Undesirable Liaison (4 page)

The “ma’am” did
much to strengthen Flo. ‘I am come on a matter of delicacy. It will
be well if we are not overheard.’

She glanced
significantly towards the stairs behind them, and caught Belinda’s
eye as she did so. Her young sister was looking uncomfortable. Flo
could only be glad of it, for this interview looked likely to be
tricky and she could do without Belinda’s forthright
assistance.

She had not far
to seek for the reason. As Miss Pinxton, albeit with reluctance, at
last stood to one side and permitted them to enter, a taut whisper
reached Flo’s ear.

‘She is exactly
like the horrid housekeeper who looked after Cousin Warsash.’

There was a
resemblance, Florence conceded. And it was no wonder the Pinxton
creature had rendered Belinda a spent force. Mrs Hogstock had ever
regarded the poor child with revulsion. Not that Bel had an inkling
of the reason. God send she never found it out!

An unpleasant
woman, the housekeeper to the Reverend Hilary Warsash had made no
secret of her disapproval of the entire Petrie clan. She had been
heard to say often that no good would come of Cousin Warsash taking
pity on them, and Florence could not deny she had been proved
right. Only the bad had been visited not upon the Reverend Warsash,
but upon the Petrie females upon whom he had “lavished his
benevolence” as Mrs Hogstock put it. Flo could find more apt words.
But this was no moment to be thinking of what was past. She put her
attention on the apartment into which they were being ushered.

It was not
spacious, and its furnishings were old and dull. A stained and
faded daybed with one rolled end took up most of the area before
the fireplace, from which coal embers trailed smoke into the room.
The bay contained a table with two chairs at either end, and a
couple of straight-backed chairs stood against the walls along with
a whatnot and a small writing desk.

Miss Pinxton
invited her visitors to be seated, gesturing to the daybed, and
herself picked up one of the chairs and placed it to one side in
such a fashion as to half face Florence.

‘You said you
had business with me of a private nature,’ she prompted, her air
one of cagey question.

Instead of
answering directly, Flo reached into her basket and pulled out the
greatcoat dress, laying it across her lap. Then she looked up at
the woman, and saw suspicion deepen in her eyes. Florence opted for
an attack direct.

‘I wish to know
the identity of the lady who owned this gown which you pawned at
Vaul & Son in Silver Street.’

The light eyes
flashed. ‘And how would you come to know that, ma’am?’

Florence did
not flinch. ‘I happened to purchase it.’

Miss Pinxton’s
nose pinched tighter. ‘And so?’

‘I am convinced
the owner would not have wished to dispose of it.’

There was a
silence pregnant with unspoken resentment. At length, the woman
opted to brazen it out.

‘How you could
tell that is beyond me. Not that it’s any concern of yours.’

‘Possibly not.’
Flo hardened her tone. ‘I dare say it might concern the parish
constables, however, should it come to their attention.’

Miss Pinxton
shot to her feet, her voice shrill. ‘I’ve done nothing I’d no right
to!
She
had no use for it. Why shouldn’t I make a guinea or
two for myself? I’ve stood by her all these years, even when she
didn’t pay me. Times she’d not a feather to fly with, but I stuck
it out. Thick and thin, I’ve been there. Don’t you tell me I’d no
right! I’ve a right to the lot, if you ask me.’

Stunned by this
tirade, Flo sat mumchance. She watched the creature’s thin features
working for a moment, and sustained a further shock as Miss Pinxton
sat plump down upon her chair again and broke into a frenzy of dry
sobs.

Chapter
Two

It was not an
act, Florence was persuaded. The pent-up tension visible in the
woman from the start signalled genuine distress. Who or what had
been the “she” to produce such vehemence remained to be
discovered.

Flo toyed with
the notion of going across to put an arm about the woman, but she
doubted it would be welcomed. A glance at Belinda showed that young
lady to be in a state of shock. At fifteen, one had little
understanding of trouble besetting one’s elders. And Florence had
always taken care to shield her sister from the difficulties that
had led her to remove them both from Cousin Warsash’s doubtful
protection.

But Miss
Pinxton’s weakness proved brief. Before Flo could take any
particular action, she had regained command, the sobs hiccupping
into quiet and giving way to a mere trembling of the lips. The
veriest hint of moisture misted the grey eyes, but their expression
bore witness to deeply felt grief.

Florence went
to the heart of the matter. ‘Of whom are you speaking, Miss
Pinxton? Who is “she”?’

‘My mistress,’
uttered the woman, and a sudden glare drove away the inner sadness,
bringing back defiance. ‘Yes, it was my lady’s gown. But she’s
dead. It’s no manner of use to her now.’

‘Then we can
keep it,’ came eagerly from Belinda.

Flo frowned her
down and turned back to Miss Pinxton. ‘What was it your mistress
died of?’

‘A broken
heart, if there’s any justice,’ said the creature, eyes snapping
again. The flash died, and her tone dulled. ‘They said it was an
inflammation of the lungs. And what with the cold and no money for
coal, I don’t know how she wouldn’t catch a chill sufficient to
hasten her to her grave.’

‘Was she ill
for long?’

‘Since that
wretch up and left her—’

Miss Pinxton
caught herself on a gasp, clamping her lips together.

Devoutly hoping
Belinda would not divine the significance of this, Florence
refrained from probing this intriguing statement further. Her
imagination, trained by circumstance, was well able to work upon
these few words to form a picture of the unknown lady’s way of
life. She changed tack.

‘I did wonder
whether the greatcoat dress had been made in Paris. Perhaps you may
be able to enlighten me, Miss Pinxton.’

A sour smile
crimped the woman’s mouth. ‘And it weren’t the only piece of
extravagance she indulged.’ She shrugged. ‘Not that he couldn’t
afford it—then. If she’d had any sense, she’d have persuaded him to
keep out of France altogether. He could have had his money sent,
instead of going back for it. Near as nothing lost his head for his
pains, and got no money neither. I told her not to trust no
Frenchman, but would she listen? If you ask me, she’d have been
better off sticking with the captain.’ A heavy sigh escaped the
woman, who had apparently forgotten she was in the company of
strangers. ‘Not that it makes any odds. She’s gone, and it’s all
done with. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes.’ The note of melancholy
gave way to anguish. ‘She gave it all up! From my lady Langriville
to a pauper’s coffin! And for what?’

The creature’s
hands were over her face, and she was shaking. Horrified by the
tragic tale hinted at, and dreading having to explain the
implications to her naïve younger sister—whose face was alive with
curiosity, though she thankfully kept her tongue for the
present—Florence wavered between marching straight out of the place
and remaining to comfort Miss Pinxton.

There was
little more to be gained here in any event. It was plain that the
maid, distressed as she was, had chosen, or perhaps been forced by
need, to make use of her mistress’s garments for her livelihood.
She plainly knew nothing of the concealed jewel, and Flo could not
in conscience reveal what the lady had not wished her maid to know.
Which led to a further question.

‘Is there no
one to whom the lady’s belongings should rightfully be passed?’

The woman
pokered up at once. ‘You’re saying I’ve no right to them.’

Flo held the
black gaze. ‘That is a matter for your conscience, Miss
Pinxton.’

A resentful
silence followed.

Florence tried
again. ‘You mentioned the name of Langriville, I think?’

Miss Pinxton’s
features depicted dismay. ‘I didn’t. I never said any such
thing!’

‘Yes, you did,’
chimed in Belinda unexpectedly. ‘I heard you distinctly. You said
she was Lady Langriville.’

The maid shot
the child a glance of acute dislike, and returned her gaze to Flo.
‘You wanted to know if my lady wished to dispose of the gown,
didn’t you? That’s what you came for. Well, you’ve got your
answer.’

‘I also said I
wished to know the identity of the owner,’ Flo pointed out.

Miss Pinxton
was once more upon her feet. ‘I’ve got nothing more to say, ma’am.
You’d best go. You can keep the gown and welcome.’

It was useless
to argue further. Florence folded the greatcoat dress yet again and
tucked it back into the basket. Then she rose from the daybed.

‘Come along,
Belinda.’

She crossed to
the door, her sister in tow. A shrill warning came from behind.

‘And if you’ve
any thought of informing on me, ma’am, let me tell you—’

Turning,
Florence cut her off.

‘My dear Miss
Pinxton, you may rest easy. I will say nothing. If you choose to
reward yourself for serving your mistress, it is no concern of
mine. I dare say you have earned it.’

Once outside
the house again, Florence discovered she was shaking. Whether with
distress or anger she had no notion. Vaguely she was aware of
Belinda’s voice, of footsteps beside her as she hastened down the
street, as if it were imperative to put space between herself and
the unseen spectre of the forlorn female who had worn the gown
carried in the basket.

The pale rose
ruby, reposing in the inner pocket of her jacket, unfelt and hidden
as securely as it had been in the greatcoat dress, came alive in
her imagination, burning into her flesh. What had she not suffered,
poor lost soul? A lady brought so low as to lead the life of a
courtesan.

Flo’s breath
deserted her, and she was obliged to pause, grasping for support at
the railing bordering one of the houses.

There but
for the grace of God
…

So nearly had
she been caught in the self-same trap. Dragged down to the hideous
ignominy that had scarred them all—Mama, herself and the dear
darling girl for whom she was now the sole support. And Belinda
must never know.

‘Flossie!
Flossie
! What’s the matter with you?’

Gazing through
misted eyes, Florence found her sister’s features close before her
own. The voice had been impatient, but the blue eyes were fearful.
Flo dredged up a semblance of control.

‘Nothing… I
will be well in a moment.’

‘But what’s the
matter?’ persisted Bel. ‘Are you ill?’

Florence shook
her head, frantically searching her mind for a reasonable excuse.
She found it.

‘The smoke… it
made the room close. I felt a little faint.’

It did not
wholly convince.

‘But you never
faint.’

This was true.
Blessed with an excellent constitution, Flo had ever been the
nurse, through both her mother’s ailing last years and the normal
complaints of childhood that had afflicted Belinda. Pressed for a
better solution, her fuzzy mind delivered a more potent
explanation.

‘To tell you
the truth, Bel, I am saddened by the lady’s situation.’ It had the
merit of partial accuracy, but her sister’s mobile face gave
evidence that she did not share such feelings. Flo pursued her
theme. ‘It is no pleasant thing to die in poverty, neglected by
one’s friends.’

Belinda’s mouth
formed a pout. ‘Like Mama, you mean.’

The comparison
came perilously close. Thank heaven the child had no recognition of
it! But the suggestion was advantageous.

‘A little, yes.
Perhaps it reminded me.’

‘Well, but it
was you, Flossie, who said we ought not to grieve overmuch. You
said it was a mercy for Mama.’

‘I did,’ agreed
Flo, reaching out to grasp the girl’s hand, ‘but one is not always
master of one’s feelings.’

To her relief,
Belinda accepted this. ‘I suppose it is a trifle sad for the lady.
But I am so much interested in her ruby I can’t quite feel it.’

So candid and
typical a confession could not but bring a smile to Florence’s
lips. ‘I dare say the lady knows nothing of it, so you need feel no
guilt on that account.’

Tucking her
sister’s fingers into her arm, and taking up the basket, which she
had allowed to fall to the flagway, she urged Belinda onward.

‘What do you
mean to do now?’ asked her sister after they had been walking for a
few minutes. The hopeful note crept back into her voice. ‘I mean,
there’s nothing else you can do, is there? You’ve done everything
possible to find out the owner of the jewel, and Lady Langriville
is dead, so that—’

‘Langriville!’
exclaimed Florence. ‘That was it. Thank you, Bel, for the name had
wholly escaped my memory.’

Belinda
groaned. ‘Then you do mean to do more.’

Flo had to
laugh. ‘Dearest, I am as sorry as you, believe me. I wish I might,
in all conscience, keep the jewel.’

‘But I don’t
see why you can’t, Flossie. After all—’

‘Pray don’t try
to persuade or tempt me,’ begged Florence, but without much hope of
being attended to. ‘We have been over all this before, and—’

‘Yes, but we
didn’t know the owner was dead before,’ interrupted her sister,
beginning to grow petulant. ‘I must say, I think you carry a thing
too far, Flo. It’s plain as day there’s no one who cared two pins
what happened to that lady—except for the horrid Pinxton person,
and she obviously didn’t know about the ruby—’

‘Bel, that is
enough,’ said Florence, exasperated. ‘If I listened to you, I might
as well call myself a thief and be done with it. Just because Miss
Pinxton didn’t know about the ruby is no reason why we should
consider ourselves at liberty to make free with it. Really, I’m
ashamed of you. Had I no intention of searching further for the
owner, I would have made known the existence of the jewel to Miss
Pinxton and given it to her.’