The Artful Match

by Jennifer Delamere

  The cabbie’s smile broadened. Maybe he thought of bartering as a game. “Tell you what. I’ll drop the price to one and threepence. Can’t go no lower, or I won’t make enough to feed Elvira.”

  He gave the mare a scratch behind one ear. The creature whinnied and stamped a front hoof, as if she agreed that getting fed was a critical consideration.

  Cara allowed herself to laugh—ostensibly at the horse’s antics, but really from elation. She had just saved nearly a shilling! “Done,” she said jovially.

  As the cab made its way down the busy streets, Cara imagined how she might draw the scenes unfolding before her. London was loud and crowded, and the air today was filled with a hazy fog. Particles of soot hung in the air, and several had already besmirched her clothes and bag. Costermongers hawked everything from mussels to fresh milk. Handsomely dressed men and women rode by in fine carriages. Men who might be clerks or business owners strode along the pavement and filled the knifeboard seats on the roofs of omnibuses.

  There were even some streets that seemed familiar. Perhaps they were ones she and Julia had taken when they walked through London together during Cara’s visit. Cara savored the lift it gave her heart whenever some building or street corner sparked a memory.

  London can be my home.

  She leaned back and sighed at the thought. Cara deeply regretted the mistakes that had brought her here, and yet here she was. She had not forgotten her promise to God, made during those dark hours. Perhaps He was telling her now that her life could turn out all right after all.

  When they arrived at the lodgings for students at the Queen’s College for Women, the driver helped Cara down from the cab and placed the carpetbag at her feet. She paid him and included another two pence for the tip. It was the best she could afford. “My thanks to you—and Elvira,” she told him.

  He grinned, tipped his hat, and pocketed the money. “Good day to you, miss.”

  Cara walked up the steps to the large front door and knocked. Although she had been dreading this encounter, now she found she was anxious to unburden herself to her sister.

  Mrs. Holloway, the house matron, whom Cara had met on her last visit, answered the door. Cara reintroduced herself and asked whether Julia was at home.

  Mrs. Holloway looked perplexed. “Your sister moved out several days ago. She’s married now.”

  “But she can’t be married!” Cara protested.

  Mrs. Holloway’s eyebrows rose. “She didn’t tell you?”

  “I knew she was engaged, but they hadn’t set the date. Are you quite sure?”

  “Oh yes. There was a notice in the paper. They were married at All Saints Church before leaving for their honeymoon. They are on their way to South America.”

  “No,” murmured Cara in horror. Julia could not have gotten married without telling her and gone overseas. The thought made Cara nauseous, as though she were the one being tossed about on a rough ocean. She felt her cheeks growing hot under Mrs. Holloway’s quizzical gaze. Perhaps the matron was wondering why Julia had kept this information from her own sister. Cara knew full well why Julia hadn’t told her. She knew Cara would do anything in her power to persuade her not to leave the country.

  “I’m sorry to surprise you with this news,” said Mrs. Holloway. She opened the door wider. “Would you like to come inside for a bit—perhaps have a cup of tea?”

  “No, thank you,” Cara said, too mortified to stay here any longer. She’d just admitted that her own sister thought so little of her that she’d decided to cut her out of the most important day of her life.

  Somehow she managed a polite good-bye before hurrying away. She had to find someplace where she could sit and think. Although her vision was blurred by tears of anger and confusion, she spotted a green oasis ahead. It was a small park lined with benches and shaded by leafy trees.

  Settling on a bench, Cara took several deep breaths to calm herself. Perhaps there had been some mistake. Perhaps Mrs. Holloway had been wrong, or the newspaper had printed incorrect information. But the more she thought about it, the more Cara realized it probably wasn’t a mistake. It would be just like Julia to do this. From the time they were children, Julia had always been stubborn and unreasonable. Whenever there was any kind of disagreement among them, she would insist she was right and bully the others into going along, no matter the consequences.

  Did Rosalyn know that Julia was married and traveling overseas? Did the Morans, Rosalyn’s in-laws, know? Was Cara the only one who’d been left in the dark? Humiliation flooded through her at the thought.

  No. Surely Rosalyn didn’t know. Like Cara, she would have been vehemently opposed to Julia’s leaving the country. Julia might never listen to Cara, but there were times when Rosalyn’s common sense could prevail. Being the oldest of the three sisters—and in Cara’s view the most sensible—Rosalyn was the only person who might have averted this. Surely once Rosalyn discovered how Julia had betrayed them, she would finally understand what Cara had been telling her for years about how self-serving and heartless their sister was.

  As Cara saw it, the only way to get to the bottom of things was to go to the Morans’ home. Rosalyn and Nate were still traveling up north with the opera company, but perhaps the others would be able to tell Cara what had happened.

  Despite her desire for answers, she was not eager to go to the Morans’. She would have to explain to them the circumstances that had brought her to London before she’d had a chance to discuss the matter with her own sisters. But she needed to stay somewhere, and she had no money to pay for lodging. The Morans would take her in without hesitation. They had treated Cara kindly the few times she’d met them. She ought to think of them as her family, too, but she had yet to bring her heart around to the idea. For nearly as long as she could remember, her family had consisted only of three sisters, fiercely dependent on one another even while growing up in a large orphanage. It had been hard for Cara to warm up to her brother-in-law’s family.

  Except for Nate’s brother Patrick, perhaps. He was always so easygoing, especially in contrast to the others, who were much more . . . Cara couldn’t think of the right word. Intense, maybe. Even when they were enjoying themselves, there seemed to be some underlying sense of purpose to it. Cara loved Patrick’s ready laugh. He could find humor in any situation. She could imagine the disapproval the others would direct at Cara for making such a mess of her life. Patrick was bound to treat her more gently. He worked backstage at a theatre called the Opera Comique. Cara knew it was on a street called the Strand. Perhaps if it wasn’t too far from here, she could go there and talk to him first.

  It was a good plan.

  She stood up, taking stock of her surroundings with clear eyes. The far side of the square led to a busy road lined with shops. Asking directions at any of them should be simple.

  As she joined the other pedestrians along the crowded thoroughfare, it occurred to her there might be no reason to rush. Patrick worked nights. He might not even be at the theatre yet.

  The day was overcast, so judging the exact time was difficult. Cara paused in front of a shop that advertised the sale and repair of jewelry, watches, and clocks. What better place to find out the time? She stepped through the doorway and was immediately surrounded by an array of timepieces, ranging from tall grandfather clocks to small clocks set on tables. According to every one of them, it was nearly half past one.

  Having settled that question, Cara wandered over to a glass case filled with jewelry. Oh, such lovely jewelry. Bracelets and chains of fine gold and silver. Rings of many designs, some set with precious stones. Pendant earrings of finely wrought gold. Cara gave a little sigh of pleasure as she drank in the sight.

  A man with thick jeweler’s spectacles perched on his forehead sat at a work desk on the other side of the case. He came over to her. “Looking for something special, miss?”

  She didn’t want to admit that she couldn’t buy anything. “Everything is so lovely,” she murmured, as if unable to de
cide.

  “Let me know if there’s something you’d like to look at more closely,” he offered.

  Cara nodded, and he turned his attention to a woman just entering the shop. The lady had come to retrieve a watch she’d left for repair. The jeweler brought out the watch, and the two stood together at another counter while the jeweler described what he’d done and the lady inspected it.

  Free to browse, Cara took her time, picturing how each ring or bracelet or pair of earrings would look on her. After her recent troubles, it felt good to indulge in this bit of fancy, to imagine owning such fine things. The tick-tock of dozens of timepieces echoed through the shop, providing a comforting backdrop to her daydreams.

  She moved on to the next case, which contained pocket watches. Not finding these as interesting as the jewelry, she was about to turn away when one of the watches caught her eye. It was a ladies’ gold watch with a heart-shaped button clasp. Cara let out a little gasp. The only other time she’d seen a clasp like that was on the watch her mother had owned. It couldn’t be the same one, of course, for that had been in Rosalyn’s possession since their mother died. Still, the design etched into the gold casing looked astoundingly similar.

  The other customer left the shop, and the jeweler returned to Cara. “Something caught your eye?”

  “May I look at this one, please?” She pointed to the watch.

  He pulled it out of the case. “This is a secondhand watch, but I’ve fully refurbished it. It’s in excellent condition and runs beautifully.”

  He set it in her hand. It fit naturally in her palm, reminding her of the many times she’d played with her mother’s watch. Holding her breath, she pressed the latch to open it. For several long seconds she stared at the inside cover, unable to believe what she was seeing even though the inscription was plainly visible on the brightly polished gold.

  To Marie. Oceans can never separate us. Love always, Paul.

  Feeling her hands shaking, Cara rested them on the counter, although she did not let go of the watch.

  “It’s a lovely sentiment, don’t you think?” the jeweler said.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “From a pawnbroker’s auction, I believe. I get many watches that way.”

  Cara’s astonishment turned to anger. Her mother’s watch—a precious gift from her father—was lying here for sale to any stranger who might come by. Why had Rosalyn pawned it? She was working for the most successful impresario in England! Did the watch mean nothing to her? Frowning, Cara stared intently at the watch, as though it could somehow answer these questions.

  “The engraving can be polished out if you don’t like it,” the jeweler offered. “Or I can craft a new cover. That would add to the price, but I’d be happy to—”

  “How much is it?” Cara said brusquely. Whatever the cost, she had to buy it.

  “It’s written right there.” He pointed to a small paper tag attached to it by a string.

  Cara’s heart nearly stopped when she read the price. It was more than she had. She remembered how she’d haggled for her cab ride. “Might you be willing to take five shillings?” It was all the money she possessed.

  The jeweler shook his head. “I might take ten percent off the price, but that’s all. This is a fine piece, as you can see, and I’ve put a lot of work into the refurbishment.”

  “Would you accept a barter?” She couldn’t leave the shop without this watch. She couldn’t risk that someone else might buy it before she could find more money and return for it.

  “That depends,” he countered. “What are you offering?”

  Cara owned only one thing of any value: a thin gold bracelet that Miss Sarah Needenham, Sir John’s nineteen-year-old daughter, had given her as a thank-you gift for helping her complete a painting to give to Lady Needenham for Christmas. Cara pushed back her sleeve to uncover the bracelet, which she’d kept hidden as a precaution against theft while she traveled. She removed it and laid it on the countertop.

  Placing his magnifying glasses over his eyes, the jeweler picked up the bracelet and scrutinized it. “It’s a nice enough piece, but only gold-plated.”

  Cara’s heart sank. Sarah had given her something not so fine after all. Nor was it enough for the watch.

  “However, this bracelet plus four shillings would be acceptable.”

  It would take her down to her last shilling. Cara would have to throw herself on the mercy of the Morans now, no matter how much it hurt her pride. But she was bolstered by her anger that Rosalyn had let this precious family heirloom out of her possession. Cara’s mistakes had been terrible, but she had not committed a deliberate act of treachery. In her mind, that gave her the high ground.

  “I’ll take it.”

  The transaction was quickly completed. Cara left the shop and stood close to a wall, where she was out of the flow of pedestrians. She opened the watch and stared at the engraving, reading and rereading the inscription. Words of love from her father to her mother. Oceans can never separate us.

  Cara squeezed her eyes shut against the tears. Their father had loved them. She was sure of it, even though Julia had at times implied otherwise. Cara prayed once more, as she had countless times over the years, that her father might be out there somewhere, and that God would bring him home.

  CHAPTER

  5

  CARA TUCKED THE WATCH into a secret pocket in her waistband, where she also kept what scant money she had left. She was the guardian of this precious timepiece now, and unlike Rosalyn, she was never going to let it go.

  Realizing she’d forgotten to ask the shopkeeper for directions, Cara looked around for someone who might help her. Most of the passersby looked so intent on getting to their destinations that Cara hesitated to interrupt them.

  The one exception was a man leaning against a nearby lamppost. He tapped a cigarette against one palm but looked in no hurry to smoke it. He wore checked pants and a light brown jacket unbuttoned over his red silk waistcoat. His bowler hat was pushed back to reveal sandy-colored hair, and a walking stick was hooked over one wrist. Catching Cara’s eye, he tipped his hat. “Why are T and V the luckiest letters in the alphabet?”

  She stared at him in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

  He winked. “Because they are next to U!” Disconnecting himself from the lamppost, he sidled toward her, smiling at his own joke. “Why is a pawnshop one of the most paradoxical places in existence?”

  Cara shook her head, unable to suppress a smile. “I don’t know. Why?”

  “Because although it is full of people, it is a loan-some place.”

  This time she laughed out loud, which left the man beaming with gratification.

  “The name’s Langham Burke,” he said. “You can call me Langham. Everybody does. They have no choice, really, for I won’t answer to anything else.” Tucking the unsmoked cigarette back into his pocket, he held out a hand. “My brother says it’s bad form to offer a handshake to a lady instead of waiting for her to initiate it. However, you have such an excellent sense of humor that I think you will excuse my breach of etiquette.”

  Cara accepted his handshake. “My name is Caroline Bernay.” She added impulsively, “But I usually go by Cara.” It was incautious to offer her Christian name to a stranger, but there was something so genial about this fellow that she liked him on the spot.

  His handshake was cool and brief. He seemed more interested in scrutinizing her face. “I feel sure I’ve seen you before. You are a stunner, aren’t you?”

  “I beg your pardon?” This had to be a compliment, if a brash one. Had she misjudged him?

  Langham smiled, and his blue eyes seemed to be smiling, too. Surely he didn’t mean any harm; he was too well-dressed. His accent sounded very proper, too. Not like most of the others she’d heard today. In fact, the upper-crust way he spoke reminded her of the marquess’s son who was courting Miss Sarah Needenham.

  Langham absently stroked his mustache as he looked at her. Then he snapped
his fingers. “I have it! I always told Hughes he has the prettiest models for his paintings. Some say brunettes make the best stunners, but I go my own way in these things.”

  “You don’t mean Mr. Arthur Hughes, by chance?” Cara could not believe he was making such a casual mention of a famous painter.

  He grinned. “You are one of his models. Where has he been hiding you? Why hasn’t he brought you to any of our parties? Surely his wife doesn’t object. She’s too sensible to think he’d cheat on her. He’s a family man, through and through. But I’m sure you know that. Especially if you’ve been out to his home in Kew Green.”

  It was dizzying to keep up with the shifts in conversation. He thought she was a model. That was incorrect, but if he really was a friend of Arthur Hughes . . .

  Cara found her heart racing with excitement. Arthur Hughes was at the forefront of the art world. “I’ve never met Mr. Hughes. Do you know him?”

  “You’re not the model in Memories? I can’t believe it. But you are a model, aren’t you? Seeking immortality by being painted by one of the greats?”

  “I’m not a model.” Cara had never even considered that possibility. She added impulsively, “I am an artist, though. That is, I’d like to be.”

  “There is no like to be when it comes to being an artist. Either you are, or you aren’t.” He was still looking her over. “You can’t have been to the Grosvenor. I go there all the time, and I’m sure I’d have noticed you.”

  The Grosvenor Gallery was the most forward-thinking art gallery in London. It was a place Cara longed to see. Now that she was in London, she would ensure she got there someday. But for now . . .

  “I haven’t been anywhere. I’ve only just arrived in London.” As she said this, Cara’s thoughts were yanked uncomfortably back to her present situation. “In fact, I wonder if you might give me directions to the Opera Comique? I hope it isn’t too far—I need to walk, for I cannot afford a cab.”

  “It’s a fair distance away, but an omnibus will get you there for threepence. I don’t think the theatre will be open, though. It’s not even teatime yet.”