‘Of course she could not have known to whom they belonged.’
‘Believe me, she wouldn’t have cared. I dare say anything seemed better to her than the nun’s habit she had been obliged to use.’
He saw that Mrs Sindlesham, for all her vaunted freedom of speech, was honestly shocked by this revelation. Whether it was the nun’s habit or the harlot’s clothing that distressed her more, he could not begin to guess. She would stare if she knew the full sum of Melusine’s activities.
‘It was your son who left the place empty then?’ he asked.
‘What else was there to do? He paid off the servants and left old Pottiswick in charge, saying that the place would have to remain empty until the heir was found.’
‘What heir?’
‘Exactly. There was none. Only the next of kin. That would be myself, or if she lived, Mary’s daughter.’
‘Not, I trust, Nicholas Charvill?’
‘Hardly. That would be an unkind twist of fate.’
‘Grossly unfair, too.’
‘Have no fear. Since Mary predeceased Jarvis, Nicholas could scarcely argue himself to be my brother’s next of kin. But his daughter might well have a claim.’
‘Why did you not claim it yourself?’ asked Gerald.
‘I had no need of the place, and there was no money, of course.’
‘Ah.’ Gerald sighed. ‘I feared as much. Still, I suppose Melusine can always sell the house.’
A twinkle crept into Mrs Sindlesham’s eye. ‘That will be a matter for her future husband to decide.’
Gerald started. He had not considered this aspect of the business. Until this instant, he discovered, he had thought of Melusine’s plan only in a nebulous fashion, a naïve girl’s dream. But what if she were to marry? He glanced towards the elderly dame and found her watching him, the dimple very much in evidence. What was the old tabby at? Unaccountably embarrassed, he cleared his throat. There was more to be told, and this was as good a time as any.
‘Before she can think of marriage, Melusine must prove her identity. You see, the trouble is that the matter is in dispute.’
‘How can it be in dispute?’ frowned Mrs Sindlesham. ‘There is no question of a dispute.’
‘I am afraid that there is,’ Gerald told her evenly. ‘And it is not only a question of her identity, but a matter of her life as well.’
The full story—or as much as Gerald knew—of Valade’s machinations shocked the old lady so much that she was obliged to recruit her strength with a refill from the Madeira decanter. She listened with growing apprehension to the tale that Gerald told, omitting any mention of pistols and daggers, and at the end delivered herself of various expletives highly unsuited to a lady of her advanced years.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ agreed Gerald with a grin. ‘The so-called Valade is an evil person, and should certainly be got rid of in the manner you describe. However, he has already presented himself to the Charvills, and passed inspection. It is only a matter of time before he presents himself to whoever has the deeds to Remenham House—a lawyer I presume—and claims that property for his wife’s.’
‘I shall stop him,’ declared the old lady furiously.
‘But can you? You don’t know Melusine for Mary Remenham’s daughter, any more than I do.’
‘A pox on the creature,’ swore Mrs Sindlesham, clenching and unclenching her stiff fingers.
‘I trust you are cursing Valade, and not Melusine.’
‘Of course I am, imbecile,’ she snapped, unconsciously echoing her great-niece. ‘But you said she was looking for proof. What sort of proof? There are no papers at Remenham House.’
‘I don’t know,’ confessed Gerald. ‘She would not tell me. But it must have been something that could show her to be Mary’s daughter. Think, ma’am. What might it have been?’
Mrs Sindlesham shook her head helplessly. ‘I have no idea. Unless it was a jewel or locket of some kind.’
‘No, for that would have had to be in Melusine’s possession to start with.’
‘Very true.’
Gerald sat back in his chair, thinking hard. ‘I dare say the best plan will be for me to bring her to see you, after all. Hang it, there must be something about her that will give it away.’
Mrs Sindlesham abruptly sat up straighter in her chair. ‘You said she was beautiful. What does she look like?’
‘Black hair. Very dark, like yours, ma’am. But she does not resemble you in any other way. She has blue eyes, and her figure is more full.’
‘It could hardly be less so,’ said Mrs Sindlesham tartly. She pointed. ‘See that writing table? Go and look in the drawer there.’
Obediently, Gerald rose and walked to the other end of the parlour. He opened the drawer of the writing table. It was a mass of knick-knacks.
‘What am I looking for?’
‘A miniature. Rummage, my boy, do. You will not find it else.’
He did as she bid him, and was very soon rewarded by the discovery of an oval miniature, encased in gold. He stared at the woman depicted thereon for a long moment, awe in his head. Then he looked across at Mrs Sindlesham.
‘Well?’ she said. ‘Is there a resemblance?’
‘This is Mary Remenham?’
