Angel Meadow (51 page)

28

The tall woman nodded disdainfully at the clerk behind the high desk in the lawyer’s outer office, frowning, until, with the swift deference she seemed to demand, the clerk leaped to his feet.

“Good morning, ma’am,” he said courteously.

“Good morning. I have an appointment with Mr Bellchamber at ten thirty. Be so good as to inform him that I am here.”

“Certainly, miss. May I tell him who—?”

“He knows who I am,” the woman interrupted coldly.

“Of course. Might I offer you a seat while—?”

“I’ll stand, thank you. And kindly tell Mr Bellchamber that I do not like to be kept waiting.”

The woman, or
lady
, the bowing clerk supposed he should call her, was dressed in the complete mourning of a recent bereavement. She was not elegant, or even fashionable as some ladies can be, even in the deepest black, but her gown and wide-brimmed bonnet were of the finest quality. She had a taut, unbending figure, straight up and down, but with good, well-defined breasts. Her lips were tightly compressed, her chin set at an imperious angle and her eyes were a pale, suspicious grey as though she suspected him of something unlawful. She could not be called handsome by any degree since her features were too strong, too masculine. She was too tall for a woman, he decided, and too narrow of build for her height. Her hair was completely hidden by her capacious bonnet and the only word the clerk could think of to describe her was
soldierly!

Mr Bellchamber rose to his feet as she entered the room, bowing over her hand as he murmured her name, then indicating that she should be seated in the chair before his desk.

“May I offer you coffee, Miss—” but before he could finish his sentence she had refused.

“No, thank you, Mr Bellchamber. I am in somewhat of a hurry to get this business under way.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

“And before we begin may I say . . . nay
insist
, that no word of this visit reach my family. You are my brother’s lawyer and it might seem strange to you that I am here without him.” For what
real
lady conducts business with a gentleman when she has a male relative to do it for her, she seemed to be telling him.

“Not at all, Miss—” he began politely but again she cut him off. She had no time for the niceties, her manner implied. After all, their relationship was a purely professional one, similar to that of mistress and servant, and one did not fraternise with a servant. She was to pay this man for his services and he was in no way entitled to treat her as an equal.

“When our business is brought to a satisfactory conclusion I would be obliged if you would send your bill personally to me, Mr Bellchamber. To no one else, you understand?” she added sharply.

“Of course. And what is it you wish me to do for you?” The lawyer who, like his clerk, believed he had never met a more unfeminine female in all his long career, sat back in his chair, his elbows on its arms, his fingers forming a steeple which just touched his lips.

“Mr Bellchamber, I don’t quite know what duties a lawyer can perform on his client’s behalf. That is why I am here. To find out.”

Mr Bellchamber raised his eyebrows in surprise, his mind for a moment grappling with what kind of duties this dried-up, unyielding woman might require of him. She could not be the victim of some man’s broken pledge, a breach of promise case, for surely no man, no hot-blooded man which, despite his age, he was, could have proposed to her in the first place. She came from a wealthy family, a well-known Manchester family, which might attract a certain type of man but he was of the opinion that once this woman had brought a man to heel he would never be allowed to escape.

“Tell me what you have in mind, ma’am, and I will do my best to carry out your wishes.”

Bending her head she opened the plain black reticule she carried. She fumbled for a moment inside it then lifted out an envelope. It was sealed. She placed it on his desk but before he could reach to take it she put up her hand.

“Just one moment, Mr Bellchamber. Before you open this envelope I want to ask you something.”

Mr Bellchamber leaned back in his chair again. “Of course.”

“If I were to ask you to find someone, is it . . . would it be in your power to do so? I mean have you in your employ a man . . . a certain kind of man who is experienced in this kind of thing? I am not familiar with the work a lawyer does.” She wrinkled her nose distastefully as though she had no wish to; as though Mr Bellchamber conducted some low task such as clearing ash-pits or delivering coal.

Mr Bellchamber hesitated. He felt a distinct inclination to tell this arrogant woman to take her envelope and her business elsewhere, but her brother was a valued client and Mr Bellchamber could not afford to offend him.

“It would depend on what you meant to do with this person,” he answered, indicating the envelope on his desk.

“Do with him! Surely that is my business, not yours?” His client was deeply offended and the lawyer could see the tussle she was having with herself. She would dearly love to snatch up her envelope and tell him to go to the devil, but if she was serious, which it appeared she was, then she would have to find another lawyer, one who did not work for her brother and might not be so easily persuaded.

“I mean this person no harm,” she said coldly, swallowing her ire. “In fact, just the opposite.”

“Very well, I’ll take your word for it.”

She clearly wanted to smack him in the face, but she controlled herself as he reached for and slit open the envelope. He read the name on the sheet of paper inside, then looked up at her.

“Have you any idea where this man might be?”

“None.”

“That will make it more difficult and more expensive. My . . . chappie is an expert. He has done work for me before but he is not cheap. He will expect a certain remuneration each day, plus his expenses. Then there is my fee.”

“Your fee!”

“I don’t work for nothing, Miss—”

“But what are you to do besides put that note in his hand?”

“Ma’am, I do believe that unless you trust me with this I cannot help you.” Mr Bellchamber stood up, his face cold and his client subsided, beaten but not liking it.

“Very well,” she said icily. “I agree.”

“Thank you. Now if you could tell me where this person was last seen it would help.”

“In an area known as Angel Meadow.”

It had not been difficult to get the man’s name out of Mary Brody.

It was a month since Rose Brody’s death and both Mary and Nancy had recovered somewhat from the appalling shock of it. Ciara Rose had settled well in the nursery where a young nursemaid by the name of Minnie had been employed to help Nanny Dee with the three children. The baby was thriving. A pear-shaped pewter feeding bottle with a hole in the side through which the milk was poured had been found in the same box in which the baby garments had been stored. It was old-fashioned but would suffice until Nanny could get to the chemist in Higher Broughton for a more up-to-date glass one with the necessary india-rubber teats, Nanny said practically. The pewter bottle had once been used to feed the infant Arthur, Emma had whispered fondly to Nancy, since she herself had no milk when he was born and what a pretty baby Ciara – was that how you pronounced her name, as though there were an H after the C? – was turning out to be. She put a gentle finger to the baby’s cheek, deciding for the hundredth time that it had been a good day when Josh had married this lovely woman who had brought such joy into Emma’s life, despite the irregularity of it. She loved babies, particularly her grandson, and was often to be found in the nursery with one or other of the children on her lap.

Of course Millicent Hayes was not privy to these delightful domestic arrangements. She never went near the nursery floor and should she meet either of the two older children it had not gone unnoticed that both of them, even the bold and outspoken Kitty, drew back fearfully behind Nanny Dee’s wide grey cotton skirt.

“Is she a witch?” Freddy whispered, cowering at the back of Kitty but Aunt Millicent, who was Father’s sister, they had been told, had sailed past them without a glance and they were truly thankful for it!

The news that a third baby had been added to the Hayes’ unique nursery exploded like a bombshell within the circle of their friends, causing no end of anxiety. Should they continue to ignore Mr and Mrs Joshua Hayes’s scandalous behaviour, they asked one another, since, having accepted two children with dubious beginnings, could they jib at a third! The trouble was they were all so fond of dear Emma and by casting the Hayes family from the social fold, so to speak, would it be fair on her who had no part in the matter? Joshua was the master of Riverside House now and unless dear Emma moved out, which would be vastly upsetting since it was her home, what could be done about it?

They decided, for the moment, to do nothing, since Emma was still in mourning anyway, which gave them a breathing space.

The kitchen also had been in an uproar on the day of the infant’s arrival. Tilly, sent first up to the nursery then down to the kitchen for the warm milk and oatmeal that were required, had told them whose child was upstairs, having had it from Dulcie who had overheard the whole thing in the hallway, so it was true, Tilly told the circle of disbelieving faces. Mrs Harvey and Mrs Cameron, neither of whom cared for gossip, were for several minutes so stunned they allowed the servants to twitter round the kitchen table like a swirling multitude of noisy starlings.

“Her
sister’s
baby. Dear Lord.”

“What next, I ask you?”

“But will the mistress allow it again?”

“Don’t be so soft, she is mistress.”

“I meant the old mistress.”

“It’s nowt ter do wi’ her, not now.”

“Me mam’d ’ave a fit if she knew.”

“What’s it ter do wi’ your mam?”

“She’s a churchgoer and against . . . well, bastards.”

“Eeh, two were enough, but three . . .”

“Well, I suppose wi’t babby’s mam dead, poor thing, an’ Mrs Josh bein’ ’er auntie . . .”

“Eeh, I know; in’t it sad?”

After several minutes of pandemonium Mrs Cameron and Mrs Harvey came to their senses and at once collected up their minions and sent them about their allotted tasks, since there was still an evening meal to prepare whatever happened.

During the next week, when the baby carriage was got out and Nanny Dee, her older charges racing about with Scrap and Freddy’s dog Button, took the infant for an airing, the servants found some opportunity to take a peep at it and admitted to one another it would be hard to turn away from such a dear little thing. Like a little rosebud in her nest of white blankets and the dead spit of Miss Kitty, who was her cousin. Within a couple of weeks it had been totally forgotten that the “little mite” had not been born in the very nursery where it seemed she was to remain.

It also seemed that fate, the gods, destiny, chance, by whatever name you liked to call it, was determined to shine on Millicent Hayes.

“Mother,” her elder son said to Emma Hayes later that month, “I know we are still in mourning for Father, but would it distress you too much if I were to invite a business acquaintance of mine to dine with us? I spoke of him last week, if you remember. If you and Millicent don’t feel up to it, then Arthur and I, with Nancy, will manage alone but he’s a nice chap and would behave with great circumspection. He’s from Liverpool. He’s in cotton and will be doing business in Manchester for several days. He’s staying at the Albion on Piccadilly which has one of the best cuisines in Europe, so they tell me, but nevertheless I felt it would be pleasant for him to dine with the family. Not to mention it would do me and the firm no harm to put him in our debt.”

“Oh, dear, Josh . . .” At once Emma was in a dither, for would it be improper, as the widow of a man in his grave only a few short weeks, to begin entertaining so soon? The irony of her dilemma completely escaped her. Upstairs in the nursery were three children whose natural parents were not married to one another and yet she was afraid of offending society by asking to dine, in her own discreet dining-room, a business acquaintance of her son.

Help came from an unexpected quarter.

“Why, Mother, it could do no harm at all and I’m sure your friends would understand. So many cotton businesses collapsed during the American civil war that surely it is only our duty to support Josh, as he prospers again, in any way we can.”

For an astounded moment they all, including Ellen and Dulcie who were serving, turned to stare, open-mouthed, at Millicent, and at once, into Josh and Nancy’s minds at least, came the same wondering thought of what she was up to. Millicent Hayes did nothing that was not of benefit to herself but, having no conception of the hatred, the thirst for revenge, the vicious plans that seethed in her unsound mind, both jumped to the wrong conclusion. They exchanged a secret smile. Philip Meadows, of Meadows and Beswick, Cotton Importers, was a bachelor of about the same age as Josh, attractive in a homely sort of a way, and wealthy, a fact that had been mentioned when Josh had spoken of him a few days ago.

Nancy was looking better now. After her sister’s death the shock and grief of it seemed to melt the lovely firm flesh of her face, making her cheekbones stand out prominently. The one that had been smashed by Mick O’Rourke had become very noticeable, the broken bone and the concavity of it clearly visible. She had lost her colour, her skin like marble, even her wide mouth, so full and soft, becoming pale, inclined to tremble. Before they came down to dinner they had made love, not slowly and languorously as they would have later, but in swift need, an urgent desire to be as close as two bodies can be without actually fusing into one. It had put a flush of rose in her cheeks and her eyes were as deep and golden as a cat’s.

“Well, I don’t know, dear,” Emma faltered, turning to look round the table, even glancing at Ellen and Dulcie in her need for reassurance.