Rose Campion and the Stolen Secret

by Lyn Gardner

  “That’s––” began Rose. The fox screamed outside again, making both of them jump. “I’d better get back to my bed,” she said. “If I’m caught it’ll be the worse for both of us. Grace, you’ll soon be free. I’ll give Thomas this paper tomorrow and we’ll have you out in a blink.”

  Thomas had sent his letter to Reverend Woldingham and was now searching through an old trunk in a small room off the props store. It was where he kept his most personal possessions. Nothing valuable that anyone might want to steal, but the things that he held dear. There were his old school books; the hat he had worn for his wedding to poor dear, dead Maud; his twins’ cribs.

  Thomas was worried and upset. He had felt uneasy ever since returning from the asylum in Balham. He should never have left Rose there. It had been a mad idea. But once Rose had decided something, dissuading her was like trying to take a bone off a terrier.

  But he hated leaving Rose, particularly when she was so angry with him. He couldn’t bear to think of the way she had stood so stiffly when he had gone to hug her goodbye, and how small and wan she had looked as he’d turned to wave before the door banged behind him. It had seemed so final, as if he might never see her again. He so wished he had told her about what happened when she was a baby before yesterday.

  He reached down further into the trunk and his hand grasped what he was looking for: two halves of an old, worn swaddling sheet. Gently, he pulled them out. The material was fragile, but to his relief it was still intact. The moths had stayed away. He studied one sheet and then the other. They were threadbare but anyone could see the quality: the stitching was so delicate. He held one half-sheet up to the light and gave a tiny gasp of surprise. In the very corner, stitched in white thread so it was almost invisible, was a tiny butterfly. He picked up the other half of the sheet and saw the same butterfly motif. The butterfly was the emblem of the Easingford family.

  The babies had each been wrapped in this sheet. The babies! Maybe Ned had been asking after “the babies” for a reason. He thought of the envelope with Oliver Dorset’s address on it and the names scrawled on the back. Ned had written Rose and? Had Ned—

  He heard a sound behind him. He turned round, and as he glimpsed the face in front of him, the past came rushing back.

  “You!” he said in astonishment. “It was you!” He tried to get to his feet, and as he did so, a cricket bat hit him on the side of the head. After that he saw and felt nothing.

  Rose sat in the drawing room at Ivanhoe House watching the clock. Thomas would soon be here to take her away. She would have liked to have tried to see Grace one more time but it was too risky. She patted her pocket, where she was safely keeping Grace’s signed note. She hoped that Mr Cherryble was right and it would be enough to get Grace released quickly.

  Rose turned over what she knew in her mind. It was obvious that Ned had really loved Grace, so why would he keep her in the dark about his past? He had to be trying to protect her and Freddie. Maybe he had felt that the less they knew, the safer they would be. But that implied he had a dangerous secret.

  Rose mused on. Things seemed to have changed just before his death. Grace had said that Ned was distracted and worried. Grace knew Ned had been to Yorkshire, and Rose knew from the envelope she’d found that Oliver Woldingham had written to Ned too. Grace also knew that Ned had been in correspondence with someone in America. If only they could find out who that was.

  The clock chimed noon. Rose stood up and looked out of the window at the curved drive, watching for the carriage that would bring Thomas to release her. She was still standing there four hours later. Thomas had not come for her as promised. She choked back the tears. He had done the very thing that he promised that he would never do: he had abandoned her.

  For a moment she wondered if he was punishing her in some way for how she had behaved yesterday in the carriage. But she knew that Thomas had too much generosity of spirit to ever hold a grudge like that. Her heart lurched. Something had happened to him, something terrible.

  Suddenly she realised that Dr Fogg had come to stand next to her.

  “You see,” he said gloatingly. “I was right. It is quite extraordinary how quickly they forget you once they have left you here like an unwanted parcel.”

  Rose clenched her fists. She wanted to scream and shout, but then she remembered Grace strapped to the bed upstairs. Screaming and shouting would get her nowhere.

  “I’m sure my father will have a good reason for his delay. I know he loves me,” she said with all the dignity she could muster.

  “How very sweet,” said Dr Fogg. “But in my experience love can be so very forgetful.” He started to walk away. “Oh, and in case you were thinking of trying, the front and back doors are securely locked, and Mrs Gawkin and I are the only ones with keys.”

  Rose disguised her surprise and tried to keep her voice as calm as she could. “Who is Mrs Gawkin?” she asked.

  “Matron,” said Dr Fogg shortly. “It is Hannah Gawkin who makes sure this place runs like clockwork.” He strode away.

  Rose sank down on the chair and stared at the bars on the window. They suddenly seemed to have grown thicker and more menacing. The names that kept coming up had to be more than coincidence. She knew from the silver cup that Lizzie had an Easingford link. Ned had been called an Easingford, even though he denied it. And she had overheard there was a Sarah Easingford here at Ivanhoe House. Rose knew she had to find and talk to her. And now it seemed she had all the time in the world.

  Lizzie sat on Mr Snetherbridge’s hard-backed chair and licked her lips. The letter she had written, saying that since she had heard nothing from Mr Snetherbridge she had decided to take her information elsewhere, had obviously done the trick. The threat had been a risky strategy, not least because from now on she would have to be constantly vigilant, watching out for a knife in the ribs late at night on a lonely street. But so far it seemed to be paying off.

  She had been quickly summoned to a meeting in Soho Square. In the first few minutes it became apparent to her that Snetherbridge did not have the box containing the silver cup and ribbon and believed that they were still in her possession. But what he and his lordship did not yet realise was that she had an even greater prize. She could produce the child.

  Mr Snetherbridge eyed her with distaste. He was still smarting from the volcanic anger with which Lord Henry had exploded when Josiah confirmed that he had seen a butterfly mark on Freddie Dorset’s neck. He’d been furious that Josiah had allowed the child to slip through his fingers and now couldn’t locate him even though he had apparently been keeping a close eye on Campion’s. Without the child they would have to continue to negotiate with Lizzie Gawkin.

  “I think we need to get down to real business, Mrs Gawkin,” said Mr Snetherbridge. “His lordship is grateful for the information that you have provided so far.”

  Lizzie simpered. “I want nothing more, Mr Snetherbridge, than to be a friend to the Easingford family and his lordship.”

  “And Lord Henry appreciates that, Mrs Gawkin. But he needs further proof that you have his best interests at heart or I’m afraid he will think you are merely bluffing.”

  “I never bluff,” said Lizzie sharply. “You already know that I have the cup and ribbon. What you don’t know is how boldly I acted in removing a direct threat to his lordship’s reputation.”

  Mr Snetherbridge waited for more, but Lizzie remained silent.

  “If you could just explain yourself a little more clearly, Mrs Gawkin, maybe I could see my way to a small payment for all the trouble you have gone to so far on his lordship’s behalf.”

  He reached into his desk drawer, opened a small box and pushed it towards Lizzie. Lizzie’s eyes gleamed with greed. There were at least fifty gold sovereigns in the box, maybe more. This was more like it. She put out her hand, but Mr Snetherbridge moved the box just out of her reach. He leaned forward.

  “First things first, Mrs Gawkin.”

  The gold sovereigns seemed to b
e winking at Lizzie from the box. They were irresistible. She wanted them.

  “I told you that Edward Easingford was dead at our last meeting. What I didn’t tell you is that I killed him. I did it for his lordship. I was more familiar with the young man’s history than he was himself, and I knew that he was a ghost from the past who could ruin everything for Lord Henry. So I lured him to an alley by the river, hit him over the head and pushed him in. It was quite simple, and done so easily that he could barely have felt a thing.”

  Mr Snetherbridge disguised his distaste at the pleasure she seemed to take in the murder. But it confirmed everything he already knew about the death of Ned Dorset.

  “But of course there is still the child.”

  “Yes,” said Lizzie, “there is the child. But once I have received my full payment – I think a thousand guineas should suffice – I will deliver her to you, and you can do what you want with her. She will be of no further use to me.”

  “Her!” Mr Snetherbridge gave a yelp of surprise that he then tried to cover with a cough. “The child is a girl?”

  Lizzie smiled. “Aurora Scarletti, the Infant Phenomenon, is the daughter of Edward Easingford. I have the evidence to prove it. Why else would I have looked after the brat for all these years?”

  “Of course,” said Mr Snetherbridge, trying to collect his thoughts. “You have the child, the documents, the cup and the ribbon. But no doubt you are aware that there is one further thing that will conclusively prove the truth of what you are saying.”

  “What is that?”

  “The Easingford butterfly. I suppose she has the mark on her neck?”

  For a split second Lizzie stared at him dumbstruck, and then very smoothly before he could notice she leaned forward and said, “But of course.”

  Her mind was racing. A butterfly birthmark on Aurora’s neck? She had never noticed one. Even though she had always had as little physically to do with the child as possible, leaving her to tend and dress herself, she was sure she would have noticed something like that. Maybe she had got the wrong child. She just had to hold her nerve and keep bluffing. She looked longingly at the money in the open box, but Mr Snetherbridge stood up and snapped it shut.

  “Mrs Gawkin,” he said with a thin smile. “His lordship will be most grateful to you, and I will be in touch to arrange where and how we might complete an agreement.”

  The pimply boy appeared to escort her to the front door. As Lizzie Gawkin trotted off down the street, Lord Henry appeared from his nook where he had been listening.

  “That woman is deluded,” he said. “Josiah Pinch was quite certain that Ned Dorset only had one child, a son. Who is this other child? If I hadn’t touched her cold, stiff body myself, I’d be expecting my sister-in-law, Lily, to suddenly knock at the door too.”

  Mr Snetherbridge frowned. “Maybe Lizzie Gawkin is deluded but maybe she isn’t. It’s not impossible that there could be two children. I have heard of this music-hall act, Aurora Scarletti, the so-called Infant Phenomenon. She is older than Grace Dorset’s boy. Perhaps your nephew fathered her, and then abandoned her and the mother?”

  “A girl is less of a problem, in that she can have no claim against the title. But if she is the child of Edward Easingford she must be dealt with as her very existence would be awkward, and she could make a claim against her grandmother Lily’s fortune. Remove both the children. If either of them ever came forward I would never make Privy Council and the ancient Easingford name would be blackened forever. I would rather die than let that happen.”

  “Perhaps Lizzie Gawkin will dispatch two children for the price of one?” said Mr Snetherbridge quietly.

  “Perhaps that bloodthirsty vixen will. She seemed quite pleased with the way she killed Edward. But I’m not complaining. She has done me a favour and finished the job I bungled at his birth.”

  It was twenty-four hours after Thomas had been found unconscious, a bloodstained cricket bat by his fallen body. Aurora and Effie were hiding in some bushes, gazing at the high, forbidding wall that surrounded Ivanhoe House. They had walked around it twice and found no obvious way in. But they were determined to rescue Rose, not only for her sake but also for Thomas’s.

  “Maybe it’s a blessing Thomas can’t recall a thing that happened after he had his breakfast yesterday,” said Aurora. “If he knew that he had left Rose in the asylum, and that she was trapped there until he was well enough to go there himself and claim her, he’d go insane with worry.” She blushed at her unfortunate choice of words. “He keeps asking for her. He’s going to realise something’s up very soon.”

  “Maybe if we rescue Rosie, seeing her will make Thomas remember what happened. He only had an old linen sheet in his hand, and that’s not the sort of thing somebody tries to kill you for,” said Effie.

  Aurora sighed. “And just imagine how Rose must be feeling. She must think she’s been abandoned. We can’t even get her a message.”

  “Come on,” said Effie. “Let’s have another look round.”

  The two girls walked past a small wooden door in the wall on which a faded notice was pinned. “Hang on,” said Effie, pointing to it. “What’s that say?”

  Aurora read it out. “Maid of all work required. Ring bell at front gates.”

  Effie’s eyes lit up. “It’s worth a try,” she said, clutching Aurora’s arm excitedly. “I can find Rose and Grace, and get ’em out! I’ll steal the keys if I have to.”

  It was decided. Effie would knock and ask after the job, while Aurora raced back to Campion’s. If Effie didn’t show up later, Aurora would get the horse and cart and return with it after midnight, ready to pick up brave Effie and the others.

  Rose chewed her fingernails and paced the drawing room. It was long past suppertime. Nobody would come for her tonight, of that she was certain. She was worried sick about Thomas. Something terrible must have happened to him. She came to a rest in front of the barred window, and she saw reflected in the glass a woman she hadn’t seen before shuffle into the room behind her. Could it be?

  “Sarah?” asked Rose gently. “Are you Sarah Easingford?”

  The woman nodded and put an arm out towards Rose, tears falling down her face. Rose guided the woman to the sofa and the two of them sank into it. The woman touched Rose’s face. “Who are you, child? Do I know you?”

  Rose took the woman’s hand, stroking it gently, and thought of the things she knew about the Easingford family.

  “I’m Rose. I know who you are. You were Sarah Charlotte Dorset and your sister was called Lily.”

  The woman smiled gently. There wasn’t a hint of madness in her eyes, only sorrow.

  “Nobody has called me Sarah Dorset for years. Not since I was a girl. Not since I married my husband, who had me stuck inside here after the birth of our son, Edgar. But me and Lily, we were the Dorset sisters. Everybody knew the Dorset sisters.”

  “Tell me more about Lily,” said Rose softly. “What happened to her?”

  A faraway look came into Sarah’s eyes. “I’ve tried to tell people for years but nobody listens. They just think I’m raving.”

  “I’ll listen. I want to hear what you have to say,” whispered Rose.

  “Lily didn’t want to marry Frederick Easingford. She wanted to marry Oliver Woldingham, our cousin. But he was just a poor parson and Frederick Easingford had a title and an estate. She was given no choice by my father. She didn’t love Frederick, although he was a kind enough man.” She stopped and her features contorted. “Not like his twin brother, my husband.” She leaned in to Rose and whispered, “Henry is the very devil.”

  The woman seemed lost in thought for a moment, before she continued.

  “So Lily married Frederick, but she still loved Oliver and he loved her. Oliver was the parson at Easingford Church, my dear, and he had to see her every day. How they both suffered! But then Frederick died shortly after the wedding. He was out riding alone with his brother, Henry, when it happened. I’ve always wondered if his death
might not have been the accident Henry said it was. It gave Oliver and Lily hope they might eventually marry. But Lily was expecting Frederick’s child, a child who, if he was a boy, would be the next Lord Easingford.”

  Sarah sighed. “I was living at Easingford Hall too. My father, Lord Dorset, had died, and I was the ward of my sister’s husband, a duty that passed to Henry when Frederick died. It was a difficult time. Henry made it clear he thought the title should be his. During the last six months of her confinement he made Lily’s life hell. It was as if he was trying to kill her. But then nature did his job for him. She succumbed to the influenza and died giving birth.”

  Rose squeezed Sarah’s hand. “I’m so sorry. To lose your sister and her son like that must have been a terrible blow.”

  “But – and this is what no one believes – the child didn’t die. Everyone thought he was dead, but Henry didn’t do a good enough job of smothering him. The child lived.”

  Rose looked shocked. “How can you be certain he tried to kill the baby?”

  “I saw it all with my own eyes,” said Sarah. “I’d long learned that the way to survive at Easingford Hall was to watch without being seen. It made me quite the little spy. I was hiding behind a Chinese screen in his bedroom. I saw him with the pillow. Later I was hidden behind the dining-room curtains when the coffin was on the table. Henry put the baby into the coffin with my poor dead sister. He watched while the coffin was nailed up and then he left, thinking the job had been done, and that’s when we heard the cry.”

  “We?” asked Rose.

  “The coffin maker, Joe, and his wife, Abigail. They didn’t know I was there either. When Henry left, they pulled off the coffin lid and removed the swaddled baby and the silver cup and ribbon that Henry had placed in the coffin too. They were never seen again. They were good people. They knew that Henry would kill the boy if he discovered he was still alive. They saved Edward, my sister’s son.”