Liza (26 page)

‘
There were no lights and the boat pulled across in front of the ship,’ Liza said softly.

Iris looked up, pain and misery written on her face.
‘All these years I’ve blamed Spencer. I swore Barney was sober when he left the house and so he was, but he must have had a bottle.’

‘
No,’ Liza said firmly. ‘This doesn’t mean Barney was drunk. He wasn’t a young man. He might have had a stroke or a seizure, or just fallen when he was moving about the boat in the dark. Then the current took his boat into the path of the ship while he was unconscious.’

‘
Aye, it must have been something like that.’

Liza took the old hands, with their parchment-like skin, in hers.
‘It was an accident.’

‘
Why didn’t Spencer show this letter?’ Iris asked.

‘
I suppose by the time it reached him the inquiry was over,’ Liza suggested. ‘Then when he did get it he didn’t want to hurt you any more. William said that was why he never set the police on you.’

‘
I always wondered about that.’ Iris was silent for some minutes. When she looked up again Liza saw tears in her eyes. ‘If only I’d known. All these years I’ve cursed him and I was in the wrong. But I can make my peace with my Maker now. You’re a good little lass.’ She pulled Liza’s head to her and kissed her.

They had tea and talked. When Liza was leaving she
jokingly reminded the old lady, ‘No more barracking of the Spencers.’

Iris smiled.
‘No,’ then added, ‘unless they deserve it for another reason.’

Liza returned to the Spencer house as Elspeth Taggar
t was passing through the hall. ‘Where is Captain Morgan?’ she asked.

‘
He’s in his study, Miss Spencer.’

Will you come in with me, please? I think you should hear what I have to say.
’ The housekeeper raised her eyebrows but followed her.

In the study, Liza laid the letter on William
’s desk. ‘I found this with the other papers in Uncle Edward’s wardrobe and borrowed it to show to Iris Cruikshank.’

‘
Iris
?’ William burst out.

‘
That puir demented body. What dealings have you had with her?’ Elspeth Taggart exclaimed. And then, to William, ‘I’m sorry, sir, I know it’s not my place—’

‘
All right,’ he said, but then to Liza, grimly: ‘The question stands.’

Liza told him the whole story, ending,
‘I didn’t think you’d like me seeing her so I said nothing about it.’

He grinned wryly.
‘You’re right there. I would have feared for your skin at the hands of our Iris. So?’

‘
I tried to persuade her to stop but she wouldn’t, so today I showed her that letter.’

William spread it out on his desk and read it, then passed it to the housekeeper.
‘I never doubted Edward’s innocence but that should be proof enough for anyone.’

‘
It was for Iris,’ said Liza. ‘She’s promised not to shout accusations any more.’

‘
It must have been an awful blow for the puir woman,’ Elspeth Taggart said sorrowfully.

‘
I think it was a relief. She was fine when I left her. She looks on the whole sad affair as just an accident now.’ Liza waited, nervous and trying not to show it. Would William regard her actions as meddling, poking her nose into matters that did not concern her, usurping his authority? She had tried to do what was right and her conscience was clear, but that would be no comfort if he was angry with her.

‘
I think ... Edward would be pleased,’ he said slowly. Then, thoughtfully, ‘You seem to have a way with you, Miss Spencer. What do you say, Elspeth?’

‘
Aye. She’s a young lady of parts.’

Liza kept her face straight. Parts? Only two, and that was enough. She breathed an inward sigh of relief, then ran up the stairs to dress for dinner, singing as she went.

* * *

In William
’s study, Elspeth said, ‘I’m thinking we’ve misjudged that lassie.’

William recalled Liza
’s manners when they met on the
Wear Lass
, her thanking him on behalf of herself and the servant girl, her calm acceptance that Edward had left her nothing but the chance to learn a trade. ‘She’s a different girl from the one I first knew,’ he said.

‘
She’s grown up,’ Elspeth said sagely.

Liza thought as she sang that it was all going very well.

It was about to go very wrong.

*
* *

They met at Waterloo station, steamy and smoky, echoing to the clanking of couplings and the whistles of guards. Randolph Stevenson, owner of what had been the Calvert estate, was returning from having spent a week in Sussex with friends. Joseph Connolly was arriving in a cab.

Randolph’s porter spotted it as it drove up and bawled, ‘Here y’are, cabbie!’ He set down Randolph’s pigskin suitcase and swung down Joseph’s leather-bound portmanteau. ‘Were you wanting the boat train, sir? Southampton?’

Joseph unfolded his bony length out of the cab — he looked a little like Abraham Lincoln — and drawled,
‘You’ve got it, boy.’

Randolph, solid and florid in well-cut tweeds, hailed him.
‘Good day to you, sir. You are returning to God’s own country I presume.’

‘
Correct.’

‘
I trust you enjoyed your stay in this capital of empire?’

‘
I did indeed, ‘cept for the last twenty-four hours.’

‘
Oh? Do I take it you had an unfortunate experience?’

Joseph
’s jaw jutted. ‘Almost, but I wasn’t born yesterday. It was like this. When I returned to my room after dinner last night I was confronted by a lady. I’d talked with her and her husband two or three times but now she said he’d gone off to make a business call and left her alone. She said it was her birthday and would I open a bottle of champagne for her? I’m always ready to help a lady so I went with her into their room and opened this bottle. We both had a drink but then she began to make advances, giving me the glad eye. I was about to walk out when her husband burst in and tried to shake me down.’

‘
I beg your pardon?’ Randolph said.

‘
Blackmail me.’

‘
Good God!’

‘
Right. He said he’d sue me in the courts for assaulting his wife and she backed him up. Then he pulled a knife on me but I told
him
that I’d see him in hell before I gave him a cent and I was calling the police. And I did. But those two had cut and run before I could fetch a constable. I made a statement to a sergeant and he reckoned they’d most likely pulled this trick with other guys who’d paid up and kept quiet.’

‘
I take off my hat to you, sir.’ Randolph doffed his brown trilby. ‘You dealt rightly with the scoundrels.’

Joseph tipped his derby.
‘Right. See you in hell, I told them.’

‘
Cabbie’s waiting, sir,’ the porter urged, and pocketed Randolph’s tip. ‘Boat train leaves in five minutes, sir.’ He pushed away his barrow, which held Joseph’s portmanteau, and the American followed.

Randolph climbed into the cab, marvelling at the evils rampant in a capital city.
‘Country’s going to the dogs.’ And to the cabbie, ‘The Jefferson Hotel.’

*
* *

Cecily Spencer and Mark Calvert were already there, as Mr and Mrs Calvert. They
sat in the foyer, with its mirrored walls and potted palms. ‘We can’t go on like this,’ Mark was saying. ‘There’s your reputation to think of so we must wed.’

Cecily did not care about her reputation, but she was more
than willing to marry him. ‘I told you, we can marry this spring.’

‘
It isn’t that simple,’ Mark said testily. ‘We’ll need a place to live and a regular income from something other than a pack of cards.’

‘
I’ll have plenty of money soon.’ Cecily did not see any difficulty. So far they had spent all their time together making passionate love or resting between bouts, but this morning Mark had turned serious.

‘
I don’t want to live off you,’ he snapped. ‘If I can’t afford to marry, then—’ He stopped and Cecily held her breath in case he went on, but slowly relaxed when he did not voice the alternative. She tried to think what was best for her to do, still amazed at his probity. He was a stickler for doing the right thing, according to his lights. The longer she knew him the more he impressed her and the more she tried to live up to his opinion of her. Once — in pillow-talk — she had almost told him of how she had tried to embarrass William Morgan and Edward Spencer when they had visited her at Aunt Alexandra’s house in Hampshire. But she had held her tongue: some instinct warned her that Mark would disapprove.

And he loved her, that was more important than anything to her now.

‘
What sort of work would you like?’ It was a vague enquiry: Cecily knew nothing of the commercial world, except that her father had worked in the City of London.

Mark sighed.
‘The kind I’ve done all my life — running a big estate. I wish sometimes that I’d never had that row with Stevenson, never walked out. But that’s done now and I’m not going to crawl to him.’ He reached out to cover her slim hand with his. ‘I’ll find work. I don’t know how, but I will. I just want to do right by you.’

‘
Yes, I know,’ Cecily said softly. Then she winced. ‘Ouch!’ His fingers had tightened on hers.

He released her at once.
‘Sorry! But talk of the devil and there he is.’

‘
Who?’

‘
Stevenson. The chap I’ve just been talking about, who bought the estate.’ He pointed.

Cecily saw a stocky, red-faced man in tweeds at the desk, a hotel porter trailing behind him with a pigskin suitcase. He spoke to the receptionist, who fished a key out of one of the pigeonholes. She saw that it came from one close to that of their own room. Then he strutted off to the lift, the porter still at his heels.
‘He doesn’t look too bad to me,’ she said, soothingly.

‘
To be fair, he isn’t. I’m sure he’s a good husband and father. He just doesn’t know a damn thing about running an estate like ours. I’ll lay odds he’s making a thumping loss.’

Cecily said nothing to that, but thought a great deal and finally decided what to do, although she was still uncertain how to go about it. Then that evening, as they left their room to go down to dinner, Mark said,
‘Damn. I’ve forgotten my wallet.’ He went back into their room while Cecily waited in the thickly carpeted corridor, a stole covering her bare shoulders.

Another door opened close by and Randolph Stevenson emerged in his dinner suit. Cecily saw her chance.
‘Mr Stevenson, isn’t it?’

Surprised, he answered,
‘Why, yes, I’m Randolph Stevenson.’

Cecily gave him a wide smile.
‘I wonder if you could help me.’ She was sure that she could persuade him to talk to Mark, and then the pair would see that co-operation was to their mutual advantage.

But now Randolph was on his guard.
‘I suppose it’s your birthday,’ he snapped.

Cecily was puzzled.
‘It will be soon, as a matter of fact.’ ‘I thought so. But you won’t get away this time.’ And Randolph seized her arm.

‘
Found it, still in my other suit.’ Mark came out on to the landing and saw Randolph gripping Cecily’s wrist. ‘Stevenson! What the hell d’you think you’re doing?’ He twisted Randolph’s wrist so that he released Cecily and threw him across the corridor.

Randolph was saved by the wall at his back from falling.
‘
You
! So this is what you’ve turned to! I suppose you call yourself her husband. But I told her, you won’t get away this time!’ And he bellowed, ‘Help! Thieves! Police! Help!’

Doors opened and guests emerged in various stages of dressing for dinner — some ladies holding wraps around them, men in shirtsleeves, two armed with walking-sticks. They crowded round while Randolph bawled:
‘Tried to —to shake me down. Blackmail, sir. And revenge! I dismissed this scoundrel and now he is trying to besmirch my character and wring money out of me. He says he’s her husband, but I doubt it!’

Mark and Cecily, bewildered, could only say that his charges were untrue, that they did not know what he was talking about.

Then the hotel detective arrived, followed by the manager and a police constable. Names and addresses were taken, statements made. Mark and Cecily were taken to a police station and seen by a Sergeant Merryweather, a plain-clothes officer. His suit was wrinkled, his hair thin and gummed down in a neat quiff on his forehead. He looked at them, long-faced and doleful. ‘I’ve been expecting to catch you two before long.’ And when they stared at him, he explained, ‘I know of one job you did the other day. I’ll bet that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Do you want to tell me about the others?’