‘Tell me what is on your mind, madam,’ he invited. He held up one hand briefly. ‘Please, do not speak to me of mistreated cab horses. I have no interest in the subject. Nor do I believe it is that which has brought you.’
Honesty is not only the best policy; it is the easiest course of action. ‘I have come on behalf of an elderly lady, Miss Eldon,’ I said. ‘I am sorry if I said anything else, when I first called. But it is a little difficult to explain. I needed a reason to call and, if it seems shabby, it is because I couldn’t think of anything else.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Do I know Miss Eldon?’
‘No, not personally. But she is a neighbour of yours. She lives across the road, at the Queen Catherine tavern.’
Now he was clearly surprised. But he was also intrigued. ‘She lives in a tavern?’
‘She has rooms at the very top of the building. She is a lady, though in reduced circumstances. Living where she does should not be held against her. She is utterly respectable and of good family. One of her brothers died at the Battle of Waterloo. So, you see, she is a person to be treated with respect.’
‘I hope,’ said Mr Bernard mildly, ‘that I would treat any elderly lady with respect.’
‘Of course!’ I stumbled, ‘I didn’t mean to suggest…’
‘She is very small,’ said Bernard suddenly. His eyes lit with recognition and he held up a forefinger. ‘And she wears very old-fashioned clothing. Am I right?’ The forefinger pointed at me. The nail was beautifully manicured.
‘Yes, you are right. That is Miss Eldon.’ I felt a surge of relief. At least he knew I wasn’t making this up, another fantasy on a par with the cab horses. Miss Eldon existed and Bernard had observed her quaint figure for himself. ‘Well, I have come at her behest, Mr Bernard.’
Bernard leaned back in his chair and surveyed me steadily for a moment or two. Then he asked, ‘And what can I do to oblige Miss Eldon?’
This was going to be the difficult bit. Gaining entry to the house had proved far easier than I’d imagined. But explaining that he and his household had been spied upon for some time, that was exceedingly awkward.
‘From her rooms, above the tavern, Miss Eldon has a very good view all around. She— she has taken an interest in a young lady I— I think may be your daughter.’ This was an inspired guess and if I were wrong, it would be an embarrassing moment. I saw at once that I was not wrong, but my assumption was a blatant intrusion into his private life. He looked at first surprised and then his features seemed to freeze.
‘Ah…’ said Bernard very quietly and I knew that now he really was not pleased. His earlier tolerant manner had vanished. I sensed he was on the verge of showing anger, and controlling it with difficulty. I heard a movement behind me from Bessie by the far wall. She had read the signs, too. Her instincts were still to run. But I couldn’t do that. I had to sit here and face whatever happened.
After what seemed a long silence, Bernard trusted himself to speak. ‘You are correct, Mrs Ross. I have a daughter. But my household is no concern of Miss Eldon’s. Nor, may I add, is it any concern of yours, madame.’
‘I do understand that, Mr Bernard.’ I hesitated. ‘I know I have upset you and I am truly sorry for that. But may I tell you something of myself?’ Without waiting for his reply, I hurried on. ‘My late father was a medical man. He knew that there are many good reasons why someone may not leave the house in which he or she lives, medical reasons. It has worried Miss Eldon that Miss Bernard does not leave the house. Her concern is kindly meant.’
‘Is it?’ Bernard said harshly. ‘She is not, perhaps, an old woman with nothing to occupy her but to watch others, and make up stories about them?’
‘If you met Miss Eldon,’ I replied firmly, ‘you would not say that. Yes, it is kindly meant. She is not a— a snoop, nor is she a gossip. She is a gentle soul and, though she lacks worldly goods, she is rich in generosity of spirit.’
‘You, too, Mrs Ross, have spirit, if I may say so,’ Bernard replied. ‘And courage. May I inquire as to the occupation of Mr Ross?’
This was what Ben had feared, but there was no avoiding it. That I had not been shown the door already was due to my being completely honest.
I drew a deep breath. ‘My husband is an inspector of police, based at Scotland Yard. However that has nothing to do with my coming here.’
‘Somehow, Mrs Ross, that does not surprise me. Does he know you are here?’
I felt myself redden and hoped Bernard would think it was due to heat from the fire. ‘Yes, I did tell him I intended to call. He tried to dissuade me. He was against— against it. He felt it was… well, wrong of me to pry.’
‘Inspector Ross’s instinct is sound. Perhaps you should have taken his advice? Yet you are here, against his wishes!’
‘Yes, and I realise how odd that must seem. I explained to Ben – to Mr Ross – that Miss Eldon depended on me in this. I had given her my word.’
There was a lengthy silence. Then Bernard said drily, ‘I imagine, Mrs Ross, that it is difficult to dissuade you from doing anything you have set your mind on.’
I was too embarrassed to say anything. Bernard gave a brief, faint smile. I felt a flicker of hope.
Then he appeared to have made up his mind. ‘The young lady observed so intently by your friend, Miss Eldon, is indeed my daughter. She is deaf.’
Ruby Eldon had seen the girl make strange movements with her hands. I ought to have kept quiet, but I burst out impetuously, ‘She signs the alphabet! She understands how to spell out words on her fingers and to understand others in that way!’
Bernard was silent for a moment. I think he was taken aback. ‘You know about the signed alphabet?’
‘Yes, I told you, my father was a doctor. He learned it himself out of interest. He taught me when I was little. We used to play a game in which he asked me questions, using his fingers, and I replied via the same method. I mean, I know it is a serious thing for your daughter, but to me it was a game. Children learn well in that way.’
‘My daughter learned it at the celebrated School for the Deaf in Paris. My late wife was French. My daughter was born in France and raised there. She also learned to lip-read at the school. Unfortunately, although she can make a few words herself in reply, the school was less successful in teaching her to speak. Of course, all of this instruction was in French. That is the language my daughter understands, if it is written or signed. But she cannot mix in ordinary company, certainly not here in England, where she can make out nothing of what is going on around her. She faces two barriers: her deafness and her ignorance of the English language. She is afraid of going out into a world of which she can make nothing, cannot communicate with, nor understand, what anyone might say to her. Could not hear the rumble of approaching wheeled traffic, nor a shout of warning. You can understand that?’
‘I speak French,’ I said.
‘How so?’ He stared hard at me. I detected suspicion in his voice. For the first time he doubted my truthfulness.
To prove my claim I replied to him in French. ‘J’avais une gouvernante française. Elle m’a fait parler français tout le temps. I had a French governess when I was a child. She made me speak French all the time.’
‘Tell me more about your governess,’ he invited suddenly, speaking in French.
Clearly, I was meant to reply in the same language, so I did, hoping my command of a language I had not had cause to speak for quite a while would not let me down.
‘Her name was Madame Leblanc. I am not quite sure how she came to be in England. I understood, from my father, that she had told him she had been employed by another English family, but they had left for India. For that reason, she could give no references.’
Bernard raised his eyebrows. ‘And your father gave you into her care, nonetheless?’
‘He believed himself a good judge of character. Also, she was desperate to find a new situation and my father was a kind man.’
‘And was she a good
governess? Clearly she taught you French very well.’
‘I must confess,’ I said, ‘that she did not teach me very much else. She knew some French history, but very little English history, or only from the French point of view. She was a Royalist. She particularly detested Bonaparte.’ I hesitated. ‘She was not perhaps the best educationalist, but she was a kind listener and good friend.’
Bernard’s gaze moved to the window and the view of the silent fountain. ‘Yes, yes,’ he said, more to himself than to me. ‘A young girl needs a friend.’ He remained silent for some minutes and I realised it would be better not to interrupt his thoughts. Then he asked, ‘Would you like to meet my daughter?’
I was astonished, but said at once, ‘I should like to meet Miss Bernard very much.’
Bernard reached for the bell and the butler appeared.
‘Monsieur?’ he asked.
‘Tell mademoiselle Rose that I shall be bringing a visitor to meet her,’ Bernard ordered in French.
The butler showed his surprise but only fleetingly. Then he bowed and went out.
‘We’ll give my daughter a few minutes to make ready,’ Bernard said to me.
I was beginning to feel embarrassed. It was clear that the servants here had learned how to communicate with Miss Bernard. Far from her being a prisoner, I guessed this was a household that had been completely arranged to take account of her particular needs.
‘I don’t want to frighten her,’ I said. ‘Please believe that.’
‘She should not be afraid. I shall be with you. She will be nervous, however. You should understand that.’
‘Of course, I understand completely,’ I assured him. More hesitantly, ‘I do understand you are putting your trust in me, Mr Bernard, and I am someone of whom you know nothing, other than what I have told you.’
‘Your father trusted a woman of whom he knew nothing and gave you into her care. I am following his example, am I not?’ He stood up and added briskly: ‘Come, we shall go to my daughter. Your maid,’ for the first time he acknowledged Bessie’s presence, ‘can wait in the hall.’
He led the way up the staircase and along a corridor until he came to a door at which he tapped before opening it and entering.
I found myself in one of a suite of two connected rooms. This was a detail Miss Eldon had not been able to observe. We were now in a pretty sitting room. Through open doors I could see into a bedroom beyond.
A young woman stood with her back to the window and to the light. It meant I could not distinguish her as clearly as I’d have wished. She was of medium height and slightly built. Her dark hair was twisted into a simple knot on top of her head and she wore a blue gown with velvet ribbon trimmings. I guessed her age at about seventeen.
‘Mrs Ross,’ said Bernard, pointing to me as he spoke, ‘May I present to you my daughter, Rose.’
The young woman, who had been watching his face as he spoke, bobbed a curtsy in my direction. I bowed in return.
‘Mademoiselle,’ I said to her, ‘I have come to visit you on behalf of a friend.’
I spoke in French and she watched my face. At the same time, from the corner of my eye, I saw Bernard move his hands rapidly, spelling with his fingers. I continued to speak, but accompanying my words with the signed alphabet as well as I could remember it.
‘My friend is Miss Eldon. She is an old lady and she lives over there.’ I pointed at the window behind her.
Rose turned and looked out at the tavern across the road. Then she turned back, looking puzzled.
‘Yes, yes, over there! On the top floor, where there is a very large window.’
Rose’s frown faded and suddenly she smiled. She glanced questioningly at her father, who nodded, and then she went to fetch a book from the table. She brought it over to me and I saw it was a sketchbook. Now, by common consent, we all three sat down and Bernard watched as Rose leafed through the sketchbook until she found the page she wanted. Then she held it out to me. And there I saw Ruby Eldon in pen and ink, her diminutive figure clad in old-fashioned clothing, leaving the doorway of the Queen Catherine.
‘Yes, yes! That is the lady!’ I exclaimed in English, forgetting for the moment. I hastened to repeat it in French. ‘That is Miss Eldon, the friend who asked me to call on you.’
Rose was looking puzzled again. Her lips parted and I saw she was about to try and speak. Her father had warned me the school had not been so successful in that area. The first sound she made I did not understand. She tried again and I realised she was asking, ‘Pourquoi?’ Why?
I did my best to reply to what was a pertinent question but embarrassing, using actions to accompany my words. ‘She can see you, from her window, the big window. She sees you sewing and drawing. She remembers when she was young. Now she is old, she has no one.’
Rose had understood but my reply had saddened her. Rose was young, but she had no one.
‘You draw very well!’ I said hastily. ‘I cannot draw nearly so well as this.’
A shy smile touched the girl’s face and her pale cheeks flushed. She began to riffle though the pages again and found another image of Ruby Eldon. This one was drawn when it had been raining. My elderly friend scurried along the street on a rainy day, clinging to a large umbrella that seemed about to sweep her off her feet. It was not a mocking sketch; it was a humorous and kindly one.
She was far from being the only subject Rose had taken. She did not go out, so she drew everyone and everything she saw from her window. Thus people of every sort were captured by Rose’s pencil. As the pages turned, I recognised both Mr Tompkins and his wife, Louisa. In another scene, the brewer’s dray stood outside the tavern and the men rolled the barrels across the cobbles and let them down through the open trapdoor to the cellar. A pie man went by with his tray of pies suspended from his neck, ringing a bell. And then, to my surprise, I saw myself, and Bessie, on our way to visit Ruby. Rose had seen that I recognised myself. There was a sudden gleam of mischief in her smile.
Ruby Eldon had worried that the artist she saw from her window had few subjects for her pen. But Rose observed London life from her eyrie. The sketchbook was her diary. Each illustration was neatly initialled ‘RB’ with the date it was drawn.
Now she turned another page and rotated it so that it was the right way up for me. This was a very lively scene indeed; and not a usual subject for a young lady’s pen, or indeed one a young lady would have occasion to see. It was quickly sketched because the subjects were in motion; a small crowd in altercation. There was a dishevelled young man in the grip of Mr Tompkins. George Temple, surely. There was the young woman who had been ejected forcibly from the tavern, in the grip of the pot man and kicking out furiously. Louisa Tompkins stood nearby, hands on hips. All had been caught with a few strokes of the pen, a moment in time preserved.
I looked up and met Rose’s eye. ‘Yes.’ I nodded and smiled. ‘I saw that scene. I was over there,’ I pointed towards the tavern and the upper window. ‘I was with Miss Eldon. I looked out and saw all that!’
Rose closed the sketchbook, hesitated, and looked across at her father.
He was adept at reading her mind. ‘Mrs Ross!’ he said to me. ‘I think my daughter would like you to bring Miss Eldon to meet her. Would the lady be agreeable, do you think?’
‘She would be very pleased and appreciative,’ I told him.
‘Then we can arrange something. Not tomorrow, but possibly the day after that?’
He was allowing Rose a day to change her mind. I understood that. It also gave him time to verify my claim to be married to a police officer.
‘I will go now and tell Miss Eldon,’ I told him. To Rose, I said, ‘It has been a pleasure to meet you, mademoiselle.’
Rose turned as pink as her name, and nodded furiously.
Bernard conducted me downstairs, where Bessie jumped up from a chair, clearly relieved to see me.
‘Thank you, Mr Bernard,’ I said to him. ‘Thank you for your confidence in me and for forgiving me t
he impolite way I invaded your house.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Bernard calmly, ‘it was very impolite, Mrs Ross. But I do forgive you. I hope we shall see you and Miss Eldon the day after tomorrow.’
‘I can’t tell you, missus,’ said Bessie when we were again in the street, ‘how pleased I was to see you come back down the stairs safe and sound. Mind you, I wouldn’t have left that house without you!’
‘I was quite safe, Bessie. Mr Bernard took me to meet his daughter, that is all.’
‘Just like that!’ said Bessie in awestruck tones. ‘And she’s his daughter? You’re a bloomin’ marvel, you are, missus.’
‘Thank you, Bessie. Now let us go and see Miss Eldon and tell her all about it.’
* * *
We made quite a little party in Ruby Eldon’s garret room. Louisa Tompkins had taken note of what was going on across the road. She darted out of the taproom, glowing with excitement to receive me when I entered the tavern. She led me up the creaking stairs to the top of the house, addressing me over her shoulder in a seamless stream of words.
‘I said to Tompkins, that Mrs Ross, who visits Ruby, has gone over the road to the big house and talked her way inside! Would you credit it? And Tompkins, he said to me, “Go on, Lou! She never has!” So I told him, I’d seen you with my own eyes, and young Bessie there, as well. “Are we going to have to go over there and rescue her?” asked Tompkins. “Form a raiding party?” He was joking, of course. But he would have done it, if it had been necessary, you can believe me!’
I did believe her. Bessie followed us up the stairs, pattering along in the rear. When we all three reached the top, crowding the tiny landing, and Louisa had announced us, it was clear that both she and Bessie meant to stay to hear the whole story. So we sat before the hearth and I related my adventure to my three listeners.
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