by L M Jackson
Mrs. Tanner merely smiled. Her silence only seemed to infuriate Stephen Symes.
‘What have you told her?’ he demanded.
‘Miss Fulbrook? Only that marriage is an honourable estate. What does the Church say upon the subject? “Not taken in hand lightly, to satisfy men’s carnal lusts and appetites”? You can hardly object to that, Mr. Symes?’
Stephen Symes looked nervously back towards the house, where Elizabeth Fulbrook still stood at the drawing-room window, his anger barely contained. He carefully angled himself so that his back was turned towards the house.
‘I swear, Sarah, I do not know what you are playing at, but I will break every bone in your wretched body, if I so much as see you near this house again. And if you have interfered in my business here, that will be the end of you—’
‘Your fiancée is waiting, Mr. Symes,’ said Sarah Tanner, calmly.
Stephen Symes grimaced, but, with a rather stilted bow, brushed abruptly past, walking briskly up the path to the house.
Mrs. Tanner, for her part, opened the door to her carriage and stepped inside, not waiting for Ralph Grundy to descend and offer his assistance. Nor did she pull up the blind which had rendered the interior invisible to the outside world. Instead, she merely turned to address the woman already seated within.
‘Did you hear, Miss Payne?’
‘I’m afraid I did,’ replied Elizabeth Fulbrook’s governess. ‘Good Lord, I would never have believed it.’
‘Just be sure to tell Miss Fulbrook every word.’
‘I shall not forget any of it, ma’am, be sure of that,’ replied Miss Payne, although she looked at the woman seated opposite her with a rather curious expression.
‘You don’t trust me, Miss Payne? I gathered it was you who advised Miss Fulbrook to see me.’
‘I only want the best for the girl, ma’am,’ replied the governess, warily. ‘But you seem on quite familiar terms with Mr. Hawkes.’
‘I was at one time, Miss Payne,’ replied Sarah Tanner. ‘But I am trying hard to make amends.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The following day, Sarah Tanner left the Dining and Coffee Rooms in the early afternoon, and walked down Leather Lane to Holborn. The receiving-house where Ralph Grundy had arranged for her letters to be kept was situated in the establishment of Sheel & Hardman, Dealers in Fancy Goods. And it was there, between a display of fine china, and shelves of Parian philosophers, rows of miniature busts of worthy Greeks, guaranteed to enliven any mantel-piece, that she inquired at the counter discreetly labelled ‘General Post Office’ for anything under the name of ‘Richards’ – and was rewarded with a single envelope.
She quit the shop and walked for a few yards along the busy street. But if she ever intended to return home before reading the letter, she did not keep to her resolution, and, stepping into a side-street not far from Leather Lane, she opened the envelope and read the contents.
Hillmarton Park, 14th April
Dear Mrs. Richards,
Miss Fulbrook has entreated me to put pen to paper upon her behalf, and I cannot refuse her. In truth, I do so with a heavy heart, since I cannot conceive that any further correspondence between us concerning upon this painful subject is either wise or proper. Nonetheless, Miss Fulbrook has taken me into her confidence. I am, therefore, willing to subordinate my own sentiments and act as her agent, in the hope that I may further her best interests.
The reason Miss Fulbrook does not write on her own behalf is one which, I trust, can readily be surmised. The account which I gave of your conversation with Mr. Hawkes has affected her deeply, throwing her into a state of distress and confusion which it pains me to witness. It is fortunate that Mr. Ferntower is content to ascribe her condition to the fickle humours of our sex.
In short, Miss Fulbrook, having received the gloomy intelligence which I provided her, now entertains every doubt regarding the character of her fiancé.
What is to be done? The answer is quite plain to me: that we must reveal all to Mr. Ferntower, in whose power it is to prevent this marriage, and that Mr. Hawkes must explain his conduct in full. If there is an explanation of his words and manner, then so be it; if not, then the matter is settled. Miss Fulbrook, for her part, seems incapable of decision; she is fearful of taking action. She has requested that I write to you, with this purpose: to say that she is grateful for your advice; that she is, at present, incapable of any sensible thought or deed, but that in due course she will write both to yourself and one other. Upon that point, I quote her very words.
Mrs. Richards, I beg you, if you act from honourable motives in this matter, you must counsel Miss Fulbrook to follow my advice. I fear that I know precisely whom Miss Fulbrook means when she declares ‘and one other’ and I have no confidence in that party. That ‘one other’ – Mr. John Ferntower – there! I have ‘spoke the truth and shamed the Devil!’ – has proved himself an unaccountable villain, time and again, in word and deed. I will not ask under what circumstances you made his acquaintance – Miss Fulbrook has informed me you are an intimate of that unfortunate gentleman – but you must know he would be her ruin.
No! She must speak to her guardian. Surely no other course of action is permitted to her? If, as you claim, you value this young woman’s honour and happiness, I beg you to commend this course of action, by return of post.
Yours respectfully,
Lydia Payne
Sarah Tanner finished the letter. After a few moments’ thought, she put it in her pocket and turned her steps westwards.
It was some half an hour later that she reached her intended destination – Prince’s Row, Newport Market. The street door was unlocked, just as it had been upon her previous visit, and she climbed the stairs to the third floor unmolested by any of the building’s residents. She found, however, that no-one answered her knock upon John Ferntower’s door and, after waiting several minutes, she reluctantly resolved to return homewards. As she quit the building, however, she caught sight of a garish particoloured play-bill, one of a multitude pasted upon the wall opposite. It reminded her of John Ferntower’s occupation, and, upon a whim, she turned south, in the direction of St. Martin’s Lane, and Trafalgar Square.
When she came to a halt a second time, it was not outside a private dwelling, but rather a quarter of a mile distant from John Ferntower’s lodgings, in front of the Adelphi Theatre, upon the Strand. The theatre’s exterior was a rather narrow, unprepossessing one, with plate glass and twin folding doors that could easily be mistaken for the front of a minor gin-palace. Indeed, sandwiched between the Hampshire Hog public-house and Batt & Rutley, Seed Merchants, with no matinée to make it blossom into life, the theatre seemed positively gloomy, its only mark of distinction being several additional street-lamps upon the pavement outside, lined up together in a neat row, ready to illuminate evening crowds.
Sarah Tanner hestitated, wondering whether the building might be entirely empty during daylight hours. But before she could even try the door, a voice called out from the doorway of the adjoining public-house.
‘Mrs. Richards!’
It took her a moment to place the voice’s owner: Theobald Stamp.
‘Mrs. Richards! How charming to see you!’ exclaimed Mr. Stamp, striding out on to the street. ‘Now, say you have reconsidered my offer, my dear young woman! Say it is so, my dear, and gladden this old man’s heart! For it would gladden it, ma’am; it would, I assure you. A shilling a night!’
‘No, sir, I can’t say the stage appeals.’
‘No? Then it is the bill? You have seen the bill, my dear woman, and you seek amusement. You and the rest of the great metropolis, ma’am! A full house every night: “Stamp is the genius of the comic burletta”; “one of the most creditable productions of the day”; “Miss Woolgar knows no equal”! Have you seen the bill, my dear lady? It must be so.’
Sarah Tanner shook her head. ‘No, sir. I was looking for Mr. Smith.’
‘Smith? Again! Always Mr. Smith. Why, a cre
ature like yourself could do far better than Smith, my dear. Still, you have found him; he is with the company,’ said Mr. Stamp, nodding towards the Hampshire Hog, ‘working on some minor changes to the text. Come, come inside. I shall procure you a seat and a little refreshment.’
‘No, please, sir, there is no need. If you might ask Mr. Smith to step outside for a moment, that will suffice.’
‘You ain’t of the temperance persuasion, ma’am?’ said Mr. Stamp, in serio-comic manner. ‘Because, of course, if you were, I’d never touch another drop, you have my word of honour.’
Sarah Tanner smiled politely. ‘No, sir, I am not. But if you might just—’
‘Of course, my dear lady,’ replied Mr. Stamp, with a flamboyant bow, terminating in a flourish wave of his hand. ‘Of course!’
Mrs. Tanner sighed to herself, rather relieved, as the theatrical impresario retreated into the public-house. It was a minute or two before John Ferntower emerged from the Hampshire Hog; and, although he was not quite drunk, she could not help but notice the strong aroma of gin about him.
‘Mrs. Richards, you have a positive talent for discovering my whereabouts,’ said John Ferntower, in a fashion that sounded not entirely complimentary.
‘I was just fortunate to see Mr. Stamp.’
‘I take it there is news?’
‘I saw your cousin Elizabeth. I think I may have persuaded her to, well, at least reconsider her choice of husband.’
John Ferntower’s face grew more serious; and, indeed, as Sarah Tanner recounted the events of the previous day, he seemed to lose some of his customary cynicism.
‘You gave her my note?’ said Ferntower.
‘I did. Here, this is the letter Miss Payne sent this morning.’
John Ferntower cast his eyes over the governess’s letter, reading it at speed.
‘She intends to write to us both, I think,’ said Mrs. Tanner. ‘But Miss Payne already seems against you.’
‘Miss Payne?’ replied Ferntower, glumly. ‘She was a favourite of my aunt’s; she knows a good deal about my circumstances; it is not altogether surprising. I doubt she can be persuaded of my virtue as a suitor.’
‘For pity’s sake, sir,’ exclaimed Mrs. Tanner, exasperated, ‘do you love her?’
John Ferntower seemed to flinch at the directness of the question. ‘Elizabeth? If she could bring herself to love me.’
‘Then write to her again, before she writes to you. Tell her she is everything to you, that you would marry her tomorrow, if it would save her from a man like Symes. Tell her what you like, but give her some hope.’
‘Will that be enough?’
Sarah Tanner sighed. ‘I do not know.’
‘What if she follows Miss Payne’s advice and talks to my father?’
‘If your father believes her, and calls off the marriage, then I would be quite content with that.’
‘And if she tells him, and he does not believe it? I swear, he thinks Hawkes – Symes, whatever we must call him – can do no wrong, I am sure of it.’
‘Then, if I know Mr. Symes,’ replied Sarah Tanner, ‘you may expect a wedding even sooner.’
John Ferntower shook his head, though it was hard for Mrs. Tanner to judge whether in mute pessimism or defiance.
‘Tell me,’ she continued, ‘does Miss Payne have much influence with your father?’
‘That is a peculiar question,’ replied Ferntower, puzzled.
‘Not if she can persuade him against Symes.’
‘Why should she be able to do that?’
‘Because I rather think he might have formed an attachment to her. He asked me my opinion of her, when I saw them at the Schools.’
‘I hardly think that signifies much,’ said John Ferntower.
‘You did not see how he looked at her.’
Ferntower shrugged. ‘Nothing would surprise me about that man. But I should be surprised if Miss Payne reciprocates his sentiments.’
‘Is your father such a monster?’
‘They hardly share the same station in life, Mrs. Richards. And I think my father has had his fill of scandal.’
Sarah Tanner did not debate the point. ‘But you will write to Miss Fulbrook?’
‘Yes, I suppose I will. But I hardly …’
John Ferntower’s voice trailed off, as he noticed the re-appearance of Theobald Stamp from the Hampshire Hog.
‘Dear lady,’ exclaimed Stamp, in full voice, waving a couple of pieces of paper in the air, ‘you are still here! I was just talking to my fellow players, ma’am, and it struck me. I said to myself, “Sir! Are you a blackguard? Are you a rogue?” Why – it is the least I can do for a friend of Mr. Smith!’
‘Sir?’
‘Two complimentary tickets for tomorrow night’s performance, ma’am,’ effused Mr. Stamp. ‘The Queen of the Market – translated from the French – followed by Bloomerism, or The Follies of the Day.’
‘Thank you,’ said Mrs. Tanner, as politely as possible.
‘I am sure Mrs. Richards has better uses for her time,’ added John Ferntower.
‘In any case, sir,’ said Mrs. Tanner, ‘I had best be going. I trust you will keep up to date with your correspondence, Mr. Smith?’
‘I’ll do my best,’ replied John Ferntower. ‘I assure you.’
‘Goodbye, then, my dear lady,’ said Theobald Stamp, with another of his patented bows. ‘I look forward to seeing you at our performance. And if you might care to see behind-the-scenes, you need but ask at the Stage Door.’
‘Goodbye,’ said Sarah Tanner, quite determined to do nothing of the sort.
Sarah Tanner walked slowly homewards. When at last she came to Leather Lane, she was surprised to hear someone call after her.
‘Here, missus!’
It was, she realised, Joe Drummond, a burly individual in his late forties, a regular at the Dining and Coffee Rooms, and father of Norah Smallwood’s would-be suitor.
‘Here, missus,’ repeated the coster, stepping out from behind his barrow, rather shyly, for all his bulk. ‘What do you say to this – Yarmouth bloaters, three a penny? Best that grow in the sea.’
Sarah Tanner cast her eye over the fish, laid out in neat rows, which, all the same, looked for the most part rather the worse for wear.
‘I think we’re fine for fish today, Joe.’
‘They’re only a little touched, missus – no harm in it.’
‘No, thank you, Joe, not today.’
‘I’ll have some halibut at the weekend,’ persisted the coster, after a moment’s hesitation. Sarah Tanner looked back at him; there was something rather anxious about his expression.
‘Well, perhaps I will have those when they come.’
‘Or haddock. I might have some haddock, prime ’uns.’
‘Was there something else you wanted, Joe?’ she asked, feeling certain of it.
‘Ah,’ replied the coster, as if a weight had rather been lifted from his shoulders. ‘Well, it’s the barrow, missus.’
‘The barrow? What’s wrong with it?’
‘Ah,’ said the coster, as if feeling his way round a particularly difficult subject. ‘It ain’t that there’s anything wrong of it. But it’s a heavy article, and takes a fellow a long while to load up, see?’
Sarah Tanner nodded, though rather uncertain where the conversation was heading.
‘Well, an heavy article needs two hands, missus. I mean, I can work on my own hook, but two hands is what’s needed, or I’m last in and last out; and that won’t do.’
‘Last out?’
‘Down Billingsgate. And that’s my point.’
‘I am sorry, Joe, but I don’t understand.’
‘My Harry!’ exclaimed Joe Drummond, as if stating the utterly obvious. ‘I mean, he comes with us, missus, but he ain’t with us,’ continued the coster, tapping his head with his finger, ‘if you take my drift. And where is he now?’
Sarah Tanner denied any knowledge of Harry Drummond’s whereabouts, although she began
to understand the broad nature of his father’s complaint.
‘He’s outside your gaff, missus, mooning over that gal of yours, Norah. I’ve told him, but he don’t listen. That gal’s dealt him a proper facer, and he don’t know what to do with himself.’
‘I’m sorry, Joe, but I think there’s another young man.’
‘Well, then maybe you could say something, missus. An hard word or two in his ear wouldn’t do no harm; he needs to hear it.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
‘Thank ’ee, missus,’ replied the coster, gratefully. ‘Thank ’ee! Here – take a bloater, gratis!’
‘No, thank you, Joe,’ replied Mrs. Tanner
‘Harry! Harry Drummond!’
Sarah Tanner found the young man, as predicted, loitering a short distance from the corner of Liquorpond Street. Upon hearing his name, he walked over rather reluctantly, a somewhat guilty-looking expression upon his face.
‘Missus?’
‘Who are you waiting for?’
‘No-one particular,’ replied the young man, sullenly.
‘Your father thinks I should have a word with you.’
Harry Drummond blushed. ‘Well, it ain’t none of his business.’
‘If it’s Norah you’re after, I think she’s spoken for.’
‘Just!’ exclaimed the young coster with much emotion. ‘And ain’t that fine, when a fellow cribs another fellow’s gal when he ain’t even there to set to!’
‘Well, I don’t think you should fight for her,’ she said, struggling to conceal a degree of amusement at the young man’s vehemence.
‘Well, what can I do?’
Sarah Tanner looked at the young man’s face; there was something so deeply sincere in his devotion that, despite it being comical, she felt rather moved by it. An idea struck her.
‘Do you have a suit, I mean a good one?’
Puzzled, the young man nodded.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the twin tickets to the Adelphi.
‘I’ll lay odds she’s never been to anything half better than a penny gaff,’ said Mrs. Tanner, handing over the tickets to Harry Drummond. ‘I got these for nothing. You’re welcome to them, if you like. Why don’t you ask her to the theatre?’