As the carriage pulled away, Gregory Denton was still in a daze, his face warmly flushed as he marvelled at his unbelievable luck.
‘By! . . . you look like the cat who got the cream, Denton!’ observed Mr Wordsworth, with a laugh. ‘Some’at I should know, is it?’ he asked, hopefully. When there was no answer, his colleague seemingly completely unaware of his presence, he prodded him roughly, saying in a firmer voice, ‘I say, Denton . . . what went on atwixt you and the big man, eh? Some’at I should be told, is it? Is it, eh?’
‘No! No, indeed, Mr Wordsworth!’ Gregory Denton assured him, in a greatly alarmed voice. ‘Nothing at all that might concern you. It was . . . a personal matter, and one which Mr Crowther would prefer to be kept quiet . . . at least, for now,’ he added with a secret smile. Oh, how excited he felt; so elated and exhilarated that he wanted to shout out from the roof-tops. But, he was also afraid: he felt as though he was walking on eggshells and at any minute the ground would give way beneath him. Mr Crowther had given instructions that he was to say nothing of his impending marriage to Miss Grady, and, he would not! For, even now he felt it to be such a delicate and unbelievable thing that he was mortally afraid it would crumble at the very first opportunity – and he dared not risk that! Whatever he was told to do, he would do it gladly; and, if keeping his mouth shut for the moment ensured that Miss Grady would soon be his very own, it was a small price to pay for such an honourable and wonderful thing. He admonished himself for dwelling too much on his forthcoming marriage, since the very idea made him tremble so violently that he felt positively ill. The prospect of telling his mother had the same effect!
Going back into his study, Caleb Crowther threw himself into the chair and stared down at the documents spread out across the desk. Picking up one in particular, which he had surreptitiously slipped between two others, he congratulated himself at having so cunningly concealed the real figure of Emma’s inheritance – not one thousand pounds, as he had led that fool Denton to believe, but six thousand! The larger part was now his, and only a much smaller share would accompany Emma Grady to her marriage-bed.
Now, chuckling quietly to himself, he scanned the short statement which he had written in his own hand, and which the naive and trusting young man had promptly signed. He experienced a deep satisfaction and a welcomed rush of relief, as he read: I, Gregory Denton, having been accepted by Caleb Crowther as being suitable to join with his ward, Emma Grady, in wedlock, have been fully acquainted with the details of her inheritance. It agreed that, on the day of our marriage, the entire sum due – being £1,000 – will be entrusted to me, on Miss Grady’s behalf, thereby complying with the terms of Thadius Grady’s last will and testament.
When the younger man’s signature had been added after his own, Caleb Crowther had held his breath. He had to admit a great deal of surprise when Gregory Denton’s signature was so readily given, since this young fellow was, as a rule, very astute in matters of business. But then he was in love, was he not? And, Caleb Crowther knew only too well – from one particularly painful experience long ago – just how cruelly blinding and all-consuming fierce love can be!
Taking up his pen, he carefully added a loop to the bottom of the one following the pound sign, thereby making the figure read six thousand pounds. Then, putting the pen down, he leaned back in his chair and smiled a knowing smile. ‘My thanks to you, Denton,’ he murmured, ‘though you’re more kinds of a fool than I took you for! This is my insurance.’ Collecting the papers together, he returned them to the drawer, afterwards locking it and slipping the key into his waistcoat pocket. There! Now it only remained for him to make arrangements to draw the money from the fund, and the rest would be child’s play. It occurred to him that the sooner the wedding, the better. So, with this in mind, he went in search of his wife, finding her in the drawing-room, busy with her embroidery.
‘Mr Denton was a long time going,’ she remarked in a stiff voice, her eyes intent on the circle of tapestry, and her nimble fingers seeming to move with increased agitation at his sudden intrusion.
‘Could you put down your work?’ he asked, lifting apart the tails of his coat as he made a great fuss in seating himself opposite her. ‘There are matters you will need to know, concerning both Gregory Denton and Emma.’ At once she lowered her hands and lifted her gaze attentively. Seeing her ready, Caleb Crowther launched into a long and detailed explanation of his prolonged meeting with Gregory Denton; concealing, however, the matter of his own fraud and concluding with the words, ‘So you see, my dear, there is much to be organized, as it would suit all purposes to have the thing over and done with as soon as possible. Already she appears to have taken an unhealthy liking to this unsavoury river-person. There must be a stop put to that . . . at once!’
As the news had begun to unfold, Agnes Crowther was visibly astonished that her husband had matched Emma with such a mouse as Gregory Denton – a fellow with pitifully small means of support, and who was socially inferior to themselves. Yet, she did not interrupt, since she thought Caleb to be a shrewd man and an excellent judge of character. He would not have agreed to this betrothal lightly, or without good reason; of that she was certain. Then of course, there was this dreadful business of Emma’s fascination with the river-people. Indeed, it was of great concern to her. Just think of the awful scandal which could erupt if this wild and wilful girl persisted in these disgraceful encounters! It was all too much for her – what with that shameful experience concerning Martha and her school!
‘I can see that she must be married off as soon as it can be arranged,’ she said now, with a great sigh of relief, ‘but why Gregory Denton? Surely there must be someone more suitable, more socially acceptable?’
‘Who else has expressed a desire to marry Emma?’ he replied, before going on to answer his own question. ‘No one but the fellow concerned. Who else can bring her down a peg or two, and let her see the folly of taking for granted our fine big house and way of life?’ Again, he quickly gave the answer. ‘Only a modest man like Gregory Denton, with a modest manner of living, and the kind of simple virtues that might just teach her to be more thankful!’ He made no mention of the main reason for his decision – that of embezzling Emma out of her inheritance.
‘You’re right, of course!’ agreed Agnes Crowther, now caught up in the rush of events. ‘There is much to be done, and I shall start at once.’ After her initial surprise, she was positively enthusiastic. Emma Grady had been pampered for too long; and, perhaps she might even fit in better with a simple working-man’s family. Yes, of course she would! But suddenly, it occurred to her that Emma would not be going to him empty-handed. ‘Is the trust fund to be handed over?’ she asked quietly, not particularly liking the idea, but knowing it was unavoidable.
‘But of course, my dear!’ Caleb Crowther appeared suitably horrified that she should even question such a thing. All the same, it would not do for his wife to dwell too much on this particular issue, so, putting on his most authoritative and judicial voice, he told her, ‘I don’t want you bothering your female head over such matters . . . nor discussing them with anyone, anyone at all! Your brother entrusted me to carry out his wishes, and I will do just that. As far as you are concerned, my dear, let that be an end to it. You may rest assured, it is all in hand.’ When he was promptly informed that she was more than delighted to leave such matters in his capable hands, and that it was not her business to discuss such delicate and private issues as finance with a single person, he was much relieved. ‘Be so kind as to fetch Emma to me straightaway,’ he instructed.
Putting down her work, Agnes hurried from the room. At long last, she thought jubilantly, we’ll be rid of the wretched girl, and the responsibility that goes with her! The trust endowed in her by Emma’s papa, her own brother, touched her conscience only briefly.
High up on the hill, Emma had watched the carriage disappear out of sight, and now as the pinching cold began to make her teeth chatter and the light of day was swallowed into a gr
eying sky, she thought about making her way back down. But she was loathe to do so, for up here, surrounded by so much beauty and precious freedom, she was answerable to no one.
‘Miss Grady!’ The call came from down below and was carried by the breeze to where Emma was already on her feet. Looking down towards the house, she could see the familiar figure of Mrs Manfred waving her arms and shouting, ‘Come down from there, come down!’
Waving in response, Emma was warmed by that familiar little figure, and, cupping her hands about her mouth, she shouted, ‘All right, Manny . . . all right!’ At once, she began to scramble down the slope with the same exuberance with which she had climbed it, laughingly slipping, sliding and tumbling until at length she came to the bottom, where Mrs Manfred was waiting with a look of frustration on her face.
‘Just look at you!’ she told Emma between a series of tutting noises. ‘Covered in grass and bracken and looking less like a well brought-up young lady than I’ve ever seen!’ She carried on tutting while she proceeded to brush Emma’s dishevelled skirt most vigorously. Presently, looking Emma up and down, she seemed satisfied. Then, patting Emma’s long auburn hair into a semblance of tidiness down her back and beginning to tut again, she asked, ‘Where’s your ribbon, child?’ When Emma replied that it must have been lost on the way, she gave a great noisy sigh. ‘Well, you do look more presentable now,’ she said, ‘so the ribbon won’t matter.’
‘Oh, Manny . . . why all the fuss?’ Emma wanted to know. She was both intrigued and amused at Mrs Manfred’s concern over her appearance. ‘I’ll go straight in, have a wash and change my clothes . . . will that satisfy you?’ she laughed, throwing her arms about her good friend in a fearsome hug.
‘ Listen to me, Miss Grady.’ She disentangled herself from Emma’s arms, her voice falling to a more serious tone, as she cautioned, ‘You’re wanted. You’re to go to the drawing-room right away.’
‘What for? Who wants to see me?’ Emma was puzzled and, racking her brains to find a reason why she should be summoned to the drawing-rom, her heart nearly stopped when she remembered a certain incident. But no! How could anyone know of what happened between her and Marlow in the park on Saturday? Calm yourself, Emma Grady, she told herself. Whatever it is, it can’t be that, it’s not possible! All the same, though, she couldn’t stop her heart from beating fearfully.
‘It’s the master who wants to see you,’ explained Mrs Manfred. ‘Oh, child . . . what have you been up to now?’
She looked so distressed that Emma’s heart went out to her. ‘Now Manny, don’t look so worried, darling. It’ll be all right, you’ll see,’ she assured her, leaning forward to kiss the older woman’s face. ‘I don’t think I’ve done anything so bad.’ She lifted her hands to catch the strands of hair which had strayed over her shoulders; flicking them backwards, she then ran her hands over the top of her head and afterwards patted the bunched-up pleats of her voluminous skirt. ‘Come on, Manny,’ she said, starting forward, ‘into the lion’s den I go. Wish me luck!’ Emma truly felt as though she was about to do battle, and the flippancy of her words belied that knot of fear inside her, which would not go away.
As she was soon to learn, Emma had every right to feel afraid. For what seemed to be a lifetime, she was made to stand before Caleb Crowther while he relayed a graphic account of what had taken place in Corporation Park between herself and ‘this river-person by the name of Marlow Tanner.’ When he had accused her of the incident itself, Emma had been mortified, but when he actually spoke out Marlow’s name, her trembling heart fell like a dead weight inside her.
‘Please, Uncle Caleb . . . it really wasn’t what it might have seemed,’ she began, only to be silenced when, coming to stand so close to her that she thought for a minute he intended to strike her, he said in a harsh voice, ‘It is exactly what it seemed! I’ve told you before, Emma Grady . . . you have it in you to be a harlot! The lowest woman on the streets!’
‘Am I to be punished then?’ Emma was desolate at the prospect of being confined to her room yet again. But, more than that, she was afraid for Marlow. ‘Please believe me, if anyone is to blame, it is me, not Marlow Tanner,’ she pleaded.
‘Do you think you don’t deserve to be punished?’ demanded Caleb Crowther. ‘Do you think this river-trash should be allowed to get away with what he’s done?’ He paused, staring at Emma with deliberation, and waiting for her answer. When her eyes challenged his, he went on, ‘I had a mind to flay the skin off his back, then to hand him over to the authorities . . . with a recommendation that he be shipped off to Australia on the next sailing!’
‘You can’t !’ The thought was too much for Emma. ‘He’s innocent, I tell you. He did nothing to be treated so. Please, Uncle Caleb, leave him be, for none of it was his fault. His sister was crippled in the fire . . . she has no one but him.’
‘Be quiet, damn you! Listen to what I have to say.’ He was no fool. It was plain to him that she was in love with this Tanner fellow. Fate did seem to be handing him a most useful and rewarding set of cards. ‘Arrangements have been made for your future. Should you see the sense in these arrangements, and go into them wholeheartedly with both your aunt’s and my blessing, then you have my word that not only will you escape punishment but this fellow also will be let off with only a warning. But, a severe warning, on account of the nature of the incident. Of course, I can’t allow him to continue in my employment!’ he added.
Emma was puzzled. She was not in the least surprised that Caleb Crowther should terminate Marlow’s employment at the Grady mill. But that would be of little consequence, she was sure, since there were other mills which would be only too pleased to employ someone of Marlow Tanner’s hard-working breed. But why? Why would he be let off so lightly, when for just laughing with her on a previous occasion, the skin had been sliced from his shoulders? And what were these ‘arrangements’ to which her uncle referred? She dared to question him now on this subject, His immediate answer was to walk away and, with irritating slowness, to seat himself in the chair behind his desk – from where he continued to regard her with a quizzical and cunning expression. At length he said, ‘You should thank Gregory Denton, for pleading with me on your behalf.’
‘ Mr Denton ?’ Emma could hardly believe her ears. Since when did Caleb Crowther listen to the likes of Gregory Denton? There was something strange here, thought Emma, but, for the life of her, she couldn’t think what. ‘Why? Why should he do such a thing?’ she asked now.
‘Because the fool thinks the world of you!’ came the retort. ‘Because he does not want to see you punished. Because he has asked for your hand in marriage. And I have agreed!’ He grew increasingly irritated.
Emma was riveted to the spot. Marriage! She had been promised in marriage to Gregory Denton! For a moment, Emma couldn’t fully comprehend the significance of her uncle’s words; but when she did, they froze her heart and paralysed her tongue. She had been naive enough to believe that she was not to be punished; when, in actual fact her uncle was exacting the very greatest punishment he had it in his power to do. He was ridding himself of her, and she was not in a position to defy him. Oh, she could make things difficult, by being obstinate and unwilling to see things his way; she could irritate and frustrate him. But that would only bring the full weight of his wrath down on both her and Marlow. Emma didn’t care what she might endure, but the thought of Marlow being beaten and hounded was more than she could bear. Furthermore, she had no doubts about what Caleb Crowther threatened. If it became his intention to see Marlow Tanner transported to Australia as a convict, there would be no power on this earth to stop him. So, when he now put the question to her, ‘You find Gregory Denton to be an amiable young fellow, do you not?’ she answered truthfully that yes, she found him to be so.
‘And you think him also a conscientious and industrious person, who would look upon marriage as a serious and pleasant state . . . where he would execute the duties of a husband to the very best of his ability?’
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p; ‘I believe so.’ Emma also believed that no matter what she thought, said or did, the outcome would be the same. If the price for Marlow’s safety was to be her own freedom, then it was a small enough price to pay, for she had never really known freedom since coming to this house. And, in all truth, Emma wondered whether life with Gregory Denton might not actually be preferable to life here, beneath the iron rule of Caleb Crowther.
‘Good!’ Caleb Crowther got to his feet. ‘I find the arrangement altogether satisfactory. As from today, you will no longer attend your clerical duties. It would not appear proper. Your aunt will speak with you in due course, and Gregory Denton will shortly begin calling on you.’ Making a dismissive gesture, he added, ‘You may go!’
Emma did not need to be told twice, and hurriedly departed, her heart heavy with despair, and lightened only by her deep, abiding love for Marlow.
As she closed the door behind her, a small four-leaf clover fluttered from her shoulder. Stooping down to collect it into her hand, she marvelled at its simple beauty and striking deep green colour. As she gazed at it, she recalled Marlow’s laughing words when he had plucked a four-leaf clover from the canal bank the very first time they had met. ‘God’s little secrets, these are,’ he’d told her, ‘meant to be lucky, too.’ Smiling quietly, Emma closed her fingers around it, murmuring as she departed the room, ‘Perhaps you’ll bring me luck one day?’
Upstairs in the privacy of her bedroom, Emma folded the four-leaf clover into the case of the silver watch. As she did so, she could never have known how truly prophetic were her words.
Chapter Six
It was New Year’s Eve, the last day of 1860, and for many it was a time of rejoicing; but, as she prepared herself for the celebrations which even now were underway downstairs, Emma could find no real joy in her own heart. As the orchestral music filtered up the stairs to fill her room with its haunting melodies, Emma was moved and, as was her way, she tried to look on the bright side of things – realizing that, following her marriage on 14th January, she could turn her back on this house and on the Crowthers for ever! The thought cheered her so much that she found herself humming in tune to the music and gently swaying from side to side.
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