The Lady and the Locksmith (4 page)

‘Did you see her, then? Up at Fortescue’s place?’

‘She was the girl who came into the shop,’ Carl replied.

‘That girl? No! That was Fortescue’s daughter, in my little shop?’

‘Oh Carl, you haven’t got tangled up with her, have you?’ Mrs Broderick said, and touched his arm.

Carl gave her a guilty look.

Broderick and his wife exchanged a glance.

Carl ran a hand over his face. There’d be all sorts of questions, now, and he was in no mood to answer them. All he could think about was that dreadful phrase. Not right in the head. No. Carl refused to believe it. Melancholy, perhaps, but not mad. Anyone would behave a little strangely if they were kept cooped up like a caged animal. There was more to this, of that he was sure.

Broderick wanted the truth. ‘Come on, Carl, tell us what
you
know about Fortescue’s daughter.’

‘All I know is that I care for her more every day, and I don’t believe she deserves the reputation she’s been given.’

Carl sent her a note, asking her to meet him, unsure if she would agree. But on Tuesday night she was there at the gate, waiting for him.

They met at night for safety’s sake, when the streets were empty and quiet.

They walked in companionable silence down the darkened streets and alleyways, heading towards the river. Susannah would have been afraid, if Carl had not been with her. But there were no villains at large, as far as she could see. They startled a stray cat, with eerie luminous eyes, and walked on, past shops and pubs that were closed for the night.

At the boat shed he picked the lock, and ‘borrowed’ a rowing boat so he could take her out on the water. The river was dark and seductive. An expanse of shimmering ripples in the moonlight.

He got into the boat first, and held out his hand for her. ‘Step in carefully, so you don’t upset it,’ he warned. But she almost did, in her ignorance – just one false step and it nearly overturned. She gasped as the boat lurched dangerously, and then gave a squeal of laughter.

‘Sit down, Miss, before you get us both soaking wet.’

‘Stop calling me ‘Miss’, Carl.’

‘Yes, Miss,’ he said, with a grin.

She lay back in the boat, and he threw her his jacket to cushion the wooden seat. Then he took up the oars and began to row, slicing through the water with crisp even strokes. Under his dark waistcoat, his white shirt showed up well in the moonlight – pale shirtsleeves rippling as he moved the oars.

Susannah enjoyed watching his strong arms make light work of the rowing.

‘So … you’re a politician’s daughter,’ Carl said.

She nodded and gave him a little sigh. She’d been expecting this.

‘He’s all set to win this time?’

‘So I’m told.’

‘Who tells you, Susannah? Who’s your window on the world?’

‘You are,’ she said, gratified to see that he was pleased – as if she had paid him an unexpected compliment.

But he wouldn’t settle for that. ‘I knew nothing about Fortescue and his plans to go into parliament, not until yesterday.’

‘Molly tells me things. Our housekeeper. She loves to gossip, even to me. Sometimes she lets me read the paper – especially if it says nice things about Papa.’

‘How did it all begin, Susannah? You, locked up, living in that little room?’

She bit her lip. She didn’t want to tell him, but what was the point of the pretence. If he’d found out a bit about her father, her must have learned some unpleasant truths about her, too.

She paused for a long, long time, and he did not interrupt her contemplation.

‘It started when my mother died. I was beside myself with grief, I suppose. I made mistakes I have lived to regret.’

‘Tell me,’ he said, very gently.

Susannah shook her head. ‘No. It will change things.’

‘I swear to you, it won’t.’

She admitted that she had been present at one of her father’s political rallies, and when everyone was asking him weighty questions about his policy on this or that, she had raised her hand and asked him why he didn’t call the doctor sooner, when her mother was ill. Then she’d burst into hysterical weeping in front of everybody. ‘I apologized afterwards of course, but Father said the damage was done.’

Carl was kind. ‘Grief takes us all in different ways,’ he said, ‘and you were just a girl. I suppose Fortescue was terrified you’d ruin his career?’

‘Yes. He made sure that no one took any notice of anything I said after that. You’re the only one who isn’t afraid to hear me out,’ she observed. ‘Why?’

‘My father was a good judge of people. He sailed before the mast for sixteen years. Cooped up in the ship’s forecastle with twenty other sailors, it was a useful skill. He told me that you must watch for clues, little signs that tell you what a person is really like. I have watched all the signs with you, my lovely girl, and you are sweetness itself. Inexperienced, hungry for life, that’s all. Every minute we spend together delights me, and only makes me want more.’

If there had been sunshine, instead of moonlight, he would have seen the blush that she knew stained her cheeks. She felt hot, though the night air was cool, and she turned her face away. She dipped her hand in the water just to convince herself this pleasure was real. Cool, wet, dark, and seductive – that’s what this night had become.

He let the boat drift into a secluded place, shielded by willow branches hanging like a curtain over the water. Susannah watched him securing the oars.

She caught her breath, when he came to lie with her. The boat rocked gently, but he was skilled and knew where to place his weight. She shivered - not with cold – but he placed a strong warm arm around her shoulders, and held her close to his body heat.

‘Susannah, look at me,’ he breathed, and she felt the gossamer touch of his fingers on her cheek. She was afraid to look up into his eyes; afraid she would feel naked and exposed.

‘Sweet Susannah,’ he said, reassuringly. ‘It’s me. It’s only me.’

Still she could not look up. His fingers stroked softly, insistently, tracing the curve of her neck. All the time she lay against his long, lean body. He felt so warm tonight.

He did not move, and she began to think she’d lost her chance of a kiss by being far too shy. But then, he tipped her chin upwards gently, and placed his mouth on hers. She made the faintest sound of protest, and then surrendered to his kiss.

He was different tonight. He was confident and knowing as he pleasured her. His lips were persuasive and tender; he took her mouth and taught her every sweet little move he knew. He taught her how to tease and taste, and how to linger – his lips just touching hers – until she ached with pleasure. He taught her how to let the passion build and build, until her whole body trembled and yearned for much, much, more than moonlit kisses in a tiny rowing boat.

‘Carl. Undo my dress. It buttons up the back.’

He gave an appreciative sigh, and one last lingering kiss. ‘I must get you home,’ he said.

‘No,’ she said, and clung to him, burning with longing for him.

Carl smiled at her, obviously enjoying the effect he had upon her. ‘If I am to maintain any hope of being a gentleman, and courting you properly, I must take you home.’

Susannah did not want him to be a gentleman, she did not want him to be a gentleman at all, but she sobered up a little at the mention of courting properly. All day today and all day yesterday, while she was waiting for this assignation with Carl, she’d spent long hours considering how the impossible gulf between them could be bridged – and her father’s opposition overcome - to allow such a courtship to occur.

With her body aching for him, her breasts yearning to be touched, and a sense of aroused confusion in her soul, Susannah allowed him to row her back to the boatshed. She stood and watched him stow away the boat and fasten the door.

By now, she did feel cold. Carl lent her his jacket, which was about six sizes too big, and they walked back to her house hand in hand.

T
HE NEXT DAY, at the locksmith’s shop, Mr Broderick called Carl in to the office. He told Carl to take off his leather apron and tidy himself up to go out. ‘They want to see you, up at the Fortescue place, about that unpaid bill.’

‘I told you, sir, if you’ll wait til payday …’

‘Carl, you can’t play Tom Fool with Fortescue’s daughter and not expect there to be consequences.’

‘You’ve not said anything to him, have you, sir?’

‘No. You’re on your own.’

Carl went up there with mixed feelings. It might be a chance to see her, or it might be the end of it all. He made quick work of the walk, up the tree-lined avenue to where she lived.

He was astonished when the butler said that Mr Fortescue himself wanted to see him. He stood waiting in the library, cap in hand, and he stole a nervous glance at himself in the mirror. He’d always been proud of his blonde hair and his honest blue eyes – but his hands were calloused and his face was tanned by the sun. He wore a rough tweed jacket over a linen shirt. It was much too hot in this weather but he thought he’d have to wear a jacket if he wanted to look like a respectable tradesman. Who was he trying to fool? He looked like a Swedish sailor on a charge of being drunk and disorderly.

Then he noticed a portrait photograph on the other side of the room – of a young woman in a white dress with her hair tied back with a blue satin ribbon. He went nearer to take a look.

‘Susannah,’ he breathed. ‘My own sweet girl.’ He longed to see her again, but he had heard nothing from her, and it had been nearly a week.

 
The door opened, and Carl prayed that he had not been overheard.

Mr Fortescue came into the room with the offending invoice in his hand, and took a seat behind a mahogany desk. Carl stood, since he was not invited to sit, and prepared to defend himself as politely as he could.

‘Can you explain this?’ Mr Fortescue demanded.

Carl could see this man was Susannah’s father. He had the same eyes as her, but his voice was pure condescension.

Carl asked if he could look at the bill, playing for time. He pretended he was struggling to read it, taking his time to make out the words, while he tried to think what he should say.

‘Will you stop playacting, man, and explain yourself?’

Carl looked up. ‘It has been sent to you in error, sir.’

‘In error?’ Mr Fortescue frowned.

‘Yes sir, I believe it relates to some work I did nearby,’ said Carl. ‘And it has been wrongly addressed to you.’

‘It says here, plain and clear, that you changed a lock in this house. Will you kindly identify the lock? To whom did you give the key? It is vital that I make sure my house is secure.’

‘I cannot tell you that, sir, because I didn’t do this work for you. It was for someone entirely different.’

Fortescue sighed. ‘Very well, I shall have every room searched until I find out.’

Carl stared at him in disbelief.

‘Go now, while you still have the chance. When I get this straightened out I shall make my complaint to your employer!’

Carl left the house with a terrible sense of foreboding. He had gone there to try and make things better for Susannah, and only made things worse. Fortescue was rich, Fortescue was clever – and worst of all Fortescue had people’s trust and respect. He was all set to win the election, for heaven’s sake. He stood for reforms that would bring money to the town, and no one wanted to think ill of him. If some young locksmith were to start making wild accusations - who would believe him?

But if he didn’t do something to help Susannah, he was fearful of how things would turn out.