Different Tides Page 10

  No … she wouldn’t have known. How could she know? ‘I must think about this, John. Perhaps we should ask the court to decide.’

  ‘The wheels of the law grind slowly, and the process is too expensive. By the time the courts deliberated on it the sum would be swallowed up in legal fees. As a legacy it’s little enough as it is.’

  ‘Couldn’t it be shared between them?’

  ‘It would take a judge to decide.’

  ‘Not if the two women agreed to the arrangement.’

  John laughed. ‘Given the circumstance would you expect two women to act that reasonably?’

  An image of Clementine stamping her foot came into his mind and he grinned at the thought of the two of them doing the same thing, like a pair of sprightly ponies poled to a rig. Another thought dangled provocatively under his nose and he almost laughed. ‘There’s something you seem to have overlooked.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘By blood, Clementine and Alexandra are half-sisters fathered by Howard Morris. Alexandra is also a half-sister to Edward and Iris, through their mother, Alicia – if they are genuine claims.’

  John stared at him. ‘Good Lord! I’d never given that a thought.’ He rose and walked to the small table, where a decanter of brandy stood. I think I need a drink. ‘One for you, Zachariah?’

  He nodded. ‘Why do these problems land on my desk, when I was disowned by the family years ago? All I want is a quiet life.’ Zachariah’s grin widened. ‘Did I ever thank you for those unpalatable truths you forced me to swallow from time to time, John?’

  ‘In more ways than one.’ John shrugged. ‘You were wasting your life and along with it that fine brain you were born with. Julia and I merely diverted you from the path you were pursuing.’

  ‘I parted company with religion when my father’s razor strop first beat the dust from my britches. I was a prickly fool, and you left me with nowhere to turn.’

  ‘You were defensive, and had no trust in anyone but yourself. I tell you now, Zachariah. You trusted the right person in that. Your instincts have served you well.’

  ‘It didn’t take me long to figure out I was the fool, not you. You treated me like an equal.’

  ‘Which is the basis of our way of life. In return we expect you to live a good life and help those more unfortunate when you can. A man earns his own fortune from what he gives to others.’

  ‘Gabe doesn’t fit into that little homily. And if earning a fortune with one female in the form of Clementine – a young woman too intelligent for her own good – isn’t enough, I’m now having a second female foisted on to me. Tell me, what have I done to deserve these poor spinsters?’

  ‘Perhaps there are more of them, since Howard Morris seems to have been a busy fellow with the young ladies.’

  When Zachariah darted John a horrified look, he laughed. ‘Alexandra Tate may be a hoax,’ John said in a manner that alerted Zachariah to the fact that he had his doubts.

  ‘As long as Clementine isn’t, because the children adore her and so do … so do the dogs I bought for the children. They are quite taken with her, or so they tell me.’

  John’s voice was as smooth as silk. ‘Your dogs act as advisors and offer you a considered opinion? How very clever of them.’

  ‘You know very well I was referring to the children.’

  How astute of John to pick up his slip of the tongue! That was all he’d get from him tonight. Zachariah responded to Clementine as any red-blooded man might. She’d slipped under his guard, but that didn’t mean he was going to marry the girl. Now there was a safe distance between them he’d soon forget her. He sipped slowly at his drink. It was smooth and warming and gradually relaxed him. With a small amount of adjustment things would work out for the best; they always did. ‘Have you seen Alexandra Tate yet?’

  ‘No, she was out visiting friends. Samuel Tate wanted to tell her himself, and I wanted to talk to you about it first. Besides, you have a better instinct for a lie.’

  ‘I was born into a house of liars.’

  ‘The girl lives in Portsmouth with her foster father, who is slightly infirm due to age. It isn’t too far away.’

  ‘I’ll need a day or so to come up with a plan of approach.’

  ‘You do realize that you don’t have any legal liability, don’t you? Under the circumstances, the grandmother’s legacy should go to the legitimate daughter … that is, the issue from the first of the two women who married Howard Morris.’

  Zachariah laughed. ‘That advice is superfluous, John. You’re planting seeds in my head in the hope they’ll grow into roses if you shovel enough dung on them. This particular bush seems to have several thorns on it. It has more answers than questions. How did Samuel Tate hear of the legacy? What coincidence led Alexandra to have an almost identical story to Clementine? We must find out.’

  ‘And we shall.’

  Zachariah was finding it hard to keep his eyes open. ‘After that I must find a way to satisfy myself about the identity of the children. But not now. I’m too weary to think straight.’

  ‘I know someone who can make enquiries on our behalf … something that should have been done earlier.’

  The brandy had gone to work on Zachariah and he couldn’t stifle his yawns any longer. ‘I’m sorry if I appear inhospitable, John, but I’m throwing you out now. I’ll call on you both tomorrow, when I have enough energy to think straight.’

  John rose and drained his glass. ‘Of course, I mustn’t keep you from your rest after your tiring journey. I’ll see myself out. Goodnight, Zachariah.’

  When the door closed in John’s wake, Zachariah threw off his robe, blew out the candle and got into bed, shivering as his naked body slid between the cool linen sheets.

  Outside a cart clattered over the cobbles, there was the sound of the front door being bolted, and footsteps as John walked off to his home on the other side of the square. It was early yet. A dog barked, another took up the challenge and a couple of cats growled menacingly before exploding into spits and squeals. The city sounds were so different from the quiet of the countryside.

  Despite his weariness, for a time Zachariah couldn’t sleep. The moon appeared in his window, big and bright. It moved on. Laughter flirted from the mouth of an unknown woman in the street … low and husky with promise.

  The romance of his thoughts was spoiled by the foul smell drifting from the River Thames, which seemed to be worsening. The tide was on the ebb, uncovering the decomposing detritus trapped in the bowels of the river mud.

  After a while fog wrapped itself around the house and clung with a muffled intensity. It pressed against the window, and the noise of no noise at all hummed inside his ears, as though the blood rushing through his veins and the booming beat of his heart were the only living things in the silence.

  His mind went around in circles without solution. He needed a woman … but not any woman.

  He certainly didn’t need a Miss Alexandra Tate in his life.

  Perhaps he would seek a suitable wife when this was all over. Perhaps he’d marry Clementine. Did it matter where she’d come from or who she was, when his own background would give rise for concern to anyone who cared to resurrect it?

  Now there was a debatable – and very controversial – thought to go to sleep on.

  Except it kept him awake …

  Eight

  Alexandra

  The house was situated in Garden Street, in a long row of narrow houses. It was north facing, which made the interior, with its dark green wallpaper and narrow windows, feel cold and damp, and appear gloomy. Even the fire in the grate offered no warmth or cheer.

  The front room pressed in on Zachariah, so he wanted to rush outside and suck in a deep breath of air. It was clean though, extremely so. The windows shone and the surfaces were free of dust. A piano took pride of place in front of the windows. A passage ran through the house from the front door to the back. The clock gave measured, muffled tocks.

  Zachariah had ne
ver seen anyone quite so elegant as the young woman who sat opposite John Beck. She was a beauty. Her hair resembled spun silk and her eyes were bluer than blue. Alexandra was taller than most women he was acquainted with. Seating herself on a chair, she arranged her skirts in a sideways sweep and proceeded to pour them tea from a china pot covered in pink flowers.

  Her gown was a pale shade of green taffeta and a little shabby. A lacy cream shawl collar covered her shoulders. Her neck was a length of pale, translucent skin. She seemed uncomfortable and her smile had the tightness of artifice about it.

  He compared them with a poetic eloquence that surprised him. Alexandra was a crisp and delicate bloom of winter into spring, for he detected very little warmth of manner in her. Clementine reminded him of a fiery drift and tumble of late summer into autumn. He compared them to each other. Both young women had exceptional looks but he saw no likeness between them. Much to his dismay Alexandra Tate showed a marked resemblance to his late sister-in-law … at least, as he remembered her. He’d not seen Alice for several years.

  Alexandra Tate was less spontaneous than the woman who’d given birth to her. She had a more studied air, as if she’d spent most of her life being trained for this important incident in her life. Samuel Tate gazed at her with pride.

  Zachariah knew he was clutching at straws. He didn’t want Alexandra to be Alice’s child … didn’t want Alice to be less than perfect in his eyes, even though her family had been peppered with usurers who had loaned his brother gambling money at extortionate rates of interest. They had acted like a pack of hunting dogs and had brought the family down. Then they’d picked the bones clean and moved on, taking no hostages.

  Except for the less than immaculate condition of her gown, Alexandra was a study of perfection. But then, he was looking for faults in her.

  As he had with the interview of Clementine, Zachariah took the role of observer rather than inquisitor. He felt at a disadvantage in the girl’s home, and would rather that the meeting had taken place in John’s office. But the old man had been too frail to travel, while the girl had refused to attend it without him.

  She nibbled on her lower lip for a moment as her glance took him in. ‘My papa has not introduced us. May I ask who you are, sir, and what you have to do with this business?’

  ‘My name is Zachariah Fleet. It’s possible we might be related by marriage.’

  She gave a faint smile. ‘Not to each other, surely.’

  Zachariah was not in the mood to flirt with the girl. ‘One would hope not.’

  Colour tinted her cheeks and her lips tightened. Yet her eyes were wide and filled with an artful sort of innocence. Her eyelashes dipped and trembled for a second, and then opened with the lashes glazed in tears. She gazed down at her hands again and murmured. ‘My pardon, that was in poor taste. In what way are we related?’

  ‘Through the woman you claim as your mother.’

  He would have expected her to say her mother’s name. Instead, she waited for him to continue.

  ‘You do know the name of the woman I’m talking about, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh yes. Her name was Alicia Morris when I was born. It says so on the marriage licence.’

  He exchanged a glance with John, who smiled and cleared his throat.

  The girl called Alexandra Tate seemed to take it as a cue for she looked up at John and smiled. ‘What is it you want to know about me, sir?’

  ‘Anything you wish to tell me that will help your case.’

  Her voice was light and pleasing. ‘Ah yes … my case. My foster father’s case actually. I haven’t had the time to really study it properly. Papa told me there was a legacy from a grandmother, whose existence was unknown to me until then, and I would be entitled to claim it when I was of age. So here I am, claiming it as he has bidden me.’

  ‘When did you learn of the legacy?’

  ‘Two weeks ago.’

  So this girl who had been born Alexandra Morris was about the same age as Clementine. It was an interesting coincidence – too much of one perhaps.

  She took some papers from a box on the sideboard. ‘These will provide proof of my identity.’

  John scrutinized the papers before handing them over. Zachariah ran a glance over them. The date on the death notice of Howard Morris was different to the one on the papers he had in his possession.

  ‘What do you know about your immediate family, Miss Tate?’

  ‘I have recently learned that my father was an officer who died at the battle of Waterloo. After he died my mother married a baron. Both of them are dead.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I’ve never been given reason to have an interest in others or believed that my foster father and his wife were anything less than my blood parents.’

  ‘How did you learn of your mother’s death?’

  Zachariah leaned forward. He’d be interested in hearing the answer to that too.

  She afforded a glance to Samuel Tate, who looked grey and tired, and he nodded. ‘Someone who knew them told Papa several weeks ago. The event was recorded in a news sheet and they gave him a cutting, I understand … Papa?’

  ‘Which news sheet?’ John said.

  ‘Goodness, does it matter?’ the man said, raising a handkerchief to his mouth when he coughed. ‘The report is amongst the papers.’

  ‘We have to make sure we have the right person. Can you leave the papers for us to check up on?’

  ‘Most certainly. They are copies. The originals are in the possession of … another party.’

  ‘Eventually we will need to examine the original documents, since the matter might need to go before the court. Can you contact this other party?’

  ‘I have an address somewhere. They gave me a card and I put it on the dresser, but I seem to have mislaid it. I’ll look for it.’

  Zachariah’s ears pricked up. ‘Are you aware of the amount of the legacy, Miss Tate?’

  She hesitated and gazed at her grandfather again. ‘We believe it to be quite a large sum; eight hundred pounds … or so the lawyer who visited us said. The copy of the will doesn’t name an amount.’

  ‘You have a copy of the will? Where did you obtain it from?’

  ‘It was offered to me for a small charge. The lawyer knew Alexandra’s mother well and he approached me with the information and proof.’

  ‘They charged a fee for the consultation? May I enquire how much?’

  The man said gruffly, ‘Fifty pounds. A tutor doesn’t earn much and we no longer had the stipend. It was my life savings. I’d saved it for Alexandra. We were living on a small allowance from her mother, but it abruptly stopped about four years ago. From what you are saying I can only surmise that we’ve been duped. I don’t know what we’re going to do now. I have no property to sell.’

  The girl placed her hand over his. ‘We’ll manage, Papa. So there’s no legacy. I thought it was too good to be true. Don’t worry. I’ll think of something. Find another job. Perhaps I could find work in a boarding house, or sew seams in the evenings.’

  John said quietly, ‘Is this whole story built on lies?’

  The girl drew herself up. I believe my papa. He would have no reason to lie about it.’

  ‘Except for the legacy.’

  ‘We discussed it …’ She shrugged, saying defiantly, ‘Papa said if there was a legacy, then there would be no shame in claiming it if I was entitled to have it.’

  Zachariah couldn’t fault that type of reasoning. ‘Can you tell me the name of this lawyer?’

  ‘He called himself George Sheridan.’

  He exchanged a glance with John. ‘We’ve heard of him, and believe him to be a fraudster.’ He remembered the money he’d paid to the man, and the long list of expenses they’d supposedly expended on behalf of his brother and the children, and felt angry at allowing himself to be so stupid. He could only blame himself for that. He’d been so eager to meet his wards that he’d thrown caution to the wind.

  She was
close to tears now, her careful poise relaxed. Her shoulders drooped with the despair she felt, though she tried to maintain her dignity. ‘I’m sorry you were involved in this. Let me see you out. We won’t bother you again.’

  She stood, holding out her hand to her foster father and trying to disguise the desperation in her eyes when she said, ‘I’m afraid we’ve been duped, Papa.’

  Wearily he said, ‘I’m too old to have fallen for that trick. I wonder how they knew so much about us.’

  ‘They were acquainted with my sister-in-law’s family. She must have confided in Mrs Sheridan.’

  There was something about the old man that touched Zachariah, a droop to his shoulders that spelled out disappointment, but more than that – utter dejection. Zachariah felt sorry for him, for his eyes were more desperate than those of the girl now.

  ‘May we stay a little longer, Miss Tate? There is a legacy, and it needs to be discussed, otherwise we wouldn’t be here.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘But you just said—’

  ‘Hear me out, Miss Tate. There’s also a problem. There are two possible claimants for the legacy. As it stands now, your father appears to have been a bigamist. In other words he was married to two women, and both at the same time. His wives were each left with a daughter to raise when he died, and they were born within a week or so of each other.’

  Her composure crumbled slightly and there was no artifice in her now. After a moment or two of thought a faint but cautious smile flitted across her face. ‘You mean I have a sister … may I meet her?’

  ‘At the moment her claim is being assessed, the same as yours will be. The only difference is that she doesn’t know about it yet. I will enlighten her about that and tell her about you the next time I see her. If that’s her wish there’s no reason why you shouldn’t meet. Obviously, only one of you is eligible for the legacy – and that’s not necessarily the eldest of you, but the daughter from the first legitimate marriage Howard Morris embarked on.

  ‘Perhaps you would relate your details to Mr Beck. Any information you may have as to the whereabouts of the Sheridan couple will be useful if we swear a complaint out against them, though I imagine those fraudsters will be long gone. In the meantime I’ll supply you with an amount of money to temporarily support you, if you will accept it.’