The Orphan's Dream (36 page)

Gertie dumped her suitcase at the foot of the stairs. ‘I'll take the bags up later, if you don't mind. I hope the kettle is on, Mrs F. I'm parched.' She grabbed Tilda by the hand. ‘Come with me, miss. You can make yourself useful in the kitchen.'

Mirabel smiled as she took off her cape and bonnet. ‘I'm afraid it wasn't possible to send a telegram when we arrived at Liverpool. I'd run rather short of funds.'

Mrs Flitton hurried to the front door and opened it, peering out into the rain. ‘Where's the master?' She closed it again, turning to fix Mirabel with a suspicious stare. ‘What's happened? Why isn't he with you?'

Mirabel led her into the study, closing the door behind them. ‘Sit down, Mrs Flitton. I'm afraid I have some bad news.'

‘The master?' Mrs Flitton sank down on the nearest chair.

‘I'm afraid the expedition was too much for him. He was taken ill on board ship. We managed to get him to the home of friends we'd made on board the
Servia
, but he had another attack which proved fatal. I'm sorry to be the bearer of such sad tidings; I know how fond you were of him, and he of you.'

Mrs Flitton stared at her blankly for a few seconds, but her expression changed subtly and she rose to her feet. ‘You killed him as sure as if you'd put a gun to the poor man's head. If he hadn't taken up with a woman young enough to be his granddaughter he wouldn't have gone gallivanting halfway around the world and the poor man would be alive now.'

Shocked and startled by her housekeeper's reaction, Mirabel was momentarily at a loss for words. ‘I know you're upset, but really it wasn't like that.'

‘You encouraged him to hunt for rare orchids. He was quite happy here at home, tending the plants he had. He'd never have thought of such a stupid venture if it hadn't been for you.' The venom in her voice echoed round the room, and her eyes were filled with hatred. ‘It was a bad day for us when he met you.'

‘That's enough.' Mirabel faced her angrily. ‘I understand that you're upset but if that's how you feel I don't think we can continue to live under the same roof.'

‘Wiley said you were a hellcat, and he was right.'

‘What has Wiley to do with this?'

Mrs Flitton recoiled, her eyes widening. ‘Nothing. Forget I said it.'

‘No. You can't take it back now it's out in the open. What's been going on in my absence?' Mirabel spun round as someone rapped on the study door. ‘Not now.'

Despite her angry tone the door opened and Alf Coker marched into the room. ‘Tilda told me you was home, ma'am. I knew there'd be trouble and I could hear her screeching at you from outside in the hall.'

‘Go away, you wretched man.' Mrs Flitton subsided onto the chair, covering her face with her hands. ‘Don't believe a word he says. He's a liar.'

‘I'm not the one who's been consorting with Wiley.' Alf closed the door and leaned against it. ‘I've heard them plotting together, ma'am. That man's got his feet well and truly under the kitchen table.'

‘Mrs Flitton?' Mirabel folded her arms across her chest, struggling to control the feeling of panic roiling in her stomach. Wherever Wiley went there was sure to be trouble. ‘What's all this?'

‘Wiley is a good man. He wants to marry me.'

‘He's already married.'

‘She's a mad woman. He was forced to have her admitted to Colney Hatch.'

‘The lunatic asylum?' Mirabel sat down suddenly as her knees gave way beneath her. She looked to Alf for an explanation. ‘I don't understand.'

‘I dunno, missis. I suppose he had his reasons, but what he wants with this one is anyone's guess.' He nodded towards Mrs Flitton, who was sobbing quietly.

‘I'm a respectable widow,' she said, mopping her eyes on her apron. ‘Mr Wiley is an honourable man. He came to me for advice and comfort. You don't know what he's suffered at the hands of that crazy person.'

‘My stepmother is a mean woman, but she's not insane.' Mirabel stared at her housekeeper, shocked by the sudden turn of events. ‘But I always thought Wiley married Ernestine to get his hands on the house and gain control of my father's money.'

‘Perhaps he found out he'd been misled,' Alf said thoughtfully. ‘Maybe everything was left to you after all, ma'am.'

‘That might explain why he wants to rid himself of Ernestine and her troublesome daughters, but what purpose would it serve for him to wheedle his way into this house?'

‘The master promised to make sure I was taken care of when he passed away, but I daresay you persuaded him to cut me out of his will so that you could take everything.' Mrs Flitton raised herself to her feet, holding her head high. ‘I gave the master the best years of my life, but I won't stay where I'm not wanted. Mr Wiley has asked me to marry him.' She ripped off her apron and dropped it on the floor at Mirabel's feet. ‘I'm going to Septimus. He'll take care of me.'

Alf barred the doorway, folding his arms across his chest. ‘You'll regret it, woman.'

‘Let me out, Alf Coker. I'll not stay here another minute.'

‘Let her go,' Mirabel said tiredly. ‘I'm afraid she'll have to learn the hard way.'

‘I'll collect my wages at the end of the month,' Mrs Flitton said as she wrenched the door open. ‘And I don't need a character. I won't have to work again: Septimus said so.' She stormed out of the room, leaving Mirabel and Alf staring at each other in disbelief.

‘She was always so nice and obliging when my husband was alive,' Mirabel said sadly. ‘I blame Wiley for the change in her. Goodness knows how he did it, but he's turned her head, and for what purpose I can't imagine.'

‘I dunno, ma'am. But I wouldn't trust him any further than I could throw him.' Alf hesitated in the doorway, his craggy features creased with concern. ‘I was sorry to hear about the master. I was in the kitchen when Gertie and Tilda came rushing down the stairs. I guessed that you might need some help.'

‘Thank you, Alf.' Mirabel leaned her elbows on the desk, resting her head in her hands. ‘I don't know what's going to happen now. I'm not even sure if I can afford to keep this house on.'

‘I've been looking for accommodation ever since you left. I ain't left a stone unturned, but it's hard when you've got so many nippers to care for.'

‘You can stay here as long as I can afford the upkeep of this house. That's all I can promise at the moment. It's going to take me a while to sort out my affairs.'

A gentle tap on the door was followed by Gertie entering with a tray of tea which she placed on the desk. ‘I thought you could both do with some refreshment.'

‘That's what I've missed since we've been away,' Mirabel said, halfway between laughter and tears. ‘A proper cup of tea.'

‘I'm afraid there's no cake,' Gertie said apologetically. ‘And I don't think there'll be any supper. Mrs F come flying down the stairs, grabbed the saucepan off the range and tipped the stew down the drain outside. The rats'll get a good supper tonight, but not us.'

Mirabel had a sudden vision of the hog meat roasting on a spit over the campfire, and Jack standing at the water's edge, gazing out across the ink-black lake. She pulled herself together, realising that Gertie and Alf were staring at her. ‘I have the key to the safe. If there's money in it we'll have pie and mash or a fish dinner.' She reached for her reticule and took out a bunch of keys that she had found in Hubert's dressing case.

It took a while and a considerable amount of patience to try all the keys on the ring, but eventually she managed to open the small safe and found a cash box which contained a crisp five pound note, three golden sovereigns, some silver coins and a handful of copper. ‘It's a fish supper then,' she said, sighing with relief. ‘Tomorrow I'll go to the bank and find out exactly what my position is.' She turned to Alf with a worried frown. ‘I'd be grateful if you could see Mrs Flitton off the premises. I don't trust Wiley and she seems to be in his thrall, so I wouldn't be surprised at anything she does from now on.'

He nodded. ‘Gladly, missis. And the master's orchids are all doing well. I nursed them like babies while you was away.'

‘I suppose I could sell the collection,' Mirabel said thoughtfully. ‘Hubert spoke of a man called Frederick Sander who has a nursery in St Albans. Maybe he'd take the plants. Hubert would have wanted them to go to someone who loved and appreciated them as he did.'

‘Yes'm, whatever you say. I was just about to check the temperature in the greenhouse when you arrived.'

‘That can wait. Here's a sovereign. I don't feel like going out, but that should buy us all a decent meal. It's been a long hard day and tomorrow I want to be up early. There's so much to do.'

‘Yes'm.' Alf pocketed the coin. ‘I'll be as quick as I can.'

The study seemed oddly silent when Alf had gone, with nothing but the barely audible tick-tock of the clock on the mantelshelf to disturb Mirabel's thoughts. She moved to sit in Hubert's chair at the desk where everything was as he had left it, neat and tidy as the man himself. She leaned her elbows on the polished mahogany rim that surrounded the tooled leather, staring absently at the rows of books on the shelves, lined up in strict alphabetical and subject order. It was as if Hubert had simply left the room to check on his beloved orchids and might return at any moment to report on a new bud or a flower about to open. It was going to be difficult to convince herself that he was gone forever: she missed his gentle humour and even the fussy little ways he had developed during his years of bachelorhood. Theirs had been a marriage of convenience on both sides, but she had felt a genuine affection for him and deep respect. Tonight she would mourn his passing, but tomorrow she would have to take her affairs in hand and visit Hubert's solicitor and the bank.

She left the solicitor's office in Lincoln's Inn with Hubert's will clutched in her hand and hailed a cab to take her to his bank in the City. It had been painful to relate the events surrounding her husband's sudden death in a foreign country, but Mr Yardley was sympathetic and advised her to take the document to the bank and reveal its contents to the manager, who might be persuaded to allow her to draw funds until such time as probate was granted. A hansom cab drew up at the kerb. ‘Threadneedle Street, please, cabby.'

After a short wait she was ushered into the bank manager's office where she had to go through it all again, ending with an emotional break in her voice and genuine tears in her eyes. The manager consulted his records, nodding his head as he ran his fingertip down the entries logged under Hubert's name. He looked up, a frown knotting his lined brow. ‘I'm afraid your late husband made some investments that have proved ill-judged.'

Mirabel's breath hitched in her throat. ‘What does that mean exactly?'

‘It means, my dear lady, that the late Mr Kettle suffered considerable losses.'

‘How much is there in the account, Mr Browning? I really need to know.'

He stared at the figures, his lips moving silently, and Mirabel waited, clasping her hands tightly in her lap.

After what seemed like an eternity he looked up. ‘When probate is granted you will have an approximate income of one hundred pounds a year from the remaining investments, and there is fifty pounds ten shillings and ninepence halfpenny available in the account as it stands now. Mr Kettle drew heavily on his funds for the expedition to Florida.'

‘And that's all I have to live on?'

‘There is another matter, but I would need to see your husband's death certificate before I can discuss it.'

Mirabel delved into her reticule and produced the document. ‘I have it here.' She placed it on the desk in front of him.

Browning studied it carefully and a slow smile curved his lips. ‘Then I believe I have good news for you, Mrs Kettle.' He laid the paper on his desk, smoothing it with his hands. ‘Your late husband was a member of a tontine, which he entered many years ago when he was quite a young man. Have you heard of such a scheme?'

Mirabel shook her head. ‘No, sir.'

‘It's an arrangement between interested parties who subscribe to a scheme of investments from which they each draw an annuity. When a member dies his share is devolved to the other participants, and this continues until the last surviving person inherits the capital sum. I will have to check this, but it would seem from the date on the death certificate that Mr Kettle was that person.'

‘I still don't understand. Does it come to me?'

Browning scanned through the will. ‘It does. I haven't got the figures to hand but I imagine the final sum will be more than sufficient for your needs.'

‘And I'll have it to invest as I think fit, once probate is granted, of course.'

‘I think perhaps you should leave that to the experts, Mrs Kettle.'

His tone was patronising and his indulgent smile made her feel like a child. ‘It seems that the experts did not give my late husband very good advice.' Mirabel reached for the will, folded it and placed it in her reticule. ‘I'll see that this goes to the right quarter and I'll leave you to investigate the tontine, Mr Browning. I hope to hear from you before too long.'

He opened his eyes wide like a startled owl. ‘Of course, but I hope you will consult me before you make any investments.'

She rose to her feet. ‘I'll consider it, but I need money to be going on with.'

‘My head clerk will furnish you with sufficient funds to keep you going. The bank is always at your service, Mrs Kettle.' He hurried around the desk to open the door for her. ‘Hindle,' he called, beckoning to a bald-headed, bespectacled clerk. ‘Give Mrs Kettle what she requires.'

Mirabel left the bank with enough money in her purse to keep them in modest comfort until probate was granted and the first instalment of her annuity was due. The inheritance from the tontine had yet to be confirmed, but anything would be better than nothing. The time for dreaming was past; she must be practical and face the future with a clear mind. She was determined never to be dependent on anyone ever again, and, should there be a considerable sum of money due to her, she would not entrust it to men who gambled on the stock exchange. Hubert had made that mistake and she was not going to repeat his error.