her senses and her voice, Emily murmured, ‘Oh, of course.’ She fished in her reticule and then tipped a few more coins to chink on those reposing on his blackened palm. His fingers trapped the pennies, then he was haring away as though he feared she might snatch them back.
Emily walked on slowly towards Callison Crescent. She had a few minutes ago left Sarah at her door and had been barely five minutes from her own home when the lad had accosted her. Curiously she inspected the note. It was sealed, but there was no name or direction on it, just the sooty marks left by the child’s fingers. She made to open it, then hesitated. With a little inner smile she wondered if perhaps she had a secret admirer. If so, she ought to, at her leisure, discover his identity. She slipped the parchment into a pocket. It certainly would not have come from the gentleman who openly admired her.
Mr Stephen Bond was not prone to such romantic gestures as employing guttersnipes to deliver her a billet-doux. But he was nice enough, if rather predictable. Emily let out a sigh. Thinking of that gentleman had reminded her that Mr Bond was due to dine with them later and of course he would be exceedingly punctual.
‘I expected you home before this,’ was the peevish greeting that Emily received from her mother as she stepped into the hallway. ‘You have not forgot that we have company?’
‘No, Mama,’ Emily said. ‘I know Mr Bond is coming at seven.’
‘Well…good…let Millie do something pretty with your hair. The curls looks limp.’ Her mother circled her and picked a loose golden tress from the shoulder of her blue velvet coat. ‘Stephen is to bring his grandmamma with him this evening. She is up from Bath and seems eccentric. I was introduced to her at the Revue and couldn’t but invite her when Stephen mentioned he was coming. She had on the ugliest gown I ever did see. It was a shade of purple with fawn stripes. What possessed her to wear a green hat with it?’
Emily gave her mother a wicked smile. ‘If she arrives here in the same ensemble, perhaps we should demand to know.’
Penelope Beaumont chuckled, but her humour soon faded and she frowned at the door. ‘And your father is late home too. It’s nearly a quarter to six.’
‘He said he would call in at Tarquin’s lodgings. That has probably delayed him.’
‘A man was looking for Tarquin.’ Mrs Beaumont volunteered that information with a furrow in her brow. ‘Millie ran an errand for me earlier and she said the fellow stopped her in the street. He must have watched her leaving the house or how would he know of a connection between them? She said he was polite to her despite seeming a bit of a rough sort.’ Mrs Beaumont peered past her daughter as her husband entered the hallway brushing water from his caped shoulders. ‘It’s come on to rain again,’ she gleefully remarked. ‘The Pearsons will have to cancel their firework display.’
‘It is as well then that you were not invited, Mama.’ Emily was aware that her mother and Violet Pearson were continually sniping at one another. They had been at loggerheads since Robert planted a facer on Bertie, the Pearsons’ son, thereby knocking out his two front teeth. The patresfamilias had shrugged and commiserated together about the young scamps. But Penelope Beaumont and Violet Pearson seemed determined to keep the feud alive.
‘No sign of Tarquin, I’m afraid.’ Mr Beaumont had deposited his damp coat on a chair and was wearily approaching the ladies. His tone had changed since that morning. Now Emily detected a distinct hint of anxiety making his voice husky.
‘You went to Westbury Avenue, Papa?’
‘I did, and Tarquin’s landlady was pleased I had stopped off, I can tell you. I had no chance to ask her if she knew where he was. She demanded I disclose to her his direction. She is under the impression he has done a flit and will not be back.’ Mr Beaumont sadly shook his head. ‘Most of his possessions are gone and he owes her two months’ rent. She has not seen hide nor hair of him for almost two weeks.’
‘What are we to do with him?’ Penelope Beaumont flapped her hands in exasperation. ‘When will he settle himself down and act responsibly? I knew he was running away from his debts again.’
Cecil pursed his lips. ‘In my opinion, it’s more than the rent he owes that’s bothering him. Mrs Dale told me a fellow with a broken nose had called at Westbury Avenue looking for him. She said he looked like a cove it would be best not to cross.’
Penelope Beaumont anxiously clasped her husband’s arm. ‘A man with a crooked nose stopped Millie in the street. He was asking about Tarquin. Millie said he seemed quite polite…’ she added desperately.
‘So he will be if he is about to demand his cash,’ Mr Beaumont pointed out with a cynical grunt of a laugh. ‘It’s when he doesn’t get it that he’s likely to turn rude.’
Emily bit at her lip as she swung a glance between her parents’ drawn countenances. Their brief respite from Tarquin’s problems was at an end. He might still be out of sight, but imagining what sort of chaos he had created was tormenting their minds.
‘I can’t understand why he’s not been in touch,’ Mr Beaumont said. ‘If he needs money, I’m usually his first port of call. I wonder if he’s approached one of his friends to bail him out? I warned him last time that I’d do it no more. Mayhap he took me at my word.’
‘I saw Mark Hunter when out,’ Emily quickly volunteered that information. ‘He also had called in at Westbury Avenue to look for Tarquin.’ She immediately allayed her parents’ fears as to why he would be seeking their son. ‘It was not for payment of a debt, Mr Hunter assured me of that. He has not seen Tarquin recently either, but he kindly said he will make enquiries and let us know if he discovers anything.’
Cecil Beaumont nodded slowly. ‘Mark is a good chap; if he says he will put himself out to do that, then I expect he will.’ Cecil scraped lank greying locks off his freckled forehead. ‘I suppose I ought open the post in case the bad news is come in a letter from Tarquin. Usually he just turns up and I can read it in his face.’
Emily’s father trudged towards his study; her mother hurried away to check on their dinner. Before Penelope disappeared towards the kitchens, she called back to her daughter, ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, make yourself presentable, Emily. Look at the time! The Bonds will be with us in less than an hour.’
As the baize door closed behind her agitated mother, Emily slowly slid her hand into her pocket. She withdrew the parchment and felt a chill settle about her heart. Secret admirer, indeed! she mocked herself.
She suddenly had a very strong suspicion as to who had sent her letter. The manner in which it had been delivered obviously indicated that her brother did not want her parents to know of its existence, or its content. But why had he not shown himself to her? Why had he sent the boy to deliver it? If he was too wary to approach her in the street, even for a few moments, then Emily realised he must be in bad trouble indeed. The paper was dropped back into her pocket and quickly Emily headed for the stairs and the privacy of her chamber.
‘You are a pretty gel, but undoubtedly past your prime.’
Emily heard that ambiguous tribute as she was sipping her wine. She swallowed quickly, for an urge to giggle had caused her to almost choke. She coughed delicately while composing herself, then smiled at Mrs Augusta Bond. She deposited her glass back on the table.
‘Emily is not yet five and twenty,’ Mrs Beaumont stiffly interjected. ‘Hardly in her dotage, I think.’
Augusta Bond raised her lorgnette and divided
