by Dilly Court
The lodging house was in a side street not far from the church, and Gideon’s landlady wore the world-weary expression of a woman who was accustomed to opening the door and finding distressed parishioners on the step. ‘Mr Raines is out visiting the poor.’ She had a duster clutched in her hand and she began polishing the brass doorknocker as if her life depended upon it. ‘He won’t be back for ages.’
Charity smothered a sigh of relief. She had not been looking forward to her meeting with Gideon, but at least she was spared an embarrassing encounter. ‘Is Mr Bligh staying with you? Or he might be going under the name of Elliott.’
‘This is a respectable house, miss. I don’t harbour gentleman who use aliases.’
‘I have some very important information that I must pass on to either Mr Raines or Mr Bligh.’
‘I don’t doubt it, miss. Try the church or come back another time. I haven’t got all day to stand here talking to the likes of you. I have work to do.’ The landlady was about to slam the door but Charity put her foot over the threshold.
‘My name is Charity Crosse and I’m staying at the house in Nevill’s Court. It’s really urgent that I speak to one of them, but Mr Bligh in particular. I’d be very much obliged if you would pass on that message.’
‘Get your foot off my doorstep, miss.’
Charity’s foot was wedged in between the door and the jamb, causing her considerable pain and she had little option but to remove it. ‘Please pass on the—’ The door slammed in her face.
She limped down the steps to the pavement and stood for a moment, glaring at the house, where not a speck of dirt had been allowed to linger. The windows gleamed and winked in the sunlight and Charity had a vision of the tenants being dusted and polished as they sat down to eat their meals. The rest of the street had a far more relaxed atmosphere. Housemaids leaned on iron railings, chatting to their counterparts next door. Charwomen holystoned the front steps and swept the pavements, although none of them matched the standard set by Gideon’s fearsome landlady. Butchers, bakers and fishmongers pushed barrows from house to house, while others drove carts along the street shouting their wares. There was no sign of either Gideon or Harry and Charity had no idea where to start looking.
She went first to the church and left a message with the warden, giving the address in Nevill’s Court, and then she set off for the market to buy food. It might, she thought, be worth a visit to the bullion dealer in Hatton Garden. Daniel had given her the address and it was just possible that they might know where she could contact Harry. Cheered by the thought, she was on her way to market when she heard a deep voice calling her name. She stopped and turned to see Bert Chapman standing in the well of the brewery dray. ‘Stop,’ he shouted above the noise of the horses’ hooves and the rumbling of cart wheels. He drew the animals to a halt and handed the reins to his mate. ‘Don’t run away from me, girl.’ He leapt to the ground.
Charity broke into a run, dropping her basket in her attempt to dodge a couple who were walking arm in arm and a woman who was pushing a wooden cart which seemed to be overflowing with babies and toddlers, all of them crying in a pathetic chorus.
‘Stop that girl. She’s me daughter,’ Bert shouted breathlessly, and a male passer-by put out his foot to trip Charity up. She fell headlong, winding herself. Bert dragged her to her feet and gave her a shake. ‘Where is she?’ he hissed. ‘Where’s that wanton little bitch Violet?’
‘I’m not telling you,’ Charity gasped.
He twisted her arm behind her back. ‘You will or I’ll break every bone in your body.’
‘She’s somewhere you won’t find her.’ She yelped as he put even more pressure on her arm. She felt as though her shoulder would dislocate at any moment, but she was not going to tell him. Then, just as she felt she could stand no more, Bert released her and she fell to her knees. In a flurry of fur and bared teeth, Bosun brought Bert to the ground and stood over him.
‘Get that bloody animal off me,’ Bert demanded, cowering.
Jackson strode up to them. He helped Charity to her feet, ignoring Bert’s angry cries. ‘Are you hurt, miss?’
Shaken and in pain, she shook her head. ‘No. I’m all right, thank you.’
‘Shall I let Bosun finish the brute off, miss?’
An interested crowd had gathered round them and someone at the back applauded. ‘I’ll bet a crown on the dog to win.’
Bert covered his head with his arm. ‘Call a copper. I’m about to be savaged by this brute.’
Jackson leaned over and grabbed Bosun by the collar. ‘It’s all right, old chap. We won’t finish the bugger off this time, but if he so much as comes near Miss Charity again you can have him for your dinner.’
Bosun wagged his tail and licked Jackson’s hand, which sent a ripple of amusement round the onlookers, but Bert was not amused. He struggled to his feet, wiping the dust from his clothes. ‘You haven’t heard the last of this.’ He strode back to the dray and climbed up onto the driver’s seat, swearing volubly.
The crowd melted away as swiftly as it had gathered and Jackson took Charity by the arm. ‘Where to next, miss? I think you need a bodyguard from now on.’
She reached out to stroke Bosun. ‘Thank you both. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come along when you did.’
‘I guessed you was out looking for that vicar chap you told me about after supper. He seems the best bet while you’re looking for your man.’
Charity let this pass. She was not in the mood to argue. Now that Bert had discovered her presence in London she knew he would not give up until he had her cornered. It was even more important to find Harry now. ‘I was going to market and then on to the bullion dealer in Hatton Garden.’
‘’We’ll try there first and the market on the way home. I take it that that fellow was Violet’s dad. I’ve met his type afore and he ain’t exactly the salt of the earth, if you get my meaning.’
‘Yes,’ Charity said simply. ‘I know exactly what you mean.’
The bullion dealer remembered Harry. ‘My business with the gentleman is completed, and I don’t know where to contact him.’ He smiled knowingly. ‘People find me. I don’t need to go looking for them.’
‘Can you tell me when you last saw Mr Bligh?’ Charity asked anxiously.
‘It must have been at least two days ago, miss. I’m sorry I can’t help you further.’
Disappointed and frustrated, Charity left the gloomy premises in Hatton Garden, emerging into bright sunlight. Jackson was leaning against a lamp post, smoking a cigarette, which he stubbed out beneath the heel of his boot as she approached. Bosun wagged his tail and licked her hand as if sensing that she was upset.
‘No go then?’ Jackson straightened up. ‘What next?’
‘I don’t know.’ She shook her head. ‘Perhaps he’s left for home, in which case he’ll find out soon enough what’s been happening in his absence.’
‘Then it’s off to market, miss. We got to eat and I’m feeling hungry. Bosun could do with a tasty meal and a nice juicy bone.’
‘You’re right, of course.’ Charity tucked her hand through the crook of his arm. ‘I’m afraid I lost my basket. I’ll have to buy another one.’
They returned to Nevill’s Court, having stopped at Jackson’s request to eat a dish of eel pie and mash swimming in liquor. Bosun carried a marrowbone in his mouth, growling ominously at anyone who looked as though they might take it from him. Charity blinked as they emerged from the darkness of the alley into the sunlit court. The cottage gardens were filled with roses and honeysuckle clambered over brick walls and wound itself around railings vying with the wild convolvulus. She could hear voices and recognised the shrill tones of Miss Creedy, and the meowing of several of her feline friends. Shading her eyes she saw that Miss Creedy’s latest victim was none other than Gideon.
He looked round and smiled. ‘Charity, I came as soon as I got your message.’
‘I told him that you would be back soon,�
�� Miss Creedy said, picking up a fluffy tortoiseshell cat and wrapping it around her shoulders like a shawl. ‘We’ve been having a lovely conversation about cats.’
‘Yes, indeed.’ Gideon gave her a courtly bow. ‘Thank you, ma’am. I’ve learned a lot about our feline friends today.’
‘You must come again,’ she said, reaching out to grab him by the hand. ‘You must come to tea one afternoon. My cats and I so rarely have visitors.’
‘Thank you, that’s very kind of you.’ Gideon withdrew his hand gently.
‘Come inside, sir,’ Jackson said, putting down a basket of groceries to take a key from his pocket. He placed it in the lock and it turned without protest. ‘You’ll be here all day and all evening if she has her way.’ He tipped his bowler hat to Miss Creedy. ‘Good day to you, miss.’
‘Yes, thank you for keeping my friend company.’ Charity shot a quick smile in Miss Creedy’s direction and hurried into the house, followed swiftly by Gideon. Jackson had already made his escape, accompanied by Bosun, who was cowering away from a gang of cats who were stalking him with their green eyes fixed on the bone.
‘Come into the parlour, Gideon.’ Charity led the way to the small, sunny room on the far side of the entrance hall. She snatched the dust covers off two of the chairs and motioned him to sit down. ‘Thank you for coming,’ she said shyly. ‘After our last meeting I wasn’t sure of my reception.’
‘You should know me better than that, Charity.’ He took off his hat and sat down. ‘Of course we’re still friends. I wouldn’t want it any other way and I’ve accepted the fact that I’m not the man for you, even though I wish it were different.’
She took a seat opposite him, folding her hands tightly in her lap. ‘I must find Harry.’ She raised her head to look him in the eyes. ‘It’s not for me. I know there can never be anything between us.’
He frowned. ‘Why not? He loves you.’
‘He told you that?’
‘We’re old friends, and he was devastated when you rejected him.’
‘Harry needs a wife from his own class. A girl with my background would never fit in – his mother made that perfectly clear.’
‘His mother? You’ve met the beautiful Myrtle?’
‘She is lovely, isn’t she? And she must have been stunning when she was young. I could never live up to the standard she set as Lady Bligh.’
Gideon leaned forward to cover her hands with his. ‘Are you comparing yourself to the woman who tricked Sir Philip into thinking that Daniel was his son?’
‘Yes, well, that’s not the point,’ Charity said lamely. ‘She’s a society lady and they behave differently.’
‘My point exactly. Many of our so-called betters behave exactly as they wish without a thought for anyone else. They don’t think of themselves in the same way as the rest of the world, but you are a good person, Charity. You’re loyal and brave and you would make any man a wonderful wife. Harry would be lucky to have you.’
She met his earnest gaze with a rueful smile. ‘Try telling that to his mother.’ She held up her hand. ‘Don’t say any more on the subject, Gideon. The most important thing is to find Harry and tell him that Mr and Mrs Barton have moved into Bligh Park, with every intention of remaining there. I don’t know what pressure they can bring to bear on Daniel, but it seems that they are after a share in the money.’
‘Harry has been pursuing his claim to the baronetcy. He’s required to produce his birth certificate and the marriage certificate of his parents, as well as his father’s death certificate and that’s just the beginning of the procedure.’
‘And I suppose he needs to remain in London while this is in progress?’
‘That’s what I would think, but it’s Harry you must ask.’ Gideon gave her a long look. ‘He’s staying with me, so what shall I tell him when I see him this evening?’
‘Your landlady denied all knowledge of him.’
Gideon grinned and tapped the side of his nose. ‘She would charge me double if she knew I had a guest sleeping on my sofa.’
‘Does he spend every evening with you?’
‘He hasn’t returned to his old ways, if that’s what you mean.’
She breathed a sigh of relief. ‘He made me a promise when we were on the island. I didn’t know whether he would be able to keep it.’
Gideon rose from his seat. ‘Only he can answer that, but if I were a betting man, I’d put my money on Harry.’ He picked up his hat and tucked it under his arm. ‘I must go now, but would you be happy to see him this evening? I doubt if I would be able to prevent him from rushing round here the moment he knows you’re in town.’
‘Yes, of course. I must see him as soon as possible.’
Charity was on edge for the rest of the afternoon, and although she prepared supper for herself and Jackson she could not eat a thing. If Jackson noticed he said nothing, nor did he comment when she put her plate of food on the floor for Bosun to finish off in several greedy gulps.
‘I’m going to the pub,’ Jackson said, getting up from the table. ‘Will you be all right on your own?’
‘Of course,’ she said confidently. ‘I’m expecting visitors and they’ll keep me company.’
Jackson nodded. ‘C’mon then, Bosun. We’ll stretch our legs afore we goes for a pint.’
Charity set about clearing away the dishes and washing them in the stone sink. It helped to keep her hands busy, but she kept glancing at the clock on the mantelshelf. It was a warm summer evening but there was a damp chill in the parlour and she lit a fire before taking off the rest of the dust covers. It was still light outside but the wainscoting made the room appear dark and she lit candles. She sat down to wait. She tried to read a book, but she could not concentrate and she put it aside. She rose from her seat by the fire and paced the floor. The ormolu clock had long since stopped working and according to the hands on its pale face the time was stuck at a quarter to twelve. She went to the kitchen to look at the clock on the mantelshelf, but less than an hour had passed since she last checked the time. She filled the kettle and placed it on the hob.
She returned to the parlour but she could not settle. She walked up and down, rehearsing what she would say to Harry, but she was unaccountably nervous. She began to think he was not coming and that his feelings towards her had changed.
The sound of the doorbell made her jump and her heart started to pound. For a moment she could not move but she took several deep breaths and forced herself to walk slowly to the front door. She opened it with a welcoming smile which froze on her face when she saw Bert Chapman standing on the doorstep. He forced his way in and pinned her against the wall. She opened her mouth to scream for help but he clamped his huge hand to her face and strange-smelling fumes filled her lungs. She struggled for breath but darkness enveloped her and she felt herself sinking into a swirling eddy of oblivion.
Chapter Twenty-Four
SHE OPENED HER eyes and at first she could see nothing. She was lying on her side, facing what appeared to be a brick wall which was running with damp, and the rank air was thick with the smell of stale beer and must. Every bone in her body ached. She tried to roll onto her back but then she realised that her hands were tied, as were her ankles. She had not eaten since breakfast and she was tormented by thirst. She lay still for a moment, exhausted and chilled to the bone. The sound of a movement behind her made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. ‘Who’s there?’
‘So you’ve come back to the land of the living, have you?’ Bert moved to her side, and she was blinded by the light of a lantern swinging over her head. ‘I thought I’d overdone the chloroform and killed you. Not that you’d be any great loss, but I wants to know where you’ve hid me daughter.’
‘I can’t breathe like this,’ Charity murmured. ‘Sit me up.’
‘You’d better mind your Ps and Qs if you wants to stay alive for a bit longer. I could leave you here in this rat-infested cellar and no one would find you until you was a mass of bleached bo
nes.’
‘Please sit me up,’ Charity said through clenched teeth. ‘If you kill me you’ll never find Violet.’
He reached out and dragged her to a sitting position by her hair. He held the lantern very close to her face. ‘There now. I ain’t going to repeat the question. Have you got an answer for me?’
She turned her head away. ‘Why do you want to find Violet?’
‘She’s me daughter and I love her.’
‘No, you don’t. You treated her like a slave.’
He grinned, revealing blackened teeth, and his breath reeked of alcohol and stale tobacco. ‘That’s what daughters are for, my girl. Someone should have taken the strap to you long ago and knocked some of the cockiness out of you.’
‘Violet is happy where she is. You should be thankful that you have one less mouth to feed.’
He put the lantern down and grabbed her by the ear, twisting it until she cried out with pain. ‘Less of the lip, girly. Answer me this, has she given birth and is it a boy or a girl?’
‘Let go of me and I’ll tell you.’
‘Where’s that little word?’
She shot him a sideways glance. It was obvious that torturing her was giving him pleasure. ‘Please let go of my ear.’