by L M Jackson
‘I already gave you everything, Sarah,’ said DeSalle in a hoarse whisper, ‘and, if I recall, you threw it back in my face. Damn me, why did you do it? You know I adored you. You could have had a home, an income—’
‘And you could have had a mistress in Jermyn Street; like any self-respecting young gentleman. But Jermyn Street didn’t suit me.’
‘I would have taken care of you.’
‘No,’ replied Sarah Tanner. ‘Not on those terms. Now do take my arm; people are staring.’
Reluctantly Arthur DeSalle complied.
‘So where the devil did you run off to?’ said DeSalle, after a few moments’ silence. ‘How do you live?’
‘I had some money put aside. I’ve taken on a coffeehouse, Holborn way. Quite respectable.’
‘A coffee-house? Good Lord.’
‘Is it so strange as all that?’
‘I thought it would be some other …’
‘Another man? No.’
Arthur DeSalle fell silent again.
‘I suppose it cannot be long now, until the wedding,’ said Mrs. Tanner.
DeSalle stopped walking for the second time. They stood, not far from the lake, in the shadow of one of the old oak trees that lined the paths.
‘July.’
‘You should really try and look more cheerful,’ she added.
Arthur DeSalle’s frown did not waver.
‘Sarah, I could make arrangements; there need never be any awkwardness or misunderstanding. You know I worship you – and as for Arabella, I swear, her only concern is that she be in London for the Season. I am quite superfluous.’
Sarah Tanner merely shook her head.
‘I won’t change my mind, Arthur. I’m sorry – that’s not why I came.’
‘What then? Is it money?’
‘No, not that.’
‘Well?’
‘I need a letter of introduction.’
Arthur DeSalle laughed out loud. ‘Good God! What can I say about your character?’
‘My character is my own affair. I need a letter to the Secretary of the Finsbury Juvenile Schools, on behalf of Mrs. Sarah Richards.’
‘And do I know Mrs. Richards?’ said Arthur DeSalle, facetiously. ‘I certainly do not know the Secretary of the Finsbury Juvenile Schools.’
‘She’s a distant relative of yours, from Hertfordshire, staying in London as your guest. A widow, with a considerable fortune to dispose of. She intends to use it in aid of the metropolitan poor. As for the Secretary, I suspect your name will be quite enough.’
‘What makes you think I can countenance such a deception?’
‘Arthur, you have my word, it’s not a trick—’
‘Sarah, please, credit me with some intelligence.’
‘I am trying to put something right, for once. I swear it.’
‘Very well, then, explain yourself.’
‘I think it might be safest if I did not.’
Arthur DeSalle shook his head. ‘Sarah, you presume a good deal on our “friendship”. Even if I believe you, it would hardly be prudent, in my position … with the wedding …’
Sarah Tanner looked away.
‘I still have the letters, you know,’ she said, almost in a whisper.
‘Lord! Do you intend to blackmail me?’
‘No,’ she replied. ‘But if you help me this once, I swear, I will burn them.’
Arthur DeSalle hesitated. He reached out his hand and took hold of Sarah Tanner’s arm.
‘You know, I once thought you loved me, Sarah. I would have bet my life upon it.’
Sarah Tanner blushed, gently pulling her hand away.
‘And I once thought much the same about you. So, will you do it? For an old friend?’
Arthur DeSalle sighed.
‘Very well, what is their address?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Some three days after Sarah Tanner’s meeting in the park with Arthur DeSalle, she found herself in the vicinity of Blackfriars Bridge. A short distance from the river lay Radley’s Hotel – a decent, large establishment – and it was there she alighted from her hired carriage, dressed in a manner suited to the occasion.
Inside, the ball-room had been decked out in fine fashion by the Lady Patronesses of the Finsbury Juvenile Schools. For the prospect of a fancy sale, which the Duchess of Beaufort herself might condescend to attend, had driven the worthy matrons in question to new heights of invention, creating a patriotic spectacle – Albion being selected as the theme – which threatened to surpass the highest expectations of all involved. Thus several grand Union flags had been draped from the ceiling; garlands of red and white flowers burst forth from every nook of the wainscoting; and a backdrop entitled ‘Trafalgar’ – the work of Drury Lane’s most eminent scene-painter – filled an entire wall. Nor was the scene entirely inanimate, since two juvenile representatives of the Finsbury institution – a boy and girl of thirteen years of age – had been press-ganged into service as St. George and Britannia respectively, guarding the sea-battle with red faces that reflected both the radiance of the nearby gas-lights and, most likely, a degree of personal embarrassment.
As Sarah Tanner entered the room, she could not help but ponder why such an elaborate display was quite necessary. Her companion, who had greeted her at the door – the Secretary of the Finsbury Juvenile Schools, a Mr. Tebbins – noticed her expression, even if he did not succeed in interpreting her sentiments.
‘Marvellous, is it not, Mrs. Richards?’ said the man in question, who was a wiry individual, about fifty years old, prone to nervous wringing of his hands. ‘The Ladies have done such marvellous work!’
Sarah Tanner surveyed the ball-room. She had never had the pleasure of visiting a fancy sale, but understood the principle. Female supporters of the Schools – highly respectable wives and mothers, under normal circumstances – stood behind a series of trestle tables, whilst other charitable individuals sauntered between them, placing bids upon the various ‘elegant nothings’ which the respectable marchandes, shop-girls for a day, had brought with them. There was, all in all, quite a crowd.
‘What is for sale?’ she asked.
‘Oh, everything and anything, Mrs. Richards,’ said Mr. Tebbins, with admirable exaggeration, leading the way to the first table, where several guests picked over half a dozen pairs of ladies’ Turkish slippers. ‘Why, whatever takes your fancy. All profits to the Schools – such a worthy cause.’
‘And this?’ said Sarah Tanner, picking up a cardboard token from the table, bearing a picture of a hand with extended finger.
‘I do not know, ma’am – let me find out,’ said Tebbins, pausing to interrupt the conversation of the table’s supervisor, who stood near at hand. ‘Ah, I gather a gratuitous lesson on the operation of the electric telegraph.’
‘Quite remarkable.’
‘Pray, tell me, Mrs. Richards,’ continued Mr. Tebbins, as they strolled on, ‘if it is not an impertinence, may I ask how the Schools came to your attention? I wonder – forgive me – was it perhaps the advertisement placed in the Christian Mercury last month? I only inquire, since it was placed upon my recommendation – I should be most gratified to know.’
‘Yes, you’re right,’ she replied. ‘That was it. It struck a chord. I mentioned it to my dear friend, Mr. DeSalle – he has such a sound knowledge of the world, you see – and he suggested that if I was minded to subscribe an annual sum, I might come up to London, to see things for myself. It was so good of you to invite me today.’
‘Not at all, ma’am. Indeed …’
Mr. Tebbins continued, but Sarah Tanner’s attention wandered. For, amongst the crowd by the next table, she suddenly recognised the face she had been looking for: Michael Ferntower, who appeared to be engaged in the charitable purchase of some lace-work of dubious merits. As the Secretary pointedly praised the annual benevolence of his subscribers, Sarah Tanner edged closer to the table in question.
‘And tell me,’ she said, close enough th
at Mr. Ferntower might overhear, ‘what are the terms to become a governor? Mr. DeSalle suggested I might inquire on his behalf. I believe I have rather piqued his interest in the subject.’
‘Fifty pounds a year, ma’am, and, of course, the annual privilege of nominating one deserving juvenile to the Schools.’
Sarah Tanner nodded; she felt sure that Mr. Ferntower had heard her. ‘I expect many of the gentlemen here are governors?’
‘Indeed, ma’am,’ said Tebbins who, impressed by the spontaneity of his own intellect, suddenly saw the opportunity that lay before him. ‘Why, if I may, ma’am, let me introduce you to one of our greatest benefactors. Sir – Mr. Ferntower – if I may …’ he continued, catching Ferntower’s eye, ‘this is Mrs. Richards. She saw the advertisement in the Mercury. She was only just inquiring after our governors.’
Mr. Ferntower, affecting to have heard none of the preceding conversation, turned and bowed. Sarah Tanner nodded politely, looking at his face. It was certainly a stern expression, with a hard mouth, framed by neatly trimmed mutton-chop whiskers, exaggerated by the austerity of his black mourning. She wondered, nonetheless, whether he was quite the man his son had described.
‘I have the honour of being a governor, I confess,’ said Mr. Ferntower, folding the lace in his hands, and placing it inside his jacket pocket.
‘Mrs. Richards, sir,’ continued the Secretary, ‘is considering taking out an annual subscription. She has come down especially from the country. Oh! Now, one moment! Mrs. Richards, will you forgive me?’
‘Sir?’ said Sarah Tanner, following the Secretary’s gaze to another part of the room, where a manservant waved discreetly in Mr. Tebbins’s direction.
‘I do believe my attention is required outside – it may be the Duchess! I am sure Mr. Ferntower will tell you more about the Schools, if he might condescend …’
Mr. Ferntower nodded; the Secretary positively dashed across the room.
‘What part of the country, ma’am?’ said Mr. Ferntower, rather awkwardly making conversation.
‘Hertfordshire.’
‘You are to be commended for your generosity, ma’am,’ continued Mr. Ferntower, after a slight hesitation.
‘Have you been a governor for many years, Mr. Ferntower?’
‘More than I care to recall,’ replied Ferntower, warming a little to the subject of his own beneficence.
‘Still, I consider it my Christian duty.’
‘Quite. I gather the school takes both boys and girls?’
‘From the ages of five to fifteen, ma’am. Takes them from the lowest estates of humanity. A good general education, then the girls learn feminine and domestic disciplines; the boys are fitted out for the mercantile marine. There is a training-ship for the older ones, moored off Greenwich Reach; a marvellous institution.’
‘Really? It all sounds quite fascinating. I should so like to see it.’
‘Would you, ma’am? Well, I am sure I could make arrangements; a tour perhaps.’
‘Oh, that would be delightful.’
‘Ah!’ said Mr. Ferntower, distracted by the approach of a young girl and another woman, nearer to Sarah Tanner’s age. ‘Now here is my ward. Allow me to introduce you. Miss Elizabeth Fulbrook, and her governess Miss Payne.’
Mrs. Tanner looked at the two new arrivals, as introductions were made. Both were dressed in mourning and were the same two women she had glimpsed at the inquest. Mr. Ferntower’s ward was a pretty, rosy-cheeked girl, with dark brown hair in ringlets, rather quiet in her manner, no more than eighteen years of age. It was not hard to imagine, she thought to herself, John Ferntower in love with such a girl – at least, before his fall into St. Giles. Miss Payne, upon the other hand, was a slim, rather mousy creature, quite plain, with hair pulled tightly back from her scalp, constrained by several substantial pins.
‘I was just telling Mrs. Richards,’ continued Mr. Ferntower to his ward, ‘that we might arrange a tour of the Schools for her. Perhaps you might care to come too, Elizabeth?’
Miss Elizabeth Fulbrook demurely agreed. Sarah Tanner, meanwhile, glanced at the young woman’s hand, observing a gold ring.
‘I see you are engaged, Miss Fulbrook?’ Elizabeth Fulbrook blushed. ‘Yes, thank you.’
‘A handsome young man, I hope.’
Miss Fulbrook seemed to redden further. Her guardian, however, merely laughed.
‘You should not tease my ward, Mrs. Richards. However, I expect you can judge for yourself. Speak of the devil! Here’s the fellow now – Hawkes! Over here, sir!’
Sarah Tanner, gratified that John Ferntower’s story had proved true to some degree, turned to look at Cedric Hawkes. She steeled herself against displaying any trace of emotion in the encounter, recalling Ferntower’s description of his erstwhile acquaintance. But there was some slight hint of dismay – a gasp of surprise – when she found herself face to face with a countenance that was already terribly familiar to her, a face she had last seen in a darkened room in Regent Street.
Mr. Stephen Symes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Sarah Tanner’s confusion was brief, but impossible to mask.
‘Are you quite all right, Mrs. Richards?’ inquired Mr. Ferntower.
‘Forgive me, sir. For a moment I felt a little light-headed; please don’t concern yourself. It has passed.’
‘Are you sure, ma’am?’
‘Quite.’
‘Well, then let me introduce my ward’s fiancé. Mr. Hawkes – Mrs. Richards, a new subscriber to the Schools. We were just talking of you.’
Stephen Symes bowed politely.
‘I fear I startled you, ma’am,’ said Symes, drily.
‘No, not at all,’ replied Mrs. Tanner, regaining her self-possession.
‘Well, I am charmed to make your acquaintance, ma’am, in any case.’
‘Thank you. I gather I must congratulate you, sir, on your engagement.’
Symes bowed once more. Sarah Tanner, for her part, as she mentioned the subject, glanced at the bride-to-be who stood nearby. There was no change in Elizabeth Fulbrook’s shy and diffident manner; if anything, the topic only seemed to increase her awkward reticence, and she did not even look at her fiancé. Whatever reason existed for the match, she felt certain, it was not love.
‘Tell me, Mrs. Richards,’ said Symes, ‘what drew you to the Schools in particular? I myself have been convinced of their merit by Mr. Ferntower’s ardent advocacy – but what brought you here? I am rather curious to know.’
‘I saw an advertisement, sir. It was most affecting.’
‘I’m sure,’ continued Symes, rather pointedly. ‘It is certainly a marvellous undertaking. In fact, I myself have seen the most wretched little creatures improve, when placed in the appropriate hands. It is amazing what a change can be effected.’
‘Quite right,’ murmured Mr. Ferntower, oblivious to the telling glance that passed between Mr. Hawkes and his new acquaintance.
Sarah Tanner resolved not to linger.
‘Well, I am sure I have monopolised your company long enough, Mr. Ferntower. So charming to meet you and your charming family.’
‘And you, ma’am.’
‘Must you leave us so soon, ma’am?’ added Symes.
‘I am afraid I must,’ replied Mrs. Tanner, perhaps a little too severely. ‘Oh, but, Mr. Ferntower,’ she continued, ‘I quite forgot – our tour of the Schools.’
‘Allow me to give you my card, ma’am. I am sure something might be arranged.’
Sarah Tanner silently cursed to herself. The prospect of entering into correspondence was not something for which she had prepared herself. An address upon Leather Lane would not do.
‘Oh, but I am only in town until tomorrow evening. I do not suppose, sir, you could spare me a little time tomorrow afternoon? It would be an awful imposition, I know.’
Mr. Ferntower visibly hesitated.
‘I suppose,’ she continued, ‘I might speak to Mr. Tebbins, but, confidentially, I confess
I find him, well, rather poor company. Perhaps I should give the matter more thought, in any case.’
‘Well, I believe I could spare an hour or two in the afternoon, ma’am,’ replied Mr. Ferntower, unwilling to contemplate losing a new subscriber. ‘If it would be no inconvenience to yourself, shall I send my carriage, say at two o’clock?’
‘A carriage? Oh, please, do not go to such trouble.’
‘I am sure it is no trouble at all, ma’am.’
‘No, there is no need,’ said Sarah Tanner. ‘I have a few errands to run myself and I think it might be better if we might meet at the Schools? I already have the address from Mr. Tebbins.’
Mr. Ferntower bowed. ‘I look forward to it, ma’am. Two o’clock.’
‘A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Richards,’ said Stephen Symes.
Sarah Tanner walked briskly through the decorated ball-room, past the assorted guests of the Finsbury Juvenile Schools. Her only intention was to quit the hotel, but she found herself thwarted by the return of Mr. Tebbins, who inadvertently blocked her path, peering into the room from the hall.
‘Ah, Mrs. Richards!’
‘Sir, you must forgive me. I am a little fatigued. Could you possibly send for my carriage?’
‘Of course, ma’am. I trust Mr. Ferntower was able to provide some insight into our work.’
‘Yes, he was most helpful. We have arranged a tour of the Schools tomorrow.’
‘Now, ma’am, that is an excellent idea! Ah, now, is that Mr. Hawkes?’
Mrs. Tanner frowned, turning to look back into the room. ‘Yes, indeed. We were just introduced.’
‘Ma’am, my apologies. I will find a boy to run for your carriage. Then I must just inform Mr. Hawkes his mother has arrived.’
‘His mother?’
‘Yes – do you know Mrs. Hawkes?’
Sarah Tanner hesitated.
‘No, forgive me. As I say I am a little fatigued, sir. Please – do not let me detain you.’
Mr. Tebbins, with suitably polite words of obligation, hastened in the direction of the hotel office. Mrs. Tanner, meanwhile, once the Secretary disappeared from view, slipped out on to the street, standing beneath the hotel’s stone portico.