by Mary Hooper
Grace stared at her. ‘You only know all this because of what Lily and I have told you!’ she cried furiously. ‘And where is my real sister? What have you done with Lily?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Charlotte Unwin disdainfully.
There was a silence, a stand-off, with all parties glowering at each other, and then Mr Stamford coughed slightly to draw everyone’s attention to himself. ‘My client, Miss Grace Parkes, has the birth certificates for her and her sister,’ he said. ‘What hard evidence do you have, Mr and Mrs Unwin?’
‘We have an adoption certificate,’ said Mr Unwin, and he exchanged a meaningful glance with his wife.
‘It’s just that – silly me – I’ve mislaid it at the moment,’ put in Mrs Unwin. ‘And, you know, with the terrible shock of our dear cousin’s death only yesterday, I haven’t yet been able to find it.’
‘We will find it, though,’ said Mr Unwin.
There was a pause just as long as a heartbeat and then Mr Stamford said in a jocular tone, ‘Well, as it happens you don’t have to worry, because – what do you think? – by some strange coincidence we have the very thing here!’ He waved a document in the air. ‘At least, it says adoption certificate at the top.’
The silence that followed this statement was longer and more profound as all three members of the Unwin family stared at the certificate, each wondering how on earth Mr Stamford had managed to get his hands on it and what this might mean.
Charlotte Unwin began crying. ‘I’m telling you the truth: I am Lily Parkes! Mama – my real mama – had a miniature of Papa by her bed, and she always used to say how much I looked like him! It was painted by someone . . . someone whose name I can’t quite remember but . . .’
And then the door to the office was unceremoniously flung open and Grace heard a voice shouting, ‘No! Mama painted it herself!’
She looked around to see her sister – her dearest, real sister Lily – standing there, with a smiling James behind her. She rose, and Lily saw her and ran towards her, in her great eagerness tripping over the rug and almost falling. And then the sisters were in each other’s arms.
x
‘It’s Mrs Beaman we have to thank,’ James began to explain just a little later.
Grace and Lily – the latter having just managed to quell her sobs – were now sitting side by side, arms around each other, on the chaise longue in the small waiting room. They made a strange pair: one girl elegant in turquoise blue, the other in a stained apron over a dingy grey cotton frock with no shoes on her feet.
‘Mrs Beaman, the Unwins’ cook?’ Grace asked in surprise.
‘The very same. Apparently when you, Grace, went to the Unwins’ home after Christmas wanting to see Lily, Mrs Beaman felt so sorry for you that she decided to go to the police and tell them the truth: that Lily had been removed from the house against her will.’
‘Oh, how kind of her!’ Grace cried.
‘Well, it was partly kindness,’ James said, ‘and also the fact that George Unwin hadn’t been too generous with his bribes. He seemed to think that ten shillings might cover the matter from beginning to end.’
‘And where has Lily been all this time?’ Grace asked, looking anxiously at her sister and hoping she hadn’t suffered too much.
‘In a hospital . . . an asylum in a Manchester slum,’ James answered.
‘Oh, Lily, was it too awful?’ Grace asked.
Lily considered. ‘It wasn’t that bad,’ she said. ‘There were lots of children there . . .’
‘Children whose relatives wanted them out of the way,’ James put in in a low voice.
‘And I looked after some of them and told them stories. But I really missed you! And I kept asking when I would see you but no one took any notice of me.’ She shot a look at Grace, gazing in admiration at her fashionable gown and bonnet. ‘But you look so very grand and ladylike now . . . are you sure you missed me?’
‘Of course I did!’ Grace answered, hugging her closer. ‘Every minute.’
‘Mrs Beaman reported the matter,’ James went on, ‘and then when the police at this end started their investigations, two of them eventually went up to Manchester. They spoke to some chaps there, and between them they found out where Lily had been placed. They brought her back to London yesterday, and one astute peeler recognised her name and realised who she was. He got in touch with Binge and Gently and, well, you know the rest.’
‘I do, and it’s all wonderful,’ Grace said, smoothing her sister’s matted hair.
‘They said you might come and see me, and I used to spend all day at the window looking for you but you never came,’ Lily said pathetically.
‘Dearest Lily,’ Grace said, ‘for some of that time, I didn’t even know you were gone! And when I did find out, they told me that you’d run off with a groom.’
Lily pulled such a face at this notion that James and Grace both laughed.
x
When Mr Stamford came into the room some fifteen minutes later, he looked very pleased with himself.
‘Mr and Mrs Unwin, together with Miss Charlotte Unwin, are to be charged with grand fraud,’ he said. ‘It’s obvious that Sylvester Unwin was implicated in the plan but, as we know, the Lord has already meted out his sentence.’
Lily looked around at their serious faces. ‘What does all that mean?’
Grace took a deep breath. ‘I have a lot to tell you.’ She addressed Mr Stamford, ‘Does my sister know about Papa and the . . . ?’
Mr Stamford shook his head. ‘We haven’t told her everything. We thought that might be better coming from you.’
‘What?’ Lily asked, seeing everyone was looking at her.
‘I’ll tell you everything when we get to the hotel,’ Grace promised, for she was feeling tired and drained.
‘Binge and Gently now have all the relevant documents in their possession,’ said Mr Stamford, ‘including the fake adoption certificate. It only remains for you to produce an affidavit signed by someone who – at least six months ago – knew you and your sister as Grace and Lily Parkes.’
‘That will be Mrs Macready,’ Grace said. ‘I believe she’s living with her son in Connaught Gardens.’
‘Then perhaps tomorrow morning my clerk here,’ Mr Stamford said, indicating James, ‘could go with you to ask if she would kindly append her signature to the necessary papers. It will then only remain for a trust fund to be set up.’ He paused. ‘I presume you don’t have a bank account?’
Grace shook her head.
‘Then a joint one will be opened for you and your sister, and money transferred as and when you need it.’
Lily frowned, yawned and looked at Grace. ‘Are we rich? Is it Papa?’
‘It is Papa, and I rather think we are going to be quite rich, quite soon,’ said Grace.
x
Chapter Thirty
‘Will we take a hackney cab?’ Grace asked James, looking out of the hotel reception area into the damp greyness of the morning. She was wearing a dark-green velvet mantle with matching fur muff and bonnet; the colour complementing her hair and making her eyes shine with an amber light.
James laughed. ‘How quickly you’ve become used to your new-found wealth,’ he said. ‘Two nights in London’s best hotel, breakfast in bed – and now a demand that I call a hackney cab to take you to Connaught Gardens.’
‘Oh really, please don’t think . . .’
He laughed again and shook his head. ‘I’m only teasing; of course we must have a cab.’ He spoke to a porter, who went to find one. ‘Where’s your sister this morning?’
‘She’s gone back to bed,’ Grace said. ‘Or what I should really say is that she hasn’t yet risen, because we hardly slept at all last night. We stayed awake for hours, chatting and exchanging stories and talking about what we were going to do. And I’m sorry to say that Lily ate every piece of fruit in the bowl.’
He laughed, and then grew more serious. ‘Did you tell her about the unfort
unate demise of . . . of that certain gentleman?’
‘I did,’ Grace said as they got in the cab. ‘And I told her that I’d discovered who he really was, too.’
It had been a memorable night for the two girls: a storytelling session to end all storytelling sessions, during which they’d both laughed and cried so much it was hard to tell which emotion had predominated. Grace smiled, remembering. ‘But anyway, Lily couldn’t come out with me today because she hasn’t any shoes.’
‘Ah,’ said James, handing over a small envelope, ‘then it’s just as well that Mr Stamford has advanced me ten pounds so that you may buy any little necessary items for yourselves.’
Grace took it and thanked him, her heart full. It was impossible to put into words, she thought, how it felt to be riding with a young gentleman in a hackney cab through London traffic with ten whole pounds tucked inside a green velvet muff. She could not shake off the feeling that at any moment someone was going to come along and say it was all a mistake.
x
They were directed to a tall terraced house in Connaught Gardens where Mrs Macready was living, and it was she herself who opened the door to them, gasping at the sight of the distinctly different Grace.
‘Dear child!’ she said, then stood back to take a better look at her. ‘Well, haven’t we gone up in the world! Aren’t we la-di-da now we’re away from Seven Dials!’
Grace laughed. ‘Indeed we both are!’ she said, admiring Mrs Macready’s lace-trimmed day dress.
They were invited into the parlour, where Grace introduced James and explained why they’d come. Mrs Macready’s eyes grew round with amazement as a brief synopsis of the tale unfolded, and she readily agreed to sign the papers that James had brought with him.
‘Of course I’ll sign to say they were with me,’ she said. ‘Two nicer girls I never had under my roof in all my life.’
As James thanked her and began preparing the papers, Mrs Macready looked across at Grace and winked, pressing her index and middle fingers together to indicate that she and James made a fine pair.
Grace didn’t react to this, hardly knowing how to. She’d grown very fond of James, but had not dared to think that an educated young man such as he, with prospects, from an excellent family, might consider her a suitable friend – especially since he knew the very worst things about her there were to know.
Mrs Macready signed Jane Ebsworthy Macready in a slow and careful hand. This was witnessed by James, and the document was sanded and rolled. Following this, Mrs Macready kissed Grace heartily on both cheeks and made her promise to visit again soon.
Grace was just about to get into the waiting hackney cab when the older lady beckoned her back. Grace, anxious to get back to Lily, thought of pretending she hadn’t noticed, but then excused herself to James and ran back up the steps.
‘Is there something else?’
‘Well, I’ve been thinking about it, and it worries me, you know,’ said Mrs Macready.
Grace looked at her enquiringly.
‘Because she came again and said it was her dying wish to find you. And that puts a bit of an obligation on a person, doesn’t it, knowing someone’s told you their dying wish.’
‘I suppose it does,’ Grace said, still baffled. ‘But who are we speaking about?’
‘Mrs Smith, or whatever her right name is.’
‘Oh!’ said Grace. There were some parts of her life that would, it seemed, never go away.
‘She came round with her daughter and she begged me to help find you. Of course, by then you’d told me that you worked for the funeral people, and I could have said where you were, but I didn’t because I thought she might be up to some mischief.’ Grace was silent, waiting for whatever was coming. ‘Looking at her, though, I could tell she didn’t have long to live, and I’m thinking that she can’t do mischief to anyone now, seeing as she’s so near her end. So it’s up to you, dear.’
Grace nodded, recalling again the saddest, most pitiful day of her life.
‘She might be dead by now, of course – and then again she might not.’
‘Where does this Mrs Smith live?’ Grace asked.
‘A house named Tamarind Cottage in Sydney Street. Not a bad area.’
Grace nodded. ‘I know where that is. I remember it from my cress-selling days.’
‘So will you go to her?’
‘I don’t know.’
But actually Grace had already made up her mind. She had overcome Sylvester Unwin, and triumphed over the rest of that family; she would now face Mrs Smith. And when she had seen Mrs Smith and dealt with her, then she would have confronted all her demons.
Getting back into the hackney cab, she asked James if he would tell the driver to stop somewhere in Oxford Street, so she could buy a pair of shoes for Lily and some for herself, too.
‘And then I shall walk home,’ she added, ‘to enable me to take the air and reflect on things a little more.’
‘There!’ James said. ‘You are bored already with being driven around in hackney cabs.’
Grace laughed. ‘Indeed I am not! But things are happening so fast that I need some time to think about what we should do next.’
‘Then of course you must have some time,’ James said, and he bade the driver stop at the top of Regent Street – for he said that was where the most exclusive and fashionable ladies’ shops were – and promised to call on Grace and Lily later, at the hotel, and bring them details of some more permanent places where they could stay.
Grace went into the first shoe shop she found, where she was faced with yet more imponderables. She couldn’t remember ever having a brand new pair of shoes before, so found herself entirely dazzled by the type, quality and variety on offer. Joyfully taking up each new pair she was shown, she ended with seven pairs standing on the counter before her, all in different coloured leathers, and was about to pay for them when it suddenly came upon her that she was being ridiculous. She didn’t know how much money they had yet and if she spent it stupidly they might find themselves poor again. She must be careful! Apologising to the shop worker, she bought just two pairs of shoes in identical plain black (but with shiny leather bows on, for she didn’t want them to look like mourning wear) and had them wrapped.
x
She began to walk towards Sydney Street – hurrying now, to get the next part of the day over with as quickly as possible – and coming to Tamarind Cottage, found it a neat terraced house with a small garden in the front. The door was painted red and it had a well-polished brass lion’s-head door knocker.
Grace knocked, not quite sure how she felt about meeting Mrs Smith again. She rather hoped the lady would be out – but then this would only delay something which seemed to be inevitable. Besides, facing Mrs Smith now, she told herself, might be good practice for facing the Unwins in court.
There was no sound from inside the house and Grace, after waiting perhaps a minute, turned to go, giving the lion knocker one last half-hearted tap before she did. As she quickened her step to go out of the front gate, however, the door opened and, to the intense surprise of both young ladies, Grace found herself facing Miss Violet, the assistant from the Unwin Mourning Emporium.
‘Miss Violet!’
‘Miss Grace!’
The two girls smiled at each other questioningly, and Grace spoke first. ‘Surely it’s trading hours. Why aren’t you at the store?’
‘It’s closed for three days as a mark of respect,’ Violet said. ‘Mr Unwin is . . .’
Grace nodded swiftly. ‘Yes, I heard.’
Violet looked at her quizzically. ‘And you . . . ?’
Grace cleared her throat nervously. ‘I came here to speak to a Mrs Smith.’
Violet nodded, but a sadness crossed her face. ‘Mrs Smith is the name my mother used sometimes.’
Grace hesitated. ‘Is your mother dead?’ she asked gently, and then noticed the black band around the girl’s upper arm.
Violet nodded again. ‘A week back. The funeral
was yesterday; just a small one.’
‘Not an Unwin?’
‘Certainly not an Unwin!’ Violet said spiritedly. ‘I might work there but I don’t espouse their ways. But I’m very curious as to why you’ve come to see my mother.’
Grace made several false starts trying to explain, stopping and hesitating, and in between these attempts, Violet ushered her through to a small parlour and bade her sit down and take some tea.
‘I understand your mother very much wanted to see me,’ Grace said eventually. ‘She knew me as Mary.’
Violet, knowing well what this meant, looked at her in surprise. ‘You were one of her Marys?’
Grace nodded and blushed. ‘I was. And I believe you and your mother went to my old landlady, Mrs Macready, in order to discover my whereabouts.’
Violet’s eyes widened still further at the mention of the landlady’s name. ‘You are that Mary! So you met my mother last June? At Berkeley House?’
‘That’s right.’ Grace nodded. ‘But Mrs Macready didn’t know the circumstances and, because she suspected some sort of swindle, didn’t tell your mother where to find me.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’ve just seen Mrs Macready again, however, and she was very eager that I find your mother. She said she wished to speak to me urgently.’
‘She did,’ Violet said. She sat down on the sofa next to Grace. ‘In fact, my mother made me promise to keep looking for you, and said that if I ever found you, I was to tell you something very important. The truth.’
‘The truth!’ A spasm of fear crossed Grace’s face. Something had been wrong with the child she’d birthed! It had been crippled, maimed, horribly disfigured in some way!
‘It’s not a bad truth,’ Violet said, seeing the way Grace’s mind was working. She hesitated, then glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and seemed to make up her mind about something all at once. ‘Will you take a walk with me?’
Grace wondered for a moment if she had misheard. ‘A walk?’
‘Yes. I’ll explain everything on the way, I promise.’ Violet gathered up her mantle, bonnet and gloves, showing Grace her only concession to mourning on her outer clothes – a spray of purple flowers around the bonnet’s brim.
