The Grenadillo Box: A Novel (14 page)

“I trust the press and noise does not offend you,” I ventured.

She laughed and shook her head. “Of course not. If I’m quieter, or less forward, than your usual companions it’s because I so rarely enjoy company.”

“My usual companions?”

She looked at me levelly. “Mr. Hopson, you must know your reputation for gallantry precedes you.”

“Must I?”

“Fetherby remarks on it constantly.”

I could happily have throttled the talkative carter. “It is ill-deserved, Miss Goodchild, I can assure you of that.” I felt a small prick of conscience for this insincerity and hurried on to crush it. “Though I confess I enjoy company—that of both sexes—as much as any sociable young man. Yet you say you do not enjoy it?”

“I said no such thing. What I meant was that I rarely experience company, not that I don’t enjoy it. I have no choice in the matter.”

“Why is that?”

With evident reticence she began to tell me a little of her family circumstances. The Goodchild enterprise had been founded two generations earlier by Alice’s grandfather, Jan Gudhuis. He was a Dutch sea captain turned merchant who’d retired from the sea and migrated to London along with sundry silk weavers, silversmiths, cabinetmakers, and moneylenders shadowing the Dutch King William of Orange. The decision proved shrewd. Within a few years providence and swelling profit allowed him to acquire the premises in the Strand and assume the life of a prosperous merchant. He concluded then that the more he forgot his native land and blended with his new surroundings, the easier the citizens of London would be in their dealings with him, and his commerce might further benefit. Thus had he changed his name to Goodchild and wedded a clockmaker’s pretty daughter from Clerkenwell. They had two children: a daughter named Charlotte—the maker of the mirror—and a son, Alice’s father, whom they named John. Charlotte died young, as I’d already learned. John took over the running of the business, married, and was blessed first with a daughter and then with a son—Alice and her brother, Richard.

“But that doesn’t explain why you find yourself charged with such burdens when your father is still alive,” I prompted, when her account trailed to silence.

For several minutes Alice regarded her glass. When at length she spoke, her eyes glistened, and I could see each word she uttered was painful.

“The family was thrown into disarray when my mother died suddenly in a smallpox epidemic. Without his wife to anchor him, my father felt he no longer belonged in this city. He yearned to distance himself from London. His head became filled with rambling thoughts; he was as careless of his enterprise as he was of his children, preferring to pore over travel journals, imagining the fertile hills and valleys and the strange trees and plants and creatures they described.” She halted again.

“And where did his preoccupation lead him?”

“Nine months ago his passion for escape—for that is what it was—finally consumed him. He packed up his few possessions and, leaving me in charge of the warehouse and my young brother, set sail for Jamaica. He had heard talk of rich new sources of mahogany and other, rarer tropical timbers for which every cabinetmaker in London clamored. He would return, he vowed, when his thirst for travel was satisfied and when new supplies had been established.”

“That’s sad for you,” I said. “For some would say he’s neglectful of his responsibility to you and your brother.”

She shifted on her bench and drummed her fingers softly on the table. Her russet hair tumbled softly from its bindings, glowing richer than the embers in the hearth, but her mouth and chin were set stern. “I don’t view it in that manner. If he’s found some solace then I’m glad for it. I trust he’ll return when he’s ready.”

Now her account was complete her voice sounded pluckier, impatient even, with no hint of a tremor. She looked at me levelly, unblinking. I wondered if I’d imagined the earlier gleam of anguish in her eyes.

“And what of you and Richard meantime?”

“Richard’s education continues uninterrupted. As for myself, why, I’ve opportunities few women enjoy: a business to run, little interference from anyone. I learn something new every day. There are many who would envy me.”

“Are there no inconveniences in your situation? You are very young to take on responsibilities that properly belong to a man.”

She waved an impatient hand as if my conventional view infuriated her. “There are those who disapprove of the manner in which I conduct my business, others who remark the negligence with which I run this house, the sea of papers and unwashed plates in my parlor. But the beauty of my situation is that I’m free of all obligation. I can disregard them.”

“And you never yearn for the usual diversions a woman of your age and rank enjoys?”

She gave a half smile, her eyes shone, and for an instant I wondered if she were laughing at me. “Mr. Hopson, I would ask you to disregard my sex for a moment, if that is possible. Then you will begin to see why my primary concern must be to work hard to nurture the family enterprise and my brother. Other matters must take second place.” She shot a knowing look in my direction and smiled more openly. “In any case I confess that, after nine months of business, a return to sewing and taking tea and promenading in the park doesn’t seem so very diverting.”

I laughed out loud at her wit and mettle. Her conviction that doggedness and energy were all she needed to surmount her tricky situation amused me. “I can’t think of many who’d view the situation as you do, Miss Goodchild,” I said, “though as to disregarding your sex, why, with such an abundance of charms as nature has bestowed on you, that would be utterly impossible.”

She looked away. “You flatter me, Mr. Hopson. I’ve a reputation, as you must know, for being less ladylike than I should be, for speaking as plainly—even as rudely—as a man on occasion. But I’ll tell you that I do so because I find the world of commerce is a man’s world. I’ve been unexpectedly charged as the guardian of our family interest and have no alternative…” She was roused now, and her cheeks were flamed with feeling.

Instantly I cursed myself for my ill-timed compliment. “You needn’t apologize to me for the strength of your resolve,” I interjected soberly, anxious to smooth things as quickly as possible. “Only a fool would chastise you for it. In any case we have much in common, for I too have been charged with an unexpected duty. In my case the role is perhaps even more surprising.”

Curiosity seemed to overcome her irritation. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been assigned to discover the truth about Partridge.”

She raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Searching for the truth preoccupies every one of us. But do we ever find the eternal verity of those we love? I think not. Most of us do not even know ourselves.”

I furrowed my brow at this extraordinary response. What did she mean? I remembered suddenly my feelings of dismay when I’d discovered Partridge’s secret involvement with Montfort. Was that what she meant? Had she too felt deceived by someone she believed she knew so profoundly? Her father perhaps? I wanted to pursue the matter further, but at that instant Richard reappeared, brimming with the excitement of the boxing he had witnessed.

“Tell me, Mr. Hopson,” said he suddenly, “how did you come by the scar on your forehead? Were you ever a boxer?”

I laughed heartily at this and immediately forgot Alice’s unsettling remark. “I’ve found myself in plenty of brawls but never in a professional capacity,” I said. “As to the scar, that’s another story. I’ll tell you one day. For now I want to explain to you why I called on your sister today.” I took out the temple box and showed it to him. “I came to find out what I could about this, for I believe it may shed light on the death of my friend Partridge. Your sister has discovered the name of the wood—grenadillo. We believe it is a great rarity, for neither of us knows it.”

Richard took the box and, turning it in his hand, heard the contents shift.

“What’s in it?” he demanded.

“That I do not yet know, for I have been unable to unlock it in the absence of the key.”

He examined the box again. “I believe I might help you then,” he said importantly.

“Indeed I should be grateful of any assistance, for I would prefer not to force it.”

“I’ve a friend whose father is a master locksmith in Norfolk Street. If anyone can open it, it is he. And I’ve no doubt he’ll do it gladly.”

I smiled broadly at him and then at Alice. “That is mightily useful. Can I trust you to take this to him tomorrow and let me know when he has had time to look at it?”

He agreed to do as I asked, and with that we left the tavern. I walked with them the short distance to their cottage. At the door, without thinking, I bowed to Alice and kissed her hand. She accepted the gesture with a small curtsy and a smile. “Richard and I have enjoyed ourselves this evening, and we thank you heartily for it. I’ll come in person or send word to you as soon as we discover anything more of your box, of that you may be assured.”

The moon had vanished, but the sky remained clear and peppered with stars as I walked back to my lodgings, past the noble porticoes and walks of the Exeter Exchange. I knew the place was much vaunted as somewhere a man could find any mistress he required, and on occasion I’d sampled its diversions. Tonight, however, I’d no thought of them. I was more dizzy in spirit than if I’d drunk a flagon of wine, yet still strangely sober. I hunched my shoulders deeper into my coat and, without deflecting my gaze from the street ahead, walked briskly home.