London - Edward Rutherfurd [551]
“We have received a reply to an enquiry we made to your bankers in Boston, sir.”
At this Dogget went pale. It seemed to St James that the American aged visibly before him. He crumpled. Then he replied gruffly: “I still have a house in Boston, Mr Ritz. The Savoy will be paid; you may just have to wait a little while. I’m due to leave in a day or two anyway.” He glanced at St James in some embarrassment. “Some bad investments I’m afraid, Lord St James. Seems my fortune’s gone. But, as I was saying, I still hope to do something for Nancy in due course. I’m not too old. I made a fortune once so I dare say I can do it again. Maybe you’ll come along for the ride,” he suggested, with a hint of family warmth.
But the Earl of St James, whether out of embarrassment or some other pressing reason, was excusing himself and beating a hasty retreat.
Mr Dogget was silent, shaking his head sadly for some moments after St James had left. Then he glanced up at César Ritz.
“Thank you, Mr Ritz.”
“Was that all right, sir?”
“Oh yes. I think we smoked him out.”
The letter was written in a beautiful hand – neat and scholarly but also very manly. Violet was in the room when Mary Anne opened it.
“It’s from Colonel Meredith!” she said, before she had time to think.
“Oh mama!” The girl gave her a knowing look that Mary Anne considered most unsuitable. “What does he say?”
“That he is to give a reading from his Persian poems in two weeks’ time, at Hatchards. Anyone may attend but he thought to let us know in case it would amuse us, as he puts it, to come.” And how cleverly done, she thought. An invitation to a rendezvous, yet perfectly innocent if it should happen to be seen by anyone else. It was not even necessary to respond. No commitment. She could go with Violet, or she could go alone. Or, of course, as she knew very well that she should, she could stay away and not go at all. Whatever she decided to do, she wished that she had not blurted it out to the girl.
“Will you go, mama?”
“I don’t think so,” said Mary Anne.
So many things had been happening lately, Esther Silversleeves could hardly remember when there had been more to think about.
Mr Gorham Dogget’s visit had certainly put things in such a whirl. Three days after Christmas, her son was summoned to the Savoy and given a great pile of legal documents to work on. As for Arnold, she had never seen him so busy. She hoped it was all right at his age, but he seemed very happy.
“These Americans have such bold dreams,” he told her. “I wish I could have worked for men like this one all my life.”
But the truly astounding thing was that the very next day, the Bostonian had asked her brother-in-law Penny if his son would like to accompany him and his family on their cruise.
“Just up sticks at the drop of a hat, take the boat from Southampton and be off for three months – down the Nile!” Harriet Penny had told her excitedly. “I do believe he means our son to keep his daughter company,” she added. “And he’s going!”
“Oh, my dear!” said Esther in awe. “We shall be getting quite above our station.”
Sadder, even a little worrying, was that just after the New Year the Cutty Sark had returned, beating all opposition easily while so far no word had come of the Charlotte Rose. “He’ll be all right,” her sister Charlotte had said of her husband when Esther had gone out to Camberwell to see her. “He always comes home.” But Esther could see that Charlotte was worried.
Least important, though strangest, had been the tiny incident that had taken place three days before. Though it fascinated him less than sewers and electric trains, Arnold Silversleeves had been delighted by the coming of the telephone in the last decade. In the capital, amongst the richer sort, the new invention had spread rapidly and Arnold had been eager to get one as soon as there was an exchange serving Hampstead. Many provincial cities could not be reached yet but, as he assured her, “it’s the thing of the future”.
But who, she wondered, could the strange female voice be who had called three days before:
“Mrs Silversleeves?