The Orphan's Dream (41 page)

‘But why didn't anyone come forward?'

‘There was no case to answer. Wiley was clever enough to cover up what he'd done and your pa never suspected anything was wrong.'

‘But Wiley was blackmailing him. I'm sure of it.'

‘I think that came later. Wiley was no fool even if he was a villain. Anyway, he's gone now. You might say his sins have been washed away. Justice has been done.'

The police arrived at Cutler's Castle ready to arrest Wiley, and finding him gone they seemed to assume that he had decided to give in peacefully. As far as the law was concerned the case was closed and Wiley was forgotten.

Mirabel stood on the threshold, hardly able to believe that her old home was hers to do with as she pleased. She glanced over her shoulder at the sound of Harriet Humble's shrill voice. ‘Good morning, Mrs Kettle. Welcome back to the Court.'

Mirabel turned to give the gun maker's wife a weary smile. ‘Good morning, Mrs Humble.'

‘The tone of the neighbourhood suffered considerably while that man was in residence.' Harriet scuttled across the road to join her. ‘That woman your father took up with was a vulgar harridan. I don't blame you for running away from home.' She puffed out her chest, putting Mirabel in mind of a pouter pigeon. ‘You've done well for yourself by all accounts. Not that I pay any attention to gossip, you understand.'

‘Of course not.' Mirabel stifled a sudden urge to giggle. She managed a smile instead. ‘It's nice to be home, but if you'll excuse me I need to inspect the interior.'

‘There'll be some damage, no doubt.' Harriet peered over Mirabel's shoulder as she unlocked the door and thrust it open. ‘The goings-on here continued until the early hours of the morning, after your pa was taken so suddenly, God rest his soul. That dreadful person he married was no better than she should be.' She edged forward. ‘I could send my daily woman over to help clean up the mess, if needs be.'

Mirabel stepped inside. ‘Thank you, Mrs Humble. I'll bear that in mind. Now if you'll excuse me . . .' She closed the door before Harriet had a chance to follow her inside, and stood for a few moments listening to the silence echoing from room to room and spiralling up the staircase. The musty smell of stale tobacco smoke and alcohol mingled with even more unpleasant odours of blocked drains and rancid cooking fat. Dust motes danced in the pale shards of sunlight that prised their way through grimy windowpanes, and she sensed a feeling of sadness within its walls, as if the house itself had suffered during Wiley's occupation.

A rat stuck its head out of a hole in the skirting board, stared at Mirabel and emerged to saunter across the floor, heading towards the back stairs. The sight of it galvanised her into action and in a frenzy of activity she raced through the house, throwing the windows open to let in air and sunlight. Empty wine bottles littered the floor and the grates in the reception rooms spilled over with cinders and ash. Dust coated every surface, but worst of all there was hardly a stick of furniture left. Wiley must have sold everything from the china and silver to the chairs and tables. The bedrooms had fared little better, although the large four-poster in her father's old room was still there. Mirabel did not inspect it too closely, but she could see that the bedding was soiled and the sight of an overflowing chamber pot made her retch. She turned and fled, unable to stand the desecration of her childhood home. She closed the windows on the ground floor, deciding that she had had enough for now. Tomorrow she would come with Gertie, Tilda and Mrs Tweddle, the daily woman who came in to clean the house in Savage Gardens.

Next day they arrived early to make a start on erasing every trace of Wiley and Ernestine's occupation of Cutler's Castle. Mirabel had deliberately left the top floor to the last for fear of what she might find, and she went upstairs alone. Rain was beating down on the slate roof and the chill seemed to permeate her bones as she stood outside the door of her dreaming place with her fingers curled around the key. She turned it slowly and entered, half expecting to find the room in a similar state of chaos and disarray as those on the lower floors, but to her surprise it was exactly as she had left it that terrible night when her father had died. The box that had contained her small treasures lay open; the pretty gowns her father had bought her were silvered with dust but were untouched, as were the dancing slippers and her precious books. The cushions on the window seat were tumbled as if she had just risen to her feet to go downstairs, and if it were not for the festoons of cobwebs hanging like lace curtains from the rafters she might suppose that time had stood still.

A surge of relief was quickly followed by an overwhelming feeling of grief that brought tears to her eyes. She went to sit on the window seat, looking out over the wet rooftops to the spire of the church where she had been married. A sob escaped her lips as she recalled the romantic dreams that had carried her younger self to far-away lands, and the fleeting images of handsome suitors who treated her like a princess. It was all a far cry from the reality, and her dream prince had turned out to be a louche sea captain with a lazy smile, a dry sense of humour and an uncomfortable way of reading her thoughts. She leaned her forehead against the cold glass and closed her eyes. If only she could escape from the love that bound her as soundly as if she were in chains.

She turned with a start at the sound of footsteps on the stairs and Gertie burst into the room, her face aglow with excitement. ‘Mabel, you must come quick. You'll never guess what's happened.' She darted out of the room without giving Mirabel a chance to question her.

Downstairs in the entrance hall Ned was hopping from one foot to the other. His wet hair was plastered down on his head and his clothes were sodden and clinging to his thin body. ‘You got visitors, Mabel. They're at the house waiting.'

Gertie flung Mirabel's cape and bonnet at her. ‘Open the door, Ned. Run on ahead and tell them we're coming.'

‘Tell who? Why all the excitement?' Mirabel's hand shook as she struggled to tie the strings of her bonnet.

‘Just you wait and see. Hurry up, Mabel.' Gertie wrapped her shawl around her head and shoulders and followed Ned out of the house. Mystified and yet apprehensive, Mirabel hurried after her.

Ned had streaked ahead and was waiting for them in the entrance hall. He thrust the door of the morning parlour open. ‘She's here,' he said triumphantly. ‘I fetched her like you said.'

A vision in brown velvet trimmed with sable, Jerusha emerged from the room, holding out her arms. ‘Mirabel, honey.'

Mirabel walked slowly towards her, dazed and disbelieving. ‘It really is you?'

‘It surely is, and Ethan too.' Jerusha turned, holding her hand out to Ethan who had come to stand behind her. ‘We're on our honeymoon and we just had to come to England to see you.'

Greeting her with a warm smile Ethan kissed Mirabel on the cheek. ‘I feel as if you're my sister, Belle. It's so good to see you again. You too, missy.'

Gertie bobbed a curtsey. ‘Ta ever so, sir. If I may say so, it's ever so nice to see you and the missis too.'

Mirabel cast off her wet cape and bonnet, thrusting them into Gertie's hands. ‘I'm so shocked I've forgotten my manners. Won't you come upstairs to the drawing room?' She stopped, frowning. ‘No, there won't be a fire in there. We'll take tea in the parlour, Gertie.'

‘Yes'm.' Gertie scurried off in the direction of the back stairs.

Mirabel hugged Jerusha, laughing and crying at the same time. ‘This is such a wonderful surprise. I can't believe that you came all this way to see me.'

Taking her by the hand, Jerusha led her into the morning parlour. ‘Sit down and catch your breath, honey.'

‘Of course we wanted to see you, Belle, but I also had business to transact in London,' Ethan said, moving to stand with his back to the fire. ‘I've gone into the shipping business in a small way.'

Jerusha seated herself in a chair at his side, smiling up at him. ‘And I married the cleverest man in Virginia.'

‘I can't dispute that.' Mirabel sank down on the nearest chair, her legs suddenly giving way beneath her. The shock of seeing them again and the memories it brought to the fore had made her feel weak at the knees. ‘Bodger told me that you're a ship owner as well as a tobacco grower.'

Ethan nodded, smiling proudly. ‘I sure am, and one day I'll have a fleet of steamships.'

‘We're not here to discuss business, darling.' Jerusha curled her fingers around his hand. ‘We're here to enjoy ourselves and spend time with our dear friend Belle.'

‘It's wonderful to see you both,' Mirabel said earnestly. ‘It's such a surprise.'

‘And we've an even bigger surprise for you,' Ethan began, stopping suddenly. ‘What is it, honey?'

Jerusha released his hand. ‘Not now, darling,' she said sternly. ‘We'll save it for later, because I want to hear all about you, Belle. How have you been managing? I don't know what I'd do if I were in your position.' Her expression softened as she looked up at her husband. ‘I truly don't.'

Gertie chose that moment to reappear with a tray of tea and a soggy-looking cake that had sunk in the middle. ‘It's not one of my best attempts,' she said apologetically.

‘I'm sure it will be delicious.' Jerusha leaned closer to inspect Gertie's efforts. ‘I do so love cake.'

‘Thank you, ma'am.' Gertie hesitated in the doorway. ‘May I ask you a question, Mr Munroe?'

‘Fire away, Gertie,' Ethan said with a good-natured grin. ‘What can I do for you?'

‘It's Bodger, sir. I haven't heard from him since we come home. I believe he was going to work for you?'

Mirabel had been about to cut the cake but she paused. ‘Don't pester Mr Munroe, Gertie.'

‘It's not a problem,' Ethan said easily. ‘I did find a master who was more than willing to take him on, and –'

‘Not now Ethan.' Jerusha picked up a plate. ‘We're going to enjoy our English tea and Gertie's delicious cake, and save our surprise for later.'

‘A surprise?' Mirabel looked to Ethan for an answer but he merely shrugged and shook his head.

‘I'm sorry, honey. If I told you it wouldn't be a surprise, now would it?'

‘If you're not otherwise engaged we'd like to take you for a carriage ride tomorrow morning,' Jerusha said, swallowing a mouthful of cake. ‘My, this is just delicious, Gertie. I doubt if our cook at home could do better.'

Despite repeated attempts by Mirabel to obtain more information Jerusha refused to give even the smallest clue. She was happy to talk about her fairytale wedding in the garden at the plantation house, but then she managed to turn the conversation around so that Mirabel found herself giving a detailed account of everything that had happened since she left Richmond. That evening she dined with them at Claridge's but Jerusha hugged her secret to herself, and Ethan was not about to give anything away. Mirabel was agog with curiosity and could hardly contain herself, but it was even worse when she arrived home and found Gertie waiting up for her, demanding to know if anything had been said about Bodger. Mirabel had to admit that she had not thought to ask, but she was too tired to go into much detail, and it was past midnight when she went to her room. At least she would not have long to wait until the secret was revealed.

She slept surprisingly well but awakened early next morning and was up and about before Tilda had risen. Breakfast was always a chaotic affair with the children clamouring for food and Gertie serving porridge as fast as she could ladle it into their bowls. Alf satisfied himself with bread and jam and a cup of strong tea. He urged Danny and Pip to make haste as they had a party of anglers booked for an early start, and he warned the rest of his brood to be on their best behaviour while he was away at work, but it was said with a smile. He ruffled Ned's hair. ‘Look after Jim when you're digging in the mud, and keep an eye out for the turn of the tide.' He turned to Mirabel, who was nibbling a slice of toast. ‘Will you be at the castle today?'

She shook her head, laughing. ‘We must stop calling it Cutler's Castle. It wasn't meant to be a compliment, but somehow the dreadful name stuck.'

‘Mabel's going out with her friends from Virginia,' Gertie said, pursing her lips. ‘They won't tell her where they're taking her, but I'm sure I don't know why they have to be so mysterious.'

Mirabel said nothing, but in her heart she could not help agreeing with Gertie. A surprise was all right in its way, but she was at a loss to know what it could be. She waited impatiently, wishing that she had something more fashionable to wear. Compared to Jerusha she felt drab and dowdy. There had been no money to spare for a new wardrobe and she had been making do with a serviceable gown made from navy-blue worsted. Until now she had not paid much attention to her appearance, but next to Jerusha, who was as colourful as an exotic humming bird, she felt like a common sparrow. Dressed for the cold weather in her mantle and bonnet, she pulled on her gloves and waited for the Munroes to arrive, which they did promptly at ten o'clock, as arranged.

Ethan handed Mirabel into the hackney carriage and she sat down next to Jerusha. ‘Well, are you going to tell me what this is all about?'

Jerusha dimpled mischievously. ‘We're visiting the London docks, honey. We thought you might find it interesting.'

‘The docks?' Mirabel looked from one to the other. ‘Oh, I see. You want me to see your boat.' A feeling of disappointment washed over her in a tidal wave. Surely they must realise that she had spent most of her life in the dock area, and now she was heavily involved in the river trade. It was hardly a thrilling prospect, but she could see from Jerusha's excited expression and Ethan's satisfied grin that the outing was of the greatest importance to the young newly-weds. She sank back against the worn leather squabs, making an effort to appear interested.