Highgate Rise - Anne Perry [113]
“I will speak to him,” Vespasia agreed. “I think he will see that the matter is of some urgency. He may be persuaded to set aside other tasks and pursue this.”
And so he did, and the following evening reported to them, again in Vespasia’s withdrawing room. He looked startled and a little confused when he was shown in by the footman. His usual wry humor was sharp in his eyes, but there was a smoothness in his face as if surprise had ironed out the customary lines deep around his mouth.
He gave the greetings of courtesy briefly and accepted Vespasia’s offer of a seat. They all stared at him, aware that he bore extraordinary news, but they could only guess at its nature.
Vespasia’s silver-gray eyes dared him to indulge in histrionics. Words of caution were superfluous.
“You may begin,” she informed him.
“The company which owns the buildings is in turn owned by another company.” He told the story without embroidery, just the bare details that were required in order for it to make sense, looking from one to another of them, including Gracie, so that she might feel equally involved. “I called upon certain people who owe me favors, or will wish for my goodwill in the future, and managed to learn the names of the holders of stock in this second company. There is only one of them still alive—in fact only one has been alive for several years. Even when the company was formed in 1873, from the remnants of another similar company, and that apparently in the same way from an even earlier one, even in 1873 the other holders of stock were either absent from the country indefinitely or of such age and state of health as to be incapable of active interest.”
Vespasia fixed him firmly with her level, penetrating gaze, but he had no guilt of unnecessary drama, and he continued in his own pace.
“This one person who was active and who signed all necessary documents I succeeded in visiting. She is an elderly lady, unmarried, and therefore always mistress of her own property, such as it is, and only acts as go-between, holding shares in name but hardly in any act. Her income is sufficient to keep her in some form of comfort, but certainly not luxury. It was obvious as soon as I was through the door that the bulk of the money, which will amount to several thousands each year, was going somewhere else.”
Jack shifted in his chair and Emily drew in her breath expectantly.
“I told her who I was.” Carlisle blushed faintly. “She was extremely impressed. The government, especially when expressed as Her Majesty’s instrument for ruling her people, and the church, are the two fixed and immutable forces for good in this lady’s world.”
Charlotte made a leap of imagination. “You are not saying that the person for whom she acts is a member of Parliament, are you?”
Vespasia stiffened.
Emily leaned forward, waiting.
Jack drew in his breath, and Charlotte had her hands clenched in her lap.
Carlisle smiled broadly, showing excellent teeth. “No, but you are almost right. He is—or was—a most distinguished member of the church—in fact, Bishop Augustus Worlingham!”
Emily gasped. Even Vespasia gave a little squeak of amazement.
“What?” Charlotte was incredulous, then she began to laugh a little hysterically, wild, absurd humor welling up inside her, black as the charred ruins of Shaw’s house. She could scarcely grasp the horror Clemency must have felt when she came this far. And surely she had? She had found this innocent, befuddled old lady who had funneled the slum rents, the waves of misery and sin, into her own family coffers to make the bishop’s house warm and rich, and to buy the roasts and wine she and her sister ate, to clothe them in silk and be waited upon by servants.
No wonder Clemency spent all her inheritance, hundreds of pounds at a time, uncounted, to right his wrongs.
Had Theophilus known? What about Angeline and Celeste? Did they know where the family money came from, even while they sought donations from the people of Highgate to build a stained-glass window to their bishop’s memory?
She imagined what Shaw would make