Far From Home Page 6

  A young mulatto girl opened the heavy wooden doors. She was bare-headed and barefoot and wore a red cotton skirt and white embroidered blouse. ‘Good day, Mr Newmarch, sir,’ she said in a sing-song voice. ‘Come right in. Señor Rodriguez is expecting you.’

  Edward followed her through the entrance hall and up a wide staircase with an elaborate scrolled-iron rail to a landing with double doors. She opened one of them and, holding out her hand, said, ‘Go right on in.’

  He walked into a large room painted white and gold and filled with heavy but elegant furniture, the chairs and sofas with carved scrolled frames and richly brocaded cushions. At the furthest end of the room, open glass doors led out onto a balcony where the muslin curtains he had seen from below billowed to and fro. From up here he could see the brown Mississippi and the crowded levee.

  Señor Rodriguez rose from a sofa to greet him with outstretched hand. He was tall and slimly built, sharp-featured with a long nose and thin cheeks and well-groomed silver hair. He wore a white linen suit with a narrow black silk cravat tied in a simple knot.

  ‘I am delighted to welcome you to New Orleans, Mr Newmarch.’ He glanced keenly at Edward. ‘I have had a meeting with Captain Voularis only this morning and he mentioned you.’ He spoke in a cultivated voice with just a trace of Spanish accent. ‘I understand you are looking for a new life in America?’

  ‘I want something different from what I had,’ Edward agreed. ‘I need to stretch my horizon.’

  ‘Quite so.’ Rodriguez smiled. ‘You are still a young man, and ambitious, yes?’

  At Edward’s nod Rodriguez softened his voice. ‘And I understand from Captain Voularis that you are recently widowed?’

  Edward cleared his throat and murmured that he was.

  ‘So no commitments? No children? You can do as you please? Good. Come,’ he said. ‘You must meet my wife Sofia and our family, and then we shall have luncheon.’

  He led the way to a door at the other side of the room which seemed to open by itself, until, glancing over his shoulder as he entered another room, Edward noticed the little mulatto girl standing behind it. She repositioned herself at the other side of the door and closed it behind them.

  Edward refrained from gasping as he saw the magnificent dining room. A long room, yet it was dominated by the highly polished table set in the centre with at least twenty chairs around it. There were heavy silver candelabra upon it and crystal bowls filled with exoic fruits, melon, oranges, bananas and pineapple. Edward cast his eye over the table setting and saw that six places were laid with gleaming silver cutlery and crisp white table napkins with pale pink blossom laid upon them.

  Another door opened and Edward caught a glimpse of the young girl again, but he took a deep breath as a woman came in. She was, he thought, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He guessed that she would be in her early thirties.

  She had thick black hair to her shoulders, swept back and secured with a flower and diamond pin. Her complexion was creamy and her large eyes were of the deepest brown, and when she smiled, as she did now to greet him, her mouth was soft and full.

  ‘I am honoured, señora.’ He gave a deep bow. ‘Thank you for inviting me to your lovely home.’

  ‘You are more than welcome, Meester Newmarch.’ Her voice was low and husky with an attractive accent. ‘You must feel a little lonely so far from your own country?’

  ‘Just a little,’ he agreed. ‘New Orleans is very different from where I come from.’

  ‘And you are a widower, yes?’ Her forehead creased in sympathy.

  I wish they wouldn’t go on about it, Edward thought. I wonder why Captain Voularis chose to tell them?

  ‘It ees not easy, I know,’ she said. ‘I too was widowed when I was very young.’ Then she flashed a brilliant smile at her husband, who was watching her. ‘But then I met my Sancho, so it was ordained!’

  The door opened once more and an elderly woman, dressed in a black gown with a black lace cap on her white hair, was ushered in by the girl, who held her by the elbow until she reached them. She leaned heavily on an ebony walking stick.

  ‘May I introduce you to my mother?’ Rodriguez said. ‘She does not speak English although she understands a little, in spite of her deafness.’

  Edward bowed again and Señora Rodriguez peered narrowly at him and then inclined her head in a little nod.

  ‘Now we just need our daughters and we may be seated.’ Sofia looked towards the door and, as if on cue, two young girls entered. ‘This is Sibella.’ A girl of about fourteen rushed towards him, dimpled a smile and curtsied. Like her mother she had a creamy skin, fine features and large dark eyes which shone with merriment. How lovely she is, Edward thought as he gave her a bow. She must already have many admirers.

  ‘And this is Elena, my eldest daughter.’ Sofia Rodriguez’ voice was bright and brittle. Edward turned to bow to the young woman who stood sullenly before him, and he wondered how it was possible for such a plain creature to be born into this handsome family. She was about seventeen years of age, tall and of heavy build with dark corkscrew-curly hair. Her skin, unlike her mother’s and sister’s, was swarthy with coarse broad features. The only likeness was in her eyes, which were dark like theirs with long sweeping lashes, and which viewed him with suspicion.

  She muttered something in Spanish as she curtsied to him and her father spoke sharply to her in the same language.

  ‘Shall we be seated?’ Señor Rodriguez snapped his fingers and a troop of servants appeared. Two of them positioned themselves behind the two ladies and one behind the señoritas and drew back their chairs so they might be seated. Another moved towards Edward to show him his place and one attended Rodriguez, who sat at the head of the table.

  Wine was poured into crystal glasses and the food was brought in. Edward, having eaten plainly for so many weeks, found his mouth watering as dish after dish was placed on the table. They were served with a dish of guacamole containing tomato, avocado and chilli, which made him draw in his breath with its fire. Bright red and green peppers decorated a dish of cold spit-roasted quail. Smoked fish, oysters, crayfish, boiled turkey, pastries filled with minced ham and hot black peppercorns were placed before him. Tortilla and rice with ham and olives were offered. A dish of figs and dates mixed with almonds and raisins, capers and spinach, was topped with slices of oranges and lemons and sprinkled with sugar and almond oil.

  For dessert he was offered honey corn cakes and a creamy chocolate blancmange flavoured with nutmeg, cinnamon, ginger and malmsey.

  His glass was constantly filled, first with a crisp white wine, next a delicate rosé. Then the glasses were changed and he was brought a deep red Portuguese wine, mellow to the tongue, followed by a sweet dessert wine spiced with coriander and cardamom.

  After they had finished, the ladies departed to another room and through the closed doors Edward heard the angry tones of Elena, who he had noticed ate greedily and quickly. Her mother answered sharply and then came the raised voice of the older señora, though he couldn’t understand what was being said.

  ‘You will take a glass of malmsey, Mr Newmarch?’ Rodriguez lifted a crystal decanter enquiringly. ‘We will drink a toast to your success in your new country!’

  Edward blinked and accepted, though he knew he had had more than enough. He lifted his glass. ‘Thank you,’ he murmured. ‘And may I wish you and your family good health and continuing prosperity.’

  What riches, he thought. What sumptuous surroundings! Everything he saw around him spoke of wealth and old money. If I could cultivate this man, would some of his aura rub off on me? Could I acquire such grandeur and splendour?

  Edward drained his glass, saw Rodriguez smiling to himself and realized that the Spaniard wanted something from him, equally as much as he wanted from the Spaniard.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘How do you do?’ Georgiana was standing on the stairs, so she had the advantage of being higher than the man who was posing as Edward Newmarch
. She recognized him instantly as Edward’s valet, for she had seen him many times when calling on her cousin May. His name? she thought. What is his name? She tried to think of Edward’s voice as he called to him, as he often did, to fetch him this or that.

  Allen! she remembered. That’s what it is. So what has happened to Edward? Is he dead and Allen posing as him and spending May’s money? Her lips tightened. I cannot condone this, even though I have no regard for Edward Newmarch! But then she saw Wilhelm Dreumel’s smiling honest face and wondered how she could tell him that the man he was trusting with his land and gold mine was an impostor. But she must.

  ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Gregory.’ Allen’s voice was nervous and his eyes had an appeal in them. ‘I believe we come from the same district?’

  Such nerve, she bristled. ‘I am related to the Newmarch family by marriage,’ she said coldly. ‘You must be from another branch of the family?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, my family came originally from the west of Yorkshire. They were – in the mining business.’

  Perhaps they were. She continued to watch him. But as coal workers, not as owners. ‘And so you decided to take a chance in America? Did you come alone?’ she asked pertinently.

  Could this be true? But why is Allen using Edward Newmarch’s name? I must find out before I challenge him.

  ‘No.’ He appeared to hesitate. ‘I came with a – friend, but we went our separate ways. He – we were staying in New Orleans, then he moved to California.’

  One of the staff came up to Wilhelm Dreumel. ‘Beg your pardon, Mr Dreumel, but your table is ready.’

  Wilhelm Dreumel turned to Georgiana and asked if she would care to join them for supper.

  ‘Thank you, no,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you and Mr Newmarch,’ she emphasized the name, ‘have much to discuss. Miss Kelly and I have a table in the corner.’ She indicated a table already set for two. ‘And we need to make plans.’

  ‘Of course.’ Dreumel bowed and Allen backed away, a grim expression on his face. ‘I trust that we will meet again soon.’

  He’s such a nice man, Georgiana mused, thinking of Wilhelm Dreumel. I can’t let him be taken in by that impostor. And what has happened to Edward? She thought of her cousin May, totally without means of her own and dependent on her father. I must write and tell her. If Edward is dead, for that blackguard could have disposed of him, then she might be able to get her dowry back. If there’s anything left of it.

  ‘Miss Gregory!’ Kitty whispered. Her blue eyes were wide as they sat down at the table and waited to be served. ‘That’s Robert Allen! Mr Newmarch’s valet! I met him once when I went with you to see Mrs Newmarch. He was cleaning his shoes! Mr Newmarch’s shoes, I mean!’

  ‘I know,’ Georgiana answered in a low voice. ‘And he knows that we know. But what to do? That’s the question.’

  Kitty’s eyes grew even wider and her red hair seemed to stand on end. ‘Suppose – do you suppose that he’s done something dreadful to Mr Newmarch?’

  ‘I do hope not,’ Georgiana said, then as their food was brought to the table, murmured, ‘Kitty, get on with your supper. We must act as if there is nothing untoward until I have had time to think.’ She began her soup. ‘I don’t think he’s wearing his own clothes: they don’t seem to fit well.’

  ‘He’s mebbe had to buy more,’ Kitty whispered hoarsely. ‘Mebbe the others got bloodstained and he had to get rid of them!’

  ‘Kitty!’ she admonished, though the same thought had crossed her own mind. ‘We must remain calm until we find out the truth.’

  The truth, or what was deemed to be the truth, came later that evening. They finished their supper, took a short walk into one of the nearby gardens and then returned to the Marius. Robert Allen was sitting by himself in the hotel lounge with a glass of ale on the table in front of him. He rose from his seat when he saw them enter, obviously intending to speak.

  ‘Go on up, Kitty. I mean to have a few words with Robert Allen,’ Georgiana said in a tight voice.

  ‘Are you sure, miss?’ Kitty was alarmed. ‘He might be dangerous.’

  ‘He’s hardly likely to attack me in full view of the hotel staff!’ Georgiana asserted. ‘Off you go. I shall be perfectly all right.’

  With several backward glances Kitty mounted the stairs and Georgiana moved towards Allen, whose expression was pinched and nervous.

  ‘So, Allen.’ She refused to afford him the dignity of a prefix to his name and saw him flinch. ‘You have assumed another name, and one which does not rightly belong to you!’

  ‘Miss Gregory! It is not what it might seem. Won’t you sit down and I will try to explain?’

  ‘It is not what it might seem!’ she said coldly. ‘What is not as it might seem? It appears to me that you are masquerading as someone else. That is perfectly obvious from where I am standing, no matter what it might seem to be!’ She didn’t sit down as he had requested but remained standing firmly in front of him. ‘What has happened to Mr Newmarch?’

  He pressed his lips together and shuffled his feet. ‘We parted company,’ he muttered. ‘He, erm – he became acquainted with a Spaniard in New Orleans. They had a disagreement over something and Mr Newmarch went into hiding. He didn’t come back, so I set off for New York. That was well over a year ago. I’ve not heard of him since.’

  She gave a thin smile. ‘So you’re using his name, wearing his clothes and spending his money?’ Or May’s money, she thought, for she still held that charge against Edward Newmarch, even though in the eyes of English law a wife’s possessions belonged to her husband.

  ‘Not his money,’ he insisted. ‘I haven’t used his money. I only drew what was due to me. His name, yes. I thought I would stand a better chance of success by using his name and background.’

  ‘And what if he should want to use his own name?’ She sank down into a chair. ‘Or is he not in a position to need it?’

  He didn’t seem to grasp the implication of her words for he replied, a trifle arrogantly, ‘This is a big country, Miss Gregory. There are many men with similar names.’

  ‘Who come from the north of England?’ she said derisively. ‘Come, come, Allen. You can surely do better than that!’

  ‘I never thought—’ he began.

  ‘You never thought that you would be found out! Well, I can tell you that you are found out and that I shall inform Mr Dreumel at the earliest opportunity! I shall also write to my cousin, Mrs Newmarch, to tell her that her husband has disappeared, and an impostor has taken on his identity.’

  She stared Allen in the face. His cheeks had become quite ashen. ‘If you have any decency left in you at all, will you tell me whether I can inform her if her husband is dead or alive?’

  He shrugged. ‘He was alive when I last saw him,’ he said. ‘I swear that he was.’

  ‘Is there proof of that apart from your word?’ she asked bitingly. ‘Is there anyone else who can verify it?’

  ‘No,’ he muttered. ‘He said he needed to hide away for a couple of weeks.’

  ‘Why didn’t you go with him if he was in trouble? Why did you come to New York?’

  ‘He told me to wait, that he would come back when things had died down. I don’t know what kind of trouble it was except that there was a woman involved. I was ill in New Orleans. The climate didn’t suit me at all. I had malaria. So – when he didn’t return, I decided to leave and come back to New York.’

  ‘Come back?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, we had a few hours here on first arriving in America. I liked the feel of it. On the journey back I met Dreumel.’

  ‘It still doesn’t account for your using Edward Newmarch’s name instead of your own!’

  ‘It doesn’t, does it?’ His face became devoid of expression. ‘But whatever I tell you, Miss Gregory, you’re not going to believe me.’ He lifted his chin and gazed back at her. ‘So believe whatever you want. But I’ll tell you this. Wilhelm Dreumel depends on me and if you tell him who I really am, he’ll pr
obably dismiss me and all the work we’ve done will come to nothing. He’ll lose money and so will his partner.’

  She was stunned. Whatever should she do? She rose to her feet and he did also, so that they stood facing each other. ‘I shall think about telling Mr Dreumel,’ she said at last, and saw a flicker of relief on his face. ‘Though I shall definitely write to my cousin,’ she added. ‘She must be informed.’

  ‘As you wish, Miss Gregory.’ He gave her a brief bow and left, speaking first to the desk clerk then striding swiftly upstairs.

  She followed more slowly and on entering her room found Kitty sitting by the fire, sewing a button onto one of her gloves. ‘Did you get any sense out of him, Miss Gregory? Did he tell you what’s happened to Mr Newmarch?’

  Georgiana sat down. ‘No, not really. Allen said he was alive when he left him. That was in New Orleans. Allen’s up to something, no doubt about that. But what?’

  ‘Poor Mrs Newmarch,’ Kitty said, biting off a piece of thread. ‘It’s bad enough her husband going off and leaving her, without somebody else spending his money.’

  ‘He said he hasn’t,’ Georgiana murmured. ‘But I’m not sure that I believe him. I must write to May immediately.’ Having made the decision she rose quickly, going across to the table which also served as a writing desk. ‘He said, Allen, I mean, that he last saw Edward in New Orleans over a year ago. So—’ She tapped her finger on her lip. ‘Good heavens,’ she said. ‘He could be anywhere.’

  Kitty looked up. ‘Why – you wasn’t thinking of going to look for him, Miss Gregory? Was you?’

  ‘Were you, Kitty,’ she answered vaguely. ‘Not wasn’t. No, I wasn’t. Edward Newmarch means nothing to me, though I’d like to track him down for May’s sake and give him a piece of my mind.’

  Kitty looked confused over the corrected grammar but simply asked if it was far to New Orleans, because if it wasn’t, perhaps they could go and see if he was still there.

  ‘It would take weeks, Kitty, and I’ve other more important things to think of.’