Читать книгу The Complete Ravenscar Trilogy: The Ravenscar Dynasty, Heirs of Ravenscar, Being Elizabeth - Barbara Taylor Bradford - Страница 48
ОглавлениеAll the lights were blazing when Amos Finnister finally arrived at Haddon House, and they were a most welcome sight, gladdened his heart. Lifting the brass knocker, he banged it several times, and within a couple of seconds the door was opened.
To his utter surprise he stood staring at the familiar and lovely face of Will Hasling’s sister, Mrs Vicky Forth. She was looking as surprised as he was himself.
‘Goodness gracious, it’s you, Mr Finnister!’ she gasped, then immediately added, ‘Do please come in, won’t you?’
‘Evening, Mrs Forth,’ he replied at once, stepping into the vestibule. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here, ma’am, and especially in the evening.’
‘I’m helping Lady Fenella two days a week,’ Vicky explained, ‘and my presence here this evening is rather unusual, Mr Finnister. There was an emergency, you see, and Lady Fenella asked me to come in to help her deal with it. But please, let us not stand here in the chilly foyer. Come into the great room where there’s a fire.’ Peering at the sleeping boy with immense curiosity, she then asked, ‘And who is this little fellow?’
‘I found him out on the streets, Mrs Forth,’ Amos answered as together they walked into the large main room where there were several big sofas, plenty of comfortable chairs, as well as a long trestle table covered with a white cloth. ‘He was hiding in a cart,’ Amos explained and quickly filled her in as they made their way over to the fireplace.
The lamplight, the sudden warmth and the voices caused the boy to stir in Amos’s arms, and he suddenly awakened, began to struggle at once. ‘Steady on, laddie,’ Amos murmured and placed the boy on the floor. Again he seemed a little unsteady on his feet for a second, and then he looked up at Amos, appearing afraid. He was shivering excessively.
‘Are you cold, lad?’
The boy nodded.
‘Come on then, let’s get you settled here by the fire for a little bit. And then I’ll get you that nice glass of milk I promised you.’
The boy clung to Amos’s hand as they moved towards the roaring fire. ‘Sit here, laddie.’ The boy hesitated in front of the chair; Amos lifted him up and plopped him down in it.
‘You’ll soon feel much warmer,’ he murmured, and hurried over to Vicky who was hovering near the trestle table, waiting for him. ‘Could we get him something to drink, Mrs Forth? Perhaps water, if you can’t spare the milk, although I did promise the little mite a glass of milk.’
‘Of course he can have some milk, but do you think he might like a cup of cocoa? Children do love it, and certainly it would warm him up.’
‘Oh, what a grand idea, it is indeed! Thank you.’
‘I’ll go and tell Mrs Barnes to make a jug of cocoa for all of us. You look as if you could use a hot drink yourself. Back in a moment, Mr Finnister.’
Vicky Forth was as good as her word; she returned at once and informed Amos that the cocoa would be made within minutes. ‘Now, please tell me more about the boy.’
‘I’ve told you most of what I know, Mrs Forth. He said he’d been kicked out by the man who had killed his mother, but, of course, we don’t know if that’s true, the bit about the man killing her. However, I do have a strong feeling that his mother really is dead. He said something about her being in Potters Field.’
‘Then I agree with you. She probably passed away and the boy could easily have been unwanted after she was gone. Perhaps he was sent into the streets, if the man they were living with was not his father. You told me he said he had no name.’
‘That’s right. Well, he did give me a name of sorts, but I couldn’t possibly repeat it to a lady like you, Mrs Forth.’
Vicky smiled at him. ‘Oh you can, Mr Finnister, believe me you certainly can repeat it. You’d be surprised what I’ve heard around here. Then again, you might not be. After all, you were once a policeman in these parts, so my brother told me.’
‘Indeed I was, ma’am, and I do know the area well. My father brought me here quite a lot when I was a boy.’ He sighed, and lowering his voice, he muttered, ‘He said his name was Liddle Bugger.’
‘How awful for the child,’ Vicky shook her head. ‘It staggers the imagination what some people do, the way they wilfully hurt innocent children, harm them in the worst possible way.’ She paused, looked toward the kitchen door. ‘Ah, here comes Mrs Barnes with the cocoa.’
Mrs Barnes nodded and smiled when she saw Amos. Crossing to the long table she placed the tray with the jug and cups on it, and hurried off in the direction of the kitchen, intent on her business. A volunteer, this was her night to look after the food.
‘Thank you, Vanessa,’ Vicky called after her. At the table she poured cocoa into the three cups. ‘Come along, here’s a cup for you, Mr Finnister,’ she said and carried a second cup over to the boy, who was curled up in the large armchair.
He raised his head when he saw her, and instantly cowered in a corner of the chair. But then, as he suddenly focused on her properly, his eyes widened and he sat up a little straighter, staring at her intently.
‘Hello, little boy,’ Vicky said to him, offering the cup. ‘Don’t be afraid. Look, I’ve brought you a cup of warm cocoa: it’s lovely, it tastes of chocolate. I know you’ll enjoy it.’ As she spoke he listened most attentively, and his eyes did not leave her face.
Standing in front of the armchair, Vicky leaned toward him, again offering the cup of cocoa. Unexpectedly, with a jerky movement, the boy reached out and touched her hair, then drew back swiftly.
Vicky simply smiled at him, and handed him the cup. For once he let go of the cloth bag he was clutching to him and took the cup from her. His eyes were still wide, the look of surprise lingering on his small face.
She, too, was surprised; in fact, the child had startled her when he had reached out in the way he had. She had almost pulled back, but managed, somehow, to remain perfectly still when he had touched her hair.
She noticed he was not drinking the cocoa; his eyes were fixed on her face; he appeared to be mesmerized by her.
Vicky said softly, ‘Have a sip of the cocoa. It’s very good. I’m going to have a cup myself.’
The boy finally nodded, did as she said.
Amos had been watching Vicky with the boy, and now he came over to join her by the fireside, bringing the two cups with him. ‘Here you are, Mrs Forth,’ he murmured, handing her a cup. ‘Ah, I see you’re enjoying it, laddie. That’s good.’
The boy looked at Amos and nodded, then he said in a low mumble, ‘Mam…like Mam.’
Frowning, Amos glanced at Vicky.
She said, ‘I think he’s referring to his mother when he says Mam. It’s Yorkshire. I suppose he might be suggesting I look like her.’
Amos raised a brow, then glanced at the boy, who was now drinking down the cocoa and no longer paying attention to them.
There was the sound of footsteps and as Amos peered across the room he saw Lady Fenella, and, much to his surprise, Chief Inspector Mark Ledbetter of Scotland Yard.
The two of them walked into the great room, and when Mark Ledbetter spotted Amos his face lit up. As he came to a stop he stuck out his hand, and exclaimed, ‘How nice to see you, Finnister.’ He looked pleased, was smiling broadly.
‘Evening, Chief,’ Amos replied shaking his hand, and then he turned swiftly to Fenella Fayne. ‘Good evening, Lady Fenella.’
‘Amos, what a pleasant surprise! It’s been a few weeks since you popped in, I’ve missed seeing you. Those clothes were most welcome, as I told you at the time. It was exceedingly generous of you and your wife, and I do hope you received my letter of thanks.’
‘We did indeed, your ladyship. We admire your work, try to help when we can.’
Fenella nodded, and then quickly glanced at the child with the cup in his hand. ‘And who is our young guest?’ she asked, curious.
Vicky said softly, ‘Mr Finnister found him in the streets, Fenella. He seems to have been thrown out of wherever he was living. He had taken refuge in a cart.’
‘A cart!’ Fenella cried, her eyes startled. She was aghast. ‘How horrendous!’
Vicky nodded, and explained, ‘Perhaps it would be better if Mr Finnister filled you in. Don’t you agree with me, Mr Finnister?’
‘Happy to oblige, ma’am.’ Amos drew Lady Fenella and the Chief Inspector to one side of the room, and rapidly told them everything that had happened that evening, from the moment he had gone into the cul-de-sac with the meat pies until this exact moment.
They both listened attentively, and Amos finally finished, ‘I didn’t know what to do with him, Lady Fenella, and then I thought of you and Haddon House. He can stay here tonight, can’t he? Poor little lad, he seems worn out, exhausted I think, and he was starving. Very hungry and thirsty, and cold.’
‘Of course he can stay here tonight, Amos. Where else but here? However, I do think we have to take him into the scullery and give him a bath at once. Don’t you agree?’
‘Oh yes, indeed, I do, Lady Fenella. He does need a bit of soap and water to make him…palatable, no two ways about that.’
At first the boy was reluctant to leave the armchair, but eventually Vicky was able to coax him out of it. Even so, he did not want to leave Amos, who finally had to accompany the two women to the scullery. The boy held onto his hand tightly, looking frightened again.
Vanessa Barnes was standing at the big deal table in the kitchen, cutting up meat and vegetables which she kept putting in the bubbling pot of beef soup on the stove. The boy’s nose visibly twitched as they passed by the large black iron oven that also warmed the room. His steps faltered, as if he wanted to stop and eat. The adults noticed this and glances were exchanged but nothing was said. Once they reached the scullery door, Amos got down on his haunches and said to the boy, ‘Now listen to me, laddie, I shall be right here in the kitchen with the lady who is making the soup. I won’t go away. I’ll wait for you, I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.’
The boy looked up at Amos, and nodded. ‘Awright,’ he muttered, and allowed himself to be led into the scullery by Vicky.
This was quite a large room, and was used for washing clothes, for the ironing, and for baths for the abused or destitute women taking refuge at Haddon House. It had a stone floor and one window; there were tall cupboards ranged around the room for linen and supplies, and in one corner a large set-pot where the washing was done. The fire underneath the set-pot was always burning in the grate; tonight it crackled and spurted, and as usual kept the room warm as well as the water heated.
Fenella glanced across at the set-pot and said, ‘I know that Vanessa filled it up with water earlier, so there will be plenty for his bath.’
Vicky nodded and went to the end wall where a small zinc bathtub hung on a metal hook on the wall. ‘I think this is the best size to use, don’t you?’
‘I do. I’ll get soap and some disinfectant, Vicky. His hair especially will need a lot of attention—for the usual problem.’
Within a few minutes the two women were taking jugsful of hot water from the set-pot and filling the bathtub on the floor in the middle of the room. ‘Come along,’ Vicky said to the boy. ‘You have to have a bath now.’
The boy remained standing near the door, a fierce look on his face.
She went on, with a warm smile, ‘We must wash all the dirt away.’ She smiled again and beckoned to the child.
He remained stock still, clutching his cloth bag next to his little body. He was totally mute.
Finally, Vicky said to Fenella, ‘I’d better start undressing him.’ Walking over to the boy, she knelt down in front of him. ‘We’re not going to hurt you, child,’ she reassured him in a gentle voice. ‘We only wish to make you clean.’
Once again he seemed mesmerized by her, stared into her eyes, and taking advantage of his momentary distraction she whipped the big flat cap off his head before he had a chance to stop her or fight her.
The boy gasped, and so did Vicky and Fenella.
Masses of red curls were tied up in bunches all over his head.
The child began to tremble and hugged the bag tighter. Tears came, slid down the dirt-covered cheeks, making little channels.
Vicky and Fenella exchanged glances, and Vicky asked quietly, ‘Are you a little girl?’
At first the child did not answer and then after a long moment there was a nod. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, her voice barely audible.
The two women were stunned momentarily, and Fenella came over and knelt down next to Vicky. ‘Do you have a name, little girl?’ she asked, observing her acutely.
The girl shook her head.
‘Will you help us? Will you let us undress you so we can wash your beautiful auburn hair, and also bathe you? We want to make you clean and pretty.’
The child nodded, put the cloth bag on the floor and stood on one end of it with both feet. Then she began to untie the filthy muffler around her neck. Vicky helped her to take off the torn jacket, the grubby shirt underneath, and, finally, the old boots were removed. The trousers came off next, but with some difficulty since one foot had to remain on the bag at all times.
Once the little girl was stripped naked, Vicky led her over to the tin bath in the middle of the floor.
Fenella said to her softly, not wanting to frighten the girl, ‘I’m afraid I will have to take that bag from you, but only whilst you are having your bath. Otherwise it will get wet.’
The child shook her head frantically, clung to the bag.
Pointing to the large hook where the bath had been hanging, Fenella said, ‘I shall put it over there on that hook, where you can see it. And you can have it back when you’ve been washed.’
‘Naw!’ the girl cried. ‘It’s me fings.’
She was looking at Fenella, and once again Vicky acted swiftly. She snatched the bag away from the girl in one deft movement. The child instantly cried out.
Vicky placated her, ‘Don’t cry. I’m not taking your things.’
She hurried across the floor and put the bag on the hook. ‘There! You can see it all the time. Now, get into the bath, please.’
Vicky’s sudden rather firm and commanding voice seemed to have the desired effect. The little girl stepped into the bath and sat down with a splash. Vicky rolled up the sleeves of her blouse, leaned over the girl and began to untie the bits of dirty string. Within minutes, a cascade of auburn hair hung around the girl’s face.
Taking a face cloth, Vicky dipped it in the water and began to wash the girl’s face, removing the dirt. Then she tackled her body, asking the girl to stand up in the tub to ease the process. She did so, and Vicky washed her thoroughly. As she did this she noticed a few old bruises on the girl’s body, but they might easily have been caused by sleeping rough in the streets. They did not look serious. The child was thin, but not emaciated, and much smaller than she had appeared when dressed. Vicky realized that the clothes had all been too big for her, and they were a boy’s clothes, not a girl’s.
Once all the dirt had been washed away, Vicky told the child to sit down in the bath again, and she obediently did as she was told. Vicky, peering at the girl’s head, muttered, ‘I’m going to need the disinfectant, please, Fenella.’
A moment later Fenella brought a bottle of disinfectant and a large jar of soft liquefied soap, then went to get a comb and towels.
‘Cover your face with your hands, please,’ Vicky said to the girl, who did so. Vicky explained, ‘I’m about to wash your hair and I don’t want you to get soap in your eyes.’
At the end of an hour the most beautiful child stood before them dressed in a white flannel nightgown. Her hair had been towelled hard and was almost dry as Vicky brushed it, marvelling at it as she did so. It was a wonderful golden-red, and fell in curls and waves around her lovely face. The other remarkable thing about her was the colour of her eyes. They were an unusual deep blue, almost the shade of cornflowers.
Although Amos had been taken aback to see Mark Ledbetter at Haddon House, his surprise was mostly due to the hour more than anything else. Usually Lady Fenella had gone home by this time, but as Vicky Forth had said, they were there tonight because of an emergency. And perhaps this was the reason Ledbetter was present as well. But not necessarily.
Amos was well aware that the Chief Inspector knew Lady Fenella and her spinster aunt, Lady Philomena Howell. Ledbetter’s mother was a close friend of Lady Philomena’s; the two women had come out together as debutantes years ago.
He had always liked Mark Ledbetter, had known him for over seventeen years, actually since Ledbetter had started at Scotland Yard. At twenty-two he had been a dashing young aspiring detective, Amos a copper on the beat. They had met in the East End on a strange murder case, and had always got on well since that time.
Mark, who had gone into Fenella’s office, returned to the great room carrying two cups. He was a tall, slender, pleasant looking man, with dark wavy hair and warm brown eyes and at thirty-nine, fit and athletic. With a brilliant mind, superior intelligence and dedication to work, he had quickly moved up the ladder at the Yard.
Amos studied him as he strode over to the fireplace, asking himself yet again why a man with Mark’s looks, Cambridge education, aristocratic forebears and a wealthy mother would want to be a policeman. He had once asked Mark that question and the younger man had answered that he wanted to help people in despair. Perhaps that philosophy explained his interest in Haddon House, and the support he gave it.
As he came to a standstill Mark said to Amos, with a grin, ‘I’ve just stolen some of Lady Fenella’s brandy, but I’m perfectly certain she won’t mind.’ As he handed the cup to Amos and sat down in the other leather armchair, he added, ‘She keeps a bottle in her office…for medicinal purposes or emergencies. I need this tonight, and I’m sure you do, too.’
With a nod, Amos took the cup. ‘I do. Thank you, and good health, Chief.’ Amos took a swallow of the brandy, felt its warmth immediately.
‘Cheers,’ Ledbetter murmured and tasted the cognac himself, then sat for a moment, looked down into the cup, his expression thoughtful.
After a moment, Amos cleared his throat and asked in a quiet tone, ‘What was the emergency here tonight? If you don’t mind me asking, Chief? Obviously something serious to bring you here.’
Mark glanced at Amos and pressed his lips together for a moment. ‘I’m here by chance, actually. I was at a meeting with Lady Fenella and Hugh Codrill, the barrister. We were discussing ways to improve Haddon House, raise additional funds. Codrill had come along at my request, just to help…well, kick a few ideas around, to be honest.’
Mark paused, took a drink, went on, ‘We were still at her house on Curzon Street when she received a telephone call from Mrs Barnes, who was here doing the cooking. Anyway, to continue. A local woman had been brought in by two other women…neighbours. The woman was badly battered around the face, and appeared to be almost unconscious. The nurse on duty at the time was Clara Foggarty, and she was baffled and worried. She thought the woman might have concussion, and asked Mrs Barnes to contact Lady Fenella. I came along because I was worried.’
‘And where is the poor woman now? Here? Or at the hospital?’
‘Oh, at the hospital, of course. I immediately sent for an ambulance, and they took her away at once. I was pretty certain that there was concussion. We were just about to leave here and go home when you arrived with the little chap.’ Mark shook his head, a sorrowful look sliding onto his face. ‘I wish there was more we could do for these destitute boys living on the streets. Despite all the wonderful work done by Dr Barnardo’s and others, there are plenty of them out there still. Too numerous to count.’
‘I know that, sir. I used to think mudlarks and urchins and all the little street thieves had disappeared finally, been rehabilitated. But I’m not so sure. I can’t help thinking it’s as bad now as it was when Charles Dickens was writing about them.’
‘That wasn’t so long ago, you know—’ Mark stopped abruptly, and his expression changed. He looked across the room towards the kitchen door, bafflement flooding his face.
Amos followed the direction of his gaze, his eyes widening in amazement as he stared at Lady Fenella and Mrs Worth. Both were ushering a little girl into the room. A beautiful girl at that, with amazing golden-red hair. Oh, my God. The girl was clutching the cloth bag. It couldn’t be…she wasn’t the boy, was she? It wasn’t possible.
Almost as if she had read his mind, Vicky said, ‘Look what emerged from underneath all the dirt and grime, Mr Finnister. This lovely girl who had been wearing a boy’s clothes—a disguise. From what she told me, her mother dressed her like that most of the time. More than likely to protect her, I should think.’
Jumping up, smiling hugely, Amos came across the floor, stood in front of the two women and the child. He reached out, touched the child’s glorious red hair, and murmured, ‘Will you tell me your name now, little one?’
‘Mam…she call me her liddle rosebud,’ the girl answered, gazing up at him through her brilliant blue eyes. Her face was serious, her eyes suddenly sad.
‘That’s a pretty name indeed,’ Amos answered, smiling at her, then lifting his head, looking at Vicky, he raised a brow questioningly.
Vicky bent down to the child’s level. ‘But that isn’t your real name, is it?’
‘Dunno…’ The child’s voice trailed off and she looked bewildered.
Vicky noticed that the girl’s hands had tightened on the bag and she wondered what was inside. Possibly information they needed, something which might explain who she was. How to get the bag away from her? It was an impossible task.
Fenella now knelt down in front of the girl, and said slowly, ‘I am Fenella. And this,’ she glanced up at Vicky, ‘is Vicky. And the gentleman who found you is Amos. Over there is Mark. And you are…who? Tell me your name so we can call you by it.’
The little girl shook her head and then addressed Vicky, ‘Rosebud…Mam say.’
Vicky smiled at her and knelt down on the floor next to Fenella, gazed at the child through eyes that were warm and tender. ‘All right then, that will be your name. We shall call you Rose. Do you like that?’
The child nodded. A faint smile flicked and was gone.
Vicky reached for the bag, saying, as she did, ‘Let me lock this up for you, to keep it safe.’
‘Naw! Naw!’ the girl cried and clutched it even tighter.
‘That’s all right, don’t cry,’ Vicky murmured, ‘come, let us go and have another cup of cocoa.’
An hour later, after the little girl had been put to bed, still clutching the cloth bag, Fenella and Vicky sat with Mark and Amos discussing the situation.
‘We cannot put that lovely little girl into an orphanage,’ Vicky announced at one moment, shaking her head. ‘I won’t allow it. She’s far too beautiful and vulnerable. Something bad will happen to her. I feel it in my bones.’
There was a moment’s silence, and then Fenella exclaimed, ‘She must stay here. There’s no real reason why she can’t, you know. Perhaps you can make some discreet inquiries in the area, Amos? Find out whether a little girl has gone missing.’
‘I will, Lady Fenella, but I doubt very much that anyone will claim her. I think she told the truth when she said her mother was dead and that she had been tossed out onto the street. If only we had a name—’ Amos’s voice trailed off and he shrugged helplessly.
‘If only,’ Mark muttered, shaking his head. ‘I tend to agree with you, Amos, about her mother. And certainly with Mrs Forth and Lady Fenella. Of course she must stay at Haddon House until we decide what’s best for her. Are we all agreed on this course?’
The three of them said they were.
Vicky found herself filling with relief. The little girl they now called Rose was safe. For the moment.
