Silver, p.7
Silver, page 7
His eyes were shining with the onset of tears. No doubt he felt frustrated. He was angry and he was confused and he wanted the clarity which I was unwilling, and unable, to give him. I felt sure that John was right in his decision to send the boys away and, filled with the sense of their imminent departure, I drew up my eldest son in my arms and held him tight.
~o~
I was aware of Nanny Hewitt’s eyes upon me as I deposited Sebastian into her care and affirmed my wish that the boys be readied for their return to John’s parents. She seemed less than pleased that she too would be removed from the epicenter of whatever scandal was breaking here in Hampstead and she met my gaze with a peculiar obstinacy. As I closed the nursery door behind me, I was overcome with exhaustion and I went directly to my bedroom. The bed had been drawn ready in anticipation and I wondered, with a sudden anger, whether Beth had readied the sheets. The thought that she was in my employ and had uttered those words in my own home filled me with anger and I was fuelled with another surge of energy. I crossed the room to the fireplace and pressed the bell push for the kitchen. As I waited, I poured myself a glass of water from the bedside table and crossed to the window. It was only a few moments later when Maud arrived. Evidently the household were on a state of high alert as she appeared quite breathless.
“Yes Ma’am?”
I had hoped Beth herself would attend and I could have the immediate satisfaction of terminating her employment myself.
“Maud, would you have Beth come and see me please.”
“Beth, Ma’am?” The girl looked awkwardly to the floor. Evidently, Sebastian and I were not the only ones aware of last night’s altercation.
“Yes. Beth. The short, dumpy one,” I added spitefully.
“She’s not here Ma’am.” The poor girl looked as if she would rather be bobbing adrift in the Channel than reporting to me. “She’s gone.”
“Where has she gone?”
“Begging your pardon Mrs. Bancroft but I don’t rightly know. She took off a few minutes ago. After you came back, she went to see Stokes and then she left Ma’am. Bags an’ all.”
I watched with a feeling of pity as the young girl in front of me tried desperately to distance herself from the actions of her counterpart. Maud was a good maid but was a dreadful orator and stammered terribly. It gave me no pleasure watching her squirm under interrogation and after a few more minutes of her struggling with her words I dismissed her.
“I would not be disturbed for a few hours, Maud. Make sure Mrs. Harkness is given some assistance with her packing but be sure they don’t leave without my seeing them off.”
With a little bob, she backed out of the room, grateful for not being questioned further on any of the rumours flying around below stairs. I suppose I must have slept a little as a few hours later, I started heavily with the sound of knocking at my door. I had been in the middle of a strange dream.
“Yes?” I called out. “Come in.”
The door opened cautiously and Maud’s face appeared around the frame.
“Mrs. Bancroft? The cab is here for the children.”
“What? What’s the time?” I fumbled with the nightstand and drew up my watch. It was half past two in the afternoon.
“Very well. Help me get ready.” Maud closed the door and hurried to the wardrobe, immediately withdrawing the black dress of which I had been so fond when my mother had died. The sight of it made my head swim again and I considered I had not eaten for almost a day. The thought of food made me feel more giddy but I knew I had to eat something otherwise I would pass out. I suffered terribly from nausea and giddiness when I was carrying Thomas and the signs were familiar.
“Have Mrs. Harkness ready some dry toast and serve it in the parlour with tea in half an hour?”
Maud buttoned me up and then retreated from the room, whilst I tidied my hair. The mirror at the dressing table reflected a poor image of me and I was shocked by the toll only a day could take on someone. One’s own face should be as familiar to us as the walls in our home but how often do we find ourselves studying our own walls? Yet, as with walls, it is all too obvious when cracks begin to appear. My eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot, dark shadows were beginning to surface beneath them. My skin looked crumpled from the sleep I had had and my complexion was grey. Normally, I was content with my appearance and had every reason to consider myself a reasonable beauty but on this inspection I was revealed as being older than I thought myself to appear, and I was taken rather suddenly with the fact that age comes to us all. The thought did nothing to alleviate my mood and I pinned up my hair in the old fashioned way, succumbing to the grim and familiar sense of grief that had taken up residence within me once again.
As I descended the stairs, Sebastian did not look directly at me and I could sense his annoyance that he was to be treated as a child being sent away. Thomas, however, was quite perturbed.
“Why are we going back to grandfather’s house? Will you and Father come too? Are we having another Christmas?”
I was unsure how to answer him as, in truth, I did not wish either of the boys to be sent away. I felt with every fibre of myself that I needed to hold them tight to me. It was for this same reason that they had to go. I could not yet accept what had happened to myself let alone explain it to a child.
“No Thomas. You and Sebastian need to help Father and me by staying in the country until after the funeral.”
The word was familiar to him but it was evident that he understood little of the situation. He had the good sense however to refrain from asking any more questions and, instead, watched silently as I embraced Sebastian, who was grateful to receive only a kiss to his forehead, save I embarrassed him in front of the staff. John accompanied them to the station with Nanny Hewitt and he seemed grateful to be leaving the house. As the door closed after their receding voices and the hallway had begun to return to its familiar muffled enclave, I was immediately sensible to the eyes that avoided my own. Maud, stood to one side of the hallway, awaited some indication of my intentions so that she could usefully employ herself to my service. Although I was sure she did not normally meet my gaze, her eyes appeared to dance around the room in a concerted effort to watch me but not to see me. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled with the paranoia of the thought and I knew I ought to take advantage of the peace and get some more rest. There was a lingering sense of foreboding which I knew would prevent me from settling and so, I was rather grateful when, just moments after the door was closed, the bell sounded. I immediately thought it was John, forgotten something, and I lingered in the hall behind Stokes as he crossed the tiles to draw the door open.
As soon as the door opened, I could see it was not John but a shorter man silhouetted against the crisp blue winter sky. He wore a bowler hat and was stooped with age. It took but a second before I was able to place a name to the face beyond Stokes.
“Geoffrey!” I announced warmly.
My father’s solicitor was barely over the threshold when he saw me and his face lit up in a genuine show of affection. His expression, however, was muddled as I crossed the hall to greet him.
“Imogen, I can’t tell you how sorry I am to learn of your father’s death. I am deeply sorry for your loss.” He took up my hand in his own and placed his own paper thin fingers across the back of mine, patting me absently. His eyes searched my face as if he was seeking some comfort from me too.
“Thank you Geoffrey. Thank you for coming. Won’t you come through?”
I walked through to the parlour. Stokes passed Geoffrey’s hat and coat to Amy and followed us.
“Can I offer you a drink? A sherry perhaps?”
Geoffrey Leech had been the Silver family solicitor for as long as I can remember. He was an elderly man himself and had recently taken retirement yet retained a few of his personal clients. I knew that he and my father were members of the same club in St James and I considered them to also be friends. It occurred to me that perhaps he knew something. Stokes served two glasses of sherry and we sat ourselves opposite one another.
“Ah, thank you Stokes’ he accepted his glass. ‘Is John home?”
“You’ve just missed him. He has gone to Kings Cross. We thought it best in the circumstances to send the boys back to the country.”
“Of course. As you see fit. I really do need to see both of you. Shall he be long?”
My ears filled with a faraway rushing as my heart beat loudly. Geoffrey had some more news and, by the look on his face, it was not good.
“He should be back within the hour. Of course you can wait but please tell me what it is Geoffrey. I cannot bear it.”
He looked up at me, immediately anxious at the distress in my voice. I knew the colour had drained from me and my already gaunt face must have seemed quite pale.
“Oh good Lord, Imogen. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. It is nothing unusual in the circumstances. Although in the circumstances all must be considered quite unusual...” He leaned forward quickly setting his glass down before resuming his muddled speech. ‘That is to say, of course, I am naturally shocked by the circumstances and.....’ The old man looked at me, appealing for some assistance as he struggled to find the words. He was an astute and confident man and I was astonished by this rather guarded display. He glanced towards Stokes and I understood a little of his predicament.
“That will be all thank you Stokes. You may leave us.”
The butler gave nothing away in his expression as he inclined his head with a polite ‘Madam’ and reversed out of the room. Geoffrey had taken out his handkerchief and was now stood mopping his brow and, if I was not mistaken, his eyes.
“Forgive me, Imogen. I cannot begin to tell you how upsetting all of this is but of course…”’ He looked at me with another apology fresh on his lips, a slightly embarrassed expression that he should forget my own grief.
“Geoffrey, I can’t thank you enough for your kind words but please tell me what you have come to say. I must hear it now. Please.”
He nodded and sat down once again, leaning forward slightly so that he could keep his voice low.
“There is to be a coroner’s inquiry tomorrow morning. The police have submitted a report to the coroner, who is to perform a post mortem. Your father was not so very old and it is likely that his death was a coronary disease. As you will know, he suffered from palpitations of the chest and he was receiving some treatment from a doctor in Belgravia.”
This was news indeed to me. I had not known that my father was anything but in perfect health. I had not known my father to be anything but my father though and how wrong that assumption proved to be. I could only listen as Geoffrey continued.
“In the circumstances, it is not the death itself which they are trying to determine but of course, given the nature of the.....facts of the case.....as they stand......” Once again, Geoffrey’s characteristic assuredness faltered as he struggled to find the words, if indeed they existed in his mind. “Imogen, what I am trying to say is that they are trying to prove, for the purposes of the death certificate and for the Will, your father’s true biological gender.”
He had said it and, once out, the statement seemed to suck all other sounds from the room leaving only that word. There were many questions, not least of which I wanted to know where and when this inquiry was being held. The post mortem? Had that already been carried out? Didn’t I or John have to have given our consent to that? I wasn’t sure what they would be subjecting him to but the image once more of my father being pinned to a table like the subject of a science experiment swam before me and I felt giddy and sick. I pushed all of the questions to the back of my mind and asked the one thing upon which I could feel solid.
“What do you think?”
Geoffrey levelled his gaze at me and fixed me with his most assured stare.
“Your father was a good and decent man Imogen. Nothing will change that.”
The pain behind my eyes that had been raging all day, momentarily burst forth leaving only a numb feeling, and I closed my eyes gripping the bridge of my nose as if that were the only way of holding on to some truth. John would say a few hours later that it was the lack of food and sleep that caused me to slip off my chair in the parlour and crumple to the floor in front of Geoffrey Leech. No doubt, he would also feel that the solicitor should not have told me any of the details about the Coroner’s Inquiry and he was partly to blame for my distress. However, I firmly believe that a person’s brain is only capable of simple truth and, quite unable to deal with the truth as it was unfolding; I had simply abandoned thinking about it at all.
Chapter Six - Avery, 1869
“Avery?”
The sound of Kate’s voice seemed further away than the few feet she was. The familiar dressing screen had been drawn across the middle of the room, whilst Avery had begun imbuing the flat, lifeless clothes that had been smuggled into Cornwall Gardens only a few hours ago, with the life Avery intended for them. Kate’s voice seemed tentative as if she were unsure of who else might be lurking behind the screen besides her mistress. Avery finally stole a glance at the mirror he had thus far been avoiding. The effect of the clothes was at once alarming and electrifying. Fry had done a good job with the measurements. The cloth, although not the best, looked fine in the light of the room. Avery stood taller than ever in a jet black evening suit, the tails of the coat accentuated his natural height and the style was very forgiving across his hips which, although slight, now appeared almost invisible. The crisp white shirt collars stood up at his neck and his shoulder length dark hair had been lacquered and swept backwards. As he looked at himself in the mirror, he cocked his head to one side and thought how odd it was that he had not seen it before. His hair had always been untidy but the untidiness was a perfect imitation of the confident young men around Covent Garden. There was roguishness about them and Avery recognized it in himself too. His shoulders, naturally broad for a woman carried the jacket well and the flat line of the shirt that hung smoothly below his neck disguised his breasts, which were bound tightly to his chest. The effect of this created a defined and well-muscled tone. He smiled with relief.
“Avery? Do you need some help?”
“No!” he replied, curtly.
The darkened room absorbed the sound of their voices, leaving an oppressive silence into which Kate issued an audible sigh. Avery adjusted his position so that he could see the profile of Kate in a corner of the mirror as she sat upon the edge of his bed. The lamplight from the walls flickered as the gas waned; although it did this frequently as other lamps were drawn in other rooms, Kate jumped. The shadows from behind the screen seemed to shrink before leaping upwards again, as the light returned to its previous glow. He watched as she leant back on her hands upon his bed, seemingly comfortable to wait a while longer. He wondered what she would think when he stepped from behind the screen. When she had arrived with the clothes that afternoon, she had seemed almost as excited as he had been but he wondered whether he had mistaken his own eagerness with her anxiety. The room was warm and the lamplight soothing and he watched as she bent her head to examine her hands. The skin on the back of them was rough and defied her youth. Although the tips of her fingers had long since stopped puckering from her hard labour, they had instead developed the tell-tale rough calluses of domestic service. He briefly considered the sum he had just spent on clothes he perhaps could not wear outside the walls of the house and wondered if Kate herself would ever be able to afford some kid gloves with which to conceal her hands. He wondered if she would accept them as a gift from him.
“Well?” The sound of his own voice startled him and Kate looked up in surprise. As she did so, she could not stop the involuntary intake of breath that escaped her. Her reaction was simple.
“Oh my God!”
There passed a few awkward moments of silence before Kate could add any more; all the while, Avery watched her earnestly, self-consciously awaiting her approval. The young girl looked quite pale and confused beneath her beaming smile.
“I can’t believe how well it fits. I mean I can believe it of course, I see so with my own eyes but…I just thought it wouldn’t look so well on you. I mean, your clothes always look well on you Miss, I mean, Sir. I mean you always look fine but these make you look even finer.” She looked embarrassed as, in the search for the right words, she found the perfect ones. She blushed.
“Just tell me what you think Kate. Honestly,” he added, grinning.
“Turn around,” she instructed, her head cocked to one side as she considered him more critically.
Now it was Avery’s turn to blush and he revolved slowly, holding his arms out to the sides avoiding her gaze, which had turned more serious.
“Well?” Avery asked again.
Kate narrowed her gaze and searched his face, as if truly understanding for the first time what Avery hoped to achieve from this whimsy. Her voice, when it came, was deliberate as if stating a fact she had only just found to be true.
“You look just like a gentleman.”
Her tone troubled him and Avery held her gaze trying to determine how what the young girl was feeling. It was important that she remain in his confidence and above all, that she was not spooked by this queer turn of events. The gas jets hissed again and the light danced across the room. It was enough to break the spell. Kate looked to the door and looked reassured as she noted the bolt drawn tightly across.
“It fits you very well, Miss,” she offered again quietly, not looking directly at him.
Avery felt bolder; there was something in the way that she had been looking at him that made him feel taller, a look that had not been there when he had been dressed as a woman. It was as though the clothes, rather than concealing more of him, had revealed another side to him; a hungrier side, a side that was more at home in its own skin.
“Kate?” Avery’s voice was husky as he tried to lower the register in which he spoke.
