The Winter Rose (51 page)

Madden held his palm up. "Storm's coming, Francis," he said. He fixed
Frankie with his soulless gaze, then smiled. "See that you don't get
caught in it."

India set her teacup into its saucer. She gave a small, bitter laugh, then said, "My God, it never rains but it pours."

"Are you all right, Dr. Jones?" Andrew Spence asked.

"No, I am not."

"Can I get you something to drink? Something a bit stronger, perhaps?"

"Yes, please. After all, it's not every day you find yourself ruined."

India was sitting in the offices of Haddon & Spence, Solicitors,
with Maud, Bingham, and Robert Selwyn Jones, Wish's father. They had
been summoned to hear the reading of Wish's will. Freddie was to have
been with them, but work had prevented him from coming.

Andrew Spence, Wish's solicitor, had informed the assembly that they
would be inheriting no monies or personal effects, as the estate would
be auctioned to satisfy the claims of Wish's creditors. Then he'd told
them that India would be receiving the title to 1,200 acres of
ranch-land and an abandoned farmhouse on Point Reyes in Marin County,
California.

"Lovely land, I'm told. Bordering a place called Drakes Bay. Quite
close to the headlands, as the ordnance survey shows. Stunning view of
the water," Spence had said, pushing the map across the desk.

India had glanced at it. It was all wavy lines and numbers and meant nothing to her. "But what about the money?" she'd asked.

"Money?"

"The money I gave to my cousin to invest in the land. Might I have that back, please? Instead of the land?"

"I'm afraid that's impossible."

"But why?"

"Because the money's been spent," Spence said slowly, as if speaking
to a simpleton. "Your cousin used it to purchase the land. That is the
bad news. The good news is that the deed to the land is now yours. You
are-- were-- business partners in the Bluffs, a resort hotel that was to
be built on the Point Reyes property. Your cousin has since passed
away. You survived him. Therefore, as his partner, the land goes to
you."

"So there is no money. None at all," India said, still unable to
comprehend what the man was telling her: that her money-- all of it--
was gone.

"There's a little bit of cash, or rather there will be after Mr.
Jones's various investments are liquidated, his automobile is sold, his
furniture, etcetera--but I'm afraid it will go to settle his debts. His
creditors have a claim on the proceeds of his estate. He owes a
particularly large amount to a builder whom he engaged to begin work on
the hotel. That payment"--he consulted the papers in front of him--"was
for ten thou-sand dollars, and unfortunately it is not refundable. The
builder informed us that he used the bulk of it to hire teams and
laborers for foundation work. The hole is dug, I'm afraid. In more ways
than one. His claim is only the first of a dozen or so that must be
satisfied from the proceeds of your cousin's estate."

"And I don't have a claim on the estate?"

"No, you're not a creditor, Dr. Jones," Spence said patiently.
"You're a business partner. You gave him your money to invest on your
behalf. He doesn't owe you goods or services as a result. According to
the contract between the two of you, the idea was that once he'd taken
his company public, he would buy you out. But sadly that has not
happened." He smiled patronizingly. "Those are the risks we must accept
when we invest."

Spence rose and bustled about his office offering everyone more
brandy. They all accepted except for Wish's father. He kissed his nieces
and left. India watched him go and her heart ached for him. He was a
broken man after the death of his only child, and rarely left his home
now.

The coroner had ruled Wish's death accidental, but India knew her
uncle worried that his son had taken his own life. She worried about
that possibility, too. Freddie had taken her out to supper a few nights
ago, to cheer her up after Gifford dismissed her, and they'd talked
about it. She'd tried to tell herself--and him--that suicide was
unthinkable. Wish would never do such a thing. It wasn't in his nature.
He'd had money troubles before, plenty of times, and he'd always
weathered them, but then Freddie had reminded her about Wish's ring. It
was given to an ancestor of Wish's mother's, a naval captain, by Lord
Nelson himself, and had the Nelson family crest on it surrounded by a
ring of diamonds. Wish had valued the ring highly, and often said he
would never part with it.

"His troubles must have been very bad indeed--or at least he believed
them to be. He would never have given the ring up otherwise," Freddie
had said, and India had found herself reluctantly agreeing. Wish had
adored that ring. Her uncle Robert had asked for it after his death and
had been shocked, and heartsick, to learn it had been pawned.

Spence sat down behind his desk again, then said, "At least your
cousin had no other business partners, Dr. Jones. Only yourself.
Therefore the land need not be subdivided. There will be no protracted
legal wrangles over who gets how many acres. You're quite lucky, you
know."

India shook her head. Lucky was not the first word she would have
used. Destitute was a better choice. I can sell the land, she thought.
But how? And to whom? It was terribly remote, accessible only by a long
carriage ride down a bad road from a train station in the middle of
nowhere. Wish said the owner had been trying to sell it for years before
he'd bought it. It would probably take her years to resell it.

"India, did you give him everything?" Maud asked.

"Yes."

"My God, how could you be so foolish?"

"I thought I could make money for my clinic."

"You and this damned clinic!" Maud said angrily, her voice raised. "It's not enough that you poke around in guts and muck..."

India did not want a lecture now. She felt as if she were holding on
by only a thread, and the thread might snap any second. She had just
got-ten back on her feet after Wish's death, and after her beating at
the hands of Fred Coburn. She'd lost her position with Dr. Gifford, and
now she'd lost all her money, too. What would she tell Ella? She tried
to calm herself. At least they still had the donors' money. It was in an
account in Barings Bank, in the clinic's name, and was not affected by
Wish's death.

"It's not enough that you expose yourself to every disgusting disease, or that you were nearly beaten to death..."

"Maud, please," India said, irritated. She was trying to think of
what she was going to do for money, how she was going to keep the clinic
going, and all Maud wanted to do was scold.

"Don't Maud, please me, India! I saw you! Your eyes were swollen
shut. Your face was fifty shades of purple. Freddie said it was
insanity, and he was right." There was a brief silence, then she added,
"You're totally ruined. You'll have to give up your flat. You'll live
with me, of course."

"Thank you, Maud, truly. But you know that won't work. We'd be at each other in ten minutes."

"I don't know why you would say that."

"Teddy Ko. Limehouse."

Maud glared. "Oh, you're a fine one to talk about self-destructive habits."

"You know how I feel about it," India began.

Maud cut her off. "What if I were to give you some money?"

"There would be strings attached, I'm sure."

"India, how very rude you are! I'm trying to help you!"

"You were raised by the same mother as I was, and you know as well as
I do that where money is concerned there are always strings."

"What strings? I would simply give it to you!"

India gave her a look. "And this money could be used to open a clinic?"

"I was rather thinking you might use it to establish a private practice. In Harley Street."

"You see? Strings."

"You're impossible! I don't know why you won't let me help you," Maud said.

"Is Harley Street your idea of help, Maud? It's the last place I would go!"

India was on her feet now. Maud's expression was thunderous.

Bingham, distressed, looked anxiously between the two angry women.

"Here, Maud old mole, have another," he said, grabbing Spence's
brandy. "Indy, you too. Sit down. Calm down. You're upset. Neither of
you is thinking straight." He poured, then sat on the edge of Spence's
desk. He stayed that way for a few minutes, biting his thumb. Then he
said, "You've blown this all out of proportion. You're not ruined,
India. Of course you're not."

India raised an eyebrow. "I'm not?" she said.

"No, aren't you forgetting something?"

"Am I?"

"Yes! You'll be married soon. And when you are, you'll have the
dowry. A very generous one, I might add. That will keep you and Freddie
very comfortably, won't it? And then there's the Berkeley Street house."

"Bingham--" Maud began.

"What on earth are you talking about?" India finished.

"The London house. Your house. Well, yours and Freddie's," he said,
smiling, as if that explained everything. He soon saw that it didn't, so
he continued. "You know... Lady Isabelle's wedding gift."

"What?" Maud said, shocked. She turned to her sister. "India, Mama's
giving you the London house? Why didn't you tell me?" she asked
indignantly.

"Because I didn't know!" India retorted. She sat back in her chair
and tried to take a deep breath, but couldn't. Her corset suddenly felt
excruciatingly tight. Had her mother been talking to Freddie about a
dowry? When? Why hadn't he told her? She didn't want anything to do with
her parents' money or their possessions. He knew that. Why had he gone
behind her back?

"You didn't know?" Bingham echoed, confused. And then he went pale.
"Oh, blast. Oh, damn. I've let the cat out of the bag. It must've been a
secret. Freddie probably wanted it kept a surprise. He'll gut me. You
won't tell him I blabbed, will you, Indy? You'll pretend to be
surprised, won't you?"

"I won't have to pretend, Bing. When did he tell you this?"

"A few weeks ago. But I'm sure it's true. He mentioned it again just
the other night. When he told me what had happened to you at Dr.
Gifford's. The mad girl--Alice Little--and her mother. The rubber
johnnies and all that."

Bingham continued talking but India barely heard him. She now felt as
if she couldn't breathe at all. "Bing," she said quietly, "how do you
know my patient's name?"

"What? Oh, um Freddie told me."

"But I never told him."

"India, you're making no sense. You did tell him. He took you out to
supper to cheer you up--remember? Look, it's been a shocker of a day.
Wish's will. The money. Maybe we should get a spot of lunch."

"No, I never told him my patient's name," she said again, more to
herself than to Bingham. "To do so would violate her privacy. I would
never tell anyone her name."

Maud groaned. "Oh, for God's sake, what does it matter? I saw a Lyons tea room on the way in. Let's go there."

But tea was the last thing on India's mind. She rose. "I have to go," she said abruptly. "Now."

"To Lyons? Good. We're coming with you," Maud said.

"No, to see someone. A patient." She rushed to the door and pulled it open.

"Indy, wait! What's going on? What's wrong?" Bingham called after her.

She turned. Her eyes were huge in her face. Her expression was an-guished. "Oh, Bing," she said. "Absolutely everything."

India stood on the steps of 40 Myrtle Walk, a shabby two-up two-down in Hoxton.

"I'm looking for a woman by the name of Little, Alice Little," she
said to the man who'd answered the door. "Does she live here?"

The man shook his head. "No one here by that name. You try next door?"

"I've tried every house on the street," India said wearily.

"Sorry, luv," the man said, closing the door.

India walked down the steps, bitterly disappointed. That was that.
There was no Alice Little. At least not in Myrtle Walk. Maybe there
never had been. For all she knew the woman could have given a false
address or name. She stared down the narrow street, wondering what to do
next. She wanted to find Alice Little. Had to find her. There were
things she needed to ask her.

Right after she'd left Maud and Bingham, she'd taken a hackney to
Brick Lane. She had no idea where Alice Little lived, but she knew Ella
might. The woman had an incredible memory. She knew nearly every
pa-tient at Varden Street by face and by name, and often by address, as
she was constantly sending them reminders to pay their bills. Alice
Little had given Ella no trouble, though. She'd come to Varden Street
only once and had paid her bill the same day.

"I remember filing her information," Ella had said, standing outside
the caf�She'd closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her forehead.

"Is this a conjuring trick?" India asked.

"Shh! Little, Little, Alice Little. It was Hoxton, I know it was. And
flowers, something to do with flowers, I'd teased her about it... about
the name being wishful thinking." Her eyes snapped open. "Myrtle!
Myrtle Walk. That's it. I'm sure of it."

"You're a marvel, Ella, thank you!" India had said, already starting down the street.

"Hold on a mo'! Why are you looking for her?"

"I'll explain later!"

She'd been so certain she'd find Alice in Myrtle Walk. What would she
do now? As she stood on the pavement a gas lamp flickered to life above
her. Night was coming. She would go home and work out her next step
there. She had just begun walking when the door to Number 40 opened
again.

"Oi!" the man called. India turned. "You sure she's on Myrtle Walk? The missus says there's also a Myrtle Close."

"Where?"

A scrawny woman, arms folded over her chest, popped out from behind
her husband. "Go to the end of this street, straight up Hoxton Street,
and turn right on Nuttall Street. It'll be on your left."