by Mary Hooper
‘Well,’ James said soothingly, ‘let us think of other possibilities. I’m no admirer of anyone in the mourning industry – especially the Unwins, who seem to profit from it more than most – but why should they be implicated in your sister’s disappearance?’
Grace looked at him. ‘I fear they have taken her for immoral purposes,’ she said, her face flushing pink. ‘I have heard that there are houses where women are kept to satisfy men’s desires. Perhaps they are keeping her at one of these against her will.’
James Solent shook his head immediately. ‘No, no. I’m sure it’s not that, for even the Unwins have a certain name to maintain and would not be connected with anything quite so scandalous.’ He paused. ‘It’s alarming when our loved ones grow away from us, but I’m certain your sister is well and will contact you in her own good time.’
Grace, fighting back tears, was silent. She’d been quite sure that James would help her, but he didn’t seem to understand.
‘Thank you for listening to me,’ she said when she’d gained control of herself. ‘I must go back now, before the Unwins realise I’ve gone.’
‘Will you let me know when you hear from her?’
‘If I hear,’ Grace said, ‘though how I’ll get a message from Lily when she can’t even write her own name –’
‘Your sister’s name is Lily?’ James asked with quick interest.
‘It is. Did I not say so before?’
James put his head on one side and looked at Grace quizzically. ‘It is not, by any remote and remarkable chance, Lily Parkes?’
Grace nodded. ‘Yes. How did you know?’
‘Lily Parkes!’ James repeated, his voice rising. ‘By all that’s wonderful. And you are her sister.’
‘I am.’
‘Your mother – your mother is dead, I believe you told me. And her name?’
‘Mama’s first name was Letitia.’
James gasped. ‘Your father was Reginald?’
‘Yes,’ Grace said in surprise. ‘But I believe him to be dead also. I never knew him – I was born after he left.’ She added, ‘He didn’t even know of my existence.’
James let out his breath in a great gust, then took both of Grace’s hands in his own. ‘Grace Parkes, you must prepare yourself for a shock.’
Grace burst into tears. ‘Lily is dead! You have heard that she’s dead?’
‘No, not that at all! I don’t know anything about your sister – other than the fact that the whole of legal London is talking about her.’
‘Talking about my sister?’
‘Talking about her, looking for her, speculating about the missing Lily Parkes and her mother.’
‘But why ever should they be?’
‘And they’ll be talking about you, too, once it’s known that you are the other living heiress of Reginald Parkes.’
Grace looked at James, mystified. ‘What has this to do with my father?’
‘Before I tell you,’ James said, ‘would you mind recounting the circumstances of how you came to work for the Unwins, for now I can only think that it is they who are behind Lily’s disappearance.’
Grace looked at him, bewildered. ‘It was merely that Mrs Unwin saw me at Brookwood the day I met you, and asked me to come and work for her as a mute.’
‘And you told her what? Forgive me for being pedantic, but that’s my training. I need to get the facts right and be sure about everything.’
It had just started to snow; large flakes fell gently and softly, and Grace brushed the sparkling crystals from her velvet jacket as she spoke. ‘Well, I thanked her but said I wasn’t interested, and then when our circumstances changed and Lily and I found ourselves on the streets, I was so distressed that I went to see her. I asked Mrs Unwin if she would employ us both, but she said that she could not, and I was about to leave when Mr Unwin came into the room and said that they would take me on as a mute and, out of charity, would offer Lily a position at their house.’
‘Oh, I bet he did!’ James said. ‘And I bet he’d found out your full names by then.’
‘I believe I had mentioned them. But what has this to do with anything? Why did you ask about my father? What has he done?’
‘What’s he done?’ James opened and closed his mouth several times, then was moved to stand up and give vent to his feelings. ‘What has he done?’ he asked. ‘He’s died abroad and left you his complete fortune, that’s all! You and your sister are probably the richest young women in the whole of London!’
There was a long pause when Grace could neither speak nor move; indeed she went so still that the snow settled on the brim of her black bonnet, so that it looked as if it was edged in ermine.
At last she said, ‘You must be mocking me, sir, and it is not kind of you.’
‘Indeed I am not. I promise I am not,’ James said very sincerely, sitting down again.
‘A fortune?’ Grace asked. ‘A fortune, you say?’
‘Indeed. A king’s ransom, I have heard.’
‘And are you quite sure that it’s my sister, Lily Parkes, who is being sought?’ Grace asked, dizzy and confused.
‘I am perfectly sure. The legacy is left to your mother and Lily, but as your father didn’t know of your existence and your mother is dead, then you are her direct legatee.’ He gave a great clap of laughter. ‘We’ve looked at the advertisements often enough in chambers, speculated so much about where the girl and her mother might be, that I know the details by heart.’
‘So the Unwins know all this, too,’ said Grace.
‘I rather think so.’
‘And Lily hasn’t run off with a young man.’
‘Indeed not. The Unwins must be keeping her somewhere, grooming her in order to swindle you both out of the inheritance.’
‘Oh, Lily!’ Grace suddenly cried.
James was silent, thinking deeply for fully two minutes while the snow fell around them. Before he spoke again he took Grace’s hand in his own. ‘I will take advice about what to do,’ he said, ‘but in the meantime you must stay with the Unwins, keep a watchful eye on what goes on and play the mute.’
‘That last part won’t be difficult,’ Grace said wryly.
‘But I beg you to be careful. Together, the Unwins are a very powerful family. The cousin . . .’
‘Sylvester Unwin?’
‘Yes, he. He’s extremely rich, fiercely ambitious and undoubtedly crooked – but there’s talk of him becoming Lord Mayor of London. If crossed, he would make a formidable opponent.’
‘You think he’s involved, too?’
‘Most definitely. The Unwins always work together.’
‘But surely . . . surely you know what to do to stop them? Surely there’s something that can be done?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve given you an inflated idea of my powers,’ he said, ‘when actually I’m the most junior member of chambers and have as much authority as the man at the end of the street selling matches.’
Grace managed to smile a little despite her disappointment.
‘No, this delicate matter calls for some cunning. I shall confide in one of the senior barristers and ask his advice.’
‘How will I know what’s happening? Shall I come here again?’
He thought for a moment. ‘Would you be able to leave the house for a short while in the evenings?’
‘Possibly,’ said Grace.
‘We must arrange a venue. Do you know the letter box at the top of Edgware Road?’ On Grace nodding, he continued, ‘I pass it each evening about eight o’clock; I could break my journey and wait there for you.’
‘You may have a long wait – I may not be able to get out.’
‘I’ll be there every night for up to an hour until you do come,’ James said. ‘And together we’ll decide what should be done.’
Grace smiled at him tremulously. ‘I can’t thank you enough.’
‘It’s my pleasure,’ he said. ‘This is a very renowned case and may help my name become kn
own in the legal world. Besides . . .’
Grace looked up at him.
‘Besides . . .’ he said again, and then merely squeezed her hand and smiled until Grace had to look away, blushing. ‘If you can, find time to go to Somerset House to get birth certificates for your sister and yourself. And – even more important – obtain your mother and father’s marriage certificate.’ He withdrew some coins from his pocket. ‘You’ll find that the certificates are one shilling each.’
‘I cannot possibly take money from you!’
‘Well,’ he said, looking at her with mock sternness, ‘I will lend you five shillings until you come into your fortune, and then you may pay me back – with interest if you wish.’
x
Chapter Twenty-Three
The following afternoon, just half a mile down the road, in imposing, wood-panelled offices, Miss Charlotte Unwin, accompanied by her mother and father, met the two most senior partners of that old-established law firm, Binge and Gently, in order to claim the Parkes’ family fortune.
Miss Charlotte, well tutored about her new background, was looking slightly different. Not enough to cause the neighbours to gossip, but just subtle temporary measures that could be changed back later. The Unwins had no way of telling if there was anyone other than the sisters with knowledge of the general appearance of either of the Parkes parents, so to bring her complexion more into line with the skins of Lily and Grace, Charlotte’s blooming complexion had become paler under a liberal application of face powder, and her hair treated with a mixture of glycerine, red wine and rosewater in order to render it darker. In addition, she was wearing a false switch of auburn ringlets on the crown of her head, which shook each time she burst into distracting tears – which was fairly often.
‘My dear. Such a shock, I know!’ Her mother produced a bottle of smelling salts from her crocodile-skin handbag and waved it under Charlotte’s nose. ‘But you always knew you were adopted, did you not?’
Charlotte sniffled tearfully.
‘And now we shall take it slowly and go through all the correct procedures with these helpful and learned gentlemen,’ she said, smiling gummily first at Mr Binge, then at Mr Gently, ‘and then perhaps you and I can go away on a grand tour.’
‘Can we go and find the place that my real papa lived?’ Charlotte asked piteously.
‘Perhaps, perhaps,’ said her mother. ‘We shall see. All in good time.’
‘How quickly can we get the money?’ George Unwin asked, and suffered a hard look from his wife. ‘Our daughter is very sensitive,’ he elaborated quickly, ‘and we are anxious that things return to normal as soon as possible. She should not be subjected to too many disruptions to her customary routines.’
‘Quite,’ said Mr Gently, ‘although you will appreciate that because of the large sum involved, there are certain formalities which have to be gone through.’
‘Charlotte is such a delicate creature,’ Mrs Unwin said, ‘and that’s why we must insist that publicity is kept to an absolute minimum. The fewer people who know, the better. And as for the newspapers finding out our identities – well, heaven forfend!’
‘Indeed,’ said George Unwin. ‘The thought that our clients, colleagues and neighbours might find out about this is simply appalling.’
‘We will do all we can to prevent that,’ said Mr Binge.
‘Although everyone in the city is talking about the case,’ put in Mr Gently. ‘Such an unusual and exciting event, and such a very large sum of money.’
Mr Unwin only just prevented himself from licking his lips. ‘What will happen next?’
Mr Gently looked down at the papers on his desk and shuffled them about a little. ‘You say you have your daughter’s adoption certificate at home?’
‘Of course, of course!’ cried Mr Unwin.
‘It’s just that we didn’t stop to hunt for it,’ said his wife. ‘When my husband’s cousin told us about the advertisement – only yesterday evening – we decided we must come here straight away.’
This, as with most things connected with the Unwins, was not quite true. Sylvester Unwin had rushed round the previous evening, but with news he’d heard on the criminal grapevine that a certain other party was also grooming a young woman and preparing a case in order to claim the inheritance. The Unwins had decided, therefore, not to wait for the false adoption papers to be delivered from the corrupt forgers who’d been employed by Sylvester Unwin, but to contact Binge and Gently immediately and beat the others to it.
‘We don’t take The Mercury ourselves,’ said George Unwin. ‘If Mr Sylvester Unwin hadn’t seen it we might never have found out.’
Mr Gently looked at Charlotte, who trembled and burst into tears again under his steady gaze. She did this partly to deflect the questioning, partly to emulate Lily’s own frequent outbursts and partly because she was terrified she would say the wrong thing and so lose her gig and driver.
When she had sniffed at the bottle of salts, delicately touched a lace handkerchief to her nose and partially recovered, Mr Gently asked her, ‘Would you mind telling me again of your earliest recollections, Miss Unwin? We want to bring someone in to take notes.’
Charlotte looked rather taken aback at this but said she would do her best, and a clerk appeared carrying a stool and a sheaf of papers. He sat down at a respectful distance from the vast desks of the partners, while the new Lily Parkes sighed and gazed into the distance.
‘The pity is, I remember so little of my past life,’ she began.
‘What about where you lived? Can you remember that, perhaps?’
‘I do recall our house; a dear little cottage with a mulberry tree in the garden, quite near to a windmill. And I had a little whitewashed room upstairs, with a brass bedstead.’
‘What about your mother? Can you recall her name?’
‘Of course. It was Letitia,’ said Charlotte, sadly and well rehearsed. ‘And she had dark hair, like mine, and was very pretty. But I can’t recall Papa at all.’
‘Of course not!’ said Mrs Unwin quickly. ‘She wasn’t much above two years of age when he went off.’
‘Mama had a miniature of him on her bedside table, though.’
‘And was there anything in particular about his appearance?’
Charlotte hesitated. ‘It was quite a small miniature, but Mama used to say I was very like him.’
‘And you lived in the cottage with the mulberry tree . . .?’
‘All on our own. And Mama always said that one day Papa would come back for us and we’d be very rich. We lived there until . . . until . . .’ And Charlotte’s face crumpled as if she were about to burst out crying again.
‘Until her mother died,’ Mr Unwin put in quickly for, having seen them often enough in rehearsal, he was beginning to weary of his daughter’s outbursts. ‘And then Mrs Unwin and I – being unable to have children ourselves – heard about the poor little orphan and took her in.’
‘We claimed you for our own, my darling!’ said Mrs Unwin, and she and Charlotte exchanged rapturous glances.
‘But why did you change her name from Lily?’ Mr Binge asked. ‘The child was what – five or six years old? She was surely used to that name.’
‘But I never liked it!’ said Charlotte, looking pained.
‘And, quite frankly,’ said Mrs Unwin, ‘I have always thought Lily to be a servant’s name. We deemed it best to give the girl a completely fresh start.’
‘But would you mind telling us,’ put in Mr Unwin, ‘how our Charlotte’s natural father came by such a fortune?’
‘Guano,’ said Mr Binge.
All three Unwins looked mystified.
‘Bird, er, droppings,’ explained Mr Gently. ‘A great amount of them which he discovered in the Galapagos Islands.’
Mrs Unwin was so dismayed by the subject matter that she could barely look Mr Gently in the eye. ‘But why does anyone want that sort of thing?’ she asked faintly.
‘Fertiliser,’ Mr Gently explained. ‘It
’s a very valuable commodity. He found a veritable mountain of it.’
Mrs Unwin turned away, her face registering great disgust.
‘Can you tell us anything else about your childhood, Miss, er, Charlotte?’ asked Mr Binge.
Charlotte rattled off everything she’d learned from the real Lily and Grace: the bluebird tea service, the wedding bonnet, Mama’s embroidered mottoes and the velvet-lined ring box all got a mention. When she stopped speaking and the clerk was dismissed, the partners informed the Unwin family that things appeared to be in order.
‘And if you would bring in the adoption papers at your earliest convenience, I believe we can complete the formalities in a very short time,’ added Mr Binge.
Both gentlemen then stood and, bowing formally to the Unwin family, gave their commiserations on the death of Lily’s real father and their congratulations on the acquisition of a fortune, leaving the Unwins unsure about what sort of expression to allow on their faces as they left the offices and went home to open a bottle of vintage champagne.
x
Chapter Twenty-Four
At the appointed time, by the letter box at the top of Edgware Road and under the light from the street lamp, Grace read through the newspaper article which James Solent had given her. When she’d finished, she looked up at him despairingly.
‘It’s the Unwins, isn’t it? It’s they who are saying that they adopted Lily.’
James nodded. ‘I’ve made some enquiries to a friend of mine, a clerk at Binge and Gently, and it is them, I’m afraid.’
‘They’ve claimed the money. Then they’ve won!’ Grace said. She’d known, of course, that it was too wonderful to be true; that stories about poor girls coming into fortunes only happened in the fairytales she’d once told Lily.
‘I wouldn’t go so far as to say that they’ve won,’ James said, ‘although at the moment they certainly seem to have the upper hand.’
‘But my sister!’ Grace said, bewildered. ‘I can hardly believe it. Why would she go along with this? How have they persuaded her to say she was adopted by them?’
