Vice and Virtue

by Veronica Bennett

  She thought quickly. Perhaps Edward had a good reason for his elaborate deception. If he was indeed a villain, and had tricked her in order to ruin her, he would surely have saved the truth for tomorrow morning. But he had not taken advantage of her innocence. He had respected her virtue. In return, it may be wise to respect his request.

  Tentatively, she spoke. “Do I have your word, sir, that you will not touch me?”

  “You have my word, madam.”

  “Then…” She could not stop trembling. She must get warm. “Then I will come with you, and hear you. But I make no promise beyond that.”

  Her hair, hanging untidily over her face, made a screen through which she could see his expression, but he could not so clearly see hers. His evident relief struck her so hard that she studied his face for a few moments. Was it indeed true that beside her sat a decent man driven to trickery for reasons he was desperate to explain? Or was he a better actor than the men his friend had hired?

  “Thank you,” he said simply. “Now, shall we sit by the fire?”

  Having promised not to touch her, Edward did not offer Aurora his hand. She pushed herself up with the aid of the banister post and followed him through the open door of the dining room. Neither of them mentioned the wreckage of the banquet on the table. Aurora sat on the bench beside the fire, wrapping her feet in her cloak. She wondered if she had ever been so cold in April before.

  “I am not an impostor, if that is what you dread,” said Edward, bending to stoke the near-dead fire. “My father, Mr Henry Francis, was an advisor to King William, and my mother, Elizabeth, one of Queen Mary’s favourite ladies-in-waiting. My mother died some years ago, but my father, as you know, is lately taken from me. He was well loved by His Majesty, and well rewarded. He left a large fortune, a London house and an estate in Lincolnshire. I am his only heir, but I am penniless.”

  He straightened up and sighed. Not, Aurora thought, in self-pity. It was the sigh of a wounded, defeated man. She studied him from behind her veil of hair as he settled himself in a chair.

  “I have not inherited anything,” he continued. “No fortune, no property. My father altered his will and bequeathed it all to a man who was once his good friend, but became his enemy. And the document seems perfectly genuine.” He leaned towards her, his fingers linked in an attitude of supplication. “But I am convinced my father’s sudden disinheritance of me is a vile falsehood contrived by criminal means.”

  Aurora pushed back her hair. “Criminal?”

  “In short, my father was murdered,” said Edward. His voice became animated. “The murderer forged his signature on the altered will.” His eyes, so impenetrably dark they reflected the struggling flames, searched her face. “I am determined to expose this crime, and avenge it in my father’s name.”

  The distant call of an owl was the only sound. Fatigue rushed over Aurora. This had surely been the longest day of her life. She tensed her muscles, fearing that if she did not, sleep would overwhelm her. But Edward was still watching her, willing her to reply.

  “I can scarce believe it,” she confessed.

  His face took on an expression of sympathy. “You are bewildered, of course, and wearied by today’s events. I will be as brief as I can, but I must tell you the story.” He took his gaze from her face and concentrated it upon his clasped hands. “My father, myself and a party of friends celebrated his fifty-first birthday on the seventh of December last, at Marshcote, our country house. On the eleventh of December, he returned alone to London. On the twelfth, he was found dead by the housekeeper. I rushed to our house in Mayfair as soon as I heard. It was apparent that my father had been struck down by some sudden indisposition and had died where he stood. The physician declared him dead from a convulsion, or from eating something bad. And when the will was read, to everyone’s astonishment it was found that the beneficiary had been changed from myself to one Josiah Deede, a former close friend of my father’s.”

  “But surely a will cannot be changed without a lawyer to witness it?” Aurora could not help asking, though her interruption would keep her longer from her bed.

  “There is a lawyer’s signature upon it,” said Edward patiently. “That of my father’s attorney, Lord Snaresborough. The will is dated the fourteenth of June last year. Lord Snaresborough died in a riding accident on the twentieth of June, less than a week later. Why he should have committed his signature to my father’s extraordinary request remains a mystery. I have spoken to his widow and his associates, but none of them can throw any light on it. Needless to say, I contested the will.”

  “And what happened?”

  “I could not convince Sir John Wilkinson, who presided at the contesting, that mischief was afoot, and the will was allowed to stand.”

  “Sir John Wilkinson?” Aurora was surprised. This judge was one of the few of the Catholic faith who had retained their positions in the Protestant court of King William. She could only conclude that his connections, his wealth and his will were stronger than those of his opponents.

  “Josiah Deede also follows the Roman church,” explained Edward. “His conversion to it was at the root of my father’s estrangement from him. And he is himself an attorney, so who knows what corruption may have taken place? Lawyers, as anyone will tell you, are not always to be trusted.”

  “True,” said Aurora ruefully. She had heard her father say the same thing. “But can you not confront this man? Surely, the fact that he worships at the same altar as Sir John Wilkinson cannot keep a murderer from the gallows?”

  “It is useless to confront him!” retorted Edward. “He will deny all. My father’s signature is there on the will for all the world to see. I must find proof before I accuse him, or I will find myself on the wrong side of the law.”

  Aurora had heard something in Edward’s voice that had not been there before. “You will not confront this man because you fear him,” she said. “Are you afraid that if he has murdered once, he will murder again?”

  He tapped the arms of his chair, looking into the fire. Aurora saw his throat move as he swallowed repeatedly. “Yes, I fear him, and I have reason to.” His intense gaze fell once more upon Aurora, but she did not flinch. “How old were you in sixteen eighty-eight?” he asked. “I was thirteen. Do you remember the tumultuous events of that year? The ‘Glorious Revolution’, as some call it?”

  Aurora considered. “I was no more than five years old. But a couple of years later, I remember playing a game with my sisters called ‘Sending the Old King Packing’. Poor Eleanora was the Old King, and we would shoo her from the room and slam the door after her. I was always the New Queen, dressed in an old petticoat of my mother’s. Flora would be the New King from Holland, with a paper crown and the worst Dutch accent in Christendom.”

  “Thus are great events remembered in children’s rhymes and games,” said Edward grimly. He leaned forward and spoke with urgency. “That revolution, which sent King James into exile, may have been bloodless, Aurora, but his Catholic supporters favour another revolution, which we all fear will not be so bloodless. Josiah Deede supports King James’s claim to the throne and, like many converts, he is a religious zealot. He hates Protestants with extraordinary fervour.”

  Aurora frowned. “Why did he convert, when those of the Catholic faith are so ill-favoured at court?”

  “For the usual reason,” said Edward grimly. “Fortune. Shortly after my parents married, Deede too chose a wife, a Catholic woman who brought him great riches, amassed by her family from the slave trade. My father, though repelled by his friend’s conversion, was a tolerant man. He tried to continue in Deede’s society. But Mrs Deede would not allow it, and Josiah Deede became irrevocably estranged from my family.”

  Despite Edward’s best efforts to coax the fire into life, it sent out little warmth. A bone-deep chill had descended upon the room, and upon Aurora. “Intolerance is the cause of many wars, my father used to say,” she observed bleakly.

  Edward nodded. “That is tru
e. But jealousy is the cause of many quarrels. You see, when our present king and queen ascended the throne, Josiah Deede was banished from court, while my father rose in King William’s favour. Deede began to put about untrue gossip, saying my father was a gambler who would soon be bankrupt, and that he neglected his family. My father tried to keep this from me, but of course as I grew up I could not help but hear it. Josiah Deede’s son, who frequents coffee houses, continues to spread vile rumours, about me as well as my late father. And of course, my father’s final act of disinheriting me merely adds fuel to the fire of such slander.”

  Edward’s passionate telling of the story made such a cold-blooded plot seem more likely than Aurora ever would have imagined. Her heart trembled at the thought of the anguish the death of her mother in such circumstances would bring upon her and her sisters. “You are quite convinced of this, are you?” she asked.

  “I am. And so is Richard, who has known my family for many years.”

  Aurora pondered. “So what do you intend to do, to right this wrong?”

  “This is where you enter the story.” Edward’s eyes were fixed upon her face. “My dear Aurora, Richard and I talked endlessly of that sweet moment of revenge, but until I saw you I could not think of a way to achieve it. What I told you of my futile search for a wife is perfectly true. You are the first woman I have ever looked upon who has stirred my heart. I confessed this to Richard, and we devised a plan.

  “I would pretend I still had my riches, and try to persuade you into a clandestine marriage so that no one, especially not my father’s enemies, would know of your existence. Who better than a pretty stranger to uncover the truth by stealth?” Forgetting his promise to refrain from touching her, he gripped her hand tightly. “God will guide me in my quest to uncover this villainy. I beg you, if you will not act as my wife, will you act as my spy?”

  Aurora stared at him. “Your spy, sir?”

  “That was my word.”

  Aurora’s knowledge of spies was meagre. She knew, of course, that the government employed men who secretly kept watch on people suspected of subversive activity. Since the spies, too, were necessarily engaged in subversive activity, she had always wondered whether spies actually spied on other spies, and no one knew exactly who anyone else was, or what they were doing. It sounded like an impossible task.

  Edward’s expectant gaze was fixed on her. “Do you think you can do it?”

  Aurora did think she could do it. She was suddenly possessed by a sense of recklessness, attracted by this opportunity to pursue freedom and adventure, with the added prospect of disguise, dissembling and deceit. But she was reluctant to betray her excitement to Edward. If he could confound her, she could confound him. She pulled her hand away. “Sir, I have little doubt that I can do it, but the question is whether I will.”

  He looked at her warily. “Will you, then?”

  “Perhaps. But I have a question. How do I know that what you are telling me now is true, since you have told me so many lies?”

  “Richard will confirm it,” he said. Releasing her, he spread his hands as if this were too obvious to say.

  “But Richard could be in league with you!”

  “He is in league with me.” Anxiety was leaking away from Edward’s face. He was almost smiling. “He is my loyal supporter.”

  “Do not twist my meaning,” Aurora told him tartly. “Richard himself could be the murderer! You and he could be engaged in an infamous plot to discredit your father’s former friend, get him hanged for a crime he did not commit and steal his fortune!”

  Edward gave a brief laugh. “I suppose we could, my dear clever Mrs Francis. And if we were, I have no doubt you would find us out within five minutes.” He leaned back, contemplating her proudly. “It is clear you have the attributes required for a secret existence – suspiciousness, distrust, the desire to interrogate, the need for constant confirmation. And you have the wit to think your way out of any situation. You will make a most excellent spy, do you not agree?”

  She did not laugh. “I agree to nothing, sir,” she said. “But if I did, what is the first thing you would have me do?”

  “The first thing,” he said, with apology in his eyes, “is to dupe your mother and sisters. They must not know of your true whereabouts. They must think you live here, at Hartford House, which they believe to be my house. But they cannot come here, and you cannot visit them in Dacre Street until all is resolved. You must write them letters full of lies, I am afraid, about my increasingly bad health and your inability to leave the house or receive them. Richard will bring you the letters they write in reply.” He regarded her carefully. “Will you agree to this temporary severance from those you love?”

  Aurora did not hesitate. “If I must,” she replied. “And what is the second thing?”

  “To invade the Deedes’ privacy. Josiah Deede has a son and a daughter. My father said the son was a foppish bully, and the daughter, scarred by the smallpox, a recluse. I never saw any of the Deedes until the will-contesting, which was attended by Josiah and his son, who looked much as my father described.” His gaze flicked to Aurora’s face, then away again, as if embarrassed. “It is with this son, whose name is also Josiah, and his sister, whose name I do not know, that you must engineer a meeting. You are about the sister’s age. You must disguise your identity, enter the Deedes’ house, penetrate their daily lives, ingratiate yourself with them and search for evidence of their father’s guilt.”

  Aurora did not speak. A foppish bully and a recluse. Enter, penetrate, ingratiate, search. She let her chin drop to her chest and rested her forehead upon her hand.

  “Are you feeling unwell?” asked Edward.

  “No, merely fatigued.” She raised her eyes to his, which remained watchful. “If I agree to be your spy, it will be on these terms. I will do it for one month only, from this day until the same date next month. During that time you will not share my bed, nor importune me for any favours due to a husband. If your wealth is returned, you will pay me enough to bring a handsome dowry to my future husband. That is, the man I shall marry when our sham marriage is annulled.”

  “And if we do not succeed within a month?” His eyes were bright, but whether with hostility, or hope, Aurora could not tell.

  “Likewise,” she told him, “the marriage will be annulled, and I will go back to my mother as penniless as I was when I left her.”

  He paused, thinking. “Then you will not seek to punish me in any way?”

  “I will not. Are these terms agreeable to you?”

  “They are.” He nodded, frowning. “So we have made yet another bargain, have we not?”

  “We have, sir,” said Aurora wearily. “And now, I must go to bed. Where, pray, do you intend to sleep?”

  At the Sign of the Seven Stars

  Covent Garden did not resemble a garden in any way. The street Edward led Aurora down was as narrow, filthy and unevenly cobbled as any other street in London. The long shadows on each side blackened the buildings, though it was only a little after four o’clock in the afternoon.

  “Floral Street!” Aurora observed.

  Edward did not reply, but hurried on.

  “I cannot keep up with you,” complained Aurora. “Your legs are longer than mine, and these old cobbles are torture.”

  Edward was scanning the shop doorways. “Here. This is the place.”

  The sign that swung above the door was of the Seven Stars. It was a bookseller’s. Aurora might have known Edward would choose such a lodging place. While she was out of the house he could make himself comfortable, reading volume after volume from the constant supply downstairs. She could already see the scene, and imagine the fruitlessness of her objections.

  “The place looks mean,” she said. “Like a frowning face. As if it were carrying a great weight upon its brow.”

  Edward looked at her blankly, then turned back to the door. “You say the oddest things sometimes, Aurora.”

  “So I have been told.”


  Edward rapped on the door. “Remember,” he told Aurora as they waited, “I am Edward Drayton and you are my sister, Miss Aurora Drayton. I am—”

  “A writer, taking lodgings in London the better to observe humankind, as you are writing a comedy of modern manners. And your loving sister is to keep house for you,” recited Aurora. “I will not forget, Edward. Why do you keep testing me?”

  “Forgive me. I am anxious.”

  The door creaked open. A female face came round it, regarding them from under a cap made for someone with a smaller head.

  “Mr and Miss Drayton,” said Edward. “We are expected by Mr Marshall.”

  The maid stood aside. Aurora found herself in a hallway barely wide enough for two people to pass, and very dark despite the candle the maid held. Without a word, the girl led the way up the stairs.

  The room above the shop was Samuel Marshall’s drawing room. As they entered, Aurora took in dark panelling, heavy furniture, damask curtains. Despite the building’s outside appearance, it seemed the proprietor of a Covent Garden bookshop could do quite well for himself.

  “Ah, the Draytons.” A man of middle age rose stiffly from his chair and bowed. As Aurora completed her curtsey she examined his countenance. A self-satisfied man, to be sure, but not arrogant. His wig was short and simple, his clothes good but long worn, his lips ready with a welcoming smile. “I would accompany you to the rooms,” he told them, “but I am very gouty tonight. Mary will show you.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Edward pleasantly. Samuel Marshall’s smile broadened. Here was a gentleman lodger who might take a glass of sherry with him now and then.

  They followed Mary up a flight of narrow, uneven stairs. Aurora tried to catch Edward’s eye, but he would not look at her. He must surely feel, as she did, that they were stepping into uncharted territory. What would these walls see during the next month? This foray into crime detection was audacious, and they had neither expertise nor friends to call on should something go wrong. Only Richard Allcott knew where they were, and he was sworn to utter secrecy. He and Edward had already succeeded in their first deception, of Aurora herself. But tonight she entered the netherworld of the impostor, armed only with the determination to see right done.