Different Tides (12 page)

‘Could she be an imposter?’

‘That’s what I thought at first … one of the young women most probably is.’

Zachariah frowned. ‘Did you tell Samuel Tate about Clementine or the children?’

John raised an eyebrow at that. ‘I didn’t consider they needed to be informed, since the children have nothing to do with the legacy claim, and we are still investigating Clementine’s background. The strange thing is she’s got a similar background story. Her father is Howard Morris, who died at the battle of Waterloo, though she has always used the name of Tate.’

‘Her mother is … no … don’t tell me. It’s Hannah Cleaver, yes? The same mother as Clementine.’

‘I wish it were that easy. Samuel Tate said her mother was one of his distant relatives, a young girl called Alicia Bishop, who was taken advantage of by the soldier.’

Zachariah frowned as he tried to recall a face to fit the name. ‘The name’s slightly familiar but I can’t quite place it.’

John’s smile had an ironic curve to it. ‘Then you’d better brace yourself, Zachariah.’

Brace himself? Good grief, hadn’t there been enough shocks?

Obviously not, for John now informed him, ‘Alicia Bishop is the maiden name of your late sister-in-law … Gabriel’s wife.’

Zachariah stared at him, wondering if his comprehension had deserted him altogether. ‘Ah … of course it is. Gabe had always referred to her as Alice, and so did everyone else.’ As it sank in, he felt as though his stomach had been punched into holes. He cleared his throat. ‘Surely Alice wouldn’t have been old enough …’

‘According to Samuel Tate, Alicia was considered precocious at a young age, and promiscuous when it was obvious she was with child. She was hurriedly married off to Howard Morris, who died a few weeks later.

‘When the infant was born it was arranged that she be left with the great-uncle and aunt in Portsmouth when he died. They were a couple whose youth had been left behind and who had no children of their own, so they were eager to care for the baby. Alexandra’s foster mother died three years ago and her foster father wants to see her settled before he dies. She didn’t know of her parentage until recently … except she thought she was a Tate. To learn that she was otherwise upset her.

‘The thing is, Zachariah, money has changed hands in the form of a small annual stipend, arranged by the church where Samuel Tate did some clerical work and lay preaching. I’ve spoken to church officials but they will not reveal where the money came from. They regarded me with suspicion, as the officials of most conventional and established religions do. You might have more success.’

‘I doubt it. I’m looked on with disapproval by those in the establishment.’

‘Who are envious of your success. Unfortunately the reputation of your family always precedes you.’

‘The Bishop and Fleet families were efficient at the distribution and disposal of unwanted children. Unfortunately they dig them up again when the smell of money is in the air.’

‘I’d prefer it if you’d wait before you pass judgement on this, Zachariah. Samuel Tate wants nothing of her Morris grandmother’s legacy unless the girl is entitled to have it. His honesty impressed me. I wondered if Alicia told your brother about her previous marriage and the daughter she gave birth to.’

Zachariah was beginning to see Alice in a different light. Having his flirtatious sister-in-law’s past uncovered made him uneasy. She was dead, and although gossip wouldn’t bother her or Gabe now, to all intents and purposes they’d left two children behind who needed to remember their parents with respect.

Had he respected his own parents? He shrugged. That was a different matter altogether since he’d hardly ever had any until John had taken him in hand. He could think of no reason to cast him out of the family except for the Bishop family to have complete control of Gabe, for he would never have harmed his brother in any way. The fact was, his disposition had been such that they hadn’t liked him.

But John was right … he was being judgemental. Alice and Gabe had loved each other dearly, and people were entitled to make mistakes in their youth. ‘I doubt if Gabe knew, though love is very forgiving, they say.’

‘What about Clementine; where does she fit in?’

‘For Clementine to be awarded the inheritance she’ll have to prove that Howard Morris was already married to her mother when he wed Alicia and sailed off on his final journey. He was a bigamist, yet he catered for both his daughters as best he could on his small salary. What does that say about him?’

‘Either that he cared what happened to his children, or he was a fool. Where did you say that legacy came from?’

‘Howard Morris’s mother. It was an annuity she’d initially put aside for her son. The money is bequeathed to her granddaughter, the daughter of Howard Morris. But which one? Alexandra or Clementine? Obviously the grandmother knew about one of her granddaughters, but not about the other.’

Complications like this, Zachariah didn’t need. He wondered if Clementine knew a paternal grandmother had even existed. A feeling of hurt nearly crushed him at the thought she might have deceived him. He should never have allowed her to get through his guard.

No … she wouldn’t have known. How could she know? ‘I must think about this, John. Perhaps we should ask the court to decide.’

‘The wheels of the law grind slowly, and the process is too expensive. By the time the courts deliberated on it the sum would be swallowed up in legal fees. As a legacy it’s little enough as it is.’

‘Couldn’t it be shared between them?’

‘It would take a judge to decide.’

‘Not if the two women agreed to the arrangement.’

John laughed. ‘Given the circumstance would you expect two women to act that reasonably?’

An image of Clementine stamping her foot came into his mind and he grinned at the thought of the two of them doing the same thing, like a pair of sprightly ponies poled to a rig. Another thought dangled provocatively under his nose and he almost laughed. ‘There’s something you seem to have overlooked.’

‘Which is?’

‘By blood, Clementine and Alexandra are half-sisters fathered by Howard Morris. Alexandra is also a half-sister to Edward and Iris, through their mother, Alicia – if they are genuine claims.’

John stared at him. ‘Good Lord! I’d never given that a thought.’ He rose and walked to the small table, where a decanter of brandy stood. I think I need a drink. ‘One for you, Zachariah?’

He nodded. ‘Why do these problems land on my desk, when I was disowned by the family years ago? All I want is a quiet life.’ Zachariah’s grin widened. ‘Did I ever thank you for those unpalatable truths you forced me to swallow from time to time, John?’

‘In more ways than one.’ John shrugged. ‘You were wasting your life and along with it that fine brain you were born with. Julia and I merely diverted you from the path you were pursuing.’

‘I parted company with religion when my father’s razor strop first beat the dust from my britches. I was a prickly fool, and you left me with nowhere to turn.’

‘You were defensive, and had no trust in anyone but yourself. I tell you now, Zachariah. You trusted the right person in that. Your instincts have served you well.’

‘It didn’t take me long to figure out I was the fool, not you. You treated me like an equal.’

‘Which is the basis of our way of life. In return we expect you to live a good life and help those more unfortunate when you can. A man earns his own fortune from what he gives to others.’

‘Gabe doesn’t fit into that little homily. And if earning a fortune with one female in the form of Clementine – a young woman too intelligent for her own good – isn’t enough, I’m now having a second female foisted on to me. Tell me, what have I done to deserve these poor spinsters?’

‘Perhaps there are more of them, since Howard Morris seems to have been a busy fellow with the young ladies.’

When Zachariah darted John a horrified look, he laughed. ‘Alexandra Tate may be a hoax,’ John said in a manner that alerted Zachariah to the fact that he had his doubts.

‘As long as Clementine isn’t, because the children adore her and so do … so do the dogs I bought for the children. They are quite taken with her, or so they tell me.’

John’s voice was as smooth as silk. ‘Your dogs act as advisors and offer you a considered opinion? How very clever of them.’

‘You know very well I was referring to the children.’

How astute of John to pick up his slip of the tongue! That was all he’d get from him tonight. Zachariah responded to Clementine as any red-blooded man might. She’d slipped under his guard, but that didn’t mean he was going to marry the girl. Now there was a safe distance between them he’d soon forget her. He sipped slowly at his drink. It was smooth and warming and gradually relaxed him. With a small amount of adjustment things would work out for the best; they always did. ‘Have you seen Alexandra Tate yet?’

‘No, she was out visiting friends. Samuel Tate wanted to tell her himself, and I wanted to talk to you about it first. Besides, you have a better instinct for a lie.’

‘I was born into a house of liars.’

‘The girl lives in Portsmouth with her foster father, who is slightly infirm due to age. It isn’t too far away.’

‘I’ll need a day or so to come up with a plan of approach.’

‘You do realize that you don’t have any legal liability, don’t you? Under the circumstances, the grandmother’s legacy should go to the legitimate daughter … that is, the issue from the first of the two women who married Howard Morris.’

Zachariah laughed. ‘That advice is superfluous, John. You’re planting seeds in my head in the hope they’ll grow into roses if you shovel enough dung on them. This particular bush seems to have several thorns on it. It has more answers than questions. How did Samuel Tate hear of the legacy? What coincidence led Alexandra to have an almost identical story to Clementine? We must find out.’

‘And we shall.’

Zachariah was finding it hard to keep his eyes open. ‘After that I must find a way to satisfy myself about the identity of the children. But not now. I’m too weary to think straight.’

‘I know someone who can make enquiries on our behalf … something that should have been done earlier.’

The brandy had gone to work on Zachariah and he couldn’t stifle his yawns any longer. ‘I’m sorry if I appear inhospitable, John, but I’m throwing you out now. I’ll call on you both tomorrow, when I have enough energy to think straight.’

John rose and drained his glass. ‘Of course, I mustn’t keep you from your rest after your tiring journey. I’ll see myself out. Goodnight, Zachariah.’

When the door closed in John’s wake, Zachariah threw off his robe, blew out the candle and got into bed, shivering as his naked body slid between the cool linen sheets.

Outside a cart clattered over the cobbles, there was the sound of the front door being bolted, and footsteps as John walked off to his home on the other side of the square. It was early yet. A dog barked, another took up the challenge and a couple of cats growled menacingly before exploding into spits and squeals. The city sounds were so different from the quiet of the countryside.

Despite his weariness, for a time Zachariah couldn’t sleep. The moon appeared in his window, big and bright. It moved on. Laughter flirted from the mouth of an unknown woman in the street … low and husky with promise.

The romance of his thoughts was spoiled by the foul smell drifting from the River Thames, which seemed to be worsening. The tide was on the ebb, uncovering the decomposing detritus trapped in the bowels of the river mud.

After a while fog wrapped itself around the house and clung with a muffled intensity. It pressed against the window, and the noise of no noise at all hummed inside his ears, as though the blood rushing through his veins and the booming beat of his heart were the only living things in the silence.

His mind went around in circles without solution. He needed a woman … but not any woman.

He certainly didn’t need a Miss Alexandra Tate in his life.

Perhaps he would seek a suitable wife when this was all over. Perhaps he’d marry Clementine. Did it matter where she’d come from or who she was, when his own background would give rise for concern to anyone who cared to resurrect it?

Now there was a debatable – and very controversial – thought to go to sleep on.

Except it kept him awake …

Alexandra

The house was situated in Garden Street, in a long row of narrow houses. It was north facing, which made the interior, with its dark green wallpaper and narrow windows, feel cold and damp, and appear gloomy. Even the fire in the grate offered no warmth or cheer.

The front room pressed in on Zachariah, so he wanted to rush outside and suck in a deep breath of air. It was clean though, extremely so. The windows shone and the surfaces were free of dust. A piano took pride of place in front of the windows. A passage ran through the house from the front door to the back. The clock gave measured, muffled tocks.

Zachariah had never seen anyone quite so elegant as the young woman who sat opposite John Beck. She was a beauty. Her hair resembled spun silk and her eyes were bluer than blue. Alexandra was taller than most women he was acquainted with. Seating herself on a chair, she arranged her skirts in a sideways sweep and proceeded to pour them tea from a china pot covered in pink flowers.

Her gown was a pale shade of green taffeta and a little shabby. A lacy cream shawl collar covered her shoulders. Her neck was a length of pale, translucent skin. She seemed uncomfortable and her smile had the tightness of artifice about it.

He compared them with a poetic eloquence that surprised him. Alexandra was a crisp and delicate bloom of winter into spring, for he detected very little warmth of manner in her. Clementine reminded him of a fiery drift and tumble of late summer into autumn. He compared them to each other. Both young women had exceptional looks but he saw no likeness between them. Much to his dismay Alexandra Tate showed a marked resemblance to his late sister-in-law … at least, as he remembered her. He’d not seen Alice for several years.