Whispers in the Dark (22 page)

My two chief difficulties were how to find my way to Morpeth (for I had no firsthand knowledge of the district) and how to come by enough money to live on and to pay Endicott’s fee. The first of these I had taken care of as well as I was able by tearing a map of the locality from a book in the library. It showed Barras Hall and the chief roads that led from it to the town.

The question of money was more difficult, chiefly because I felt an instinctive repugnance to the thought of stealing, which was the only means by which I might lay my hands on any. In the end, having revolved the dilemma in my mind for an hour or more, I decided to take with me several items of jewelry that had been loaned to me by Antonia. I would sell or pawn them once I got to Morpeth. Thinking of my cousins’ treatment of my mother when she had approached them in desperation, I felt little compunction at this betrayal of trust.

It was, I thought, best to delay my departure until as near dawn as possible. Otherwise I might become hopelessly lost in the woods and waste precious time going in circles about the very place I wanted to escape from, or worse, I might end up riding in the opposite direction and end up miles from where I wanted to be.

Those hours of waiting proved a very great strain on my resources, for I feared to sleep, partly because I might not wake until it was too late to make my getaway, and in part because I was terrified of letting go, terrified of waking in the middle of the night to find that I was no longer alone.

I left about an hour before First light. I had briefly considered leaving through the window, but the drop from the wall was sheer at that point, and since I have no head for heights, I was afraid to attempt the climb in my bulky outdoor clothes, even with the help of knotted sheets. In order to leave the house, I had to find my way downstairs in the dark, with only a candle for company. Against my wishes, I was forced to leave Jasper behind, for fear that his barking might draw someone’s attention.

That was the hardest enterprise of my life until then, for I had every expectation of coming face-to-face with the man in black, the man I believed to be James Ayrton. And if not him, one of “the others” my cousins had mentioned. I started at the slightest sound or the smallest quivering of a shadow.

Petrarch was startled to see me at his stable so early, but a little fussing calmed him. I was still a novice at the art of harnessing and saddling, and in near darkness I got tangled up more than once in a web of straps and buckles. It must have taken half an hour to get the girth fastened tightly enough. The snaffle and reins proved easier, and by the time the sky was beginning to lighten, I was on my way down the main drive.

It was bitterly cold. I had scarcely joined the road when light flakes of snow began to fall, and I grew worried at the prospect of getting caught up in a blizzard. Judging by the map, I had to keep on that road for about three miles, then join another heading east through

Hartburn, Throphill, and Mitford. It was a journey of some eleven or twelve miles, but the numerous turns and windings of the road increased that figure to something closer to fourteen. Petrarch was fresh and evidently thrilled to be out on the road, in spite of the cold. As I grew in confidence I was able to give him his head a little and move at a respectable trot. At least the cold meant that the surface of the road was firm. A twisted fetlock would have spelled disaster.

Once on the main road, I allowed myself to doze a little, leaning my head against Petrarch’s neck. The snow grew heavier. I began to think that it might work in my favor if it allowed me to reach Morpeth in safety and then came down even more heavily, cutting off Barras Hall and the possibility of pursuit. Perhaps someone was looking after me after all.

In spite of the weather, I rode with a lightening heart. Just to be away from Barras Hall was compensation enough for any hardships that might lie ahead. The open countryside seemed a perfect paradise. What had I to complain about? Not long ago I had been on these roads dressed in rags, penniless, and with nowhere to go. Now I wore fine clothes and rode a pony. I was already dreaming of the future: I would find Arthur and earn enough money to train as a teacher. I even began to think of marriage, when the right man came along.

I got some bread and milk at a farmhouse just past Throphill, paying with an extra pair of finely embroidered gloves I had slipped into my pocket. The farmer’s wife would never wear them, but she knew they would fetch far more than the price of my simple breakfast at the next market. She asked where I had come from and I answered that I had ridden from Wallington Hall, a large house belonging to the Trevelyan family, a few miles south of my cousins’ estate. To have told her the truth might well have been to forfeit her sympathy.

“Why ever are you out so early, miss? And in such bad weather?”

“I have urgent business in Morpeth,” I said.

She looked suspiciously at me. Young women of good family did not go riding alone through the countryside in those days.

“More likely a man, I’ll be bound,” she remarked.

I blushed and said nothing to disabuse her of her illusion. She gave me a broad smile and turned back to her chores. I thought I might as well profit by her seeming complicity in what she no doubt took for an elopement.

“Please, don’t tell anyone I’ve passed this way,” I said.

She glanced at me with a look that suggested she knew all about these things and nodded.

“Your secret’s safe with me.” And to show herself in earnest, she made a point of returning my gloves. “You’ll perhaps be in need of these,” she said. “They’re worth a sight more than a slice of bread and a mouthful of milk.”

I arrived in Morpeth shortly after one o’clock. The snow had eased off slightly, but the sky showed signs of more to come. An old man on Dogger Bank gave me directions into the town center. I rode in along Newgate Street, past the old workhouse on the right. Though I had never seen the Morpeth Union before, I knew it for what it was. They were all alike, those places, built to a common plan, for a common purpose. I rode past with my head averted, knowing that if the worst happened, I would be taken there, and from there returned at the first opportunity to Chester-le-Street.

A boy gave me directions to the Queen’s Head in Bridge Street, where they fed and groomed Petrarch while I warmed myself by the fire. I was starving, but without ready cash dared not order anything to eat. The staff gave me plenty of curious looks, but I just smiled back at them and tried to look as natural as possible. As much as anything, I think my old-fashioned clothes must have raised a few eyebrows. But expensive garments, however out of fashion, create a very different impression than rags. As a pauper, I would have been sent packing. As a rich eccentric, I was as welcome as anyone.

I said I had business with Mr. Melrose, and this seemed to reassure them. Deflecting their inquiries as to my identity and where I had come from, I asked for directions to his office. A large, kind-faced woman, who seemed to be the manageress, told me exactly how to get there. As I turned to go she called after me.

“Will you be staying this evening, miss? It’s likely to be a foul night once it gets dark.”

“Yes,” I said. “I’d like a room for the night, if you have one.” Melrose would be sure to direct me to someone who would advance me some cash. And in the exhilaration of being so far from that dreadful place, I felt myself Oiled with a confidence I had never suspected I possessed.

“I’m sure we can manage that. Shall we expect you back for tea?”

“I’m sure you can,” I said.

The offices of Melrose and Parker were situated in Newgate Street, in a low Georgian building. Their outward appearance was one of genteel prosperity: a highly polished brass knocker on a highly polished door, neatly glazed windows a little smudged with snow, a lamp glowing brightly behind the transom window on which their name was painted in fresh gold letters. Had it not been for my newfound confidence and the knowledge that I was dressed for my part, I should have slunk away from that shiny, intimidating doorway. The poor thing I had been only weeks before would have received a harsh welcome.

Coming here meant taking a risk, of course. But I counted on being away first thing in the morning, even that evening, if there was a coach to Newcastle. I calculated, too, on my ability to win Mr. Melrose’s sympathies with my story. Anthony might be his client, but I reasoned that my fears of ill treatment might weigh more heavily with a man of the law, if only because he might see more clearly than most the possible consequences if I were to speak out in the wrong quarters.

I banged heavily on the knocker. Moments later the door was opened by a young boy in modest livery.

“I wish to see Mr. Melrose,” I said.

“He’s out.”

“I’ve come a very long way.”

“Doesn't make no difference. He’s out.”

“Well, when will he be back? Surely he can’t have gone far on a day like this?”

The boy appeared to consider this.

“He might be an hour or more,” he said.

“That’s all right,” I answered. “I can wait.”

“Well, you can’t wait here. I’ve got strict orders.” At that moment someone appeared behind the little doorman. This was a young man of about thirty, dressed in what we would have called in those days a gentleman’s attire.

"What is it, Fenwick?”

“A woman, sir.”

"I can see that.”

The man pushed Fenwick out of the way and took his place in the doorway.

“Can I be of any assistance, miss?”

I repeated that I had come to see Mr. Melrose. “Yes, of course. But I’m sorry, he has gone to visit a client and may not be back until very late. In fact, it is highly probable that he will not return this afternoon. The client is a recent widow, and I fear her affairs are somewhat complicated.”

My face fell. To have come so far . . .

“May I be of any help? I am Mr. Melrose’s partner. John Parker.”

I hesitated only momentarily, then nodded.

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, I’m sure you can. I'm sure either of you would do.”

“Well, I happen to be free. You must be freezing. Come in.”

He ushered me inside, waving the boy out of the way, and led me into a room just off the hall. A fire was burning brightly in the hearth. He took me across to it, helped me off with my cape, and brought a chair across. Once I was settled, he offered me tea. The boy was called and sent off to make some. I felt very relaxed. This was all going to be much easier than I had feared.

“Now,” he said, seating himself in a chair next to me, “tell me what I can do for you.”

“I . . . hardly know where to begin.”

“Well, what is your name? Perhaps we can start there.”

“Of course. I’m sorry, I’m being very rude. It’s just that. . . My name is Charlotte Metcalf. My father was Douglas Metcalf. He owned an alkali works near Newcastle. Perhaps you’ve heard of him.”

"Metcalf? I . . . yes, I do believe I know who you mean.” He hesitated. “But isn’t . . . ? Isn’t your father dead?”

I nodded.

“But you will have heard of me, surely.”

“Heard of you? No, I don’t think I have.”

“I’m a cousin of the Ayrtons. At Barras Hall. I believe they are clients of yours.”

A look of total astonishment came into Parker’s face.

“The Ayrtons? Why, I had no idea. . . . Of course, they are really Mr. Melrose’s clients, although I have often dealt with Sir Anthony’s more routine affairs. I’m the junior partner, you see. There are only two of us. But you do surprise me, Miss Metcalf. I had not the slightest idea that the Ayrtons had living relatives. I’m sure it will come as a great surprise to Mr. Melrose as well.”

He paused.

“But you must forgive me. I am supposed to be listening to your explanation of what has brought you here.”

Haltingly I told him as much as I could. My father’s death, the workhouse, my mother’s passing, my separation from Arthur, my visit to my cousins and their reception of me. About conditions after that, I thought it best to keep my own counsel for the present.

“I confess,” he said when I had come to an end, “that you leave me a trifle confused. You say you have been living with your cousins and that they have shown themselves solicitous of your welfare. And yet you come here alone, on a bitterly cold day, in order to see Mr. Melrose. Surely your cousins could deal with any legal matters on your behalf. You are not telling me that you have ridden here without their knowledge, are you?” “Sir, I do have reasons for wishing to absent myself from Barras Hall. Let us say there has been a disagreement between my cousins and myself and leave it at that. It is not a matter I wish to enter into.”

I fancied I caught a glimmer of understanding in his eye. He could not, of course, have understood the substance of what I was hinting at, but I think he did grasp from my appearance and tone of voice a little of its spirit. “In that case, what brings you here?”

I explained about Arthur.

“I need to find Endicott as soon as possible,” I said. “I don’t want my brother taken to Barras Hall when they find him. I want him to be brought to me, I want him to live with me. I know Mr. Melrose engaged Endicott, and all I need to know is where I may find him now.”

Parker looked at me strangely, as though I had said something out of place.

“Miss Metcalf,” he said, “will you excuse me for a moment. I must make some inquiries. That is to say . . . I won’t be a moment.”

He was, in fact, several moments. Twenty minutes or more must have passed before he returned. I sat, sipping my sweet tea and listening to the sound of the clock on the mantelpiece ticking softly. It almost sent me to sleep.

Parker came back into the room and closed the door softly behind him. As he resumed his seat I noticed that he seemed worried about something.

“Miss Metcalf, forgive me for asking, but would you please explain to me again the circumstances under which your cousin came to engage the services of this Mr. Endicott?”

I repeated what Anthony had told me that second night over the dinner table.

“And you are sure you have got the name right?”