Lady Lightfingers (18 page)

Harriet sighed. ‘He may have been. I was a child, and I can't remember him all that well. I would advise you to leave this well alone.'

‘I can't. You don't know what my mother was forced to do to keep me alive. That was his fault.'

‘You said she was a seamstress.'

‘Yes, she was.' Celia bit down on her bottom lip. ‘But sometimes she was forced to . . .
entertain
. . . otherwise we would have starved.' There, it was said.

‘I don't understand; you've already told me that Alice acted on the stage.'

‘My mother entertained . . .
men
.'

There was a sudden silence, into which a small, choking cry of comprehension dropped. Harriet's eyes widened, and their momentary disbelief was slowly replaced by horror and disgust. ‘No,' she whispered, and the anguish in her voice raised pity in Celia.

‘I'm sorry; I needed to tell you that. Now you know why I must find him. I need to confront him on her behalf.'

‘Yes. God help me . . . I do understand. What sort of life must you have led to know of such things?' Harriet had tears in her eyes. ‘My dear, I hate to ask you this but are you still . . . well, you know?'

‘Intact? Physically, yes, but that was placed in jeopardy when mother died because I had nobody to protect me. I've seen too much, know too much. That comes of poverty. Children grow up too quickly with the constant need for survival foremost in their mind. That's why my mother told me to throw myself on your charity.'

‘You poor child. I'm so glad you came. It's a pity Alice didn't survive to come with you.'

‘My mother would have been too ashamed, and too proud to let you know how low she'd fallen. Now you can understand why she made me promise to come here. She loved me, and she didn't want me to follow in her footsteps.'

Harriet held out her arms and Celia stepped into their protective circle. They hugged each other tight and Celia bathed in the warmth of Harriet's sympathy, and love.

‘You will never do that – not while I still have a breath left in my body,' she whispered.

Into the fraught silence, a knock at the door sounded startlingly loud.

Eleven

Millie brought a card in. But instead of giving it to Harriet, Celia found herself the recipient.

Astonished, she gazed at it, a smile spreading across her face. She hadn't known Thomas Hambert was a church official; if she had she would probably have run in the opposite direction rather than allow him into her life. But it couldn't be anyone else with the name
Reverend Thomas Hambert
.

Harriet gazed at her. ‘Who has called on you, dear?'

‘It's a gentleman friend of mine from London. May I invite him to join us?'

‘There's two of them,' Millie said. ‘One's a right handsome gent who said his name is James Kent.'

Celia's smile encompassed the room as she said with great enthusiasm, ‘How wonderful.'

Harriet looked worried. ‘Do you think we will be safe? They won't breathe fire and set light to the house, or do acrobatics or anything.'

She giggled at the thought of the portly Thomas Hambert doing acrobatics. ‘I do hope not.'

‘They look perfectly normal to me,' Millie said. ‘I'd better get back to the kitchen. I'm teaching Miss Charlotte to make scones and she's up to her eyebrows in flour.'

Celia chuckled. ‘I'll vouch for them, Aunt. Millie, on your way out would you tell them to come in please? And ask Lottie to join us when she's finished.'

Thomas came in first, dressed in black, and followed by the taller James, whose eyes widened at the sight of her. They laid their capes and hats on a vacant chair and removed their gloves.

‘I hardly recognize you, Celia,' James said, stepping forward to kiss her cheek.

‘I told you there was a lovely young woman waiting to emerge from inside our little heathen,' Thomas murmured, doing likewise. ‘Though I must admit to being amazed by the transformation myself.'

‘May I introduce you to my aunt, Miss Harriet Price. Aunt, this is . . .' She grinned as she gazed at his card before meeting his eyes. ‘My friend;
Reverend
Thomas Hambert, who has turned out to be a dark horse, after all. This gentleman with him is his nephew, Mr James Kent, who is a lawyer.'

‘Soon to be a magistrate.'

‘Stop showing off.' Celia grinned at James, and at Harriet's bewilderment over her guests. ‘I shall have to behave myself from now on, then, I suppose.'

Aunt Harriet looked even more bewildered by that, for Celia had never told her the details of her former profession. ‘My aunt was worried because she thought you might be fire-eaters or acrobats from a travelling show, so you must prove that you're respectable.'

James kissed Harriet's hand and smiled. ‘You'll be relieved to hear that I have yet to master the art of flame throwing, and if I tried acrobatics of any type I would probably do myself an injury. But how nice to meet you, Miss Price. I do hope you don't mind us coming unannounced. I had some business over this way, and my uncle had a gift he wished to deliver to Celia.'

And indeed, he had a book-shaped parcel tied with string in his hand.

‘You're welcome, Mr Kent, and you also, Mr Hambert. Goodness, I had no idea that Celia was so well connected.'

Thomas made a humming sound in his throat. ‘Thank you, Miss Price. I'm pleased that my little ragamuffin friend has found herself a good home.' He gazed around him. ‘Is Lottie not here with you, Celia? Is she well? I have a gift for her too.'

‘She's in the kitchen helping to make some scones. I'll fetch her. Would you like some refreshment?'

‘We can't stay long, with the afternoons drawing in so early. However, a cup of tea before we return to Poole would be welcome.'

A little while later, Lottie was handing round scones with plum jam to spread on top, a smile on her face because, although she didn't remember the guests, they had taken an interest in her. There had been a gift, a jigsaw puzzle of a map of the world. She'd never played with a jigsaw before and Aunt Harriet had said she'd help her and tell her the names of all the countries on it.

Celia grandly poured the tea and played the part of hostess to perfection, though she caught a grin being exchanged between her gentlemen callers now and again.

‘My uncle has been worried about you,' James said, when they were seated.

Celia sent a smile towards her former mentor. ‘You shouldn't have worried, Mr . . .
Reverend
Hambert. Didn't you receive my letter?'

‘I did, but that arrived a long time ago. You omitted to inform me of your new address. I knew it was Dorset, and James tracked you down on my behalf. Are you still writing?'

‘I've written several stories, plus an account of my escape from London, and events rising from it.'

‘Good; then you've given up thoughts of being an entertainer.'

Celia sent a swift glance towards her aunt, who was conversing with James and wore a delicate pink blush on her face. She lowered her voice, gazed at the parcel again and knew she could wait no more. ‘Not entirely, but I do have Lottie to consider, and she's settled and happy here. What's in the parcel? Is it for me?'

‘Aha! I wondered when your curiosity would be aroused. I had a wager with James on how long it would take you to try and ferret it out of me. He now owes me a shilling.'

An imp of mischief rose in Celia. ‘I see you have tied it with literal string.'

He laughed as he handed it to her. ‘And I see you have learned the meaning of the word in the meantime.'

‘You should have corrected me at the time.'

‘It would have been mean to do. Besides, I knew you would figure it out eventually, and I enjoyed your puzzlement. Half the fun of knowledge is in the method used to gain it. The joy in the journey of discovery can never be underestimated.' He clapped his hands, drawing attention to them. ‘Everyone, please pay attention while Celia opens my gift to her, since it's a moment not to be missed.'

She teased at the knots with her fingernails, loosening them, aware of all eyes on her. She glanced up after she pulled the string free. James wore a secretive smile. Her aunt's face was puzzled, and Thomas Hambert looked like a cat who'd swallowed the cream. She wanted to giggle, because he was enjoying this little scene as much as she.

Lottie was running a finger over her own gift with a pleased smile on her face. She was enjoying her time at school, and although she was an average student, she was quiet and well behaved.

Celia lifted the paper off and uncovered three leather-bound books. The breath she drew in was a gasp of delight. On the ruby cover impressed in gold lettering was written,
Famous Fictional Tales of the London Slums, written by T. Hambert & C. Laws.

Tears welled to her eyes and she felt choked up, a feeling swiftly overturned by elation. ‘I don't know what to say, Mr . . .
Reverend
Hambert,' and she found herself laughing and crying at the same time. ‘See what you've done . . . mixed me up, and I don't know what to call you now. She threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly, knocking his spectacles sideways on his nose. ‘You're so kind and thoughtful, and I wish you were my uncle instead of belonging to James. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!'

‘Dear me . . . dear me . . . this is most unseemly, Celia my dear,' he said, and extricated himself in a flurry of embarrassment from her embrace.

‘That's the first time I've seen my uncle in such a pother,' James informed them, his laughter ringing out. Thomas straightened himself up, his efforts to hide his grin at her display woefully inadequate.

She hugged the books against her. ‘It's such a lovely surprise; I'll treasure them always.'

Thomas Hambert vigorously polished his spectacles, and placed them back on his nose again. ‘The leather-bound ones are limited special editions. I thought you might like one for yourself and another two to sign and gift to someone special. The bulk of the volumes are cloth bound, which makes them more affordable to the public.'

Tears in her eyes Celia ran a fingertip over the lettering. ‘My own stories in print; how wonderful a surprise this is. I can't wait to read them, and yours, of course.'

‘I'm better known for my poetry, which is what I contributed to this volume.'

‘I'm so proud that you considered my work good enough to share a book with yours.'

Thomas cleared his throat. ‘We've already earned a small amount of royalties from sales, and can expect more in time. I've placed it in an envelope inside the book with the accounting so far. Some readings have been arranged. My sister Abigail . . . James' mother, that is, is hosting a social dinner and evening on Saturday. I thought you might like to come and read some of your work. I have a friend passing through, who will collect you, bring you to Poole and return you home the next morning.'

Celia gazed at her aunt, who seemed quite bemused by the turn of events. The thought of reading to Thomas Hambert's friends was awe inspiring, though thrilling; they were bound to be serious-minded and learned people.

‘Am I good enough to read my work, or are you just being kind to me? I don't want to make a fool of myself.'

‘You're every bit good enough, Celia. They are just people, and you should have more faith in yourself, and in my judgement.'

It was just the boost she needed in her moment of doubt, and she turned to her aunt. ‘May I?'

‘Of course you may accept the invitation, Celia. I consider the reverend to be an excellent chaperone.'

James smiled broadly at Harriet. ‘Perhaps you'd like to attend as well, Miss Price. You will be my guest.'

‘Are you sure your mother won't mind?'

‘I'm quite certain she would enjoy meeting you.'

Harriet appeared pleased by the invitation. ‘Well yes, I could come. Millie will look after Charlotte. She's a sweet child and they get along so well together.'

Thomas turned to James. ‘I've forgotten something . . . what is it James?'

‘Richard Parkinson.'

‘Ah yes . . . Celia, I know a gentleman who edits a London magazine. He's eager to publish some tales of the London slums, such as those you've written for our book; a dozen in all, since the magazine is a monthly one. Or if you prefer you could write a serial – one continuous story in twelve sections. I'll leave a copy of the magazine so you can read it for yourself. They have their own artist to illustrate it, and you will be paid a fee – one I negotiated myself, so you can be assured you will receive a fair recompense for your efforts.'

Celia felt dubious, even though eager to accept. She was filled with awe that someone liked her writing enough to actually buy it.

‘Everything seems to be happening at once. Having my name on a book is one thing, but writing tales for a magazine is another. There are things I'd rather not write about because it wouldn't be
seemly
, and the truth might reflect badly on me, or my
family
.' Her eyes slid towards Harriet, who now knew a lot more about her previous life, but not everything.

James leaned forward. ‘They needn't be the actual truth, but rather the truth as seen and recorded through the eyes of a fictional person.'

‘I'm not a professional writer, Mr Kent, and I'm sure Reverend Hambert must have heavily edited my work for the book.'

‘Ah yes.' Cocking his head to one side Thomas gazed at her with bird-bright eyes. ‘Your writing actually needed very
little
editing, as a matter of fact, and the moment you were paid for your work you became a professional author. You could, of course, write the stories under a pseudonym.'