The Thief of St Martins

by Caron Allan

  ‘What’s the back of the screen like?’ she asked, unable to listen to any further details about the project, and desperate to move the conversation along. It was beginning to be a bit like the herb garden tour.

  He glanced at the back of the screen, sent the briefest of looks towards Imogen then with a broad smile that didn’t touch his eyes, he said to Dottie, ‘Oh it’s still just plain and dull at the moment. We haven’t quite got to that yet. Perhaps in a few weeks, we’ll have something worth looking at.’

  He was lying, she thought. But why on earth would he do that?

  ‘But as you can see, the front of the screen is glorious, thanks to Imogen’s delightful work. Really her embroidery is exquisite, and far superior to the original work.’

  Imogen blushed and smiled. She suggested they ought to go back down to join the others. Her arm went through Dottie’s and she led Dottie to the door. On the threshold, Dottie peeked back. She saw that Norris was still by the screen. She had the impression he was looking hard at something on the back, leaning to look more closely. Seeing Dottie had glanced his way, he straightened up and gave a beaming smile, and said, ‘Oh yes, of course. I quite forgot the time. It was so good of your father to invite me, Imogen.’

  Dottie was pleased to note that he didn’t persist in calling her Miss Cowdrey when they were away from the rest of the family. He continued, ‘We’d better hurry, I don’t want to cause offence by being absent.’

  He turned his relentless smile on Imogen. Somehow he and she managed to get ahead of Dottie on the stairs, their hands almost, but not quite, touching. Then at the bottom of the stairs, Imogen did actually pat his shoulder and Dottie heard her murmur, ‘It’ll be all right,’ as he straightened his tie and brushed imaginary fluff from his sleeve.

  Poor Norris, Dottie thought. She realised the cause of his odd behaviour. He’s nervous of my aunt. Doubtless she’s made it clear she has no plans to marry her daughter to an antiques dealer. She understood too that her uncle Lewis had probably not consulted his wife before inviting Mr Clarke.

  But then again, Dottie thought, Imogen has some money of her own, and she’s of age. Surely she can make her own choice of a marriage partner?

  They went into the drawing room just as Guy and Leo were going outside for their usual smoke. They barely even glanced at Norris, whilst, in the drawing room, Cecilia Cowdrey’s nod and curt ‘Good evening’ to Norris was most telling.

  It was a long evening, though a pleasant one, and Dottie enjoyed herself immensely, having plenty of people about her eager for conversation, and without even having to work at it, she found she had two new customers for her ladies’ wear. But her heart sank when she glanced over her shoulder to see Cecilia approaching for the first time since their conversation earlier that day.

  Never given to frequent smiles, her aunt’s expression was practically a frown as she said, ‘I hope you’ve had a pleasant evening, Dorothy?’

  ‘Oh yes, very pleasant thank you. I’ve met some delightful people.’

  Her aunt inclined her head graciously, as if that had entirely been her doing. Which, Dottie had to concede, it had been, seeing that Cecilia was the hostess and had invited the guests.

  ‘Dorothy, I’ve now spoken with Sir Stanley and he is perfectly happy to invite you to the New Year’s Eve Ball at his home...’

  ‘Oh that’s wonderful!’ Imogen, coming up behind them, squealed with excitement, bouncing up and down on her toes. Beside Imogen, and arm in arm with her husband, June beamed happily whilst Leo smiled his polite, cold social smile.

  ‘Imogen,’ Cecilia snapped, at the same time trying to keep her voice down to avoid attracting attention. ‘Kindly do not behave as if you were still in the nursery.’

  Imogen looked chastened. Looking around the room, Dottie wondered where Norris was. She soon spotted him, standing with Sir Stanley. They appeared to be discussing one of the paintings on the far wall. If Norris could gain Sir Stanley’s seal of approval, Dottie thought, that would go a long way to making him more acceptable to the Cowdreys.

  June said, ‘I knew it would all be fine, no one cares about too much formality these days.’

  Unless you’re a Cowdrey, Dottie thought, but said nothing.

  ‘It will be lovely to have you there for the ball, Dottie. My father adores having young people around him. He gets quite lonely these days, the poor old thing. The New Year’s Eve Ball is the big event of his social calendar. He’s done it for so many years, it’s become something of a tradition locally. Father’s got another reason to celebrate this New Year,’ she added, and leaning closer, she dropped her voice dramatically, even though there was no one else close enough to hear a word. ‘But he’s keeping it a secret. I’ve absolutely no idea what it is, but the old darling has been practically bursting with excitement since yesterday.’

  Dottie smiled again and said, ‘How interesting!’ Inwardly she wondered, are all families as odd as this one of mine? What secret on earth could an older gentleman possibly keep that he would be bursting to tell everyone?

  ‘My dear June, I really don’t think your father would like us to be discussing these private matters...’ Cecilia cautioned with a frown, but June simply waved a dismissive hand in Cecilia’s direction and said:

  ‘Oh Dottie’s all right. She’s family. I’m sure Father wouldn’t mind a bit.’

  Dottie’s interest was definitely piqued. She waited in silence until June, her eyes excited, her lips smiling, a tiny bubble of moisture in the corner of her mouth, was unable to hold back any longer.

  She said gleefully, ‘He’s going to make an announcement. I’m sure of it. I know I shouldn’t expect anything, but he’s dropped so many hints lately. And, well, the last time anything like this happened, it was a big announcement about bringing Leo into the family business, and now...’ She clapped her hands, bouncing up and down on her toes, not unlike Imogen. Her voice was almost a squeal. ‘Ooh I just know it’s to do with Leo taking over!’ She sent Dottie a quick glance that implied a confidence, and said, ‘I don’t know if you know, but Father is the owner of Sudso Ezee Soap Suds? That’s what he got his knighthood for: services to British industry. Not to mention bolstering the party funds, of course.’ She grinned without concern at this small indiscretion. ‘Anyway, he’s almost sixty now, and he has talked about retiring for a while, and I’m convinced he’s finally made up his mind to do it. He’s going to put Leo in charge of everything, as chairman of the board, and who knows, that could lead to a knighthood for Leo too, Sudso’s become so well respected, and obviously it’s a household name. Oh I know it’s wrong of me to speculate, but really, it’s so exciting!’

  Dottie was slightly disappointed. She had no idea what she’d expected, but it had been more momentous than this. She failed to see why June was so excited: it didn’t sound as though there was anything solid to base her speculation on, although possibly June’s own knowledge of her father meant that she was able to read between the lines. Dottie tried to sound pleased.

  ‘How wonderful...’

  ‘My mother passed away two years ago,’ June said. ‘Now Father has no one else but Leo and me. And as I say, Father is getting on a bit, sadly. For the last year or two he has heavily depended on Leo’s help with business matters. Father has not been in the best of health since his heart attack two years ago. In fact I suppose we are lucky to still have him with us. But he’s not getting any younger, and so he’s got to leave it all someday to Leo or any children we might have. We shall have to wait and see, but something tells me... But the evening will be wonderful. We always have such fun at the New Year’s Eve Ball. And it will be lovely to have you there with us, Dottie, dear.’

  Chapter Ten

  At nine o’clock the next morning, Cecilia Cowdrey set aside her dainty teacup with the air of a business mogul coming down to brass tacks. She looked at Dottie. Breakfast had not got off to a good start, Dottie thought, but at least she hadn’t been summoned to the morning room.


  ‘I know your invitation to stay with us was a rather impromptu affair. However, seeing that my daughter was so keen to meet you, I decided to go along with it. It seemed to offer the chance of gaining the support of a girl of Imogen’s own age to make her see reason.’

  Dottie’s polite house-guest smile froze on her face. Without moving her head, she could see Imogen’s ashen face. Tears were already starting to well up in Imogen’s eyes. Lewis remained stubbornly behind his newspaper.

  ‘I don’t really think...’

  ‘Surely,’ interrupted her aunt, ‘it’s perfectly clear that a young woman of good family needs to be prudent in the area of matchmaking. It’s obvious, and I’m sure you’ll agree, that a girl like Imogen can’t just throw herself away on some—’ her aunt wrestled for a moment with various adjectives and discarded them all. ‘On some—antiques dealer.’

  Heavens above, Dottie thought to herself, instead of an ordinary family breakfast, it’s become like a drawing room comedy from the nineteenth century. Antiques dealer had clearly become a synonym in Cecilia Cowdrey’s mind for all words meaning reprehensible, inferior, inadequate, unsuitable, and even, Dottie thought, poor. Dottie’s sympathy for her half-sister grew.

  Imogen’s tears overflowed. ‘Mother...’ she pleaded, her hand reaching out to rest on Cecilia’s arm. It was shaken off with no patience at all.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Imogen, have some decorum, do! Go and pull yourself together and don’t come down until you can behave properly.’

  Imogen fled from the room, a sob escaping her on the threshold. As the door closed behind her they could all hear her crying as she went to her room.

  Dottie felt wretched for her. She said, ‘She obviously loves him very much.’

  This brought a derisive snort from Guy. It was all Dottie could do not to roll her eyes.

  ‘That’s hardly the point,’ Mrs Cowdrey said. ‘These girls...’

  Dottie couldn’t let that go. ‘At almost thirty, Imogen is hardly a girl. It’s not as though she’s sixteen and wants to run off with the first young fellow who’s flirted with her.’

  There was a frosty silence.

  ‘Hear, hear,’ said Guy, but with a malice that showed he was only interested in stoking the fire. He added, ‘Although, actually this Clarke chap is the first fellow that’s ever flirted with poor old Imogen.’

  ‘It’s completely impossible,’ Cecilia said. ‘Anyone can see that.’

  ‘Oh absolutely,’ said Guy. ‘From the point of view of status alone, it’s all wrong. He lives in a flat above the shop. I mean, the chap doesn’t even earn enough to keep a decent roof over their heads.’

  ‘He’s not even English,’ Cecilia added, lowering her voice as though speaking about something coarse and unpleasant, something that wasn’t at all suited to drawing room conversation. ‘He’s from Dublin.’

  ‘A beautiful city. And I’ve met him,’ Dottie couldn’t hold back from saying. ‘He’s very nice. And he cares for her a great deal.’

  The temperature in the room decreased by several degrees.

  In for a penny, in for a pound, thought Dottie. I might as well do what I can for Imogen. ‘He’s very polite, and respectful, and he wouldn’t dream of taking advantage of her. When they get married, they will live in the flat above the shop. It’s got four rooms, overlooks the market square in Horshurst and he has a woman in twice a week to clean. It will be just perfect for them. Imogen loves music, and art, so they’ve got that in common, plus she has a little money of her own, so what with that, his earnings from the shop and a small annuity from his grandmother, they won’t be so very badly off. It’ll be good for her to have her own home and the chance of a family of her own.’

  She paused to look around at their stony faces. Only from her Uncle Lewis did she detect any kind of sympathy. But even though he was the only one who could help, he chose not to speak. Recklessly Dottie decided she may as well go the whole way.

  ‘He cares for her very much, and she cares for him. I think you should encourage the match.’

  ‘Oh bravo!’ Guy laughed, clapping his hands. ‘The town mouse has spoken!’

  Dottie could have cheerfully slapped him.

  His mother said, ‘Shut up, Guy.’ Cecilia then turned back to Dottie. ‘I would have thought it was clear that I expected you to support me in this matter.’ Her voice was low and cold. It was worse than being shouted at. Dottie’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. Cecilia continued: ‘I would have expected you to display a modicum of family feeling. I have to say, I’m bitterly disappointed by your ridiculous suggestions, and by your behaviour in general.’

  With that, Cecilia Cowdrey got to her feet, said a terse, ‘I’m going upstairs to lie down. I’m not to be disturbed.’ She left the room, shutting the door very carefully and quietly.

  Dottie took a breath. There was a stunned silence that suggested this was not part of Cecilia Cowdrey regular routine.

  Guy laughed loudly and said, ‘Well, well, Dottie-Dot, you are a naughty girl. Bet she’s glad she got rid of you to Auntie Lavinia now.’

  ‘Shut up, you idiot,’ said his father.

  Guy said something to do with seeing a man about a dog and left.

  Dottie sat back, a little appalled at the turn the day had already taken. She began to dread the rest of it. But in the morning, she could say she was ready to go home. She was certain no one other than Imogen would miss her. She left the table and went into the drawing room, not realising she’d ignored her uncle behind his paper.

  She sat in a corner of one of the sofas and stared into space. Could she possibly leave right now? That was what she wanted to do. It would only take her ten minutes to pack, after all.

  A hand appeared in front of her face, holding a glass of sherry. ‘You look like you need this, Dottie.’

  She looked up in surprise at her uncle but accepted the drink. He took the seat beside her. He gulped his sherry down in one go. Dottie sipped hers and shuddered.

  ‘Ghastly stuff, I know. Fancy something stronger?’ He actually smiled at her, and she could see the shadow of the handsome young man he had once been. She smiled back but shook her head.

  ‘I don’t think I’d better. It’s not even half past nine.’

  ‘Hmm. Hope you don’t mind if I indulge.’ He fetched himself a glass of whisky, and rejoined her on the sofa. ‘Well, Dottie, welcome to the family, my dear! After a scene like that, you know now that you really belong. It’s why we all drink so much.’ He toasted her with his glass then sank the drink in one. With a sigh of satisfaction, he set the glass down. ‘That’s good stuff.’

  He looked back at her. ‘Is this how you imagined it would be?’

  The question caught her off-guard. His look was direct, and almost for the first time since she’d arrived, she thought she’d encountered a human being.

  She half-turned in her seat, leaning her elbow on the back of the sofa. ‘No. Not a bit. Though I don’t really know what I did expect.’

  ‘Must have been a shock for you, finding out, especially after all this time.’

  This time his words didn’t surprise her, she had been half-expecting them. She felt as though she could tell him anything, and it would be quite all right. With perfect candour, she said, ‘Yes. It was the worst moment of my life, and I’ve seen several deaths.’ There was a silence before she added, ‘But I thought I was coming here as your niece, and that everything else was still a secret that only I and Aunt Cecilia shared.’

  His low laugh was sardonic. ‘No, Dottie, my dear, we all know. I’ve known since the beginning. The children have known for a long time. You see...’ He got up and crossed the room to fetch the decanter, returning with it and pouring himself another glass. ‘You see, my dear wife and I have not been—close—for many years. Not since Imogen was born. My wife’s choice, not mine. And now...’ he shrugged, resigned. ‘I loved her once. I actually thought, back in the early days, that we would be one of those couples one hears about,
blissfully happy for the rest of their lives, a perpetual love story.’ He drank the glass of whisky in one rapid swallow, as before. He set the glass down and leaned back into the sofa cushions, staring into space. ‘But I was foolish. We were never really as close as I’d thought, as I’d hoped. I was merely—suitable. Horrible word.’

  Dottie had no idea what to say. She sipped her sherry and grimaced. He took it from her with a smile.

  ‘Don’t drink it if you don’t want it, dear. Anyway,’ he continued. ‘I’m digressing. The thing is, I recognised the signs. I’d seen my wife when she was expecting all three of my children, so I knew. I’d half-wondered a couple of times if she was seeing someone in secret. To be honest, I didn’t mind too much. I’m sure this will shock you, but I also saw—still see—someone. I’ve been seeing her for more than twenty years.’ His expression softened, his smile was gentle. ‘Her name’s Maria. She—she is different. She gives me... Well I know it’s a cliché, but when I’m with her, I’m a different person, a much nicer person. A much younger person. I like myself with her, and she’s so easy to be with: gentle, relaxing, undemanding, kind. She’s an artist so I think the arrangement suits her as much as myself. She likes the time we have apart; it enables her to get on with her work. I’m just telling you this to explain about Cecilia. I wasn’t angry, or jealous. I was just glad for her. I thought she’d found someone she truly loved, and I expected her to ask for a divorce, so she could marry this fellow. Especially once I realised she was pregnant. But the subject was never raised, she never said anything, not so much as a word, and so like a fool I also said nothing. I just assumed at some point she’d ask me to pretend to be the child’s father.’