Undesirable Liaison (2 page)

‘What is it?
What have you found?’

‘Fetch me my
sewing scissors.’

Her sister
obeyed, her gaze intent upon Florence. ‘What are you going to
do?’

‘I need to open
the lining.’

Belinda stopped
dead by the bedside table, her eyes popping. ‘Open the lining? Have
you run mad, Flossie? How will you return the thing if you spoil it
like that?’

‘I’m not going
to spoil it. Quickly, bring the scissors.’

‘Yes, but I
wish you will tell me what you’ve found,’ complained her sister,
rummaging in Flo’s sewing basket.

‘I will tell
you when I’ve found it. As yet, I have no more idea than you what
it may be.’

But Belinda’s
increasingly eager questions did not cease, all through the
delicate operation upon which Florence embarked. Anxious not to
destroy the lining, which she was almost certain was of silk, Flo
picked at the stitching just above the point where the lump was
situated. The series of suppositions popping into her mind were as
lively as her sister’s intense queries, and she strove in vain to
ignore the rising thrum in her veins.

Once she had
unpicked a section large enough to enable an examination of the
interior, it became obvious her suspicion was correct. An object,
itself wrapped in silk, was sewn into the cloth. It came free after
a little work and the greatcoat dress was allowed to drop to the
floor, forgotten in a rising tide of anticipation.

It took time to
open the makeshift little bag, and Flo was annoyed to feel her
fingers shaking. Belinda urged her to hurry, her voice squeaky with
excitement.

But when the
dark silk at last came apart, the younger girl fell silent with
awe, gazing at the stone of a pale rose hue that sparkled and
winked in the sunlight.

‘Great
heavens,’ Flo murmured, staring with disbelieving eyes at the gem
nestling in her palm.

Her heart was
hammering in her chest, her thoughts chaotic. A cut jewel! Who
could doubt it? And of some worth. If not, why trouble to conceal
it with such care? But who had done it? And why? Someone desperate,
surely. And to give it away so lightly! Why, anyone might have
discovered it. The wonder was it had escaped the eye of the
pawnbroker.

Here Flo caught
herself up. Had she not missed it herself? If she had not been at
pains to tighten the gown at the bodice, she might not have felt
the lump, hidden as it was, its tiny stitching scarcely visible and
concealed by the collar. Though the previous owner must have known
it was there. Indeed, must have put it there herself. Then how had
it come to be pawned? None in their right senses would abandon such
a jewel.

Belinda found
her tongue. ‘A secret hiding-place! Is it valuable, do you think? I
should think it must be, for it’s as big as a walnut.’ She poked at
the jewel with one finger and was moved to amend this. ‘Well, half
a walnut anyhow.’ A note of singular delight entered her voice.
‘Oh, Flo, we are made!’

Still feeling
dazed, Flo glanced at her. ‘Made? Made how, Bel?’

‘Why, we are
rich. It must be worth a fortune. You need not go as a companion
after all. Flossie, it’s like a dream come true!’

Blank for the
moment, Florence watched her sister begin to dance ungainly about
the chamber, the petticoats of her drab schoolgirl gown and
pinafore grasped up in her hands. For once Flo forgot to make
allowance for her sister’s naïveté. Rapid words leaped from her
tongue.

‘But we cannot
keep it, Bel! It is not ours to enjoy. How could you be so foolish
as to suppose for an instant we may profit by some poor creature’s
misfortune?’

Her sister’s
expression of dismay was almost ludicrous. Poised with one leg in
the air, Belinda gaped at her.

‘What?’

‘The jewel must
be returned to its owner, don’t you see?’

The leg came
down and a sulk descended onto the brow. ‘I might have known
it!’

‘Yes, I think
you might,’ agreed Florence, a decided sharpness to her tone.

Belinda groaned
in protest. ‘But it’s wasteful and stupid to give it back, Flo.
Besides, you don’t know who owned it. In any event, she pawned the
gown, so she can’t have wanted the jewel.’

‘Don’t be
silly. It is obvious she made a mistake.’

‘I don’t see
that. And if she did, it’s her own fault.’ Her tone became wilder.
‘Maybe it’s not even a jewel. Maybe it’s paste. Maybe she didn’t
know it was there!’

Florence turned
away, closing her hand over the gem. ‘Now you are being foolish
beyond permission. But a moment ago, you were urging me to give
back the gown.’

‘Well, I didn’t
know the jewel was in it then, did I?’ came the ingenuous reply.
Florence found her arm gripped by two strong young hands. ‘Oh, pray
don’t give it back, Flo! Think how it could change everything for
us. And who would know, when all is said and done?’

‘I would know.’
She shook off her sister’s fingers. ‘It is of no use to press me,
Bel, for my mind is made up. Nothing you could say would induce me
to make use of it.’

‘But what if
you can’t find out the owner? After all, the shop man may not know
who she is.’

The hopeful
note in her sister’s voice brought a faint smile to Flo’s lips,
although she was far from real amusement. There was poignancy in
the concealment of the jewel that spoke to her depths. It argued a
desperateness of spirit to which she could readily relate, were she
to allow herself the indulgence. Useless to expect poor Bel to
partake of her sentiments.

Giving the girl
a quick hug, she softened her tone. ‘Dearest, I understand your
disappointment, truly I do. But only conceive of the dismay that
must visit the lady when she has realised her loss. How would you
feel were I to lose our little hoard of funds?’

Belinda shifted
her rounded shoulders in the characteristic shrug Florence knew
betokened discomfort. But she remained unconvinced.

‘Well, but you
don’t yet know how big a loss it might be. I do think you ought
first to consult a jeweller. I am sure it’s what Mama would have
done.’

Without doubt,
agreed Flo silently, with an edge of cynicism. But there was point
to her sister’s suggestion. It would be well, to begin with, to
ascertain the worth of the gem. To her chagrin, as she consented to
this scheme, she felt herself subject to a tiny rise of hope,
betrayed by the inescapable want of her personal circumstances.

***

The expedition
was undertaken that very afternoon, Florence as impatient for the
result as her sister. She chose a discreet establishment in nearby
Golden Square, preferring to conduct such an unconventional enquiry
outside the glare of fashion.

The
unembellished letters above the door declared it to be the premises
of Messrs Sproatley & Ash. The shrewd-looking individual behind
the counter, revealed to be the first named, exhibited neither
surprise nor curiosity, but examined the gem minutely through his
eyepiece before delivering judgement.

‘One of the
rarer rubies, ma’am, which enhances its value. Now, as to that
matter, are you in possession of the rest of the set?’

Flo blinked.
‘Set?’

A blind
appeared to come down in Mr Sproatley’s face, and he coughed
delicately. ‘It would have been within a set, I surmise, ma’am.
Perhaps three or five jewels of a similar cut and hue, set into a
necklace, I imagine. Not ornate, I think, for the stones are of
such beauty as to require little additional adornment.’

Belinda’s
gasping astonishment induced Florence to give her a scientific dig
in the ribs. She maintained her own air of calm with
difficulty.

‘There is only
the one jewel. I dare say it is a great deal less valuable on its
own?’

Sproatley
permitted himself a thin smile. ‘If you consider a thousand pounds
an insignificant amount, yes.’

A muffled
shriek announced her sister’s emotions, but Flo was too stunned to
take account of it. Her echo was faint.

‘
A thousand
pounds?
’

The
proprietor’s smile grew. ‘Give or take a couple of hundred. I did
say it was rare. This particular shade is extremely hard to
find.’

The enormity of
the sum swamped Flo’s senses. It was with difficulty she gathered
herself together, holding out her hand for the jewel.

‘I thank you,
Mr Sproatley.’

One eyebrow
went up as he held the jewel poised between finger and thumb. ‘You
do not wish to dispose of it?’

Florence shook
her head with vehemence. ‘No! No, thank you, sir. I am most
grateful for your assistance.’

She managed to
quell an impulse to snatch the gem away, but the tremor of her
fingers could not be disguised. A moment longer Sproatley paused,
and then the stone dropped into her palm. Flo stuffed it without
ceremony into the pocket-handkerchief in which she had carried it,
and thrust it into a convenient inner pocket within the jacket of
her old mulberry-coloured riding habit.

Shock had
rendered Belinda tongue-tied, for she stood stock-still, her fixed
gaze yet upon the jeweller. Murmuring further unnecessary words of
thanks, Florence seized her sister’s immobile arm and tugged her
out of the shop.

The sharp
coldness of the wintry air came as a relief. Flo’s head swam a
little as she paused to get her bearings, pulling on her gloves.
Golden Square looked alien as her gaze swept this way and that. But
the disorientation proved momentary, and she was presently able to
set off in the direction of Poland Street, bearing Belinda along
with her.

‘A thousand
pounds!’ came throatily from her sister.

‘Hush!’ chided
Florence. ‘Do not speak of it in the open street, I beg of
you.’

‘But—a
thousand
, Flo!’

‘I know, but be
quiet, do! We shall be home presently and you may exclaim and
wonder to your heart’s content.’

Belinda
subsided into silence, and Flo hurried towards their lodging,
thrusting down the demon of temptation. Why in the world had the
wretched jewel to be worth so much? It made her doubly anxious to
return the thing to its rightful owner. Only how could she help a
sneaking wish it might have been possible to keep it? There was
naturally no question of that. But the thought of what she might
have done with a thousand pounds was, she reflected ruefully,
likely to occupy her mind for far longer than it ought. As for the
arguments Belinda would advance—! Flo prayed for patience, and the
strength to withstand her sister’s pleas.

***

It would have
been preferable to confront the pawnbroker on her own, but Florence
had not the heart to exclude her sister. Adamant against Belinda’s
assaults upon her determined integrity, Flo had ended by snapping,
sending Bel into a noisy bout of weeping. She was sorry for it, but
it had the effect of hardening her.

In the event,
her night’s sleep had been ruined, not by her sister’s tantrum—for
having vented her spleen, Bel slept soundly throughout—but by
persistent and troubling thoughts of the owner of the jewel.

The mention of
other gems in a set, worth, she must suppose, several thousands of
pounds, had given rise to the thought she had not fully uncovered
the extent of the greatcoat’s secrets. During a lull in her
sister’s complaints, while Belinda sulked for a time in the
parlour, refusing to speak, Flo had taken opportunity to re-examine
the garment in the bedchamber. Sure enough, a closer inspection had
revealed two further broken sets of stitching under the collar. So
there had been three rather than five jewels. Which begged the
question: what had happened to the other two?

The resultant
puzzle kept her thinking half the night, until she dropped at last
into the sleep of exhaustion. Her deliberations had ended in no
very satisfactory conclusion, but she was deeply disturbed by
several elements.

Why had the
owner of the greatcoat concealed the gems at all? Having done so,
how had she been reduced to the necessity of selling them? This was
no ordinary female, who could afford to have an expensive gown made
for her—which explained why it did not fit correctly to another’s
shape—and yet be put to the extremity of pawning it.

It made no
sense. Even less to dispose of the gown without first extracting a
jewel worth a thousand pounds. Nor could Florence rid her mind of
the conviction that the greatcoat dress was not more than two or
three years old. In what dire straits had this female found
herself?

Flo’s mood
remained uneasy as the sisters traversed the environs of Golden
Square to come upon Vaul & Son in Silver Street. The
pawnbroker, a scrawny individual garbed in an oddity of a bagwig
with a greasy-looking apron over his clothes, evidently did not
remember her, for his eye, with a look at once rapacious and
exploratory, fell immediately upon the basket on Florence’s arm, in
which she had placed the greatcoat dress, empty now of its hidden
treasure.

Resting the
basket upon the counter, Flo extracted the gown. The fellow’s
expression altered as he recognised it.

‘We don’t do no
exchanges, miss,’ he announced in a reedy tone on the edge of
petulance.

‘I have not
come to make an exchange,’ Florence told him, although she guessed
he might change his tune were she to reveal the truth.

‘Nor we don’t
give back no money on sold goods.’

‘I am not going
to ask you for money.’ Flo summoned a pleasant smile. ‘You are Mr
Vaul, I take it?’

The fellow
nodded. ‘Rightly speaking, I’m the Son part, miss,’ he volunteered,
relaxing a little of his hostility. ‘The old man don’t do the
business no more.’

‘You see, Mr
Vaul,’ began Florence, beginning upon her fabricated explanation,
‘I think there has been a mistake.’

Vaul froze up
again. ‘Mistake?’