‘Excellent fakes, sir, but fakes nonetheless.’
With a thumping heart, he tried elsewhere, only to receive the same assessment. Something dogged and horrified inside him made him try a third jeweller. This time he was beyond being shocked. He was sickened. Sickened and furious. Damn the Dalrymple woman. What a fraud. Now he would have to extend his loan and doubtless Mr Jonas would use it as a reason to crank up the interest.
He thought with regret of the money from Louisa’s ring. He had already made inroads into that. Now the rest would have to be sacrificed as part-payment. He scowled. The Louisa funds had been destined to keep him in comfort for some time. Perhaps he wouldn’t hand over all of it, perhaps three-quarters or maybe half. It was only a matter of keeping Jonas sweet.
On Thursday evening, he ate the cottage pie the woman had left for him, adding HP sauce because she never made it savoury enough, then took his time over a glass of port that was the finest his wine merchant stocked, drinking a wry toast to the lovely Louisa, who had sprung for a case of it.
Afterwards he dressed to go out. He was buttoning his silk waistcoat when there was a knock at the door. When he opened it, his heart seemed to leap with surprise and sink in dismay at the same time.
He said the first words that popped into his head. ‘It’s Thursday.’
‘It is indeed, Mr Rawley, and a very good evening to you. May I come in?’
He stood back and it was only as Mr Jonas passed him with his evening cloak rippling that Greg saw the muscle he had brought with him. He was immediately on his guard. He might have slammed the door in their faces, but that would have smacked of fear. There were two of them, both in evening clobber, and his jaw hardened at the sight of Tom Varney.
He was holding the door open like a bloody doorman. He swung it shut, stalking past the henchmen to face Mr Jonas. He wanted to stand with his back to the men to exclude them, but he wasn’t angry enough to lose his wits. He waved Mr Jonas into a seat and sat down.
‘I’ve caught you getting ready to go out,’ said Mr Jonas. ‘I won’t detain you.’
‘I hope you don’t imagine I intended to avoid our appointment.’
‘I’m glad you’ve raised the subject, my dear Mr Rawley, because who can say what tomorrow might bring?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’m aware of your disappointment. I refer, of course, to the diamonds, or should I say the fakes you’ve been attempting to sell. It made me wonder what might happen tomorrow.’
‘I’d have honoured the appointment.’
‘There.’ Mr Jonas beamed at his companions. ‘Didn’t I say Mr Rawley is a gentleman? And here’s proof. He was going to keep his appointment in spite of not having the wherewithal to repay his debt.’
‘About that—’ Greg began.
‘I have at your request calculated the full amount owed as of tomorrow. Will you be in a position to repay me?’
‘You know I won’t.’
‘Then shall we conduct our business this evening instead?’
He spread his hands. ‘I can give you something on account.’
‘Not good enough, Mr Rawley.’
‘Not as good as repayment in full, but I can’t manage that.’
‘But it’s what you agreed. You committed yourself.’
‘Because at the time,’ he replied, allowing his vexation to show, ‘I thought I’d be in a position to close matters between us.’
‘You selected the date yourself, as I recall. That in itself is a token of my esteem. Normally I’m the one who says, “You must repay me on such a date,” but I permitted you to choose. And you’ve let me down.’
‘I had every reason to believe those stones were the real thing.’
‘And in that belief, you agreed to settle your account. The fact that your belief was mistaken is immaterial. A date was set and I require payment. It’s a matter of reputation. I cannot permit settlement dates to be broken. It grieves me to have to do this, Mr Rawley, but you’ve brought it on yourself.’
Greg thought of Bassington, Barrington, whatever his name was, and was on his feet in a moment. He threw a couple of punches before they had his arms pinned behind him so viciously that he felt his right shoulder joint lift in its socket. Varney and his crony spun him round to face Jonas. Greg remembered the beating he had taken; he remembered being left to rot in purgatory with Moira; and he knew those punishments were nothing compared to what was coming next.
He fought as they hauled him to the dining table, slapping his hand palm down on the surface, grabbing his wrist to hold it there. He caught the flash of a blade. He yelled and struggled, stronger in that moment than he had ever been in his life, but still not strong enough. There was a horrible loosening in his bowels and he clenched every muscle in his body so as not to disgrace himself.
The blade slashed downwards. It tore through the thin flesh at the base of his little finger and bit into the bone. For a second he felt nothing, followed by an excruciating pain as the blade was wrenched out. He stared, blinked, stared.
The blade came down again. He distinctly felt it sever the bone and then—
Hyacinths – Mam’s favourites, planted in her memory – filled the garden with sweetness. The rockery was awash with tiny alyssum flowers, as rich a yellow as egg yolk; and primulas contributed a mixture of pretty hues. It was April, but Mary felt like winter – when she felt anything at all. Other times, she felt nothing. She was numb.
‘Annulment?’ she had repeated blankly when they told her. ‘You mean we were never married in the first place?’
‘We believe there was a marriage,’ Sir Edward had said. ‘There are two kinds of marriage that can be annulled. If a marriage should never have happened in the first place because it has no legal standing, the annulment is retrospective to the date of the supposed marriage. The other annulment is not retrospective. The marriage is deemed to have existed until the annulment dissolves it. This is the category we believe your marriage falls into.’
‘It is our belief,’ said Lady Kimber, ‘that you weren’t stable at the time of the wedding. What woman in her right mind would love, honour and cherish when she should love, honour and obey?’
Mary stared at Charlie. He was on his feet, as was Sir Edward – but while Sir Edward stood before the fireplace, centre stage and exuding authority, Charlie skulked behind a chair.
‘Charlie!’ She jumped up and ran to him, horrified when he backed away.
‘Best if you cut along now,’ Sir Edward said, and Charlie bolted for the door.
She ran panic-stricken across the hall, with Charlie striding away from her. She grasped his arm, but he wrenched free and ran upstairs, leaving her clinging to the newel-post to stop herself sinking to the floor.
She felt as though she were in a dream, but in a corner of her mind, something fiery and compelling made her follow him – but when she burst into their bedroom, he wasn’t there. She sat on the bed, then got up again. She wafted round, unable to be still.
Something was different, but she couldn’t think what. She pushed open the door to Charlie’s dressing room and saw his things had gone, which meant … which meant the servants had known of the collapse of her world before she had.
She flew downstairs, where Marley, with the dexterity of a conjurer, ushered her into the morning room, where Sir Edward and Lady Kimber were … but not Charlie.
‘He’ll be putting up at my club for the time being,’ Sir Edward explained. ‘Better that way.’
‘Not for me!’
‘Especially for you,’ retorted Lady Kimber. ‘We can’t have the two of you under the same roof.’
‘I know this is a shock,’ said Sir Edward. ‘The fact is, Charlie made a mistake and the sooner it’s rectified, the better.’
‘A mistake.’ Mary’s heart beat in slow, dull thuds. She couldn’t think.
‘His gallantry got the better of him. He was fond of you, more than fond, and was sneaking behind our backs, seeing you on the sl
y. Very exciting, I dare say. Then he went away and returned home to alarming tales of imprisonment and forcible feeding. It aroused his protective instincts, d’you see? Poor lad. He’s been through the mill one way and another, and now there’s the annulment to face. He feels bad about everything.’
She stared. Poor lad? What about poor lass?
‘Once the matter is settled,’ said Sir Edward, ‘you’ll receive an allowance.’
‘I don’t want your money.’
‘Don’t say anything hasty.’
‘Why? In case I appear unstable?’ She stood. ‘I want to see Charlie.’
‘Better that you remain apart. More dignified. You’ll thank me one day.’
‘I will not!’
‘You’re right – you won’t,’ Lady Kimber concurred. ‘You shan’t get the chance. This puts an end to everything between the Kimbers and the Maitlands.’
Mary glared at her. ‘You’ve wanted this all along. You’re getting rid of me and my family in one fell swoop.’
‘That’s enough,’ Sir Edward boomed in what must be his best courtroom voice. ‘While you remain under my roof, you’ll be treated with courtesy and I expect you to conduct yourself in an appropriate manner. You appear fond of the blue sitting room, so it’ll be set aside for your use. Finally, I would remind you that Eleanor, my daughter, an unmarried girl, lives here. If you do or say anything to distress her, I’ll personally escort you to your bedchamber and turn the key on you. Do you understand?’
That night, she barely slept. She was too shocked even to cry. The next morning, she had no intention of going to breakfast, but a maid appeared.
‘Her Ladyship’s compliments, and will you be coming down, Mrs Charles?’
She knew a command when she heard one and duly made her appearance. It was a bizarre experience. Clearly no one was going to refer to her situation. It was as if she had stepped into the wrong life.
Later, Eleanor slipped into the blue sitting room. ‘Mummy swore me to silence, but I wanted to tell you I’m sorry. Truly.’
‘Are you? Your parents aren’t.’
‘They want what’s best for Charlie and so do I, but it’s beastly that his mistake has hurt you.’
His mistake. That was how it would go down in Kimber history and, if Lady Kimber had anything to do with it, she would be remembered as a ruthless social climber.
She vowed to see Charlie. She wanted to go immediately but, hard as it was, she must wait until the day after tomorrow because that was Sir Edward’s day for the bench as well as a committee morning for Lady Kimber and Eleanor.
Only as she was getting ready did she realise she possessed no money for her fare, since Kimber ladies wouldn’t do anything so infra dig as carry a couple of bob with them, just in case. Fortunately, Charlie had chucked a handful of change from his pocket onto her dressing table the other day and she had scooped it into a drawer while laughingly telling him off for being messy. Oh, Charlie.
Soon she was on her way, but when she arrived, the doorman wouldn’t admit her.
‘This is a gentlemen’s club, miss.’
‘I must see my husband. It’s urgent.’
‘I’ll see what I can do, madam.’ He disappeared for a few minutes. ‘The porter says he’ll see if he can locate your husband, seeing as it’s an emergency.’
A request from a third party didn’t seem sufficient. She rooted in her bag for a calling-card and a pencil. She wrote Please on the back.
‘Mr Charlie Kimber. Thank you.’
Again she waited. Finally the door opened and out came … the porter. She fought against a spasm of pain and astonishment as he told her Mr Kimber wasn’t on the premises. He must be lying, but what could she do?
Returning to Ees House, exhausted with distress, she hid herself away in the blue sitting room.
The door opened and in came Lady Kimber.
‘So the social climber has made a desperate attempt to claw back her meal ticket.’ In reply to Mary’s blank stare, she gave a derisive laugh. ‘You surely didn’t imagine you could set foot outside these four walls unaccompanied.’
‘I was followed?’
‘Of course. Not that you’ll be permitted to go out again.’
‘Then why was I permitted to go today?’
‘To frighten Charlie, of course. I knew you’d try to see him. If he were going to weaken, your hounding him in his place of refuge will have put paid to that. Perhaps I should thank you.’
She breathed hard. She absolutely would not cry in front of Lady Kimber.
‘I want to see my family.’
‘There will be no contact of any description, including letters.’
‘They must be told.’
‘Sir Edward will see to that once we have a court date.’
A court date. She had to brace herself before she could speak again.
‘And in the meantime, I’m to remain here as your prisoner.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Anyone might think you … unstable. Face reality, girl. You worked jolly hard to get Charlie, but the game’s over.’
‘It wasn’t a game.’
‘No, it wasn’t. You were in deadly earnest.’
Lady Kimber left the room, triumph in every step. Mary sank onto a chair, too battered to be angry. The Kimbers wanted this annulment and so it would happen, and all because she had flouted convention in her marriage vows – not to be different or clever or modern, but because it had felt right.
The matter duly went to court and Mary stood in the dock like a criminal while the judge, who was surely meant to be impartial, asked her how she could claim to have been sane when she made ‘that preposterous vow’.
Now here she was, back in her old home, waiting for the annulment to be finalised. That wasn’t the only thing she was waiting for. She was waiting for her mind to catch up with what had happened. She was waiting for it to be real.
She didn’t know where Charlie was. He had gone away immediately after his court appearance. A delayed Grand Tour, it said in the newspaper. Everything had been reported, including her so-called instability. Her prison sentence had been dragged up, too, as had her so-called heroism the day Imogen died. Her parents had tried to keep the paper from her, but she wasn’t having that.
She decided to revert to her maiden name.
‘Is that wise?’ asked Lilian.
‘If you mean is it respectable, I don’t see why not.’
‘Sir Edward says you’re entitled to call yourself Mrs Kimber,’ said Dadda, ‘as the marriage was legitimate until the annulment, but you’re Mrs Mary Kimber, not Mrs Charles Kimber.’
She didn’t want to be any kind of Kimber. ‘I’m sure the Kimbers would prefer it if I didn’t use their name.’
She knew this was the one argument they would fall in with.
All except Granny.
‘You fool!’ she screeched. ‘That’s the mistake I made, giving up the family name. Stick with Kimber, girl. You’re entitled. Tell her, our John.’
She was painfully aware that her ignominious return had placed the family under intolerable strain. Day after day she saw the pinched expression on Lilian’s face when she came home from the shops. Emma had been removed from the drapery counter and set to work spring-cleaning the back of the shop.
‘And when I’ve finished that, I’m to go next door to the dressmaking business and be a tidy-upper in the workroom.’
‘They want to protect you from gossip,’ Lilian soothed her.
‘Be grateful they haven’t asked you to leave,’ Dadda added brusquely.
It wasn’t like him to be sharp. Was he having his nose rubbed in it at the town hall?
‘At least when I lost my Martin, it was because he died,’ said Granny, ‘not because my head was full of women-are-wonderful twaddle. What the hallelujah was you thinking of, girl? Cherish, indeed! You’ve let us all down.’
Lilian stepped in. ‘Please, Mrs Maitland, things are bad enough. Please don’t make them worse.’
‘Worse?’ Granny retorted. ‘How could they possibly be worse?’
Mary’s hand fluttered, an instinctive movement, but she had the presence of mind to stop it before it could reach her stomach. She knew precisely how much worse things could be.
The bugger of it was he could still feel it. He could flex and bend and wiggle it, but when he looked, it wasn’t there. He had dreams in which both his hands were complete. Imagine one finger, one poxy little finger, taking over your mind to that extent. They had chopped off the entire finger, not just the top joint as they had with Barrington-Bassington. Greg had blacked out, only to come bursting back into a roaring red haze of consciousness as they cauterised the wound with a hot poker. He remembered the sizzle of blood, the stench of burning flesh, the slivers of skin sticking to the poker.
He had blacked out again and woken in his bed, only it hadn’t been a proper awakening. It was the start of the nightmare time, a fog in which sleep or unconsciousness, whichever it was, had given way fitfully to confusion, pounding heartbeats and hot skin, only sometimes it had been cold skin, teeth-chatteringly cold, and sickness all through his body, sickness that invaded the murk of his dreams.
At last he woke properly, realised his body no longer rang with illness, and went back to sleep.
‘Blood-poisoning,’ the doctor said later. Evidently the woman who did for him had summoned the quack, who had called several times. ‘Could have been a lot worse.’
He made a show of resting up, not because he needed to – in fact, his strength returned rapidly – but so he could regroup. He thought long and hard about Mr Jonas. He also decided what to do with his mutilated hand. He wasn’t about to admit to what had happened.
He visited his tailor, who recommended a bespoke glove-maker, who in due course provided some left-handed gloves made from the sheerest Italian kid, each little finger cleverly padded to create the illusion of a full set of digits and each glove fitting like a second skin, so perfectly that he could wear ordinary gloves on top. Not until he was in possession of these gloves did he start going out, briefly dismissing the glove to his cronies with the mention of a burn.
The Poor Relation Page 26
