Guardian Angel

by Brian John

  My deepest apologies, madam, for this turn of events. I now pray that you and Bessie are safe, and that you will remain safe until you return to this district.

  With warm and affectionate greetings from Delilah and myself,

  Your friend

  Wilmot Gwynne

  I was shocked by this, but not entirely surprised, since I had long since come to the view that information about my whereabouts had been leaking out from somebody’s private papers. I was saddened more for Wilmot’s sake than my own. I talked over this development at great length with Bessie, and at least we now knew how it was that I had been followed and spied upon in South Wales in the months after my reported death.

  Neither of us had spotted any spies, or felt threatened, during our travels. But now that home was almost in sight over the horizon, both Bessie and I resolved to look after each other as necessary, and to take certain basic precautions, just in case...........

  rrr

  Moment of Truth

  It was a delight to be in Maytime Paris again, with blossoms on the trees and spring smiles upon the faces of the inhabitants. It was our intention to stay for two weeks, prior to travelling by rail to Calais for the Channel crossing. We stayed in the same hotel as before. Each afternoon Bessie took a siesta while I walked in the streets, enjoying the warmth of the sunshine and looking at people.

  I was strolling along one of the little back streets not far from our hotel, without a care in the world, when I suddenly noticed a very discreet shop with the following words in white lettering on a black background, painted upon a sign above a bow window: LeClerc de Paris. That rang a bell, and I peered through the dusty glass into the darkened interior. I could see nothing apart from a few elegant hats, not very tastefully arranged, together with a scatter of handwritten notes that might have been testimonials from satisfied customers. I was intrigued, and without stopping to think about my safety I decided to pop inside in order to satisfy my curiosity.

  Just then a gentleman stepped in front of me, doffed his hat and gave a deep French bow. “Mrs Ravenhill?” he asked, with a voice more English than French. Without thinking I said “Yes sir, that is my name.” Immediately two other men took me by the elbows and hurried me through an open door next to the door of the LeClerc shop. I swear that when that happened my feet were off the ground. The man who had spoken followed behind and closed the door. It was all done so quickly, silently and smoothly that passers-by would not even have thought there was anything amiss. I was immediately very frightened, but knew that there was no point in screaming or struggling. So I tried to keep calm, and to collect my thoughts. I was ushered into a small room which reeked of tobacco smoke. It was dimly lit, and the blinds were drawn. The men released me, and I was motioned to sit down on a sofa. I did so, and the three men who had grabbed me off the street retired and closed the door.

  My eyes gradually adjusted to the light, and after removing my unnecessary spectacles I saw that I was faced by a slim man who was immaculately dressed in green trousers and a red smoking jacket. He was sitting in a deep arm-chair in front of the window, so that his face was in shadow. He did not get up. He wore heavy spectacles with tinted lenses, and he had shiny black hair greased with macassar, and an extravagant moustache. He was smoking a briar pipe and using foul tobacco.

  “Sir, this is an outrage!” I stormed. “I know not who you are, or what your intentions are, but you are no gentleman. Gentlemen do not abduct elderly ladies off the street in broad daylight.......”

  The man held his hand up and stopped me in full flow. “Calm yourself, Madam. I mean you no harm. So, Mrs Ravenhill, we meet at last. I have been hoping to make your acquaintance since March of last year, but you have been very elusive. A merry widow indeed, claiming to be grieving and penniless, but enjoying the best that Europe has to offer!”

  “What do you mean, sir? And who are you?”

  “My apologies, Madam. Jonas Harry of Plas Glas, on the Mumbles, at your service.”

  “At my service! Sir, your place of residence may be fit for a gentleman, but your behaviour is that of a common criminal. I insist that you release me immediately!”

  There was a long pause while he looked at me levelly, and took a few puffs on his disgusting pipe. “Now then, Madam, your temper appears to be as fiery as that of your late half sister, if indeed you had one. I beg you to be calm, and to hear me out. I think I can indeed be of service to you, and that we have -- shall we say -- mutual interests. Now then -- you know of me, I think?”

  “Yours is not a name familiar to me, sir.”

  He scowled, and then laughed. “Come now, Mrs Ravenhill! Do not try to upset me. Everybody knows my name! I venture to suggest that I am very well known in the circles in which we both move. Perhaps, then, you have heard say of my relatives from Newport, who were well known in business circles?”

  On that point, I thought it best to remain silent. “Dear me, this is very difficult,” said Harry, after a while. “I perceive that you are not a great conversationalist. So much time spent over the last year speaking Welsh with your dear friend Bessie that you have forgotten how to converse in civilized English?”

  I looked up sharply, and he reacted immediately. “Ha! A response! And how did I know that? Because I make it my business to know things, Madam, and spare no expense in finding the information I need.”

  There was another long silence, and at last I said: “So what is your purpose, Master Harry, in bringing me to this place?”

  “I have brought you here today, Madam, because I now know everything,” said he with a self-satisfied grin.

  “Well, I trust that you have benefited from your great knowledge of absolutely everything, sir, and that your superior intelligence has made you a very wise man.”

  Suddenly the smile was wiped off his face. “Do not play games with me, Mrs Ravenhill! I do not take kindly to sarcasm. Let me make myself clear. I know that you are not what you seem.”

  I swallowed hard, expecting the moment of truth. “Then, sir, what am I other than an old lady who has nothing more to lose in life, and no fear of death?”

  “Very well. I will put my cards on the table.” He laid down his pipe on an ash-tray. Then he leaned forward, allowing some light to fall onto his face. I saw that he had a sallow complexion and sunken cheeks, and I speculated that his spectacles and heavy mustache were used to promote the image of a vain man who considered himself mysterious and even omnipotent. I was intrigued, and he continued.

  “For a start, Madam, your disguise was apparent to me from the earliest days of my surveillance. You colour your hair with brown dye bought in Newport, and you use spectacles which have ordinary glass in them instead of lenses. Haha! Now why on earth should an elderly woman go to such lengths to hide her true features? I would appreciate enlightenment.”

  He smiled in triumph, picked up his pipe and puffed on it contentedly. I felt my temper rise. “Sir, have you never before met a woman? Do you know a single woman who does not seek to enhance her appearance in public? Does not your good wife -- I assume that you have one -- spend an unconscionable amount of time, to your great irritation, in front of her dressing table, tidying her hair, fixing her eyelashes, patting on her rouge and applying her mascara? Does she not wear stays to narrow her waist and lift her bosom? I assure you, sir, that as one gets older it is even more essential to put considerable effort into the business of enhancement. I happen to like my hair this colour, and I think that my spectacles make me appear intelligent and even erudite. I find that this helps to earn respect among gentlemen. Now then, sir, no more of this nonsense, if you please. I now wish to return to my hotel.”

  “Not so fast, madam. You have a sharp brain and a smooth tongue, and I like that in a woman. Let us continue, then, to my next point. There is of course no such person as Mrs Susanna Ravenhill. My men have spoken to many landladies, and other persons of your acquaintance, and the story of your life appears to be nothing but a tissue of lies! Husband Jack,
now deceased, residence in London, the loss of two children in infancy, a fortune made in business, and a search for the roots of your family and his -- balderdash, Mrs Ravenhill!”

  “How dare you, sir! You talk of most sensitive matters and strike at the deepest part of a woman’s soul! How then do you come to this scandalous conclusion?”

  “Through the most painstaking research. We could not do much in the checking of your credentials last spring, since you led us a merry dance across South Wales, but since your departure for Europe my men have undertaken the most extensive research of all the public records. Neither you nor your fictitious husband Jack can be found anywhere, in London or in West Wales. Nothing in the Census returns, or on the tax records, or in the registers of births and deaths, or in the records of business enterprise! There now! What do you say to that?”

  I decided at that point that I would not go down without a fight, and I felt an old fire rekindling itself in my belly. “Sir, shall we assume that everything which I have said is perfectly true, except for the name? I would not be the first person, or the last, to feel it expedient, at a certain time of my life, and for reasons of my own, to use an assumed identity. You may have done it yourself, in certain business dealings. I believe that in this country, among the writers of melodramatic fiction, it is called a nom de plume, and in England and Wales a pseudonym? Would it help if I should refer to myself as Mrs Jenny Smith, or Mrs Abigail Brown?”

  Harry looked non-plussed. He growled and had to admit defeat on that particular line. Then he looked at his pipe, which had gone out. He filled it with fresh tobacco, lit it up and inhaled the foul smoke. “Very well, Mistress Abigail Smith, I perceive that we are not going to get very far on this line of enquiry either. So let me continue to use the language of this fair city and, without doing anything to harm you, administer my coup de grace. I know all about the wicked conspiracy in which you are very deeply involved.”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about, Master Harry. Please enlighten me.”

  “You are very resolute in your denials and your evasions, Mrs Ravenhill -- or whoever you may be. I find that intensely irritating, and my patience is sorely tried.” I did my best to look as innocent as a little girl of four years old, thus irritating him even more. “As you are fully aware, Madam, I compete in business matters with Squire Gwynne of Plas Llanychaer -- shall we say that he and I have clashed swords more than once in the past, in the county of Glamorgan? It has therefore been in my interest to watch him closely over the past few years. One has to know what one’s competitors are doing. Following that messy business with the preacher, brought about by those idiots in the Society of Sea Serjeants, things became very confusing in Newport, and even more chaotic when that Mistress of Plas Ingli died. There were so many comings and goings between Plas Llanychaer and Plas Ingli that my men became quite giddy. But on the very afternoon of Mistress Morgan’s death, when grieving and consolation should be the order of the day, off went Wilmot Gwynne in his exotic red carriage to Cardigan. Most suspicious, would you not agree?”

  “Quite so, Mr Harry. One has to wonder what was going on.”

  “I’ll tell you what was going on, Mrs Abigail Smith! He was coming to see you! With Martha Morgan dead, and the Plas Ingli estate thus freed of encumbrances, he had to move fast. At first we did not know who you were, but then it became clearer and clearer as we watched you. All that mourning and grieving -- my men felt quite sorry for you. And you were very good, I have to say, at acting out your hunt for relatives and moving on before we could obtain information. But it was clear to me from the beginning that negotiations were in progress between Gwynne and yourself relating to the future development of his three estates. I knew that his capital assets were not big enough for him to go it alone -- so he needed financial backers, and preferably big ones. Then you kept on receiving visits from the doctor and his wife, and from Rhys Brithdir, and various others -- all members of the Morgan clan. Correct, Mrs Smith?”

  “I will not confirm or deny anything, sir.”

  “Haha! An admission of guilt at last! With all those great shows of affection, I was fooled for a while into thinking that you really were a long-lost half sister of Mistress Morgan, and that it was your intention to buy back the old family estate from Gwynne. That would explain all the meetings with the family. But why all the secrecy? And why the sudden move from Cardigan to Newcastle Emlyn? We had a devil of a job keeping track of you -- partly because of a spell of snowy weather, as I recall -- and only traced you to Newcastle Emlyn after that helpful newspaper announcement appeared. Why, if you were a long-lost relative, did you not immediately come to Newport to stay at the Plas, or with one of the daughters, or even at Plas Llanychaer? I thought at first that that was because you were all conspiring to keep the delicate negotiations out of the sight of inquisitive neighbours or other likely purchasers. But I am no fool, Mrs Ravenhill!. I began to suspect that the half sister story was nothing but a fantasy, and having found out Mistress Martha’s birthplace I sent one of my men to Brawdy to check the parish records of births and deaths. There never was a half sister, Mrs Smith! There! What do you make of that?”

  “You amaze me, sir.”

  “Then you made two very bad mistakes, Madam, which might have fooled a man of lesser intellect than myself.”

  “Indeed? Pray explain yourself, sir.”

  “First mistake. On at least two occasions, to the best of my knowledge, you have been up on that mountain, undertaking certain activities which lesser men will not have understood. But I know well enough what you were up to, Mrs Brown! Oh yes! And dressed up as the mysterious Nightwalker, to boot! I saw you once myself! Very impressive, and indeed when I saw you that time on the mountain, when I was up there doing certain investigations of my own, you gave me quite a shock. It took me a little while to get to the bottom of your cunning plan, and to obtain confirmation of your purchase of the clothes and hat, and your hired carriages and so forth. But I have good men working for me, Mrs Brown.........”

  “And some incompetent ones as well, Mr Harry.”

  He glared at me for a moment, and continued. “Why did you have to do all of that yourself? You went to a great deal of trouble, for a lady of mature years who might have been expected to stay in her lodgings in a comfortable armchair. But I worked out that like all of the most powerful and successful business people in the land, you trust no-one and base your judgements on your own observations. You were no doubt following up earlier studies done by others, and wished to confirm certain matters with your own eyes.”

  “I admit to nothing, sir.”

  “On the matter of geology, Madam, do you like rocks?”

  That was a surprising question, and for a moment I was taken aback. But then I said: “I have to admit, sir, to being fascinated by rocks ever since I was a small child. I once had a very pretty collection of pebbles.”

  “Aha! I thought so! Now then. Second mistake. After your play-acting in West Wales, you suddenly disappeared off to Cardiff, causing great confusion in Plas Ingli, Plas Llanychaer and indeed in my humble dwelling on the Mumbles. When we caught up with you, you were playing the part of the distressed noblewoman in Cardiff, living in the simplest of lodgings and helping the poor and sick! At first I could not work it out. Then I obtained reports that you had been seen in the company of Mistress Wayne, Lady Guest and other members of the wealthiest families in South Wales, and I perceived that through your charitable works you were worming your way into the drawing rooms of those who hold almost all of the power and influence in Glamorgan.” He slammed his fist down onto the armrest of his chair, like a petulant child, and shouted: “Even I have not been permitted into those drawing rooms, Mrs Smith!”

  “I am sure yours is just as comfortable, sir.”

  “Very true, Madam, but that is not the point. You even went to Merthyr Tydfil, a place where very serious wealth is to be found in the families of the Guests, the Crawshays and others. It was reported to me
that you had been given more or less free access to Dowlais House! Then you were given a grand dinner by the Crawshays, in Cyfartha Castle, no less! So at last I perceived that you were in the process of obtaining commitments for substantial sums of money, from the richest families in the land. I was in the process of deciding what to do next when those idiots who were on your trail were intercepted by some Irish fellow. God knows what he was up to. No matter -- they came back to Swansea with their tails between their legs and minus certain items that belonged to me. That made me very angry indeed. Let me tell you that I am not very pleasant when I am angry, Mrs Brown.”

  “That I can well believe, sir.”

  “Well, in the event their incompetence did not matter too much, because on the very next day you abandoned your pretence of poverty and suddenly became a very wealthy woman again. First class train tickets, new clothes, and the best rooms in Carmarthen! And a very elaborate new ruby ring upon your finger, spotted by one of my men through his spyglass. I see that you have it on your finger as we speak. Show it to me, if you please.”

  “I will not do anything of the sort, sir! It is a very precious thing, Master Harry, and not just because of its monetary value. It was a gift from a dear friend. I never take it off my finger.”

  “Please, Madam. It is beneath my dignity to steal rings from ladies, and I have no wish to use violence.............”

  He held out one hand in front of him and patted the palm with his other hand. I knew that he could call in his men at any moment, and that they could easily remove the ring by force. So I reluctantly slipped it off my finger, got up from my chair and put it into his cold hand. Without a word he leaned over and adjusted the blinds so as to admit a little more light from the outside world, and he examined the ring minutely, holding it just a few inches in front of his nose. “Ah yes,” he said at last. “Very nice. An excellent stone. And CEG engraved on the back. Charlotte Elizabeth Guest. All is explained.” With that, he gestured to me again to rise and take the ring from him, and I had to struggle once more from the sofa to do so. He then returned the blinds to their previous position, plunging the room into its accustomed gloom, as if he abhorred the brightness of the sun. I had resented his bad manners as soon as I had entered the room, for he had not risen to his feet. And now he remained embedded in his plush armchair and expected me to jump up and down from my sofa like a serving wench, delivering and fetching my ruby ring. My hackles were high to start with, and now they were raised even higher. But I managed to keep my mouth shut.