The Outcast Girls

by Alys Clare

  ‘Marigold was to be put in the care of her great-grandmother, in the hope that the wealthy and well-connected Adeline would find and pay for the appropriate treatment for her. And now’ – she raises her chin, as if nerving herself for a difficult task, ‘I must explain what had happened before, and why it is vital that you understand.’

  ‘I know something of this,’ Felix says softly.

  Dora Tewk turns to him in surprise. ‘How?’ she asks.

  There is a pause. Felix looks at Lily, Lily nods, so, at some length, Felix explains.

  ‘And so – so it was your investigations into the fate of these poor girls that led you to find Marigold and bring her safely back?’ Miss Tewk asks, looking from Lily to Felix. They nod. ‘Then I am deeply in your debt.’ She makes a little bow to each of them.

  And now, as Dora Tewk picks up her story, Lily listens to the tale of a haughty old woman who had lost her husband and her only son, into whose care was placed an orphaned infant granddaughter for whom her initial dislike changed to grudging tolerance, to liking, finally to love.

  ‘Adeline watched Mary grow into an enchanting but innocent and unworldly young woman and she became fearful, for Mary was her heir and would inherit a small fortune on her death and Adeline was quite sure she would attract the wrong sort of fortune-hungry suitor eager to get his hands on it.’

  ‘So she summoned her solicitor and made quite sure that Mary would not inherit until she was twenty-five and had learned about the ways of the world and particularly of ruthless, handsome and ambitious men,’ Felix supplies.

  Dora Tewk looks at him. ‘Hortensia?’ she asks, and he nods.

  ‘It was a wise precaution,’ Dora Tewk continues, ‘for Mary was a warm and generous girl who fell in love easily, and Adeline had watched as she gave her heart to a succession of puppies, ponies and stable boys, invariably to have that tender heart bruised as the object of Mary’s love failed to return it. Adeline was not seriously worried, however, for Mary always recovered when the next object of adoration came along, and in this way life jogged along happily enough until the year Mary turned eighteen.’

  ‘Then what happened?’ Lily demands when Dora stops for breath.

  ‘It was 1866, and Mary fell truly, sincerely and giddily in love for the first time,’ Dora says. ‘The young man in question was Roderick Dunbar-Lea, but everyone called him Roddy, and he was in the Indian civil service, home on leave. He and Mary met at a supper party given by a friend of Adeline’s. Roddy needed a wife; a wife, moreover, with good prospects, for Roddy was a man with grave problems. He was a gambler and deeply in debt, with no hope of repaying what he owed and dire consequences if he did not. The trip home was his final, desperate chance.’

  ‘Did nobody warn Mary?’ Lily asks.

  ‘It would have done no good.’

  ‘What about Adeline? Why didn’t the friends giving the party tell her about this Roddy?’ she persists.

  ‘Because he kept his problems to himself and masked his desperation.’

  ‘Yes,’ Lily says slowly, ‘of course, he would. Go on.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Dora says with a certain irony. She is, Lily observes, a very self-possessed woman. ‘Prospects did not come much better than Mary’s, and Roddy set about winning her with well-disguised and efficient ruthlessness. Despite Adeline’s misgivings – for here in her drawing room beguiling her granddaughter was the very epitome of a dangerous young man – Roddy and Mary were married in 1867. Watching them prepare to sail for India, Adeline comforted herself with the thought that Roddy couldn’t get his hands on her money, should she die, until Mary had shed the stars from her eyes and begun to understand precisely what sort of a man she had married.’

  ‘Poor Mary,’ Lily murmurs. ‘To love him so much, and all the time he wanted her for her money.’ She glances at Dora. ‘Or did he grow to love her too?’

  But Dora just shrugs.

  ‘And then’ – she picks up the tale – ‘there was Marigold.’ She pauses, as if gathering herself. ‘I took her to meet Adeline. But Adeline was old and sad by then, frequently confusing Marigold with her mother, and it seemed Roddy and Mary’s hopes for Marigold were to be dashed, for it seemed Adeline would do nothing.’

  ‘She wrote to her sister,’ Felix says, ‘and it was Hortensia who came up with the solution, for her old friend Cameron MacKilliver had connections with a boarding school where they took girls as young as Marigold and where few questions were asked.’

  ‘Yes,’ Dora Tewk breathes. ‘And so via a ruthless and selfish father, a loving but unworldly and ineffectual mother, an elderly great-grandmother who didn’t care any more, her sister and that sister’s friendship with a wealthy old man, Marigold ended up at Shardlowes School.’

  Presently Lily stirs. ‘Marigold believes that the woman who came here last September posing as her mother is no such thing.’

  Dora smiles. ‘Marigold is a very observant child,’ she replies. ‘She is quite right.’

  Lily smiles. ‘I am not at all surprised. Do you know what happened?’

  ‘I believe so, yes,’ Dora Tewk says. ‘Adeline died in 1872, and as I explained, she had ensured Mary could not inherit until she was twenty-five. But it is my belief that Mary died just before the crucial birthday.’

  ‘Your belief?’ Felix says sharply. ‘You do not know for sure?’

  Dora Tewk hesitates. ‘Mary was failing fast when I left,’ she replies. ‘You must understand that I was very close to Mary – it was she who told me the tale I have just related.’ She pauses, looking down at her hands in her lap. ‘Mary also knew Roddy kept a mistress. This woman looked very similar to her and her name, oddly, was also Mary: Mary North.’

  ‘So you’re saying that Mary died and Roddy substituted his mistress in order that he would get his hands on Adeline’s wealth?’ Lily asks. Before Dora Tewk can answer she exclaims, ‘But how could that possibly happen? Even if the two women resembled each other, someone would notice!’

  ‘There was nobody who could notice,’ Dora replies. ‘Roddy arranged a new posting in Calcutta and his household staff did not go with him. I had already been sent back to England. As far as anyone knew, Roddy’s wife was the woman he married in 1867.’

  ‘There are more children,’ Lily says. ‘Marigold told me she has three younger brothers and a little sister. All of them, no doubt, living handsomely on Adeline’s money.’

  Dora Tewk is smiling grimly. ‘They will not do so for much longer,’ she says. ‘It is part of the reason I am here.’ She looks at Lily. ‘I have engaged an enquiry agent of my own, whose contact in India is even now completing his investigations into death records for Lucknow in the last months of 1872 and marriage entries for Calcutta in the same quarter. The process has taken a very long time, but I have recently been informed that it has almost reached a satisfactory conclusion.’ She smiles thinly. ‘Roddy has not buried his past quite as thoroughly as he believed.’

  Lily shoots a glance at Felix and guesses from his expression that he has had the same thought. Hoping she is right in her impression that this plain-speaking woman values honesty, she says, ‘Miss Tewk, this enquiry cannot be cheap.’

  Dora Tewk turns to her with a wry smile. ‘Thank you for your concern, Miss Raynor. You are quite right; it is indeed proving rather costly. However, it is not I who am footing the bill.’

  Lily sees from Felix’s face that he is already in thrall to this extraordinary woman. ‘Who have you persuaded to pay?’ he asks bluntly, and Dora Tewk actually laughs.

  ‘I am in contact with the ancient Inverness firm of solicitors who control the Stirling estate; who, I understand, have acted for the family for generations. It appears they already had their suspicions concerning Roddy Dunbar-Lea and his wife, undoubtedly aroused when Adeline made the final amendment to her will.’

  She pauses, mischief in her light eyes, and Lily and Felix say together, ‘What was it?’

  ‘Apparently Adeline never trusted Roddy and could n
ot convince herself that Mary would ever stop adoring him. She arranged her affairs so that Mary only inherited one-third of her estate. The remainder was put in trust for the children of Roderick Dunbar-Lea and Mary née Featherwood. As one would expect from an old and well-respected firm of solicitors, the money was extremely well managed and the sum has grown handsomely.’

  ‘And if you are right, then there is only one child of that union,’ Lily says.

  ‘Indeed,’ says Dora. ‘When Marigold reaches her majority, she will be a wealthy young woman.’

  Lily is frowning, thinking hard. ‘But what happens to her now?’ she asks.

  Dora seems to understand. ‘Her father pays her school fees, Miss Raynor, and will continue to do so. I do not believe there will be any legal challenge concerning his subterfuge and his substitute wife, and consequently no change in the status quo. Marigold will—’

  ‘Surely she won’t stay here?’ Felix interrupts. ‘She’ll be far too frightened, after what’s happened!’

  Both Lily and Dora turn to him. They exchange a glance, and it is Lily who says, ‘You don’t know Marigold.’

  TWENTY

  Marm Smithers attends the trial of Ann Dickinson and her cousin Abraham Salt. He reports every evening to Felix over the nightly whisky beside the fire at Kinver Street.

  It rapidly becomes clear that the two defendants are going to be economical with the truth.

  ‘Those bloody aristocrats in the Band of Angels have bought them!’ Marm shouts on a night of heavy rain when he and Felix are alone. He is seething with the injustice of it. ‘They’ve found them a very smart barrister who’s putting it into the jury’s minds that Dickinson and Salt are simple-minded peasants who believed Cameron MacKilliver was paying them so handsomely to facilitate his nocturnal excursion with a little girl because he needed a bit of excitement!’ He pauses, panting, his thin face flushed. Then he adds, ‘They’re being paid handsomely now as well, provided they keep their mouths shut about the Band’s connection.’

  ‘You know that?’ demands Felix.

  ‘Yes.’ Marm taps the side of his nose. ‘Can’t tell you how and sadly it’s not for publication, but there’s no doubt about it. And those aforesaid aristocrats will square their collective conscience and tell themselves Cameron MacKilliver was a mildly eccentric recluse, and they will erase from their memories the unpleasant fact that two women and at least six girls are dead!’

  Nobody knows precisely how many girls died at Cameron’s hands. Despite extensive searches and enquiries, no trace of any of them has been found.

  ‘And what of Mortimer?’ Felix asks.

  ‘Vanished,’ Marm replies succinctly.

  Felix has suspected as much. ‘He’ll be like a beetle on its back without the cushioning effects of wealth, privilege and powerful friends that have supported him all his life,’ he remarks.

  Marm does not answer for a few moments. Then he says, sighing, ‘Ah, but it’ll be those very same elements that look after him now. He’s gone, Felix, and I doubt he’ll ever be heard from again.’

  Lily has left her post as assistant matron at Shardlowes School. For now Matron is managing alone, but already Lily’s replacement has been selected: a middle-aged spinster who has recently returned from Hong Kong and is alone in the world. Miss Carmichael has got her wish, Lily reflects, and found someone totally without needy dependants.

  One of Lily’s final tasks is to arrange a meeting between Marigold and Dora Tewk. She invites them both to her room in the sick bay and is on the point of leaving them alone when Marigold sends her a pleading glance.

  She sits down beside Marigold on the bed and together they face Dora Tewk.

  Listening, Lily thinks that Dora could not have improved upon the way she told the story. She is, Lily concludes, a woman of fine moral character tempered with compassion and love, and Lily finds herself hoping very much that Dora will continue to watch over Marigold as she has done for so long.

  Perhaps the crucial factor is that Dora does not flinch from the truth; and it is the truth, for the Inverness solicitors have confirmed it.

  ‘I knew it,’ Marigold says passionately when Dora finally stops speaking. ‘I knew that woman was not my mother!’

  But the triumph is brief.

  Turning to Dora, she whispers, ‘What happened to her?’ Her face is taut with grief.

  Dora leans forward and takes her hand. ‘She was not strong, my dear,’ she says gently. ‘You probably will not remember, for you were very small, but she was failing fast even as we prepared to leave Lucknow.’

  And, thinks Lily, the poor woman’s end was probably hastened by losing her adored little daughter. All because a dangerously handsome, feckless and ambitious man could not bear to be in the presence of a flawed child.

  Looking at Marigold, who has endured so much in her short life yet retains a lively interest in the world, a smiling demeanour and a loving nature, Lily reflects it is Roddy’s loss.

  Late on the Friday afternoon after Lily’s return to Hob’s Court, Georgiana Long comes to settle her bill and brings news. Felix nips out to the kitchen to make a pot of tea and arrange slices of Mrs Clapper’s Victoria sponge on a plate (Mrs Clapper is managing two days a week now and today has been baking), and presently Lily, Miss Long and he are in Lily’s office and settling in for a good chat.

  The first news, surprising to Felix but not to Lily, is that Marigold has announced she wants to stay at Shardlowes.

  ‘As Head of Juniors,’ Miss Long states, with only a barely perceptible puffing-out of the chest, ‘I have made it my responsibility to watch her closely, but she does not seem in the least affected by what that man’ – she mouths the words – ‘did. It appears he was so kind and gentle that she never even suspected an ulterior motive. We encourage her in the belief that he was harmless for, although it is an untruth, it is better for Marigold to believe it. Miss Tewk agrees, and is adopting the same policy.’

  Miss Long’s round brown eyes shine as she speaks of Dora Tewk. Lily wonders if this indicates a transfer of Miss Long’s adoration from Miss Carmichael to a new idol and rather hopes it does.

  ‘Miss Carmichael has returned from her brief holiday by the seaside,’ Miss Long goes on.

  ‘In sackcloth and ashes and determined to do better?’ asks Felix.

  Miss Long shakes her head disapprovingly at his levity but does not deny it.

  ‘What of Marigold’s future?’ asks Lily.

  ‘Miss Stirling has announced she wants to be involved in the child’s life,’ Miss Long replies. Leaning closer to her audience, she adds in a whisper, ‘We are not at all sure this is wise, but Marigold is willing to pay her great-grand-aunt a visit provided Miss Tewk accompanies her.’

  ‘And she will do this?’ Felix asks.

  Miss Long turns to him. ‘She will. She is not going to abandon the child now.’

  ‘Is Marigold happy?’ Lily asks.

  ‘She is indeed, Miss Raynor. Miss Tewk revealed to me that it was in a way a relief to the child to know that her dear mother had died soon after she left for England, for it means that her mother did not forget all about her, as she has always feared. Marigold is’ – she pauses – ‘more serene now.’

  ‘I am glad,’ Lily says softly.

  When Felix has shown Miss Long out and seen her on her way, he returns to the inner sanctum.

  ‘Miss Long is a new woman,’ he remarks.

  Lily, studying the cheque Miss Long has left on her desk, adds, ‘And a businesslike one. This sum is correct to the penny.’ She looks up. ‘There is a new, fierce spirit in her, and she is determined to do her very best for her girls.’

  Felix nods. He looks down at her for a moment. ‘Marigold will be all right,’ he says.

  Lily nods. She doesn’t want to meet his eyes because hers are full of tears.

  As well as Miss Long’s payment there is a very generous cheque from the Inverness solicitors. The accompanying letter, once Felix has translated t
he convoluted legal language, seems to say that the Stirling estate wishes to make over this large sum in recognizance of the World’s End Bureau’s actions in saving the life of the last of the Stirlings.

  Ann Dickinson and Abraham Salt are found guilty. The jury are not fooled by the former’s crinkly faced smile and deem her the more culpable and her sentence is correspondingly longer.

  The Band of Angels must have maintained their pressure, for the name of that organization is not mentioned once.

  Despite this rather unsatisfactory conclusion to the case, Felix reckons they have cause enough for a modest celebration. He persuades Lily to part with a pound or two from their earnings with which to buy champagne, and they invite Marm Smithers to join them.

  Felix suggests that Lily also invite her mysterious boatman. Felix has not met him; has only seen him in the distance, and the man looms large in Felix’s imagination. He is aware that Lily has recently slipped away to see him on that boat of his; the following morning she seemed calmer, as if the distress of recent events had been put into perspective.

  Lily smiles and says no, she doesn’t think her friend would want to come.

  The evening is going well. Several toasts are drunk, and Felix’s remark that business is booming is greeted with cheers and a smug grin from Marm, who has managed to spread the word that the World’s End Bureau played a major role in the arrest and conviction of Ann Dickinson and her cousin.

  He is, however, inclined to be gloomy because the Band of Angels have escaped without a slur.

  ‘Cheer up, you can’t win them all,’ Felix says philosophically.

  Marm merely shrugs.

  Marm has announced it is time to leave, and Felix decides to go with him. As Marm is struggling into his coat out in the hall, Felix, more than a little drunk, puts his arm round Lily and kisses her on the cheek.

  It is a chaste kiss, but she frowns at him. ‘Is that the action of an employee towards his boss?’ she asks, only half in jest.

  He steps back. He is looking at her intently, but then he smiles. He whispers softly, ‘I’ve seen your ankles. Remember? On the train to Portsmouth, when you showed me the mark from the trip wire?’