A Place Called Home

by Dilly Court

  Lucy glanced at their expectant faces and braced herself for their reaction when she told them the truth of her birth. She took a deep breath. ‘Apparently I was born out of wedlock. My parents didn’t marry until after I came into the world. I’m sorry, Piers, I know this makes a difference.’

  He stared at her as if seeing her for the first time, saying nothing.

  ‘Surely not,’ Dora cried anxiously. ‘It doesn’t affect the way you feel about each other, does it?’

  Piers rose to his feet, pacing the room with his hands clasped tightly behind his back. ‘Not to me, but it might to others. If it became common knowledge I’m afraid it would have an adverse effect on my parliamentary career.’

  ‘But you haven’t been elected yet.’ Dora stood up, wringing her hands. ‘This is so unfair. It’s not Lucy’s fault.’

  ‘I quite understand that it wouldn’t look good if the truth came out, and I wouldn’t want to hold you back.’ Lucy’s voice shook despite her effort to control the feeling of disappointment that threatened to overcome her. She had been abandoned as a child and she could see it happening all over again.

  Piers came to a halt in front of her. ‘I need to think about this, Lucy. For one thing I was counting on your help in establishing myself as a prospective candidate in the next election. I can trace my family tree back to William the Conqueror, but funds are a little low at the moment. You do understand, don’t you?’

  Dora caught him by the arm. ‘That sounds awful, Piers. Are you saying that you were going to marry her for her money?’

  ‘No,’ he said angrily. ‘Of course not, although I have to admit it was a factor. I thought I’d found the perfect bride, a woman I loved who was also financially independent. I never pretended to be a rich man, Lucy. I didn’t deceive you.’

  She rose slowly to her feet and even then she had to tilt her head back in order to look him in the eye. ‘I think we’re even on that score, Piers.’

  He flushed and looked away, clearing his throat. ‘I’m sorry, but you must understand . . .’

  Dora enveloped Lucy in a hug. ‘You’re a beast, Piers Northam,’ she said angrily. ‘How could you do this to my dear friend?’

  ‘Don’t be so dramatic. Lucy knows that I admire her greatly. This decision has nothing to do with my feelings for her.’

  Lucy withdrew gently from her friend’s sympathetic embrace. ‘I don’t think any the worse of you for being honest, Piers, but perhaps we were never meant for each other in the first place. You know my background; I never made a secret of my origins.’

  ‘Except for one small detail,’ he said bitterly.

  ‘That’s so unfair.’ Dora faced him angrily. ‘I think you’ve forgotten something, haven’t you, Piers?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  A bubble of hysterical laughter threatened to overwhelm Lucy, but she managed to control it by taking a deep breath. She had never seen Piers at a loss, and she experienced a wave of sympathy for the man she had thought she loved. Suddenly she saw him for what he was, vain, self-centred and utterly selfish. ‘Don’t tease him, Dora. I think I know what my present was to have been, and I would have had to return it anyway.’

  ‘It’s a family heirloom,’ Piers said, clutching his hand to his breast pocket. ‘It has to be given to the prospective bride of the eldest son.’

  Dora picked up a cushion and threw it at him. ‘Balderdash, Piers. You talk as if we’re an old aristocratic family. If we came over with William the Conqueror our ancestors were probably foot soldiers. Great-grandfather Northam made his money as an overseer on a sugar plantation in Jamaica. Slavery was the basis of the family fortune, most of which has been frittered away. We’ve nothing to crow about, and I’m ashamed of you for treating Lucy this way.’

  ‘It’s all right, Dora.’ Lucy could see that her friend was close to tears and she forced her lips into a smile. ‘Piers has to think about his career, and I would be the last person who would want to hold him to a vague promise of marriage.’ She fixed him with a steady gaze. ‘I was besotted, but now I see you for what you are. I wouldn’t marry you now even if you begged me on bended knee. I think you’d better go.’

  ‘Yes, Piers,’ Dora said tearfully. ‘We must leave now, but I hope Lucy has it in her heart to believe that I am her true friend.’

  Lucy turned to her with a misty smile. ‘We will always be the best of friends, Dora.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Lucy.’ Piers left the room without looking back and Dora hurried after him.

  The door closed on them and Lucy realised this was the end of a dream, but it was not hers. She had been a reluctant participant in her grandfather’s desire to make her a suitable wife for a man of good family and even better prospects. She had grown fond of the irascible old man, but she was glad that he had not lived to see his ambitions for her shattered. She decided to do nothing until Linus made the first move.

  She did not have to wait long. Two days later a letter arrived from a solicitor with an office in Lincoln’s Inn. Lucy was in the morning parlour mulling over its contents when Mr Goldspink turned up in a state of considerable agitation. ‘As I feared,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Mr Daubenay had nothing to lose and everything to gain by pursuing his claim, and even if we could produce a strong argument in defence we would find ourselves caught up in the legal system, which might very well bankrupt you as well as Mr Daubenay.’

  Lucy placed the solicitor’s letter on the table, smoothing out the folds as she studied the elegant copperplate writing. ‘What do you suggest, Mr Goldspink?’ For once she had no desire to laugh at his eccentricities.

  ‘Perhaps we can come to a compromise,’ he said slowly. ‘I would suggest that you consider moving to the house in Whitechapel. According to a bequest by your paternal grandmother the property should pass to the eldest grandchild on the death of her spouse, which quite clearly is you. She left a small annuity which accompanies the bequest. It will hardly be enough for you to live on, but at least you will be free from debt.’

  ‘But what about the estate in Essex and this house?’

  ‘The estate will be Mr Daubenay’s concern, not yours.’

  ‘And Linus will have this house and what is left of my grandfather’s fortune.’

  ‘From what I know of that gentleman he will go through it within a year.’ He angled his head, giving her a questioning look. ‘Have I your permission to put this to Mr Daubenay’s solicitor?’

  Lucy nodded slowly. ‘Yes, Mr Goldspink. Please do whatever you think is necessary.’

  ‘A wise decision, if I may say so.’ He picked up the letter and folded it carefully, slipping it inside his document case. ‘I’ll take care of the legalities, but might I suggest that you go to Leman Street and inspect the property?’ He put his hand in his pocket and took out a bunch of keys, laying them on the table in front of Lucy. ‘All this will take a little while, which gives you time to have the house made habitable.’

  ‘Thank you, I’m sure that’s sound advice. I’ll go there today.’

  ‘It is a rough area, Miss Marriott. Best not to go on your own.’

  ‘I grew up in a just such a place, Mr Goldspink.’ This time she could not hide a smile.

  ‘But you were a child then,’ he said, looking pointedly at her silk mourning gown, trimmed with braid and cut to the latest fashion. ‘You are a young lady now.’

  His words echoed in Lucy’s head as she was about to climb into the carriage. She had originally intended to visit the house on her own, but now she was having second thoughts. She hesitated. ‘I want to call at Mr Northam’s house in Jermyn Street first, Tapper. Then we’ll go on to Leman Street.’

  The coachman leaned over to tip his hat. ‘Very good, Miss Marriott.’ She picked up her skirts and allowed Franklin, the footman who had replaced James, to assist her into the carriage. He put up the steps and closed the door, standing back as Tapper cracked the whip over the horses’ ears. She wondered vaguely if Linus would keep the serva
nts on. It would be a shame to dismiss people who had given years of service to the family, but she knew that Linus had little or no conscience. She had often wondered what had become of Meg, his sweet-natured common-law wife, and their children. Bertie and Vicky would be almost grown up now and the baby Meg had been expecting must be nine, getting on for ten. Then there was Bram. He was the one she had missed the most. The short time she had spent with them in their woodland cottage had left her with happy memories, but it had come to a sudden end when her grandfather snatched her from the market place. She had written a long letter to Bram, explaining why she had left so abruptly, but she had no way of knowing whether it reached its destination. All her efforts to persuade her grandfather to allow her to visit Meg and her family had come to nothing, and she knew it was useless to ask Linus to pass on a message.

  Even now, in her dreams she could see Bram as he emerged from the silky green depths of Strawberry Hill pond, his naked body bronzed and gleaming in a shaft of sunlight as he shook the water from his hair. The image still had the power to bring a blush to her cheek. She wondered what sort of man he had become, but it was unlikely they would ever meet again.

  She sighed, turning her attention back to the present. She hoped that Piers would not be at home, as it was Dora she wanted to see. Having enjoyed a sheltered upbringing and rarely seeing anything of the world outside Mayfair and the delights of Oxford Street, Dora would be the ideal companion to take to Leman Street, and she would consider it an adventure. For once, Lucy was glad that she had roamed the streets of the East End as a child. Whitechapel held no terrors for a girl who had lived in Cat’s Hole Buildings and Hairbrine Court.

  Piers was not at home, but Dora was unaffectedly delighted to see Lucy and only too pleased to have an excuse to leave the house. ‘Mama wanted me to be there when her boring friends came to luncheon; she likes to show me off as if I were a prize cow at a country fair. She’s quite desperate to see me married to a rich man, especially since Piers has failed to come up to scratch.’ She clapped her hand over her mouth with a nervous giggle. ‘I’m sorry, Lucy. I didn’t mean it to come out like that. I am so tactless sometimes.’

  ‘Yes,’ Lucy agreed. ‘You are, but I still love you, and I’m still fond of Piers in spite of the fact that he was marrying me for my money.’

  ‘No, don’t think that,’ Dora said anxiously. ‘He really does care for you, Lucy. It’s just that the family are putting such pressure on him to marry well. He was very upset when we left you the other day. I hope you weren’t too devastated.’

  ‘Not at all. It was Grandfather’s wish that I married well, but I don’t think we would have suited. I want to marry for love.’ Lucy turned her head away to look out of the window. ‘I’m quite excited at the thought of being the sole owner of a property, even if it is in Leman . . .’ She broke off, blinking hard before taking a second look. ‘It’s – no, it can’t be.’

  ‘What is it?’ Dora demanded. ‘What have you seen?’

  Chapter Nine

  ‘I THOUGHT IT was someone I once knew,’ Lucy said dazedly. ‘But I must have been mistaken.’ The woman had looked exactly like Hester Gant even though ten years had passed since Lucy had last seen her, but their acquaintance had been brief and it seemed unlikely that Hester would be in this part of London.

  ‘I’m always getting people muddled up,’ Dora said cheerfully. ‘Anyway, what were you about to say?’

  ‘I was going to say that the house in Leman Street is in a bad state, according to Mr Goldspink, and it’s a rough area. Are you sure you want to come with me?’

  ‘Most certainly. It would be much more exciting than a boring lunch with Mama’s stuffy friends.’

  ‘My carriage is outside.’

  ‘I wouldn’t miss this for the world.’ Dora leapt to her feet, her cheeks flushed with excitement. ‘I’ll ring for Dobson and tell her to fetch my bonnet and shawl.’

  Leman Street was crowded with horse-drawn vehicles of every sort from hansom cabs to brewer’s drays, all vying for position with costermonger’s barrows and carts laden with night soil. Shabbily dressed pedestrians milled around, risking their lives by weaving in and out of the traffic or barging into each other on the pavements as they hurried towards their destinations. Beggars sat in doorways and street arabs worked in gangs, picking the pockets of the unwary. Older boys and girls, who were less quick on their feet, waylaid passers-by demanding money, and when this failed they resorted to violence, snatching purses or dragging their victims into narrow alleyways and robbing them of their valuables.

  Once a prosperous area inhabited by silk weavers and merchants, the wide street was now lined with cheap lodging houses, pubs, brothels, pawnbrokers and shops selling second-hand goods. The side streets and alleyways were knee-deep in filth and even less salubrious, housing opium dens and illegal gambling clubs. Lucy was only too familiar with this area, but Dora was shocked into silence. She sat with her handkerchief clutched to her nose as the noxious smells flooded the carriage,

  ‘We’re here,’ Lucy said, stepping down onto the pavement, assisted by Franklin. She stared up at the Georgian façade of Pilgrim House. Soot-blackened and sadly neglected, it had obviously seen better days. It had once been the home of a wealthy merchant, but had fallen into disrepair and had latterly been used as a doss house.

  ‘Are you sure this is the right place?’ Dora removed her hanky for a moment, but replaced it hurriedly and sank back against the leather squabs. ‘Do you think it’s safe to leave the carriage?’

  ‘You can sit there while I investigate, or you can come inside,’ Lucy said, smiling.

  ‘I – I think I’ll come with you.’ Dora looked round nervously as Franklin helped her to alight. ‘Open the door quickly. I don’t like the look of those boys loitering across the street.’

  With a cursory glance at the group of half-starved, ragged children with stick-thin arms and legs, Lucy decided that they were unlikely to be a threat. She marched purposefully up the steps and unlocked the door, but as she stepped inside the oak-panelled entrance hall her nostrils were assailed by a variety of odours, none of them pleasant. Dora hurried in after her and stood looking round at the scuffed skirting boards and the crumbling plaster cornices with a look of horror on her face. Cobwebs festooned the ceiling and rubbish was piled up in front of a door which Lucy assumed must lead to the basement area.

  ‘You can’t mean to live here,’ Theodora wailed. ‘It’s awful, Lucy. It’s a slum.’

  ‘I’ve seen worse and I’ve lived in equally bad conditions,’ Lucy said stoutly. ‘It’s amazing what a little soap and water and a lot of hard work will accomplish.’ She opened the door to her right and found herself in a generous-sized room, with two windows overlooking the street, and a neo-classical burr-oak fireplace which had also seen better days, but could be brought back to its former glory with the application of beeswax and elbow grease. The grate was filled with cinders and ash spilled onto the hearth. Old newspapers littered the floorboards, which might once have been polished to a mirror sheen but were now splintered and ingrained with dirt. The windowpanes were thick with grime, both inside and out, and the wallpaper was peeling.

  ‘If this is the drawing room I hate to think what the rest of the house is like,’ Dora murmured, eyeing a mouse hole in the skirting board.

  ‘There’s only one way to find out. I’m going to explore.’ Lucy left the room and went to investigate further, but Dora’s fears proved well founded. There was another reception room of a similar size and shape on the ground floor, and two smaller rooms, one of which had shelves built into the alcoves on either side of the chimney breast, and could have been used as a study. The other room overlooked the back yard, and might have been used as a sewing room or a morning parlour in days gone by. Below stairs the basement kitchen was as it must have been when the house was built in the mid-eighteenth century, with an open fire over which a blackened kettle dangled from a chimney crane. A thin layer of soot lay like a
mourning veil on the pine table and dresser, and the larder and store rooms were cluttered with empty bottles, flour sacks and traces left by the resident vermin.

  Dora could hardly conceal her disgust as she picked up her skirts and tiptoed through the detritus on the flagstone floor. ‘This place is a nightmare. I shudder to think what Piers would say if he thought you had to live in this wreck of a house.’

  ‘It’s no longer anything to do with him,’ Lucy said calmly. ‘He made that very clear, and I don’t blame him. I’m free now to do as I please.’

  ‘Can we go now?’

  ‘I’m not leaving until I’ve seen everything, but you can sit in the carriage if you don’t want to look round any more. Franklin will look after you.’

  Dora shuddered visibly. ‘It’s worse outside than in here. I’ll come with you.’

  There were four upper storeys with rooms of varying sizes, the smallest being in the attics, where palliasses and flock-filled mattresses had been abandoned as if the occupants had only recently risen: the indentations left by sleeping bodies still visible. The larger rooms on lower floors were equally crowded with bedsteads and the occasional wooden chair. The smell of unwashed bodies and urine hung in the air like a damp cloud, with dust and city smut carpeting the bare boards.

  ‘It’s disgusting,’ Dora said faintly. ‘Please think again. There must be another way.’

  ‘It’s much larger than I imagined.’ Lucy looked round with a critical eye. ‘But it will have to do.’ She turned to her friend with a tremulous smile. ‘I’ve no choice, Dora. It’s this or the streets, and I know which I prefer.’

  ‘You can’t mean that. Surely Linus wouldn’t be so cruel as to force you out of your home to live in poverty amongst the criminal classes?’

  ‘That’s exactly what he wants. Linus tried to get rid of me once before and failed. This time he’s succeeded, but I won’t allow him to beat me. I’ll make the best of this situation and be damned to him.’