A Broken Vessel (22 page)

Julian did have several more questions. He had held them in reserve on purpose, so that he would have an excuse to call on Avondale at home in the evening. In his own house, he would not be able to run off just as the conversation got interesting. Then, too, one always learned more about a fellow by looking around his home. And, most important, Birkett had said Avondale seemed skittish at night, as though he thought his house was being watched. If someone was spying on him, Julian meant to find out who, and why.

CHAPTER
16

O
n Wednesday night, Ada Grantham sat at her dressing-table, combing her hair. After a while she sighed, put down the comb, and propped her chin on her hands.

This morning it had happened at last. Major Thorndike had called and asked her mother for permission to address her. Mrs. Grantham gave him her blessing and summoned Ada to speak with him in the drawing room. Ada went in fully intending to accept him—and at the last moment, her courage failed her. It was no light thing, she realized, to give herself to a man she did not love.

She compromised—told him she was honoured by his proposal, and asked for a day to consider carefully before she gave him her answer. He commended her prudence and agreed to return tomorrow. If it had been Charles, he would have pressed ardently for an answer—but it isn’t Charles, she told herself. It never will be Charles.

The rest of the day was dreadful. Mama dithered, longing to see her safely married, but afraid to press her against her will. The younger children knew something was in the wind and trailed after her, asking questions. Then her cousin Caroline called, and Mama
would
tell her about Major Thorndike’s offer. Caroline gushed with admiration for Ada’s cleverness. Such a sly-boots, bringing him up to scratch so gracefully! Why, he had five thousand pounds a year, and his first cousin was a baronet with no sons, and said to be sickly!

Caroline’s praise stung Ada more than any criticism could. She saw her project in its ugliest light. She was, quite simply, marrying for money. What was the difference between her and women who sold themselves in the streets?

She summoned all her resolution. This wavering must not go on. Tomorrow she would give Major Thorndike her answer, and that answer would be yes. Once she was bound by her word of honour and could not escape, things would be easier. At least she would be at peace—

The street-door bell rang violently, and kept on ringing. Ada threw a shawl over her nightdress, caught up her candle, and ran out into the hall. Her mother met her at the top of the stairs. They heard Sukey, the maid of all work, answering the door two floors below “Lawks!” she exclaimed. “Mr. Charles!”

Mrs. Grantham started downstairs, clutching an immense shawl around her. Ada followed. Younger Granthams peered over the landing-rails or spilled down the stairs.

Charles was in the front hall, pulling off his gloves and stuffing them into his hat. His wild eyes fixed on Mrs. Grantham. “I’m sorry to call at this hour, but I have to see Ada.”

“I hardly think, at this time of night—” Mrs. Grantham began.

“Please, Aunt Dot! I’ll only keep her for a few minutes.”

Ada went down to him, pale and composed. “It’s all right, Mama. I won’t let Charles stay late.”

She brought him into a little back parlour on the ground floor. There was no fire. Charles took off his coat and draped it around her, then kept his hands on her shoulders. “I’ve just come from Caroline’s. She told me Thorndike’s come up to scratch.”

“Yes.”

“Ada, tell me you haven’t accepted him! Tell me it’s not too late!”

“I told him I would think it over.”

“That’s just what you won’t do. I’ll make the decision for you—your answer is no! Ada—darling, wonderful Ada!—did you think I’d let you marry anyone but me?”

She felt the colour rush into her face. “Charles—I—I don’t know what to say. I’m so surprised—”

“How can you be? You must know I’ve been eating my heart out over the idea of your marrying Thorndike.”

“I knew you didn’t like it. But that isn’t the same thing as wanting to—to marry me yourself.”

“I know I’ve been a long time coming to the point—”

“Perhaps you were wise, and knew your mind. This is a sudden impulse, you may think better of it tomorrow—”

“There’s nothing sudden about it. I’ve thought of nothing else for weeks but making you my wife.”

“Then—forgive me, Charles—why haven’t you spoken sooner?”

“Because I know I’m not half good enough for you. Pray God you never know just how unworthy I am! But no one’s ever loved you as I do—no one can, and no one will! Marrying you is the only worthy aspiration I’ve ever had. To live up to you will bring out the good in me, if anything can.”

“I’m not a saint,” she faltered. “I can’t
save
you.”

“Can you love me?”

What could she say?
Yes
would commit her to accept him.
No
would be a flagrant lie.

“Can you look at me and tell me you don’t love me?”

“No,” she whispered.

“Then you must marry me, Ada! We were meant to be together. Say you’ll have me, and I’ll labour all my life to make you happy. You’ll never be hurt or sorry, I swear it—”

“Yes, Charles,” she heard herself answer. “I’ll marry you. Yes.”

He caught her against his breast. She clung to him, her bridges burned, her future transformed with a single word. She tipped back her head to look at him—see if it was really true. She caught him unawares, and felt chilled to the heart. It was not love or triumph she read in his eyes. It was grief, remorse, despair.

By Thursday, Dipper was sick of the sight of umbrellas. He had listened to some twenty descriptions of them and their owners in the past few days, and he was no closer to finding Blinkers. At least his task was easier now: the responses to the advertisement were dwindling. Today there were only three, and two of them did not fit the timing of Blinkers’s encounter with Sally.

The third was from a little shop on the south side of the river, off the High Street. Dipper went there and spoke with the owner, a round, bright-eyed old man named Mr. Tuttle. He described how a young man had brought a black umbrella with a ram’s head handle in to be repaired last Tuesday. It was a good one, strong and sturdy. Tuttle was sure it had been used in a fight—no mere rainstorm could inflict that kind of damage.

“I can’t tell you much about the owner,” he said, scratching his head. “Very ordinary, he was—you’d never look at him twice. But my delivery boy, Ned, as took the umbrella back to him when it was mended, says he remembers him well. Ned! Here, Ned! Where
is
the lad?”

A boy of about fourteen swaggered into the shop. He clearly aspired to cut a figure as a gent. He wore a tailcoat much too long for him, soiled white gloves, and a beaver hat that looked as if it had been kicked around the neighbourhood. “You wants me, old shaver?”

“You be civil, now. This here is the man as sent us that broadsheet—the one with the ten-pound reward for information about the umbrella.”

The boy pushed his top-hat back on his head and looked Dipper up and down. “Now, that’s a queer start, that is. Who’d give ten quid to know about somebody’s broken umbrella?”

“Me master would,” said Dipper imperturbably.

Ned tried to stare him out of countenance. Dipper returned the stare with interest. At last Ned acknowledged defeat and told his story. He had delivered the mended umbrella last Wednesday to the address the owner had left. It was an office above a tobacconist’s, in a little court a few streets away. There was a glass plate in the office door, with “Smith and Co., Dealers and Importers” printed on it.

“I remember the cove as answered, ’coz he didn’t give me nothing for me trouble, the pinch-fist! Just opened the umbrella and looked it over careful-like, as if he’d have been glad to find the work done wrong, then paid for the repairs and sent me about me business. He was quiet, but very toploftical in his ways—like he was Captain Grand, and everybody else was dog’s meat.”

“What did he look like?” Dipper asked.

“He was thin, and not above five-and-twenty, and he wore gold rimmed specs. I don’t know what his name was. I didn’t see nobody else there, so maybe he was Smith, like the sign.”

“Did he have a mouse on his dial?”

“He did, now you mentions it! Just here.” Ned pointed to his forehead, above his left eye. “And too bad the cove as give it to him aimed too high, and didn’t tickle his sneezer.”

Dipper thanked Ned and Mr. Tuttle, paid the reward, and asked for directions to Smith and Company. A few minutes’ walk brought him to a narrow, dusty court, with a tobacconist’s at the far end. He went up to the shop and peered in. A middle-aged man was arranging pipes on a shelf, while a girl of about twenty measured out snuff for a customer at the counter.

Dipper opened the street door and went in. To his left was a door into the shop, while before him a flight of stairs led up to the first floor. Just then a young man came down the stairs. He was thin and nondescript, and wore gold-rimmed spectacles. He brushed past Dipper and went out.

Blinkers!—Dipper was sure of it. He fit Sally’s description up to the nines. Dipper watched him cross the little court and disappear round the corner. Then he went upstairs. Here was the door Ned had described, with “Smith and Co., Dealers and Importers” painted on the dingy glass. Dipper tried it, but it was locked. He went downstairs again, and into the tobacconist’s.

Here he made himself at home, browsing through the different brands of tobacco, and perusing the theatre playbills tacked on the walls. The shop was evidently a family concern. He gathered from snatches of conversation that the girl was the middle-aged man’s daughter. He surveyed her out of the corner of his eye. She was slim and delicate, pale from living out of the sun, with big, light grey eyes that gave great charm to an otherwise plain face. Her father called her Annie.

Dipper smiled at her from time to time. She cast down her eyes and pretended to be busy with some task, but he saw her peek up at him through her lashes when she thought he was not looking. After a while her father went out, leaving her in charge of the shop. Dipper waited till he was out of sight, then went up to the counter. Annie tried to look as if she had had no idea he would come and talk to her, but a blush spread over her pale cheeks, and the eyes she lifted to his were softly bright.

“Morning!” said Dipper

“Good morning, sir.”

“Fine day.”

“Yes, it is.”

“I could say I come in to buy some ’bacca, but it wouldn’t be true.”

“Then—then I can’t help you “

“That don’t follow.”

She looked away, blushing still more. “I—I don’t think Pa would like me talking to a stranger.”

“That’s settled, easy as winking. Me name’s Dipper, and I’m valet to a gentry-cove. How d’ye do?”

“How do you do? My name is Anne Price.”

“This your pa’s place?” He waved his hand at the shop.

“Yes. That is, we’re tenants. We have our shop in the front room here, and live in the back room and the basement.”

“What’s up the first floor?”

“We let it. There’s an office up there—Smith and Company, it’s called.”

“What’s it do?”

She looked troubled. “We don’t know, exactly. Mr. Rawdon—that’s Mr. Joseph Rawdon, the gentleman who uses the office—don’t talk about his work.”

“If his name’s Rawdon, who’s Smith?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen anyone from the company except Mr. Rawdon.” She added, in a rush of confidence, “It’s odd, you know—their sign says they’re dealers and importers, but they never seem to deal in or import anything. They don’t bring any kind of goods to the office. I saw inside it once—there’s nothing there but papers. People call there, though. A few men come quite often, and some women, too—very ladylike, and thirty at least. I don’t know what they talk to Mr. Rawdon about.”

“What’s he like?”

“He’s very quiet. We’d never know he was there if we didn’t see him go in and out. He comes in every day at about ten o’clock, and leaves by five. He don’t have anything to do with us, except when he pays the rent on quarter-day, and when he comes in once in a while to buy a newspaper. He’s been there for close to two years now, and he’s never given any trouble. Pa says we’re lucky to have him.”