by Annie Groves
A little hesitantly Gideon waited for the bidding to start before raising his own hand. So much depended on what he was attempting to do. He had decided to use his savings – the money he had originally put aside from his earnings in order to help him finance himself through his architechtural studies – and invest them in some property that would, he hoped, bring him in a good rental income, and to this end he had spent the last month finding out as much as he could about such business, trudging through the town in the raw winter, cold and damp, his muffler pulled up around his face to keep out the icy fog with its taint of factory chimneys; nursing his stiff hand, which, whilst unable to respond to the commands of his brain, somehow managed to react acutely to the cold so that it ached and burned with pain. He had studied various buildings from the outside, and whenever he could from the inside as well, following his nose and his instincts, which had now led him to this auction and the hope that he might be successful in bidding for the two terraced houses of the very cheapest sort by the docks. They could potentially bring him in a tidy sum in rental, provided he was not too fussy about who his tenants might be. Dockside properties were generally occupied by the rougher type of persons: sailors wanting a room in between jobs; drabs and doxies who ‘serviced’ and ‘entertained’ them. Such lettings were not for those of high moral tone, nor those who could not, when needed, employ sufficient brute force to gain their tenants’ respect and ensure that their rents were paid. But the returns were good and the rooms in constant demand, although Gideon had already noted that the most successful landlords were those who insisted on taking a sum in advance of letting a room.
It seemed he was not the only one who had seen the potential of the three-storey properties, but Gideon had set himself a limit beyond which he was not prepared to bid.
As he nodded to signal his intent to go on bidding, Gideon realised that there were only two of them in this auction now: himself, and a swarthy thickset man on the other side of the room, whom Gideon could see quite clearly because of the distinct ring of space around him, almost as though someone had drawn an invisible circle into which no one was allowed to intrude.
The auction was being held in the taproom of an out-of-town public house, its floor covered in a greasy film of sawdust and the air thick with a blue haze of coal and cigarette smoke.
Gideon had already reached his personal limit, but something about the look the other man gave him and the lazy, self-confident way he raised his bid challenged him to continue. Three more times they bid against one another, and Gideon could feel himself sweating. He was way above his limit now, and would have to let every single one of the rooms in the properties to recoup his outlay.
As he signalled his final bid, he found that he was half hoping the other man would outbid him, but instead he shook his head.
Gideon could feel the ripple of shock that ran through the room. It seemed that all eyes were on him as the auctioneer raised his gavel and pronounced, ‘Going at one hundred and fifty guineas the pair…going…going…gone!’
Caught between euphoria and terror, Gideon saw that his hands were shaking.
‘Well, sonny, you made a right fool of yourself there, didn’t you, landing yourself with a real pig in a poke – and at a fair bit more than you can afford, I’ll wager.’
A large hand clapped him on his shoulder and Gideon discovered that he was being confronted by his rival bidder. He could hear the malice beneath the other’s apparent bonhomie – aye, and see it too in his cold, pale eyes.
‘You must have thought it worth the money since you kept on bidding,’ he pointed out.
The other man laughed. ‘You are a novice, aren’t you, son? I didn’t keep bidding because I wanted the houses, I kept on ’cos I wanted to see how much of a fool you could make of yourself.’ Giving Gideon a fake indulgent smile, he added, ‘Course, I’d be willing to take them off your hands – at the right price.’
Quick as a flash Gideon retorted, ‘I won’t be selling. Those properties are a good investment.’
‘Aye, in the right hands and at the right price! When you’re ready to accept it – and you will be – you can get in touch with me. Connolly’s the name – Bill Connolly. Eighty guineas and not a penny more, that’s my top offer, and I promise you, lad, you’re going to be glad to cut your losses and accept it.’
Giving Gideon another crocodile smile, he stepped back from him and started to walk away. His walk had a distinct swagger to it, Gideon noticed critically, already disliking and distrusting him. He also noticed the way in which people seemed to fall back to let Bill Connolly pass.
Gideon had to wait until the rest of the auction had taken place before presenting himself to the auctioneer to make arrangements to pay for his purchases.
‘Well, well, the young man who outbid Bill Connolly…That took a fair bit of gumption, lad. Bill had his eye on them houses, that’s for sure. Already owns a deal of property down by the docks, he does, and the word is that he’s aiming to get his hands on as much as he can. That way he can charge what rent he likes without any fear of anyone undercutting him.’
‘He did mention to me that he was willing to buy them off me,’ Gideon responded.
‘Did he so? Well, in that case, you’d better take care you don’t get a visit from Bill’s “persuaders”, the same ones he uses to make sure that none of his tenants forget to pay him…at least not a second time, if you know what I mean!’
For the umpteenth time, Ellie looked anxiously round her spotless drawing room.
She had got up especially early to bake for her ‘At Home’ – a Victoria sponge, and some orange-flavoured biscuits, as well as making some scones and, of course, there was the fruit cake she had made earlier in the month.
The selection of dainty sandwiches was already arranged on the elegant china she had been given as a wedding present, and the silver teapot, which had been presented to Henry’s mother’s father by the East India Company and which she had discovered at the back of a cupboard, gleamed from the polishing she had given it. As a back-up she had the silver teapot she and Henry had been given. Since there had been no sign of any homemade jam or preserves in the kitchen cupboard she had had no alternative other than to buy some in, something that her own mother would have deplored – although Ellie had noticed that her Aunt Lavinia had no qualms about purchasing rather than making such things. She had, Ellie admitted, worried about the cost of these items, well aware of her father-in-law’s objection to finding anything other than absolute necessities on the household bills, but only last night Henry had unexpectedly handed over to her twenty-five guineas saying that it was to be her pin money and that she may spend it as she wished.
‘Henry, I thought you said that your father had refused to –’
‘This is my money, Ellie,’ Henry had stopped her, ignoring the troubled look she had given him.
‘But you don’t have much money of your own, you shouldn’t…’ Ellie had told him hesitantly, and then wished she had not when his face had burned with sore pride and chagrin.
‘My father does not pay me…generously,’ Henry had agreed stiffly, turning away from her as he spoke, ‘but I-I want you to have this money, Ellie,’ he had added simply, and the humbleness in his voice and his face as he turned back towards her had made her eyes smart with tears.
Ellie checked the drawing room yet again. A fire burned brightly in the burnished grate, throwing out a warming heat. By turning down the gas lamps slightly, and thanks to the dullness of the late March afternoon, the shabbiness of the room’s drapes and cushions was not immediately apparent. Every piece of furniture in the house shone, her tablecloths were pristinely laundered, and Ellie had spent hours patiently instructing Maisie on just how she was to receive Ellie’s visitors.
The doorbell rang, signalling the arrival of the first of her callers. Pink-cheeked, Ellie hurried to the drawing-room door, shooing Maisie towards the front door, gesturing to her to open it.
‘Ellie, darling�
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Fortunately her first visitor was Cecily, beaming lovingly at her as she embraced her. Her baby was due in just two months but, unlike Ellie’s mother, her cousin seemed to be positively enjoying her pregnancy.
‘So! Now you are a married woman,’ Cecily said archly, adding happily, ‘Oh, Ellie, isn’t it fun being the mistress of your own home, and having a husband?’
‘Let me take your coat,’ Ellie offered, as the doorbell rang again and Maisie threw her an anguished look, thankful not to have to reply.
‘Is it your maid’s day off?’ Cecily questioned innocently, as she witnessed Maisie’s inexpert attempts to fulfil her duties. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot, Iris asks me to give you her apologies. She cannot make it, but she says she will telephone you and arrange to have tea with you. I love that gown, Ellie. It suits you so very well, and that trimming is very pretty. Oh, and I must tell you how much admired that pretty little dress you made for the baby has been! I am the envy of all my friends! Everyone is asking me where I bought it. I dare say if you wanted to you could make yourself a fortune with your needle! Not, of course, that you would ever need to do such a thing!’
The doorbell was ringing again, and Ellie excused herself to her cousin, urging her to go into the drawing room.
‘At last, Parkes. I have had a devil of a time getting hold of you. Does that wretched clerk of yours not pass on your messages?’
‘I’m afraid the blame lies with me, Jarvis,’ Josiah Parkes apologised smoothly, as his visitor immediately made his way over to his office’s warm fire. ‘I have been very remiss, but pressure of business, you understand.’
‘Aye, well, never mind all that. I have a bone to pick with you, Parkes, over the matter of your niece’s dowry! Or rather the lack of it!’
The tiniest hint of confusion creased Josiah’s forehead. ‘I am sorry, Jarvis, but I am afraid I do not follow you. It says quite plainly in the marriage contract that the dowry is to be paid on the first anniversary of the marriage.’
‘The devil it does,’ Jarvis Charnock spluttered, his eyes bulging hot-temperedly. ‘I have no recollection of any such thing ever being discussed between us, and I warn you, Parkes, I have the very best of memories.’
‘Indeed, I am sure you do. Perhaps we did not discuss it in so many words. I recall that you were occupied with other matters when the document was drawn up.’
The smooth oily note of satisfaction and amusement in Josiah’s voice increased Jarvis Charnock’s fury. Not only had the bastard pulled a fast one on him, he was also laughing at him for being fool enough to let him!
‘Aye, well, you might think you’ve outsmarted me, Parkes, but I can tell you I have my own way of dealing with those who would try to cheat me! Your niece is finding out the hard way that I’m a man who likes to see value for his brass. And since she’s seen fit to cause my cook to hand in her cards, she’s –’
‘Come, come, Jarvis, there is no need, surely, for talk such as this. We are both gentlemen, after all,’ Josiah intervened jovially, secretly only too delighted to discover how effective his underhand strategies had been. ‘So much heat and anger, and for what? I assure you that there was no intent on my part to cheat anyone. No, I thought I had made it clear to you that I could not pay the dowry until our other business had been satisfactorily settled, and that was why I settled on a day one year on from the marriage.’
‘Aye, and that is another issue,’ Jarvis stormed, refusing to be placated.
‘Indeed it is, and it is one we must address without delay,’ Josiah cut him off. ‘You have your captain standing by, I trust?’
Having the wind taken out of his sails so swiftly and masterfully caused Jarvis to bluster and fume, as he tried to regain control of the argument. ‘It is not me who is delaying things,’ he denied. ‘You –’
‘I do understand your impatience, my dear Jarvis, but these things cannot be hurried. However, the time has now come, and you must send word to your captain to act immediately.’
Ellie breathed a tired but very satisfied breath of relief as she carefully returned to the china cabinet the last of the best china.
Her At Home had gone extremely well, and an amused but slightly grim smile touched her mouth as she remembered how she had come upon Elizabeth and the friend she had brought with her upstairs, where Elizabeth had been running a finger over one of the window frames Ellie had spent the previous week cleaning.
At least the friend had had the grace to look ashamed, even if Elizabeth herself had not, reinforcing Ellie’s estimation of Henry’s cousin’s wife as a woman of very poor upbringing and manners.
Removing her apron, Ellie made her way upstairs.
Henry had come in and gone out again, and she tutted to herself to see the jacket from his suit carelessly discarded across the dressing screen. Automatically she reached for it, neatening it and then bending down to pick up a small folded piece of paper that had fallen from one of the pockets.
Normally Ellie would never have dreamed of reading something that was so obviously personal, but for some reason the minute she saw the pawnbroker’s name printed across the front of the paper alongside his immediately recognisable symbol, a horrible feeling of dread crept over her. Her fingers trembling, she slowly unfolded the paper.
It was a receipt from the pawnbroker to say that he had advanced Henry twenty-five guineas against a gold pocket-watch.
Twenty-five guineas – the exact amount of money Henry had given her only recently. Ellie sat down unsteadily on the bed, still holding the pawnbroker’s ticket. The gold pocket-watch he had pawned was the one he had once told her proudly was one of his most cherished possessions, and had originally been presented to his maternal grandfather by Her Majesty Queen Victoria. And yet he had obviously pawned it in order to give her money!
Tears blurred Ellie’s eyes. Dear sweet Henry! He had done that for her. Ellie’s throat ached with pain and despair.
Henry was her husband and the kindest of men, but she already knew that she would never, could never, feel about him as her cousin Cecily did about her Paul – that her love for Henry was born of duty and a protective maternalism rather than passion and desire for him.
As she suddenly heard Henry’s footsteps outside the bedroom door, she pushed the ticket into the pocket of her gown.
THIRTY
As she felt the onset of the familiar dragging ache that always preceded her monthly courses, Ellie let out a faint sigh of relief. She had followed the embarrassingly explicit and direct instructions Iris had furnished her with to the letter, and so far, to her relief, it seemed that they were working.
Her winter coat was laid over the back of the bedroom chair, ready for her to put on, and in her bag was the pawnbroker’s ticket.
After a night spent barely able to sleep for anxiety and guilt, Ellie had only waited until Henry had left for work before hurrying to re-count the guineas he had given her. Even though she had not as yet spent any of the money she had still needed to reassure herself that she had sufficient for her purpose.
At Cecily’s suggestion she was having lunch with her cousin at the Adelphi Hotel – ‘My treat,’ Cecily had insisted when Ellie had hesitated. Sensitively, Ellie now wondered if her cousin had perhaps guessed just how straitened her and Henry’s financial circumstances were.
She shivered a little in the coldness of the house. Only this morning Mr Charnock had announced that he suspected that Ellie was lighting fires in the house against his orders, and that he had therefore reduced the amount of coal to be delivered.
‘But if we do not have enough coal to fuel the range then there won’t be any hot water,’ Ellie had been foolish enough to protest.
‘If it’s hot water you want, missie, then you can boil up some yourself with the kettle,’ he had told Ellie with angry satisfaction.
‘Well now, and ain’t you a pretty sight for a man’s eyes.’
Connie preened beneath the appreciative look she was being given, returning her
flatterer’s attention with a mock-demure pout, whilst at the same time keeping a sharp eye out for her aunt, who had only brought her to Preston with her because she considered that Connie was not to be trusted left on her own.
Right now, though, her aunt was busily engaged talking to an old acquaintance, her back conveniently turned towards Connie, leaving Connie free to indulge in an exciting flirtation with the young man who had just addressed her.
Approvingly she gave him a quick once-over.
He was tall, with nice, broad shoulders and a thick shock of ink-black hair. But it was his eyes that really caught and held Connie’s attention. As dark as his hair, they had a wicked, dangerous look about them that immediately excited Connie. They were the eyes of the kind of man Connie knew instinctively was her kind of man – bold, flirtatious and exciting – the kind of man her Aunt Simpkins would never approve of in a hundred years.
‘From around these parts, are you?’ he asked, eyeing her boldly.
‘And if I am, what’s that to you?’ Connie rejoined pertly, her eyes giving away her enjoyment of their flirtatious badinage.
‘Well, I was just thinking if you was, and if you wasn’t walking out with anyone, then I might think of asking you to come to the picture house wi’ me on Saturday afternoon.’
Connie felt a delicious thrill of excitement run right through her all the way down to her toes. It was a brisk March day, the sky grey and overcast, but she felt her cheeks begin to burn as though she were standing in the full heat of the summer sun.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw that her aunt had finished speaking to her friend.
Quickly, before she could turn round and see her, Connie nodded her head and then demanded recklessly, ‘Where am I to meet you and what time?’