Elijah’s Mermaid (33 page)

I hope you are warmer in Kingsland House. I worry. I miss you, and Ellen too. Truly, if it were not for the fact that today there has been a ‘development’ then I would have considered coming home
.

But, at long last, there is some news, with Freddie’s advertisements in the press resulting in a direct response. Earlier this morning, while Freddie was out, a letter arrived, right here at the house, and I know you will think it wrong of me, to open Freddie’s personal mail, but the envelope was clearly addressed ‘to those with an interest in Elijah Lamb’. And I do have an interest, after all
.

The note inside was very brief: ‘From the House of the Mermaids in Cheyne Walk to those who are seeking Elijah Lamb: Come this afternoon at 3 o’clock
.’

The House of the Mermaids, Papa! Surely the name is fortuitous, when I think back to that book you wrote, and all of Elijah’s drawings too. For the present, I know no more than this and shall have to set my pen aside and wait for Freddie to return, and whatever the rest of the day may bring, dearest Papa, you shall soon be told
.

Until then, I hope with all of my heart to have news to bring some joy to yours
.

Your own most affectionate granddaughter
,

LILY

It was true, a letter had arrived, and I thought it best to inform Papa, who must surely be wondering how things went, even if my news was deliberately vague, skimming over the details of other events occurring in the past few days – Elijah’s papers – what I really knew of the House of the Mermaids – my foolish nocturnal wanderings – Uncle Freddie’s scandalous books.

The thought of those books would not leave my mind. I was hardly able to meet Freddie’s eye when, after the doctor’s departure, when the maid had also left my room, he returned with a mug of sugary tea and a plate piled high with toast and jam – as if all that sweetness would make things right, would make me forget what I’d learned about him; though, of course, Uncle Freddie was unaware of what secrets his maid confessed that day.

He looked at me through tired, bagged eyes, and then sat down on the mattress edge – just above where Elijah’s papers were hidden – reaching forward to take my hands when he said, ‘Oh, my dear girl . . . what on earth possessed you to go running off through the streets like that? Why, anything . . . anyone . . .’ Seeming unable to find the words, his hands cupped my shoulders, drawing me close as he sighed, then said, ‘I honestly thought I’d lost you too.’

So tense that I could barely breathe, my mind was reeling with panic by then, recalling what the maid implied, imagining all sorts of scenarios – indecent things of which I’d read, those stories where simpering raddled-out lechers were intent on the ruin of innocent virgins. It came as a very great relief when Freddie said he must leave for a while. ‘I’ll be gone a few hours at the most . . . just at the office across the road, attending a meeting with one of our printers. But I shall return in time for
lunch . . . at liberty for the rest of the day to sit with my Lily and see her get well, entirely at her disposal again.’

I don’t know whether he noticed how cool my disposition, how my hands lay unresponsive in his as if they were made of nothing but wax. But to think of Freddie at my side while I lay in that bed for hours on end: I really couldn’t bear it!

The moment he left I got up and dressed and started to pack my things away, fully intending to leave that day and make my return to Kingsland House – when there came a sharp knocking upon the house door, a banging very urgent it was, and thinking the maids must not have heard, that perhaps it was Freddie come back again, I ran down the three flights of stairs myself and opened the door to find no one there, only a blast of winter air seeded with sleet as hard as rice. And then, with the door closed up again, while brushing those melting slivers off, I happened to see what lay on the mat, just below the letterbox.

That stationery looked fit for a queen, the envelope as smooth as silk, and no frank mark or stamp to mar the front where the edges were cut as if made of lace, the borders within embossed with shells. Reading the mysterious inscription –
To those with an interest in Elijah Lamb
– I wasted not a moment more in breaking the seal upon the back, which was black, and formed a capital ‘H’. Such a delicate fragrance wafted out from the flattened violet placed inside, reminding me of the marketplace when I had been offered just the same.
Violets for chastity
. Leaving that flower quite untouched, I extracted the page in my unsteady hands and read the brief contents of what it contained, all the while thinking of Elijah’s diary, and how Pearl had said she’d been raised in a brothel – a brothel called the House of the Mermaids. It was surely too coincidental that this missive arrived from the same address.

In a state of some confusion I walked back up the stairs, heading for Freddie’s sitting room, where I looked at the envelope again, and this time I lifted the flower out, flinging bruised petals on to the fire, where they shrivelled and hissed among the coals, smoking like purple poison. Then, with the
envelope still in my hand, I went to sit at Freddie’s desk, using Freddie’s stationery to scribble my letter to Papa, and about to address an envelope when disturbed by the swift tread of feet on the stairs, and then Freddie calling my name, his face lit up like the rising sun when looking in at the sitting-room door. ‘Ah, Lily, dear girl . . . there you are!’ Retreating to the landing, he peered back over the bannister rail, conversing with someone still below. ‘Well, come on up, then, if you must. Don’t dawdle about down there all day.’

Wondering who could be visiting and hoping the doctor had not returned, I stood up and smoothed down the folds of my skirts and glanced in the mantel mirror, wishing I’d thought to brush my hair, at least to tie it neatly back. But such regrets were all in vain, for in no time at all the guest was there, his hat grasped firmly in his hands, his voice deep and earnest when he said, ‘Miss Lamb . . . Lily . . . I do hope you are feeling recovered. Freddie told me how unwell you’ve been. He thought it best I did not come, but I felt myself to be somewhat at fault for trailing you out and about in the rain . . . and I wanted to apologise for any upset I may have caused, after our visit to Dolphin House.’

Just what had Freddie divulged of my ‘illness’ to cause Samuel Beresford such concern? I felt myself growing hot and embarrassed, my words rushing out, too tart, too sharp. ‘Mr Beresford, you flatter yourself to assume such degrees of influence . . . that your views might affect my state of health!’

In reply, he looked flustered and ill at ease, and I felt a sudden pang of guilt, going on while trying to force a smile. ‘It is kind of you to come, but really I am perfectly well . . . a little tired and bad tempered, that’s all.’

‘Good!’ Freddie interjected. ‘In that case Sam can put down his hat. A medicinal sherry for all of us, to restore our spirits as well as our health . . . and then perhaps a spot of lunch!’

Very soon, he was holding two glasses out, though mine was immediately refused, knowing I had to keep a clear mind for
whatever the day might happen to bring, regarding the invitation of which Freddie was still in ignorance – but not for long.

Drawing the letter out of my pocket, I thrust it underneath his nose. It was neither polite nor ladylike but what did I care for etiquette, only the ticking down of the clock with every second nearer to three – which made it a matter of urgency.

So long Freddie stared at that envelope. It really was excruciating, during which Samuel Beresford lifted a book down from the shelves and, seeing him flick through its pages, I felt a slight tug of doubt in my mind as to whether he was also involved in the making of Freddie’s ‘other’ tomes – the ones compiled of pictures, not words. I found myself shivering yet hot. I went to stand at a window, where the glass was etched white with webbings of ice, and when my hand was tracing there my thoughts were expressed somewhat casually, though inside my emotions were anything but, when I said, ‘Look at these patterns, so like ferns . . . like the ferns by the stream at Kingsland House. Water is the strangest element, don’t you think? Sometimes it is quite magical . . . to take on so many varied forms.’

Samuel set down his book and offered me a tentative smile. ‘My mother has fallen victim of late . . . to this fern craze, this Pteridomania.’

‘Pteridomania? What a word! It sounds like a kind of madness.’

‘Well, yes, I suppose it is in a way. Charles Kingsley coined the phrase, you know.’

‘Mr Kingsley who wrote
The Water-Babies
?’

‘Yes, indeed. He claims his daughters have gone insane to become so obsessed with collecting ferns. My mother is just the same . . . any new species, she simply must have it! Goes all over the country searching them out and then grows them in Wardian cases at home. But she does not have the greenest of fingers. They all seem to shrivel and die in the end.’

‘She could always ask Freddie to steal some . . . the next time he goes to visit Kew.’

‘Kew?’ Freddie asked, glancing up from the letter.

‘Yes, Freddie . . . Kew! You visited there with Elijah one day. He wrote and told me about it. My brother tells me everything . . . unlike the secrets
you
like to keep, hidden away underneath your hat.’

Samuel Beresford was frowning by then, looking distinctly uncomfortable. ‘Freddie,’ he said, ‘would you like me to leave?’

‘You may as well go.’ I gave him my airy reply while sweeping back towards the fire. ‘Freddie and I have an appointment to keep . . . at the House of the Mermaids, at three o’clock.’

‘Oh, in that case,’ Samuel set down his glass, the sherry inside it barely touched, ‘I
am
interrupting. I must be on my way.’

‘No, stay!’ Freddie responded with passion, his cheeks growing very florid. ‘You are a dear and trusted friend. Would you cast an eye over this note for me? Tell me what you think of it?’

Having passed the letter to Samuel, Freddie then appealed to me. ‘I cannot take you to such a house. If you knew what it was, then . . .’

‘But I do! It’s a brothel. It’s where Pearl Black once lived as a child, before she was sold to Osborne Black.’

‘A brothel? But Osborne met her in Italy.’ Samuel lowered the page in his hands, confusion written all over his face.

‘He didn’t,’ I answered bluntly. ‘That was a convenient lie. Your cousin is
not
a respectable man.’

Freddie downed his glass in one, his eyes then fixed on the fire’s flames while speaking in strained but measured tones. ‘Lily, you should not have opened my post. No niece of mine . . .’

‘But I am not
really
your niece, am I!’ My voice was raised, almost a shout. ‘And that letter was
not
addressed solely to you. It implies some news of my brother, and like it or not I intend to go and hear what the author has to say.’

Freddie sighed and visibly paled. ‘Don’t let your feelings excite you, my dear.’

Meanwhile, clearly shocked by that earlier disclosure, Samuel
Beresford glanced back at the window, as if seeking to find an answer there when he mused, ‘She came from a brothel . . . not Italy? I would never have thought that of Osborne. Could Pearl be lying, do you think? Could Pearl be imagining such things?’

For a moment I was speechless, because what if Samuel was right, what if Pearl had fabricated it all – deceiving Elijah, deceiving me? My ears started ringing. I felt very strange. I heard Samuel saying, ‘Freddie . . . Lily looks rather feverish. Is the doctor coming back today?’

The thought of that doctor was more than enough to restore me to my senses again, saying, ‘I am not ill, and I am not mad!’

But, really, I was not myself at all. My limbs were shaky, my chest tight and sore; my head as thick as cotton wool. I
had
to try to think clearly, to prove that my mind was rational, and, suddenly heading for the door, I ran upstairs and into my room, where I lifted up the mattress edge and grabbed at the papers stashed beneath.

‘What’s all this?’ Freddie asked when I brought them back down, pushing the bundle into his hands, feeling as if I was floating in air, simply watching in silence as Freddie read until, with another weary sigh, he set the papers down on a table, looked up and moaned his loud dismay. ‘Oh, my dear, to think you saw such things.’

‘I’m sure there are worse things to see.’ I was thinking of Freddie’s secret books. ‘The main thing is, this House of the Mermaids . . . Elijah knew about its existence, and now whoever lives there is claiming to know about him in return. We
must
go. We cannot ignore this chance.’

‘
If
. . .’ Freddie raised his voice yet more, ‘if
anyone
in Cheyne Walk has information regarding Elijah then you may be assured I will find it. God damn it!’ He thumped a fist on the table, his empty glass then tinkling as papers went floating down to the floor, and though his next words were calmer they were no less emotional. ‘I encouraged Osborne to hire Elijah and for my own selfish reasons. It is I who should now be responsible for discovering what has been going on. But really . . . this note . . . the
most likely outcome is blackmail, some deceitful means of extracting more money. You can’t begin to understand what these sort of people are capable of.’

Blackmail? Had ‘these people’ written to Freddie before? I wondered what he could be hiding now. I stated categorically, ‘I insist on coming with you. There is no point trying to stop me. I know Papa would want me to . . . after all, they have news of Elijah, and I’m only here to find him . . . and then I hope to take him home and
never
return to this place again! Everything Ellen said is true. London is nothing but vice and sin!’

I thought of my brother’s love for Pearl, how her life with Osborne had been an illusion, and Elijah now trapped in that web of deceits. I
would
go along to the House of the Mermaids, whether Freddie liked it or not, however desperate the gleam in his eye when he said, ‘Lily! I never thought you so stubborn. If your grandfather knew how ill you’ve been . . . if he thought I would let you be defiled, to enter a house of prostitutes!’