When my darling Fanny became ill, weakened by her grief at Lizzie’s death, I sensed Farquhar’s glee as I sat with her one night and I grew afraid and scrabbled in the bottom drawer of my desk for the doll. I had ceased to carry it around after one of my clerks had found it amongst my papers, and it looked dull and forlorn. Instinctively I held it against my heart until I could feel its power rekindled, and I hid it in Fanny’s room, learning a valuable lesson, the power and protection of love.
We drew comfort in our sadness from an unexpected quarter, our fashionable new young doctor, Samuel Holland. Busy as always, I did not notice that he came more and more often, that Frances was always there to conduct him to her mother’s apartment, that the two of them talked earnestly and long, their conversation straying from the medical to philosophy, to music, and on to particulars of religion. My Frances was a devout young woman, inheriting the passions of her grandmother and her aunt, not sharing their love of Methodism but favouring the Church of England. It appeared Dr Holland felt the same.
Frances’s sister, Margaret, meanwhile, busied herself overseeing the education of her youngest four siblings. Without Fanny’s oversight they might have run wild, but Margaret, knowing how distracted I was, conscientiously stepped into her mother’s shoes. Mary, Henry, Thomas and Esmé, aged at the time of their sister’s death, sixteen, fourteen, twelve and eleven respectively, lived mostly at my Evergreen haven, surrounded by horses and dogs, the boys going in turn to school and, in Henry and young Thomas’s case, to Cambridge, in Esmé’s into the army and in Mary’s to study with her sisters’ governesses.
And I, ambitious, clever (not modest, as was constantly pointed out by astute commentators, both those who called themselves my friends and those who were conspicuously not so), ploughed my furrow deep and earnestly as ever.
67
Thomas had been at a dinner party at Carlton House the night before. It had been noisy, raucous even, Prinny in fine voice, full of jokes and laughter, Fox and his colleagues leaning across the table, thumping their fists down amongst the glasses, gesturing vehemently to emphasise their ideas.
Having promised himself a weekend in Hampstead, Thomas had called for Ebony early, eager to clear his head with a gallop over the heath. Much as he enjoyed the cronyship of the prince and his circle, the world of politics, law, the theatre and the music of London, there were times when he longed to be alone in his garden. He missed Fanny. Her constant tiredness was an excuse not to accompany him to the soirees and parties, the dinners and plays, all things that she no longer enjoyed, but it would all have been so much more fun with her at his side to giggle and whisper late into the night as they had when they were young.
She was sitting in the morning room when he arrived and greeted him with a hug and a kiss. ‘My darling you look awful. Is the prince leading you all astray? What time did you get to bed?’
He laughed. ‘You are right as always.’ He pulled a chair up beside her. ‘So, what news from Hampstead? How are the children?’
‘They flourish.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘They drain my every last drop of energy. And I have had a letter from Davy in America. He is so happy with his beautiful wife. They are returning to England soon and at last we will be able to meet her.’ She glanced at him. ‘And Frances has news which I will leave her to tell you as she has forbidden me to mention it.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Indeed?’
‘Indeed.’
He did not have to wait long. His daughter was loitering in the hallway and all but dragged him out into the garden. ‘I have decided to marry Dr Holland, Papa. So, when he comes to you to ask for my hand, you will say yes.’
Thomas was astounded. She was so strong-willed, this his eldest child, he was inclined to agree as meekly as she no doubt expected. He managed to look stern. ‘I cannot agree to anything of the sort!’ He tried to picture her as an opponent at the bar in Westminster Hall. ‘How could you imagine that I would? He’s hardly suitable. My daughter cannot marry a doctor!’
‘Why?’ She pulled at his hand until he was facing her. ‘Surely my father is not a snob? Besides, Sam is of ancient lineage, as ancient as ours, no doubt.’ She saw his face in time. ‘Well, perhaps not quite as ancient as ours, but nevertheless ancient. Not only descended from kings as we are, but from the princes of North Wales, near where you went to stay with the Dean of St Asaph. His father died when he was young, but he was a rector in Essex and’ – she had the expression of a conjurer about to produce the rabbit from his hat – ‘he is himself a man of the cloth. You didn’t know that, did you? Before he decided to become a doctor, he studied for the church. That was his first love.’
‘Then why,’ he managed to ask, ‘did he change his mind?’
‘Because like you he’s interested in everything. He couldn’t imagine having to give up his studies in natural philosophy and his fascination with medicine. And I very much like his sister, Anne,’ she went on breathlessly. ‘She has become my best friend. And she has confided in me that he worships the ground I walk on and would like to make an offer for me. She has told him I would accept and I have told her to tell him that you would welcome him as a son-in-law.’
‘It sounds as though you and your best friend Anne have everything in hand,’ Thomas said drily when at last he could get a word in. ‘And what does your mother think?’
‘Oh, she adores Samuel.’ His last line of resistance crumbled at her words. ‘After all, he has made her better. He is an amazingly clever doctor. And,’ she added almost as an afterthought, ‘he’s rich.’
She didn’t tell him that the proposed marriage was as yet a dream conjured by Anne and herself. She didn’t think Samuel had even begun to guess what they planned for him. No matter. It was true that he worshipped her, although so far it had been from afar. Anne would soon fix that. The date of their first encounter alone was already decided upon.
The night before the wedding Thomas called Frances to his study in Lincoln’s Inn Fields and gave her his wedding present. It was a heavy gold signet ring. ‘It belonged to your grandmama,’ he said. ‘She looked after you when you were a baby and your mama and I went to Minorca with my regiment. I want you to have something of hers. The stone is said to have belonged to Mary, Queen of Scots.’
It was too large even for her forefinger. ‘Did your papa give it to her?’ Frances said, holding it in the palm of her hand.
‘I think he did.’ He gave her a hug. ‘And I have something else for you, my darling, something strange and special which I want you to keep forever and then pass on to your eldest daughter in turn.’ He reached down beside his chair for a small carved box. ‘This was given to me by an old lady in the Windward Islands when I was a midshipman in the navy. She told me it would always keep me and those I love safe.’ He was about to add that she shouldn’t open it but already the lid was off and she was gazing at the contents of the box. She looked up a little quizzically. ‘What is it?’ He noticed she didn’t touch it.
‘A doll.’
‘Is this one of your fey Scots charms?’
‘If it helps to think so.’
‘And something I should not tell my husband about because he would surely disapprove.’
‘I would never ask you to lie to your husband, Frances.’
‘But better I don’t show him?’
‘Maybe.’
To his astonishment, she nodded and closed the box. ‘I will lock it in my writing desk.’ She reached over and kissed him. ‘Thank you, Papa, I know how much these things mean to you.’
That night Andrew Farquhar came back in his dreams, laughing. ‘As though I would want to harm your strait-laced daughter! Far more fun to torment you and your precious wife now you are no longer guarded by the slave woman’s toy.’
Thomas woke, sweating, aware of daylight feeling its way through the curtains. Frances’s wedding day. He would not let a phantom from his nightmares spoil it.
Harriet had seen the headlines about Fin. She picked up h
er phone and switched it on.
She listened to Ruth’s last message twice, then deleted it. She could feel her face reddening with indignation and embarrassment as she switched the mobile off again and laid it gently down on her bed. Liz and Pete had gone out for lunch and she had turned down their invitation to go with them. Now she wished she’d gone. At least that would have distracted her from the thoughts whirling round in her head.
How had she put Ruth in danger? She didn’t understand. Timothy Bradford was some sort of psychopath, that was obvious. No one was going to deny that. And he had targeted Ruth for coming between him and her father’s supposed will. Of course she was in danger, but how was that her fault? She took a deep breath and redialled Ruth’s number.
Ruth picked up at once. ‘For pity’s sake, Hattie, what are you thinking about? Have you any idea how much damage you’ve done? But of course you have or you wouldn’t have done it!’
It was a minute or two before Harriet worked out what Ruth was talking about. ‘Ruth, it wasn’t me, I swear it! I’m not even on Twitter. I promise you faithfully I would never have done such a thing. How could you think it?’
There was a moment of silence the other end of the line.
Harriet took a deep breath. ‘I rang to tell you I had only just seen the news about Fin. Is he all right? Listen,’ she rushed on. ‘I’ve decided it’s best if I go home.’ That was true and however much they denied it, Liz and Pete would probably be pleased to see the back of her. ‘As for putting your life in danger, I think Timothy is responsible for that, not me. Perhaps he’s behind these tweets. Or April.’
She ended the call, unable to hold back her tears. It was only seconds before Ruth rang back. ‘I’m sorry, Hattie,’ she said remorsefully. ‘I didn’t really believe it was you, but I couldn’t think who else. No one else knows about me and Mal. And I knew you hated him—’
‘I don’t hate him,’ Harriet interrupted. ‘A bit resentful, perhaps, but whatever they did to me, I would never try and harm someone’s reputation, I swear it. Listen, I’m going tomorrow. If you find out anything to help my chapter on Dion, let me know.’ She took a deep breath. ‘You take care of yourself, Ruthie. And let Malcolm look after you. He’s a good man, I’m sure. You have my blessing.’ She gave an unhappy laugh. ‘Bye, for now.’
She sat on the bed for several minutes after ending the call, tears pouring down her face, then she reached for the phone again. If she booked her seat on the train for next morning she wouldn’t be tempted to change her mind.
You should carry a knife.
Timothy shook his head. The persistent voice was beginning to bug him. It was mocking, singsong, like tinnitus, always there, never allowing him any peace.
He had been surveying the kitchen cupboards with some gloom. There was probably enough to keep him going for another couple of days but that was all and already he was fed up with the diet of tinned food. He knew what he had to do and he had already targeted a couple of supermarkets he felt he would be safe places to nick some stuff. He had stood and watched a guy shovelling things into a sports bag in the back of a shop once. He had zipped up the bag, sneered at Timothy and walked out, brazen as you like. It wasn’t usually that easy, he knew that, but he had no money. He had no choice.
A diver; that’s what we call the best at picking pockets, and that’s what you need to be. I made a fortune. Gold, quids, silk wipers—
‘Shut up!’ Timothy yelled.
He stamped round the kitchen, slapping his ears. ‘Leave me alone!’
He went out and bought a paper. While he was choosing it in the corner shop he pocketed two packets of sweets. It was a start.
He had almost reached the house when he saw a policeman walking towards him. He crossed the road as casually as he could and strolled past on the other side. The policeman didn’t give him a second look. He was too busy studying Number 26.
When the doorbell rang later he almost died of fright. He crept into the front room and sidled up to the window. The curtains were half drawn and he managed to peer round them in time to see a woman standing on the doorstep. He held his breath as she rang the bell again then she turned towards him and he felt a shock of sudden recognition. Under the dark glasses and weird hair, it was April.
‘You stupid idiot!’ He dragged her inside and, finger to his lips, pushed the door quietly closed behind her. ‘The police are watching the house; and the woman next door is always peering at the windows when she goes past.’ He led the way into the kitchen. ‘How did you know I would be here?’
‘It was a guess.’ She sat down at the kitchen table, dived into her bag and pulled out a crumpled newspaper. ‘So, what the hell have you been up to? You tied up Finlay Macdermott, threatened him with a knife? You are to be considered armed and dangerous?’ Her explosion terrified the daylights out of him.
‘I didn’t hurt him.’ Timothy snatched the paper away from her. ‘What a whingeing wimp he was.’
‘So, what were you planning to do with him?’ Her eyes bored into his head. ‘I leave you alone for a few hours and that is what you do!’ She took a deep breath. ‘So, what did you go there for? Did you nick anything worthwhile?’
‘No. Well, the keys to this place. Then someone came.’
‘Someone came!’ She echoed his voice nastily. ‘Ruth and Malcolm Douglas, it said so in the paper. You were disturbed and you ran away!’ The sarcasm was biting.
‘I didn’t know who it was,’ he tried to defend himself. ‘A car arrived – it might have been the police.’ He changed tack abruptly. ‘The Dump burned down. I thought you’d died in the fire.’ He heard the pathetic wobble in his own voice.
‘I torched the place when you didn’t come back. Best thing for it. I assumed you had finally grown a pair and gone off on your own.’
His eyes became flinty. ‘I did go. I hitched a lift out of here, then I worried about you. I thought you wouldn’t manage without me.’ He saw her lip curl. ‘I see you managed fine. I like the new look.’
‘Which is more than I can say about you.’
He scowled. ‘I’ve been living rough. I’ll get you to cut my hair now you’re here.’ He grinned. His relief at seeing her was only just beginning to kick in. To his immense surprise he wanted to give her a hug.
‘I’ve been staying in a hotel,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘but it uses up cash. I’ll get my stuff and move in here. I take it that it’s safe if we avoid being seen?’
While she returned to the hotel he went shopping with the cash she gave him. The cupboard was no longer bare.
It was after supper he asked her straight how much cash she had.
‘None of your business.’ She opened her laptop and went to her Twitter account.
He managed to hide his fury. ‘Well, will it buy us train tickets? We can’t stay here forever. What about Newcastle? I always fancied Newcastle.’ He stood up and stared at the screen over her shoulder. ‘It says here that Ruth has moved in with this man, Malcolm Douglas.’ He took a deep breath, astonished at the wave of jealous fury that gripped him. ‘He lives in a tower house in the Borders,’ he went on. ‘Ruth is twittering about them.’
He saw April’s shoulders tense.
‘It’s not Ruth, it’s you!’ He sniggered.
‘That’s the man we saw her with at the Mill House. Hopefully this is making Ruth squirm.’ She laughed.
But Ruth’s not going to get away that easily, is she?
That voice again. Now. With April here. Timothy rubbed his face with his fists.
April looked up. ‘Did you hear what I said?’
Timothy scowled. ‘I did. Yes. So, what do you expect me to do about it?’
‘Probably nothing. At least she’s not likely to come here if she’s cosily tucked up with him. And you’re right, we need to get away. You’ve messed up enough.’
He looked at her with dislike. So, it was back to normal. Her giving him orders, handing out just enough money to keep him in line, her, with her ugly
, humourless face, treating him like a child.
Whoa there. Not yet. We’ll get even soon enough. First you need to find Ruth.
‘You’re right,’ he told the voice in his head, ‘we have to find Ruth first.’
‘Why?’ April looked at him sharply.
‘Because otherwise she will live happily ever after and that would be unfair. Why should she have so much when we have so little?’
He wasn’t aware that he was using someone else’s words, but he did see the odd expression on his sister’s face as she looked at him.
‘It seems an unnecessary risk.’
He smiled. So, at last she had listened to something he had said. ‘It’s no more than you’ve been doing online. We could at least find out where this place is.’
That night he had the most disturbing dream. He woke sweating and aroused, not quite sure where he was. He had been in a room with several scantily clad young women. They had been touching him, crooning, plying him with drink, laughing as they beckoned him on, then running away, demanding money before they would let him grab them. He was getting more and more desperate, unable to contain himself, intoxicated by the smell of stale perfume. And then he awoke, all alone in the dark silent bedroom.