by Dilly Court
‘Won’t you come in with me?’
‘I ain’t taking the chance that someone might recognise me. I did time in Pentonville and I seen some familiar faces working here.’ He pulled his cap down over his eyes and leaned against the brick wall, crossing his arms over his chest. ‘Get on with it, double quick.’
Lucetta patted him on the shoulder. ‘You’re not a bad man, Lennie. If ever I get a chance to do something for you in return, I promise you that I will.’
‘Never mind that. Go inside and do what you must.’ He gave her a gentle shove through the open doorway.
‘We don’t employ women.’
Lucetta blinked and stared at the bald-headed clerk standing behind the high counter. ‘I wasn’t after employment. I came to see Mr Wilkinson.’
‘And what would the likes of you want with the likes of him?’
‘That’s my business, sir,’ Lucetta said icily. ‘Please tell Mr Wilkinson that Miss Lucetta Froy would like to see him.’
The clerk stared at her with narrowed eyes. ‘It was in the newspaper,’ he said slowly. ‘Miss Froy was drowned along with her parents when the two ships collided in the fog. Mr Wilkinson went to their funeral.’
‘Well, as you can see, that isn’t true. I was saved and I want to see him now, please.’
‘He’s busy, miss. Put your request in writing and I’ll see that he gets it.’ The clerk went back to writing in a ledger, dismissing her with a wave of his hand.
Lucetta glanced over his shoulder and a shaft of pale sunlight filtered through the window, illuminating the gold lettering on the door behind the desk. Edwin Wilkinson, Esq., Proprietor. She went up to the counter and tapped on it to attract the clerk’s attention. ‘If I might have the use of a pen and paper?’ She met his startled gaze with a straight look. ‘I can read and write.’
Reluctantly, he pushed an inkstand towards her. He tore a sheet of paper from a notebook and handed it to her silently, although his disapproving expression spoke louder than words.
Lucetta wrote a note in her best copperplate hand and she folded it in half, sliding the paper across the polished mahogany counter. ‘Please give this to Mr Wilkinson, and you can tell him that I will wait even if I have to stay here all day.’
With a deep-throated sound halfway between a grunt and a growl, the clerk snatched up the note. He knocked on the office door before entering, and he closed it before Lucetta had a chance to peer inside. She paced the floor, wringing her hands nervously. Her whole future depended on Mr Wilkinson recognising her. She spun round at the sound of the door opening. ‘Well?’ she breathed. ‘Will he see me?’
With his lips pencilled into a thin line of disapproval, the clerk lifted a hatch in the counter and stood aside to allow her to pass. ‘Mr Wilkinson will see you, but if I hear a commotion I’ll send for the police.’
Lucetta sailed past him with her head held high. She might look like a skivvy, but she knew how to act like a lady. She was still Miss Lucetta Froy of Thornhill Crescent who had until recently resided with the British consul and his wife in Bali. She entered the office and found herself facing Mr Wilkinson, whose huge bulk was partially concealed behind a large pedestal desk with a green tooled-leather top. He leaned forward, steepling his fingers. ‘So, young woman, you claim to be Lucetta Froy.’
‘I am she,’ Lucetta said firmly. ‘I was not drowned when the Caroline sank. Somehow I was saved, although I don’t remember anything about it.’
‘A convenient loss of memory, although I have to tell you that I was present at the funeral of Miss Froy and her parents and a very sad occasion it was to be sure.’
Lucetta felt her confidence ebbing away as she met his cold glance. This was not how she recalled her father’s old friend. ‘That wasn’t me. I don’t know who they buried in my stead but I am Lucetta.’
‘That is quite enough of this charade, my girl. The body was identified by Miss Froy’s uncle.’
‘Then he was mistaken. I am very much alive, as you see.’ Lucetta took a step nearer the desk. ‘You must remember me, Mr Wilkinson. You used to bring me chocolates when you came to our house in Thornhill Crescent.’
Edwin Wilkinson lowered his hands, placing them palms down on the desk top and smoothing the leather as if he were stroking a cat. ‘Answer me this. If you are who you say you are, why are you not at home with your surviving family?’
‘That is easy to explain. I caught typhoid and was confined to the fever hospital for several weeks. I lost my memory—’ She broke off, clasping her hands tightly in front of her. If she told him about Stranks and Guthrie she would endanger Lennie, who was trying to help her.
‘Answer my question, girl, or else leave my office.’
Lucetta met his stern gaze and she knew she must tell the truth, even though it went against her. ‘I went to Thornhill Crescent this morning and my uncle treated me like a stranger. He must have recognised me but he made it clear that he wants nothing to do with me.’
‘You had better be careful what you’re saying, miss. Bradley Froy is a respected businessman. You won’t get very far making wild accusations against him.’
‘I am just telling you what happened, sir. I know I am roughly dressed, but you can see that I am not a common girl. I was educated at Miss Milton’s Academy for Young Ladies, and my father was Henry Froy. We had just returned from Indonesia when the Caroline was in collision with another vessel on the river. I beg you to believe me.’
Edwin leaned back in his chair and the wood creaked beneath his considerable weight. ‘It is not I you must convince. If your uncle fails to recognise you then the world will assume that you are an imposter.’
‘But I am not …’ Lucetta cried, her voice rising on a sob. ‘I am who I say I am. My uncle wishes to disown me so that he can keep what is rightfully mine.’
‘Stop there!’ Edwin raised his hand and his piercing blue eyes flashed angrily. ‘That is slander and you could go to prison for defaming a respectable man’s character.’
Lucetta bowed her head, overwhelmed by the knowledge that she was losing ground. ‘I am telling the truth,’ she whispered. ‘Why won’t you believe me?’ She turned to leave the room, stumbling blindly as tears blurred her vision.
‘Wait a minute.’
She stopped, turning her head to look at him and hardly daring to breathe. Had he changed his mind? Was it possible that he believed her? ‘Yes, sir?’
‘I must admit that there is something very familiar about you, although the Lucetta Froy I remember was a rosy-cheeked young girl with tumbling golden curls and a charming smile. You on the other hand are thin and gaunt and your hair is so dirty that I cannot tell whether you are dark or fair. There might be a fleeting resemblance to my old friend’s daughter, but I could not stand up in court and swear on the Bible that you are who you say you are, even though there is a shadow of doubt in my mind.’
‘I realise that I am much changed,’ Lucetta said slowly. ‘But as I was attempting to explain, I have been ill with typhoid fever. My clothes and everything that might identify me were lost in the shipwreck, and my parents are both dead. I cannot be the carefree girl you recall.’
Edwin stared at her thoughtfully. ‘You might be an imposter, but it’s obvious to me that you are not a common, uneducated girl. Who are you really?’
Lucetta shrugged her shoulders with a heartfelt sigh. ‘There is no use repeating my name if you refuse to believe me.’
‘I believe that you are desperate enough to perpetrate this deception, claiming to be a young woman who would have inherited a considerable fortune had she lived. Who put you up to this, my girl? You look too young and innocent to have conceived such a plan.’
‘No one,’ Lucetta said, grasping the doorknob with trembling fingers. ‘I’ve taken up enough of your time.’
‘No, wait.’ Edwin heaved his bulk from the chair with an effort that pearled his forehead with beads of sweat. He waddled round the desk to face her. ‘I can see that you are in
desperate straits. Have you anywhere to go?’ He thrust his hand into his inside pocket and took out a bulging wallet. ‘Do you need money for food and lodging?’
‘I don’t want your money, sir,’ Lucetta said, shaking her head. ‘I didn’t come here to beg.’
‘But have you anywhere to stay? Are you in employment?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Are you willing to work?’
Lucetta looked into his eyes and she saw genuine compassion in their clear blue depths. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘I am not offering you a life of ease and luxury, but if you are prepared to work hard and do as you are told, I may be able to help you.’
‘I will do anything that is legal, sir.’
A shadow of a smile lit Edwin’s eyes. ‘I’m pleased to hear it, but I cannot help you if you continue with your claim to be Lucetta Froy. I’ll ask you just once and I want an honest answer – what is your name?’
The words stuck in her throat like a fishbone, but Lucetta knew that she would get nowhere with the truth. If she lost this opportunity to return to the world she knew, she could end up in a brothel or even worse. ‘Lucy,’ she whispered. ‘My name is Lucy Cutler.’ She looked away to hide the tears that sprang to her eyes as she took Sam’s name. He was lost to her and she would never see him again, but by using his name she felt she could keep a small part of him for herself.
Edwin plucked his top hat from a stand in the corner of the room, and set it on his head. ‘Then come with me, Lucy Cutler. I return home for luncheon at this time of day, and you shall come with me. I believe our cook is looking for a girl to help in the kitchen. It might not be the sort of work that you are looking for, but it pays ten pounds a year all found. How does that sound to you?’
Disappointment and desperation threatened to overcome her, but a small voice in her head was telling her to accept his offer. Going into service was preferable to being sold to a brothel-keeper, and at least she would have a roof over her head. Almost anything would be better than returning to the rat-infested dungeon that Stranks and Guthrie called home. ‘I’m grateful, sir.’ She stood back, waiting for him to open the door for her, but at the sight of his raised eyebrows she quickly realised her mistake. She bobbed a curtsey and allowed him to precede her into the office.
‘Is everything all right, sir?’ the clerk demanded, shooting a suspicious glance at Lucetta as he lifted the hatch in the counter.
‘Quite all right, thank you, Potter.’ Edwin paused, eyeing Lucetta thoughtfully. ‘Wait outside for me, Miss Cutler. I won’t be long.’
Lucetta had been wondering how she was going to explain Guthrie’s presence, but now she had a golden opportunity to send him safely on his way. She hurried from the building and found him waiting where she had left him. He straightened up, taking his hands out of his pockets. ‘You’ve been long enough,’ he grumbled. ‘What went on in there?’
‘You must go quickly, Lennie. I don’t want Mr Wilkinson to see you or he might start asking awkward questions.’
Guthrie stared at her, frowning. ‘So is this cove going to help you?’
‘He thinks his wife might find me a place as a servant and I can’t afford to be fussy. You can go back to Stranks and tell him what you will; I don’t care, just so long as he thinks I’m safely out of the way. I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder every time I walk out and about.’
‘But did he recognise you?’
‘No. He thinks I’m an imposter, trying to get money under false pretences, but one day I’ll prove my identity and when I come into my rightful inheritance I’ll do what I can to help you. Now please go, before he comes out.’
Guthrie gave a start as the office door creaked on its hinges. ‘Good luck, nipper.’ He backed away from her, dodging behind a pile of timber as Edwin emerged from the building.
Lucetta fell in behind her prospective employer. Guthrie and his evil partner were part of her past and she was heading towards the future, whatever that might hold. She held her head high in an attempt to give herself courage, but her stomach felt as though it was tying itself into knots and she felt sick with nerves.
Edwin walked at a surprisingly brisk pace for such a large man and his huge frame swayed from side to side with each step. He could have been regarded by some as a caricature of a man or pointed out as a figure of fun, but Lucetta was quick to notice that working men tipped their caps to him and their bosses stopped to pass the time of day with jovial remarks and much shaking of hands. It became apparent to her that Mr Wilkinson was a much-liked and well-respected man in this area of Islington. She could only hope that in time he would come to believe her story and then he might actually remember her. If such an important man were to take her side Uncle Bradley would be forced to admit that she was his niece and her father’s rightful heir. With her fortunes restored she would search the globe until she found Sam Cutler. She had taken his name and in her heart she would always be his. She comforted herself with the thought of their blissful reunion.
‘Come along, Lucy. Don’t dawdle.’
Edwin’s voice shattered her reverie and she quickened her pace in order to keep up with him as they left the filth and bustle of the wharves. Memories came flooding back to Lucetta as they reached Duncan Terrace. There were gardens now where the New River had flowed freely between the rows of elegant Georgian houses before it was culverted. It now ran its course underground, but in her mind’s eye Lucetta could see herself as a lively six-year-old, walking sedately along the riverbank with her nanny while Mama and Papa were being entertained by the Wilkinsons. She couldn’t recall exactly what had attracted her curiosity on that hot June day, but something in the water had caught her eye and she had broken free from Nanny’s restraining hand and run to the river’s edge. Leaning over a little too far she would have fallen head first into the fast-flowing water if a fisherman had not abandoned his rod and hauled her to safety. She grimaced as she remembered the spanking she had received for that piece of bad behaviour. Her backside had been sore for days afterwards and she had never again been invited to accompany her parents to the Wilkinsons’ home.
Puffing and panting, Edwin walked up the path to the front door. He rapped twice on the brass knocker. ‘No nonsense now, miss,’ he wheezed. ‘Mrs Wilkinson is a very fair woman but she won’t be trifled with and she was very fond of the late Mrs Froy. I don’t want you to say anything that will upset her. Do you understand me?’
The door opened and Lucetta acknowledged his warning with a nod of her head.
Edwin stepped over the threshold, handing his hat and gloves to the uniformed maidservant, who shot Lucetta a deprecating glance beneath sandy eyelashes.
‘Is my wife in the parlour or the dining room, Ruby?’
‘In the parlour, sir.’
‘That will be all for now, Ruby.’ Edwin beckoned to Lucetta. ‘Follow me, Miss Cutler.’
Lucetta hesitated for a moment. She could sense the maidservant’s animosity towards her, which Ruby underlined with a scornful curl of her lip and a twitch of her thin shoulders as she placed her master’s hat and gloves on the hallstand. Lucetta knew that she was being watched closely as she followed her new protector along the narrow hallway with its highly polished oak floorboards and white walls lined with mezzotints, etchings and watercolours of rural scenes.
Edwin entered a room at the end of the passage but Lucetta hesitated on the threshold. She was suddenly nervous, wondering if Mrs Wilkinson might recognise her where her husband had failed. Her whole fate seemed to hang in the balance and she held her breath.
‘You’re late, Edwin.’
The sharp tone of Fanny Wilkinson’s voice was not encouraging, but Edwin seemed unperturbed as he crossed the floor to kiss his wife on her leathery cheek. ‘I’m sorry, my dear, but I was delayed at the office.’
‘Who is that ragged creature hovering in the doorway?’ Fanny raised a lorgnette to her eyes and peered myopically at Lucetta. ‘You haven’t brought one of your cha
rity cases home again, I hope, Edwin.’
‘This young woman has fallen on hard times, Fanny,’ Edwin said mildly. ‘Come in, Miss Cutler. I want you to meet my lady wife, who I am sure will be well disposed towards someone who is genuinely down on their luck.’
Hardly daring to hope that Mrs Wilkinson would see some resemblance to the schoolgirl she had been when they last met, Lucetta stepped into the room and was almost overpowered by the heat. Despite the sweltering June weather, a fire burned in the grate and the curtains were half drawn, excluding most of the natural light. As her eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, Lucetta could see that the room was crammed with furniture that might have come straight from a shop window. She would not have been surprised to see price tags dangling from the arms of the chairs. A black marble clock ticked sonorously from the mantelshelf where porcelain figurines of shepherds and shepherdesses seemed to elbow each other, jostling for position with grinning pot dogs, spill jars and candlesticks complete with dangling lustres. The air was heavy with the scent of lavender beeswax and pot pourri and Lucetta was finding it increasingly hard to breathe.
Resplendent in royal purple, Mrs Wilkinson sat bolt upright on a chair which resembled a throne, while her husband stood dutifully at her side like an obedient consort.
Lucetta approached her with a sinking feeling in her heart. She saw no hint of recognition in those melt-water eyes and no evidence of kindness in the thin lips that were drawn together in a pencil line.
‘What has this young person’s ill-fortune to do with us, Edwin?’ Fanny demanded.
‘Miss Cutler came to me seeking employment, and I know that Cook needs more help in the kitchen.’