London - Edward Rutherfurd [272]
“Actually,” she said, “it is you I came to see.” And with a glance around she enquired: “Could we speak privately?”
Though she had seen Tiffany, Amy had never spoken to her before, and she observed the rich girl curiously. She admired the fine, silk clothes, so different from her own, noticed the dainty way that she sat down. It was strange to think that once her simple young Ducket had lived in the same house as this creature from another world. It was even more surprising when, with pain in her eyes, the girl said simply: “I need your help. You see,” she added frankly. “I’ve no one to turn to.”
Tiffany told her story as shortly as she could, while Amy listened. “So you see,” she concluded, “Ducket has made these charges against the man I am to marry. I find it hard to believe them. No one else does. Yet if any part of them is true . . .” She spread her hands. “In two weeks Silversleeves will be my husband.” She looked at Amy earnestly. “You have seen Ducket every day for years. You must know so much more about his life than I do. Have you any idea if all this could be true?”
Amy gazed back at her. How strange. If she had thought she had problems herself, it seemed to her now that the dilemma before this rich girl, who apparently had everything, was worse. “I’ll gladly tell you all I know,” she said.
Tiffany listened intently as Amy outlined the apprentice’s story. She explained how she had begged him to find Carpenter during the revolt and how he had saved the craftsman at the Savoy. “That was all true, then,” Tiffany interjected. “I was sure it was.” Then, sadly, Amy explained the strange circumstances of her father’s death and his message about Ducket. “So you see,” she continued, “he didn’t steal anything.” But it was another aspect that especially caught Tiffany’s attention.
“You say your father took money and lost it, but didn’t explain how. And Ducket knows, but won’t tell.”
“He promised Father he wouldn’t.”
“But he warned me Silversleeves was a necromancer who defrauded people. Then when your father died, he said he couldn’t prove it any more.”
The two girls looked at each other.
“Silversleeves,” they both said at once.
“That’s it then,” Tiffany said, “I’m not marrying him.”
“We’ve no proof,” Amy pointed out. “He’ll deny it.”
“Too bad,” Tiffany said. And then she smiled.
“You shouldn’t be smiling,” Amy said. “You’ve just lost your husband.” But with a strange sense of relief, Tiffany suddenly laughed. “Never mind,” she grinned. “I never really liked him.”
It was curious, Amy considered, how she should already feel a bond of friendship. She leaned forward conspiratorially. “I’ll tell you something,” she confided. “I’m planning to ditch my man Carpenter too, only nobody knows.”
“Really?” Tiffany liked the girl more and more. “Have you someone else in mind?” And now Amy smiled broadly.
“Why, Ducket, of course,” she said.
The sun was setting and the reddish glow along the river was touching the green glass in the window as Tiffany stood before her father that evening and told him what she wanted. At first he did not believe her.
“But the marriage is all arranged,” he said in bafflement. “You can’t back out now.”
“I must, Father,” she said.
“Why?” He suddenly turned on her suspiciously. “Have you been talking to Ducket? He’s been spreading rumours.”
“I know,” she answered calmly. “But that’s not the reason.” Strictly speaking it was true. Amazed by such words from the daughter on whose obliging nature he had always been able to count, Bull made an effort to be conciliatory. “Can you tell me what is the matter, then?” he gently asked. And she, thinking that he might understand, cried out. “I do not love him, Father.”
For a moment or two, Bull said nothing. He pursed his lips thoughtfully. Was this just a sudden panic