A Most Dangerous Woman

by L M Jackson

  Sarah Tanner turned her head. Norah Smallwood stood in the doorway.

  ‘What is it, Norah?’

  ‘Mrs. H. says she’s off home, and the beef-tea’s gone but she’ll make up some more tomorrow.’

  ‘Tell her that’s fine.’

  ‘Ain’t you coming down?’ asked Norah, looking round the darkened room. ‘I’ll bring you a couple of candles up, if you like.’

  ‘No, there’s no need.’

  Norah Smallwood nodded, and made to leave. But her employer called out to her, just as she turned away.

  ‘That’s a new bow, isn’t it?’

  Norah blushed, involuntarily touching the rich russet-coloured ribbon that tied back her long brown locks.

  ‘It might be,’ she replied coyly.

  ‘A gift?’

  ‘How did you know?’ asked Norah, surprised.

  ‘Because you couldn’t leave it alone all morning. If you weren’t tying it up again, you were looking in the mirror.’

  ‘That don’t mean nothing,’ said Norah Smallwood, rather put out.

  ‘Who’s this fellow, then? I don’t suppose it was Harry Drummond? Last time I saw him, his face still looked like you’d flattened him with an iron.’

  ‘I didn’t do nothing,’ protested Norah.

  ‘I expect that’s what he’s unhappy about.’

  ‘He’s just a boy.’

  Sarah Tanner raised her eyebrows. ‘So this is a man, is it?’

  ‘If you must know, his name’s Albert and he works down Smithfield.’

  ‘I expect it’s none of my business,’ said Mrs. Tanner, rather enjoying teasing her employee.

  ‘I expect that’s right,’ replied Norah firmly. ‘So are you doing your disappearing trick again tomorrow?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I ain’t stupid, you know. That’s two days you ain’t hardly been here, gone all afternoon, and you’re thick as thieves with old bag-o-bones …’

  ‘Ralph?’

  ‘Yeah, and don’t think I mind, ’cos I don’t, you’re welcome to him. But I reckon I’ve a right to hear about it, if it’s about Georgie …’

  Norah Smallwood’s voice trailed off, as if she herself was slightly surprised by the force of her own outburst.

  ‘I suppose you do,’ said Mrs. Tanner, after a moment’s reflection. ‘Listen, Norah, did Georgie ever talk to you about a woman he called “Her Majesty”? Or a man called Symes?’

  Norah Smallwood shook her head.

  ‘Well then,’ she continued with a sigh, ‘sit down, and I’ll tell you.’

  Not long after Norah had quit her room, Sarah Tanner once more heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

  ‘You wanted to see us, missus?’ said Ralph Grundy.

  ‘Sit down, Ralph,’ said Mrs. Tanner, offering him the seat opposite her own, in front of the fire.

  ‘I’m obliged, missus.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about tomorrow. If the girl replies to the letter, I’ll need the coach again. I’ll need you again.’

  ‘That’s what I reckoned,’ said the waiter.

  ‘Please, Ralph, wait a moment. If this all goes wrong … well, they’ve had two people killed already. Symes wouldn’t hesitate to make it three; he’d probably do it himself, if he thought it would help him get his way. There’s no reason why you should risk your neck for my sake.’

  Ralph Grundy hesitated.

  ‘Them’s strong words, missus,’ he said at last. ‘Brings a fellow up short, does a speech like that. The thing is, you says I’m risking my neck, if it goes wrong. But – and I may be a fool to think it – I’m inclined to matters going right, ’cos I reckon if anyone can square this business, you’re the one to do it. Here’s a thought, though, now I come to think on it – what if things do go right? Am I risking my neck then and all?’

  ‘I don’t follow, Ralph.’

  ‘Well, missus – let’s say you put a stop to this here wedding – that’s your idea, ain’t it? That still leaves the Peeler what did for your friend Phelps, and the parties what got him to do it. And they ain’t going to be full of the milk of human kindness, are they?’

  ‘No,’ replied Sarah Tanner with a rueful smile, ‘they’re not. That’s just what I’ve just been thinking. But I know them, Ralph. I know how they think. They plan it out like a game of chess; the trick is to make us more trouble to them dead than alive. They won’t trouble us, not if it means they lose by it.’

  ‘Well, you’ve lost me, anyhow, missus,’ said Ralph Grundy, scratching his forehead.

  Sarah Tanner reached down to the floor and picked up Arthur DeSalle’s letters, which lay by the side of her chair.

  ‘These are letters, between the son of a certain peer of the realm, and certain other parties; I’ve had them for a while. Give them to the police – at least, God help us, if there is an honest policeman to be had – and mention a certain minor scandal last Season, and they could mean ten years hard labour for all concerned.’

  ‘Your old pals?’

  ‘Yes. They don’t know I have them, not yet. But if I tell them I do, and that I’ll make sure they’ll come out if anything happens to me—’

  ‘Hold up, missus – why don’t you just show ’em to Scotland Yard and have done?’

  ‘Because you could add me to the list of “other parties”, Ralph. And I don’t fancy spending my days picking oakum.’

  Ralph Grundy smirked. ‘You’re a rare ’un, missus. And I’ll stick by you, if you’ll have me.’

  ‘Are you sure, Ralph?’

  ‘Let’s just hope that letter does the trick, eh?’

  ‘If Miss Fulbrook has just an ounce of curiosity,’ said Sarah Tanner, ‘it will.’

  In the privacy of her room, Elizabeth Fulbrook looked at the piece of paper. The envelope in which it came, bearing the words Private and Confidential written in an elegant script, lay on the table beside it.

  My Dear Miss Fulbrook,

  Please forgive the peculiar method by which this letter has come into your hands. I would not practise such intrigue were it not of the utmost importance, both in relation to my own conscience and your future happiness, that these words reach you without any prospect of interference by a third party.

  It is difficult to know where to begin. I hope it is sufficient to say that I have your very best interests at heart, and very particular reasons for wishing that neither your guardian, nor Mr. Cedric Hawkes, is made aware of this letter.

  In short, I happen to possess information concerning Mr. Hawkes, and his history, which, having learnt that you are to marry the gentleman, has caused me considerable mental anguish. It is my duty to say more, but I dare not in this letter. I implore you, favour me with a private audience, at a time of your choosing, and I will reveal the truth.

  I beg you, secrecy is all. I am only in London for the week – I am delaying my return home – but you may write to me at the Post Office, 125 Holborn.

  Your most sincere friend,

  Sarah Richards

  Elizabeth Fulbrook read the letter again. Hesitantly, she picked out a new sheet of notepaper from her desk drawer, and dipped the nib of her pen in the inkwell.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The day after her visit to the Schools, Sarah Tanner once more took her hired carriage and directed Ralph Grundy towards Hillmarton Park, Holloway. For she had received a brief note from Elizabeth Fulbrook and had an appointment to keep.

  Looking out of the window, Mrs. Tanner was certain the road was a new one. For a start, every house had a clean, newly minted appearance, seemingly barely touched by the soot and grime of the metropolis. Indeed, from the paint upon the front doors to the young saplings that lined the gently sloping road, there was something almost unsettling in the scene’s pristine perfection. The vista was only marred by the occasional remaining open plot of ground, marked out by boards, twine and bricks, ready to be built upon.

  As for the houses themselves, they seemed to grow larger
and more grandiose according to their eminence upon the slope. None, however, were insignificant: being three-or four-storey villas, rather gloomy and Gothic in appearance. Most were in pairs, seamlessly twinned, each a mirror image of the other, so as to present a grand façade to the outside world. She looked at the tall respectable windows and wondered for a moment whether she herself would be happy in such symmetrical isolation; on balance, she concluded she would not.

  The Ferntower residence stood detached, surrounded on all sides by a neatly tended lawn and spear-tipped railings. From the front gate, a gravel path led to a stone bridge of steps above the basement area, and a heavy panelled front door, painted black, with a brass bell-pull.

  Sarah Tanner paused to collect her thoughts, then rang the bell.

  ‘Mrs. Richards,’ she announced to the maid who answered the door.

  ‘Yes, ma’am. Miss Fulbrook is expecting you.’

  She followed the maid indoors. The drawing-room of the Ferntower home, upon the first floor, was a rather grand place for welcoming guests. She wondered whether, in consequence of its size, a rather excessive effort had been made to fill it. Certianly, the walls were covered in framed prints and paintings, such that only the smallest strip of the ornate trellis-work paper behind was visible. Meanwhile, two large chiffoniers dominated two of the walls, displaying porcelain and coloured glass in super-abundance, whilst even the floor was decorated: a carpet whose twists and turns would have been worthy of an Ottoman sultan. The ostentation, however, seemed in peculiar contrast to the young woman who stood to greet her visitor. For Elizabeth Fulbrook, her hands clasped nervously together, looked quite lost in the great drawing-room, as if she hardly belonged there at all.

  ‘Mrs. Richards.’

  ‘Miss Fulbrook. It is a pleasure to see you again.’

  Miss Fulbrook nodded rather awkwardly in reply. ‘Would you care for some tea?’

  ‘Why, yes, thank you.’

  ‘Please, do sit down,’ replied Miss Fulbrook, ringing the servants’ bell.

  Sarah Tanner obliged, taking the proffered seat before the fire-place, as her hostess sat opposite.

  ‘Mrs. Richards,’ said Miss Fulbrook, visibly steeling herself to speak, ‘you must forgive me if I forego the niceties required by society. I think it is fair to say you have already presumed to do so yourself, in the peculiar manner in which you chose to communicate with me. I trust, therefore, I do not offend you, by saying as much.’

  ‘No, not at all,’ replied Mrs. Tanner. It struck her that Elizabeth Fulbrook, despite her youth, perhaps had more spirit than she had thought.

  ‘You can hardly imagine the sentiments your letter occasioned in me, Mrs. Richards. What on earth can you have to say to me, that could justify such an interference in my affairs?’

  ‘I will tell you, Miss Fulbrook, I swear; but first, please, I must know, have you kept my calling here a secret?’

  Elizabeth Fulbrook hesitated. ‘Yes, of course, as you asked.’

  ‘Are you quite sure?’

  ‘Very well,’ replied Miss Fulbrook with a hint of agitation, ‘I consulted my governess, Miss Payne. But I hardly think that matters.’

  Sarah Tanner frowned. ‘Miss Fulbrook, please—’

  ‘It was she who advised that I invite you here and hear you out,’ continued Miss Fulbrook. ‘But now it appears not only am I to be imposed upon with secret letters, and clandestine meetings, I am to be interrogated in my own home!’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ replied Mrs. Tanner, placidly. ‘Please, do not distress yourself. But your guardian is not here?’

  ‘No; he has business in the City. Although, again, I can hardly see why that should—’

  Elizabeth Fulbrook fell silent, as a knock at the door heralded the appearance of the maid and a silver tea service. Both women waited until the tray had been set down, and the maid had been dismissed. Sarah Tanner, however, was first to break the silence.

  ‘You do not trust me, Miss Fulbrook. I realise that. You would be a fool to trust a complete stranger under such circumstances, and I don’t blame you for it. But I swear to you, upon my life, if you marry the man you call Cedric Hawkes, he will make your life utterly wretched.’

  ‘The man “I call” Cedric Hawkes?’ said Miss Fulbrook, incredulously. ‘Does he have another name?’

  ‘Yes, several. But his real name is Stephen Symes. Tell me, do you know your fiancé’s occupation?’

  ‘He is a broker on the Exchange.’

  ‘Perhaps, when it suits him. In truth, he is a fraudster, Miss Fulbrook, a villain whose only interest is in your inheritance. I could name a dozen women whom he has ruined; a dozen companies whose shareholders have lost everything, upon his account.’

  ‘Really?’ said Miss Fulbrook, disbelief etched in her voice. ‘And you have proof of these charges?’

  ‘Not here; not now. But, if you give me time, I could take you—’

  ‘Mrs. Richards,’ interrupted Miss Fulbrook, with a sigh, ‘honestly, I have done you the courtesy of giving you a hearing, in private, as you requested. But I cannot believe these wild accusations against a gentleman whom my guardian respects and admires, a man who has treated me with the utmost civility and consideration. I cannot conceive what might have possessed you to come here and slander Mr. Hawkes in this way. Indeed, it can only be pure malice or some form of madness; I suppose I must be charitable and assume the latter.’

  ‘There is no love between you, I am sure of that,’ said Sarah Tanner.

  Elizabeth Fulbrook blushed.

  ‘Mr. Hawkes paid his addresses to me like a gentleman,’ she said quietly. ‘I will not pretend it is a love-match, Mrs. Richards, but I will come to love him, in time, I am certain. Now I think you had best leave; I was foolish to invite you here. Forgive me, I would be grateful if you did not trouble myself, or my guardian, again.’

  ‘Did Miss Ferntower approve of the marriage?’ said Mrs. Tanner, regardless.

  ‘Miss Ferntower?’

  ‘I attended the inquest, Miss Fulbrook. I am sorry to say it, but I do not believe she drowned. I know your guardian thinks the same, except he blames his son. But I believe Stephen Symes, your Mr. Hawkes, arranged it all.’

  ‘Good Lord, you really are quite mad.’

  ‘The marriage is quite soon, is it not? It is a rather short engagement?’

  ‘Mr. Hawkes has business abroad; it is more convenient. Heavens! I do not have to explain myself to you, ma’am!’

  Elizabeth Fulbrook reached towards the servants’ bell. But her guest reached forward and intercepted her arm, placing in her hand a folded piece of paper.

  ‘Please, I know it must sound quite incredible, but, I beg you, read this first, before you dismiss me.’

  Baffled, Elizabeth Fulbrook’s curiosity overcame her anxiety to terminate the interview. Upon opening the paper, she visibly recognised the hand, before she had even read a word.

  ‘John,’ she whispered to herself.

  Sarah Tanner watched as Elizabeth Fulbrook glanced at her in confusion, then turned back to read the letter. There was a look in Miss Fulbrook’s eyes, a look of sadness and dormant affection, that gave her some cause to hope.

  ‘Well?’ said Mrs. Tanner, as Miss Fulbrook finished reading and folded the note.

  Miss Fulbrook straightened her posture. ‘My cousin repeats everything you have told me, ma’am, in so many words. He begs me to listen to your counsel.’

  Mrs. Tanner said nothing; she was not at all certain the letter had had the intended effect.

  ‘At least, now I understand why you have come here, Mrs. Richards. And I am very sorry my cousin has made you his unwitting agent. I fear these accusations can only be the product of some terrible form of nervous derangement. I only wish …’ Miss Fulbrook broke off, her voice failing her. ‘I am sorry, Mrs. Richards, I really must ask you to leave. I am expecting another visitor.’

  Reluctantly, Sarah Tanner nodded and rose from her seat. But there was something in the way
Miss Fulbrook spoke that made her ask one more question.

  ‘May I ask whom you are expecting?’ she said.

  ‘Mr. Hawkes will be here at half-past the hour,’ said Elizabeth Fulbrook with a sigh. ‘He often takes a walk over the fields and pays a visit. I had thought, if there was any substance to your letter … in any case, if you think that I intend to lay my cousin’s charges before him, you are quite mistaken.’

  Mrs. Tanner thought for a moment. ‘But if I could prove to you that Mr. Hawkes is not at all the man you imagine, would you agree to putting it to the test?’

  ‘I do not believe you could possibly do such a thing.’

  Sarah Tanner looked directly into Elizabeth Fulbrook’s eyes. ‘If I am wrong about Cedric Hawkes, Miss Fulbrook, then what I propose will occasion you no embarrassment. But if I am right, it may spare you a lifetime of misery.’

  Elizabeth Fulbrook said nothing for what seemed like an eternity.

  ‘Very well, if first you tell me what would you have me do?’

  ‘Do you have someone in the household, whose word you trust? Whose discretion can be absolutely relied upon, without question?’

  ‘My governess, Miss Payne. I would trust her with my life. She is upstairs, in her room.’

  ‘You can take her into your confidence?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Then I suggest you ring the bell, and have her come down.’

  Sarah Tanner watched Stephen Symes walk up Hillmarton Park. He arrived precisely at the hour he was expected; and she noticed him glance up at the Ferntower residence as he walked, doubtless catching sight of Elizabeth Fulbrook at the drawing-room window above. The look upon his face suggested he was gratified to know the object of his affection – or, at least, attentions – was at home. But the look faded, as Sarah Tanner herself stepped out on to the front steps and walked down to the road. They met at the gate, just as Mrs. Tanner’s carriage pulled up in front of the house.

  ‘Why, Mr. Hawkes, is it not?’

  Stephen Symes glanced up towards the drawing-room window, and back at the carriage.

  ‘You risk a good deal coming here, Sarah,’ said Symes in a low voice. ‘I warned you on the bridge. Any sensible woman would have heeded my words.’