by Dilly Court
‘You have Daniel.’
A wry smile curved his lips. ‘I love the boy as if he were my own son, but he has parents who also love him. Daniel doesn’t need me.’
‘He’s very fond of you, sir. That’s quite obvious.’
‘I’m useful to Dan, and we get on very well together, but he’ll make his own way in the world without my assistance.’
Charity was silent for a moment, staring between the horse’s ears as it trotted along the busy streets, weaving in and out between costermongers’ barrows and horse-drawn vehicles of every shape and size from hackney cabs and brewery drays to private carriages and delivery carts. Wilmot’s suggestion was tempting, but impossible. She shook her head. ‘It’s very kind of you, sir. I’m touched that you should want to help me, but you must see that I couldn’t accept money from you, and I have nothing other than my wage at the shop. I wouldn’t be able to support myself, let alone buy books and all the things I would need as a student.’
‘I was serious when I said I could make you an allowance. I’m not a rich man but I have a small private income as well as my salary from the university, and with no dependants I could well afford to support you while you were studying.’
‘I couldn’t impose on you like that, sir. I really couldn’t.
‘You needn’t be afraid that I would want anything very much in return,’ he said hastily. ‘I would be doing it to make myself feel that I was doing some good in the world, which is quite a selfish aim. You would be doing me a favour by accepting.’ He laid his hand on her knee. ‘And who knows? Maybe you could find a way to be a comfort to a lonely bachelor?’
To her intense relief the cab had pulled into a narrow street lined with warehouses. Charity called out to the cabby to stop. ‘I don’t think that would suit me at all, Mr Wilmot,’ she said, opening the low doors that protected them from the worst of the weather. ‘You’ve chosen the wrong person to proposition.’ She opened her purse and was about to give him the fare but he shook his head.
‘Don’t worry about that. I’m returning to Doughty Street.’
‘You didn’t need to take a cab at all, did you?’
‘It seemed like the only way I could speak to you in private, my dear.’ Wilmot climbed down to the pavement and helped her alight. ‘Doughty Street, please, cabby.’ He leapt back into the cab. ‘Think about it, Charity. The offer still stands.’
The cabby flicked his whip and the cab pulled away, leaving Charity standing in the rain. She hurried into the warehouse, putting Wilmot’s offer out of her mind as she concentrated on business matters.
It was not until she was on the return journey that she had time to mull over Wilmot’s suggestion. Even so, by the time she reached the shop she had come to the same conclusion. It was an impossible dream, and she could not abandon a sick man any more than she could allow Wilmot to support her while she pursued her studies. Vague doubts as to his intentions had haunted her since that first night in his lodgings, despite her efforts to think the best of him. She paid the cabby and carried a box filled with books into the shop.
Violet leapt down from her perch behind the counter. ‘I’m so glad to see you. He woke up soon after you left and he was calling for you. I didn’t know what to do, so I left him. He’s gone quiet now, but I daren’t go into the back room in case he starts shouting again.’
Charity dumped the box on the floor. ‘Don’t worry, Vi. I’ll see to him. I expect he just wants another dose of his medicine.’ She hurried through to the kitchen, shedding her bonnet and shawl as she went.
At first she couldn’t see him. Jethro was not in his bed, or his chair. Then she spotted his crumpled body lying on the floor behind the table.
‘Gawd love us, he’s dead,’ Violet gasped, clamping her hand to her mouth.
Charity threw herself down on her knees at his side. She laid her head on his chest but she could not hear a heartbeat, nor could she feel a breath when she held her hand over his mouth and nose. She sat back on her haunches, staring at him in disbelief. ‘Mr Dawkins.’ She shook him gently but he did not stir. ‘Mr Dawkins, please wake up.’
Violet uttered a loud shriek. ‘He’d dead and gone and it’s my fault. I should have answered his cries, but I was scared.’
‘He can’t be dead. I thought he was getting better.’ Charity scrambled to her feet, dazed with disbelief.
‘What’s that?’ Violet swooped on a medicine bottle that lay a few inches from Jethro’s right hand. ‘It’s empty.’
Charity took it from her. ‘It was almost full of laudanum. He must have crawled over to the table and helped himself to all of it.’ She sat down suddenly as her knees buckled beneath her. ‘I shouldn’t have left him, but I had to visit the wholesaler.’
‘I might have stopped him if I’d come when he called.’ Violet burst into tears. ‘What shall us do?’
‘I suppose I should fetch the doctor,’ Charity said slowly. ‘Yes, that’s what I must do. I’ll get Dr Marchant, he was his friend.’ She rose unsteadily to her feet. ‘Will you watch the shop while I go to Old Fish Street?’
Violet backed away, dashing her hand across her eyes. ‘Not me. I’m not staying here with a dead body.’
‘Then will you go, Vi?’
She shook her head. ‘I’d better get back to the nippers. Write a note and I’ll give it to Emmie. She’ll run all the way.’
Charity put her hand in her pocket and took out her purse. ‘No, better than that. Send her to me and I’ll get a cab to take her there and bring the doctor back. It’s Mr Dawkins’ money, but he doesn’t need it now.’
Dr Marchant examined the body. ‘It was definitely an overdose of laudanum,’ he said, shaking his head.
‘If I’d been here I would have given him the right amount,’ Charity said sadly. ‘It was too much to expect Violet to look after him and the shop.’
‘It wasn’t your fault, my dear. I think Jethro wanted to end it all, and who could blame him? He knew that he wasn’t going to get better and he couldn’t stand the pain or the humiliation of being dependent on you.’
‘But I never complained, doctor. I tried to look after him the best I could.’
‘I’m sure you did, and he knew that too.’ Dr Marchant handed her a crumpled envelope. ‘I found this under his body. I think he had it in his hand when he collapsed.’
‘What is it?’
‘It appears to be Jethro’s last will and testament. It confirms my belief that he intended to end his life.’
Charity stared at the creased paper, but the words danced about like tiny black tadpoles as she tried to make sense of what had happened. ‘What will I do now, sir?’
Dr Marchant laid a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. ‘I’ll contact Wiggins and he’ll do the rest.’
‘But what will happen to the shop? Who will look after it now?’
‘You have the answer in your hand, my dear. Jethro’s will must go to probate, but we need to know what his last wishes were. I suggest you open it now.’
Charity dropped the envelope on the table as if it had burned her fingers. ‘I’m not related to him. There must be someone.’
‘As far as I know he was alone in the world. His mother abandoned him as a baby and he grew up in an orphanage. He was fortunate enough to find work in this shop and was taken in by the previous owner, rather like you. I think that’s why he took you on.’
‘I can’t touch it, sir,’ Charity said, taking a step away from the table. ‘Will you read it for me, please?’
Dr Marchant took his spectacles from his inside pocket and put them on. He picked up the envelope and opened it, taking out the single sheet of paper. He studied it for a moment. ‘I suspected as much, Charity. Here, read it for yourself.’
Chapter Seven
THE SINGLE SHEET of paper fell from Charity’s nerveless fingers. ‘But he can’t have left the shop to me. It’s not possible.’
Dr Marchant stooped and picked it up, studying the spidery writing with a
puckered brow. ‘It’s here in black and white, but it seems that the lease has only another year to run and then it must be renewed. The stock was owned by Jethro and that is yours.’ He laid the will on the table where it shifted in the draught from the window as if twitched by unseen fingers.
‘It’s a sign,’ Charity breathed, clasping her hands to her chest in an attempt to steady her erratic heartbeats. ‘Jethro’s trying to tell us something.’ She raised her eyes to give Dr Marchant a searching look. ‘Has he really left me all those books?’
A tired smile curved his lips. ‘It seems so, Charity.’
‘They must be worth a fortune.’
‘Perhaps they are, but that depends on whether or not you can sell them.’
‘I’ve been managing the shop since his accident,’ Charity said thoughtfully, ‘but I haven’t paid much attention to the business side. I’m afraid I got carried away with my attempts to better myself, Dr Marchant. I’ve been spending too much time with Daniel and Mr Barton when I should have been thinking about how I could make the shop do better. Even worse, I’ve had my head stuck in a book more often than not when I should have been trying to persuade customers to make a purchase.’
He laid his hand on her shoulder. ‘Come now, my dear. You’re little more than a child. Jethro’s business was his own affair and you were an underpaid shop assistant. If trade was poor it wasn’t up to you to make improvements.’
‘But it is now. The landlord will send the bailiffs in if I can’t pay the rent at the end of each month.’
‘You’ve managed so far.’
‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘I have, but now I’m on my own.’
Dr Marchant pulled up the one and only chair and sat down. ‘I should be on my way, but I have a feeling that there’s something else bothering you. I know that Jethro’s death has been a shock, and that you felt responsible for him in some way, but that’s not all, is it?’
‘No, sir.’ Charity hesitated as she recalled her conversation with Wilmot. His offer had been startling and it had opened up a whole new world to her. Now she could see it slipping away and with it her chance of making a new life for herself.
‘Do you feel you can tell me about it?’ Dr Marchant’s tone was gentle.
‘Mr Barton offered to take me on as one of his students.’ The words tumbled from her lips. ‘He wants me to go and live in Doughty Street. I could learn to be a lady, Dr Marchant. I could better myself.’
‘It sounds like a very generous offer, but are you sure you want to put yourself so heavily in debt to someone you hardly know? Have you considered that there might be strings attached to such a proposition?’
Charity turned away to hide her blushes. ‘It had occurred to me, doctor. I’m not sure that Mr Barton’s intentions are honourable.’
‘I’m an old man, my dear. I’ve seen much in human nature that is good and a great deal that is bad. I don’t know Barton, but I would advise you to think carefully before committing yourself to such a dependent relationship. Jethro’s life was blighted by his suffering, but I think he saw more than you imagine. His will gives you a modicum of independence and a chance to succeed without relying on the charity of others. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
‘Yes, I think so, doctor.’
He rose from his seat and patted her on the shoulder. ‘The decision is yours. And now I must go and pay a call on Mr Wiggins and he’ll make all the necessary arrangements. I take it that Jethro will receive a pauper’s burial?’
Charity shook her head. ‘No, sir. He deserves better than that. He had some money tucked away and I can afford to give him a proper send off. It’s the least I can do.’
‘I’m proud of you, my dear.’ Dr Marchant wrapped his muffler round his neck and picked up his medical bag. ‘I’ll see you at the funeral. I doubt if there will be anyone else there but us.’
As Dr Marchant had predicted they were the only mourners accompanying Jethro’s coffin on the necropolis train to Brookwood cemetery. None of his regular customers had shown the slightest bit of interest in his demise, and even though she had draped the shop window in black crêpe, very few people had offered any words of condolence. Charity had been well aware that her employer was generally disliked, but it saddened her to think that his life had meant so little. He had been unwanted at birth and unloved in death. His legacy was bound in leather and cardboard, crammed together on the shelves in the dingy little shop. She felt responsible for each and every volume.
Charity and the doctor alighted at the north station, which served the nonconformist section in the vast Brookwood cemetery. It seemed appropriate for a man who had long ago abandoned any form of religion, and professed to hate the God that had created him in such a misshapen form. In a brief ceremony Jethro’s remains were interred and Charity said a final farewell to the man who had taken her in from the streets. She chose to forget his acts of violence against her person and his meanness, and she shed genuine tears of grief as she threw a handful of soil onto the coffin.
Dr Marchant placed a comforting arm around her shoulders as they battled against a bitter wind on their way back to the station. ‘He is free from his crippled body now,’ he said gently. ‘Jethro Dawkins was a troubled soul and he suffered much.’
‘People were cruel to him,’ Charity said breathlessly as the wind whipped her veil around her face. ‘He had a sad life, but he loved his books. I’ll do my best to carry on where he left off.’
‘So you’ve decided to turn down Barton’s offer?’
‘I told him so last evening. He tried to persuade me otherwise, but I had made up my mind.’
‘And what of your friend Daniel?’
‘He was sorry, but he said he understood, and he teased me about becoming a shopkeeper.’ She tried to avoid a puddle left by a recent downpour but icy water seeped through a gap between the sole and the worn uppers of her boots. She was in desperate need of a new pair, but she had chosen to spend the money on Jethro’s funeral. ‘I’m going to do my best to make a go of it, doctor. I have a little of Jethro’s money left, and that will keep the rent collector off my back for this month at least.’
‘There’s a return train due any minute now.’ Dr Marchant quickened his pace. ‘We’ll catch it if we hurry.’
‘I closed the shop for the morning,’ Charity said, lengthening her strides in an attempt to keep up with him. ‘But I’ll open up when I get back.’
‘Really?’ He turned his head to give her a worried look. ‘You ought to rest, my dear. This has been a very trying time for you.’
‘I need to keep occupied and I can’t afford to lose even more trade.’ She did not add that she had spent half the night studying the ledgers and Jethro’s attempts at bookkeeping. The shop had been running at a loss, and she must reverse that if she was to stay in business.
Daniel breezed into the shop next morning. ‘I’ve just had some amazing news,’ he said cheerfully. ‘You’ll never guess what it is.’
Charity stopped dusting the shelves, turning to face him with a suppressed sigh. He had obviously forgotten that Jethro was barely cold in his grave, or he simply did not care. ‘What news?’
He moved closer, his smile fading. ‘Are you all right, Charity? You look a bit peaky.’
‘I’m fine, thank you. Just a bit tired.’
‘Oh, yes. Sorry, I forgot that the old devil was buried yesterday. At least it’s over now and you’re a businesswoman in your own right. I’d say that was a step up, wouldn’t you?’
‘Yes, of course. Now tell me what’s happened to make you so happy?’
‘I’ve been offered the chance to join an archaeological dig on my uncle’s estate in Dorset. One of my professors is in charge and I’ll be a very junior assistant, but I’ll learn such a lot. It really is the opportunity of a lifetime. Not only will it work towards my degree but I’ll be gaining valuable experience, and James Carruthers is the best in the business.’
For a moment she could not speak. Her
lips were numb with shock and she could only stand and stare. He was joking, she thought dazedly. It was a ploy to make her laugh and cheer her up, but then she realised that he was in deadly earnest. ‘Wh-when did all this happen?’
He gave her a searching look. ‘What’s the matter? I thought you’d be pleased for me.’
‘Of course I am, Daniel. It’s just a bit sudden, that’s all.’
‘The offer came out of the blue. I did rather well last term and apparently it was my tutor who recommended me, which was odd because we’ve never exactly hit it off. He gave me the news yesterday. I would have told you last evening, but I thought you might be a bit tired after all that business at Brookwood.’
‘If you mean Jethro’s funeral, then yes, I was tired and upset for his sake. Dr Marchant and I were the only ones who cared enough to attend.’
Daniel looked away, avoiding her angry gaze. ‘It’s not as if he would know who was there and who wasn’t.’
‘That’s not the point. It’s a matter of respect. The man is dead.’
‘I’m not going to apologise, Charity. I’d be a hypocrite if I said I was sorry the old devil has met his maker. He was a mean man and he treated you like a slave. You don’t owe him anything.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong. Jethro left me all he had in his will. The shop is mine for as long as the lease lasts, and longer if I can make enough money to renew it.’
Daniel’s eyes opened wide. ‘Well I’m blowed. Who’d have thought it?’
‘I know. I’m still a bit shocked, but then he had no one else.’
‘Then we’ve both had a stroke of good fortune.’ Daniel threw his arms around her and gave her a brotherly hug. ‘You’ll be all right and I don’t have to worry about you while I’m away.’
She drew back, forcing a smile. ‘When are you going?’
‘I’ll be leaving on Monday.’
‘Will you be away for long?’
‘Months, I should think. I’ll have to return for the spring term at university, but the site might be active for a year or more. It all depends on how well we do and I suppose on the funding. I won’t earn very much, but I don’t care about money.’