Cinderella Sister (21 page)

‘You can count me out,’ Grandpa muttered. ‘I can’t even walk to the other side of the street on my rheumaticky pins, so I’ll just have to stay here and starve.’

‘Certainly not, Monsieur Larkin. I won’t allow that. It would be my pleasure to send a cab to fetch you and one to bring you home again after we have dined.’

‘That’s a very generous offer, Armand,’ Nell said, casting a warning look at her grandfather. ‘I’m sure we would be most happy to accept.’

‘I’ll come gladly,’ Molly said through a mouthful of orange. ‘I can’t remember the last time we ate out and I’m sick of pie and pease pudding.’

‘Speak when you’re spoken to, young lady,’ Grandpa snapped. ‘It’s for me to say yea or nay, not you.’

Tossing her curls, Molly flounced over to her bed and sat down, turning her back on the assembled company.

‘Spare the rod and spoil the child,’ Grandpa said, shaking his fist.

Mr Sadler cleared his throat several times and his lips moved silently before he managed to get the words out. ‘I – I had better leave now, Miss Larkin. I can see that my presence is
de trop
.’

‘Ah, monsieur, you speak French,’ Armand exclaimed, slapping Mr Sadler on the back.

‘I am a schoolmaster, sir. I am an educated man.’

Armand bowed from the waist. ‘Of course. My apologies. I meant no disrespect, and you would be most welcome to join us for dinner.’

‘Thank you, no. I have other plans.’ Mr Sadler turned to Nell, lowering his voice. ‘I will leave now, Miss Larkin.’

‘Please don’t go, Eugene,’ Nell said shyly, blushing as she enunciated his Christian name. ‘Won’t you stay and take a glass of mulled wine with us?’

‘I’m still waiting for it,’ Grandpa complained. ‘Here, French fellow, make yourself useful and go to the pub across the road. A jug of mulled claret or buttered rum would go down a treat.’

‘It would be my pleasure,’ Armand said, releasing Nell’s hand. ‘Will you accompany me, Nell?’

Mr Sadler stepped in between them. ‘A common tavern is no place for a young woman, monsieur. I don’t know how you behave in your country but we do not allow ladies to enter public houses.’

Lily could tell by Armand’s expression that he was baffled by this pronouncement and she could see a question forming on his lips. ‘It’s all right for us to dine in
a private room,’ she said hastily. ‘It’s just that only women of a certain kind frequent taprooms.’

Aggie almost choked on the second peach that she had sneaked from the basket. ‘You shouldn’t speak about things like that, Lily. It’s not nice.’

‘I’m dying of thirst here,’ Grandpa muttered. ‘Never mind the social niceties. You two men can go together and fetch a jug each. That would be fair.’

‘I don’t usually frequent public houses,’ Mr Sadler said stiffly. ‘Perhaps Miss Lily would be kind enough to point us in the right direction.’

Only too pleased to avert any further arguments, Lily snatched up her shawl. ‘Come along then. I’ll take you down to the street and show you where to go.’

With Armand and Mr Sadler following her, Lily led the way along Cock Hill to one of the more reputable public houses. She left them at the door and made her way back along the street, wrapping her shawl around her shoulders as large feathery flakes of snow began to fall from a leaden sky. She had her head down and did not at first see the man who stepped out of the alleyway in front of her.

Through a lace curtain of snow, Lily recognised the reporter who had dubbed her Lily in the Flames. ‘Oh,’ she gasped. ‘Not you again.’

‘Christian Smith, journalist. We weren’t properly introduced last time.’ He doffed his bowler hat, sending a shower of snowflakes to join the frosting on the pavement. ‘Merry Christmas, Miss Lily.’

Recovering a little from her fright, Lily eyed him curiously. ‘Don’t tell me that you’re working on Christmas Day.’

‘A good reporter is never off duty. I’d like a few words with you, but I suggest we go somewhere a good deal warmer than Cock Hill in a blizzard.’

‘I’ve nothing to say to you, sir.’

He took her by the arm, propelling her towards one of the pubs that Lily had deemed to be too rough and ready for Armand and Mr Sadler to enter. She tried to dig her heels in, but the leather soles of her boots acted like skates on the slippery paving stones and she found herself being bundled into the taproom of the Old Rose. The fuggy atmosphere took her breath away and the thick haze of smoke from the blazing coal fire and countless clay pipes made her cough.

Christian steered her to a settle in the inglenook. ‘What will you have to drink?’

‘I don’t want anything.’ She made an attempt to rise but he pushed her down onto the hard wooden seat.

‘Not so fast, young lady. You and I have business to discuss.’ He signalled to the potman who was clearing a table close by. ‘A large brandy, my good fellow, and one for yourself seeing as how it’s Christmas Day.’

‘Thank you, sir. Right away.’ Grinning happily, the potman shuffled over to the bar counter.

‘You can’t keep me here against my will,’ Lily said with more bravado than confidence. ‘My brothers will come looking for me if I am gone for too long.’

Christian sat down beside her, edging her into the corner of the settle. ‘Your brothers are on watch at the fire station, missy. I’ve checked. And anyway, this won’t take long if you cooperate.’

She looked him in the eyes, and her first impression of him was confirmed. He had the face of a ferret and the cold eyes of a reptile. ‘Say what you have to say and then I’m leaving.’

He threw back his head and laughed. ‘By God, you’re a cool one and no mistake. I like a woman with spirit and I like you, Lily Larkin.’

‘The feeling isn’t mutual,’ Lily said, fighting fear with anger.

He leaned back in his seat with a smug smile. ‘But I’ve got a lot to say to you, missy. I’ve stumbled across a story that will be of great interest to my readers.’

‘It can’t have anything to do with me then,’ Lily said
defiantly. ‘I’m an ordinary girl from a hard-working family.’

‘But not an ordinary family, I think.’ He angled his head with a calculating gleam in his eyes. ‘I’ve got a nose for a good story and my instincts never let me down.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘My dad used to work on the docks until your grandfather gave him the sack. I remember standing in the rain outside the dockmaster’s house while my old man went inside to beg for his job. Old man Larkin sent him off with a flea in his ear. I’ll never forget the look on Dad’s face as he staggered out of that house, which was like a palace compared to the hovel we lived in. “We’re done for, Christian,” he says, clutching his chest and going grey in the face. “I’m finished.” And with that he fell to the ground stone dead.’

‘I’m very sorry,’ Lily murmured. ‘That’s really dreadful, but what has that got to do with me? It must have been a long time ago and I’m sure my grandpa …’

‘Don’t make excuses for the old devil. He killed my dad as surely as if he’d stuck a knife in his poor old heart. It gave out because he’d worked hisself into the ground for the dock company and that was all the thanks he got for it.’

‘It’s very sad, but I still don’t understand.’

‘When I found out you were related to old Larkin, it rang bells in my head. I remembered the scandal when your ma ran off and left you all. That tickled my interest, especially when I found out that you’d had
to leave the dockmaster’s house and were living above a shop. Now that was poetic justice to my mind. Then when that toff stuck his oar in I knew I was on to a good story. When I found out who he was all the pieces of the puzzle slotted together.’

‘Have you quite finished?’ Lily demanded. ‘It seems to me that you’re making a story out of nothing, so you don’t need anything further from me.’

Christian’s hand shot out as she attempted to rise and he caught her by the wrist, forcing her to remain seated. ‘But I do, missy. I want to meet your ma. She’s quite a woman by all accounts, although I’d hesitate to call her a lady.’

‘I haven’t seen my mother since I was nine. I know nothing of her life now.’

‘But you know Mr Gabriel Faulkner.’

It was a statement rather than a question and Lily said nothing. Christian’s attention was momentarily diverted by the arrival of his drink and he tossed a coin at the potman, who caught it deftly in one hand. ‘Keep the change, my good fellow.’ He took a swig of his brandy. ‘Ah, that’s better. It warms the cockles of your heart; you should try some, my dear. It’s all paid for by my newspaper – I have an expense account and I could be generous to a girl like you.’

Lily bit back a sharp retort. One look round the crowded taproom was enough to convince her that she would get short shrift if she made a fuss. The tough-looking customers propping up the bar were unlikely to be sympathetic to a girl in her position. In her shabby clothes and down at heel boots she might be mistaken
for a dollymop; a servant girl out to boost her meagre wages by selling her favours.

Christian finished his drink, calling for another. ‘Now then, girlie,’ he said, exhaling brandy fumes into her face. ‘It will interest my readers to know that you are stepping out with the son of your mother’s fancy man. What have you got to say to that?’

‘I – I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Are you really so innocent, or are you just pretending?’ His intense gaze did not waver as he sipped his brandy. ‘You must know something of the story.’

When she remained silent, Christian continued with obvious relish. ‘Everard Faulkner, well-known painter and friend of Dante Rossetti and the Brotherhood, left his wife for your ma ten years ago. The poor lady died of relapsing fever shortly afterwards, although some say it was a broken heart that killed her. Her only child Gabriel, who was fifteen at the time, went to live with his grandmother until she passed away three years ago. According to my source he now resides in Gower Street, but is a frequent visitor to the house in Keppel Street, the love nest of your ma and her lover. Charlotte Delamare, who has reverted to her maiden name, is an artist in her own right and Everard Faulkner is even more famous. Some might call them notorious, although I wouldn’t be so crass.’

Lily’s first instinct was to call Christian’s spiteful words into question, but there was a ring of truth in what he said. It fitted with the little that Gabriel had told her, although he had omitted to mention that he
was related to the man who had torn the heart out of her family.

‘I can see that my revelation is news to you, Lily,’ Christian continued with a smug grin. ‘Quite obviously the gentleman thought it best to keep the truth from you.’

She was not going to let him see how shaken she was by his disclosures. She met his gaze with a lift of her chin. ‘You seem to know everything. I can’t think what you want from me.’

‘A statement will do for a start, ducks. A few well-chosen words for my readers, who will be most interested to know the reaction of Mrs Larkin’s family.’ Becoming suddenly businesslike, Christian pulled a notebook from his coat pocket and a pencil. ‘Will you be visiting your ma in Keppel Street? And will the rest of your family follow suit? I can imagine it will be quite a reunion after such a long time, although I understand that your grandpa never approved of his son’s choice of wife.’ He leaned forward, his eyes narrowed in a basilisk stare. ‘I’m going to rub the old man’s nose in the dirt, and you’re going to get me an interview with that mother of yours. I won’t rest until I have the whole of the Larkin family scandal headline news.’

Lily leapt to her feet, pushing the table away with all her strength and sending the glass flying onto the flagstones where it shattered into tiny shards. ‘I’ve had enough of this. You can make up anything you like but I’m not saying another word.’

There was a moment’s silence as the other customers stopped chatting and turned their heads to stare at Lily
and Christian. Pushing her way through the crowd, she stormed out of the pub, emerging into a swirling snowstorm and almost crashing into Armand and Eugene Sadler as they returned with the jugs of Christmas cheer.

‘Lily!’ Armand exclaimed. ‘Did you just come out of that place?’

‘Shame on you, Miss Lily,’ Mr Sadler said gravely. ‘I hope you have a suitable explanation. Your family would strongly disapprove of such behaviour.’

Looking at her closely, Armand slipped his free arm around Lily’s shoulders. ‘It doesn’t matter,
ma chérie
. Let us take you home.’ He thrust the jug of hot toddy he had been carrying into Mr Sadler’s hands. ‘There is no need for any of this to be mentioned, I think. Lily must have her reasons and it is really none of our concern.’

Mr Sadler looked as though he might argue and then appeared to change his mind. ‘Very well, we will say no more about it, and I suggest we walk quickly or the festive cheer will have turned to ice.’

If Lily was unusually quiet when they reached home, no one seemed to notice. The hot toddy had a cheering effect on the company and the disaster with the goose was soon forgotten. Grandpa mellowed enough to accept Armand’s invitation to dine at the pub, and when it was extended to include Aggie and Mr Sadler the atmosphere in the dreary room became quite convivial. Lily felt isolated and alone like a spectator at a play as she sat back and watched them all laughing and talking. Their world was about to be ripped apart
for a second time by the malicious gossip-mongering of a man out for revenge, and she felt powerless to do anything to prevent disgrace and disaster. She was consumed with guilt. If she had not disobeyed the family by wilfully following her instinct to draw and paint she would never have met Gabriel, and she would have remained sublimely unaware of her mother’s unconventional and shocking lifestyle. Her anger was largely directed at herself, but she was also furious with Gabriel for telling her half-truths. She was tempted to drag the paintbox from beneath the bed and vent her feelings by throwing it in the Thames, but deep down she knew she could never carry out such a deed. It would be sacrilege to destroy such a wonderful object, one which would, if she were allowed to make use of it, enable her to create colour and beauty enough to satisfy her soul.