“We don’t know how to find who owns a company.” She set her cup down and stared at Vespasia. “But surely Mr. Carlisle will-or he will know someone else who does. If necessary we must hire someone.”
“I will speak to him,” Vespasia agreed. “I think he will see that the matter is of some urgency. He may be persuaded to set aside other tasks and pursue this.”
And so he did, and the following evening reported to them, again in Vespasia’s withdrawing room. He looked startled and a little confused when he was shown in by the footman. His usual wry humor was sharp in his eyes, but there was a smoothness in his face as if surprise had ironed out the customary lines deep around his mouth.
He gave the greetings of courtesy briefly and accepted Vespasia’s offer of a seat. They all stared at him, aware that he bore extraordinary news, but they could only guess at its nature.
Vespasia’s silver-gray eyes dared him to indulge in histrionics. Words of caution were superfluous.
“You may begin,” she informed him.
“The company which owns the buildings is in turn owned by another company.” He told the story without embroidery, just the bare details that were required in order for it to make sense, looking from one to another of them, including Gracie, so that she might feel equally involved. “I called upon certain people who owe me favors, or will wish for my goodwill in the future, and managed to learn the names of the holders of stock in this second company. There is only one of them still alive-in fact only one has been alive for several years. Even when the company was formed in 1873, from the remnants of another similar company, and that apparently in the same way from an even earlier one, even in 1873 the other holders of stock were either absent from the country indefinitely or of such age and state of health as to be incapable of active interest.”
Vespasia fixed him firmly with her level, penetrating gaze, but he had no guilt of unnecessary drama, and he continued in his own pace.
“This one person who was active and who signed all necessary documents I succeeded in visiting. She is an elderly lady, unmarried, and therefore always mistress of her own property, such as it is, and only acts as go- between, holding shares in name but hardly in any act. Her income is sufficient to keep her in some form of comfort, but certainly not luxury. It was obvious as soon as I was through the door that the bulk of the money, which will amount to several thousands each year, was going somewhere else.”
Jack shifted in his chair and Emily drew in her breath expectantly.
“I told her who I was.” Carlisle blushed faintly. “She was extremely impressed. The government, especially when expressed as Her Majesty’s instrument for ruling her people, and the church, are the two fixed and immutable forces for good in this lady’s world.”
Charlotte made a leap of imagination. “You are not saying that the person for whom she acts is a member of Parliament, are you?”
Vespasia stiffened.
Emily leaned forward, waiting.
Jack drew in his breath, and Charlotte had her hands clenched in her lap.
Carlisle smiled broadly, showing excellent teeth. “No, but you are almost right. He is-or was-a most distinguished member of the church-in fact, Bishop Augustus Worlingham!”
Emily gasped. Even Vespasia gave a little squeak of amazement.
“What?” Charlotte was incredulous, then she began to laugh a little hysterically, wild, absurd humor welling up inside her, black as the charred ruins of Shaw’s house. She could scarcely grasp the horror Clemency must have felt when she came this far. And surely she had? She had found this innocent, befuddled old lady who had funneled the slum rents, the waves of misery and sin, into her own family coffers to make the bishop’s house warm and rich, and to buy the roasts and wine she and her sister ate, to clothe them in silk and be waited upon by servants.
No wonder Clemency spent all her inheritance, hundreds of pounds at a time, uncounted, to right his wrongs.
Had Theophilus known? What about Angeline and Celeste? Did they know where the family money came from, even while they sought donations from the people of Highgate to build a stained-glass window to their bishop’s memory?
She imagined what Shaw would make of this when he knew. And surely one day he would? It would become public knowledge when Clemency’s murderer was tried-then she stopped. But if the owner were Bishop Worlingham-he was long dead, ten years ago-and Theophilus too. The income was Clemency’s-and for Prudence, Angeline and Celeste. Would they really murder their sister and niece to protect their family money? Surely Clemency would not have revealed the truth? Would she?
Or would she? Had they had a fearful quarrel and she had told them precisely the cost of their comfort, and that she meant to fight for a law to expose all such men as the bishop to the public obloquy and disgust they deserved?
Yes-it was not inconceivable Celeste at least might kill to prevent that. Her whole life had been used up caring for the bishop. She had denied herself husband and children in order to stay at his side and obey his every command, write out his letters and sermons, look up his references, play the piano for his relaxation, read aloud to him when his eyes were tired, always his gracious and unpaid servant. It was a total sacrifice of her own will, all her choices eaten up in his. She must justify it-he must remain worthy of such a gift, or her life became ridiculous, a thing thrown away for no cause.
Perhaps Pitt was right, and it was close to home, the heart as well as the act in Highgate all the time.
They were all watching her, seeing in her eyes her racing thoughts and in the shadows across her face the plunges from anger to pity to dawning realization.
“Bishop Augustus Worlingham,” Somerset Carlisle repeated, letting each syllable fall with full value. “The whole of Lisbon Street was owned, very tortuously and with extreme secrecy, by the ‘good’ bishop, and when he died, inherited by Theophilus, Celeste and Angeline. I presume he provided for his daughters so generously because they had spent their lives as his servants, and certainly they would have no other means of support and it would be beyond any expectation, reasonable or unreasonable, that they might marry at that point-or would wish to by then. I looked up his will, by the way. Two thirds went to Theophilus, the other third, plus the house, which is worth a great deal of course, to the sisters. That would be more than enough to keep them in better than comfort for the rest of their lives.”
“Then Theophilus must have had a fortune,” Emily said with surprise.
“He inherited one,” Carlisle agreed. “But he lived extremely well, according to what I heard; ate well, had one of the finest cellars in London, and collected paintings, some of which he donated to local museums and other institutions. All the same, he left a very handsome sum indeed to each of his daughters when he died unexpectedly.”
“So Clemency had a great deal of money,” Vespasia said, almost to herself. “Until she began to give it away. Do we know when that was?” She looked at Jack, then at Carlisle.
“The lawyer would not say when she was there,” Jack replied, his lips tightening at remembrance of his frustration and the lawyer’s bland, supercilious face.
“Her fight to get some alteration in the disclosure of ownership began about six months ago,” Carlisle said somberly. “And she made her first large donation to a charitable shelter for the poor at about the same time. I would hazard a guess that that is when she discovered her grandfather was the owner she had sought.”
“Poor Clemency.” Charlotte remembered the sad trail of sick women and children, gaunt and hopeless men which she herself had followed from Shaw’s patient list in Highgate, down through worse and worse houses and tenements till she at last found Bessie Jones huddled in one corner of an overcrowded and filthy room. Clemency had followed the same course, seen the same wretched faces, the illness and the resignation. And then she had started upwards towards the owners, as they had done.
“We must not let the fight die with her,” Jack said, sitting a little more upright in his chair.” Worlingham may be dead, but there are scores, perhaps hundreds of others. She knew that, and she would have given her life to exposing them-” He stopped. “And I still think she may have died because of it. We were warned specifically that there are powerful people who could make us, if we are discreet and withdraw, or break us if we persist. Obviously Worlingham himself did not kill her, but one of the other owners may well have. They have a great deal to lose-and I don’t imagine Clemency paid any heed to threats. There was too much passion in her, and revulsion for her own inheritance. Nothing but death would have stopped her.”
“What can we do?” Emily looked at Vespasia, then at Carlisle.
Carlisle’s face was very grave and he drew his brows down in thought.
