Mr. Burleigh waited until they reached the outskirts of Hanwell before he spoke,
“This morning, the Duke of Weybridge came to see me and I confess that, until his visit, I was a little sceptical of your dear mother’s motives in pursuing this man.”
“But surely she explained that Lord Alphonse was blackmailing us?” asked Temia nervously.
“She did but, in my profession, until there is cast iron evidence, one tends to keep one’s counsel. However, I digress. His Grace had come to ask advice on a personal matter. It now transpires that a certain Lord Alphonse is blackmailing his youngest sister. Of course, when I heard the name, it aroused my curiosity.”
“What did he say?” asked Temia. “Do tell us!”
“My dear, it would seem that Lord Alphonse has made provision for you not reappearing and so made his approaches to Lady Hannah! He claimed to have evidence that the Duke had fathered a child by a dancer – which is quite untrue – and that he would reveal it to all and sundry, should she not comply.”
“So, the Duke came straight to you?”
“The instant this character began to make threats. His Grace is not a man to be trifled with and would do anything to protect his good name.”
“Did you mention that there was another instance of him attempting blackmail?”
“I did, and His Grace is very anxious to precipitate matters. I did not reveal, of course, that there was some evidence to suggest that Lord Alphonse’s wife is still alive. I thought it best to wait until we have seen for ourselves.”
Temia sat back and felt a glimmer of hope. If the Duke was willing to prosecute, then, even if there was no Lady Alphonse, the mere fact that he was blackmailing others would be enough to secure an arrest.
Hanwell was a large but plain building surrounded by simple landscaping. Had Temia not known what it was, it could have been a rather austere country house.
The carriage came to a halt at the front entrance and they alighted. “Mr. Warren is expecting us,” said Mr. Burleigh to a man at the door, as he helped Lady Brandon up the steps.
Temia shuddered as they entered the tall hallway. A strong smell of carbolic soap rose into her nostrils along with another smell she could not identify.
As they arrived, a woman in a long black dress and white cap came towards them. Temia noticed a bunch of keys hanging from her belt. Her face was lined and her mouth turned downwards and she looked as if she did not know what it was to smile.
“Are you Lady Brandon’s party?” she demanded without a hint of welcome.
“Yes, we are”
“Come with me. Mr. Warren is expecting you.”
Temia clung to her Mama’s arm as they walked along the echoing corridors with high ceilings. There were bars on the windows and the floors were highly polished.
From distant rooms came the sounds of moaning – Temia thought it sounded like a cow lowing rather than a human being. She looked on in horror as they passed by an old woman who mimed knitting, even though she had neither needles nor wool in her hands. They went up some stairs and then through a half-glazed door.
“Please wait here,” they were instructed. After a few moments, a door on the other side of the room opened and a small man with a hooked nose and thin hair plastered to his head came forward.
“Lady Brandon, I am Mr. Warren, the Governor – please come into my Office.”
Temia rose from her chair and followed her mother and Mr. Burleigh. She felt terribly nervous and her heart beat rapidly underneath her cloak.
Mr. Warren indicated that they should sit on the chairs in front of his desk and they did so.
“What can I do for you, Lady Brandon?” asked Mr. Warren.
Temia thought that his eyes were rather cold. They were the kind of dirty grey that does not betray emotion.
“I believe that you have a certain woman here – her name is Lady Alphonse. For good reasons, it is imperative that I seek confirmation of her existence.”
“Lady Alphonse? My Lady, as you will no doubt be aware, Hanwell is not an asylum for gentlefolk, but for persons of lesser means. Our inmates don’t have a penny to their names, which is why they are here.”
Temia had been expecting such an argument and had prepared herself for such an obstruction.
“Mr. Warren, I would not have come here had it not been of the utmost importance. I cannot impress upon you sufficiently how vital this is. Mr. Burleigh is our family Solicitor and he is to prepare an affidavit stating that Lady Alphonse is still living. Why we need this, I am not at liberty to divulge, but I beg you – if the lady is here, you must tell us!”
He looked as if he felt rather uncomfortable being scrutinised by three pairs of eyes. He wriggled a little in his seat.
“We have an Amelia Alphonse in residence. She was brought in by a man claiming to be her relative. I have the paperwork here somewhere, if I can locate it.”
Walking over to a bookcase filled with box files, he took one down and opened it. The tension in the room grew as he leafed rapidly through its contents.
After a few moments, he appeared to find what he was looking for and pulled it out of the box.
“Amelia Alphonse was brought to us on the 26th of May 1849. I was not at Hanwell in those days, but my predecessor, Mr. Ellis, has written some notes here if you would care to view them.”
He handed the sheaf of papers to Mr. Burleigh, who scrutinised them in silence.
“Is there a nurse or someone who would have been here at the time of the admission of Lady Alphonse?”
“Mrs. O’Brien, who brought you to my Office. She has been at Hanwell for twenty years. Would you like me to summon her?”
“If you would, Mr. Warren. I would be grateful.”
Mr. Warren picked up a bell on his desk and rang it. Within seconds, a young woman appeared.
“Could you ask Mrs. O’Brien to come to my Office at once, please?”
Five minutes later, Mrs. O’Brien appeared.
“Mrs. O’Brien. Mr. Burleigh here now wishes to ask you about Amelia Alphonse – you must answer him to the best of your ability. It is very important that you try and remember anything he asks of you.”
Mrs. O’Brien, looking surly, nodded.
“Mrs. O’Brien,” Mr. Burleigh began, “were you here on the day Mrs. Alphonse was admitted to Hanwell.”
“Yes, sir, I was.”
“And she was brought in by – ?”
“A man who said ’e was ’er cousin, sir. I didn’t believe ’im for a moment. I could tell ’e was ’er ’usband straight away.”
“And how, may I ask, could you do this?”
“When you’ve been in this job as long as I ’ave, sir, you gets to recognise the signs. The ’usbands most often pretend to be someone else, a distant relative, a friend. It’s the shame, you see, sir.”
“And was this gentleman a wealthy man?”
“I thought ’e appeared so, sir. But ’e said ’e was of slender means. Said Mrs. Alphonse ’ad no ’usband and ’ad taken to wanderin’ the streets in ’er nightclothes.”
“And he signed the committal forms?”
“Yes, sir. In front of me very own eyes.”
“Mr. Warren, might I see these papers?”
Mr. Warren made a grunting noise that indicated that he did so unwillingly, as he handed over the papers.
“Lady Brandon, would you care to take a look at this signature – ‘Ignatius Alphonse’.”
Lady Brandon’s hand shook as she received it.
“Yes, that is his signature,” she exclaimed. “Would you have in your possession any document with Lord Alphonse’s signature on it?”
“I do, it’s a receipt for the delivery of two horses – which he has yet to pay for.”
She took a folded piece of paper from her bag. Mr. Burleigh opened it and stared at the signature on the bottom.
“One and the same,” he declared with satisfaction in his voice. “Now, all that remains is to see the lady in question. Mr. Warren, would that be possible?”
“Mrs. O’Brien will take you to her cell. We have to keep her confined for the safety of the other inmates, but I am afraid that you will not be able to see her, Mr. Burleigh. It’s a women-only ward and you are not a relative. Some of the women are not presentable, you understand.”
“Quite,” answered Mr. Burleigh. “Lady Brandon, will you and your daughter go?”
“Will you go, Temia?” she asked. “I don’t believe my nerves would permit me to see the poor wretch.”
“Of course, Mama.” Mrs. O’Brien stood with an impatient look on her face. She tapped the keys on her belt and Temia rose from her chair immediately.
“Come with me, Miss Brandon.” Mrs. O’Brien led Temia out of the Office and down some more corridors. The low moaning that she had heard earlier now sounded nearer.
“I hope you’re not easily shocked, miss,” said Mrs. O’Brien, with obvious relish. “Amelia is not a pretty sight. She tears whatever clothes we give her and will not wash or comb her hair.”
“I don’t mind,” answered Temia, screwing up her courage. She looked straight ahead and tried not to stare at the pathetic figures they passed.
“She gives ’erself right airs and graces, that one,” added Mrs. O’Brien. “Makes us call ’er ‘my Lady’!”
“She is a Lady. Her husband is a Lord.”
“I ’ad guessed as much that ’e be a toff!”
Temia felt her blood boiling. Lord Alphonse had enriched himself by cheating her father! How dare he? The last time she saw him he was wearing an expensive suit of clothes and fine kid leather shoes.
At last they came to a corridor full of doors with grills. A nurse sat at the end on a wooden chair.
“Mabel, this ’ere lady wants to see Amelia. And ’ow ’as she been today?”
“In a right rage!” answered Mabel. “Bit me when I takes in ’er breakfast, ’cos I didn’t call ’er ‘my Lady’.”
“She is often so?” asked Temia, feeling faint. Now she was by the cell, she was not certain that she wished to see what it contained.
“More often than not, so we lock ’er up.”
Mabel put the key in the lock and turned it.
“You stay behind me, miss. She can be real violent around strangers – especially ladies.”
As the door opened, a dreadful smell hit Temia’s nostrils. It was acrid and took her breath away.
“Come along on now, my Lady, there be someone ’ere wants to see you,” coaxed Mabel.
Temia stepped inside the cell and Mrs. O’Brien at once closed the door behind them and stood guard by it.
Slowly, Temia’s eyes became accustomed to the dim light. What she had taken for a bundle of rags in the corner slowly unfurled itself. Temia saw wild staring eyes, two pools of blue in yellowing whites and straggling hair that must have once been pretty.
Lady Alphonse’s claw-like hands plucked at her rags.
“Where is my husband? He will want his dinner and I have not spoken to cook!” she howled.
Without a warning, she suddenly shot forward and threw herself at Mabel, her hands grasping at her skirts.
“Let me out! Let me out of here! My husband will kill you all in your beds if you don’t let me out!”
Temia drew back and stepped on Mrs. O’Brien.
“See, she’s as mad as a March hare!” Lady Alphonse cocked her head to one side like a bird and then began to cry softly. “Ignatius. Ignatius.” she moaned.
Temia could not stand to see the woman any longer and she turned to Mrs. O’Brien indicating that she wished to leave. The stench was making her retch and she was overcome with pity for poor Lady Alphonse.
She felt unsteady on her feet as Mabel and Mrs. O’Brien quickly left the cell too and locked the door.
Even though the air outside was hardly any sweeter, Temia took in great gulps, as if she had been suffocated.
“Do you wish to sit down for a while, miss?” asked Mrs. O’Brien. “Them that ain’t used to it feel queer after seein’ an inmate.”
“To sink to such depths!” murmured Temia. “It is beyond belief!”
She hesitated and then began to make her way back to Mr. Warren’s Office. It was only sheer force of will that carried her forwards.
As she rejoined her mother and Mr. Burleigh, she was still shaking.
“Temia!” cried Lady Brandon. “Darling, you look so pale! Do you need smelling salts?”
“No, Mama, but I must sit down for a while.”
“You saw Lady Alphonse?” asked Mr. Burleigh.
“Yes, I did. The poor soul!” whispered Temia. “Very well, we shall take our leave, then, if you feel well enough – ”
“Just a moment,” answered Temia, dabbing at her face with her handkerchief.
“I am sorry you found it so distressing,” continued Mr. Burleigh. “But it is necessary for us to establish Lady Alphonse’s existence. Mr. Warren, I shall require a copy of Lady Alphonse’s admission notes if such a thing exists.”
“Naturally. We always ask whoever commits the inmate to sign in triplicate. Do you wish to examine the doctor’s note as well?”
“Yes, that would be useful. They will be returned as soon as the matter is concluded. Thank you for your time, Mr. Warren. Good day.”
Mr. Burleigh rose from his chair and helped Lady Brandon from hers. Feeling a little steadier, Temia followed them out to the carriage. She could not wait to leave those terrible corridors behind with all their hidden secrets.
Lady Brandon held onto Temia’s hand tightly as the horses pulled forward while Mr. Burleigh scrutinised the documents.
They were almost back when he finally spoke,
“Lady Brandon, I think this is enough to send Lord Alphonse away for a long time. With the Duke’s evidence, and your husband’s, a case can be easily brought against Lord Alphonse. I will draft out the affidavit at once and contact you the moment it has been drawn up. Where will you be staying, Lady Brandon?”
“I return to Northamptonshire tomorrow morning. I have been away for long enough – my place now is at my husband’s side. I have done what I came to London for.”
“Very good. I will write and make an appointment for you both to visit me in my Office. I will also contact the Duke and inform him of our discovery. I am sure that he will wish to correspond with you on the matter. May I give him your address?”
“I will ask my husband first, if you don’t mind. He may be angry that I have gone behind his back and I will need to discuss it all with him.”
Mr. Burleigh nodded and returned to his reading.
Eventually the carriage drew up at Mrs. Timms’s house. Temia felt tearful as she knew that she would now be bidding her Mama farewell.
“Darling, do write to me. Once I have explained to your father what has occurred, I am certain he will wish to welcome you back to Bovendon Hall.”
“I long to see him, Mama, but the theatre – they need me and I cannot leave them. It’s our opening week and Leo Baker relies upon me.”
“Then we shall come to London soon and visit you, now kiss me, my dearest child.”
Her eyes were full of tears as she clasped Temia. “I have not forgotten about Sophia,” she whispered, as Temia began to cry. “I promise I shall do my utmost to speak with your Papa about her and if there is any possible way that a reunion can come to pass, I shall engineer it.”
“Thank you, Mama! Thank you!” She kissed her Mama’s cheek and alighted from the carriage.
*
Temia did not hurry to the theatre that evening. It was almost curtain up when she arrived backstage.
“Where have you been? Mr. Baker is going mad!” cried Sophia on seeing her wan face.
“You have forgotten that I was out with Mama this afternoon?” answered Temia, shooting her a look full of hidden meaning.
“And did you find what you were looking for?”
“We shall speak of this later,” answered Temia. “’E was ’ere again earlier,” piped up Lily. “Who are you talking about?” asked Temia stiffly.
“’Im. You know – that Earl of Wentworth!”
Temia’s stomach lurched as she tried to hide her face in the skirts of the dress she had just retrieved.
“’E was standin’ outside in the rain when I comes in and asks me where you was. I said you was ill. Well, I didn’t know you was comin’ in today, did I?”
“Did – did he say anything?”
“No, ’e just turned around and went – just like that, ’e never says much. I don’t think ’e cares for me!”
“Is he in the theatre now, Lily?”
“How should I know? Most likely – ”
Temia felt sick. What would happen if Sir Thomas attended the performance that evening as well? It had been some nights since he had last visited the theatre and Temia knew that sooner or later he would appear.
In spite of herself, she found the prospect of seeing Sir Thomas not unappealing. She enjoyed his company a great deal. It was simply that she was not in love with him. But if she saw him, would he propose again?
‘I don’t think I have the heart to refuse him,’ she thought, as the girls rushed off to the stage, ‘yet, I don’t have it in my heart to love him and marry him either.’
She was still pondering her dilemma when Hobson knocked on the door.
“Flowers for you, Temia!” “Who left them?” she asked him. “Sir Thomas Babbington,” answered Hobson, “he left them at the stage door not five minutes ago.”
Temia took the flowers and read the card.
“Say you’ll have supper with me, I will be waiting.” “Hobson,” she called him back. “please don’t admit anyone for me backstage tonight. I believe you know who I am referring to?”
“Them toffs?”
“Yes, if you would.”
“I’ll do me best!” During the interval, Hobson returned once more to the dressing room carrying a small box.
“For you,” he smirked.
“The Earl?” she asked, with her voice shaking.
“The very same.”
Temia opened the box and found inside a beautiful pink orchid along with a note.
“Meet me after the show,” was all it said.
She felt sick with nerves by the time that the show reached its conclusion. If both of them were waiting for her, she was sure that an argument would ensue. Could she prevent it?
“I can see your admirers are out in force tonight,” commented Sophia, as she changed into her street clothes.
“Yes, and I don’t know which way to turn. They have both asked me to dine with them and sent flowers!”
“Lord, that will cause a row! What will you do?”
“I shall remain here until they have gone and I have told Hobson not to let them in under any circumstances.”
“Very well, I will wait with you,” smiled Sophia.
They sat side-by-side for half an hour and then, Temia stood up.
“I cannot stay here all evening!” she groaned.
“Then, you will have to go out and face them both. I expect they’ll still be here!”
Temia was not looking forward to confronting the two of them, but she knew that Sophia was right. Picking up her cloak, she put on her hat and then her gloves as slowly as possible. Finally, she was ready.
“I will leave these lovely flowers – ” “Come, take my hand,” urged Sophia.
Temia took a deep breath and the two girls left the dressing room.
As soon as they reached the corridor that led out of the theatre, Temia could hear raised voices outside.
“Oh! Oh!” she sighed, stopping by the stage door.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think I should interfere,” said Hobson with a worried look. “They’ve been arguing like the blazes for the last ten minutes.”
Sophia squeezed Temia’s hand and then turned the handle on the stage door. As it opened, Temia could see that both men were standing tensely facing each other. Their lips were curled in anger and the Earl resembled a coiled spring.
“Repeat what you just said!” he screamed with his face just inches away from Sir Thomas’s.
“I said, you are not the man you once were.”
Neither men had heard the stage door open and they continued to hurl insults at each other. Temia winced at the ferocity of their words. She wanted to cry out and fling herself between them, but the pressure of Sophia’s arm restrained her.
“Take that back!” snarled the Earl, “you snivelling excuse for a man!”
“How dare you call me that!” snapped Sir Thomas. “Look at yourself. Just what have you become? The old Wentworth would never stoop to stealing his best friend’s sweetheart!”
The Earl’s eyes flashed with rage. It was as if a hot mist was clouding his judgement. Tearing one of his white gloves from his waistcoat pocket, he hit Sir Thomas full in the face with it.
“There is only one way to settle this, Babbington!” he snarled, in a voice that made Temia’s blood freeze, “and that is the old-fashioned way – and to the death! May the best man win!”
“No! No!” cried Temia, as the Earl strode off to his waiting carriage. “You must not! You must not!”
“Temia!” Sir Thomas’s face was smarting from the blow and a livid red mark was appearing on his cheek.
Seeing the Earl climb into his carriage, Temia’s instinct was to run after him, but she was now frightened of him. She had never seen him so angry and did not wish him to turn on her.
“Temia, go home!” urged Sir Thomas in a tone like ice. His eyes glittered and his breath came in short bursts. “But Thomas – ”
“This is men’s business. I tell you again, go home. Sophia, take her from this place. I have a matter of honour to settle before I can claim you for my own.”
“Thomas, please don’t fight a duel with the Earl – he is your friend.”
“Was. Now go. Sophia, you take Temia away at once! I shall send word as soon as all this is concluded.”
His harsh tone shocked her. Sophia nodded mutely and led a weeping Temia away. “They’ll not duel,” she said calmly, as they walked quickly to their lodgings. “Two important gentlemen like that. They would not break the law. I’ll wager that as soon as they reach the Park, they will come to their senses and shake hands.”
“No, they will not,” answered Temia, as they let themselves in. “I have never seen Thomas lose his temper as he did this evening and the things they screamed at each other – ”
Sophia knocked on Mrs. Timms’s door and asked if she might have a nip of brandy to give to Temia.
“She has had a terrible shock,” she explained, as the landlady brought out a bottle and poured out a small glass.
The two girls sat up waiting for hours. Temia stopped crying and instead remained mute and numb. The clock on the mantelpiece showed half-past two and still there was no word.
Temia had intended to tell Sophia that her mother had agreed to her meeting their father, but she could not form the words. Although important, her thoughts were consumed with the Earl. Would he be killed or would he kill Thomas?
Would the Police arrest them – perhaps they were already locked up in jail! How she loved him!
A thousand thoughts whirled through her mind and she felt quite dizzy from them.
She was just nodding off when there came a loud rapping on the front door. Both Sophia and Temia jumped and then froze.
“The messenger,” whispered Sophia.
Temia was unable to speak. She held the coverlet of the bed in her hands and waited for the knock on their own door that would inevitably follow.
They heard the sound of Mrs. Timms speaking in a low voice and then her heavy footsteps on the stairs.
Clinging to each other, they waited for the knock.
When it came, Sophia leapt up to answer it.
“There is a messenger here for Miss Morris.”
With beating heart, Temia rose from the bed and, taking up her candle, walked towards the door.
“Shall I come with you?” asked Sophia.
“No, wait here.” As she walked down the stairs, she could not help but tremble. Standing in the door she could see the slight figure of the messenger.
But was it the Earl or Sir Thomas who sent him?
She approached the messenger at the door. Seeing her come towards him, he tipped his hat.
“Miss Morris?” he said, stepping forward.