So in the drawing room while the two cousins indulged in gossip, Andrew and the professor settled down to concentrate on the Oriental ebony chess set that had belonged to Andrew’s father. Nicholas, seated between the two girls, was forced to indulge in the type of conversation he had always considered vacuous socialising.
‘Tell me, Dr Carstairs, do you think we are alike?’ Elspeth smiled at him, her lips curving in a way that hinted at humour.
‘If you mean would I describe you as identical twins, then I have to admit that I wouldn’t.’
‘So,’ now it was Louise leaning forward, ‘please do describe to us what you see as our differences?’
Nicholas, glanced helplessly at his nearby colleague, but Andrew merely stroked his beard and moved his knight to a threatening position.
Louise said, ‘Don’t you think that my profile is more appealing?’ She turned her head sideways.
Nicholas laughed and decided to join in the spirit of the thing.
‘I’m not sure. Perhaps Miss Elspeth would care to adopt the same pose?’
She promptly obeyed.
‘No,’ he said, ‘I think you are both equally perfect.’
Elspeth raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. ‘But as you don’t consider us identical there must be something you consider different.’
Nicholas smiled at her and then studied them, thankful that they were not dressed alike, a practice he thought ludicrous in adults. ‘I think it’s more a matter of character.’
They spoke simultaneously. ‘Oh, please do explain.’
Nicholas turned to see both the professor and Andrew grinning at him. Then he looked at Elspeth and Louise and saw that their flirtatious manner belied two pairs of rather fine eyes. ‘Would you like me to be completely truthful?’
They both nodded. Nicholas looked first at Elspeth who he considered the more handsome of the two, seeing a determination in the set of her mouth, a tilt to her head. ‘I think you are a young lady of perhaps strong opinions and even a little temperamental?’
Louise said eagerly, ‘But that’s exactly right! Now Dr Carstairs, please describe the way you see me.’
Nicholas regarded the candour in her gaze, the way her hands were folded neatly on her lap, ‘And you, Miss Louise, I feel would be rather a tranquil person to be with.’
‘And that is true too,’ Elspeth said. ‘Really, Dr Carstairs, you are quite brilliant.’ As she smiled at him, something in her manner reminded him of Helena. Elspeth’s hair might be auburn rather than honey-gold, she might have a scattering of light freckles, but he could sense that same underlying strength.
Andrew, in a triumphant mood from having achieved a rapid checkmate, was now rising from his chair. ‘I think, my dears, that you have monopolised my colleague quite enough. Would you care to equal my performance, Nicholas? Although the professor will now be on his mettle’
‘That is a challenge I cannot resist.’ As Nicholas got up to move to the low chess table, he found his gaze lingering on the two young women. And later that evening, as he sat in a cab listening to the rhythmic sound of trotting hooves, Nicholas stared out of the window at the passing London streets and thought that perhaps there came a time in a man’s life when comfort and clean laundry were not enough. He had never felt like this before, always there had been his work to occupy his mind, his ambitions to realise. And in fact from the first moment he had seen Helena, he had never had any inclination to seek other feminine company. Surely now the time had come to abandon what had always been a futile dream.
It was with a jolt that he realised the driver had drawn to a halt, and after paying him, Nicholas inserted his key in the heavy door, glanced at the one on the other side of the wide hall that belonged to a reclusive writer and went into his own silent rooms. Perhaps it was because of those tender moments he had spent with Helena, the wonderful sense of closeness and warmth he had felt, that the old saying ‘man is not meant to live alone’ suddenly seemed a poignant one.
When on Saturday night Cora left Ned outside St John’s Church gardens, she kept close to hedges and walls as she began to make her way back along the deserted road. The guineas were heavy in the small hessian sack she’d hidden in the carpet bag she was clutching to her chest. Part of a soiled blouse protruded from the top and it was her hope that it would look as if she was carrying dirty laundry. London born and bred, and used to living in what many would consider risky areas, she had long overcome any tendency to feel nervous when walking its streets; but tonight her heart pounded with apprehension. Forcing herself not to hurry or to lower her head in a furtive or timid way, nevertheless her gaze was wary, her shoulders hunched. And up one sleeve, easily accessible, Cora had secreted a knife.
But she received few curious glances, dressed as she was in her sober skirt and her face devoid of paint, and with profound relief she reached her apartment building safely and seconds later was inside her own door. She secured the apartment and only then took out the hessian bag, carefully tipping out the golden stream of guineas on to the square mahogany table. Some rolled and some scattered, but most lay in a gleaming pile. She picked one up and putting it between her front teeth, bit hard. Then she began counting. The amount was exactly as Ned had promised. Fifty guineas for her, and twenty-five – Cora would give her twenty – for Sybil.
Cora took a deep breath and went over to the sideboard where a decanter and glasses stood in readiness for whenever Johnnie decided to return. She didn’t care much for brandy, but tonight she welcomed the burning sensation in her throat of the golden liquid, hoping it would steady her nerves. Now desperate for sleep, she needed the unwanted thoughts to stop circling in her mind. Tomorrow she would meet Sybil and pass over her share of the money, because her friend’s conscience might be more fragile, but once she had taken the guineas then there could be no going back.
Oliver hadn’t walked away from St John’s Church gardens immediately. He had watched Cora make her way along the pavement, remembering the glitter of avarice in her eyes when he had, as she demanded, allowed her to look inside the hessian bag. He had no fears that she would not reach her apartment in safety; Johnnie’s paramour was a young woman who knew how to look after herself. He had agreed to her demand that the final payment should be made immediately once she had fulfilled her part of the bargain. There would be only one brief time he would stand outside these gardens, one more time he would have to wear these disgusting clothes. Oliver knew that he had been fortunate at the hotel, the late hour of his arrival and departure had so far meant that he had never encountered any other guest. All he would need to do was to change into his own clothes, settle his final bill and take with him the leather weekend bag, which together with its contents he would dispose of with stealth. He could foresee no problems. At least not here, he thought with grim trepidation. But within a few days from now Faraday House would be in turmoil.
Chapter Forty-Three
When on Monday morning the blue brocade curtains were drawn back, Helena shielded her eyes from the early sun. ‘Good morning, Jane, it looks a lovely day.’
‘Indeed it is, Madam.’
But as her maid brought over the bed-tray with its china pot of hot chocolate, Helena sensed that she was distracted and guessed that the subject of her thoughts was Oliver’s valet. The romance that had begun fifteen months ago in Italy had never wavered, but although both were circumspect, Helena knew that her husband would never tolerate a married couple on his staff. Tempted to probe, she resisted, knowing that Jane would confide in her when she felt the need to. Instead, taking an appreciative sip of her sweet chocolate, Helena said, ‘I shall be sorry to see Miss Dorothy leave this afternoon. I’ve so enjoyed having her here.’
‘According to her maid, she will be loath to go.’
Later when Helena went down to the breakfast room she found that everyone else was already there. Oliver glanc
ed up. ‘Good morning, my sweet. I can recommend the kidneys.’
‘You know I never eat them. Good morning everyone, I am sorry I’m a little late.’ She went to the sideboard and after surveying the array of dishes, helped herself to crispy bacon, scrambled eggs and grilled tomatoes. Carrying them to the table, she said, ‘It’s such a lovely morning, Dorothy. I thought that perhaps you and I could take Rosalind for her airing in the park this morning, instead of Nanny. You know she takes her rain or shine, at eleven o’clock precisely.’
Dorothy looked up with eagerness. ‘Yes of course. I’ve never actually pushed a perambulator.’
Helena laughed. ‘Oh, I don’t think you need special training. In fact, I think I might decide to do so every day from now on. I would find it most enjoyable.’
Oliver was stunned. Of all eventualities that might interfere with his plan, he had not foreseen this one. Shock and desperation froze his mind and then inadvertently Beatrice came to his rescue.
‘Helena, my dear, the notion is most unsuitable. May I remind you that Mrs Shirley is calling this morning? As for your suggestion that you should wheel out Rosalind yourself on a regular basis, have you thought that you would be depriving Nanny? Here in London she is restricted in fresh air and exercise.’
Oliver held his breath, his gaze lowered to his plate.
‘Oh I’m sorry, Aunt Beatrice.’ Helena was penitent. ‘I had forgotten about Mrs Shirley. And you are right of course about Nanny. Never mind, it was a nice idea but as you say, hardly practicable.’
Monday morning dawned for Cora with sickening reality. She opened her eyes to stare at the wardrobe that dominated one corner of the room. Secreted inside the crown of a hat and buried beneath layers of tissue paper, lay the hessian bag of guineas. Its presence seemed almost threatening although Ned had minimised the risks of the ‘enterprise’, insisting that if she took the precautions he’d specified it was unlikely that anything would go wrong. But Cora wasn’t so sure. And he wouldn’t be the one going to prison.
But it was too late now to give in to doubts. Cora forced herself to eat buttered toast and to drink a small cup of tea, wishing she was a smoker. People did say that it calmed the nerves. She could only hope that the whole flaming business could be finished with this morning, otherwise she would have to face waking up yet again with this awful dread in the pit of her stomach. She washed up the dishes and, knowing that she could postpone things no longer, went to get ready. Half an hour later, the mirror told her that not even Johnnie would recognise her. In second-hand rimless spectacles and a mousy wig, she looked positively plain, while her dull-grey clothes and prim velour hat would attract no one’s attention.
When she went to meet Sybil, Cora saw that she too had made a success of her disguise. The wig beneath her hat was pale ginger – pepper and salt, really, with its flecks of grey – but distinctive enough to throw suspicion in a different direction. Her clothes, like Cora’s, were almost colourless, neither wearing what they had worn on previous visits to St James’s Park. Luckily, they had both managed to find all of the items cheaply in the market, regarding them with reluctance as a necessary expense.
‘It’s arrived then,’ was Sybil’s greeting.
Cora nodded. ‘You’ve got it all in yer head?’
‘Thought of nothing else all weekend.’
The two young women boarded a tram and sat in silence on the journey. Cora’s stomach was twisted in knots and she guessed that her friend’s was the same. But they couldn’t risk talking, not even a whisper of what they planned to do. It was wisest to keep calm, quiet, like soldiers before a battle; Cora doubted that when they were preparing to charge they talked much either.
Their arrival at the park was an early one. Cora wanted to seize the chance to explore the perfect spot to hide in the bushes near the previously chosen entrance. And she needed to do so before the ‘nanny brigade’ turned out. And so while Sybil paused to watch the squirrels, Cora slipped away, returning almost immediately to take Sybil’s arm. ‘I found the ideal place. And it’s where I can be straight out of the gates.’
‘You’ve got the shawl?’
Cora nodded.
‘I won’t half be glad when it’s all over.’
‘Let’s hope we’re lucky first time.’ Cora glanced at her small fob watch. ‘It’s ten to eleven so we’d better go out of the park and come in again.’
As they walked along the pavement, they saw one nanny enter the gates, and a few seconds later another who greeted her with a smile and they set off together chatting while they pushed their perambulators. Then a few minutes later, Cora nudged Sybil. It was exactly five minutes past eleven. ‘There she is, with a yellow rose in her lapel.’
The two young women followed through the park gates. In the vicinity there was only a man pushing a bath chair, and two elderly women with walking sticks. To Cora’s relief the small group began to head in a different direction, leaving a broad empty path where the nanny would soon pass the vital entrance. The situation was perfect.
‘It’s now, Syb. You begin to walk faster so you can just pass her. I’ll nip into the bushes.’
Within seconds, Cora was out of sight, hidden by branches yet with a clear view of the crucial stretch of path. With feverish anxiety, she watched Sybil glance over her shoulder, quicken her step and begin to overtake the perambulator. Once safely past and several yards ahead, she faltered, then with a weak cry clutched at her head and slowly sank to the ground.
As the nanny hurriedly put the brake on the pram and rushed forward in alarm, Cora left her hiding place, her steps light and silent. The sleeping baby was lying beneath the sunshade and barely stirred when lifted out. Within seconds, Cora was out of sight in the bushes and moments later she was not only safely away from the park, but also as befit a mother weary from carrying a child, she was hailing a passing hansom cab.
Chapter Forty-Four
Once Nanny had left, today wearing in her lapel a small yellow rose, Helena went into the morning room to watch her walk along the leafy road. It had irked her at breakfast to have her wishes so dismissed. Wealth comes with so many petty restrictions, she thought, and most of them make little sense. It would have been so enjoyable for Dorothy and herself to stroll and chat in the park with little Rosalind gazing up at them. But her aunt had made a valid point about depriving Nanny Evans of her daily dose of fresh air.
And as always when she stood in this casement window, Helena found her thoughts turning to Nicholas, of the morning when she had seen him walking along the pavement on his way to visit Aunt Beatrice. She remembered the somersault of her heart when he had glanced up and the later so-precious hour they had spent alone. Even now, she could never sit in that same chair without remembering how he had sat opposite, the warmth of his eyes and the tenderness of his smile. She wondered where he was now. Was he listening with patience to the sick, prescribing remedies, reassuring their loved ones? Was he studying articles, endeavouring to learn more about medicine? He could even be bringing a new life into the world. Yet her own time was going to be spent in entertaining the softly spoken Mrs Shirley. Helena could understand so well Dorothy’s frustration with what she saw as her shallow life of social niceties. But that would change once she and Peregrine were married. And at least I have Rosalind, Helena thought, and turning, smiled at her friend as she came to join her at the window.
‘This is such a lovely part of London,’ Dorothy said. ‘What a stark and empty world it would be without the beauty of trees.’
‘I know. I do love the city, but once the wedding is over I shall be glad to return to Graylings. Blaze is due to foal, you know, and I’d hate to miss those early days.’
They turned to go and sit on the large and comfy sofa, Helena idly picking up a copy of Vogue. Dorothy frowned. ‘You really enjoy reading that?’
Helena smiled at her. ‘Now Dorothy, y
ou are not uninterested in fashion. You were quite envious of my new hat …’ she broke off at the clamorous jangle of the doorbell, pulled repeatedly with an urgency that brought both of the young women to their feet and to rush out of the room where they saw the butler open the door to a distraught Nanny Evans.
Gasping for breath, she stumbled into the hall. ‘Baby’s been taken!’ Her face red with perspiration, tears were pouring down her face. ‘In the park …’ her chest was heaving, her breath coming in gasps, ‘a woman collapsed …’ she stared at them wild-eyed … ‘I’m so sorry, so terribly sorry.’
Helena rushed to the door and screamed on seeing the empty perambulator at the bottom of the steps. In panic, she ran into the road to look in both directions while Jacob, still in his shirtsleeves, was already coming to join her.
As Beatrice hurried down the staircase, Dorothy said, ‘It’s the baby! It seems she’s been stolen.’
The door to Oliver’s study was flung open, and he hurried out. ‘What on earth is going on …?’
While Dorothy told him, Jacob, now holding Helena’s arm, was leading her into the house.
Oliver was glaring down at Nanny Evans and shaking her. ‘Tell us what happened, woman!’
Terrified, she could only sob even more.
Jacob said, ‘We must send for the police.’
Oliver turned away from the nanny. ‘I’ll do it.’ He instantly headed for his study.
‘Papa …’ Helena said brokenly.
‘I’m going to the park.’ He called over his shoulder, ‘Someone send the footmen to follow me.’
Frantic and now almost hysterical, Helena confronted the crying woman. ‘Nanny, you must pull yourself together. Now think clearly, tell us exactly …’
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