The Shoemaker's Daughter (5 page)

‘She warned me that the constables were on their way, right enough, and I’ll always be grateful to her for that. But, in the end, the kindest thing to do was to get out of her way.’

‘She’s wonderful,’ Edward said, his voice warm, ‘looking as you did, she would have been justified in turning you in. I hardly recognized you myself.’

Edward smiled, ‘But a bath and a shave and some clean clothes worked wonders.’

Craig stared into the fire, it had been over a week since he had escaped from the prison, lying in the back of the van, smelling the fresh mouthwatering tang of bread and listening to the clip clop of the horses’ hooves.

And the terrible moment when he heard the sound of officious voices calling to the driver to stop and Craig had taken his chance and leaped from the back of the van and disappeared into the dark streets of World’s End. If it hadn’t been for the proximity of the tall dour houses and the unexpected kindness of a young girl, Craig would have been recaptured at once.

‘It was good of you to give the shoemaker’s daughter work,’ Craig said taking a sip of the brandy. It stung his throat, tasting rich and hot as he swallowed. ‘I don’t think you could have thought of a better way of rewarding her, she seems such an independent little thing.’

Edward stared at him eyebrows raised. ‘Lovely, isn’t she? Such fine features and blessed with thick lustrous hair as well as a shape that would fill any man’s dreams.’

‘I see,’ Craig said in amusement, ‘so your kindness to the young lady wasn’t entirely for my benefit.’

‘I had noticed some time ago that the shoemaker had a beautiful daughter and the more I saw of her, the more I liked her.’ He smiled. ‘I always make sure I have several fittings before I’m satisfied with my boots, that way I get to talk to Hari.

‘And she’s a fine shoemaker, she has real talent and with a little help she could go far. Some of the ladies from the finest houses have their fancy shoes made by Hari Morgan.’ He paused stroking his chin. ‘You know she carried on the business alone when her father died, got guts has that girl.’ He smiled wickedly, ‘And she moves so gracefully, too.’

There was a sudden, loud knocking on the door. Craig set down his glass and taking up the papers moved swiftly across the room.

‘It must be the police,’ he said tersely. ‘My dear brother must have guessed I’d come here and tipped them off, but then he wouldn’t know I had these.’ He held up the papers. ‘Keep them talking as long as you can, Edward, give me a chance to get out of here.’

Craig hurried up the stairs as the knocking became more insistent and paused for a moment staring back to the hallway. Edward was demanding that the callers be patient, he was coming as fast as he could.

Craig made his way to the attic and looked about him, quickly assessing the situation. There was a skylight in the attic but the sloping roof was higher than he had anticipated and he needed something to stand on.

He moved a pile of old furniture and found a broken chair with its back missing. He stood it beneath the skylight just as he heard footsteps pounding up the stairs.

He pushed at the skylight, it would not budge. Cursing, he thrust at it with his elbow and the glass shattered in fragments around him.

The footsteps were getting nearer and from the sound of it there were at least a dozen men. With strength born of desperation, Craig heaved himself up and pushed his way through the broken window just as the door burst open below him.

The roof sloped away alarmingly and, for a moment, Craig almost lost his balance. Steadying himself, he made his way over the roof and on to the parapet that ran along the side of the building. A yawning gap opened up before him and, down below, he saw a group of people staring up at him, arms waving.

He moved back a few paces and, without pausing to think, took a running leap out into the chasm between the two houses. He heard a gasp from the crowd of people gathered below, he seemed to hang forever in mid-air and then, miraculously, he was crashing down on to the opposite roof.

His foot slipped and he grasped at a piece of jutting tile and dragged himself back to safety. Carefully, he crawled the breadth of the building and, to his relief, he saw that the house beneath him was one of a row. He realized that he was following the pattern of the streets, moving into the poor area of World’s End.

More easily now, he made his way along the roof-tops, hidden from sight by the forest of chimney stacks. He was breathless with the effort of clinging precariously to the limited footholds and it was time, he decided, to risk climbing down to the ground.

He let himself into one of the houses through the skylight and waited, hardly daring to breath, to see if he had been detected. There was no sound from below and, carefully, Craig opened a door and stared out into the shabby passageway.

The place in which he found himself was a tall grimy building with a long passageway and the whole place reeked of cheap perfume. He had entered, he realized with a flash of amusement, into what was obviously a whorehouse.

He brushed down his hair and straightened his clothing and made his way down the narrow stairs towards the street. A woman appeared in the lower passageway and smiled up at him, her painted face shrewd.

‘Did you enjoy your visit, sir?’ Her eyes appraised him and her thin fingers were spread towards him fan-wise, it was clear she expected some money. She peered closer, ‘Aren’t you Mr Spencer Grenfell? It’s me, Maria Payton.’

‘That’s right.’ He smiled at her and touched her cheek with his fingertip. ‘And I did indeed enjoy my visit but I think I have missed the best treat in the entire house, what a pity I didn’t see you first.’ He bowed over her outstretched hand and then left quickly before she had time to gather her wits. So that was where Spencer wasted some of his ill-gotten gains, was it?

It was growing dark, the moon hung between the trees in a misty haze as though unwilling to appear at all. Craig looked around him and realized he had been here before. It was the place where the young shoemaker’s daughter lived. Perhaps it would be just as well if he paid her another visit.

Hari was working late and the candle over her shoulder provided little enough light. Two candles would be wasteful but the small stitches she was making in the soft leather swam before her eyes in the poor light. She straightened her shoulders, perhaps she had done enough for today, mam would be getting restless wanting a bit of attention after her long day spent mostly alone. It was not an ideal situation, Hari found it difficult to cope with the hard exacting work of a shoemaker and the demands of her short tempered mother.

‘
Chware teg
, mam’s not that bad.’ The sound of her own voice in the shimmering candle-light startled Hari and she rose to her feet, conscious of the silence around her.

Then she heard the noise, a creaking of wood, it was repeated and Hari looked round nervously. But she was being absurd, she was over tired and imagining things.

But she was not imagining things, the latch on the door from the street was being lifted and Hari waited, holding her breath. So far, none of the ruffians from World’s End had bothered her even though she was a young woman alone. Villains they might be, but they had a certain code of practice and the rule was that you looked after your own kind.

‘Who is it?’ Hari said with a boldness she was far from feeling. The door opened wider and a man stepped inside from the growing darkness of the street.

Hari recognized him at once, he was the friend of Edward Morris, she had seen him earlier sitting before the fire in the comfortable house on Chapel Street.

‘What . . . ?’ she began but he put his finger to his lips in a warning gesture. Hari tensed, there was something about the situation that was familiar. A week ago a man on the run had come into her house, he had been unkempt, his hair curling thickly about his face, he had not been as well groomed as the man standing before her now, but the breadth of shoulder was the same and something about the dark eyes staring into hers touched a chord.

‘You are the escaped prisoner,’ she said softly and he nodded wryly.

‘That’s right, I’m not begging food this time but clothing, have you anything to make me look like a man from these parts?’

Hari gestured that he follow her through the door into the small back yard and from there into the small workshop.

‘Here.’ Swiftly, Hari selected some of her father’s working clothes and returned to the kitchen.

She found she was trembling, not with fear but with excitement, there was something about helping the most unusual villain she’d ever seen that stirred unknown feelings deep within her.

He came into the kitchen looking strange in her father’s trousers and leather waistcoat. He came and stood close to her without touching her, but Hari was as tinglingly aware of him as though he’d embraced her.

‘I’ll see to the fire and then I’ll make you some tea.’ She knelt on the cold stone floor and carefully placed some coals on the dying embers in the grate. She was foolishly irritated by the lack of warmth and the slowness of the coals to light and all the time she was asking herself if she was completely mad harbouring an escaped criminal in her kitchen.

She heard the sounds behind her of her father’s leather apron being tied in place and, for a moment, she could imagine her father was with her again, big and comforting, a shield between Hari and the world. Then she turned and saw the stranger.

As she watched, he took up his discarded clothing and thrust the garments into the nearest cupboard. ‘There may be a search,’ he said apologetically.

‘Who are you?’ Hari said quietly, ‘There’s things I need to know before I take any more risks for you.’

He stared at her steadily for a moment and then nodded. ‘You’re right. Sit down.’ He thrust his hands into his pockets and the leather apron creaked as he moved. Hari thought again of her father and sitting there on the edge of her seat she believed that the man standing before her, handsome and young though he might be, was the same kind of man as Dewi Morgan, upright and steadfast, his eyes clear and direct as they looked down at her.

‘I’m Craig Grenfell.’ The words fell into the silence and Hari waited for him to continue. ‘Some months ago I was convicted of embezzling a considerable amount of money from the company I share with my brother. I was innocent but the evidence was damning.’ He frowned as he moved about the room.

‘I could do nothing while I was behind bars so I was forced to make a run for it.’ He was looking at her but now there was a far-away look in his eyes as though he’d forgotten her presence. ‘Now I’m almost there, a little more time and I’ll prove my innocence.’

Craig ran his hand through his hair so that it sprung into small curls giving him a rakish appearance. ‘Oh, it’s all been very cleverly done.’ He sank down into a chair opposite Hari. ‘But perhaps my brother has become overconfident.’

Craig’s jaw tightened. ‘I have papers that prove the books have been forged but now I need someone to help me. I can hardly walk into a lawyer’s office, I’d be arrested again and I don’t intend going back into prison, not even for a few days.’

‘What about Mr Morris?’ Hari asked. ‘Couldn’t he do it for you?’

Craig shook his head. ‘I couldn’t let Edward take that risk, he might get himself arrested for stealing pages from the account books, they are company property after all.’

‘Could I see a lawyer for you?’ Hari was amazed to hear herself making the offer.

Craig shook his head. ‘No,’ he smiled apologetically, ‘I’m afraid you would not be given a hearing.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘Not that anyone as beautiful as you could be ignored of course.’ His dark eyes stared into hers.

Hari’s wash of hurt pride and anger vanished as suddenly as it had come, though she realized that Craig’s words were no more than flattery. He was a man capable of great charm, but she would have to be careful that she didn’t get taken in by it, Hari told herself sternly.

‘Don’t feel insulted, please,’ he said. ‘I’m refusing your generous offer as much for your sake as my own. I don’t want you to get hurt.’

‘Who then?’ Hari said softly and Craig looked at her and sighed heavily.

‘My fiancée, Emily Grenfell,’ he said, ‘she is forceful and strong, her background gives her standing and she won’t be easily outwitted.’ He rubbed his hand through his dark hair.

Hari was surprised at the rush of pure jealousy that swept over her at the mention of Emily Grenfell. But she was being absurd, she scarcely knew this man and what was it to her who he was betrothed to? He’d made it abundantly clear that Hari was of no account in the community, that she could not be trusted to carry any weight with lawyers and the like.

She rose from her chair. ‘I’ve got things to do,’ she said stiffly, ‘my mother is an invalid, I have to go and see to her.’

She took some bread from the pantry cupboard and placed it on the wooden table. ‘If you are hungry there’s some cheese,’ she said, ‘I can’t wait on you, I’m too tired for that.’

He came and stood close to her, his hand resting on her shoulder. ‘I’ve made you angry and I’m sorry.’ His hand was warm and strong and Hari resisted the urge to turn into his arms and rest her head against his broad shoulder.

‘I’m not angry,’ she said flatly. ‘But it’s not very nice to take a convicted criminal into your home and then to have him tell you that you’re of little consequence.’

He turned her to face him. ‘If I gave that impression then I can only apologize once again,’ he said. ‘You are a very brave young woman and a very beautiful one.’ He released her abruptly. ‘And I’m keeping you from your duties.’

Hari quickly moved to the foot of the stairs, her head bent to hide the blush that warmed her cheeks. ‘I won’t be long,’ she said and hurriedly left the room.

When Hari returned she saw that Craig was standing at the window looking out into the darkness. His shoulders were tense and there was an air of waiting about him that troubled her.