Lucetta placed her foot over the threshold as the girl seemed about to shut the door in their face. ‘I’ve come to see Miss Milton.’
‘She’s left.’
‘Then I’d like to see Miss Shannon.’
‘Have you got an appointment?’
‘No, but I used to be a pupil here.’
Reluctantly, the girl allowed them into the vestibule. ‘What name shall I say?’
‘Miss Lucetta Froy.’
‘Wait here then, and don’t touch nothing.’ The girl scuttled off into the dim recesses of the entrance hall and her footsteps echoed eerily off the high ceilings.
‘It’s very quiet,’ Mary whispered. ‘Do all the girls go home for the holidays?’
‘Some of them used to stay, particularly if their fathers were in diplomatic service or the army and lived abroad.’
‘That must have been hard for them.’
‘It was, particularly for the younger girls. My best friend’s father was a senior government official in Delhi. Serena hardly saw her parents during her school years, but she had a grandmother living in a castle in Scotland.’ Lucetta turned at the sound of approaching footsteps, but it was not the maid who came towards them, but an older woman wearing a black bombazine dress with a starched white collar and cuffs.
‘Miss Froy?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘I am Miss Shannon, the principal. How may I help you?’
Lucetta exchanged wary glances with Mary. Miss Shannon did not look like the sort of person for whom
help was a byword. She cleared her throat. ‘I was a pupil here and I wanted to see Miss Milton, but I understand that she has left.’
‘Quite so. Miss Milton took early retirement due to ill health.’
‘I’m sorry to hear it. Her illness must have been quite sudden. She always seemed to be the picture of health.’
‘Who can tell? Now if that is all, Miss Froy, I am rather busy.’
‘Miss Jones, then. Is she here?’
Miss Shannon shook her head. ‘I do not know that person. She is not in my employ.’
‘But Miss Jones was the English teacher.’
‘She may have been then, but she is not here now. I’m afraid you have had a wasted journey.’
Miss Shannon turned on her heel and began to walk away but Lucetta ran after her.
‘No, wait, please. It’s less than two years since I was here. There must be someone here who would remember me.’
‘Perhaps, although I doubt it. My teachers are all hand-picked by me, and most of Miss Milton’s staff decided they would prefer to find work elsewhere,’ Miss Shannon said, eyeing her coldly.
‘Can you tell me where I might find them? Miss Parkin, for instance. She took us for art and needlework. Then there was Miss Brown who taught music …’
‘As I said, they are no longer in my employ. Now I really must ask you to leave.’
Lucetta was desperate. ‘Serena Daubenay was my
particular friend. She was a pupil here. Could you give me her address?’
Miss Shannon stiffened. ‘It is not my policy to give information to anyone other than close relations. Good day, Miss Froy.’ She swept off with a rustle of starched petticoats, leaving a strong scent of eau de Cologne in her wake.
Lucetta turned to Mary who had been standing quietly by the door. ‘I don’t believe her, Mary. There is something very wrong here.’
‘Is it possible that your uncle could have a hand in this?’ Mary asked in a low voice. ‘Do you think he would go that far?’
‘I don’t know. I simply don’t know.’
The sound of brisk footsteps made them turn their heads, but it was just the young maidservant who approached them. She opened the door with a flourish. ‘Mistress says good day to you, ladies.’
With a last long look at the school which had been such a large part of her life, but where all knowledge of her existence seemed to have been eradicated, Lucetta stepped outside into the biting cold. She shivered as the door closed on them. ‘No one knows me, Mary. It’s as if I never existed.’
‘There must be a logical explanation,’ Mary said through chattering teeth. ‘The most important thing at the moment is to find a cab to take us home. Judging by those clouds, it’s going to snow again any moment now.’
‘Look, there’s one dropping off a fare,’ Lucetta cried, running down the stone steps and out through the
gate. She waved frantically to attract the cabby’s attention. ‘He’s seen me. Come along, Mary.’
The cab drew to a halt at the kerb. ‘Wapping High Street, please, cabby.’ Lucetta picked up her skirts and climbed inside, leaving Mary no alternative but to follow her.
‘I thought we were going home,’ Mary protested. ‘What is there at Wapping?’
‘My father’s warehouse,’ Lucetta said, closing the folding wooden doors as the cab moved forward. ‘Most of the employees have known me since I was a child. I wonder I didn’t think of it before.’
‘But your uncle owns the business now. If he has seen fit to put pressure on Miss Shannon, don’t you think he will have done the same thing to those who work for him?’
‘Perhaps, but it’s my last chance to prove my identity. Pa’s clerk, Tommy Hall, has known me all my life. He wouldn’t be afraid of Uncle Bradley. And there’s Jim Jenkins, one of the warehousemen, who was my father’s first employee. I don’t doubt his loyalty to Pa. Either or both of them will speak up for me, I’m sure of it.’
‘Tommy Hall retired a month ago, miss.’
Lucetta stared at the unfamiliar face behind the desk in the office of Henry Froy, Importers and Shippers, only now the name in gold above the door had been changed to Bradley Froy and Son. ‘Are you certain about that? I mean, Tommy didn’t seem that old to me.’
‘He was forgetting things, miss. Mislaying bills of lading and other important documents. Mr Froy had to let him go.’
‘Can you give me his home address then,’ Lucetta said urgently. ‘It’s very important.’
The clerk shook his head. ‘I believe Tommy went to live with his sister in the country, but I don’t know where. I’m sorry, miss. I can’t help you.’
Lucetta leaned over the counter. ‘Let me speak to someone else who might know where I can contact him. Pip, the office boy, knew Tommy well.’
‘Pip proved unsatisfactory, miss. He left about the same time as Tommy.’
‘Jim Jenkins then,’ Lucetta said urgently. ‘Jim has worked in the warehouse for years.’
‘I don’t know anyone of that name, miss.’
Lucetta stared at him in disbelief. ‘What is your name, sir?’
‘Perks, miss. I’ve only been here a short time. I believe everything changed after the tragedy, but you must know all about that if you’re a friend of the family.’
‘Yes, I do, which is why I’m here. Is there anyone who was here in the old days when Mr Henry Froy ran the business?’
Perks’ face lit up in a genuine smile. ‘Yes, miss. Mr Jeremiah manages the warehouse. Perhaps he could help you?’
Lucetta opened her mouth to disagree, but Mary plucked at her sleeve. ‘I don’t think this is helping, Daisy. We’d best leave.’
Lucetta glanced over her shoulder as a tall, broad-shouldered man entered from the warehouse.
‘Having trouble, Perks?’ He rolled his sleeves up, glaring at Lucetta and Mary beneath lowered brows.
‘I’m sure the young persons are about to vacate the premises, Ned,’ Perks said nervously. ‘There’ll be no need for brute force, will there, ladies?’
Lucetta realised that she had little choice. This was not the time for heroics. ‘We’re going,’ she said, taking Mary by the arm.
‘Sorry I can’t be of help, miss,’ Perks called after them.
The door slammed behind them and once again they were outside in the bitter cold. Large flakes of snow were tumbling around them like feathers from a burst mattress.
‘That proves it,’ Lucetta cried angrily. ‘Now I know that my uncle is at the back of all this. He must have sacked everyone who was loyal to my papa. I wouldn’t
be surprised if he engineered the collision that dreadful night. He is a nasty, evil man and quite ruthless.’
‘That big fellow is watching us through the window,’ Mary said nervously. ‘We’d best start walking, Daisy. I don’t fancy meeting him in a dark alley.’
Lucetta suppressed a shudder. ‘Me neither. If we walk towards the Thames Tunnel we might find a cab in the High Street. I hope we do because my boots are leaking and I can’t feel my feet.’
It was quite dark by the time they reached home. Snowflakes swirled around the street lamps, appearing to dance upwards in the yellow beams before floating softly to the ground. The rumble of the cab wheels and the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves were muffled by the thick icy carpet covering the cobblestones, and Lucetta’s booted feet crunched on the frozen surface as she and Mary made their way up the path to the front door. It opened as if by magical command.
‘I saw the cab stop outside, miss,’ Phyllis said by way of explanation. ‘I thought it might have been the master.’
‘I hope he won’t be delayed by this awful weather,’ Mary said, stepping into the light and warmth of the entrance hall. She took off her bonnet and cloak, handing them to Phyllis. ‘Is there a fire in the morning parlour?’
‘Yes, Miss Mary, and one in the drawing room too.’ Phyllis held her hand out to take Lucetta’s damp outer garments. ‘I posted your letter, miss. Although I doubt if it will get there until the snow clears. The roads
outside of London are blocked, so the post office clerk said.’
‘Yes, thank you, Phyllis.’ Mary glanced over her shoulder as she opened the parlour door. ‘We’ll take tea now if you please, and some of Cook’s seed cake would be nice.’
‘Yes, Miss Mary.’ Phyllis shot a look of silent disapproval at Lucetta as she went off to do Mary’s bidding.
‘She doesn’t approve of me,’ Lucetta said, making a face as her feet squelched inside her sodden boots. ‘And who could blame her? I turn up on your doorstep a penniless girl whom no one remembers. I’m beginning to doubt my own identity.’
‘Don’t let them upset you, Daisy.’ Mary perched on the edge of a chair close to the hearth and held her hands out to the blaze. ‘Come and sit down. It really doesn’t matter what Phyllis thinks.’
‘You see,’ Lucetta said, taking the seat opposite her, ‘even you call me by the name you gave me in hospital when I had lost my memory. It’s as if Lucetta Froy never existed.’
Mary’s eyes clouded with concern. ‘Don’t talk like that, Dais— I mean, Lucetta. I’m so sorry. I won’t call you Daisy if it upsets you.’
‘No, it’s I who should apologise.’ Lucetta tugged off her sodden boots, stretching her chilled feet out towards the fire. ‘You have been kindness itself. I don’t know what I would have done if you had not taken me in.’
Mary reached across to pat her hand. ‘You’ll feel better when you’re warm and dry and have had
something to eat. I had quite forgotten about food but we missed luncheon and I for one am extremely hungry.’
‘I was so convinced that Miss Milton would be there,’ Lucetta murmured. ‘I can’t believe that she retired of her own free will and the same goes for Tommy Hall and Jim Jenkins; in fact all the men who were in my father’s employ. None of them would have left willingly.’
Mary opened her mouth as if to reply, but she closed it again, angling her head to listen. She leapt to her feet and ran to the window. ‘I thought I heard the sound of horses’ hooves. It’s Papa. Thank goodness, he’s home safely.’ She crossed the room to open the door, almost bumping into Phyllis who was balancing a tray on her knee whilst attempting to let herself into the room.
Mary took the tray from her. ‘The master has arrived, Phyllis. I’ll take this; you go and let him in and bring another cup and saucer.’ She set the tray down on a side table. ‘Now you’ll meet my pa, Lucetta. He’ll know what to do for the best.’ With a happy smile wreathing her face, Mary hurried out to meet her father.
Lucetta visualised the scene with a lump in her throat, for hadn’t she greeted her own father with just as much enthusiasm on so many occasions in the past when he had returned from one of his trips abroad? His clothes had borne the inevitable travel stains and had smelt of steam engines, leather squabs and stale tobacco, but in his pockets he had concealed small packages containing little gifts for her: necklaces made
from exotic seashells, fans painted with foreign flowers and ladies in brightly coloured kimonos, or tiny wooden or ivory carvings of animals and fishes. She had kept them all in a box beneath her bed. She wondered who slept in her old room now and if they had found her treasures.
The door opened and she stood up, attempting to conceal her bare feet beneath the damp hem of her dress as Mary entered the room followed by a tall, distinguished-looking gentleman who came towards her holding out his hand. ‘How do you do, Miss Froy. As you must have guessed, I am Hector Hastings, Mary’s father.’
‘Sir Hector,’ Lucetta said, bobbing a curtsey. ‘I hope you don’t mind …’
He silenced her with a wave of his hand. ‘My dear, I don’t in the least. Mary has given me a brief outline of your story, and I look forward to hearing the rest from you, but only after I have had time to enjoy a cup of tea and a slice of Cook’s seed cake.’ He sat down in the wingback chair close to the fire, accepting a cup of tea from Mary with a grateful smile. ‘Thank you, my dear. I can’t tell you how relieved I am to be home. The journey from Dorset seemed interminable and several times I thought we would be stuck in a snowdrift or that the carriage would slide off the road and I would have to spend an uncomfortable night in a hedge.’ He took a sip of tea. ‘Excellent. Now, Miss Froy, please tell me your story from the beginning.’
Lucetta swallowed a mouthful of seed cake. Mary had been right; it was delicious and the tea had
refreshed her flagging spirits. Sir Hector might be an important politician but he was not the unapproachable martinet that she had imagined him to be, quite the contrary. He was a man in his middle years, not handsome, but good-looking in an intellectual way with a high forehead and piercing blue eyes that sparkled with a youthful zest for life. She found it quite easy to tell him everything, from the events leading up to the tragic sinking of the
Caroline
to the humiliation of being evicted from her papa’s former office in Wapping High Street.
Mary refilled her father’s cup. ‘It would appear that Mr Bradley Froy is at the bottom of all this, Father.’