Lady Lightfingers

by Janet Woods

  ‘She’s a young woman who spent most of her childhood in the London slums picking up bad habits and earning her living by trickery. Chas is a lawyer . . . an association with a parvenu could harm his future.’

  ‘There for the grace of God, go I,’ Thomas murmured. ‘I would never have imagined you’d turn into a stiff-neck, James. Only a few people close to Celia know of her background and rise to fortune – if you can call it that, for she still seems to have precious little to brag about. How would Charles learn of her unfortunate background pray; from you?’

  ‘Things have a way of getting out. Besides . . . it’s not right to deceive a man.’

  ‘You surely don’t expect her to expose her past on first acquaintance, do you? Charles Curtis strikes me as being a resourceful man – old enough to run his own life. Let the relationship run its course without interference.’

  James sighed. ‘Of course he is. I’m being stupid, and you’re right . . . I’m being stiff-necked.’

  ‘You’re worrying needlessly, James. They’ve only met each other once. If the time ever came when Charles needed to know, I’m certain that Celia would reveal all to him. In the meantime, she’s not going to risk her background becoming common gossip by confessing to all and sundry. If that’s deceit, so be it.’ He looked James straight in the eyes. ‘You know, James, you’re showing signs of becoming a pompous ass. It’s about time you married and produced some children.’

  James grinned. ‘Yes . . . You are quite right, Uncle. I’ve been thinking along the same lines, myself.’

  Thomas gazed at him with more than some interest. ‘Who must I thank for this metamorphosis, Miss Harriet Price?’

  James smiled. ‘What was that you were saying about interfering in the lives of others? How did you know it was her?’

  ‘You looked quite dazzled by her. I heard that Miss Price was approached by Arthur Avery once or twice – he was engaged to Harriet’s sister before she and her mother sickened and died last year.’

  ‘Arthur Avery? Good Lord; he’s old enough to be her father. Who told you such a thing?’

  ‘Your mother did. Much as I love my sister, I’d be the first to say that Abigail is a busybody who makes it her business to know everyone else’s business. But she’s usually correct about things. Avery is Harriet’s financial, as well as legal adviser, by the way.’

  James’ smile slowly faded. ‘There are rumours about him.’

  ‘According to my sister, Harriet firmly rejected Avery, but he thinks it’s only a matter of time, since her father’s estate is almost bankrupt and she now has Celia and young Lottie to support, as well as the family house to maintain. He offered to buy it, but she refused him that too. Apparently, he told her she wouldn’t be able to afford the maintenance much longer, and his next offer would be considerably smaller.’

  ‘That sounds like a threat.’

  ‘Doesn’t it? So take my advice, James. If you intend to marry the woman, you’d better start courting her. Invite them for New Year.’

  James headed for the door and Frederick slipped through it in the opposite direction. When Thomas stretched his legs out towards the fire, the cat jumped on his lap and began to knead and purr. Thomas felt warm and contented, and smiled at the thought that he’d spurred James into action.

  ‘You’re pulling threads in my trousers,’ Thomas murmured to Frederick, not that he cared much, since they were an old pair. ‘You know, Freddie, perhaps we’ll settle down here, after all.’

  Abigail came in with a tray of tea and some fruit scones to go with it. She was a small, neat woman, ten years younger than him, but there was a likeness between them. She took the seat opposite, and, handing him a plate supporting two buttered scones, began to pour the tea from a china pot. ‘Well, Thomas?’

  ‘It seems that James has taken a liking to Harriet Price.’

  ‘I had noticed him paying attention to her. I thought her to be a nice young woman with a sensible head on her shoulders. I’d almost given up on James marrying. Do you think anything will come of it?’

  ‘He’s just the right age, my dear, and is now established professionally. Harriet Price does appear to have a sensible head on her shoulders, as you say.’

  ‘That girl you’ve taken under your wing . . . Celia Laws. Is that Alice Price’s daughter?’

  ‘It is. They fell on hard times and her mother recently died.’

  ‘I hear she has a child to raise.’

  ‘The child is no blood relative, but a foundling who was taken into the family by her mother. She’s named Charlotte, and Celia regards her as a sister.’ He wondered if he was making a mistake in confiding in his sister and gazed at her. ‘Abigail . . . everything I have told you about Celia Laws must remain confidential. Celia is a dear girl who deserves a better chance in life than she’s previously been obliged to endure.’

  ‘I know you think I’m a gossip, but when it’s close to home I can be the soul of discretion.’ His sister gazed at him with genuine concern in her eyes. ‘The girl is so young, and I’m not entirely comfortable with what I know of her background. You won’t do anything silly will you?’

  ‘Silly! What on earth are you talking about, Abigail?’

  ‘Well, you know . . . marriage. You wouldn’t be the first older gentleman to be taken in by a pretty face, and anyone can see how fond you are of the girl.’

  ‘She reminds me of my own, dear daughter, whose name she bears, and who would have been much the same age now. Marriage?’ He chuckled. ‘I would have absolutely nothing to offer a girl of that age.’

  ‘You have money and property, and it’s clear she worships the ground you walk on. Such attention is flattering for a man of mature years.’

  ‘It might be for some. Celia wants neither money nor property from me, and if she admires me, it’s because I trust her and I give her confidence in herself. Celia has few pretensions, but her expectations in her own ability are high.’

  Thomas’ hand jerked when his sister said, ‘I thought I saw her father the last time I was in London. He was in the theatre, and I heard him being referred to as the American tenor, Daniel Laws. Although the man had greying hair, he seemed about the same age as Jackaby Laws would be now. Eighteen years have passed, so he could quite easily be the same man. Apart from his name, even his speaking voice was the same.’

  ‘You’ve met Celia’s father then?’

  ‘It was a long time ago, and only briefly. Jackaby Laws was handsome, charming and distinguished-looking. My husband invested some money in his theatre show . . . only a small amount, thank goodness, so we didn’t lose much.

  ‘But then, perhaps it wasn’t Jackaby Laws, because I’ve since been told he is dead.’

  Thomas allowed that snippet to take root in his mind. Alice Laws had indicated to him that her husband had deserted her. Had she known he’d died? Indeed, had he died, or had he just changed his name? Celia seemed convinced that he was still alive, and a confidence trickster. Thomas had been left with no doubt that she intended to seek him out and take him to task.

  ‘Can you remember who told you of his demise?’

  ‘Really, Thomas, can you remember who you had conversations with eighteen years ago? The subject just came up, as it has now. He was one of those men with presence, who it was hard to forget. No wonder Alice Price fell hard for him. I vaguely remember it said that he was taken ill, and had died on the ship taking him back to America.’

  Which was a plausible rumour to put about if the man had wished to change his identity and leave his past behind.

  ‘Alice was shunted off to Scotland to look after some relative or another, but when her father died her stepmother sent her packing.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you know what happened to Jackaby Laws’ estate?’

  Abigail snorted. ‘All I know is that we didn’t get our investment money back. Neither did anyone else. There was talk over the years . . . that Alice kept it . . . that their marriage was a sham right from the beginning
. Some said that Jackaby had deserted Alice and the child, and finally, that he’d actually died. All the same, Daniel Laws reminded me so much of him that I began to wonder again what the truth of it actually was.’

  Thomas’ curiosity was now thoroughly aroused. He’d always disliked a story without a satisfactory ending.

  Thirteen

  There was a crash during the night that woke them all. Candles lit, they inspected the house and the attics to discover there was a hole in the roof. The storm had blown one of the chimney pots off, which in turn had cracked some tiles, allowing room for the rain to seep through. Luckily the room was unoccupied, so the fire wasn’t alight to cause a hazard.

  They placed a bucket under the drip and went back to bed, hoping that the rain wouldn’t get any heavier to worsen the damage.

  A shivering Lottie held on tightly to Celia’s nightgown. Her sister had her own room now, joining Celia’s. Now, she said quietly, ‘Can I sleep with you tonight?’

  There wasn’t much of the night left, for the long clock in the hall had chimed three just a few moments ago. She smiled at Lottie. ‘Come on then.’

  There was a warm lump under the quilt where Moggins had sought safety from the storm. He set up a loud purr.

  ‘You’re supposed to sleep in the kitchen,’ she scolded, but Celia couldn’t be bothered to go out into the cold again, and the three of them snuggled down together, despite the crash, bash, and blustering fury of the storm outside.

  It had blown itself out by morning, leaving a beaten-down and sodden garden in its wake. A few more tiles had been lost to the storm, others loosened.

  But it was a fine, if cold, day, and when Major was turned out he trotted around the paddock, his tail frisking, and heehawing loudly, as if he was pleased to have survived the night.

  A couple of the chickens had escaped through a hole in their run, but came running out of the hedge at the urgent clucking of those left behind when Millie dished out their mash.

  ‘The chimney and roof cannot be repaired,’ Arthur Avery said on his next two-monthly visit. ‘You have very little money left. In fact, Miss Price, it’s my duty to tell you that in a month or two there will be no money left in the account at all. Then what will you do? I did warn you.’

  ‘So you did, Mr Avery. What you didn’t do was provide me with a list of our monetary assets and an accounting of what the money has been spent on. I demand that you do so, and as soon as possible.’

  ‘To do that I’d have to hire the services of an accountant, and his fee would be beyond your means.’

  He was being evasive.

  ‘Very well, Mr Avery; then what would you suggest that I do? We can’t leave the chimney damaged and a hole in the roof. The sparks might get inside and set fire to the house.’ Not that it was likely to happen, since that side of the house was rarely used. ‘If there’s another storm the damage will only worsen.’

  He sighed. ‘If you’d taken my advice, sold the house and bought something smaller, then you wouldn’t be in this position now.’

  ‘Perhaps I should have, but I didn’t, and that’s because I grew up here in this house, and I love it. It’s my family home.’

  Leaning forward he took her hands in his. ‘My dear Miss Price . . . my offer is still open. If you married me then you could stay here. I have a great deal of money with which to refurbish the place.’

  ‘I thought I’d made my position on that perfectly clear, Mr Avery. I will not marry you. I don’t want to. Perhaps you could kindly furnish me with a loan.’

  ‘May I ask how you would repay that loan?’

  Harriet didn’t know. Perhaps it was time she found something smaller to live in – a house in Poole perhaps. ‘You offered to buy the house before. How much would you be prepared to pay for it?’

  He smiled gently at her, but his eyes were sharp and astute. ‘Considerably less than my last offer since I’d need to pay for the storm damage to be repaired, and refurbish the house to make it habitable and more to my taste.’

  She supposed it had become a bit shabby, but that had never bothered her. ‘I see,’ and she smiled. ‘Half of this house belongs to Celia, you know. I can’t sell it without her approval.’

  ‘Of course you can, Miss Price. The girl is not named in any will, and has no expectations.’

  ‘But her mother was . . . and that legacy has been spent. When my mother and sister died you personally assured me that the annuity I inherited would last me for the rest of my life.’

  ‘It would have, except the money was invested. Market forces, my dear. One can rarely predict them with any great accuracy. Unfortunately, they sometimes don’t behave as expected. And there was my professional fee to take into account, of course.’

  ‘Of course; you certainly believe in taking advantage of your clients. Exactly what were your fees, Mr Avery? I don’t think you ever discussed them.’

  ‘I’m running a business, not a charity, my dear. A man must be cautious, and one must take the opportunity to better oneself and grow his fortune. My dear, will you please reconsider my proposal. I don’t want to see you out on the street, or, God forbid, in the workhouse.’

  Neither did Harriet, especially after reading some of Celia’s tales. And neither did she want to be hung on the gallows at Newgate, but she was definitely thinking of murdering this man, and in the most painful way possible! ‘I’ll think on it, and I’ll let you know in due course, Mr Avery.’

  ‘Don’t leave it too long, my dear. I’m not exactly short of admirers and your position is getting desperate and so is mine. I do need an heir or two before I’m much older.’

  After the lawyer left, Celia heard the sound of weeping. She abandoned her writing and went downstairs.

  Looking forlorn, Harriet had the written estimate for the repairs spread out on the table.

  ‘Don’t cry . . . we’ll think of something,’ Celia said, and kissed her cheek.

  ‘Mr Avery tells me we no longer have any money,’ Harriet said, hurriedly scrubbing her eyes with a handkerchief. ‘We can’t even pay for the chimney to be repaired. I’m very much afraid that I’ll have to wed him . . . but I so despise the man.’

  ‘Then you mustn’t marry him.’ Celia’s arms went round her aunt and she held her tight. She hesitated; loath to spend the money Charles Curtis had given her. If she didn’t repay the actual money the price she’d have to pay to cover the debt would be too high.

  She remembered the one or two pieces of jewellery she still had, the butterfly brooch and the silver locket. It wasn’t as if she’d ever be able to return them to the original owners, and she was too ashamed to wear them now she realized that most people were kind and decent. Best she got rid of them so they were no longer on her conscience. ‘I’ve got a couple of pieces of jewellery I can sell. It will tide us over until I’m paid for my first story.’

  Harriet gazed at her, her eyes red from weeping, but hopeful. ‘And there’s some jewellery that belonged to my mother that could be sold.’

  Harriet raced around the house, finding other articles they no longer needed . . . bits and pieces of solid silver, a christening cup or two, a tea service, so heavy with silver that it was almost impossible to lift.

  ‘We can’t carry all that. We’ll sell the jewellery to a pawnbroker by itself. It should cover the repairs to the house with some left over. Just make a list of the silver you don’t want.’

  ‘I’ll polish everything so it sparkles.’

  ‘There’s no need to. Nobody will want to buy a christening cup with an inscription on it, so a silversmith will buy it for the silver and melt it down. We will take one mug as an example of quality, and can get an estimate of what it’s worth from a silversmith. If they’re interested they’ll say so. And we don’t want to appear desperate.’

  ‘We are desperate.’

  Harriet had no real notion of what desperation was, so Celia argued, ‘No we’re not . . . I still have some money left and the garden has some winter vegetables
, and we have chickens that lay eggs. We also have a roof over our heads, and I can go and clean people’s houses for money, or . . . or we could take in paying guests.’

  Harriet sniffed. ‘Oh, dear, that would be too undignified, and everyone would know that we were practically destitute.’ Her eyes rounded in horror. ‘How will we afford a goose for Christmas?’

  Hooting with laughter, for that was the least of their worries, Celia gave her aunt an extra squeeze. ‘If the worst comes to the worst I’ll wring the neck of one of those fancy ducks on the pond. And if I can work out how to fire that rifle in the rack, I can go to the woods and shoot a pigeon or two out of the sky. There are trout in the pond, as well.’

  Gasping, her aunt said, ‘They belong to the squire.’

  ‘What does he need so many fish for? He won’t miss an occasional one. Besides, we won’t be the only villagers who poach them. Mr Hardy had a couple of lively ones wriggling in his sack when I saw him the other day, though he tried to keep them still. We’ll show Arthur Avery that he can’t force you into marriage.’

  ‘I think he’s been cheating me, Celia. He’s never given me any accounting, even though I’ve asked and asked. I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Ask James Kent to help you. We’ll go into Poole tomorrow. While you ask for his advice I’ll haggle with a pawnbroker for the best price for our goods.’

  ‘What if Mr Kent charges a fee for his advice?’

  ‘He won’t, I promise. Just flutter your eyelashes at him and look helpless. He won’t be able to resist you, and he’ll swoon, and fall over with his legs in the air.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dare do that,’ and Harriet looked so shocked that Celia giggled.

  Harriet was halfway through her interview with James when there came a knock at the door and Charles Curtis came in. He stood within the still quality he possessed; his eyes going speculatively from one to another before he smiled. ‘How nice to see you again, Miss Price. I’m sorry to disturb you, James; I had no idea you were entertaining. I just wanted to tell you that I’m off to the bank, so will be out of the office for a short time.’