A Most Dangerous Woman

by L M Jackson

  ‘Well, that is gratifying, at least,’ replied Miss Payne. ‘But our wretched “wedding-party” travels tomorrow. If Mr. Hawkes is to be unmasked – if Mr. Ferntower is to be persuaded of his duplicity – it must be done at once. Your letter said you have a plan – tell me, what do you intend to do?’

  ‘First, you must tell me, ma’am,’ said Sarah Tanner, ‘do you trust your employer? Do you trust his intentions towards his ward?’

  ‘Mr. Ferntower? I do not understand your question.’

  ‘The night before last,’ responded Sarah Tanner, ‘Mr. DeSalle and I went up to Holloway. My intention was that Mr. DeSalle might talk to Mr. Ferntower; to explain what he knew of Stephen Symes. But we chanced to see your employer from our carriage: he was talking, on friendly terms, to a man whom I know to be an utter brute. A man whom I suspect played a part in Miss Emma Ferntower’s death.’

  A look of surprise passed across Lydia Payne’s face.

  ‘I cannot believe that,’ she said at last. ‘Besides – Mr. Ferntower was alone all evening.’

  ‘Mr. DeSalle will vouch for what I saw. Did no-one call?’

  ‘No-one. Well, only a police constable.’

  ‘Only a constable?’

  ‘I assumed, after the unfortunate evening with Mr. Murdoch, that it was some communication from Scotland Yard.’

  Sarah Tanner shook her head. ‘I know that very man – that officer of the law – to be the worst villain you can imagine, Miss Payne. In truth, I have seen him murder a man in cold blood. I suspect he killed your employer’s sister.’

  ‘He is a member of Her Majesty’s Police, Mrs. Richards!’

  ‘A uniform does not make a man virtuous,’ said Sarah Tanner. ‘Believe me.’

  ‘Well, what then? Are you suggesting that Mr. Ferntower is conniving in this sham of a marriage?’ exclaimed Lydia Payne. ‘That he already knows Mr. Hawkes’s true character?’

  ‘I think it most likely. We cannot look for help in that quarter.’

  ‘I cannot believe it!’ declared Miss Payne.

  ‘I assure you, ma’am,’ interjected Arthur DeSalle, ‘it seems quite probable. Are you sure you cannot credit it? Is Mr. Ferntower above all suspicion?’

  ‘You render me speechless,’ replied Miss Payne. ‘Lord! Let us imagine you are correct – where does that leave Miss Fulbrook? All hope is lost!’

  ‘Not quite,’ countered Mrs. Tanner. ‘I believe, if you are willing, if you can persuade your charge, there is one possibility remaining, something that would thwart Stephen Symes utterly.’

  ‘What can you mean?’

  ‘I suggest an elopement, Miss Payne. I suggest Miss Elizabeth Fulbrook marries John Ferntower.’

  Lydia Payne looked blankly at Sarah Tanner.

  ‘You are joking, of course, ma’am?’

  ‘They were sweethearts, were they not? I know letters have passed between them – intimate correspondence – over this last week or so; would it be so great a step?’

  Lydia Payne sighed. ‘You are a friend of that gentleman—’

  Sarah Tanner protested the point, but Lydia Payne proceeded.

  ‘You declared yourself a friend to that gentleman, Mrs. Richards, when you met Miss Fulbrook,’ continued Miss Payne, with determination, ‘and – let me be frank – it is an acquaintance that does neither party any great credit. You may look at me askance, Mr. DeSalle, but I speak as I find. Still, I fail to see how even you can urge John Ferntower as a candidate for Miss Fulbrook’s affections.’

  ‘Symes would never trouble her again,’ replied Sarah Tanner. ‘And I believe John Ferntower is fond of her.’

  ‘He is fond of dice, cards and liquor,’ said Lydia Payne. ‘You know the cause of his fall, I trust? He squandered his money in night-houses and at gaming tables, and left his father liable for his debts. Is that the man worthy of Miss Fulbrook?’

  ‘He might yet be reformed. Mr. DeSalle here might even be able to find him some honest employment. I have spoken to him; he says he will attempt it – if Miss Fulbrook will have him.’

  ‘So this is your plan – this is the only hope you offer me?’ said Lydia Payne, in tones of rebuke.

  ‘Consider this,’ said Sarah Tanner. ‘Consider the possibility that your employer is content to see the destruction of his ward for the sake of her inheritance; that he intends to give her over to the worst rogue in all London, for that very purpose – a man who, I assure you, will treat her with the utmost disdain and cruelty. Then tell me if marriage to John Ferntower – a young man still, for all his faults, with a fresh start ahead of him; a man who loves her – tell me if that is worse?’

  ‘You have my word as a gentleman, Miss Payne,’ added Arthur DeSalle. ‘I will do what I can to aid them, if marriage is what Miss Fulbrook wants.’

  ‘Well?’ persisted Sarah Tanner. ‘What is your answer?’

  Lydia Payne fell silent. When at last she spoke, it was quietly, and reluctantly.

  ‘Very well. I will put it to Miss Fulbrook. But there is every difficulty, even if she agrees. Mr. Hawkes still keeps a watch on the house.’

  ‘Do you still not know where the marriage will take place?’ asked Mrs. Tanner.

  ‘Only that we are to take a train from Euston, tomorrow, at eleven.’

  ‘That will do, Miss Payne,’ said Sarah Tanner. ‘That will do.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  It was a little before eleven o’clock on the following morning that Sarah Tanner and Arthur DeSalle stood side by side in the spacious gallery above the Great Hall of the Euston Station, some forty feet above the milling crowd below. Even Arthur DeSalle, accustomed to comfortable surroundings, marvelled at the ambition of the London and North-Western Railway’s directors. The vast hall, decorated in the classical style, built from the finest stone, crafted and coloured in imitation of ancient granite and marble, with its mosaic floor and Ionic pillars, resembled more some corner of imperial Rome than the work of a railway company.

  ‘You did not have to come today, Arthur,’ said Mrs. Tanner.

  ‘It is worth it, to see Mr. Symes come a-cropper. Though he deserves something more tangible than mere embarrassment.’

  ‘Don’t even think of it, Arthur. If it came to it, he would cut your throat in an instant.’

  ‘And yet you are quite content to cross him?’

  ‘Well,’ said Sarah Tanner, ‘perhaps I have less to lose.’

  ‘I hope you still value your life, at least.’

  ‘I only hope,’ said Mrs. Tanner, changing tack, ‘that Ferntower plays his part. And Miss Payne, for that matter.’

  ‘Tell me, Sarah, what you said yesterday – to Miss Payne – does Ferntower truly love this girl?’ asked Arthur DeSalle.

  ‘He does not despise her at least; I know many a decent marriage that has been built upon worse foundations.’

  ‘Sarah …’

  ‘I meant nothing by it, rest assured. You said you would make inquiries on his behalf; did you have the chance?’

  ‘I went to Baring’s. There might be a place for him; a junior clerk’s post in the West Indies. They would be happy to oblige me, I am sure; my account is worth the favour. The question is whether your friend Ferntower will take up the offer.’

  ‘He is no friend, Arthur. And, if they wed, he knows full well what he will get when his cousin reaches her majority. I cannot change that.’

  ‘And yet you would still have him marry the girl?’ said Arthur DeSalle.

  ‘Better him than Symes. Perhaps he may do the right thing and accept your generosity. Besides, a decent wife may improve a young man, isn’t that what they say?’

  ‘Sarah, please, there is no need for these incessant barbs.’

  Before he could continue, however, Sarah Tanner tugged Arthur DeSalle’s sleeve, pulling him back from the balustrade.

  ‘They’re here,’ she said.

  The wedding-party arrived in the Great Hall without any fanfare. It was a small group consisting of Mr. Michael Fe
rntower, his ward and her governess, Stephen Symes – in the capacity of Mr. Cedric Hawkes – and a certain aged female purporting to be his mother, propelled in her bath-chair by a footman. If they had luggage, it had already been despatched by the attentions of the station-porters.

  ‘A magnificent building,’ remarked Mr. Ferntower.

  ‘A privilege to visit it, sir,’ said Her Majesty. ‘Such a clever idea of yours for us to travel by train.’

  ‘It is, after all, in keeping with the spirit of the age,’ said Mr. Ferntower, rather sententiously, ‘and more expeditious than coaching.’

  ‘I fear I show my age, sir,’ replied Her Majesty, ‘in being more familiar with the humble coach.’

  ‘Nonsense, ma’am,’ replied Mr. Ferntower, politely. But his attention was distracted. For he suddenly glimpsed a familiar face approaching through the crowd, negotiating the chaos of heavily laden porters and scurrying passengers, men and women with eyes glued to the station clock, insensible to the world around them. It was a face he recognised all too well.

  ‘Good day, Father,’ said John Ferntower.

  Michael Ferntower stood stock-still, as if faced with a ghost.

  ‘What do you mean by coming here, sir?’ he exclaimed.

  ‘That’s a fine welcome for a prodigal, Pa,’ said John Ferntower. ‘I mean, I knew I was non grata at home; I didn’t think I was banished from the London and North-Western.’

  ‘I say again,’ repeated Michael Ferntower, ‘what do you mean by it?’

  ‘To tell the truth, old man, I heard my favourite cousin’s tying the knot. I thought I’d come to wish her all the best.’

  ‘You may do nothing of the sort, sir,’ replied Mr. Ferntower. ‘You forfeited any right to Miss Fulbrook’s company long ago.’

  ‘And who’s the lucky man?’ persisted John Ferntower.

  ‘I expect you know full well,’ interjected Stephen Symes.

  ‘Not you, Hawkes? Or is it Symes? How did you swing that, my dear fellow? Did you promise the old man a share of the bingo?’

  ‘You impertinent whelp!’ exclaimed Michael Ferntower, raising a hand as if to strike his son. Stephen Symes, however, stepped forward, placing an restraining arm upon his prospective wife’s guardian. Faces nearby turned towards them; a dogged-looking luggage-porter pushed past, edging Her Majesty’s footman to one side.

  ‘Do not rise to his jibes, sir,’ said Symes, in a low voice. ‘He only wishes to provoke.’

  ‘And what would it take to offend you, Mr. Hawkes?’ continued John Ferntower, stepping close enough to feel Stephen Symes’s breath upon his face. ‘I am curious to know what a vile rogue like yourself might find objectionable.’

  ‘I fear you have been drinking, sir,’ said Stephen Symes, with a rather theatrical sniff, and a degree of equanimity. ‘I suppose that may account for your behaviour. I have to say, it is only the memory of our former acquaintance that prevents me from striking you down.’

  ‘Be gone, sir,’ added Michael Ferntower. ‘The very sight of you disgusts me, and I can assure you that Miss Fulbrook has no interest in hearing your wretched slanders. We have a train to catch.’

  ‘I think that is rather besides the point, old man,’ said John Ferntower.

  It took a moment for his father to understand John Ferntower’s words. But, as Michael Ferntower turned round, he discovered to his astonishment that neither Elizabeth Fulbrook nor her governess were anywhere to be seen. And when he turned back, his son merely smiled, bowed politely, turned his back, and walked away.

  Stephen Symes made to follow him, but he felt the tip of a cane prod his leg.

  ‘Leave him. Find the girl, you fool,’ said Her Majesty in an angry whisper. ‘Find the girl!’

  ‘Mrs. Richards,’ protested Elizabeth Fulbrook, as Sarah Tanner ushered her into a waiting carriage, that stood ready at the entrance to the station, ‘I am not sure that I can do this. Mr. Ferntower has been kind to me.’

  ‘This is not the time nor the place for second thoughts, Miss Fulbrook,’ insisted Sarah Tanner. ‘It is not my place to force you to do anything, but please, let us just put a little distance between ourselves and Mr. Hawkes. If you change your mind within the hour, so be it. I will return you to Holloway, you have my word.’

  Elizabeth Fulbrook hesitated. ‘There are rooms engaged?’

  ‘In a respectable boarding-house, for yourself and Miss Payne.’

  ‘And there will be no deception, I mean, as to the marriage?’

  ‘The banns will be read in the nearest church. We will just not advertise them to your guardian or Mr. Hawkes. Please – if you have made your mind up – can we go?’

  Elizabeth Fulbrook took a deep breath and assented. Sarah Tanner, with a sigh of relief, turned to the nearby luggage-porter, handing him a folded piece of paper.

  ‘Have a boy take this over to the old woman.’

  The man nodded, and Mrs. Tanner climbed inside the coach.

  It was no more than a minute later that Stephen Symes appeared under the giant awning that protected customers of the London and North-Western from the elements, as they waited for their carriage or cab. He was, nonetheless, too late to see Sarah Tanner depart, nor did he notice the presence of an elderly luggage-porter, who lurked behind a cart full of luggage at the station’s doors.

  It was the same porter, in fact, who had passed by the wedding-party in the station – a man with a remarkable resemblance to Ralph Grundy. And it was the same man who, a minute or two later, passed on a slip of paper to a messenger boy who, in turn, presented it to Her Majesty, as she sat in her bath-chair.

  Her Majesty unfolded it and found only two words.

  For Georgie.

  S.

  Her Majesty scowled and tore the paper in two.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Sarah Tanner sat in the parlour of her rented rooms in Calthorpe Street, gazing from the window across to the Middlesex House of Correction. Three peaceful days had passed since Miss Elizabeth Fulbrook’s unexpected elopement from Euston Station; three days since she had left the young heiress and her governess safely accommodated in a small but decent boardinghouse in Pimlico. An arrangement had been entered into with the priest of the local church; and banns would be read at the earliest opportunity; John Ferntower had offered to contemplate the life of a junior clerk and Elizabeth Fulbrook herself had written her two earnest letters that confirmed her ardent affection for her future husband, despite the reservations she had as to the manner of their alliance. And yet, despite it all, Sarah Tanner felt desperately uneasy.

  ‘Penny for your thoughts,’ said Norah Smallwood, entering the room.

  ‘I was thinking about Arthur, if you must know.’

  ‘You’re still spooney on him, ain’t you?’ said Norah.

  ‘No,’ protested Mrs. Tanner, with perhaps a little too much vehemence. ‘I was thinking about the rent. It’s only paid for a month. I can’t ask Arthur for any more favours; I won’t.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘For a start, if I had any sense, I’d leave London. Symes will hate me now more than he did already.’

  ‘Maybe you should, missus,’ agreed Norah Smallwood glumly.

  ‘No, not yet. I want to see this business through. I’ll go when Miss Fulbrook’s married, not before. Besides, there’s still Georgie. This wedding doesn’t make that right, not by a long chalk. And Symes; I’d like to pay him back, I swear I would.’

  At the mention of George Phelps’s and Stephen Symes’s names, Norah Smallwood frowned.

  ‘I’m sorry, Norah,’ said Mrs. Tanner.

  Norah Smallwood shook her head. ‘T’ain’t your fault, missus. So you won’t be opening up the shop again?’

  ‘You haven’t seen it. It needs pulling down and putting back up.’

  ‘I thought your Arthur might oblige.’

  Sarah Tanner shook her head. ‘He’s not “mine” and he’s done enough. I don’t want to be in his debt.’

  Norah Smallwoo
d hesitated before speaking once more.

  ‘I’ll go with you, if you like,’ she said at last.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Wherever you’re going. Look, missus, I ain’t got no family, and there ain’t never been no-one kinder to me. I’m just saying, I’ll go with you – I mean, if you wanted company.’

  ‘I nearly got you killed, Norah.’

  ‘It weren’t your doing.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  Norah Smallwood looked a little deflated at Sarah Tanner’s rather non-committal response. Nonetheless, she walked over to her beside the window.

  ‘The weather’s nice today, ain’t it?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘I reckon I fancy a walk,’ said Norah, peering into the street.

  ‘Are you sure you’re well enough?’

  ‘I’ll be all right,’ replied Norah Smallwood. ‘Here, is that the post?’

  The sound of a letter falling in the hall below was unmistakeable. Without waiting for an answer, Norah Smallwood quit the room and hurried downstairs. She returned moments later with an envelope addressed to Sarah Tanner.

  ‘That’s his writing, ain’t it?’ she said, as Sarah Tanner opened the envelope and read the contents.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, a little tetchily. ‘It’s Arthur.’

  ‘Well then, what is it?’ she asked impatiently.

  ‘John Ferntower did not turn up for his interview at the bank.’

  ‘You said he weren’t too keen.’

  ‘I thought he might at least attempt it,’ said Sarah Tanner with a sigh. ‘He is a fool to himself – if he has no prospects at all, she may decide against the marriage.’

  ‘Not if she really loves him, though.’

  Mrs. Tanner bit her lip, deep in thought.

  ‘I’m going out,’ she said at last.

  ‘You’re going to see Ferntower, ain’t you?’ said Norah.

  ‘Someone should talk some sense into him.’

  ‘Can I come with you?’