Silver (5 page)

             
“Jus wot you need ter keep yer fair skin shaded from the sun, Miss. Only ‘alf a shilling. Good as new, Miss.” The woman tried to press the parasol she was holding into Kate’s hand. Kate shook her head and Avery was quick to intervene.

             
“We have no need of a parasol today, good lady. The sun has been a stranger too long and we intend to make the most of what warmth he offers.” He pressed a penny into the woman’s hand and strode onwards more purposefully. Kate smiled at the woman and hurried to catch up with her mistress. As they approached the junction with an even narrower street, Kate glanced down it nervously. The sun did not seem to penetrate this passageway and the number of people in fine clothes had diminished. Instead, the buildings cast a shadow upon a duller palette of colour. The drab grey of those who earned their way from harder means was evident and Kate did not look keen that Avery lead her down that particular passage. Not wishing to appear lost, Avery slowed but did not stop, looking all the while for an indication of the street name. As if drawn by an invisible string, a young girl ambled out of the gloom and Avery beckoned to her.

“
What street is this?” he asked.

“
Fer a penny, Miss, I’ll tell ya.”

             
“Tell me first and then we shall see.”

“
S’erlam Street, Miss,” the girl offered, holding out her hand expectantly.

             
“Earlham Street? Do you know the tailor, Mr. Fry?” he asked.

       
The girl narrowed her eyes at Avery, wondering what this strange looking lady would want with a workman’s tailor. She looked Avery up and down and seemed to weigh up her chances of seeing a penny if she didn’t tell her. The girl noticed a boy out of the corner of her eye, eager to snatch the chance of an easy fee if she herself did not take the opportunity.

             
“Two pennies, Miss, and I’ll take you there.”

        A
very nodded and gestured for the girl to lead on. Avery beckoned to Kate who rolled her eyes as the girl turned on her heel and skipped down the same dirty side street which Kate had been eyeing nervously.

“
That’s right, you skip off and take the penny and we’ll just get our throats cut for our troubles,” Kate muttered. Avery laughed out loud and pulled her after him, trying to keep up with the young girl. They followed the girl to a run-down shop set back from the road. Handing the girl two pennies, Avery turned to Kate and put his fingers to his lips, indicating she should stay silent. The door to the shop was open and Avery stepped inside. Despite the gloom of the street, the shop was stuffy and warm. There was only one room that was full to bursting but seemingly had very little to sell. A large cutting table filled most of the space upon which laid a bolt of heavy woollen cloth and over which an elderly man was stooped. He did not glance up as they entered the shop but merely threw a curt greeting at them from his work.             

“
I’ll be with you in a minute, gents.”

       
He continued to chalk upon the cloth as he drew around a paper design for sleeves of some sort, a great oil lamp throwing light upon his task. Avery smiled to Kate but she was unable to force her face into a similar gesture and instead she looked around the room. A tailor’s dummy stood beside the small window, blocking out what little of the light had managed to make it up the dark street, and was clothed itself in cobwebs and dust. A couple of crates were stacked against a sidewall, their labels indicating yet more of the same drab cloth. The custom here appeared to be for functional work wear and nothing more besides. The man, still busy at his task, carefully finished off his dusty lines, muttering to himself as he did so. His hair was thinning and a pair of glasses sitting atop his balding pate slipped a little as he leaned ever more forwards across the cloth. Several minutes passed in silence and Kate glanced at Avery again as the man seemed to forget about their presence entirely.

             
“And, done,” he concluded, straightening up and pushing his glasses back to his nose. “How can I help you, gents?” His mouth dropped open and he peered about his small shop searching for someone else. “Pardon me, ladies, I thought you were gentlemen!” he stammered. He wore a slightly confused expression and scratched his head. Evidently, he did not entertain many unaccompanied ladies at his premises and for a moment he acted stunned. “Have you come to collect something?” he ventured.

“
I wish to have a suit made,” Avery announced, fixing the man with an unblinking stare. “I wish to have quite a few fine suits made.”

       
The tailor looked a little confused and indicated around his shop. “Begging your pardon, Miss, but your husband might prefer to go somewhere a little more…” he smiled, searching for a word that offended neither himself nor Avery “…upmarket.”

“
I do not have a husband, Mr. Fry, but I shall pay well and I will pay even better for your absolute discretion.”

       
Fry’s eyes sparkled at the mention of money but he still looked at Avery warily.

“
Discretion about what, Miss? Who are the suits for?”

       
Avery glanced at Kate and then back towards the open door. Taking his hint, Kate stepped to the entrance, glanced sideways up the street before nodding to Avery that they could speak freely.

“
The suits, Mr. Fry, are for myself,” Avery stepped forward and fingered the cloth upon the table, all the while keeping his eyes on the tailor. If the man was shocked by the statement, he did not allow his face to convey it and he waited for Avery to come to the point. This was business and, on the matter of money, Fry was most serious.

“
I will provide you with money for good material and I will pay you double your usual rate for a good job. To start, I would like a light summer suit in linen, a formal suit for daywear and a dress suit for the theatre. Do you have any questions?”

       
The old man glanced at Kate to confirm that this strange young woman spoke in earnest and, seeing her solemn face, he began to add up the sum in his head, eager to calculate this rather odd turn of fortune. He licked his lips.

“
Of course I’ll need a deposit, and then there’s the rate for my ‘discretion’,” He smiled slowly at Avery, his hands braced wide on his table. Avery considered him for a moment and then broke into a smile too.

“
‘Indeed, Mr. Fry. Shall we say an extra ten percent?”

       
The old man agreed, rather too hastily for which he would chide himself later, and offered his hand on the bargain. As the young woman took his hand, his eyebrows shot up in surprise. Her grip was firm, the hands dry and large.

“
I will need to take some measurements, Miss...?” he fished for a name.

“
My maid will take what measurements you need and have them sent to you this evening,” Avery replied, laying out some notes on the table. “A deposit, Mr. Fry. You will not be able to contact me but I shall arrange for the package to be collected a week tomorrow.”

       
Fry nodded and snatched up the money, stuffing it into a drawer under the table, glancing nervously at the door.

“
How do you know I can be trusted?” the old man ventured.

       
Avery looked at him in surprise and considered the man before stating, matter of factly. “Because, I shall need a whole winter wardrobe too, Mr. Fry, and for that I shall pay handsomely.”

       
The old tailor’s eyes sparkled with glee. He had not expected half such luck that morning when he had crawled out of bed and opened the doors of his miserable little shop. He wrote out a list of the measurements he would need of Avery and handed it to Kate and then shuffled to the other side of his table to escort the strange lady to the door.

“
What shall I call you, Miss?” he asked, his voice soft to acknowledge the price which such information could be worth.

       
Avery put his head to one side and furrowed his brow.

“
You shall call me Mr. Silver,” he whispered conspiratorially, leaning in to the old man.

       
Kate spun around and threw Avery a look of concern. This errand was dangerous enough as it was and what had seemed exciting in the bright sunlit park that morning now seemed foolish folly. That Avery was now being indiscrete with his name made her especially nervous. Smiling, the old man leaned forwards to watch them disappear back towards the warmth of Mercer Street.

“
For what you’re paying me, I’ll call you Mother Mary herself,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head in bemusement.

Having won some small ground with John that I would stay in London but that the boys should return to Worcester, I gladly slipped out of his office. As the door closed behind me, I was not surprised to see my eldest son, Sebastian lurking in the hallway. As I caught his eye, I tried a smile but it would not break across my face and instead I merely ushered him silently back up to the nursery. On the way up the stairs, he asked me directly.

             
“Is Grandpapa dead?”

       
I continued on to the first floor landing and, noticing he had paused behind me, I looked at him directly. At nine, he was a young man in the making. Where his brother still had his infant curls and sported the odd childish frills about his clothes, Sebastian was becoming aware of his future and it wrought upon him a most serious demeanour. I looked at him carefully, knowing he had most likely already been told the news and wondered what more he wanted me to tell him.

“Yes, Sebastian. He is dead.”

        He was a few steps below me and the angle of his face thrown up into the light made him appear all at once, much younger than he was. He was fighting his natural childish curiosity to ask more but all too aware that something was wrong. I was weary but in a way I wanted to talk and, at that moment, Sebastian was intent on listening.

             
“What is it, Sebastian?”

       
My tone must have been inviting as he stepped up to join me on the landing. As he did so, he looked carefully over the banisters to see into the hallway below. Satisfied that we were alone but with an air of caution, he whispered to me.

“
Last night, after Nanny Hewitt had put us to bed, I heard voices from the back stairs. I knew you and Father had gone out urgently so I got out of bed,” he looked from each of my eyes, scanning my face for some hint of reprisal. When none came, he continued. “Thomas was already asleep,” he assured me. “As I said, the voices were coming from the back stairs. They were hushed but angry and I thought perhaps something was wrong. From the top of the stairs, I could hear Mrs. Harkness and Beth below me. I think Beth was crying but Mrs. Harkness was cross. Very cross.”

       
I opened my mouth to chastise him for eavesdropping but I needed to know what he had heard. Sebastian was waiting for me to reprimand him and he waited nervously, still holding on to whatever information he wanted assurances on. I knew of course that I should be cross with him, for leaving his bed in the night and now for telling tales but my own curiosity was aroused.

             
“Why was Mrs. Harkness cross, Sebastian?”

       
My lack of disapproval had broken a dam and the rest of the story spilled out.

“
Mrs. Harkness was furious with something Beth had said. She kept saying over and over again that she was a liar and that she would tell the master in the morning. Beth just kept on arguing with her, insisting she had been right and that she didn’t care if the master found out because she was not going to work a minute longer for this house. She called Father a liar and she called you a liar and she called Grandmamma a tom and Grandpa a molly.’

       
I had not been expecting my mother to be brought into this and the shock of it stung me. All at once, I was filled with ice where my heart was and my head swam. I did not fully understand the words he had used and half imagined that he had misheard them. I doubted very much that they were complimentary all the same. Sebastian hesitated, his pale face rosy cheeked with fury. His voice had risen and I looked up and down the stairs. I could hear a door closing below us and I grabbed Sebastian by his hand and led him quickly to the guest bedroom. I glanced down the corridor again before closing the door behind us. The change in scenery had stemmed Sebastian’s flow and he looked awkward as he recalled the words Beth had used the night before. I bent down before him so I could look up at him. He wore an expression of concern and I knew he was anxious about this secrecy.

“
Sebastian,” I started softly. “I don’t know what you overheard or you think you overheard last night.”

       
He opened his mouth in silent protest but I held up a hand and closed my eyes. The incline of my head made it impossible for him to argue with me. “I don’t need to remind you that you should not be out of your bed and I think this is a perfect example of why one must not eavesdrop. You must be mistaken.”

       
Again, a defiant look was silenced with a disapproving glance. “Be rest assured that I shall deal with this.”

       
His eyes were shining with the onset of tears. No doubt he felt frustrated. He was angry and he was confused and he wanted the clarity which I was unwilling, and unable, to give him. I felt sure that John was right in his decision to send the boys away and, filled with the sense of their imminent departure, I drew up my eldest son in my arms and held him tight.

~o~

I was aware of Nanny Hewitt’s eyes upon me as I deposited Sebastian into her care and affirmed my wish that the boys be readied for their return to John’s parents. She seemed less than pleased that she too would be removed from the epicenter of whatever scandal was breaking here in Hampstead and she met my gaze with a peculiar obstinacy. As I closed the nursery door behind me, I was overcome with exhaustion and I went directly to my bedroom. The bed had been drawn ready in anticipation and I wondered, with a sudden anger, whether Beth had readied the sheets. The thought that she was in my employ and had uttered those words in my own home filled me with anger and I was fuelled with another surge of energy. I crossed the room to the fireplace and pressed the bell push for the kitchen. As I waited, I poured myself a glass of water from the bedside table and crossed to the window. It was only a few moments later when Maud arrived. Evidently the household were on a state of high alert as she appeared quite breathless.

“
Yes Ma’am?”

       
I had hoped Beth herself would attend and I could have the immediate satisfaction of terminating her employment myself.

“
Maud, would you have Beth come and see me please.”

“
Beth, Ma’am?” The girl looked awkwardly to the floor. Evidently, Sebastian and I were not the only ones aware of last night’s altercation.

“
Yes. Beth. The short, dumpy one,” I added spitefully.

“
She’s not here Ma’am.” The poor girl looked as if she would rather be bobbing adrift in the Channel than reporting to me. “She’s gone.”

“Where has she gone?”

“Begging your pardon Mrs. Bancroft but I don’t rightly know. She took off a few minutes ago. After you came back, she went to see Stokes and then she left Ma’am. Bags an’ all.”

       
I watched with a feeling of pity as the young girl in front of me tried desperately to distance herself from the actions of her counterpart. Maud was a good maid but was a dreadful orator and stammered terribly. It gave me no pleasure watching her squirm under interrogation and after a few more minutes of her struggling with her words I dismissed her.

“
I would not be disturbed for a few hours, Maud.  Make sure Mrs. Harkness is given some assistance with her packing but be sure they don’t leave without my seeing them off.”

       
With a little bob, she backed out of the room, grateful for not being questioned further on any of the rumours flying around below stairs. I suppose I must have slept a little as a few hours later, I started heavily with the sound of knocking at my door. I had been in the middle of a strange dream.

“
Yes?” I called out. “Come in.”

       
The door opened cautiously and Maud’s face appeared around the frame.

“
Mrs. Bancroft? The cab is here for the children.”

“
What? What’s the time?” I fumbled with the nightstand and drew up my watch. It was half past two in the afternoon.

“Very well. Help me get ready.”
Maud closed the door and hurried to the wardrobe, immediately withdrawing the black dress of which I had been so fond when my mother had died. The sight of it made my head swim again and I considered I had not eaten for almost a day. The thought of food made me feel more giddy but I knew I had to eat something otherwise I would pass out. I suffered terribly from nausea and giddiness when I was carrying Thomas and the signs were familiar.

“
Have Mrs. Harkness ready some dry toast and serve it in the parlour with tea in half an hour?”

       
Maud buttoned me up and then retreated from the room, whilst I tidied my hair. The mirror at the dressing table reflected a poor image of me and I was shocked by the toll only a day could take on someone.  One’s own face should be as familiar to us as the walls in our home but how often do we find ourselves studying our own walls? Yet, as with walls, it is all too obvious when cracks begin to appear. My eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot, dark shadows were beginning to surface beneath them. My skin looked crumpled from the sleep I had had and my complexion was grey. Normally, I was content with my appearance and had every reason to consider myself a reasonable beauty but on this inspection I was revealed as being older than I thought myself to appear, and I was taken rather suddenly with the fact that age comes to us all. The thought did nothing to alleviate my mood and I pinned up my hair in the old fashioned way, succumbing to the grim and familiar sense of grief that had taken up residence within me once again.

       
As I descended the stairs, Sebastian did not look directly at me and I could sense his annoyance that he was to be treated as a child being sent away. Thomas, however, was quite perturbed.

“
Why are we going back to grandfather’s house? Will you and Father come too? Are we having another Christmas?”

       
I was unsure how to answer him as, in truth, I did not wish either of the boys to be sent away. I felt with every fibre of myself that I needed to hold them tight to me. It was for this same reason that they had to go. I could not yet accept what had happened to myself let alone explain it to a child.

“
No Thomas. You and Sebastian need to help Father and me by staying in the country until after the funeral.”

       
The word was familiar to him but it was evident that he understood little of the situation. He had the good sense however to refrain from asking any more questions and, instead, watched silently as I embraced Sebastian, who was grateful to receive only a kiss to his forehead, save I embarrassed him in front of the staff. John accompanied them to the station with Nanny Hewitt and he seemed grateful to be leaving the house. As the door closed after their receding voices and the hallway had begun to return to its familiar muffled enclave, I was immediately sensible to the eyes that avoided my own. Maud, stood to one side of the hallway, awaited some indication of my intentions so that she could usefully employ herself to my service. Although I was sure she did not normally meet my gaze, her eyes appeared to dance around the room in a concerted effort to watch me but not to see me. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled with the paranoia of the thought and I knew I ought to take advantage of the peace and get some more rest. There was a lingering sense of foreboding which I knew would prevent me from settling and so, I was rather grateful when, just moments after the door was closed, the bell sounded. I immediately thought it was John, forgotten something, and I lingered in the hall behind Stokes as he crossed the tiles to draw the door open.

       
As soon as the door opened, I could see it was not John but a shorter man silhouetted against the crisp blue winter sky. He wore a bowler hat and was stooped with age. It took but a second before I was able to place a name to the face beyond Stokes.

“
Geoffrey!” I announced warmly.

       
My father’s solicitor was barely over the threshold when he saw me and his face lit up in a genuine show of affection. His expression, however, was muddled as I crossed the hall to greet him.

“
Imogen, I can’t tell you how sorry I am to learn of your father’s death. I am deeply sorry for your loss.” He took up my hand in his own and placed his own paper thin fingers across the back of mine, patting me absently. His eyes searched my face as if he was seeking some comfort from me too.

“
Thank you Geoffrey. Thank you for coming. Won’t you come through?”

       
I walked through to the parlour. Stokes passed Geoffrey’s hat and coat to Amy and followed us.

“
Can I offer you a drink? A sherry perhaps?”

       
Geoffrey Leech had been the Silver family solicitor for as long as I can remember. He was an elderly man himself and had recently taken retirement yet retained a few of his personal clients. I knew that he and my father were members of the same club in St James and I considered them to also be friends. It occurred to me that perhaps he knew something. Stokes served two glasses of sherry and we sat ourselves opposite one another.