day, though, and the air she felt was distinctly cold. She looked both ways along the corridor, first to her right, which led to the drawing room and the entrance hall further along, then left, towards the orangery at the back of the house where she had first sat down to afternoon tea with Georgina and her friends.
She heard the footsteps again, the sound coming from that direction. This time they were followed by the distinct creaking of a floorboard, which Angelica thought could only mean that whoever was there had taken the small flight of servants’ stairs partway along the corridor.
‘Hello!’ she called. Why didn’t whoever was there answer her?
The floorboards continued to creak, so she paced after the sound, keen to confront whoever was there. She suspected it was Louisa, playing a childish game with her. She began to laugh to herself as she ran up the stairs, wondering what it would have been like to have a daughter of her own. How they would have played chase, and hide and seek, in a big house like this. She reached the top of the stairs and stopped, looking and listening.
‘Louisa!’ she called again. ‘I’m going to find you!’
There were mostly bedrooms on this floor, and too many doors to try at random in the hope that she had the right one, so she continued to wait and listen. A moment later she heard a hollow thump from inside one of the bedrooms not many doors down to her right. It was by now far too late in the evening for it to be one of the m
aids. It had to be Louisa.
She smiled to herself as she opened the door and peered inside. What she saw made her gasp and put her hand to her mouth. There were two people on the bed: a rough-looking man with his shirt off, trousers around his ankles; and a woman in a white lace dress that was piled up over her back. Both were on their knees, the woman facing away. The man pulled at the woman’s hair and the thumping sound intensified as he continued to thrust his pelvis back and forth, banging the headboard into the wall with such violence that it began to chip the plaster.
Angelica tried to back away before she could be seen, but she found herself rooted to the spot. The woman on the bed began to turn her head slowly towards her, and still Angelica could not move. When she saw the woman’s face fully, she gasped again. It was badly scarred and disfigured, but she knew who she was. Before another thought entered her head, the man stopped. Now he also turned to her, and she knew him, too. There was blood in his hair and on his face. He reached down beside him and lifted a gnarled cane towards her.
‘Where’s that boy of yours?’ he demanded. ‘I still owe the little runt a good beating!’
Angelica’s heart was pounding hard. She felt suddenly dizzy and confused. There on the bed was Reginald Price, the man she had killed to save her son before fleeing London. He appeared just as he had on that fateful day, only it was not her on her knees before him, it was Georgina Hampton, just as she had looked on the day she was trampled to death. Angelica managed to turn away at last, but as she did so she cried out in terror. There was another man behind her – a man in a squat bowler hat and a tatty grey suit. It was Tom Blanchard.
But Blanchard was dead. They were all dead.
She caught the fresh-looking cut across Blanchard’s throat and the lascivious smile on his face as she ran past him, down the stairway and along the corridor towards the main entrance. She called for help, over and over again, but she heard no sound. At seeing moonlight beyond the open door ahead, she ran faster, but before she reached it another man stepped on to the threshold, appearing in silhouette against the silver-blue light. She stopped the instant she saw him, and he came closer. He wore fine clothes and a top hat, but she could not see his face. Neither, it seemed, could he see her. He crouched suddenly, lowering an ear towards the ground, as if listening for her presence. He raised up again and drew the air in deep through his nostrils, trying to draw her scent.
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