The Gang of St Bride's, page 7
part #9 of Penny Green Series
“Why didn’t they just set him free again?” I asked.
“He believes the tribespeople may have considered holding him for ransom, but he worked quickly to establish a rapport with them. The leader was an abrupt man, by all accounts, but one of his sons – a lad of about thirteen – was quite intrigued by your father, watching him intently from a distance for several days. It was then that your father began to entertain the boy with some of his parlour tricks.”
Eliza gave a laugh. “I remember those!” she exclaimed. “Don’t you, Penelope?”
I felt my eyes grow damp. “Yes, I do.”
James handed me his handkerchief.
“A trick that enabled him to pass a pebble through a piece of wood proved particularly popular,” said Francis, “and before long the lad encouraged some of his friends to come and watch. Word soon spread that their European captive had magical powers.”
Eliza and I both laughed this time.
“Gosh!” she exclaimed. “Did the parlour tricks save his life?”
“Your father believes so. He was asked to perform for the senior members of the tribe, who were quite amused. From that point onwards a mutual trust began to develop. Perhaps the parlour tricks impressed the tribe a little too much, they began to believe the arrival of your father was a good omen so they kept him.”
“Like a pet lap dog?” asked James with a smile.
“I suppose so,” replied Francis. “He was kept shackled most of the time, then after a while he was allowed some freedom during the day but remained shackled at night.”
“Why didn’t he try to escape once they had taken the shackles off?” I asked.
“He told me there was always someone watching him.”
“Do you mean to say he’s been shackled by this tribe for the past ten years?” asked Eliza. “Surely there must have been plenty of opportunities to escape during that time.”
“No, this was right at the beginning,” said Francis. “I think his detention lasted only a month or so.”
“What has he been doing since then?” asked Eliza. “Why has he not returned home?”
Francis shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“Did he tell you, Francis?” I asked. “He must have explained why he has decided to stay there.”
“He did explain it.”
“What was the reason?”
Francis cleared his throat before replying. “I’m afraid to say that your father fell in love.”
Chapter 13
“With whom?” snapped Eliza. “A native?”
“Yes,” replied Francis quietly, unable to meet her eye. I felt sorry that delivering this news to us was making him so uncomfortable.
“How?” said Eliza. “How on earth could he fall in love with a native woman while he was shackled?”
“He didn’t relate it all to me in great detail, and I must say this is the part of our conversation I’ve been fearing the most since I discovered your father alive. I reminded myself that at the time of his capture he had been travelling through the jungle for approximately five months. And when one has spent that length of time in the jungle, one’s ordinary existence here in England would naturally seem very far away. So far away that it would feel like another lifetime altogether, I imagine. Those who become acclimatised to the jungle soon adapt themselves to life there. It’s quite different from anything we might experience here. In fact, it’s not dissimilar to a fantasy world one might read about in a tale such as Gulliver’s Travels. Although perturbing, and often dangerous, there is something incredibly intoxicating about the jungle. I suppose it’s rather like being at sea for a long time. It wouldn’t take long for a chap to forget about the former life he might have led back home—”
“But his family!” interrupted Eliza. “How could he forget about his family?”
“He never did. When I spoke of you and Penny, I could see that the topic caused him great anguish.”
“Why couldn’t he just return home with this… this woman he fell in love with?” Eliza asked.
“I don’t think anyone on these shores would have considered such a thing acceptable. But, as odd as it may sound, he told me he had always intended to return. Perhaps he considered the love he felt for this native lady to be nothing more than a fleeting fancy caused by the unusual circumstances of their meeting. My impression is that he didn’t only fall in love with this native woman, but also with the jungle.”
I sighed. “He must have always loved the place, and maybe that’s why he kept returning. It wasn’t just for the sake of the orchids. He probably preferred the jungle to his own home.”
“How utterly selfish!” fumed Eliza.
She slammed her cup and saucer down on the table, stood up and strode over to the window. Although I didn’t feel the same anger, I shared the sentiment behind it. A heavy sadness weighed down upon me.
“He has betrayed us and our mother!” continued Eliza. “His own wife! We’ve been waiting patiently for him to return all this time, and to think he even allowed us to imagine he was dead! He spared no thought at all for our feelings!”
“The jungle can do strange things to a man’s mind,” said Francis.
“That’s no excuse!” shouted Eliza, spinning around to face him. “Don’t try to defend his actions, Francis! He was used to travelling in the jungle; he’d been there many times before. To forget his family the way he has and offer us no reassurance whatsoever that he was alive is inexcusable!”
Silence followed.
I fidgeted with the cuff of my sleeve as I struggled to absorb what Francis had told us.
“I have no desire to defend your father,” he ventured, “I only wish to impress upon you the effects life in the jungle can have on a person. He had also suffered quite a serious accident, which may have altered his mind a little. Although I cannot agree with what he’s done, I can almost see how he made this enormous mistake—”
“Mistake?” snarled Eliza. “It’s more than just a mistake! He’s completely ruined our lives!”
“I wouldn’t say ruined, Eliza,” I interjected.
“We thought he was dead, Penelope! We mourned for him!”
“I agree that the word ‘mistake’ plays down the effects of his actions a little,” said Francis, “but it certainly wasn’t something he purposefully set out to do. It was initially his intention to return home then, after a while, it became his intention to send some sort of communication. However, the longer he stayed there, the greater his shame became.”
“Good!” responded Eliza.
“The enormity of his shame became something he simply couldn’t face. He wasn’t sure how to go about explaining to his daughters why he hadn’t returned home, or indeed how he had managed to fall in love with a native woman.”
“Coward!” my sister cried scornfully.
“Please don’t direct your anger at Francis, Ellie. He is merely the messenger,” I said, feeling sure that Francis would eventually grow impatient from having to bear the brunt of Eliza’s anger.
He gave an amused laugh. “It’s said that Tigranes the Great cut off the head of a messenger who had come to warn him the Romans were approaching. At least that fate hasn’t befallen me just yet.”
“I must apologise, Francis,” said Eliza. “I’m just struggling to control my anger! Ten years have passed, Penelope. Ten years! All that time and Father never once sent word to us that he was safe and well. He allowed us to mourn for him... to believe he was dead! If he doesn’t care about us, then I will no longer care for him. He is no father of mine!”
She marched back toward her chair and slumped into it before promptly bursting into tears. I walked over to her side and put my arm around her.
“Perhaps we’ve heard enough for now,” I said. “We knew there was a possibility that finding out what had happened to Father might lead to upset. If he wasn’t dead, we knew there had to be another explanation as to why he hadn’t sent us any form of communication. And now we have discovered it. It wasn’t easy to hear his story, but our questions have been answered. I’m sure Francis will be able to elaborate more over the coming days—”
“But why aren’t you angry, Penelope?” She glared up at me from her tear-streaked face.
“I feel a profound sense of disappointment instead, Ellie. Perhaps I had long prepared myself for this eventuality. Whatever Francis had found could never have been completely good news. I’m comforting myself with the thought that Father is alive and well, and that he hasn’t suffered a dreadful death. He’s simply chosen another life. It’s true that he thought only of himself, but that’s the choice he has made. There was nothing you or I could have done about that, nor does it reflect any shortcoming on our part. He simply decided to become a different person and forget about us. I cannot deny that it is an immensely hurtful situation, and one that has caused great pain to us both. And to Mother, too.”
“Oh, goodness!” Eliza let out a wail. “How on earth are we to tell Mother about this?”
“Let’s not worry about that for today,” I replied. “We have enough to be thinking about at present.”
“He has never forgotten about you,” said Francis. “I mentioned earlier that his manner became rather subdued when I told him I was acquainted with you both. He feels terrible about what he’s done; he can barely bring himself to think about it. I could see by the expression on his face that the thought caused him great pain. I suspect he has tried not to dwell on memories of the family he left behind. My arrival served as a stark reminder of his responsibilities, and he found it all rather difficult to cope with.” He put down his cup and saucer and rose to his feet. “I think it might be best if I take my leave of you all now. I’ve probably told you enough for one day.”
“Oh no, Francis, there’s really no need for you to go. I apologise for losing my temper,” said Eliza sorrowfully. “It won’t happen again, I can assure you.”
“You are perfectly within your rights to lose your temper,” replied Francis. “I’d have said much the same thing had my father behaved in such a manner. But I must insist on leaving now and allowing you all to get some rest. There is a great deal for you to consider and it’s important that you take a little time to accustom yourselves to the news. There is much more to tell, and I shall be happy to do so in due course, but that’s quite enough for today.”
“Thank you, Francis,” said James. “I think that sounds very sensible. We’re all deeply indebted to you for finding the answers to the questions Penny and Eliza have had for so long.”
I stood to my feet. “Let’s meet again soon, Francis, so you can tell us more. If you’re feeling brave enough, that is!”
“I promise not to shout again!” added Eliza, drying her eyes.
“I consider it my duty to tell you about everything I encountered during my travels,” said Francis. “I know it wasn’t easy to hear what I have said but, despite it all, I still feel pleased that we finally found him.”
Chapter 14
My colleagues in the newsroom listened quietly as I told them the news of my father.
“I’m sorry to hear that he’s chosen to remain where he is for the time being,” said Mr Sherman sombrely.
“It’s preferable to him being dead, I suppose,” said Edgar.
Mr Sherman glared at him. “I’m not sure that’s what Miss Green needs to hear at this very moment, Fish.”
“Oh! I am sorry, sir. My apologies, I—”
“Please don’t worry about apologising, Edgar,” I said. “You’re absolutely right. I’m relieved that he’s not dead, and glad to know why he has been missing for ten years, even though the reason was quite difficult to hear.”
Frederick remained uncharacteristically quiet, as if he felt fearful of saying something which might upset me. I had the distinct impression my colleagues were treading on eggshells around me, and it made me feel irritable.
“I’ve had long enough to think about all this,” I continued. “I managed to consider just about all the possibilities during the ten years he was missing.”
“Including the native woman?” ventured Edgar.
“The thought may have crossed my mind once or twice, but I refused to dwell on it. I had no wish to think ill of my father.”
“And yet you probably do now.”
“I won’t pass judgement until I’ve heard everything Francis Edwards has to say. He has plenty more to tell us.”
“He’d better get on with it,” said Edgar. “We all want to hear it! Why hasn’t he told you everything yet?”
“My sister has been rather upset by it all, as have I. It’s just that she becomes a little more visibly upset, if you understand what I mean.”
“I know exactly what you mean. Mrs Fish has similar tendencies.”
“Hysteria!” said Frederick with a shake of his head.
“Not exactly,” I retorted, “and Eliza is quite justified in being upset. I felt sorry for poor Mr Edwards who had to impart the shocking news to us.”
“The jungle will have made a man of him,” said Edgar. “Don’t worry about Mr Edwards, Miss Green, you already have enough to think about. When will you learn the rest of it?”
“My sister intends to host a special dinner for Mr Edwards.”
“We’ll need to publish an article about this,” said my editor. “Our readers will want to know why Mr Green has chosen to remain in Amazonia despite being discovered alive. We’ll need to interview the chap at Kew Gardens who Mr Green was collecting orchids for at the time of his disappearance. I can hardly expect you to cover this, Miss Green, when the whole thing is so close to your heart. Edgar, do you think you could make a go of it?”
“I’d be delighted to, sir.”
“And there’s that explorer fellow who tried to search for Mr Green years ago and failed,” added my editor.
“Mr Fox-Stirling,” I said.
“That’s the chap. It’ll be interesting to hear what he makes of this new development. Seek him out, Fish, and see what he has to say for himself.”
“You won’t have any difficulty getting information out of him,” I said disparagingly. “He certainly likes to talk.”
“I hope you don’t mind Edgar writing about your father, Miss Green,” said Mr Sherman. “I realise this is a difficult time for you, but it’s also a newsworthy story. The fact he has refused to return home is quite compelling.”
“Everyone will want to read about the European plant-hunter who turned native!” said Edgar.
I gave a sad nod. Although it was painful to hear, my profession had made me well aware of the inevitable public interest in such stories.
“In the meantime, perhaps you’d like to write something more on the subject of philanthropy for this week’s ladies’ column,” suggested my editor. “It’s a popular theme at the moment. I’d like five suggestions as to how a gentlewoman can do her bit for good causes. Oh, and we’ll need something on Easter bonnets, too.”
“What, in particular, regarding the Easter bonnets, sir?”
“The newest shapes and how they should be trimmed. No doubt there’ll be particular flowers or feathers that are popular this year. No lady should be without a fine bonnet this Eastertime!”
It had been apparent to me for some time that Mr Sherman had far more enthusiasm for the ladies’ column than I did.
It was a pleasant surprise to find James waiting for me when I left work that evening. The buildings of Fleet Street glowed a deep yellow in the setting sun.
“I thought I’d come and find out how you were after Francis’ visit yesterday,” he said.
“I didn’t sleep well.”
“That’s not terribly surprising. There was an awful lot to take in, wasn’t there?”
“I suppose some of what Francis had to say was expected. His news overlapped slightly with some of the thoughts I’d had myself. The confirmation can be disquieting, nonetheless. Ultimately, I feel relieved that Father is alive and living a life that makes him happy.”
“With all due respect to the fact that he’s your father, Penny, what he’s done is absolutely shameful! I’m not a father yet, but I cannot imagine how someone could abandon two daughters in such a way, and without a single word as to his welfare!”
“I suppose it all comes down to the shame he felt, as Francis suggested.”
“Well, it’s devastatingly selfish. How can one’s own sense of shame ever become more important than one’s family? I just cannot understand it. I feel worried about whatever it is Francis intends to impart next.”
“I should imagine he’s told us the worst of it now.”
“I’m not convinced he has, Penny. Do you remember his words? ‘There is much more to tell,’ he said. And judging by the expression on the poor chap’s face at the time, he’s not looking forward to it.”
Chapter 15
“Tell yer what, why don’tcha block the ’ole road while yer at it?” a cabman shouted at the driver of a cart laden with barrels.
“It ain’t me what’s blockin’ the road, it’s the coppers!” the cart driver shouted back as he tried to turn his horses and vehicle around at the junction of Wapping High Street and Church Street.
A slew of curse words followed as I hurried along in the direction of Thames Police Station. A sizeable crowd had gathered outside it, and a group of blue-uniformed constables was attempting to maintain order. They had clearly been drafted in to assist the river police, as I could see from their collar numbers that they were from Stepney’s K Division.
I had received another telegram from James, and the talk I heard on the street confirmed that another murdered woman had been pulled from the river. Word appeared to have spread quickly this time, with the death of Josephine Miller still fresh in people’s minds. An early morning mist hung over the rooftops and my stomach was clenched into a tight knot.
“Why does she get to go inside?” yelled a pressman as one of the constables permitted me to enter the police station.
