Kate Morton - The Clockmaker's Daughter

They had not seen much of one another after the summer at Birchwood Manor, but Lucy had known that he was out there. Every so often a note would arrive, scratched on the back of a piece of card, usually begging a few pounds to pay a debt that he’d gathered in his travels. Or else word would be passed along the grapevine that someone had seen him in Rome, Vienna, Paris. He was always on the move. He travelled in order to escape his grief, Lucy knew, but she wondered sometimes whether he also believed that by moving fast enough, often enough, he might find Lily Millington again.

For he had never given up hope. No matter the evidence to the contrary, he never could accept that she had been involved in a deception – that she had not loved him with every bit as much devotion as that with which he had loved her.

When they met that last time in Paris, he had said, ‘She’s out there somewhere, Lucy. I know it. I can feel it. Can’t you?’

Lucy, who had not felt anything of the sort, had merely taken her brother’s hand and held it tight.

After climbing into the hallway hideaway, the next thing Lucy had remembered was opening her eyes in a bright room that she did not recognise. She was in a bed, not her own. She was in pain.

Lucy blinked, taking in the yellow-striped wallpaper, the leadlight window, the pale curtains hanging either side. The room smelled faintly of something sweet – honeysuckle, perhaps, and gorse, too. Her throat was parched.

She must have made a sound, for Edward was suddenly beside her, pouring water from a small crystal jug into a glass. He looked terrible, more dishevelled than usual, with a drawn face and anxious features. His loose cotton shirt was hanging limply from his shoulders, giving the appearance of clothing that had not been removed in days.

But where was she and how long had she been here?

Lucy was not aware that she had spoken, but as Edward helped her up to drink, he told her that they’d taken rooms for a few days in the public house in the village.

‘Which village?’

His eyes studied hers. ‘Why, the village of Birchwood. Can you really not remember?’

The word was vaguely familiar.

Edward tried to reassure her with an unconvincing smile. ‘Let me call for the doctor,’ he said. ‘He’ll want to know that you’re awake.’

He opened the door and spoke quietly to someone on the other side, but he did not leave the room. He came back to sit on the mattress beside Lucy, encasing her hand in one of his, stroking her forehead lightly with the other.

‘Lucy,’ he said, a look of pain in his eyes, ‘I have to ask you, I have to ask about Lily. Did you see her? She went back to the house to fetch you, but no one’s seen her since.’

Lucy’s thoughts were swimming. Which house? Why was he asking her about Lily? Did he mean Lily Millington? She was his model, Lucy remembered, the one with the long white dress. ‘My head,’ she said, realising that it ached on one side.

‘You poor love. You fell, you’ve been out cold, and here I am asking you questions. I’m sorry, I just –’ He raked a hand through his hair. ‘She’s gone. I can’t find her, Lucy, and I’m terribly worried. She wouldn’t just leave.’

Lucy had a flash of memory then, a gunshot in the dark. It had been loud and there’d been a scream. She’d run and then—Lucy gasped.

‘What is it? Did you see something?’

‘Fanny!’

Edward’s expression darkened. ‘It was terrible, a terrible thing. Poor Fanny. A man, an intruder – I don’t know who he was … Fanny ran off and I went after her. I heard the shot when I was near the chestnut tree, and I ran inside, Lucy, but I was too late. Fanny was already … and then I saw the back of the man, running from the front door towards the lane.’

‘Lily Millington knew him.’

‘What?’

Lucy wasn’t sure exactly what she meant, only that she was sure that she was right. There had been a man and Lucy had been frightened, and Lily Millington had been there.

‘He came to the house. I saw him. I went back to the house, and the man came, and he and Lily Millington talked.’

‘What did they say?’

Lucy’s thoughts were swimming. Memories, imaginings, dreams were all as one. Edward had asked her a question and Lucy always liked to give the right answer. And so she closed her eyes and reached into the pot of swirling noise and colour. ‘They spoke about America,’ she said. ‘A boat. And something about a Blue.’

‘Well, well, well …’

When Lucy opened her eyes, she discovered that she was no longer alone in the room with Edward. Two other men had come in while she was concentrating on her brother’s question. One of the men was wearing a grey suit; he had ginger sideburns and a moustache that curled at the ends, and he was carrying a black bowler hat in his hands. The other was dressed in a deep navy coat with brass buttons down the front and a black belt strapped to his round middle; his hat was on his head and had a silver badge on its front. It was a uniform, and he a policeman, Lucy realised.

As it transpired, they were both policemen. The shorter man in the blue uniform belonged to the Berkshire Constabulary and had been contacted because Birchwood Manor fell within his jurisdiction. The grey-suited fellow was an inspector with the Metropolitan Police in London, and had been brought in to render assistance with the investigation at the request of Mr Brown, Fanny’s father, who was wealthy and important.

It was Inspector Wesley of the Metropolitan Police who had spoken, and when Lucy’s eyes met his across the room, he said again: ‘Well, well, well … ,’ adding, this time: ‘Just as I suspected.’

What he suspected, as he was to tell her over the coming days – after a thorough search had been carried out and it was discovered that, just as Lucy had suggested, the Radcliffe Blue diamond was missing – was that Lily Millington had been in on the whole thing.

‘A mighty deception,’ he announced through his moustache, his thumbs tucked into the lapels on either side of his coat. ‘A most scandalous and brazen scheme. The pair of them hatched it well in advance, you see. The first step was for one Miss Lily Millington to win a place as your brother’s model, whereby gaining access to the Radcliffe Blue. The second step, once your brother’s trust was won, was for the two of them to make off with the prize. And there it might have ended had Miss Brown not caught them in the act and paid the price with her blameless young life.’

Lucy listened to this scenario, trying to take it all in. It was true what she had said to Edward: she had heard Lily Millington and the man talking about America and the Blue, and she could remember now seeing a pair of boat tickets. She had seen the pendant, too, of course – a beautiful blue diamond, her family’s heirloom jewel. Lily Millington had been wearing it. Lucy had a clear picture in her mind of Lily Millington in a white dress, the pendant fixed in place within the hollow of her neck. And now Lily and the diamond and the tickets were gone. It made sense that they were together somewhere. There was just one problem. ‘My brother met Lily Millington at the theatre. She didn’t seek him out to become his model. He rescued her when she was being robbed.’

The inspector’s top lip quivered with pleasure at the opportunity to bend a pair of innocent ears with tales of the seamier side of life. ‘Another ploy, Miss Radcliffe,’ he said, lifting a slow, solitary finger, ‘as devious as it was effective. Another deceitful double act, the two of them in it together. We’ve seen how the likes of them operate, and if there’s one thing certain to gain the attention of a respectable gentleman like your brother, it’s the sight of a beautiful woman in need of assistance. He was helpless but to respond – any gentleman would have been. And while he was busy restoring the woman to rights, distracted by the rendering of care and concern, the fellow – her partner in crime – returned, accused your brother of being the thief who’d just made off with his sister’s bracelet, and in all the ensuing confusion’ – he flung his arms out to great dramatic and triumphant effect – ‘slipped his fingers into your brother’s waistcoat and pocketed his valuables.’