The Dressmaker’s Secret

by Charlotte Betts

  Alessandro and I ran to the study with Samuel and Robert in tow. The door was locked.

  ‘Look!’ said Alessandro. He bent down and picked up a key from the floor.

  ‘Dolly must have dropped it in his hurry to open the sluice gates,’ I said.

  Alessandro pushed the key into the lock. ‘It’s not the right one,’ he said, examining the key and trying again. ‘It’s too small.’

  There was no time to waste. ‘Robert, force the door open!’ I said.

  His eyes widened.

  ‘If you don’t, I will.’

  He grinned and forced the crowbar into the frame. The door swung open.

  The bookcase was back in place and the three men stared blankly around the room.

  I hurried to release the hidden bolts.

  Alessandro drew in his breath as the bookcase hinged forward and exposed the door leading down to the chapel.

  ‘Try the small key,’ I said and smiled as the narrow door opened with a click. I started down the stairs. ‘Father, we’re coming!’

  The river stench rose up to meet me and I gasped at the cold as I stepped into the chest-high water at the foot of the stairs.

  Robert followed close behind, grimacing at the stink as the filthy water swirled around him. I held up my candle and he started to prise open the gate lock under the water.

  I peered through the iron bars into the chapel. Several more of the candles had burned away.

  Father waded through the water towards us holding a canvas above his head. ‘Thank God!’ he said. ‘I thought you’d never come to let me out, Emilia.’

  I noted he didn’t profess any concern for me.

  ‘Take this to safety,’ he said, ‘and I’ll fetch the others.’ He slid the painting through the bars into my hands.

  ‘I’d have drowned if Alessandro hadn’t pulled me out of the moat,’ I told him.

  ‘Never mind that now,’ said Father. ‘Get that gate open and help me!’

  Robert forced open the lock with a cry of triumph.

  Alessandro took the canvas from me.

  ‘Careful!’ said Father. ‘It’s a cartoon by Titian. Whatever you do, don’t let it get wet.’

  ‘Emilia, you’ve been in the water too long already,’ said Alessandro. ‘You’ll catch a chill. Go upstairs now.’

  ‘Don’t you dare!’ said Father. ‘We need all hands.’

  Alessandro balled his fists. ‘Have you no care for your daughter? She nearly drowned!’

  I caught Alessandro’s sleeve and pulled him back. ‘Later,’ I said. I’d no intention of leaving until the precious paintings were safe but it warmed my heart to know that Alessandro, at least, cared for my health.

  First of all came The Last Supper. Father and Alessandro carried it between them, resting it on their heads as they waded through the rising water. It was too heavy for me to handle safely on my own and Samuel helped me convey it upstairs. We propped it against the wall in the hall and Mrs Bannister stood by with clean muslin cloths to blot any wet fingerprints off the rest of the paintings as they arrived.

  One by one, Alessandro and Father lifted the paintings off the walls, starting with the largest and the most valuable, and bringing them to me at the staircase. I carried them up to the doorway of the study and passed them to Mr Bannister. He carried them to the next person in the chain. All the while the water grew deeper in the chapel.

  The candles began to flicker as they burned down. Soon there was so little light I feared for Alessandro and Father’s safety. I called for more candles and waded into the chapel to replenish the sconces. Water lapped under my chin now and it was difficult for me to walk through it. Once the new candles were lit, I swam back to the stairs.

  Alessandro handed me the Stubbs painting of a giraffe. ‘The water is deep and your father and I are both tiring,’ he said, wearily pushing a lock of hair from his eyes.

  ‘Don’t take any risks, Alessandro,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t stop to talk!’ shouted Father.

  We brought out another five paintings but by then the water was so high that Alessandro and Father had to swim on their backs with the paintings held over their chests. The movement of the water as they splashed past the sconces extinguished yet more candles.

  I shuddered as I peered into the increasing gloom of the chapel. The stinking water appeared black as Alessandro swam slowly back to me. I reached out to catch his collar and pulled him to the stairs. ‘You’re exhausted,’ I said, noticing the wound on his shoulder was bleeding again. ‘Come and rest.’

  ‘Your father’s bringing the last one,’ he said, handing me the two miniatures of the Spanish Infanta.

  I placed them on the stair above us as Alessandro dragged himself out of the water.

  Several more of the candles flickered out and I squinted into the darkness to see Father swimming towards us. His breath came in rasping gasps as he clambered onto the stairs, his knees shaking.

  I took the canvas from him. It was soaked.

  Father collapsed in a half sitting, half lying position. ‘That’s the last of them.’

  ‘Come upstairs,’ I said. Now that the immediate crisis was over and the paintings were safe I was full of dread at what was to come next. I would have to ask the footmen to confine Father until the magistrate arrived.

  ‘There are still the statues and the urns and the bronzes…’

  I stared at him. ‘But they’re already underwater. They’ll be safe until the flood goes down.’

  ‘I’m not risking any harm coming to them!’ He pushed himself off the steps and slid into the water.

  ‘Father… come back!’

  ‘No!’ said Alessandro, gripping my wrist as I made to follow. ‘It’s too dangerous.’

  Almost all the candles were submerged and the black water was only a foot below the ceiling. I shivered. Father didn’t answer but I saw his dark head bobbing up and down like a seal’s as he swam away.

  At the far end of the chapel he disappeared under the water. A moment later I caught a glimpse of a white face coming towards us in the deepening gloom. The statue of Venus. There was a great deal of splashing as Father struggled to drag the marble statue along.

  ‘He’s lost his wits,’ said Alessandro. ‘It’s far too heavy.’

  As we watched, the statue slipped and sank. The surface of the water undulated and slapped against the walls. I waited for Father’s head to reappear. It didn’t.

  ‘Where is he?’ asked Alessandro, his voice tight.

  My teeth chattered with cold and fear.

  The water became still, all secrets hidden below its dark depths.

  I couldn’t bear it. I launched myself into the water and struck out towards the other end of the chapel. Alessandro’s voice calling my name rang in my ears. I concentrated on reaching the place where I last saw my father. My head bumped against the ceiling and I couldn’t touch the floor. And then I banged my knee on one of the statues and knew I must be in the right place. I took a breath and dived.

  It was pitch black and I moved my hands before me. I touched several of the statues but each one was upright. I went to the surface to gulp another breath and dived again. This time I went deeper and my questing hands found Venus, lying on her side. Blindly, I ran my palms along the cold marble and paused as my fingers touched cloth. Scrabbling at it, I felt flesh underneath. Frantically, I tugged at the cloth but it was trapped under the statue. My chest was tight. I had to breathe!

  Pushing myself upwards, I burst through the surface and gasped for air. I screamed and nearly choked when Alessandro swam into me. He tried to pull me away but I fought him off. ‘He’s trapped! I have to go back.’

  I dived again and felt Alessandro beside me in the black water. I found his hand and guided him back to where Father lay trapped. Together we heaved at the statue and rolled it to one side. We hauled at Father’s clothing and towed him back towards the light.

  Mr Bannister waded towards us and dragged Father out of the wat
er.

  I knew it was too late as, coughing and sobbing, I watched Mr Bannister and Alessandro pressing in vain on Father’s chest.

  At last Mr Bannister shook his head. ‘I regret to say that life is extinct,’ he murmured.

  Alessandro carried me upstairs to the study. He placed me on Father’s desk chair, chafed my hands and kissed me, murmuring words of endearment while I wept.

  Chapter 39

  It was still raining as the three of us stood by my father’s open grave with the vicar. There were no other mourners. The story of Father’s secret life as the Picture Frame Thief had spread faster than the plague and his neighbours and acquaintances had stayed away. I was glad of it since I didn’t have to face them.

  After Father drowned, once I’d stopped weeping from the shock, Alessandro took Shadow from the stables and galloped off after Dolly. From London he followed Dolly and Francis’s trail as far as Dover, where he ascertained they’d taken the packet to France. Alessandro then returned to Langdon Hall to answer the magistrate’s questions.

  The vicar’s voice droned on and Alessandro held my hand tightly as Father’s coffin was lowered into the ground. Aunt Maude offered me a handkerchief. My tears were not for my father the man, but for the loss of my dream of having a parent to love and respect.

  As soon as the service was over the vicar nodded to us without comment and took himself off, his duty done.

  ‘Shall we go?’ said Aunt Maude.

  I took her arm and the three of us walked through the churchyard towards the waiting carriage.

  Mr Digby, my father’s lawyer, sat at his desk and sipped a glass of ratafia.

  Gripping the arms of my chair, I waited for him to enlighten me on my financial situation.

  He replaced the glass on the desk and smiled. ‘My wife sends her good wishes and would be pleased if you and your aunt would call on her.’

  A flush warmed my cheeks. Aunt Maude and I were tarnished by our connection with Father and there hadn’t been a single caller at Langdon Hall since his death. ‘Please tell her she is very kind,’ I said. I liked Mrs Digby and was grateful to her for being prepared to support us but I wouldn’t place her in an awkward position.

  ‘On to matters of business,’ said Mr Digby. ‘In consultation with the magistrate, I employed an investigator, on behalf of the Langdon Hall Estate, to confirm Mr Fiorelli’s account of events. Your father’s heir, Mr Adolphus Pemberton, together with Mr Gregory, did indeed flee to France.’

  ‘Did the investigator find them?’ I asked.

  Mr Digby shook his head. ‘It can only be assumed Mr Pemberton intends to evade the justice that awaits him here. He would be extremely unwise to return.’

  Dolly’s actions had resulted in Sarah’s and my father’s deaths and he should pay the price. I pictured him squabbling with Francis as they were forced to lead an impoverished, vagabond life. That would be some small punishment but it angered me that, so far, he had escaped retribution. ‘I have now been in communication with your father’s second cousin, Mr Harvey,’ continued Mr Digby. ‘He’s more than delighted to live at Langdon Hall and to manage the estate, an unthought of possibility for him. He is aware that he cannot inherit until seven years after Mr Pemberton’s last sighting, when he can be declared legally dead. Mr Harvey intends to sell his trade premises and move his family here in two months’ time.’

  ‘I hope he’ll be happy at Langdon Hall,’ I said.

  Mr Digby peered over his gold-rimmed glasses. ‘I believe he and his wife and their eight children will find the Hall a considerable improvement on three rooms above a butcher’s shop in Fetter Lane.’

  ‘I’m sure they will,’ I said, smiling slightly at the thought of Father turning in his grave.

  ‘Mr Harvey asked me to send you his reassurances that if you and Miss Weston wish to remain at Langdon Hall or the townhouse in Grosvenor Street until you have finalised your plans, he will be pleased to allow it. He intends to retain the servants, too, should they wish to stay.’

  I was relieved, knowing how much consternation there had been in the servants’ hall. ‘My aunt and I will be travelling to Italy with my fiancé as soon as I’ve finished sorting through my father’s papers.’

  Mr Digby nodded approvingly. ‘And have you discovered any further information amongst Sir Frederick’s effects regarding the origins of the stolen paintings?’

  I shook my head. ‘Not yet.’ The paintings and sculptures had been removed to a place of safekeeping by the magistrate and the complicated job of returning them to their rightful owners had begun. I had personally undergone a humiliating meeting with Lord Beaufort to return all three miniatures.

  ‘Your own situation is not entirely bleak,’ said Mr Digby. ‘Sir Frederick came to see me following your engagement…’ He paused. ‘Perhaps I should say your first engagement. He made a new will, which still stands.’

  ‘But the estate is subject to the entail?’

  ‘Indeed. However, Sir Frederick’s art collection…’ He coughed. ‘That is, the collection he purchased legally over the years, with funds inherited from your grandmother and from his own dealings in art, was entirely his to gift to you.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘The collection will be valued but, should you wish to sell it, there is likely to be sufficient to provide an income for the remainder of your life.’

  I stared at him, dumbfounded.

  ‘Furthermore,’ said Mr Digby, leaning his elbows on the desk and steepling his fingers, ‘there is your mother’s jointure. This settlement was arranged on your mother’s and father’s marriage to provide an income for your mother, or her surviving children, should your father die first.’ Mr Digby smiled. ‘This sum, quite separate from the Langdon Hall Estate, is now due to you.’

  A short while later Mr Digby ushered me out of his office.

  Alessandro and Aunt Maude were laughing together as I joined them in the waiting room.

  ‘There you are, dear,’ said Aunt Maude with a smile. ‘Your young man was telling me such an amusing story…’ She frowned. ‘Is there something wrong?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Quite the contrary.’

  Alessandro took my arm. ‘Let’s return to the carriage and you can tell us all about it.’

  Dazed, I explained my good fortune as the carriage rolled away.

  ‘It’s no more than you deserve,’ said Alessandro.

  ‘But nothing will bring back your dear mother,’ said Aunt Maude.

  We sat in contemplative silence during the rest of the drive.

  ‘I’m going to sort through Father’s papers,’ I said. ‘I’m sick of the task and want to finish it today.’

  ‘Let me help,’ said Aunt Maude.

  Alessandro settled down in the library to write a letter to his family and Aunt Maude and I went into the study. I opened the window to let out the smell of dank decay that still drifted up from below. The water had been pumped out of the chapel but it would take months to dry properly.

  ‘Aunt Maude,’ I enquired, while opening one of the desk drawers and lifting out a pile of loose papers, ‘will you mind leaving England? Be honest now.’

  ‘Mind?’ She laughed. ‘You cannot imagine how flattered I am that Alessandro has invited me to come to Pesaro with you. There’s nothing for me here, without you.’

  ‘Now I can afford to give you an income of your own,’ I said. ‘It won’t be a great deal but enough for you to be independent. So if you don’t want to go so far from home…’

  Her cheeks went bright pink and her mouth worked. ‘Wherever you are is home to me, Emilia,’ she said, her eyes glinting with unshed tears. ‘But I thank you from the bottom of my heart.’

  I hugged her, so grateful an aunt had come into my life. ‘I suppose we’d better finish the task in hand.’ I pushed a handful of papers towards her. ‘We need to put unpaid bills in one pile, anything relating to paintings or art in another, and glance at the rest.’

  An hour later I hear
d Aunt Maude take a gasping breath.

  ‘What is it?’

  Her face was bone white and she pressed a hand to her heart.

  I sprang to my feet. ‘Aunt Maude? Are you ill?’

  She opened her mouth but didn’t speak and then held out a paper to me with violently shaking fingers.

  I took it from her and saw that it was a bill, dated July 1820. It read:

  To the final quarterly sum for the continuing care and confinement of Rose Langdon.