Dear Deceiver

‘He was obviously a great deal more scrupulous about such things than his contemporaries,’ she said. ‘An honourable man.’

‘Yes, indeed.’

‘I believe he received an allowance from England,’ she said. ‘Will that continue?’

He looked embarrassed and shuffled the papers on the desk in front of him as if reluctant to speak. ‘The allowance was paid to Major Mountforest by his father and was conditional on his never returning to England,’ he said. ‘It ceased when his brother succeeded to the title.’

‘My uncle stopped it?’ she asked, in disbelief.

‘Yes.’

‘Then what are we left with, my brother and I?’

‘A small pension from The Company. It may be enough to live on if you are frugal. It is certainly not enough to pay school fees.’ He paused, then went on in a kindly voice, ‘I am so sorry, my dear; perhaps you should write to your uncle. I cannot believe he will hold his brother’s sins against you. As soon as he knows your circumstances, I am sure he will send for you to go and live with him.’

‘The sins were not my father’s but his brother’s,’ she retorted. ‘I would not go to him.’

‘Whatever the rights and wrongs of it, you may have to,’ he said, as Emma stood up to leave. ‘It might be as well to swallow your pride and make the best of it, for what can you do here?’

She returned to the bungalow where Teddy, red of eye and puffy of cheeks, had been going round touching everything—the ornaments, the pictures, the tiger’s head—as if by doing so he could convince himself of the enduring nature of things, that if everything around him stayed in exactly the same place, their father might still be alive.

It worried Emma, because he hardly spoke and was certainly in no mood to make plans which would mean altering their way of life. She delayed saying anything, hoping he would come out of his grief and listen to her, though what she was going to tell him, she did not know.

Instead she set about finding work. Everyone was kind to her, though critical of her father who had been so shortsighted as to think he was immortal, and him a soldier too! But it didn’t alter the fact that no one had anything to give her to do for which they were prepared to pay her and Mrs Goodwright wanted to know why she had changed her mind about returning to England when it was so obviously the thing to do. She could not, of course, tell her the true story, nor admit that they simply did not have their passage money.

Her prevarication came to an end very suddenly a month later, when, in the middle of the biggest downpour Calcutta had seen for years, she received notice to quit the bungalow.

She took it to Captain Goodwright, whom she found at the fort, hoping he might be able to help her. ‘I cannot believe anyone could be so callous,’ she said. ‘It is only a month since…’

‘I know, my dear, but the bungalow is the designated quarters of a major and there is one coming soon to replace Major Mountforest. You do understand, don’t you?’

‘But where are we to go?’

‘England,’ he said. ‘I really think you should consider it. The war in Europe is over at last and Napoleon has been sent into exile. There would be no danger.’

Exile: her father’s, Napoleon’s and now her own, for that was what it seemed like to her. She left him quickly before he could see her tears; the first she had shed since the day she learned of her father’s death. And now they had come, she could not stem the flow. People were looking at her with curiosity and she sought shelter among the trunks of a banyan tree on the Maidan, where she allowed herself the luxury of a good sob, watched by a couple of monkeys, who were sitting in its branches.

Later, when her ribs ached and her handkerchief was sodden, she stopped. Feeling sorry for herself would not achieve anything, but letting herself go had done her good. She emerged from her hiding place, straightened her back and walked home, unaware of the horses, carts of produce, fiacres, tongas, ekkas and pedestrians that eddied round her, nor the steady drip of water from trees and rooftops, which soaked her bonnet. Her mind was still in tumult, but one decision had been taken from her; she could no longer put off speaking to Teddy.

Her brother was still apathetic, but at least he was coming out of the trance-like state which had so worried her, and he sat down to listen to what she had to say with grave attention. ‘We have to leave the bungalow,’ she said. ‘And I think it best if we go to England. We have relatives there.’

‘What relatives?’ he demanded. ‘I have never heard of any.’

‘Viscount Mountforest is our uncle. I am sure he would help us.’

‘Why did Papa never mention him?’

‘I believe they quarrelled.’

‘What about?’

‘I do not know. All I know is that Papa was blamed and sent out here to India and told never to return.’

‘And you expect us to go cap in hand to him?’ he demanded, getting up from floor and pacing the room.

‘Then what do you suggest we do?’

‘Work. At least, I will and you must find yourself a rich husband with a title.’

She managed to laugh, though it sounded hollow. ‘I tried to find work, but no one would give me any. And there are no rich men with titles out in India…not unmarried ones, anyway.’

‘Then we’ll go to England, but not to our uncle. We’ll manage without his help. We’ll make our own way and when we’ve done it, we will force him tell the truth. Papa would never do a dishonourable deed. Never.’

His anger was preferable to his misery, she supposed, but she was beginning to wonder what devils she had unleashed in telling him about their father’s exile. He had suddenly turned from a grieving boy to a very angry young man. And who could blame him?

‘No, of course he wouldn’t,’ she said, deciding to say no more about their uncle for the present. Later she would try and talk to him again. ‘But we cannot go until we’ve raised the passage money.’

‘You’ve got jewellery, haven’t you?’

‘A little, yes. Not enough.’

‘And there is the furniture and the…’ He gulped suddenly, but he was too angry for sentiment. ‘The horses. Prime beasts they are.’

‘Teddy, are you sure?’

‘Yes.’ He kicked at the tigerskin rug. ‘This should fetch a few rupees.’

‘But Papa shot that.’

‘So he did, but what is it good for now, when very soon we will not have a floor to lay it on?’

It had taken time to wind up their father’s affairs, to pay off the servants and make sure they had good positions to go to, to sell the horses and every last stick of furniture, though Emma drew the line at parting with the tigerskin. She would take it with her as a memento of her father. Long before their preparations were complete, they were obliged to take Mrs Goodwright up on her offer.

Within a week Emma was thankful that it was only a temporary state of affairs. The good lady, while meaning well, was dictatorial to say the least, and full of advice about what Emma should and should not do in England. She even gave her a little book of etiquette which afforded her guest a great deal of merriment.

‘And we must do something about your clothes,’ she said. ‘I have one or two gowns I no longer need, they are far too warm for this climate. I am sure with a little deft needlework, we can make them fit you.’

‘It is very kind of you, ma’am, but—’

‘No buts. I shall not miss them, I assure you, and you certainly cannot travel to England in a sari. People will think you are half-Indian.’

Emma did not think that was of any consequence, but the matter of a wardrobe had been giving her some problems. The more she spent, the less there was left to live on and telling herself that beggars can’t be choosers, she accepted gratefully and set about her sewing, with the help of a pattern book Mrs Goodwright had had sent out from England.

It was well into the new year before they said goodbye to all their friends, both European and Indian, and paid a last visit to their mother’s grave in the English cemetery. ‘We will come back,’ Teddy said, hiding his distress behind anger. ‘When I have avenged Papa.’

Emma did not remonstrate with him; it would have done no good and she was too choked with tears to speak.

Later in the day, they went aboard the Silken Maid for the voyage to England and a new life with a new name.

Unsure if the scandal attached to their father was still remembered and not wishing to draw attention to themselves, they decided to change their name. So it was Miss Emma and Mr Edward Woodhill who sailed up the Thames to the East India Dock that misty April afternoon.

Emma saw the revenue man and the health inspector leave and knew it was time to go. She could see her old black-painted tin trunk sitting on the quay not far from the gangplank. It looked lonely and isolated, just as she felt. She sighed; it was no good standing there, waiting for a miracle. She turned slowly and made her way along the deck to the gangway but before she could begin the descent, she became aware of a man starting up towards her.

He had evidently not seen her for otherwise he would have stood aside to allow her to come down first, there being no room to pass. It was difficult to see his face because at that angle his top hat obscured it, but he was young and lithe, judging by the way he dashed up the plank. He was dressed in a brown frockcoat and beige pantaloons and was certainly not one of the dockers.

He checked himself when his head reached the level of the deck and he saw her feet, clad in soft black kid. Looking upwards, past a voluminous burnous, he met the gaze of a pair of amused green eyes. In one bound, he reached the deck and stood to doff his top hat, revealing a shock of fair curls. He was also very tall. ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am, I did not see you waiting. Pray, forgive me.’

His voice had a warm quality matched by his brown eyes, eyes that held her in thrall. She stood motionless, unable to turn away. It wasn’t like meeting a stranger; it was as if she were being reunited with an old friend, someone she had known forever. She could have told anyone who asked, that he liked his fellow human beings, that he was always gentle with them, that his favourite food was pork and apple pie; that he enjoyed a glass of wine, but was by no means a drinker; that he was chivalrous to women and honourable to men; that he disliked humbug and hated racial prejudice.

She smiled suddenly at her fantasy, realising she had been describing her father, but that didn’t alter the fact that she was sure she was right. Pulling herself together, she put her palms together in front of her face in the Indian manner, and bowed towards him. ‘Think nothing of it, sir.’

For a moment he was taken aback. She had a graceful carriage which reminded him of pictures he had seen of Indian girls in saris, balancing jugs on their heads. Her complexion was smooth and golden, but her eyes were green and the wisp of hair which had escaped from the hood of her cloak was a warm chestnut brown, almost auburn, and though her voice had a soft lilt, it had no accent. He smiled. ‘May I escort you down?’

‘No, thank you, my brother is with me.’ She looked about for Teddy, but he had disappeared. Trust him to wander off, just when she needed him. ‘I expect he has gone to fetch our hand baggage from the cabin.’

He bowed and left her, making for the companionway and she went down the gangplank, setting her foot upon English soil for the first time, wondering who the young man was. The ship’s owner, perhaps, then she should have taken the opportunity to speak to him of the poor accommodation.

On the other hand he might be a passenger, intent on the outward journey and in that case they were bound in opposite directions. Or he might simply be a friend of the Captain. She turned to look back but he had gone from sight.

Dominic made his way down to the Captain’s day cabin, musing on the encounter and wondering what was beneath that all-enveloping cloak. The girl was not a beauty by accepted standards, nor was she dressed in anything like the latest mode, but there was something about her that made her out of the ordinary. It might have been her grace; that simple movement of her hands had charmed him. But those green eyes! They were speaking eyes, if such a thing existed.

They told of humour, sadness, pride and compassion in equal measure, yet behind them was a mind that was thoughtful and independent. He checked himself suddenly. How could he possibly deduce so much from a few seconds’ exchange? He smiled at his own foolishness and knocked on Captain Greenaway’s door. There were other things to occupy him. His cargo, for one.

‘Lord Besthorpe.’ The Captain left his desk to come forward, hand outstretched. ‘How good it is to see you.’

Dominic took the proffered hand. ‘Not half as good as it is to see you, Captain. Did you have a good voyage?’

‘It was somewhat rough, but we weathered it. I believe the cargo took no harm. I have spices and the finest silks, saltpetre, opium and precious stones. I have kept those here.’ And he took a key from the drawer of his desk and unlocked a stout cupboard. ‘They are mostly uncut diamonds and rubies, but they should make a tidy profit.’ He took a bag from the cupboard and tipped its contents on the desk. ‘There! What do you say to those?’

Dominic picked up the largest of the diamonds and smiled to himself. He had proved his critics wrong. They had said trade was demeaning in a peer of the realm who should be above such things, and what had he ever done to make him think he could make a profit from it? Profit was vulgar.

There might have been a time when he might have agreed with them, a time when he was young and his father was alive, a time when he had no idea his inheritance would be a pile of debts with an estate which had been allowed to run down until there was nothing left but the old house and the land itself.

The year before, at the age of twenty-six, he had succeeded his father and had cast about him for a remedy, short of parting with the house and its contents. A small parcel of land had been sold in order to stave off the immediate threat, but he needed more, much more, if he was to restore his home and make the land fruitful.

It was Bertie Cosgrove, a boyhood friend, who had told him about the profits to be made from trade, especially with India, and cited an acquaintance of his lately come home from several years out there, who was as rich as Croesus. It was, so he said, impossible to fail and now the war was over and all danger from Napoleon a thing of the past, trading vessels were moving freely again.

There were many reasons why Dominic could not go to India himself; he had a young sister who was dependent on him, there was the estate which needed his attention and, most of all, there was Sophie.

He had asked her to marry him the year before, somewhat prematurely because he was in mourning for his parents and had only then become aware of the parlous state of his finances. They had gone on a picnic party to Richmond at which there had been a great deal of horseplay among the men and some surreptitious flirting. Although she had always been on the periphery of his acquaintances, he had suddenly become aware of her beauty and easy charm.

She was very popular and was to have her own come-out ball that Season which his mourning precluded him from attending, a source of great regret to him. She had laughingly told him that she expected several offers of marriage on that occasion, which was probably no less than the truth, for she was a viscount’s daughter whose dowry was said to be considerable.

He told himself that the dowry had not been a factor; he wanted her for herself. Afraid of losing her, he had proposed at the picnic and been accepted. All London knew of it, though they had postponed the announcement until he should be out of mourning and had brought his finances about. It was a matter of pride, he had told her; he would not have it said he married her for her money.

It was that more than anything which had made him look seriously at the idea of trading with India and Bertie, who had once been a seagoing man, had introduced him to Captain Joseph Greenaway. The Captain had served throughout the war, but was on half-pay, a state of affairs he had been anxious to remedy. He had a little prize money saved, and Dominic put in all the money he could scrape together, to lease a brig with its crew and pay for a cargo. It had been a gamble, but a gamble that had turned out well.

That first voyage had made a good profit so he had handed the bulk of it back for a second trip, and now here was the Silken Maid, home again with yet another cargo. If they went on like this they would soon be able to buy the ship. A fleet of ships!

He turned the diamond over in his hand, smiling at his own fantasy. ‘This will make a fine betrothal ring,’ he said, tying the stone in the corner of his handkerchief. ‘I’ll take it to Rundell and Bridges myself; they’ll make it up for me. You know what to do with the rest.’

‘Yes, my lord. While I was in Calcutta I was given a glimpse of a diamond the size of a pigeon’s egg which might be for sale at a good price. Obtaining that would set the seal on the venture because I don’t doubt it would make a good profit. The Regent himself would covet it.’

‘Maybe, but buying it would depend on the profit we make on this cargo and what you can make with the outgoing goods.’

‘You have a return cargo?’

‘I am in the middle of negotiating one. It will take another week or two, so take some leave. By the time you come back, it will be ready and waiting. In the meantime, will you come and take a celebratory drink with me?’

‘I thank you, my lord, but my family will be expecting me as soon as news that we have docked reaches them.’

‘Of course.’ He was on the point of leaving, when he turned back. ‘Who was the young lady I met on deck? She was wrapped up in a cloak which was certainly not in the latest mode, but I think she must be a lady by the way she spoke and the way she carried herself. She told me she was travelling with her brother. I did not know we had the facilities to take passengers.’

‘That was Miss Woodhill.’ The Captain smiled. ‘A charming young lady, but I know nothing about her except that she has recently lost her father who was in the employ of the East India Company and she is now the sole guardian of her young brother. It is a great responsibility for one so lacking in years. They were looking for a cheap passage and I thought why not? It’s all grist to the mill.

‘I turned my cabin over to the lady and slept in here on the settle. The boy went in with the first mate; there is a second bunk in his cabin. They both seemed very content with the arrangement, possibly because I asked little more than their board by way of fare. You do not object, do you?’

‘No, though it can hardly have been comfortable. Do they have a family here?’

‘That I do not know, my lord. Do you wish me to make enquiries?’

‘No, not at all, I asked out of curiosity, no more.’

Which was nothing but the truth, he told himself, as he returned to his carriage and ordered his driver to take him to Bond Street. He would have a few rounds of sparring at Gentleman Jackson’s and then go on to Grillons where he had arranged to meet Bertie Cosgrove.

Chapter Two

‘I really think this hotel is too dear for us,’ Emma said, looking round the crowded dining-room at the splendidly dressed patrons. ‘Everyone seems so top of the trees.’

The men were clad in bright coloured coats and even brighter waistcoats. Their starched cravats sat under collar points which reached their cheeks and their legs were encased in tight-fitting pantaloons. The younger ladies were dressed in gowns of flimsy silk or net over satin which revealed more than they covered, having high waists with low necklines, while the more matronly were in heavier brocades and velvets with padded skirts from which their ankles peeped in brightly coloured stockings.

It was not that she was over-awed or even particularly envious; hadn’t she attended Society functions at the British Consulate in Calcutta with her father? And held her own. No, it was simply that, in their straitened circumstances, she felt out of place. Her own gown was one of Mrs Goodwright’s, a deep mauve sarcenet which the good lady had said might do in lieu of mourning, and though it had been made to fit Emma’s slim waist and was trimmed with white lace, the colour did nothing for her complexion.

‘Just look at the gems round that lady’s throat,’ Emma said, nodding towards a neighbouring table. ‘They must be worth a fortune. Why, she even has them in her hair. And her gown must have cost a thousand rupees.’

‘You know they don’t have rupees in England,’ Teddy said, making inroads into the lamb cutlets and vegetables with which his plate was piled. Ladies’ fashions did not interest him, though he had thrown an admiring glance at one of the patrons, who had just entered. His double-breasted blue tailcoat fitted across his broad shoulders as if he had been poured into it. His waistcoat was a shining creation of blue and yellow stripes and his white muslin cravat was starched and tied with such precision that Teddy could only stare in admiration.

The man seemed thoroughly at ease and very pleased with himself, chatting animatedly to his companion, a big man with red-gold curls, wearing buckskin breeches and a cord coat.

‘Of course I know,’ Emma said. ‘But it is difficult to think of guineas and half-crowns; it makes my head spin trying to convert it. And you are not above making mistakes. I heard you asking for the dhobi-wallah when we were shown to our rooms.’

‘I wanted my shirt washed.’

‘Now, of course, we are a laughing stock. I wish we had not come here.’

‘Don’t be a ninny, Em, no one is laughing.’ A loud guffaw from the gentleman in the buckskin breeches gave the lie to that statement, though he was not laughing at them but at something his companion had said. ‘And what other could we do? I asked the Captain to recommend a good hotel and he said we could not go wrong with Grillons.’

‘He did not know how impecunious we are,’ she said. ‘Though I think he might have guessed, considering we were obliged to travel on a cargo ship with no passenger accommodation. It is too late to go anywhere else tonight, but tomorrow we must find more modest lodgings. And then we must both search for work, if you are still set against going to Mountforest Hall.’

‘You know I am,’ Teddy said grimly. ‘I would rather starve. But we’ll not do that, for I intend to go to Leadenhall Street and ask for work at Company headquarters. I can be a Writer just as well here as in Calcutta.’ He stopped suddenly and leaned forward. ‘Don’t turn round, but there is a dandy at the next table who is looking at you as if he knows you.’

‘Don’t be foolish, Teddy, how can anyone know us here?’ She pretended to drop her napkin and, in bending to retrieve it, took a surreptitious look behind her. Her eyes met the laughing eyes of the young man who had boarded the Silken Maid earlier in the day. His hand reached Emma’s napkin before hers. He smiled and handed it to her. ‘Yours, I believe, Miss Woodhill.’

She sat up, knowing her cheeks were burning. ‘Thank you, sir, but how did you know my name?’

‘Why, from Captain Greenaway, of course. We do not usually take on passengers and I asked him who you were.’

‘We? Oh, you are the owner of the Silken Maid?’

‘Let us say I have an interest. I trust your voyage was a comfortable one?’

She laughed, revealing even white teeth and a dimple in her cheek which captivated him. ‘Hardly that. The weather was bad and the sea very rough. The porthole in the cabin did not fit properly and everything became soaked, which is why I had nothing but this old gown to wear this evening.’

‘It is very charming,’ he said, looking her up and down. Why on earth had she and her brother chosen Grillons? It was way above their touch. He was filled with admiration for her courage; finding herself in a tight corner, she had chosen to attack. ‘But I am sorry about the porthole. It will, of course, be repaired before the ship sails again.’