Dragonne's Eg

Chapter Two

The Bequest

How often do the most innocent among us imagine themselves guilty! During that long walk from my desk, through the crowded classroom and down the corridor to Miss Moffat’s study-cum-sitting-room I felt I was experiencing all the terrors of Mr. Sidney Carton on his way to the guillotine, the voices of the children the chant of the mob—

Yet what could I have done? My thoughts rushed around like a rat in a maze, seeking some explanation and finding none. And who was the gentleman who wanted to see me? Was he from the police? Had someone I knew done something dreadful? Could it be a forgotten creditor of Papa’s?

I could feel my heart beginning to race, my whole body to tremble, and it was only when I raised my hand to knock on Miss Moffat’s door that I remembered to discard the half-sleeves I wore to protect me from chalk-dust and pat my hair into some sort of order, though as I had inherited Mama’s unruly curls it was merely a case of tucking them hastily into my snood.

I could no longer put it off; whatever lay on the other side of that door I would face with my head held high—so high, I fact, that when I knocked briskly and walked in, not waiting for an answer, I remembered too late the tatty rug that lay just inside the door, a trip-trap for the unwary.

Miss Moffat rose from behind her desk. "Watch where you put your feet, child! And please straighten your collar."

I rose from my knees, smoothing down my skirt, cursing under my breath at my clumsiness.

"Sit here, beside me."

It wasn’t only the chill in the room that had me clasping my hands tightly in my lap—there was a perfectly adequate fireplace, but to Miss Moffat winter only began with the first snows—no, it wasn’t the cold, it was the figure lurking in the shadows whose face I couldn’t see that had me trembling.

Miss Moffat addressed the shadow. "Please be seated, Mr. Swallow," indicating the Windsor chair across from her. She turned to me. "This gentleman is from the firm of Goldstone, Crutch and Swallow of Lincoln’s Inn. He has a legal matter to discuss with you." She half-rose from her chair. "If you wish I shall leave you to—"

"Oh, no, please!" I clutched unthinkingly at her sleeve. "I should much prefer you to stay." This although the ogre of the shadow proved to be only a slight, middle-aged man with a bald head and half-glasses. He sat down, laid a bundle of papers on the desk and cleared his throat.

"This is she?"

Miss Moffat leaned back in her chair, patting my arm reassuringly. "Yes."

He coughed, rearranged his papers. "Well, Miss Laye—"

"Lee," I corrected automatically.

"Of course, of course . . . Miss Lee. I am here to reveal some of the terms of our client’s Last Will and Testament. I say ‘some,’ because a part is left for you to discover." He shuffled the papers again. "I must say it has taken some time for us to discover your whereabouts, as the private detective who was hired to trace you is—was—behind bars. A matter of a small debt which we were obliged to disburse, as the gentleman was a trifle obdurate in the matter of your address until we had—ah!—freed him."

Client? Will? Private detective? Prison? It sounded as though I was caught up in some travesty of a novel, a combination of Mr. Dickens and Mr. Conan Doyle. Miss Moffat saw my bewilderment and patted my arm.

"Mr. Swallow," she said. "You have me a trifle confused and, I believe, Miss Lee even more. Do we have a name for this client of yours whose Will you are executing?"

The solicitor looked faintly astonished. "Of course. I assumed—that is I believed—that Miss Lee would know of whom I spoke."

"No," I said. "I’m sorry, but I haven’t the faintest idea."

He smiled, but it was a thin smile. "Perhaps I had better begin again. . . ." He extracted a document from the heap in front of him. "I have here the Death Certificate of one Algernon Charteris Lyle, the eminent archaeologist, who died some six weeks ago and is buried in the local village church . . ." He looked at me expectantly.

I shook my head. "I know no-one of that name."

His eyebrows shot up. "Mr. Lyle of Hightop Hall in Dorset? I speak of your uncle, Miss Lee!"

My uncle? But I hadn’t got an uncle. I said so. "I’m sure my father . . ." I faltered. Wasn’t Lyle my mother’s maiden name? I was sure now that I had seen it on my parents’ wedding certificate, which I kept with other important papers. But my mother had never mentioned that she had a brother, never talked about her family at all. I searched my memory; hadn’t she once handed Papa the newspaper, remarking: "Read that article, my dear: it seems our Algy is making quite a name for himself . . ." Papa had said: "Not enough to seek out his relations," and Mama had said quietly: "You know how they felt about us—" but Papa had interrupted: "Not in front of the child, dearest . . ." and that had been that.

"Was he my mother’s brother?" I ventured.

"Exactly!" He rubbed his hands together, as if I had got ten out of ten in some obscure test. "I gather your mother’s family were not without some standing in the county of Dorset, but when their only daughter ran off to marry a humble clock-repairer—" he contrived to make it sound a profession slightly lower than that of refuse-collector "—they cut her off without a penny and broke off all further communication."

"I’m sure she didn’t mind!" I said hotly. "My parents were devoted to one other! We didn’t have much money but we were a very happy family. And Papa wasn’t just a clock-repairer: he was a qualified watch-maker, with letters after his name!"

"He was also, I believe," said Mr. Swallow, "of Eastern origin?"

I was silent. I saw Miss Moffat glance sharply at me and then look away.

"My father’s true name was Henry Li," I said at last, spelling it out. "His mother was French, his father Eurasian. His parents settled in Switzerland after they married, and that is where my father learned his skills. When his parents died he decided to try his luck in England, where he changed his name to Lee by deed-poll." I turned to Miss Moffat. "I’m sorry, ma’am. Perhaps I should have told you. It wasn’t a deliberate omission, I’ve grown up with the knowledge all my life."

"It would have made no difference," she said firmly. "It must be interesting to consist of so many cultures. For myself, I have always had an interest in the East . . ." She recalled herself, to glare at Mr. Swallow. "But I do not see what this line of questioning has to do with the matter in hand."

"I apologise for any embarrassment," he said. "But I believe it to have relevance. During their lifetimes, Mr. Lyle’s parents forbade him to communicate with his sister, for this very reason. It seems they were somewhat . . ." He hesitated.

"Prejudiced," supplied Miss Moffat.

"Precisely. While they were alive our client respected their wishes, but with their deaths he made enquiries and was satisfied that your parents were reasonably well off and happy with the birth of a daughter. He purchased Hightop Hall the better to house the many artifacts he brought back from his travels and these were added to over the next few years as his activities were extended." He coughed, and shuffled the papers again before continuing.

"Unfortunately he contracted malarial fever at one stage, and once at home recuperating suffered a mild heart attack, which gave him cause to re-assess his future. He decided to leave your mother a small legacy, but when he tried to contact her he found both your parents were dead, Miss Lee, and that you had moved to London, address unknown. He commissioned us to search for you, but we had no success." He sniffed and glanced around the rather shabby little room. "Obviously we were looking in the wrong places.

"As his health worsened he decided to take matters into his own hands and advertised for a private detective, payment on results. In this he had greater success, as the young man was quite enterprising. He has a very—persuasive—way with him, and once he had ascertained from one of your former neighbours that you had applied for various posts from a particular newspaper, and the approximate date thereof, it did not take him long to narrow down the search. To cut a long story short, he not only found you, but furnished your uncle with such precise details of your looks, character, likes, dislikes and situation, that he immediately added a codicil to his Will." He extracted a paper from the heap. "I must say we found it a trifle unusual . . ."

Unusual? The whole matter was unbelievable from my point of view. During the last half-hour not only had I found—and lost—a forgotten relative, it appeared I had also been left a legacy! I could not mourn a man I had never known, but I could be grateful that he had tried, at the last, to make up for the prejudices of his parents. Mama would have been comforted to know that her "Algy" had thought about her at the end, and that he had also considered his niece. I wanted to know what my uncle had looked like, his manner, but now was not the time for questions: Mr. Swallow was still talking.

" . . . insofar as it is incomplete. I am not in possession of the full facts, as I believe your uncle has left you a choice. There is a letter awaiting your perusal at Hightop Hall, and I have moneys here for you to travel there and read the same. So far, his instructions to us are clear. So is the fact that he has left you the contents of a small, locked cabinet in what was his study. I have the key here." He handed it to me. "All the rest of his artifacts have been left to various museums, his books, writings and manuscripts to his Cambridge College." He paused and cleared his throat again. "Although his housekeeper and her husband have been left a small legacy, I cannot promise you that you will have much money as your lot. During his last years he lived on his capital and the house and grounds grew more and more neglected, although the Hall itself has not suffered any structural decay.

"So, do not expect to live in luxury. I suggest you keep your present post for the time being, travel to Dorset to see what is in your uncle’s letter, then decide what to do next. You will give her permission to take the trip, Miss Moffat?"

"Gladly. The child has taken no holidays since she has been with us, except for the usual week at Christmas and Easter, and of course her post will remain open." She said all this, but she knew the real reason I had taken no leave was because (a) I needed the food and (b) I had nowhere to go. She turned to me. "Take all the time you need. Your wages will still be paid, and Madeleine will cover for you."

"Then when will you be ready to travel, Miss Lee?"

I thought rapidly—everything was happening so quickly. Still, the sooner the better. I glanced at Miss Moffat. "Monday?"

She nodded.

Mr. Swallow shuffled his papers together for the last time. "In that case I will have one of our staff down there to meet you and help out if necessary. We shall reserve a seat on the train and arrange for a carriage for the last part of your journey. Our representative will reside at the local inn and you may do the same, or stay at the Hall if you prefer. I will telegraph the housekeeper to expect you. All costs will be borne by your uncle’s estate.

"If you would call at our offices in Lincoln’s Inn at nine-thirty on Monday morning—number 22A—we shall have all ready for you."

We shook hands—his were clammy and cold—and Miss Moffat escorted him out. Through the open door I could hear the clatter of nailed boots as the last of the children made their way home, and the noises from the kitchen as Ellen cleared all away for the weekend. Through the net curtains behind the desk I could see the fog thickening.

I glanced at my fob-watch: five minutes past four. An hour and five minutes and my life could have changed completely.

I leant back in my chair. It had all happened too quickly for me to grasp the implications. Sure, I knew what I had to do next, how and when, but it just didn’t add up to anything concrete. My mind and body were still attuned to a Saturday at the school; time now I went home, did some shopping on the way, picked up my laundry, lighted my fire, collected my hot water and had a wash, ate my supper, did some mending and then relaxed with my library book before undressing and going to bed. Tomorrow, Sunday, my best dress and church. Perhaps a walk in the afternoon, a visit to one of the parks, a halfpenny ride on one of the open-top horse-drawn trams . . .

I realised I was trying to push my new knowledge away, instead of both accepting it and trying to make sense of it. The fact was, I was afraid. So far there had been so few changes in my life—going away to school, the death of my parents, finding this post in London—that I was ill-equipped to deal with sudden advances or retractions. It was only now that I was beginning to realise what a rut I had got myself into in the last three years; well, here was a situation I had been forced into and I felt the first stirrings of anticipation. Perhaps this was the beginning of something new and exciting—

There was a knock on the door and Ellen brought in a tray of tea.

"Miss Moffat said as ’ow you’d missed your bread and jam you might like to join ’er in a cuppa. She’ll be back in a minute, just locking up." She hesitated in the doorway. "She said as ’ow you’re off on Monday to look at your uncle’s place and might not be back. Just like to say as ’ow we’d miss you. And if you ever need a cook, I’ll be there like a shot." She slipped out the door, then poked her head round it again. "Young Ern ’as gone off with ’is sister, but master Toby says as ’e’ll wait in the kitchen to see you ’ome . . ."

Dear Toby! Like the rest of my laundress’s children, he was not certain which of his various "uncles" was his father, but he was no worse for that, being one of our most promising pupils, determined to better himself. Realising that my lodgings were within a stone’s-throw of the laundry, he had offered to show me a quicker way home.

This had opened my eyes to the darker side of the city. Narrow alleys with houses leaning crazily in all directions, gutters running with ordure, shouts, screams and rantings from behind open doors with no hinges; windows nailed up with sacking; beggars with no hands, no legs, no eyes. Rats as big as cats scuttling in and out of the heaps of refuse, some of which latter stirred as we passed, gnawed fingers grabbing for my skirts, Toby’s ankles. We crept through the filth of courtyards where dogs prowled and snarled and fought and copulated and half-naked children played listlessly with rags and pieces of string. We passed low taverns, stinking of sour beer and wine and the sweet decay of vomited gin, men and women staggering out, their faces bloated and blotched, swaying and falling into the gutters. We went by the painted women, some not even yet women, but boys and girls no older than Toby himself. Lines of people waited for the pawnbroker to open for the evening so they could "pop" their few possessions from one week to the other. Flies fastened on our hands and faces, greedily seeking salt; we stepped aside for the rag-and-bone man with his cart: rags for paper, bones for glue, bottles for re-use. The night-soil people never came here and slops thrown from the windows stained the house-fronts and caked the cobbles.

The sights, the sounds, the smells, all combined with the thick, murky air, revolted me: it was like a walk through Hell. But Toby walked through it all with the assurance born of familiarity. With him I was safe. He knew the streets and many of the people, warning off the urchins who would have crept up behind me to snatch at my reticule, bonnet or even cloak. I saw that he carried a small sharp knife, besides the short, weighted stick stuck in his belt. After that first time I never wanted to tread that way once more, but he persuaded me every now and again. I never came to any harm, and gradually he introduced me to his especial friends: the old-clothes dealer, Simeon, whose face reminded me of the illustrations of Fagin in "Oliver Twist"; Pegleg Pete, a crippled ex-sailor, who hawked matches; Old Nell, who had a houseful of felines, spending whatever she earned with the cat’s-meat man; Sal, a prostitute whose moneys kept not only herself but her three young siblings and an invalid mother and my favourite, little Em, a crippled child with the sweetest singing voice I had ever heard.

This night, with the fog closing in, we would go by the longer route. I decided that supper would be a celebration, not only for my birthday but also for my uncle’s legacy, whatever that might be, and that I would invite Toby to share it with me.

Miss Moffat came back and shut the jingling bunch of keys away in her desk.

"Well, that’s that for a couple of days," she said briskly. "Pour the tea, child, while I wind the clock. It only needs attention once a week, and Saturday is as good a day as any other . . ."

I poured out the way Mama had taught me: milk first, the first cup for the guest, second for the host, in case the tea grew too strong. This was never a problem with Miss Moffat’s tea; Ellen brewed it as she liked it, pale and straw-coloured. I picked up the tongs and added the rare pleasure of two lumps of sugar to mine. The headmistress drew the drugget curtains, turned up the lamp, accepted her cup and saucer and took a couple of sips before seating herself in the chair next to mine.

"Well, this afternoon was a surprise, wasn’t it?"

"Yes, ma’am. I’m afraid it hasn’t quite sunk in yet?"

"No more it will child, until you find yourself on that train on Monday morning."

"I’ve never travelled on a train . . ."

"Then you have both a treat and an experience in store! I well remember the first time I travelled so . . . The speed! Why, we must have reached at least thirty miles per hour! The worst things were the smoke and smuts and the hardness of the seats . . . Make sure you visit the Ladies Room at the station before you board the train: there is nothing worse than travelling in discomfort. Try and find yourself a ’Ladies Only’ carriage: you will be safe from tobacco smoke and any unwelcome attentions."

"But surely, ma’am, no gentleman would venture to light a pipe or cigar in front of a lady without first requesting permission?"

She sniffed. "Once upon a time, yes, but times are changing, and not for the better." She leant over and squeezed my knee. "Besides, if you are in a ’Ladies Only’ you will feel less inhibited when you unwrap your sandwiches or pie."

I was becoming more and more bewildered. "I shall need to take food with me?"

She nodded. "It would be wise. You will probably have just a crust for your breakfast, then you will have to walk to Lincoln’s Inn. From there I presume they will provide transport to the station, but you will have to wait for the train. It is possible, I believe, to obtain a cup of tea there, but you will still have a long journey ahead. I cannot see you arriving at your final destination much before the middle of the afternoon, and who knows then what comforts, or lack of them, will await you? You would not wish to arrive in a distressed or fainting condition, would you?"

"N—no," I said. "Thank you for your advice, ma’am. I shall certainly take some refreshments with me. May I pour you some more tea?"

"Thank you. And please help yourself. I think we should try Ellen’s seed-cake as well . . ."

Another cup of tea and two slices of cake later I felt far more relaxed. As I put down my empty cup and saucer she leant forward once more and squeezed my knee again, quite hard this time. "Have you given thought to what you will do in the future?"

"I suppose—I suppose it all depends on what is in my uncle’s letter." I faltered, feeling uncomfortable all of a sudden.

She released her hold. "Of course. But if you find only a small amount is involved—will you consider returning here?"

"Of course," I reassured her. "In spite of everything, I have still enjoyed my time here. And I should miss the children sorely—"

"And us?"

I puzzled. "I don’t know Miss Hardacre very well, but Ellen is a dear! Miss Hepzibah and Miss Madeleine are always very pleasant and you have shown me every consideration—"

Suddenly she stood up and loomed over me, her shadow huge on the wall, then she bent forward and cupped my face in her hands. "I should have realised where you got those eyes from," I thought she said, but couldn’t be sure, because the blood was beating so strongly in my ears. She bent closer: she smelt of stale powder. Without any warning she kissed me full on the lips, as my mother might have done, but this wasn’t a motherly kiss.

I pulled my head away and stumbled to my feet, knocking over my chair. When I had righted it and turned back, hoping my cheeks were not as flushed as they felt, Miss Moffat had her back to me, fiddling with something on the mantelpiece. Her back was very straight, but I noticed that the hand I could see was trembling. Her voice, however, was as firm as ever.

"Ask Ellen to collect the tea-tray, will you?"