Two weeks later, on a misty mid-May dawn that heralded yet another fine day, Ellie, Athan, and Mrs. Lewis joined John in his workroom to look a final time on the tureen before it was packed in a crate of sawdust for the long journey to St. Petersburg. The czar’s horses had already been taken on one of the two barges that were moored at the wharf in readiness to take the travelers on the first stage to Cardiff.
There, a coastal vessel waited to take them around the Cornish peninsula to London, from where an ocean-going merchantman would sail for the Baltic. For the moment the horses were quiet and composed with Gwilym looking after them, and did not even twitch when something startled a moorhen into flapping noisily over the surface of the glassy water.
Mrs. Lewis had brought a tray of tea to the workroom, to send the travelers off properly, as she said. Now the cups and saucers had been set aside, and all eyes were upon the tureen. Candles illuminated the dawn gloom as John looked proudly at his craftsmanship. “Do you think it will do?” he asked, not seeking praise, but genuinely needing reassurance.
Athan, elegant but practical in a sage green coat and pale gray breeches, slapped him on the shoulder. “Do? My dear fellow, it’s simply the most magnificent tureen there has ever been. Well, the second most magnificent, for I think the laurels must go to the one you so kindly gave to Ellie and me.”
Ellie lowered her eyes, for she had a little secret about her uncle’s wedding gift. Truth to tell, it no longer occupied the mantel in Castle Griffin, but had been wrapped in a woolen shawl and hidden in one of the hatboxes she was taking to St. Petersburg. She didn’t know why she was taking it with them, just that it seemed a wise precaution.
Athan continued speaking. “And to think that such things came out of this little works. Wedgwood, Royal Worcester, Crown Derby, Sèvres, Chantilly—name them all. They can look to their laurels after this.”
“I pray so,” John answered, “although to be sure I do not wish Worcester and Derby to ever learn who I really am.”
“The formula is yours, not theirs,” Athan reminded him, “and you have worked so much upon it since you were employed by them that I doubt if it could be identified as the same mixture anyway.”
“I know, but even so, they are forces to be reckoned with. The world of British ceramic ware is a small one.”
“We will cross bridges as and when we come to them,” Athan said.
John looked at him, an eyebrow quirked. “We?”
“Well, we are one family now, are we not?”
John smiled. “Yes, I suppose we are,” he replied, looking fondly at Ellie, who had blossomed in the two weeks since the wedding. There was a glow on her cheeks, a lovely light in her eyes, and even the sheen of her hair seemed more becoming. Marriage suited her, or at least, marriage to Athan suited her. Today she wore a gown and matching pelisse of worked strawberry silk, and a wide-brimmed straw hat with an ostrich plume curled around the crown.
Athan took out his watch. “I think it’s time to leave,” he advised.
John nodded, and with infinite care lifted the precious tureen into the crate. When it was safely embedded in the sawdust, more of which was tipped over and around it, the lid of the crate was secured in place, and two china workers carried it carefully out to the second barge, upon which all the luggage was loaded.
Athan was about to usher Ellie outside too when she remembered something. “Athan, we haven’t told Uncle John about what we’ve heard of the bank!”
“Damn, I’ve been so preoccupied with the journey that I quite forgot,” he replied, and turned apologetically to John.
“Forgive me, John, for a letter arrived this morning that may be of interest to you. As you may recall, I left someone at the Unicorn Bank to secretly find out all he could about the embezzling of Josiah Rutherford’s fortune. It seems that he and Toby Richardson, an old friend of mine who happens to be a barrister, have dug to the bottom of the problem. The late Albert Forrester-Phipps, father of the ignoble Freddie, was indeed responsible for stealing Ellie’s father’s fortune. Why he did it remains a mystery, because he was always a very honest man, and was certainly not in personal financial difficulty. His only crime appears to have been in connection with the Rutherford fortune, and with bringing your name into it as well, of course.”
John exhaled slowly. “There will be a connection with Dalmatsky. You may rely upon it.”
“If there is, Toby has yet to find it, and believe me, he’s searched. To return to Forrester-Phipps, it has to be said that his family knew nothing of his interference in Josiah’s affairs. The first they knew of something being wrong was when he threw himself from the cliff in Kent. It is his widow’s contention that he was so guilt-ridden by what he’d done that he could no longer live with himself, and knowing what I now do of the man’s character, I have to agree. Of course, he was also gravely disappointed in his son and heir, Freddie, whom he regarded as unfit to inherit.”
Ellie was less charitable toward Freddie’s father. “I don’t think the late Mr. Forrester-Phipps could have been such a paragon, Athan. If he were, he wouldn’t have done what he did to my father. I shall never make allowances, no matter what you may say of him now.”
“Nor would I expect you to, my love. His actions drove your father to take his own life, and for that I cannot forgive him either. I’m just pointing out that there remains a mystery. Why did Albert Forrester-Phipps do it? Why weren’t there other embezzlements too? Why just your father? I fear we may never know.”
John pursed his lips. “It will still come back to Dalmatsky,” he said again.
“Maybe. Anyway, John, I want you to know that the whole matter has been settled. Albert Forrester-Phipps’s heir has made full restitution of Josiah’s fortune, and all mention of your name has been removed from the records. There have been great upheavals at the bank, where people loyal to Forrester-Phipps detected his hand in the matter and made every effort to conceal his involvement.”
John raised an eyebrow. “Which is, I think, exactly what you are now doing for me.”
Athan smiled, not quite sheepishly. “It may be viewed in that light, I suppose, except that you weren’t involved in anything. You had nothing whatsoever to do with the bank, beyond being the brother-in-law of one of its customers, so I see no comparison between making certain you are kept out of it and covering up Forrester-Phipps’s known wrongdoing.
“Anyway, be that as it may, it has been made clear that from now on there is never ever to be a hint of skullduggery at the bank, no matter how slight. There is to be a fresh start for everyone, from the partners down to the lowliest clerk. Of course, it will be several months yet before the matter is entirely settled, which means that we will know nothing more until our return from St. Petersburg, but at least you can rest easy about your name having been implicated.”
John nodded, “Thank you, Athan. It’s a weight off my mind. I confess I was afraid that maybe you and Ellie would think there could not be so much smoke without a little fire, and that I had to be involved in some way.”
“Never!” she cried, and hugged him tightly.
Athan ushered them both to the door. “Come on, now, or we will miss the Cardiff tide, and that won’t do at all. It doesn’t matter when we arrive in St. Petersburg, provided it’s before July tenth, but if it should be one day past Saints Peter and Paul, the czar will not be pleased.”
Mrs. Lewis stood on the wharf as the barges moved away into the tendrils of mist that floated above the water. Seagulls flew inland overhead, and somewhere a robin was singing its heart out. Some folk from Nantgarth had gathered on the bridge to see the famous tureen on its way, and they cheered as the barges slid beneath them.
The housekeeper gazed anxiously along the navigation until she couldn’t see the barges any more. Let them come home again soon, she prayed as she went back into the workroom to collect the tray of cups and saucers. But as she touched the cup Ellie had used, a strange sensation passed from the porcelain into her fingers, a tingle like far-off lightning. What did it mean?
Mrs. Lewis looked into the cup, at the final drop of tea and all the tea leaves, and wondered if she would be able to see something if she upended it in the saucer. She had never been able to read other people’s cups before, just enable them to see things for themselves, but somehow this morning she felt it would be different.
Taking a quick breath, she swirled the cup and turned it over in the saucer. Nothing seemed to happen, but just as the housekeeper began to shake her head at her own foolishness, she heard a baby cry. A tiny baby, maybe only weeks old. Then she saw the font at St. Dwynwen’s Church. It was May Day next year, and a christening group was gathered around: among them Ellie, in the contented glow of motherhood; Athan, the proudest father in the land; and the babe in Ellie’s arms, a boy, small and helpless in a delicate knitted white shawl. They had just named him John.
Mrs. Lewis smiled through tears, but then her smile faded. Where was the child’s namesake? Where was Mr. Bailey? She could not see his face among those around the font. What did it mean? Would he fail to return from St. Petersburg?
The vision faded, and the housekeeper looked anxiously around the workroom, a place so personal to him that she could almost hear his voice. “Please return safely, Mr. Bailey,” she whispered, and with shaking hands picked up the tray to hurry out of the room.
* * *
On reaching London a week later, Ellie, Athan, and John learned it would be several days before the merchantman, the Good Intent, sailed for the Baltic, so they took rooms at a comfortable inn. London held sad memories for Ellie, but a visit to the Unicorn Bank reassured her that all stains on the Rutherford name had definitely been erased forever.
John was similarly reassured about his own name, which, of course, was now once more without blemish. Not only had his debts been settled, but he had also learned that his old employers, Royal Worcester and Crown Derby, were no longer interested in preventing him from using his formula.
Another snippet of information elicited at the Unicorn Bank, where the name Forrester-Phipps continued to be of intense interest, was that Fleur and Freddie had married secretly, each under the impression that the other had an income that was at least comfortable. This grave error of judgment was soon borne in on them both, and their parting had been so acrimonious as to be likened in some quarters to a caterwaul.
The discovery that Fleur Tudor was really Blodyn Evans had rubbed salt into Freddie’s self-pity. Feeling that she had not only cheated him, but made a fool of him too, he bewailed his plight loud and long throughout London. This resulted in contempt for himself and ridicule for Fleur, who with her mother in tow had prudently left the country and was now said to be running a small lodging house somewhere in the far southwest of Ireland.
Freddie languished in jail for having brawled with the cousin who’d inherited the Forrester-Phipps fortune. A mere brawl might not have resulted in arrest, but the theft and subsequent selling of the cousin’s fob watch was another matter.