The Ragged Heiress (38 page)

Lucetta swallowed hard. ‘Come on, Lennie. We mustn’t dawdle or there’ll be nothing left in the market and we’ll have to have jellied eels or a meat pie for our Christmas dinner.’ Putting aside all thoughts of Giles and what might have been, Lucetta led the way downstairs. She had refused both Giles and Sir Hector and she had made her choice. She was earning her own living and even though she would not personally benefit from it, she was doing her best for the business that her father had spent his life building from scratch. She was more content with her lot than she would have thought possible and she was happy to remain single. If she could not have the man she loved, she did not want second best. She might never see Sam again but she would not give up hope. She picked up her bonnet and shawl and turned to Guthrie with a genuine smile on her lips. ‘Are you ready, Lennie? Let’s go to market.’

She could not match Guthrie’s magnificent present, but next morning Lucetta gave him the jacket that she had bought in a pawnshop in Cable Street. It had obviously belonged to a gentleman of means and was made from the best Harris tweed, although it was well worn and slightly frayed at the cuffs. Guthrie was speechless and his eyes filled with tears as he fingered the material.
‘I ain’t never had nothing so fine,’ he murmured. ‘I’ll feel like the Prince of Wales hisself when I wears this for Sunday best.’

‘It will keep you warm and dry in the worst weather, and I’ll be very put out if you don’t wear it every day,’ Lucetta said with mock severity. She handed him a brown paper package. ‘And there’s a muffler to go with it. I can’t have you traipsing round the docks looking for work and going down with a fatal chill.’

Guthrie ripped the package open and pulled out a brightly coloured woollen scarf which he wound round his neck. ‘I’ll be the smartest bloke in Wapping. Ta ever so, Lucy. I just wish I had something fine to give you. A bed is all right, but it ain‘t fine clothes like you used to wear in Bali.’

‘My clothes are fine enough, and the bed is wonderful. I slept like a princess last night.’ Lucetta slid the goose across the kitchen table, which now boasted four good legs thanks to Guthrie’s new-found skill as a carpenter. ‘You can pluck the bird for me, Lennie. I’ve never cooked a meal in my life, but I helped Peg Potts in the kitchen at Frog Hall. I’ll try to remember what she did.’

Guthrie laid his new muffler carefully over the back of his chair. ‘I never plucked a bird neither, but I’ll have a go.’

Lucetta stoked the fire in the range, which had an oven just large enough to take a small joint, and between them they managed to pluck the goose. The air was thick with down, which made them sneeze, and the dirt floor was soon carpeted in feathers, but
Lucetta placed the bird in the oven with a feeling of pride. The kitchen might be tiny and ill-equipped, but it was hers and she felt like a little girl playing house. She swept the floor while Guthrie peeled potatoes and for the first time since her flight from Dorset, Lucetta realised that she felt safe and settled. Last night she had been disturbed to think that Giles was trying to find her, but commonsense told her that he would never be able to trace her here. She could only hope that in time he would turn to Mary and realise what a wonderful wife she would make him. She did not think that Sir Hector would pine for long. Perhaps he had already found another lady love. Lucetta hoped so anyway. Sir Hector was a good man and his proposal had probably been born more out of chivalry than from tender feelings. They were all better off without her.

‘I’m hungry, Lucy. Will the goose be ready soon?’

Guthrie’s voice brought her back to reality with a start. ‘I don’t know, Lennie. We’ll just have to take a peek at it from time to time. I’ll know when it’s cooked, I think, but we must be patient.’

It was not a bad first attempt, even Lucetta had to admit that, and Guthrie devoured everything on his plate, sucking the bones and licking up the gravy like a hungry dog. Lucetta made allowances for his dreadful table manners on this special day. The goose had been perfectly cooked, but the potatoes had been a bit burnt and the cabbage was not quite done. She had no idea how to make gravy, but all in all she was satisfied with her first culinary effort. She tried not to think about the gargantuan feasts that had been served up by
Cook in Thornhill Crescent. That was then and this was now. She sipped her wine and was content.

But that night she suffered a succession of bad dreams all of which featured Sam in a series of disasters including being attacked by Stranks with a blood-stained machete, and being flogged with a cat-o’-nine-tails by her father. She awakened each time in a cold sweat but the nightmares recurred each time she closed her eyes and then they were on the deck of the
Caroline
as it went down in the Thames. She could hear the shouts and screams of the passengers and crew as people were thrown into the dark, polluted waters near the sewage outfall. Sam held her in his arms as they plunged overboard – she was sinking down and down. The water was ice-cold. She struggled and kicked out with her feet. The current tore her from Sam’s arms. She could see his face pale and agonised in a shaft of moonlight striking through the water …

Someone was shaking her and she opened her eyes with a muffled scream.

‘It’s only me, Lucy. You was having a bad dream. It must have been all that good food we ate yesterday.’

Guthrie’s face was filled with concern as he peered down at her. She was trembling violently as she pulled the bedcovers up to her throat. He patted her clumsily on the shoulder, but the noise that had awakened her from her nightmare was continuing downstairs. Someone was hammering on the front door although it was dark outside.

‘Who could it be at this time of the night?’

‘It’s seven in the morning,’ Guthrie said, peering out of the window. ‘Was you going to work today, Lucy?’

She sat up, pulling the coverlet around her shoulders. ‘No. I wasn’t, but you’d best go and see who wants us so urgently. I’ll get dressed and come down directly.’

Guthrie threw up the sash. ‘Hold on there, cully. I’m coming.’ A gust of icy air flew around the room as he closed the window and Lucetta shivered convulsively as she watched him lumber out through the door. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached for her clothes. She could hear the deep rumble of male voices from the living room below but she could not make out the words. She tugged at the laces on her stays and her fingers fumbled with the buttons on her blouse and skirt as she attempted to hurry. She ran downstairs in her stockinged feet with her boots clasped in her hand. She stopped short as she saw that it was Perks who had awakened them so rudely.

‘What’s wrong, Mr Perks? Has the warehouse burned to the ground in the night?’

He turned to her, with an apologetic smile. ‘No, miss. I’m sorry to bother you so early in the morning, and on a bank holiday too, but there’s an irate ship’s captain demanding to see Mr Jeremiah. There’s a question of payment for the cargo and he refuses to let it be unloaded until he’s got a promissory note or the money owed.’

‘But why come to me? You need to send someone to fetch Mr Jeremiah from Thornhill Crescent.’

‘There isn’t anyone else, miss. The warehouse is
closed today, but Mr Jeremiah insists that there is always someone on duty in the office.’ Perks thrust a bunch of keys into her hand. ‘Perhaps you can calm the captain down too. He’s hopping mad and I think I would be too if I’d spent six months or more at sea and found there was no money forthcoming.’

Lucetta plucked her bonnet and shawl from the row of pegs behind the door. ‘The shipping companies usually handle the payments, Perks. I can’t think what has gone wrong.’

‘This is different, miss. The captain is the owner of the vessel and Mr Bradley told him he would be paid on his return to London. It was a special consignment of cloth from India ordered by one of them big stores up West. There’ll be hell to pay, if you’ll excuse the expression, if they don’t get it on time.’

‘All right, Perks. I’ll go to the office right away,’ Lucetta said, sitting down on the only chair in the room to put on her boots. ‘I’ll try to keep the angry captain calm until Mr Jeremiah arrives.’

‘D’you want me to come with you, Lucy?’ Guthrie said anxiously. ‘I’ll sort the cove out if he gets above hisself.’

Lucetta flashed him a grateful smile. ‘No, thank you, Lennie, I’m sure I can manage on my own.’

‘Bless you, miss,’ Perks said as he opened the front door. ‘I don’t know what Mr Jeremiah will say, but he won’t be best pleased.’ He went outside and was swallowed up in the darkness.

Lucetta followed him, wrapping her shawl around her shoulders as the biting cold gnawed at her bones.
She was out of breath by the time she reached the warehouse and her fingers were so numb that she dropped the bunch of keys on the cobblestones as she attempted to unlock the office door. It was still quite dark although the lamplighter was already on his rounds and had doused the gas light nearest to the warehouse. She crouched down and was feeling around for the keys when someone leaned over her.

‘Let me help you.’

She froze as an arm clad in the rough woollen cloth of a pea jacket reached across her to pick up the bunch of keys, and her heart skipped a beat as she recognised his voice. She would have known him anywhere. She turned her head slowly as he helped her to her feet.

Lucetta was trembling violently as she took the keys from him. It was too dark to make out his features. He seemed taller than she remembered and more powerfully built, but she would have known him anywhere.

‘Trust Froy to send a woman.’ His voice throbbed with suppressed anger. ‘Old Henry would be turning in his grave if he knew what had happened to his company.’

She turned the key in the lock and opened the door. ‘Step inside out of the cold, Captain. Mr Froy has been sent for and he should be here soon.’ Covering her confusion she moved swiftly to the counter where Perks kept a box of vestas. The act of lighting the gas mantles made it easier to avoid the inevitable moment when she must face him. She took off her bonnet and turned slowly to face him, but her worst fears were realised when there was no apparent glimmer of recognition in Sam’s hazel eyes. He took off his peaked cap and tucked it under his arm.

‘I beg your pardon for being so abrupt, but it is not the first time that this has happened. You must be new here or you would know that getting money out of Froy and Son is more difficult than sailing round the
Horn. I have a crew to pay off and they are eager to get home to their families.’

Lucetta was momentarily lost for words. The soft glow of the gaslight turned his hair to burnished bronze and his clean-cut features were tanned by wind and sun. His features matched the memory she had held close to her heart, but there were subtle changes. The humour had gone from his eyes and there were faint lines etched at the corners of his mouth. Outwardly he was the same Sam Cutler she had known and loved in Bali but he seemed to have forgotten her completely. She thought she had felt pain in the past but it was as nothing to that which she suffered now. Her whole world had been built around the hope that Sam would return to claim her. She had dreamed of their reunion but it had not been like this. She longed to make herself known to him, but something stopped her and it was not simply pride. She shot him a glance beneath her lashes and saw a stranger. Dora Cutler’s bitter accusations rang in her ears and Lucetta was too afraid to put her faith in Sam to the test. She moved swiftly to the fireplace and began riddling the ashes.

‘I’ll get the fire going and make you a cup of tea, Captain.’

‘There is no need, miss – I’m afraid I don’t know your name.’

She did not look up from her task. ‘I’m Lucy Guthrie and I am Mr Froy’s secretary.’

‘Well, I am very sorry to have called you out so early in the morning, when none of this is your fault.’

‘That’s quite all right, Captain. I normally start work at half past seven.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me, Miss Guthrie. Old man Froy is a notorious slave-driver and his son is little better.’

Lucetta let this pass. She finished laying the fire and lit it by striking a vesta on the fireback. She rose to her feet. ‘I’ll make the tea,’ she said, picking up the empty kettle. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and fetch some water.’

He held out his hand. ‘Allow me. I’m quite familiar with this building and I’m sure I can find my way to the back yard.’ His grim expression melted into a warm smile that was so reminiscent of the Sam she knew and loved that Lucetta had to curb the impulse to throw herself into his arms. This time it was her pride that stopped her and she managed a tight little smile in response.

‘Thank you, Captain.’ She held on to the handle a little longer than was necessary. The brief touch of his fingers still had the power to send thrills through her body. ‘You must have been here often then,’ she said breathlessly.

‘I’ve had dealings with the family for a good few years, but it’s never been the same since Mr Froy’s brother Henry was drowned.’ His eyes darkened as he took the kettle from her. ‘I should have been on that ship. If I had I might have saved …’ He broke off, smiling ruefully. ‘But it was not to be. I think we could both do with a cup of tea, Miss Guthrie.’ He lifted the hatch in the counter top and let himself into the warehouse.

Lucetta stood as rigid as a stone statue as she listened to his footstep echoing on the bare boards. She picked up the cap that Sam had left on the counter and held it to her breast, closing her eyes and inhaling the achingly familiar scent of him. He might have forgotten her but she clung to the bitter-sweet memories of the past. Was she so very much changed?

She stared into the mirror over the fireplace where she had seen Jeremiah check his appearance a hundred times or more before he went out on business. She ran her finger down the angle of her jaw. Her face was probably thinner than it had been when she first met Sam. Her cheeks were pale and perhaps her hair was a little darker, although scraped back from her face and knotted at the nape of her neck it was not shown off at its best. She looked tired and wan, but that was hardly surprising considering the harshness of her life now. She sighed. She had become plain and uninteresting and perhaps the stories that she had heard about Sam were true. Maybe he had been toying with her affections and had been courting her in the hope of marrying an heiress. She shook her head, frowning at her downcast reflection. If she made herself known to him now he would be embarrassed or even worse, he might wonder what it was that he had ever seen in her. Lucetta Froy was dead and buried. Better to let her remain so.