After seeing her visitor off the premises, Rebecca went back to her office and sat down again. She felt quite faint. Sternly, she told herself that Richard Hall, a manufacturer of locks, bolts and fetters who already supplied a Liverpool merchant with a range of manacles, padlocks and chains, would be thankful for the work. She further reflected that she really was busy. That the factory was working to full capacity already, and it was simply impossible to take on any extra work just then.
But she knew this was so much nonsense. She could always find men to work for her, could always put up a temporary wooden shed, clear a space in one of the courts, or squeeze a few more benches into the finishing shop.
She stood up. Five minutes later, she was back in the main part of the factory. There, amid the racket and clatter, her mind began to wander again. She was so weak. So womanish! Trade was trade, business was business, and there was no room in business for squeamishness, for mawkish sentimentality, no room at all. Rebecca's common sense told her she was a fool. Only a simpleton turned custom away.
Now, she was thinking of Ellis again. Despairing, she let her inward eye gaze on his kind face. She was comforted.
* * * *
‘You saw him from the window, you say?’
‘I did.’ Calmly, Lyddy ladled out soup. Breaking into a new loaf, she offered Rebecca bread. ‘Yes, I saw him.’
‘Do you not think him a fine looking man?’
‘Oh, very fine.’ Lyddy grimaced. ‘Hardly a man of fashion, though. Not what I'd call a beau.’
‘No, indeed.’ Rebecca started on her soup. ‘He's certainly no dandy.’
‘He's providing us with a great deal of work at the moment,’ said Lyddy now. ‘I hope he's paying something on account?’
‘He does better than that. As each individual order is completed, he pays.’ Rebecca smiled. ‘The clerks in the counting house have never seen anything like it. It's almost unheard of for a fine gentleman like that to keep his account so up to date.’
‘Oh.’ Lyddy frowned. ‘Well, he's taken one thing he hasn't paid for.’
‘Has he?’ Rebecca stared. ‘What?’
‘Your heart, child! Your own dear heart.’ Agitated beyond discretion, Lyddy threw down her spoon. ‘Oh, Becky!’ she wailed.
‘Aunt, really!’ Blushing crimson, Rebecca blinked. ‘I only said he was a fine looking man.’
‘Becky, Becky!’ Lyddy sighed. ‘Don't let him see you think so. That's all. Whatever you do, don't let him see he bewitches you. Never put yourself in his power!’
* * * *
The following morning, Ellis rose early and, his day's paperwork completed in good time, rode over to see Alex and Lalage. Hauling a befuddled and still dressing–gowned Alex into his study, Ellis pushed him into a chair and shut the door behind him. ‘I've found her,’ he announced. ‘I've found her at last.’
‘You've what?’ Blearily Alex looked at his watch. He yawned. ‘God, Ellis. Do you know what time it is?’
‘Long past eight. Alex, did you hear what I said?’
‘I heard.’ Still yawning, Alex closed his eyes. He lay back in his chair. ‘Ring for some tea, could you? Tell them to bring a bottle of brandy, too.’
‘You don't need brandy. Not first thing in the morning.’
‘I know what I need. At least, I know far better than you do.’ Alex opened his eyes a little. Setting his turban straight, he selected a pipe from the rack. He pulled a jar of tobacco across his desk. ‘Now,’ he continued. ‘You were saying something about finding women.’
Readily, Ellis explained. ‘When I looked at her yesterday,’ he concluded, ‘I saw it. The resemblance is marked. She has the same eyes, the same hair, the same shape of face as your own. Lyddy Searle had a birthmark — a little sickle–shaped mole. It was just above her left eyebrow. Rebecca has it too.’
‘Fascinating.’ Alex yawned. ‘Where the hell's that brandy?’
‘Damn the brandy!’ Ellis shook his friend's shoulder. ‘You owe her something!’ he cried.
‘Do I?’
‘Yes!’ Ellis glared. ‘You told me all about it. When your father died, you set aside so many thousand pounds. In Consols. Or at any rate, that's what you said.’
Alex frowned. ‘We don't even know if it's the right girl,’ he muttered. ‘How can we tell — ’
‘Of course it's the right girl.’ Ellis grew angry now. ‘Very well then, break your promise. Betray your trust. That's nothing to me. But don't give me so much cant about it not being the right girl. There's no doubt of it. No doubt at all.’
Just then a manservant came in. He set down a loaded tray. Dismissing him, Alex poured himself a cup of tea, to which he added a large measure of brandy. In a couple of greedy gulps, he drank it down.
‘Look here, Ellis,’ he began. ‘If you seriously imagine I will impoverish myself — and beggar your sister, remember Lally will suffer too — in order to force money on a girl who is wealthy enough already and who may not even be the proper person to receive it, you must be mad. Think of Lally! Be concerned for her, even if you care nothing for me.’
‘What nonsense you talk.’ Ellis laughed. ‘You're worth millions. You can't pretend it will hurt you to part with a couple of thousand pounds.’
‘Worth millions, eh?’ Alex looked up at his friend. ‘Oh yes. How pleasant it was to be rich. But alas, I'm not rich any more. In fact, I'm a veritable pauper now.’
‘Alex, what are you saying?’
‘I wasn't going to tell you. Not just yet.’ Alex looked down at his fingernails. ‘But you'd have found out soon enough. You read the newspapers, after all.’
He glanced up. ‘Ellis, if you say, “I told you so,” I shall hit you.’
‘Good God!’ Ellis stared. ‘Is it bad?’
‘Bad enough.’
‘You can bear a loss of twenty thousand, surely?’ Ellis looked stunned ‘To someone like you, it's a trifle.’
‘Ah, but it was rather more than twenty thousand.’ Alex sniffed. Pouring more brandy, he drank it down. ‘I shan't tell you exactly how much. Well, I'm hopeful some of it will be salvaged. But I'm afraid my sister — if she is my sister — will have to wait. The cash I set aside for her is all I have left.’
‘Oh.’ Shocked, Ellis poured a large brandy for himself. ‘Does Lally know?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ Alex sighed. ‘So far, she's been very good. She has every right to blame me. But it seems she doesn't. Yet.’
‘Ah.’ Ellis rolled his brandy round his glass. ‘Well, what are your plans for the future?’
‘I think it's my turn to ask some questions now.’ Tipsily, Alex grinned. ‘Well, Ellis? Explain yourself. Why are you so interested in Rebecca Searle?’
‘I — ’
‘Why's it important to you that my father's bastard gets her inheritance?’ Pale blue eyes fixed on his friend's face, Alex grinned even more. ‘Do you know what?’ he demanded.
‘What?’
‘I think you're in love. You're besotted. Bewitched. Ellis Darrow, the direct descendant of Rafe D'Arreau, whose Norman blood is some of the purest in the kingdom, is in love. With a lady of equal rank? No. With my father's bastard.
‘God, that's so funny!’ Alex laughed out loud. ‘Just wait until I tell Lally!’ he cried.
Eliis did not even smile. ‘There's nothing to tell her,’ he said, stiffly. ‘But if it makes you happy to speculate, do please continue.’
‘Speculate?’ Alex winced. ‘Oh Ellis, that's cruel.’
‘I'm sorry.’ Still Ellis looked grim. ‘But I won't be teased. Even by you.’
‘You're not about to do anything foolish. Are you?’ Alarmed, Alex grabbed Ellis's sleeve. ‘You've taken a fancy to her, yes. But you're not considering marriage? Not with that baggage?’
‘You're going to be needing friends.’ Ellis pulled away. ‘You'll want all the support you can get. So don't upset me!’
‘Ellis, I only meant — ’
‘I don't care what you meant.’ El
lis scowled. ‘I'll come back later today,’ he said. ‘We'll discuss your finances then.’ Still very angry, he stalked out of the study. He slammed the door behind him.
Chapter 9
Alex sat alone in his study, staring at the latest letter, the written confirmation that he was indeed ruined. Things were as bad as could be. Dropping the flimsy piece of paper on his desk, he passed his hand across his eyes. He sighed.
Corruption in the East India Company was legendary. Any fool, any idiot knew that. But, with the assurance of one who has never been knowingly cheated, and the confidence of someone one who has never known want, Alex Lowell had assumed his investments would be safe.
He had known George Hickson from a schoolboy. After Ellis, George had been his best friend. It was with George that Alex had sneaked out of school, made his way to the city taverns and got drunk. It was with George he had heaved his heart out into a gutter on rainy London nights. Scared half to death that the Watch would come upon two fourteen year old schoolboys throwing up in the drizzle, and cart them off to some insalubrious lock–up, Alex and George had encouraged one another. Told each other to bear up and be a man.
It was with George and their respective valets that he had gone off on the Grand Tour. With George Alex had spent month after fascinating month in France or Italy, drinking more wisely now, and improving his knowledge of the languages of love.
So where was George Hickson now? If there was any justice, in the pit of hell itself. Damning George for all eternity, Alex opened his desk drawer and found a key. Taking the big black cashbox from its shelf, he unlocked it.
He looked at the certificates and papers inside. He was worth about four thousand pounds. Could one live in any style at all on the interest from four thousand pounds? Alex doubted it. The money itself was bespoke. Dared he hope Ellis would not tell that wretched woman all about it?
Cursing himself for ever having told Ellis anything, Alex closed the cashbox. He stood up. ‘There's no need to worry,’ he muttered. ‘No court in England could enforce payment of that particular bequest.’
With terrifying speed, Alex's many creditors closed in upon him. In the space of a few weeks, huge tracts of the Lowells’ land were seized and auctioned off. The house which Henry Lowell had built, on which he had lavished more love and affection than he'd ever shown his own flesh and blood, was sold to a speculator. He immediately let it to a young man of substantial fortune, but no social worth, since his income derived from the mills of Lancashire.
‘I suppose it will do.’ Looking round the small sitting room of the house, or rather cottage, which Alex had decided to rent for the time being, Lalage sniffed. ‘It could be made tolerable. But Alex, why — ’
‘You know why!’ Alex threw himself down on the sofa. ‘I won't live at Easton Hall. That's final. If you think I'm prepared to let the neighbourhood say my brother–in–law has to keep me, you can just think again.’
‘I see. You must have a home of your own. A little space, of which you can be master.’ Scornfully, Lalage glared all around the little space in question. ‘Well Alex, you have it here. I wish you joy of it. A more wretched, miserable little rat–hole I never yet saw.’
Sitting down beside him, Lalage looked into her husband's eyes. ‘What are we going to do about Ellis?’ she asked. ‘He's positively maudlin these days. What's that woman done to him?’
‘I don't know.’ Wearily, Alex rubbed his eyes. ‘I don't understand it at all.’
‘It's got to stop.’ Lalage scowled. ‘It's ridiculous, running after a woman like that. He forgets who he is.’
* * * *
Lalage Lowell, née Darrow, was in no danger at all of forgetting who she was. Ever mindful of her aristocratic Norman origins, she knew her place. It was at the top of the tree.
But Ellis was different. He was enthusiastic, in the very worst sense of the word. The result of this was an unfortunate tendency to latch on to unsuitable people or things. To squander his time, money and emotions on creatures or objects of very little worth.
‘First, it was Alex.’ Lalage grimaced. Once, for Ellis, the sun itself had shone out of Alex Lowell's pale blue eyes. ‘Then he fell in love with his wretched house. What's the current fancy? That woman.’
Lalage ground her teeth. A manufacturer's grand– daughter. A bastard, to boot. God in heaven! Why couldn't Ellis see sense? If he wanted somebody to love, Lalage was always there for him. Her arms were open wide.
If he wanted a child, she'd give him one. A child of her body, legitimately her husband's but bound to Ellis by ties of affection and blood — what heritage could be better? What more could Ellis ask?
‘He needs a wife,’ she told Alex. ‘But he must choose wisely.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Alex looked at her. ‘Did you have anyone in mind?’
‘I'll find someone.’ Lalage narrowed her eyes. ‘She must come from good stock. She must be young, foolish and obedient. She must be someone I — or rather, someone we can control.’
* * * *
Ellis practically fell over himself to be tactful. He never so much as mentioned his brother–in–law's failed speculations, so their easy friendship was unaffected by Alex's financial disasters and consequent social disgrace. The Lowells often visited Easton Hall, where they kept Ellis company and saved on housekeeping, too.
One fine autumn morning they arrived for what they intended to be a whole day's visit, but found Ellis away from home. He had left the house early that morning, and was not expected back until nightfall.
‘Where's he gone?’ Slapping her gloves into the butler's hand, Lalage glared at him. ‘Speak up, man. Where is he?’
‘Mr Darrow has gone to Birmingham.’ Simmons avoided Lalage's gaze. ‘More than that, I cannot say.’ Without waiting to be dismissed, he walked out of the room. Alex and Lalage looked at each other.
‘That fellow gets above himself.’ Crossly, Lalage picked at a loose thread in the upholstery of her chair. ‘I suppose he's gone to see his precious gates,’ she muttered, as she flicked a speck of dust off her skirt. ‘Alex, they've been almost six months in the making. I sometimes wonder if they'll ever be finished at all.’
‘So do I.’ Rubbing his eyes, Alex yawned. ‘But they're so very special, you see. They can't be rushed.’
‘Evidently not.’ Lalage grimaced. ‘I expect Miss Searle is making them herself.’
* * * *
Ellis sat in Rebecca's dusty little office. He was happier here than he would have been in paradise. Reluctant to leave, he took a full ten minutes to examine his bill, and another five to sign the banker's drafts. Finally, he could spin things out no longer. He passed the papers across the desk.
‘Thank you.’ Rebecca hardly glanced at them. ‘Well, Mr Darrow, it's been a pleasure to do business with you. I'm glad you're so pleased with the gates. When would you like them fitted?’
‘Fitted?’
‘Yes.’ Opening a ledger, she consulted it. ‘If I send two workmen down on Thursday, would that be convenient for you?’
‘I'm sorry.’ Ellis shook his head. ‘I didn't quite catch what you said.’
‘Could two men come on Thursday? To fit the gates.’
‘Oh. Yes. Yes, of course.’ Ellis knew he had to think of something. Quickly. He stared all round the little office, as if searching for inspiration. He found none.
‘The men could be there at ten. Is that too early?’ Rebecca looked him. ‘Mr Darrow? Is ten o'clock — ’
‘That would be splendid.’ Ellis took a deep breath. ‘Miss Searle,’ he began, ‘I wonder — what I mean is, I was thinking you might like to see the gates in position yourself. You have lavished so much time and thought on them. It might be gratifying — ’
‘For me to see them in place?’ Rebecca had instantly caught his meaning. But now, too late, she realised she'd been too forward. Her face grew hot. ‘What I meant was — what I thought you meant — ’
‘I would like you to come over to Easton Hal
l once again.’ Ellis smiled at her. ‘You would enjoy an outing, I'm sure.’
‘Yes, indeed.’ Blushing furiously now, Rebecca nodded vigorously. ‘I should like that very much.’
‘Come to dinner, then.’ Ellis positively beamed. ‘On Friday, yes? I shall send the carriage. We can dine early, at two. Or three. Whenever suits you.’
But now Rebecca was embarrassed. ‘Well,’ she began, ‘I should like to see the gates. But as for dinner, I don't really — ’
‘Miss Searle, you must come to dinner.’ Ellis was insistent now. ‘At this time of year, the country air is so clean. So fresh. It will be beneficial to your health. The drive will delight you. The leaves are turning. The woods are at their loveliest just now.
‘You could bring your aunt. Yes, bring Miss Searle as well. That is, if she would like to come.’
‘That would not be possible. My aunt never goes visiting. She does not like it.’ Rebecca made up her mind. ‘But I shall come. I accept your invitation with pleasure. Thank you very much.’
‘Excellent.’ Ellis took her hand. ‘Friday, then? I shall send the carriage over for about ten o'clock. Would that suit?’
‘That would be perfect.’ Rebecca smiled. ‘I shall look forward to it,’ she added, astonished at her own daring, and confidently expecting the hand of God to strike her dead at once.
* * * *
Ellis drove Rebecca through the park. After pointing out the various features of this pretty but wholly artificial landscape, he drew her attention to the new quincunxes of rare flowering cherries. These, he predicted, would be a glory the following spring. He showed her the freshly– planted avenue of elms, which would not reach maturity in his lifetime, but which he was confident his grandchildren would enjoy. He hoped she was not bored.
But, as time went on, he became afraid she was longing to make her escape. She would not talk. In response to any comment from him, she merely nodded, blushed or smiled. Ellis had intended this to be a day of pleasure. Instead, it was becoming an ordeal.
They reached the boundary of the park. Jumping down from the small phaeton which Lalage always used when at Easton Hall, Ellis handed Rebecca down. They looked at the gates.
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