CHAPTER 22
Michael, I learned, lived in a modest apartment on Albion Street. It was only a ten minute walk from the theatre, or rather a five minute trot. The same street as I lived on, really, although I hadn’t known it. Parker had known all along. He’d simply asked him when they first met.
Parker had barely given me a glance when I asked him for Michael’s address, much less been disapproving or asked why. He had, after our meeting, received a visit from one of the men from the insurer’s office, and had been drowning in paperwork ever since. Poor Parker.
I sent Michael a note requesting a meeting and asking if I would be received. He replied an hour or so later with five words. “If you think it wise.”
I went any way, and enjoyed the brief walk for all that I wished it would be longer. It seemed like a very long while since I had left the confines of the house for pleasure alone. Albion Street, being as it is slightly away from the main thoroughfare is, while scattered almost as liberally with mounds of steaming manure, much quieter than Briggate. A person can, for the most part walk unhindered by others, and the only issue I have faced there is people walking far too slowly.
It’s a strange thing to realise that someone you know lives, and has for some time lived on the same street as you. As I made my way briskly towards Michael’s house, I could not help but wonder if our paths had ever crossed before without our knowing, and if he had ever seen me passing by beneath his window before. Foolishness, really.
He greeted me in his shirtsleeves, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and great smudges of ink on the sides of his hands and the edges of his fingers. Seeing him in a new situation – out of the theatre, and in his natural habitat I was reminded of the first time I had seen him. Healthy, I had thought. He still looked it, in spite of all that had happened. Where I looked drawn and pale, and my hair hung limply, his skin was flushed with good health and the gentle curls of his hair were just as full of life as I had ever seen them. While it is always a pleasure to see an attractive gentleman, perhaps particularly one with whom I have recently had the pleasure of a satisfying intimate encounter, frankly I found his seeming invulnerability to being worn down by woe and the world to be more than a little irritating.
His apartments were quite large, and handsomely furnished. Although most pieces were simple designs built from walnut-coloured wood, and the walls were painted a mid-green colour, everything appeared to be of very good quality. Michael offered me tea, and I accepted gladly, taking his absence while he prepared it as an opportunity to shamelessly gape at his belongings.
There was one particularly nice painting hanging on the wall above the fireplace in the sitting room. Small and square, it showed a hand, just a hand, reaching across the picture for something unseen. The skin was dark - not so dark as Andrew’s, but a tone between ours. I went closer to examine the brush work. It was good - very good, and it came as no surprise to me to find Augustine’s signature in the bottom corner. It was dated 1814. This very year.
The tea service, when Michael brought it to me, was of a much finer porcelain than the old, chipped set I had served him from two months earlier. Much finer, I thought, than a journalist could have afforded. Particularly one who chose to focus on stories of personal tragedy rather than sensationalism. I tried not to glare as I sipped my tea - which of course, I imagined he had a large stock of. But it was unfair of me to judge him so harshly for living, as he must have been, propped by the generosity of his father. Not when Parker had cushioned our finances so generously.
‘What can I do for you?’ he asked, at length.
I returned my teacup to its perfectly matched saucer and placed it on the table beside me. I wished I had remembered to wear gloves. I felt out of place here, in what I have since learned to be low-level grandeur. I folded my hands neatly on my lap and straightened my back before I began.
‘It seems quite clear to me that my mother killed my father, and fled. It also seems very likely that she has taken at least one of his paintings with her. As this is also most likely linked to the murder of your father and the theft of his last work, I see no reason why you should not be included in our plans.’
‘Our plans?’ Michael asked, as he eyed me over his teacup.
‘Annie, Andrew and myself have decided that we will be looking into this, as it has become apparent that nobody in authority has any interest in the death of my father beyond the effect, if any, that it will have upon Parker’s insurance claim.’
My voice had become raised during that little speech, and I paused, taking a deep breath before I continued more calmly.
‘As such it has fallen to the three of us to see that things are set right. Given your knowledge of Augustine, and as he asked you to look into the Fitzroys yourself, it seems sensible that we work on this together.’
Michael placed his teacup on the table before leaning back in his chair.
‘I had presumed that was what we would do anyway. I’m not sure why you see the need to be so formal about it.’ He smiled. ‘We were formal for barely a minute after we met.’
I reached for my tea so I had a reason not to look him in the eye.
‘Regardless, I’m glad things have been properly agreed to.’
‘Is Jackie not involved in this?’ Michael asked. ‘I thought you all came as a set?’
‘Annie isn’t entirely comfortable with him at the moment,’ I said, happy to seize upon a topic that wasn’t related to sex with Michael. The truth was that I feared that in my current state I would latch onto Michael, and think it love. I didn’t want that. Not now, probably not ever. I felt a pang in my chest. Lord, I was so alone, and I always would be. That was for the best.
‘I see. I always thought there might have been something going on there.’
I shrugged.
‘It’s complicated. They make it so. But who am I to judge? We digress. Annie, Andrew and I have been discussing what best to do next.’
‘And what have you decided?’
‘That we must look into the Fitzroy family more closely.’
Michael nodded.
‘They are certainly linked to, if not wholly responsible for Augustine’s death, and as you say, your father’s must be related to it. I had been thinking much the same thing, but the issue is how. I am, after all, an employer of the family - you know the Fitzroy twins own The Advocate?’
‘Yes. It certainly would be difficult for you to get close to them.’
At once, he was alert.
‘For me, you say? And not you? What do you propose? You aren’t going to try and seduce one of them are you? I know that’s been your method of solving problems historically.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t refer to you as a problem, Michael. Merely an annoyance.’
He sat back with a wry smile.
‘As you wish it. So go on then, surprise me. What will your method be?’
I reached beneath the lapel of my jacket, and his eyes widened slightly. I couldn’t resist toying with him still, even though it wouldn’t do either of us any good. I rested my hand over my bosom for a moment, before retrieving the small, folded piece of newspaper from my inside pocket.
‘They’re going to hire me.’
I passed him the paper and he unfolded it quickly, ripping it slightly on one of the creases.
‘Governess?’
I nodded.
‘You won’t get it,’ he said, shortly. ‘And a good thing too. It’s far too dangerous.’
I rose with more hurry than grace.
‘You will allow us to work together so long as I do nothing, is that what you mean?’
Michael stood too, evening the odds.
‘Yes. No, I mean, going there, being their governess - living there and being entirely under their power? That’s ridiculous. That’s too much.’
‘The missing painting is most likely in there, Michael. Would you have us just leave it there?’
‘No, but why does it have to be you?’ He reached out to me then, skirting round the table to hold me by the elbows. He looked into my eyes and I could not tell if he was deliberately looking adorable, with a slight, sad smile and downcast eyes. ‘Can’t Annie go?’
‘No, she cannot. The Fitzroys - or at least most of them - they’ve seen her already. On stage, if you recall?’
‘There’ll be another way. We’ll get in there somewhere else.’
‘We won’t. And even if we could, do you think we would be there so quickly? Have such complete access?’
‘I’m not saying it isn’t a good idea, merely that I don’t want you doing it.’
I reached out and grasped him firmly by the chin, lifting his face so he was looking me squarely in the eye.
‘What you want for me at this juncture is irrelevant. I am applying for that position and I’m going to get it.’
‘With what qualifications?’
‘I’ll lie.’
‘You don’t know these people - you don’t know what they’re capable of.’
I drew myself up to my full height and shook his arms from mine.
‘And you don’t know what I’m capable of. They killed my father. Directly or indirectly. And they killed yours. Brendan Fitzroy ruined my parents’ marriage. As far as I’m concerned, he’s as guilty of Father’s death as she is. And I’m damned if I’m going to let him get away with it.’
Michael crumpled down onto his chair and screwed his eyes shut tightly as he rubbed his hand across his forehead.
‘Fine. I’m not happy with it, but if that’s what you want, I suppose I have no choice but to let you.’
‘You’ll allow me?’ I bobbed a sarcastic curtsey, not ready to give up on the quarrel just yet. ‘How terribly kind of you. But it may have escaped your notice that you aren’t my father. I don’t have to answer to you, or any other man.’
‘No, I know I’m not your father. Perhaps you’ve forgotten what happened in your bedroom, and in your office, but I bloody well haven’t.’ He stood and grabbed me by the hands. ‘Has it entirely escaped your notice that I have come to care for you? Does it not occur to you that I hate the thought of you being in that house, with those people, because I can’t bear the thought of losing you? Has that occurred to you at all?’
‘Let go of my hands, Michael. You feel guilty, that’s all. We both know it.’
He stared at me for a moment, and then dropped my hands.
‘Please, Evey. Please.’
‘I don’t want to talk about this.’
‘I didn’t like my father, but he was my only family. Now there’s nobody, except for you.’
I took a step back from him. My lips quivered and twitched as I had to force myself to ask my next question.
‘Are you saying you’re in love with me?’
He blinked several times and opened his mouth, but no sound came out. It took opening and closing it a few times for the words to work.
‘I - I’m not saying that - I don’t know, but-‘
‘But I shouldn’t go to work for the Fitzroys, and try to find out why our fathers were murdered? I should be your unpaid mistress instead? Or no, perhaps you would pay me from your undoubtedly large inheritance. Well thank you for the offer, but I respectfully decline.’
I snatched the newspaper clipping from the table, and hurriedly folded it, ripping it a little more in the process.
‘I was hoping you’d tell me what you know already, and what you know about the Fitzroys. I thought it would be safer if I had some idea of what to expect. Clearly you would rather I went in blind. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a role to prepare for.’
He let me go. I wasn’t sure if I was glad or not.