A Crowning Mercy (17 page)

'No, sir.'

His shoulders still moved with laughter as he beckoned at her. 'Come here.'

She walked to the table as Cony struggled with the pocket of his waistcoat. His belly distended the brown cloth so much that he was unable to extract whatever he was looking for. She stared over his white, curly hair and saw that the boatmen still sat like statues in the barge, their white blades pointing at the blue sky. She thought of Toby in the alley, and wished he were with her. She was sure he would not be awed by this frog-like man who alternated between sarcastic friendliness and disdain.

'There.' The lawyer pushed something over the table.

It was exactly like the seal Toby held in the alleyway. Campion picked it up, surprised again by the weight of the gold. She saw the delicate banding of diamonds and rubies. Like the Seal of St Matthew, this one too had a long, gold chain so that it could be worn as a pendant. She turned the seal to the window light and saw the same ornately chased border on the steel impression. She held it close and saw, in place of the axe, a beautifully carved winged lion. The mirror writing spelt 'St Mark'.

Holding this second seal, so like the first, once again she felt their mystery. She remembered the letter which described the seals as keys to great wealth, and somehow this sight of the second seal made the power of the gold cylinders seem far more real. She understood now that men would want these seals and that the lawyer across the desk was her enemy so long as she possessed one. She had thought her adventure was love, and now it was danger.

Sir Grenville's voice was light and careless. 'You should see what is inside.'

He so nearly caught her. The meeting of the seal's two halves was so cunningly hidden that it was not apparent that there was any interior to the cylinder, yet on his carefully contrived words her fingers moved automatically to unscrew the two halves. She remembered, even as her fingers took hold, and she kept her hands moving, as if all she wanted to do was dangle the seal by its long, heavy, gold chain. 'It's beautiful!'

Sir Grenville paused a long time. She could see the cylinder of gold reflected in his pale, glaucous eyes. He blinked slowly. 'I said you should see what is inside.'

She pretended innocence. She pulled at the seal, frowned, then shook it close to her ear.

'It unscrews.' He sounded disappointed.

She made a small, girlish sound of achievement as the cylinder came apart. For a second she thought it contained a crucifix, as did her father's, for she could see a similar human figure with arms spread wide.

Yet this was no religious symbol of ancient power. It was a depiction of a power far older than Christ's, as old as humanity itself. It was a woman, arms spread wide, her legs, too, splayed apart. Her head was back, her hips thrust forward and, tiny though the statue was, there was a hint of lust and abandon about the small, naked figure. Sir Grenville chuckled. 'Distasteful, is it not?'

She carefully joined the two halves, hiding the naked woman in her pleasure. 'My father would have disliked it, sir. Perhaps that is why he threw his away.'

He held out a pudgy, white hand for the seal and, reluctantly, Campion dropped it into his palm. He smiled. 'Threw it away?'

'We looked for it, sir. Everywhere. We couldn't find it.'

He waved her wearily towards the chair. 'Sit down.'

She obeyed him. She was feeling proud of herself. She might not have succeeded in finding out the truth from Sir Grenville Cony, but she had avoided his traps. She had not betrayed her own seal, and though she still did not know why the seals were important, she had learned that this rich, powerful man desired to possess them.

Sir Grenville tucked the Seal of St Mark carefully and laboriously away. 'You are right, Miss Slythe, that the Seal of St Matthew was to be yours on your twenty-fifth birthday.' His left hand had begun its surreptitious journey once more. 'In that year our little Covenant expires, our agreement is no more, and the seals become worthless. Apart from their intrinsic value, of course, which is not inconsiderable.' He smiled at her. 'I thought the seals were pretty, a bauble a young lady might want, and so I persuaded your father to give you the Seal of St Matthew at the end of its useful existence. He had one daughter, and why, I thought, should that daughter not possess one thing of beauty? Your father was not happy, but he agreed, humouring me no doubt. It was too good to be thrown away, but perhaps you are right. Perhaps, in a fit of virtuous wrath, he discarded the seal. Such a shame.' He shrugged. 'Was that all you came to see me about?'

It was not, but she was sure the truth was not to be found here. She was hot in her new cloak, and the sight of the river sparkling beyond Cony's windows had made her want to be out of this house. She wanted to be with Toby. She gathered the skirts of her cloak in her hands and nodded. 'That is all, sir.'

'How very curious, Miss Slythe, that you should come all the way from Werlatton to ask me such simple questions. And I note you have not finished your tea! Do so, child! Do so! Worry not, you will leave soon.' He smiled at her as she settled back on the uncomfortable chair. His hand, she saw, had stopped its journeys to and from the pie.

Tell me, Miss Slythe, are you not betrothed to a Mr Samuel Scammell?'

She nodded.

He smiled. 'That was your dear father's wish, was it not?'

'Yes, sir.'

He stared at her, still smiling. 'Tell me, Dorcas -- you don't mind me calling you Dorcas?'

'No, sir.'

'Then tell me, Dorcas, for I am ever curious, do you want to marry Mr Scammell?'

She hesitated, seeing the bulging eyes staring at her, seeing into her, and she wondered whether the truth would do her harm. She frowned. 'No, sir.'

'Ah!' He sounded surprised. 'How odd, how singularly odd. I never married, Dorcas. No. I have devoted my life to the harsh taskmastership of the law, of Chancery law, and of late, no doubt because I am not burdened with a wife, I have been asked to add my humble opinion to those who guide our ship of state. I understand, you see, much of law, and much of public policy, but little, I fear, of marriage. However, I always believed that young ladies such as yourself had little interest in anything but marriage. Do you not wish to be married, Dorcas? Do you desire, like myself, to devote yourself to the law?'

She nodded and spoke slowly. 'I would like to marry, sir.'

'Ah!' He held up a hand in mock surprise. 'I understand! It is Mr Scammell who is the problem, yes? You are not, perhaps, I think the vulgar phrase is "in love"?'

'I do not love Mr Scammell, sir.'

'Ah! You poor child. You poor, poor child. You want to be in love! You want the stars spread beneath your feet in a carpet of light, you want flowers in your heaven, and you want to meet a twin soul, breast on breast, and live in harmony and gold. Is that right?' She did not answer, and he chuckled. 'You have, I presume, read the marriage settlement?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Yet still you want love? Ah, but of course, you are not a lawyer as I am. True, I must divide my time between the councils of state and the Court of Chancery, but I still retain a few scraps of useful law in my old head. Mr Scammell, I believe, has signed the marriage agreement?'

'I believe so, sir.'

'Your belief is well founded. I assure you he has! He has moved from his London house, from his business of creating river-craft, and he has hired a man to keep his place of business going, and all so that he could devote himself to you! And now, because you want the stars at your feet, Mr Scammell must be disappointed! He has spent money on this marriage, Dorcas, he has made sacrifices, and in return he has been promised much! He is like a man who, having paid his price, is denied the goods! Do you not think, dear child, that Mr Scammell might now have recourse to the lawyers?'

His voice mocked her, taunted her, yet she could not take her eyes from the grotesque face that leered at her, smiling. He paused, she made no reply, and he chuckled.

'Suppose now, child, that Mr Scammell takes himself and his marriage agreement to the Court of Chancery. He complains that Miss Dorcas Slythe is fickle, that she prefers the stars and the sun and the moon to his own solid virtues. Shall I tell you what will happen? I shall! Nothing!' He laughed. 'To my own certain knowledge the Court of Chancery has of this day twenty-three thousand cases pending... twenty-three thousand! I would not have thought there was that much ink in the land, let alone lawyer's breath, but yet more cases come each day! Your case will be heard, Dorcas, it will be heard, but by that time you will be old, wrinkled and shrivelled and your money, such as it is, will have been drained from you by clever lawyers. And who, my child, will marry a fading flower whose future is tied up in Chancery?'

Campion said nothing. Mildred Swan had talked of 'being baked in a lawyer's pie', and now she knew what it meant. Her future with Toby, that endless summer beneath a seamless sky, was being shredded and soiled by the frog-like, laughing man. He leaned forward, his voice a conspiratorial whisper.

'You want to be free of Mr Scammell?' She said nothing. He looked dramatically into the corners of the room, as if someone might be listening. 'Do you want to be free of Mr Scammell, Dorcas, without the threat of Chancery either? Do you?'

She nodded. 'Yes, sir.'

'Then give me the seal, Dorcas. Give it to me.'

'I don't have it, sir.'

'Then you must marry Mr Scammell!' He spoke as if she were a small child, a singsong intonation in his voice. 'You'll have to marry Brother Scammell!'

'No!'

He leaned back, smiling at her, and his voice became friendly. 'My dear, dear Dorcas. What is it? Is it that you do not wish to make the beast with two backs with Brother Scammell? Is that it!' He laughed. 'I can see you now, so happy in your bedroom.' His voice rose, became harder, and he flayed her with a graphic and grotesque description of Scammell mounting her. She tried to blot her ears, she shook her head, she moaned, but his Voice was relentless in its obscene, sweaty vision of her future. He mocked it by calling it 'love', and his words painted a picture far worse than her own thoughts had been of Scammell clambering on her as a bull reared on to a heifer. She was in tears when he had finished. He watched her cry, waited till the sobs were gentler.

'You want to avoid that, Dorcas?'

'Yes!'

'Then give me the seal.'

'I don't have it!'

'Then you must marry Mr Scammell.'

'No!' It was half a sob, half a cry of protest.

Sir Grenville Cony watched her shrewdly. 'One more chance, Dorcas, just one. You give me the Seal of St Matthew, and I will give you a hundred pounds, yes, a hundred pounds! Enough for you to live on, child, while you find someone you care for more than you do for Mr Scammell.'

'No!' She had hardly listened, the image he had put in her head blotting out his words, but she dared not now reveal that she had lied. She would be questioned more, punished maybe, as her father had punished her, and so she gripped to her story. 'I don't have the seal!'

'Then you must marry Samuel Scammell.'

'I will not!'

She was recovering now, wanting to fight back if only with words.

He laughed, his wide mouth opening to show stained teeth. 'Oh, but you will, Dorcas, you will. I am a lawyer, remember? I can do most things, child, and even Chancery will move with unaccustomed speed when Sir Grenville Cony calls.' He was smiling hugely, and his left hand moved, not towards the pie, but to a piece of paper which he held up above the desk. She could see black writing on it, and a great, red seal dependent at its base.

'Shall I tell you what this is? It is a document, a legal document, and I took the trouble of collecting it this morning. I knew you might visit me, Dorcas, and I told the court of your plight. Ah! Such a plight! An orphan, not yet twenty-one, alone, away from home, and the court was touched. Yes! Truly touched. She needs a guardian, I said, as does her brother and, do you know, Dorcas, you are both now wards of court.' He laughed. 'Your brother seems happy enough, and I'm sure you will be. You're a ward of the court and I, Grenville Cony, am your guardian. Your future, child, is entirely within my capable hands.' He put the paper down, leaned back in triumph, and laughed.

She had listened, appalled, as her dreams had collapsed. She saw his white, round face split by the laughing mouth, tears blurred her vision, then she heard him call to his secretary.

'John! Open the door, John!'

There was gleeful anticipation on Cony's face. 'Come in! Come in! All of you!'

The room suddenly seemed filled with people, with faces staring at her in curiosity, in dislike, and she shook her head as if to clear it of a nightmare. 'No!'

'But yes!' Cony was standing now. 'You met Thomas Grimmett, I believe. He is my chief guard and a noble servant.' The man who had held her against the stable-block wall at Werlatton, who had thrust his knee between her legs, leered down at her. A boil was livid on his broad, broken-nosed face.

Cony's voice was relentless. 'Your dear brother, Ebenezer. Such a fine young man! I have offered him employment. And Goodwife! Loyal Goodwife, how pleased you must be that your errant chick is restored.'

Goodwife's spiteful face seemed about to spit at her. Ebenezer looked scornful.

Cony laughed. 'And Brother Scammell! Lo! Your bride, restored! What joy there is in the practice of law!' Samuel Scammell smiled at Campion, bobbed his shorn head, and she could feel the great clamps of law and duty and religion and punishment close on her soul. Her hopes, her love, her freedom, all were going, even as the light began to fade over the river. She bowed her head, she cried, and the tears dropped on to the fine, silvered threads of her cloak.

Sir Grenville Cony made a sympathetic noise. 'Ah! See how moved she is? She cried! Is there not more joy in heaven when one sinner repents?'

'Amen,' Scammell said.

'And amen!' Sir Grenville Cony said it fervently. 'Now, Ebenezer! Goodwife! Brother Scammell! Take dear Dorcas next door. Thomas will join you soon. Go now! Goodbye, dear Dorcas! I am glad you visited me, yes, very glad!'