by Joan Smith
She sniffed, pulling out her handkerchief again. The less said about that article the better. “What sort of parts do you do?” she asked me. I dislike to say her eyes alit on my reticule, but I'm afraid they did. She intended hitting me up for money, which was excellent. I would hit her up in turn to perform for me.
"I'm not an actress actually,” I answered, sadly, as though I would like it of all things to be one.
"You're not one of them Methodists?” she asked suspiciously.
"No. No, I am just visiting in the city. I think it so very exciting, your being an actress. I never met one before."
"So it is, a very exciting profession. I have played with the best—Edmund and Sarah. Mrs. Siddons, you know, and Edmund Kean. So charming. But that was a few years ago."
Some several years ago, before these personages had become stars no doubt, but I did not say so. She was being the duchess again. “Rather chilly today, is it not?” she continued, but made no move to hasten on.
"It certainly is. I wonder if there is somewhere we could have a cup of tea and chat a while. I am Miss Hadley, and this is my aunt, Miss Williams,” I told her, grasping the first names that came to mind.
"There's spot around the corner don't charge you an arm and a leg,” she offered. We followed her, Edna hanging a step behind to show her disapproval. If they charged a fingernail it was more than the tea was worth, but it forwarded the acquaintance, and that was the thing. She started off by being one of the brightest names in the theatrical world of London. Edmund and Sarah her constant companions, but by subtle degrees I got her to realize I was good for more than a cup of tea if she were in need, and before long we got away from theatrics.
Over the second cup she was already lamenting, “I'm down to my last shilling, and that's a fact, dearie. I don't know what I am to do. They all forget, once your looks begin to go, they've no use for you. Living in a room so small there's not a spot to hang my clippings. I have clippings. I'll show you,” she offered.
"What will you do if you don't get a role soon?” I asked.
"Starve,” was her forthright answer. “You wouldn't care to try the sausages, dearie? An excellent sausage they give you here. Only a shilling, and you get potatoes with it."
Over sausages I casually mentioned having an old abandoned house belonging to me that she could use free, but then it was a wreck. She would not be interested. Away from London too.
"There'd be no work,” she said frowning, but disliking to pass up something for nothing.
"No, I could not pay you much, and besides...” I don't know whether it was the mention of pay or the hesitant “besides” that set her eyes alight.
"Besides what?” was her question.
"The house is a mess. A total wreck. If you wanted to undertake to fix it up, I could pay you a little something."
"I've never played a housekeeper,” she answered, considering this new role.
"I should not have mentioned it. It is beneath Kean's acting partner."
"I haven't played with Kean for a while,” she allowed. “Maybe I'll give the role a try. What have I got to lose?"
"There's something else I ought to tell you really. It is said in town—just a rumor, you know, but I shan't keep it from you—well, the fact is, Rose Marie [we were now Mabel and Rose Marie but still Edna was Miss Williams], some people say that smugglers use the place. Not that they'd harm you, of course, but..."
"It wouldn't bother me in the least. I'd give them a hand. There's my salary!” she said on a bark of laughter, then reaching out she gave my arm a cuff. “My own pa used to work for them when we were living at Dover. Many's the night I've hauled the poor old soul out of his warm bed when the tap came at the door. Oh dear—I daresay a proper lady like yourself wouldn't approve of that."
My plan had been no more than to get her into the house to keep Williams out. My men would be provided with a key to come and go in the cellar without her knowledge, for it was a huge old house, and past midnight she would not be likely to be in the kitchen or cellar. They moved like mice, noiselessly. Eventually, if she proved trustworthy, I would tell her more.
"I do not disapprove of smuggling,” I allowed, and went on to explain my reasons. “No, actually I approve,” I ended up.
"Clap hands and it's a bargain then,” she said, giving me her hand to shake, like a gentleman. We went around to her room—what a pitiful sight it was—dark and small, with her yellowing clippings piled in a heap on her bed. They had been read and thumbed till they were as soft as muslin. I took her back to the hotel with us, her worldly possessions in a straw suitcase—weird, garish gowns and ostrich feathers for the most part.
I judge people quickly. Edna had a dozen warnings to issue me, but I had taken a liking to Rose Marie. The fact of her having puffed her career up a little did not qualify her for “a constitutional liar” in my view, as it did in my companion's. I thought the time would not be long till Rose Marie was a full-fledged member of my gang. If you can't trust a smuggler's daughter to be close, whom can you trust?
We finished out the remainder of our visit in Rose Marie's company. The woman's eyes bulged from her head when she learned where we were putting up. “Stephen's Hotel?” she asked, her mouth open. “My dear, it's for Johnnie Trots. A regular fleecing you get there. If it is a touch of class you're after, try Grillons. And if it's only a clean bed and a decent meal, go to Storms around the corner and stay in comfort for half the price."
Rose Marie was so startlingly at variance with the other patrons of Stephen's that Edna and I checked out and removed to Storms. Another time we would go to Grillons, but with our new friend in tow, we settled for Storms. The rest of that visit was a very different and livelier one than I had ever spent in London before. She dragged us from theater to theater, from shop to shop, and from café to café, often introducing us to persons we would as lief not have met, but doing the whole with such good humor and verve that it was impossible to object.
We became quite the bosomest of bows, Rose Marie and myself. Edna remained stiff-faced throughout it all. The closest she came to accepting it was to comment, “Well, at least the actress seems to have got your thoughts off Sir Stamford for two minutes in a row. That is more than the play at Drury Lane accomplished."
On the last evening of our visit, Edna proclaimed herself too beat to go out again. She would have dinner in her room and go to bed early. I took the opportunity to open my budget in full to Rose Marie—true identity, Miss Sage identity, the whole thing.
"I know it, dearie,” she told me, patting my knee and nodding her head wisely. “I'm glad you confided in me. I daresay you'd have done it sooner but for the old dragon you have guarding you. Very proper you should have a chaperone, of course, being a lady, but I have often pitied the young ladies who can't budge without some old malkin at their elbow, spoiling their fun. Truth to tell, I didn't quite twig to it you were this Miss Sage you speak of. I figured him for your beau, but I knew you were in on it somehow. Takes one to know one, eh?” she asked, giving my elbow a nudge with her own in the commonest way imaginable.
"So if you would be willing to help out in little ways—convince Mr. Williams, for instance, that you are indeed an invalid [it had been decided she would be invalidish] if he comes snooping around, and just generally keep an eye on things, you know..."
"A light at the window! The gentlemen bringing the stuff in from the sea will require a signal, for the cave will be impossible to find in the dark."
"Yes, little things like that—then I can pay you more than the sum we spoke of."
"How much?” she asked, her eyes alight.
"Same as the gentlemen. Ten shillings a trip, on top of the sum we spoke of before. And of course I shall take care of the running of the house—fuel, a bit of furniture, and so on."
"That's grand of you, dearie. Really generous, and you needn't fear I'd ever say a word, for I'll be in it as deep as any of them, won't I? ‘We're all for nubbin cheat together,’
my pa used to say. “If the law don't get you, the gentlemen will,’ was the way they put it to anyone that had a thought of squealing."
All the details were settled; then she turned around and threw a spanner at me. She wanted a companion—someone to talk to. A backhouse boy had already been agreed upon to do the heavy work and, more importantly, run errands. This was not what she had in mind. She'd be lonesome all alone in that great hulk of a house. Who would not? She already had her companion in her eye. I feared it would be a man, for her conversation and her wandering eyes made it perfectly clear she was not blind to the attractions of the opposite sex. She was not a member of the muslin company, she insisted, but a virtuous woman.
Still, I think her virtue had as many lives as a cat. My relief was great to hear it was her sister she wanted. The sister was in service at a fancy home in London—a widow, childless. I heard the whole history but it is irrelevant to us. She brought her around, ignorant of the whole affair, for me to inspect. Pearl's hair was undyed and her outfit was neat and plain, but in other respects the women were somewhat similar. They had lit out from home thirty years ago together and gone their separate ways in London, keeping in touch, but leading very different lives. I could see no moral to be gained in comparing their fates. All Pearl's virtue and hard work ought to have led to some better reward than being every jot as poor as Rose Marie at the end of the thirty years, but it was not the case.
Of the two, I think Rose Marie had the more interesting life, but that is perhaps my own prejudice speaking. I would rather taste the dregs and lees along with the top of the bottle than not have a sip at all. The talk was led subtly to smuggling, at which point Pearl abandoned her virtue and stood up for her father. It was good enough. In for a penny, in for a pound. I hired Pearl as well as Rose Marie Mettel, bringing double wrath down on my head from Edna. I really do not know why Pearl agreed to go along with us. Boredom with thirty years of running to answer bells perhaps.
All the way home, we devised a background for the sisters, to account to the villagers for their taking over the Eyrie. Rose Marie was an outgoing woman, and artful enough to make anyone believe anything. She was to be nurse-companion of all work to her pseudo-employer, whom we christened Miss Silver, due to her metallic name. Rose Marie became Miss Lock.
Miss Lock was free to jaunter into town whenever she wished. She was to be an ardent churchgoer so she could pop in to see me when she was there, should we have any business to discuss. My greatest regret was that she could not live in the town, for I was infinitely amused by her conversation and manner.
We were not so naive as to enter town on the same coach as the sisters, Edna and I, nor even on the same day. The women stayed overnight at Colchester, to fill out their wardrobes for their roles, and follow us the next day to Salford.
"You'll be lucky if you see a sign of that pair, giving them five pounds. They'll skip back to London, and that will be the end of them. Good riddance too. Unless they take it into their heads to blackmail you,” she added as an afterthought.
The next evening, however, the rumor was buzzing around town that an invalid had moved into the Eyrie. She had become, during the day, a sister to the owner, Mr. Simon. Silver was close enough to Simon to have given birth to this invention. I regretted I had not thought of so logical a thing myself, and would inform the sisters of the change of name on the first opportunity.
With my next delivery only three days away—a special delivery too, for I had managed to get a load of cognac, more profitable than cheaper brandy—I had to contact the higgler. When he came to pick up Edna's glass beads, I told him we would require Jed Foster's fishing smack to be tethered at the Eyrie cave. Jemmie was round-eyed with delight at my having discovered Miss Marjoram's secret, and I was stern in making him realize the importance of the gentlemen approaching the spot with the greatest stealth, to prevent Williams from becoming suspicious of it. He hit on the capital idea of providing fresh commodities to the women—milk, butter, eggs and so on—in his role of higgler, thus giving me another line to them. It was logical he pick them up as clients. It had occurred to him even before he knew their real reason for being there. Jemmie always answered the door before opportunity knocked. The new residents settled into Salford without a single embarrassing question arising.
Chapter Thirteen
I was curious in the extreme to discover whether Mr. Williams had brought a wife back to town with him. When no one said a word about such an occurrence, I assumed he had done no more than visit his fiancée. I felt if he had any sensitivity or conscience at all, he would let our romance die a natural death. He proved to be without either one.
Our first meeting, which occurred on the second day I was back, was taken up with mutual and insincere repinings at our having failed to find each other in the city. He darted over at noon hour “the minute I heard you were back! You might have let me know last night.” This was uttered with a wounded countenance, to denote the lover's chagrin.
There was more lover-like scolding for my negligence. “Why did you not send a message to me at Hadley's? You knew I was there. How was I to know to which of the dozens of hotels you went when your aunt fell ill, and was unable to make the trip?"
I had to give him some excuse for Mrs. Harvey's not being at Portman Square, and had given her a bad case of flu. “Was it not wretched timing on her part?” I asked.
"Wretched cruelty on yours, not to notify me of the change of plans. I had half a dozen outings planned for us."
"What of all your business meetings?"
"They were not so long as I feared. I sat through that demmed farce at Drury Lane two times, hoping to see you. Had you been anxious for my escort, you might have sent a note around to me,” he complained, in jealous, offended accents.
"I thought we might bump into each other somewhere or other,” I replied, dismissing it as a mere detail.
"I went to six hotels looking for you. Where the devil did you stay?"
"Stephen's,” I answered, not naming Storms, which was not quite grand enough to boast of.
"I was sure you would be at Grillons. It's a nice spot. Try it next time. I kept hoping you might be at Hadley's ball—that your aunt might have arranged it in some manner."
"How was the ball? Did you stand up with Lady Lucy?"
"Of course,” he answered, without so much as a blush or a batting of the lashes. “Well—a guest in the house, naturally I must."
He did not realize it, I think, but there was a defensive note in that last speech. “It must have been a pleasure as well as a duty, Mr. Williams. You described her as a vivacious, pretty girl, if I recall. Why, if you look sharp, you might make a match with her,” I said archly.
"I am not at all interested in making a match with her," he told me, bold as brass, while he grabbed my two hands and gazed into my eyes with a meaningful look. “And I remember—or did I dream it—that you were to call me Stanley when we are alone."
"It was no dream, Stanley. I remember very well that it was only when we were alone you wished for the intimacy. I wonder why that should be?"
"I thought you understood why. Until I have established myself in a respectable line of employment, I do not wish the gossip-mongers saying Miss Anderson has lowered herself to make an alliance with a drapery merchant. I would like to put a ring on your finger, and announce our engagement today. I would like it very much, Mab,” he said in a soft voice. His head inclined a little toward mine. I thought he was going to kiss me, right there in the saloon in the middle of the day with all the doors open, and Edna and Andrew somewhere about.
"How did the business talks with Lord Hadley go? Will it be much longer you must remain so far beneath my touch?” I asked, with a fond look to indicate I had no aversion even to a draper.
"Excellent. We had very fruitful talks. As soon as the Owenses return, I am to go to him in London."
"There is no talk of the Owenses returning?"
"Not just yet,” he replied, frowning.
“Her recovery is slower than we had hoped. By the way, Mab, I have been wanting to ask you about that Porson fellow who was making those very annoying statements at your party. He behaves as though he owns you."
"I don't think he will any more. I gave him a sharp set-down."
"I didn't like the cut of him above half. Low-minded type. Oh, we have some newcomers here in Salford. Have you met them?"
"I heard the Eyrie is rented. Two women, I understand."
"A lady and her nurse-companion. The latter was in the shop. She seems a lively soul, vulgar as can be. I liked her.” Then he laughed, quite a natural-sounding laugh. “That would be my low origins showing. You would think her beyond anything."
"I'm surprised the Eyrie is fit to live in."
"It's a total shambles,” he said, letting slip he had been there. He realized it at once, and rattled on, “Or so the woman said in any case. Good business for me. She will have to do a deal of shopping to get it set to rights. Did you ever hear the Eyrie used to be a smugglers’ den?” he asked, in a casual way.
"It used to have the reputation of it long ago. Legend from the days of Miss Marjoram,” I corroborated, as he already knew.
"If that is the spot they're using now, they'll have to move their base,” he remarked idly.
"What is this interest in smugglers?"
"A notion of Hadley's. The customs fellows in London are all in the boughs about the quantity of brandy coming in here at Salford. Hadley feels if I could do something to discover the ring, it would stand me in good stead with the party. He is a friend of the president of the Board of Trade. Just an idea, you know, as I happen to be here."
"A wretched idea! You must know my views on smuggling, Stanley,” I pouted. “If you lift a finger to help them, I shall disown you. Buy all my ribbons in Felixstone.” I was shocked to see this brought an uncomfortable look to his face. He had maintained his pose through all my taunts about Lucy, but this one hit the quick.
"I hope you are not unalterably on the side of crime,” he ventured.