The Return of the Gypsy (64 page)

Uncle Peter was very busy. He was on several committees and we hardly saw him during those days. He would be very occupied on the great day.

The Cresswells had a town house in St. James’s Street through which the procession would be passing and I, with Helena and Peterkin, were invited to join a party which would be watching from the windows.

What an impressive sight! The bells were ringing all over London. I was deeply moved as I watched the procession. So many foreign dignitaries had come to take part in it and prominent among them were the Queen’s German relations. Oddly enough, Marshal Soult, our enemy of not long ago, represented France. I was amazed at what a tumultuous welcome the people gave him. But most moving of all was the sight of the little Queen looking so young—almost a child—in her robes of crimson velvet and gold lace, with a diamond circlet on her head.

I did not see her return from the Abbey but I could picture her riding back through the streets to Buckingham Palace in the robes of state, carrying the orb and sceptre.

After the ceremony we went back to the house in the square accompanied by Joe. There was a cold supper and after that several of us went to watch the fireworks in the Park.

It was a day of great rejoicing.

I was so glad that I had remained in London for such an occasion and was sorry that my parents had missed it. When they came it would mean that we should be leaving soon for Cornwall; and that was something I was not really looking forward to for I had become so caught up in Helena’s affairs. I wanted to see her officially engaged; moreover I was interested in the Cresswell family—especially Joe. My friendship for him was growing fast.

Helena was very excited because she was going to one of the State balls which were being given in honour of the coronation.

“I’m sorry you can’t come, Annora,” she said.

I smiled. Not long ago she would have been congratulating me because I did not have to go.

She had a new rose pink dress and she looked prettier than I had ever seen her look before. It was not so much rose pink which suited her as happiness.

I watched her set off with her parents and Peterkin. I knew that John Milward would be at the ball. I hoped he would soon speak to his father. The long wait seemed to me to be a little ominous. I supposed it all depended on how much they needed money and whether Helena’s father was rich enough to supply a settlement which would be satisfactory to them. Yes, indeed, it was quite a sordid transaction or would have been except for the love of the two central characters.

Joe called with his sister Frances. I was delighted to see them.

“I thought you would have gone to the ball,” I said to Joe.

“My parents are there. They’ll represent the family. It wasn’t exactly a royal command tonight.”

Frances said she had no time for such occasions. She was in London to see if she could get a firm of tailors to pay their buttonhole-makers more money.

“I thought with all this euphoria about the new reign and coronation they might be in a generous mood.”

“And are they?” asked Joe.

“Not a bit of it. I’ll probably have to resort to threats. Expose them in the press or something like that.”

“You will see that my sister is a very militant lady,” said Joe to me.

“You are coming to see us one day, aren’t you?” she asked.

“I am planning to bring her along next week,” Joe told her.

“Oh good. Bring Peterkin. He shows real interest. This is a lovely house, isn’t it? Such large rooms. Just what I need.”

Joe said to me: “Frances is looking for new premises.”

“We’re very cramped. If I had another house …”

“What about the money?” asked Joe.

“Father is very generous. I could get him to make a subscription and lobby some of the M.P.s. Many of them declare their concern for the poor. But their sympathy does not always go deep enough to reach their pockets.”

“I expect your father has been very helpful,” I said.

“We couldn’t have got very far without him. How many rooms are there in this house?”

“You couldn’t afford anything like this,” cried Joe.

“Not in this neighbourhood—but it wouldn’t be much use here anyway. I’m interested in all houses at the moment.”

“Would you like to see over this one?”

“I’d love that,” said Frances.

So I showed them the house. She said: “What I could do with this!”

We had come to the very top. There was one room which was reached by a short staircase.

“What’s up there?” asked Frances.

“That’s my uncle’s study. It’s out of bounds. No one is allowed up there. Only my Aunt Amaryllis goes in to clean it.”

“She cleans it!”

“Yes. He won’t allow anyone else to go in. He says servants disturb things. Only Aunt Amaryllis is allowed in. She goes twice a week to clean it.”

“How very odd! There must be something very important up there.”

“Oh, it is only his files and papers and things. It’s always kept locked. Along here are the attics … the servants’ quarters.”

We went downstairs and were soon talking of the coronation and what difference a new queen would make to the country.

I was awake when Helena came in from the ball.

I sat up in bed and looked at her. She was positively radiant.

“Well,” I said.

“Everything was wonderful. The Duke and Duchess were there. They received me most graciously. Papa and Mama were with them. They are all delighted. It’s all right, Annora. It’s settled. I’m officially engaged to John. It will be announced in the papers in a day or so. I think there’ll be an early wedding. It was hinted that there would be … as soon as all the settlements and things have been arranged. Annora, you must stay for my wedding.”

“How exciting! It is like a fairy story.”

“The ugly duckling who turned into a swan.”

“No, the princess who didn’t know how beautiful she was until her lover came and told her so.”

“Oh. Annora, you say the nicest things. I’m glad you’re here. You’ve brought me luck.”

“What rubbish! You brought it all on yourself … you and your John. Now there is only one thing for you to do.”

“What’s that?”

“Live happy ever after.”

“I shall never get to sleep tonight. I don’t want to. I just want to lie here thinking about it.”

There was not much sleep for me either. I lay there listening to her telling it again … the arrival, the gracious reception from the Duke and Duchess, and everyone showing approval of the most wonderful match that ever was.

I did not get to see Frances Cresswell’s Mission then because the blow fell before that could be arranged.

It was two days after the coronation ball. When I went down to breakfast Amaryllis was there with Peterkin. They were absorbed in the morning papers.

“I wonder who it can possibly be,” Aunt Amaryllis was saying.

“It says a prominent and highly respected politician.”

“I daresay his name will soon be revealed.”

“They’ll withhold it for a while to make it more tantalising. I wonder if Papa has any idea.”

“He wouldn’t know anything about a man like that.”

“What is it all about?” I asked.

Peterkin, who was helping himself from the sideboard at that moment, said: “A real scandal. Someone is in deep trouble. What are you having, Annora? This ham is good.”

“Thanks,” I said.

He set a plate before me.

“The papers are full of it. It happened last night. This fellow has been caught with a woman of a very dubious reputation. There was a brawl in her room and another fellow … he said he was her husband … attacked him. The police were called and they were all arrested.”

“Who could it be?”

“We shall know in time.”

“I hate this sort of thing,” said Aunt Amaryllis. “It’s so bad for everyone.”

“I daresay the man in the case hates it more than you do, Mama,” said Peterkin.

“It will distress your father. It must be someone he knows of … for it says a well-known politician.”

“The seamy side of life shows itself sometime,” said Peterkin. “By the way, Annora, what about Wednesday for our trip to Frances’s Mission?”

“That will suit me very well.”

It was later in the day when the papers revealed the name of the man about whom, by this time, everyone was talking.

I heard the paper boys calling out in the streets and ran downstairs to hear what they were saying. One of the servants was already there. He was carrying a paper and his eyes looked as though they were ready to pop out of his head.

“What is it?” I cried.

“They’ve named him, miss. Would you believe it …”

“Who? Who?” I demanded.

“It’s Mr. Joseph Cresswell.”

I could not believe it. It could not possibly be true. There must be a mistake.

Aunt Amaryllis was very upset. She kept saying: “It’s a misprint. They have the wrong name. Not that nice, kind, clever Mr. Cresswell. It must be another Cresswell.”

We were all sure there must have been some mistake, and were waiting for Uncle Peter to come in and hear what his reactions were. When he arrived we all clustered round him.

He looked shaken. He reiterated what we had all said. It must be a mistake. It could not be true.

“How could they have got hold of his name?” asked Peterkin.

“The only thing I can think of is that the real culprit gave a false name. The first one he thought of was Joseph Cresswell. After all his name is well known to the public.”

Aunt Amaryllis breathed a sigh of relief. “Of course that’s the answer. Trust you to put your finger right on it, Peter.”

“I
hope
that’s the case,” said Uncle Peter. “But it has already done him a lot of harm.”

“But if it is proved that his name has been falsely given people will regard him more highly because he has been wronged,” I suggested.

“My dear,” said Uncle Peter, “it is only conjecture on my part.”

But it did not turn out like that. The man who had taken part in what the papers called “The Brothel Brawl” was indeed Joseph Cresswell. His story was that his carriage had knocked down a young woman in Panton Street. He had alighted to make sure she was all right and as she had appeared to be shaken he had taken her to her home. It was true that he went into her room but was not there for more than a few minutes when a man burst in and accused them of immoral conduct.

I believed the story. It seemed perfectly plausible to me. If the vehicle in which he was riding had knocked her down he would consider it only courteous to take her home. I could well imagine how it happened. Of course he took her in to make sure she was suffering from no ill effects.

What a terrible situation for him!

Chloe Kitt was the young woman; she was known to be a prostitute; she had an apartment next door to a men’s club of a not very savoury reputation; and the rooms were let out by the club usually to women of easy virtue.

The man who had burst in on them was not Chloe’s husband, only, as she said, an intimate friend.

It seemed likely that blackmail might have been the original object. It was not, after all, such an extraordinary situation. What made it so unusual, of such immense interest, was the fact that a well-known politician was involved.

The charge was breaking the peace and was to come before the magistrate’s court.

“He was a fool,” said Uncle Peter, “to go home with a girl like that.”

“He wouldn’t have seen any harm in it,” replied Aunt Amaryllis. “He was concerned because it was the carriage he was riding in which knocked her down. That was obviously why he went home with her.”

“It’s unfortunate. No matter what the outcome of all this there are going to be many who think the worst and it
is
worse because Joseph Cresswell has set himself up as a defender of virtue. The chairmanship of this committee … well, it is about the abolition of vice.”

“It certainly won’t go to him now,” said Peterkin.

“Hardly likely to, I should think,” agreed Uncle Peter.

“Then you …” began Aunt Amaryllis.

“Oh, my dear, don’t let’s talk about that now. This is a tragedy for Cresswell. I’d have given a lot for it not to have happened. I wouldn’t want to walk over him in such circumstances.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” said Aunt Amaryllis. “I’m sorry I mentioned it. But the thought came to me. I do understand. It is just how you would feel.”

He took her hand and patted it. “I know, my dear. But this is just not the time.”

“It’ll make all the difference to Joe, I expect,” said Peterkin. “I doubt whether he’ll be selected as a candidate for that by-election which is coming up. It’ll be a tragedy for the whole family unless it can be proved to be a fabrication by this Chloe. Why should she …?”

“Probably meant blackmail,” said Uncle Peter. “And they played it wrongly. They didn’t think the police would come.”

“Oh dear!” sighed Aunt Amaryllis. “How wicked some people can be! I am so sad for that nice Mrs. Cresswell … and all the family.”

I kept thinking of them as I had seen them during that happy week-end, and I too felt very sad. I wondered what effect it would have on Joe.

Peterkin said to me: “Let’s go and see Joe. I want them to know that I, for one, believe Mr. Cresswell is telling the truth.”

I was glad, for I wanted to do just that.

We walked to the house in St. James’s Street and on the way we passed several newsvendors.

“All about it,” shouted one. “Read about Chloe’s lovers,” called another.

I said: “They go on and on about it.”

“That’s how they are. If it had not been a well-known person we should have heard nothing about it.”

The blinds were drawn at the windows of the house. We went through the gate and mounted the steps past the two stone lions who stood like sentinels on either side of the door.

Several people stopped to look at us, wondering, I supposed, who we were to call at this house of shame.

The door was eventually opened by a maid who first of all peered at us through the door’s glass panel.

Peterkin said: “Good morning. Is Mr. Joe Cresswell at home?”

“No sir. None of the family’s here.”