A Spy in the House (21 page)

“Oh, but poor old Marshall is laid up today,” said Mrs. Bridges. “Diggin’ a grave last night, and he threw his back out ever so painfully. He’s at home now.”

“Have you no other witnesses?” Michael’s voice rose. “No second pew opener or cleaner?”

Mrs. Bridges bristled. “We’re a small parish, sir.”

The vicar blinked slowly. “Am I to understand that you brought no witness?”

“No. I mean, yes.” Michael raked a hand through his hair. “I suppose we’ll have to try to pull someone out of the street. . . . Any passerby will do, I hope, Vicar?”

Angelica’s grip tightened on his arm. “Michael, for God’s sake.” The priest flicked her a brief look of reproof. “We’re in the middle of — of I don’t know where. We can’t just run about the streets asking people . . .”

“We haven’t a choice, darling.” Michael’s voice had an edge of temper. “I’m sorry — I’ve made a blunder. But we can’t change our minds now . . . can we?” The last two words were heavy with meaning.

Angelica sighed. “This is a farce.”

There was a charged pause. Michael and Angelica stared at each other as though frozen. Mrs. Bridges seemed crushed at the loss of her tip. The priest simply looked cross. Behind her pillar, Mary held a quick debate. This might be what James wanted for his brother, but it all depended on information they didn’t yet have. Should she intervene? If Michael and Angelica wanted to marry, they would manage it one way or another. If there was ever a time for decisive action . . .

She stepped out from behind the pillar. “Good afternoon, Miss Thorold; Mr. Gray.”

The effect was, as Angelica said, farcical. Four faces turned to watch her swift strides down the aisle, mouths agape. Four voices spoke as though in an amateur theatrical, overlapping and interrupting each other.

Angelica (defiant): “You wouldn’t dare!”

The minister (confused): “I take it you are acquainted with this young couple?”

Michael (ashen-faced): “For God’s sake, Mary . . .”

Mrs. Bridges (bewildered): “But I thought you said . . .”

“I’m sorry to interrupt the service, Vicar, but might I have a word with Miss Thorold and Mr. Gray?” When the priest only nodded, Mary added, “In private?”

He blinked, as though prodded. “C-certainly. Would you care to use the vestry?”

“Thank you, no,” she said brightly. “This spot right here will do.”

He and Mrs. Bridges had moved only a few yards away when Angelica exploded. “Of all the sneaking, petty, hateful things!”

Michael jumped and gaped at his bride, pure shock paralyzing his face.

She jerked her veil back, the better to attack. Her eyes were narrow slits, her face contorted with rage. “You will not stop us! I
will not
permit you to spoil everything!”

Shaken, Michael took a firm hold on Angelica’s arm. “Mary, I know this looks bad. It’s highly irregular, but please . . . is there anything I can do to persuade you that I have Angelica’s best interests at heart?”

“You’re a lying nobody,” snarled Angelica. Her body was tensed to spring, restrained only by Michael’s grip. “The vicar would never believe your word over mine even if we hadn’t a special license!”

“An inaccurate special license?” asked Mary. “You’re only eighteen; you can’t marry without your parents’ permission until you turn twenty-one.”

Angelica’s eyes bulged, revealing a striking resemblance to her father. “You can’t wait to ruin my life, can you? You’re jealous of me! You want Michael, but you can’t have him!”

Mary glanced at Michael, who was trying not to look embarrassed. He failed at every moment. “Actually, I don’t. You’re very welcome to him.”

Angelica’s face suddenly crumpled, and she began to sob. Her words were mangled, but it was clear that she was desperately angry and frightened. Michael tried to soothe her, but that only made her cry all the harder.

Mary sighed and consulted the church clock. After three minutes, she spoke in her crispest voice. “That’s enough now. Stop bawling, Miss Thorold.”

Startled, Angelica glared at Mary — but her tears slowed to a trickle.

Michael drew a long-suffering breath. “Miss Quinn — Mary — you must believe me: I love Angelica and I want only what is best for her. I am no mean fortune hunter. I — I came to care for her long before I knew anything of her family or her social position. . . .”

It was the old story: an absolute cliché. They had met in Surrey while Angelica was at finishing school and carried on a long, secret correspondence after she returned to London. Michael had deliberately sought employment with Thorold in order to be closer to her. Now, with increasing pressure on Angelica to marry George Easton, they had finally decided to elope.

Michael’s narrative was long and emotional, and when the church clock tolled noon, Mary hastily interrupted him. “I believe in your sincerity, Michael.” He looked pathetically grateful. She turned to Angelica. “And I am a realist: if I were to report this to your parents, it would only harden your resolve.” She hoped she was doing the right thing. “If you wish to be married today, I will serve as your second witness.”

Two pairs of eyes went round with shock. Two lower jaws dropped open. Michael regained speech first, and he impulsively clutched at Mary’s hands. “My dear girl — bless you.”

The formal ceremony was as short as legally possible. No sooner had the vicar supervised the signing of the register than he gathered up his prayer book, nodded curtly, and swept off to the vestry. Mrs. Bridges received her tip with a curtsy and loitered about, flicking at bits of imaginary dust with her handkerchief until Angelica’s glare sent her scurrying for cover beyond the sanctuary.

The newly married couple turned to face Mary, flushed and giddy with pride. “Mary, I thank you with all my heart for this great kindness.” Michael’s voice trembled with emotion. “I’m terribly grateful that you’re willing to jeopardize your place in order to help us.”

Mary smiled. “It won’t be a place for long with Miss Thorold married.”

Angelica forced a stiff smile. “We could try to help you find another.” Michael nudged her, and she added, shamefaced, “Miss Quinn, I must apologize for my remarks earlier . . . and for other things.” She gestured discreetly, sheepishly, to Mary’s lightly bandaged hand. “I hope you can forgive me.”

It was much more than Mary had expected. “It must have been a shock to see me pop up.”

They shared a relieved laugh, and the conversation turned, for a few minutes, to lighter subjects. The chiming of the clock, signaling half past twelve, prompted Mary to return to business. “What are your plans?”

“We intend to keep the marriage a secret for a while,” Angelica said slowly. “Although if Mama really presses the matter of George Easton, we’ll have to tell her then. But now you’ve helped us, you won’t tell anyone, will you?”

Mary gave her word.

“And there is the question of my post,” added Michael. “I am actively seeking another. Not just because of our marriage,” he added hastily, with a glance at Angelica. “I have become increasingly anxious about Thorold and Company in recent weeks, and I would have been on the lookout for something else in any case. But this”— he squeezed Angelica’s hand proudly — “this has decided me.”

Mary’s ears pricked up. “Anxious about Mr. Thorold’s success? Surely not.”

Michael looked pained. “Oh, well . . . trade is never very certain. . . .”

Oh, no. He wasn’t escaping that easily. “Yet Mr. Thorold is a well-established merchant. Even if trade slackened, other companies would suffer before his.” She turned to Angelica. “Isn’t that just what your father was saying at dinner a few nights ago?”

Angelica nodded vigorously. “Oh, yes. He’s always said so.”

Michael looked pained. “Well, darling, we did talk about those other matters. . . .”

“Other matters?” Mary made her eyes wide and ingenuous.

The newlyweds blushed, but Mary kept her gaze fixed firmly on Michael.

He spoke reluctantly. “Some weeks ago, I noticed a number of discrepancies in the firm’s accounting. I was quite sure that they were only clerical errors at first, but when I brought them to Thorold’s attention, he told me not to worry about them; that he would sort them out.

“It wasn’t typical behavior, of course. As his secretary, I would normally oversee such corrections. But I let matters alone. It was only the other week — perhaps a fortnight ago — that I happened to glance at our quarterly accounts and noticed that the errors were still there.” He paused, and Mary made a deliberate effort to relax her posture. “Naturally, I mentioned them to Thorold again. He’s a busy man, and sometimes the odd thing slips his mind. But he told me — quite brusquely — that things were in order and I was to mind my own d —” He glanced at Angelica. “To mind my own affairs.” He paused again and seemed suddenly to recall himself. “I’m sorry to burden you with all this,” he said hastily. “You can’t be interested in the details of the trading house.”

“But of course, I am concerned about you and Angelica,” Mary said gently. What she really wanted was to shake the information out of Michael Gray.

“Well . . . the long and short of it is that something’s not right. There have been odd sums paid to diverse people. Highly irregular sums.”

“He’s a very generous man,” Angelica put in defensively. “He gives money to all sorts of people.”

“That’s true, darling. . . .” Michael winced.

“One of the largest sums went to a refuge for aged seamen!” she persisted. “That’s obviously just charitable giving!”

“Ye-e-es,” said Michael. “But it’s the confusion in the accounting that makes me nervous, darling.”

“Yet Mr. Thorold seems to think that matters are as they should be?” Mary tried to sound casual.

Michael fidgeted nervously. “Not as they should be; as he wants them.”

“That is a very serious accusation,” said Mary.

He sighed. “I know it. I’m not in a position to criticize the man, naturally. I think the best I can do is clear out.”

She wanted to scream. “Surely,” she said, striving for a reasonable tone, “the thing to do would be to go to the authorities? You have, after all, seen the proof of this . . . inaccuracy.”

Michael smiled grimly. “In a perfect world, naturally. But I have my wife to think about . . .” He smiled at Angelica as he uttered the possessive phrase. “And our future family. Who would engage a secretary who goes snooping for trouble and then denounces his employer? In my line of work, loyalty is prized above most other traits.”

Mary shifted impatiently. “Perhaps you could convey the information to a third party? Anonymously?”

Michael looked thoughtful. “That’s an idea . . . although poor Anj’s family would still be in the soup, then.”

Angelica looked anxious. “I see your point, Miss Quinn. But it’s a dreadful position. I feel such a traitor even listening to Michael’s concerns about my father. And there’s my mother to think about. Her health is so precarious.”

Was it? Mary was tempted to question her about that. Had Angelica never wondered about the inconsistencies in her mother’s behavior? Or was Angelica merely returning Mrs. Thorold’s favor: being entirely self-absorbed and letting everyone else go his or her own way? But this was neither the time nor the place for that conversation. “Yet it seems wrong to say nothing!” she persisted.

Michael nodded uncomfortably. “You’re right. I have . . .” He trailed off, considering something. “This is confidential, you understand.”

Mary nodded, trying not to appear too eager.

“I have taken copies of the account and a few relevant documents. They’re not notarized or official in any way. . . .”

“Yes?” she prompted. “They’re unofficial, of course, but quite complete?”

He nodded. “I’m keeping them in a safe place.”

“Not at the house, I hope?” Mary asked in what she hoped was a naive voice.

Michael looked startled. “The warehouse? Good Lord, no!”

“I meant the family home.”

“Oh.” Michael looked crafty. “Well, let’s just say that they’re well hidden.” He cast a tender look at Angelica. “Aren’t they, darling?”

“Yes. I was against it, at first,” Angelica added. “But the longer I’ve considered the matter, the more important I believe it to be. One day, Michael might be able to persuade Papa to do something; to make things right.”

Well hidden? Between the two of them? Mary had a sudden idea where. “Do you have all the files you need in order to persuade Mr. Thorold of your serious intentions?”

Michael nodded. “I have enough to cause the authorities to look into matters.”

“One day,” added Angelica firmly.