Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
It was late the following afternoon before Jenny received a message from Gwen asking her to meet at the same coffee house where they had met the previous morning.
Gwen was sitting beside Mr Parry. Their chairs were close together and there was something in the way their arms brushed and their shared glances that told Jenny they had reconciled.
Ruth was apparently still being defiant, but had been persuaded to take care of Bella who, now she was free from Augusta’s clutches, had become almost catatonic through exhaustion. The gentleness Ruth showed the younger girl, Gwen said, gave her hope that Ruth might become a little more amenable.
‘I intend to do my utmost to prosecute everyone involved and shut down the establishment,’ Mr Parry said forcefully.
Gwen coughed subtly. He acknowledged the sound and briefly reached for her hand, brushing his thumb over the back.
‘Nearly everyone, I should say. I believe that the pimping of girls as young as Bella is in itself enough, without needing to complicate matters by introducing the existence of the tincture.’
Jenny let out a sigh of relief, wondering what Gwen had said or done to persuade him.
‘I have a horrible feeling that you can add murder to the charges,’ she said. ‘I suspect the poor girl who was hauled out of the canal basin might have been one of their girls, from the description that the woman who remained gave me.’
Mr Parry drummed his fingers on the table. ‘Ruth will be able to bear witness to what happened in The Rook and Wren. Bella, too – and Sally, if she can be persuaded. Perhaps when you talk to Miss Sandler you can broach the subject.’
‘I assume you will be speaking to her,’ Gwen asked calmly.
‘I will.’ Jenny fumbled with her napkin.
‘The judiciary will not take the word of a young woman, much less one who has been indulging in prostitution,’ Gwen pointed out.
Mr Parry blanched.
‘I’m sorry for speaking so frankly, but there it is,’ Gwen said, sitting back, and eyeing him sternly. Jenny was impressed. She’d never seen Gwen challenge Mr Walters’ words and her confidence was a welcome change.
‘My niece is respectable, that should speak for itself. And they will take her word if I back her. A man’s word always counts, and the tale of a young, innocent, motherless girl who has been preyed upon will melt the hardest heart.’
He was probably correct, though it boiled Jenny’s blood to think how the word of a man who had had little involvement counted for more than the girls who had been affected.
‘Miss Salisbury may speak out, too. She has powerful friends who will not wish to be connected to a squalid brothel, I am sure. I suspect that a letter from a solicitor representing the victims may soon find its way to her, making it clear her part is known and her reputation is threatened. Then we will see how loyal she is to Mrs Charles,’ Gwen said.
‘I am sure that her first loyalty is to herself and that will be enough to see her choose her allegiance carefully.’
Their manner suggested this had been discussed already, and Jenny felt a sense of relief that Gwen would have a bright future in his company.
Mr Parry gave Jenny a warm smile. ‘Now, let us turn to your problems. How much did you say your father left you in his will, Miss Rosewood?’
‘Three hundred and twelve pounds, I believe.’
‘You say your uncle gives you an allowance, yes?’
Jenny named the sum. Mr Parry raised his eyebrows.
‘He’s very generous. At least, I always thought he was, but the way your expression has changed now makes me doubt it,’ Jenny said.
Mr Parry drew out a pocketbook and pencil. He put on a pair of spectacles and made a few calculations.
‘Probate is an area I am very familiar with, and the sum you talk about should provide an income of at least ten pounds more than you receive. I do not believe that your bed and board should total more than that. Your uncle invested your money in his business, I would imagine. He would be foolish to invest in anybody else’s, wouldn’t he? ’
He put the notebook away. ‘Miss Rosewood, let me offer you some advice. Ask to see the will and ask to see the accounting. Your uncle may have control, but as you are the legatee, it is within your right to see the documentation. It may be that there are better ways of investing your money.’
‘Jenny. Go home now and ask Mr Rosewood about your affairs,’ Gwen said. ‘We can wait here.’
Jenny was not convinced. Her own conscience felt like lead at the thought that she was biting the hand that fed her. Nevertheless, she walked back to the house. Uncle Conrad was in his office when she arrived, and having ordered coffee to be sent, she walked straight in.
‘Jenny, what is it?’ He put down his pen.
‘Uncle Conrad, I would like to see the accounting for my investments. Coffee will arrive shortly.’
Conrad’s brow furrowed. ‘You don’t need to worry your head about that, my dear. Everything is taken care of.’
‘I’m sure it is. However, it strikes me that I have been rather neglectful in learning about my financial matters.’
The coffee arrived. Jenny poured him a cup and added cream.
‘Not to put too fine a point on it, you are ageing, and while I am sure we will have many happy years left together, I will at some point have to throw myself on the mercies of the parish, so I need to know all I can about the finances.’
‘There’s rather a lot to understand,’ Conrad said mildly.
She poured her own coffee and dipped her spoon into the sugar bowl then left it there. She had been trying to wean herself off it since the first visit to Miriam’s home.
‘I do not expect you to itemise it yourself. If you would write a letter of recommendation to your banker, allowing me to discuss the portions that are relevant to me, that will suffice.’
‘Why now?’ Uncle Conrad asked. He sipped the coffee and frowned.
‘Why not?’ Jenny asked, giving him an innocent smile. ‘Really, I should have done this many years ago, but I’ve been too comfortable and lazy to bother myself. If I needed to untangle my finances from yours, I wouldn’t know where to begin.’
‘I don’t particularly see how or why you would untangle your finances from mine,’ Conrad said.
‘Oh dear, that is rather a problem, isn’t it?’ Jenny furrowed her brow. ‘What if I married and need it as a dowry, or my husband were to become my legal guardian instead?’
‘I find that very unlikely,’ Uncle Conrad said, rather cruelly in Jenny’s mind.
‘I suppose never having met a young man who could tempt me away has something to do with it,’ she said, feigning regret.
A few faces flickered across her memory. There had been potential suitors, not that she’d ever found any of them particularly appealing, but it struck her now that none of them had pursued her long enough to properly get to know them, and she wondered how much Conrad had had to do with that.
‘Well, if nothing else, I would like to see my father’s last will and testament,’ she said, clasping her hands together and steepling her fingers.
‘I don’t have it,’ Conrad said. ‘I don’t believe those documents need to be kept after probate.’
‘Yes, that’s not something I’m sure about either,’ Jenny said. ‘I shall have to seek advice.’
‘Why do you want to know? I told you that you received three hundred pounds, the capital to be invested by me and an annuity to be given to you.’
‘I would just like to see how my father worded it.’ Jenny felt excitement bubbling in her belly.
This dissembling of her uncle’s was not the action of a man who had nothing to hide.
‘If you can’t lay your hands on the exact document, then please furnish me with the name of my father’s solicitor and I will ask my agent to inquire on my behalf. ’
‘Your agent? When did you furnish yourself with an agent?’
Was it Jenny’s imagination or did Conrad look wary?
‘Since I turned thirty when I realised that I was forever going to be reliant on you. At that time, a friend happened to mention the amount of return that an investment would give me. Now, if you wish I can call my agent and he can talk to you, man to man. He is only waiting in the Bowness Bridge coffee house.’
Uncle Conrad glared at her. ‘I have given you a home and supported you since you were a child. I have educated you and given you a life of meaning.’
‘Yes, and I am, and will be, forever grateful for it. I do not wish to quarrel with you. You and I are the only relatives either of us has, after all. I would like to continue to be on good terms with you. But I need to understand this.’
She sat back and folded her arms, hoping that she had said everything she needed to.
Don’t be afraid of silence, she reminded herself as she looked around the office.
It was well-furnished with mahogany furniture and a thick rug that reached almost to the skirting boards.
There were financial ledgers arranged neatly on shelves, one for each year, going back for as long as Conrad had owned the business; the same period that Jenny had lived with him, or thereabouts.
At first there had been only one ledger for the original pharmacy, bound in red.
But after five years it was joined by green volumes for the second business, and in the past two years, by deep blue, for the most recent investment.
Her tactic appeared to be working, because after a few moments of excruciating silence, Uncle Conrad’s mouth twitched. ‘Very well, I will supply the documents. I cannot do it today, however.’
‘Tomorrow will be acceptable,’ Jenny said, suppressing her relief and glee. ‘Thank you, Uncle Conrad. Now would you like me to order you another pot of coffee before I leave?’
‘Coffee should mask the taste of ingratitude. That you should turn on me like this is bitter indeed.’
Jenny stood up. ‘Then I shall also send for some cream.’