Picture Perfect (16 page)

‘Rafe Rollings? I know exactly where he is,’ the spry old man at the prison door said in response to Jack’s enquiry and then waited. Jack reached into his pocket and passed the gatekeeper a silver crown. ‘You’ll have to be quick, he’s being let out today, he only paid us a short visit this time,’ and the man cackled at his own humour as he pointed Jack in the right direction.

Jack had visited prisons before in the course of his work, but as always he was appalled by the squalor and stench of the place. Many of the inmates, he knew, were in for relatively minor crimes, but after suffering the deprivations of Newgate prison they often turned to more serious felonies after they were released. ‘Rollings?’ he called curtly as he reached the last cell. No matter what pity he felt for the men behind bars he knew better than to show it when planning to open negotiations with one of them.

A large man looked up from picking his nails with a splinter of wood. Jack could see by the relatively clean state of his clothes that the gatekeeper had been right; Rollings had only been here for a few weeks at most. ‘What do you want?’ the man growled.

Before Jack could answer another gaoler bustled up. ‘Rollings is about to be let out,’ he said. ‘Are you here to offer him employment?’

Jack shook his head. ‘No, but I’ll offer him a good meal and enough coins to see him through for a few days.’ At the mention of money Rollings had stood up and Jack was alarmed to see that the man he intended to take out to the nearest cookshop was easily half a head taller than himself and despite the privations of his lifestyle was built with a bear-like frame. He quashed his misgivings firmly and gave Rollings a narrow-eyed look. ‘What do you say?’

Rollings grunted his assent and in a short time they were seated in a dingy tavern not far from the prison and Rollings was tucking into a thick beef stew with a trencher of bread while Jack watched him. He let the man get half the meal inside him before he spoke. ‘You were once employed as a butler, I believe.’

‘Long time ago. What of it?’ Rollings didn’t let the question distract him from his food.

‘Who did you work for?’ Jack wanted first of all to establish that he was talking to the right Rafe Rollings, if he wasn’t he could easily find himself being fed a completely fictitious tale about Annabel’s disappearance, the man was bound to feel that the more he said the better he would be rewarded.

‘Lord Beresford. You know him?’

Jack ignored the question. ‘Do you remember the name of the nursery maid at the time that the little girl was lost?’

‘Ha! It was Molly Pollard. You looking for her?’

Jack looked at him with narrowed eyes, this seemed too easy. ‘Why, do you know where she is?’

‘Certainly do. I could take you there right now, but it wouldn’t do you much good.’ Jack looked his question and Rollings leaned forward confidentially. ‘Putney graveyard,’ he said and gave a short bark of laughter. ‘Been dead these past nine years.’

‘I see,’ Jack made what he hoped was a successful effort to keep the disappointment out of his voice and off his face. ‘What can you tell me about the day the child went missing?’

‘Went missing?’ Rollings echoed. ‘Molly took the kids down for a walk by the canal, it was summer you see, the family was in Bath. She came back with just the one, all of a panic, she’d lost the other, she’d let the girls play by the water and everyone thought Miss Hannah had drowned.’

‘Was there a search?’ Jack asked.

‘You bet your life there was, they looked everywhere. They never found no body and they’re not going to.’ Rollings wolfed down the last of his stew, then tore off a chunk of bread to mop up the juices.

‘You seem very sure of that,’ Jack said neutrally.

Rollings laughed again. ‘Sixteen years later? If nothing showed up then it’s not going to now.’

‘Is there anything else you can tell me about A- about Hannah Beresford’s disappearance?’ Jack asked.

‘Might be,’ Rollings said and looked pointedly at the table. Silently Jack deposited a handful of coins next to Rollings bowl. ‘Lord Beresford had the river dragged with fishing nets, but they never found anything, and Molly was turned away at once, she never saw the Beresfords again. It must’ve been hard on the other kiddie, they both adored Molly, she was a pretty little thing in those days.’ He pocketed the coins and Jack had the feeling that Rollings had nothing more to say.

‘Thank you for your assistance,’ he said lightly and rose from the table.

‘Here,’ Rollings caught his sleeve and Jack resisted the reflex to jerk his arm away. ‘Why’re you looking into all this now? The girl’s long gone, isn’t she?’

Jack hesitated, if he took any interest Rollings would find out soon enough that Hannah Beresford was very much alive and recently restored to her family, but he didn’t trust the man and he saw no reason to gift him with any information. ‘It’s a delicate matter,’ he said discouragingly. Rollings grunted again and returned to the remainder of his bread but Jack was not convinced that he had lost interest. He left the tavern feeling distinctly uneasy. It was frustrating to find that Molly Pollard had died and several things Rollings had said didn’t add up. He would have to mull the conversation over in his mind and see if he could put his finger on what did not seem right.

Next Jack paid a call to Coram’s Foundling hospital where, after a lot of patient questioning he discovered that the matron had been employed there as a nursery maid at the time Hannah arrived, but at present she was visiting her mother in Surrey and would not be back for a few days. He had done all he could at present. Privately Jack thought that Lord Beresford was being overly optimistic expecting him to follow a trail that was sixteen years old, and much as he wanted to conclude the investigation as quickly as he could and so heal his breach with Annabel he knew he needed to turn his attention to the more urgent situation of the art thefts. On Friday there was to be a large ball at the Cavendish residence. It would be a lavish affair with an extensive guest list and more importantly Lord Cavendish was an avid art collector with a quite dazzling array of pictures ornamenting his walls. Jack had an appointment with him that afternoon during which he intended to put forward a plan. If Lord Cavendish agreed to it he would have a lot of work to do between now and then.

‘
You seem very out of sorts,’ Madeline observed as Annabel lost her third hand in a row at Rummy with ill grace.

‘I’m fine,’ Annabel snapped and then realized both how rude and unconvincing she sounded. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just…’

‘So there is something wrong,’ Madeline said, abandoning her cards. ‘Does it concern that man?’

‘What man?’ Augusta paused amid tidying up the cards to look at Annabel with wide eyes. The girls were alone, passing the afternoon idly in the Black’s front parlour and although at the time Annabel had thought she found the Beresfords’ lifestyle too hectic she had to admit to herself that she felt a little flat with nothing planned for the evening.

‘Mr Denham,’ Madeline said primly when Annabel didn’t answer.

‘Isn’t he a friend of Lady Beresford’s? Did he come to our musical evening?’ Augusta frowned and Annabel could see her cousin trying to place Jack among the small crowd who had visited the night before.

‘Say rather a friend of her daughter’s,’ Madeline said, ‘you must have seen him, he was chatting to Henry in the corner.’

‘Oh!’ Augusta stared at her, wide eyed. ‘But he’s young and - ’

‘And quite pleasing to look at,’ Madeline cut in.

‘Madeline!’ Augusta squeaked.

‘Well, that was what you were thinking, wasn’t it?’ Madeline said smoothly.

‘Yes, but…’

‘But Augusta is far too well bred to say such a thing,’ Annabel said, hoping to curb Madeline’s tongue.

Madeline only smiled wickedly, ‘Then it’s lucky for us I’m not so well bred, isn’t it? Or we’d never talk about anything interesting.’

‘Madeline!’ Annabel tried to reprove her, but found she was laughing in spite of herself.

‘Now,’ Madeline said, ‘what is it about your Mr Denham that has put you in such a bad mood?’

‘He…’ Annabel hesitated, wondering if she were betraying a confidence but then she recalled the way Jack had interrogated her as if he had every right to dig into her past and her blood boiled. ‘He’s investigating me.’

‘He’s what?’ Annabel was gratified to see that even the normally unshockable Madeline looked rather taken aback. ‘But there can be no doubt that you are a legitimate Beresford, your face is identical to that of Justine.’

‘Exactly,’ Annabel said warmly. ‘I gave him every chance to explain, but he wouldn’t, he just said a gentleman’s word is his bond.’

‘So like a man!’ Madeline exclaimed.

‘In the end I simply rode away. Poor Hatton didn’t get much of an outing this morning. Fortunately he didn’t try to follow me.’ She spoke firmly, in an effort to convince herself that she was glad that Jack hadn’t galloped after her, snatched her reins again and turned Hatton, who, uncharacteristically would have take quite some distance to stop, so that they thus found themselves in some quiet corner of Hyde park, quite alone.

‘You rode away?’ If Annabel hadn’t been quite so caught up in what Jack hadn’t done she would have heard the particularly penetrating note in her cousin’s voice. ‘When exactly did you meet with Mr Denham?’

‘This morning,’ Annabel said, suddenly flustered, but realizing that she had said far too much to prevaricate now.

‘You had a secret assignation with a gentleman this morning?’ Madeline looked utterly delighted. ‘Unchaperoned?’

‘Of course it wasn’t unchaperoned,’ Annabel said defensively, ‘Bill was there and we were in the middle of Hyde Park, it was very public.’

‘In public! I don’t know if that makes it better or worse,’ Madeline exclaimed.

‘It sounds very romantic,’ Augusta said softly and Annabel suddenly found herself brought down to earth.

‘It wasn’t,’ she said miserably. ‘I told you, we quarrelled.’

‘Because he’s investigating you?’ Augusta frowned. ‘But what is there to investigate?’

Annabel looked at her cousins, Madeline still looked alight with glee over her scandalous meeting with Jack that morning, but Augusta looked genuinely concerned. She decided to confide in them. ‘I think the Beresfords don’t think our family is good enough for them,’ she said unhappily. She saw Augusta’s eyes widen with sympathy but surprisingly it was Madeline who had an answer for her.

‘But you are not overly concerned about what the Beresfords think of the Blacks, only about what your Mr Denham thinks of you,’ she said shrewdly. ‘Let him investigate, you know your parents are the epitome of respectability.’

It was with mixed feelings that Annabel set off with Henry on Thursday morning to meet Jack and Justine. She wanted to see both of them; surprisingly she had found she had missed Justine’s company despite frequently finding her sister rather annoying and she wanted to resolve things with Jack, although she was not sure how - despite Madeline’s insightful words she was not ready to concede that Jack had any right to investigate her. But she would very much have preferred to have met with each of them alone. Henry, however, appeared to hold no such reservations about their planned ride and picnic, he whistled under his breath and was clearly looking forward to the day ahead.

‘Is Mr Denham an old friend of yours?’ she asked her brother.

Henry nodded, ‘In a manner of speaking. I knew him at Dartmouth, he was one of the instructors, but he didn’t stay in the navy, I think he does something for the government now, but I don’t know what.’

That tallied with what Annabel had surmised, she wasn’t sure if Mr Denham was employed or if he worked in a voluntary capacity, certainly he seemed to work some odd hours and clearly he had plenty of free time at his disposal. She found herself rather hoping he was employed, not a man of independent means, perhaps then he would not be rich enough to marry into the Beresford family while still being perfectly acceptable to the Blacks. Then rather depressingly she remembered that technically she herself was a Beresford and anyone who was not good enough for Justine would surely not be good enough for her. Perhaps they could elope, she thought.

‘Good morning,’ the subject of her contemplation hailed them both and on seeing Jack and Justine Annabel felt herself blush deeply at the direction her thoughts had taken. ‘Is it too hot for you, Miss Black?’ Jack asked, riding up to her, but not, she noticed, getting close enough for either of them to take the other’s reins.

‘Not at all,’ she said briefly.

‘Annabel,’ Justine said a little forlornly, ‘it feels like an age since last I saw you.’ She really did look as if she had genuinely missed her and Annabel chided herself for her uncharitable feelings towards her sister. She smiled warmly back.

‘I’ve missed you too, have you been very busy since Monday?’ Justine drew up her horse to ride alongside Annabel and chatted to her all the way to Moorfields, telling her all about the dinner party she had attended on Tuesday and the opera she had seen the night before, Annabel felt she couldn’t get a word in edgewise, on the other hand what had she done in the last two days? Played cards with her cousins, helped her mother address envelopes and had a very short ride in Hyde Park with Jack which she had no intention of mentioning anyway. Perhaps it was better that Justine did all the talking.