Andrew Taylor - The American Boy

He considered me for a moment, his eyes narrowing.

"Do not delay," I said softly, "or I will reveal to her the lengths you were prepared to go to satisfy Mr Carswall."

He dropped his eyes and showed me into the parlour where Mr Carswall had questioned me, and drunk his wine, all those months ago. Though the furnishings were unchanged, the atmosphere had altered entirely. The room was lighter and airier. The masculine paraphernalia of cigars, glasses and newspapers had been swept away and the furniture was uncluttered and freshly polished. I had not waited more than a couple of minutes when the door opened. I turned, expecting Pratt, and saw Flora Carswall.

Careless of convention, she was alone. She closed the door behind her and advanced towards me with her hand outstretched. "Mr Shield, I am rejoiced to see you. I find you well, I trust?"

We shook hands. She sat on a sofa, and patted the seat beside her. "Pray sit here, where I can see you." She was dressed soberly in grey, as befitted her situation, but there was nothing sober about her face and she had an assurance about her that was new. "Charlie is at school, of course – he will be mortified to miss you."

She did not mention Sophie.

I asked after her father, and learned that his condition was unchanged. Miss Carswall went on to volunteer the information that both Sir George's lawyers and Mr Carswall's were sanguine that the marriage would be able to proceed on the terms previously agreed.

"As for Papa," she went on with a gurgle of laughter, "I have such a delightful scheme for his welfare. When I am married, of course, I shall have to devote myself to my husband. But I have arranged for Sophie to stay with him, and play the daughter's part when I am not there." She smiled at me, and her lashes fluttered most becomingly. "Is that not a delightful plan? Poor Sophie will have a home and dear Charlie, too: and as for Papa, he always doted on Sophie." She glanced sideways at me. "After his own fashion."

I could not conceive of a scheme more calculated to bring distress to the two principal parties concerned. I said, "And Mr Carswall? Does the plan please him?"

"I do not mean to be unfeeling, Mr Shield, but I have no idea. He simply lies there, up in his chamber, without moving. Three times a day, they raise him up and give him broth or something of that nature. He can still swallow, you know. Whether he knows what – or even that - he is swallowing is another matter. It is very sad, of course, particularly when one remembers the man he was, so vigorous, so determined!" She smiled. "So amiable, too! One must make the best of it, however, must one not? But to turn to happier subjects, I am so glad that little misunderstanding of my father's concerning the mourning ring has been dealt with. He was sometimes inclined to be hasty, particularly when agitated. I know Papa felt Mrs Johnson's death keenly – as did we all, of course – and no doubt it affected his judgement."

"I saw the account of Mrs Johnson's inquest in the Morning Post," I said. "A sad accident."

"Indeed." Miss Carswall's face was suitably grave. "The family was so worried about Lieutenant Johnson – he doted on her, you know – and he was always inclined to melancholy. But Sir George made interest with the Admiralty, and soon the poor man will have a ship of his own. Quite a little one, I understand, but at least it is something, and it will take his mind off his sorrows, will it not?"

We sat in demure silence for a moment. The Ruispidges were admirably thorough. They had taken steps to ensure that Lieutenant Johnson would be accommodating about the matter of his wife's death and the verdict of the Coroner's inquest. I was not altogether surprised by Miss Carswall's next remark.

"I was saying to Sir George only the other day," she said, "that a young man of your education and character is too valuable to lose sight of. You must be sure to leave me your direction before you go." Here she edged a little closer to me on the sofa. "Sir George may be able to assist you in the world."

"Miss Carswall, may I lay a suggestion before you?"

She smiled broadly. "By all means, Mr Shield."

"It concerns Mrs Frant."

She drew herself up. "I do not think I understand. What have you to do with Mrs Frant?"

"The suggestion does not concern me, Miss Carswall. It concerns you. You will remember that in the autumn of last year I witnessed a certain codicil."

She stared at me with an expression very like her father's. "Of course I remember it."

"It occurred to me that it would be remarkably becoming if you were to resign your interest in Mr Wavenhoe's legacy in favour of Mrs Frant, who I understand was the original legatee."

"Becoming, sir, perhaps. But hardly wise."

"Why not? You are a lady of great wealth now, in all but name. Soon you will be married and you will be even wealthier. And such a gesture could not but win the world's approval. It would be generous indeed."

She snorted. "I can think of another word for it." She put her head on one side. "Why? Why do you suggest this?"

"Because I was not altogether happy with the circumstances in which that codicil was signed."

"Then you should have said so at the time."

"My situation did not make that easy. The fault was mine, I own. Still, it is not too late for me to rectify that. I know Sir George is an honourable man. Perhaps I should lay the matter before him and ask his advice."

"I am surprised at you, Mr Shield." She stood up, and I followed suit. In her anger, she had an unexpected dignity. "I must ask you to leave."

"You will not entertain the notion?"

"Pray ring the bell. A servant will show you out."

"Miss Carswall, I beg you to consider. The Gloucester property would mean nothing to you. It would be everything to Mrs Frant and Charlie."

"Very touching, I am sure." She wrinkled her little nose. "Still, you don't fool me, Mr Shield. I am sure there's advantage in this for you, as well."

"No. There is nothing whatsoever."

"You want her," she said, flushing. "Do not deny it."

"Why should she ever look at me?" I said.

"I knew it!" she cried. "You do. I knew it from the first."

"Miss Carswall, I believe it would be cruel and unfeeling to leave Mrs Frant and your father together, to leave her as nothing better than a hired nurse for him. You know that she hates him."

"Then she should fight to suppress such an unworthy notion. She is a Christian, is she not? So her duty is to nurse the sick. Besides, my father is her cousin. And you may not know that, had my father not fallen ill, the connection would have been even closer."

I ignored this flight of moral logic. "If you will not agree, Miss Carswall, you compel me to use another argument."

Her lips lifted, exposing white, sharp teeth. "Will you force me to ring the bell myself, sir?"

I interposed myself between her and the bell rope. "First hear what I have to say. I must tell you that a letter has come into my possession. I do not think that either you or Sir George would be happy to see it made public."

"Blackmail, is it? I had not thought you would stoop so low."

"You leave me no choice."

"You shall not impose on me, sir. There is no letter."

"You wrote it to Mrs Frant," I said. "You were living in Bath at the time, and she was in Russell-square. The date on the letter is the 9th of October, 1812. You were not long returned from a tour of Ireland with Mr Carswall. You referred in it to an incident that took place in Waterford."

"What are you talking about?" She spoke mechanically, in the form of a question but not in the tone of one. She went first to the door, as if to confirm that the latch had engaged, and then to stand by the window. After a moment she turned back to me. "How did you get it?" she asked in a low voice.