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“What can I—” she started.
“I know you loved her…” he began.
“I still do!” She would never have dared raise her voice to him before, but now nothing else mattered.
“I know,” he said quickly. “And Kate knew—knows it, too. I know how to raise the money, but I…I should ask your permission, even if it is actually Maurice who has the power. Celia…please?”
She did not hesitate. He was referring to Kate’s inheritance from her maternal grandmother, which she would come into when she was thirty-three, just over a year from now. If she died before that time, the money would go to Celia and her cousin Maurice Latham. He was a lawyer, and naturally the trustee. One did not give such responsibility to a woman.
“Of course,” she said instantly. “Will it be enough?”
He relaxed. His whole body eased as if the pain had left him. He smiled at her through sudden tears in his eyes. “Yes. Yes it will just do it, with what else I have. Thank you, Celia. I…I knew you would agree…but I still had to ask you.”
“And Maurice?” she pressed. She had little affection for him, although she had known him on and off for most of her life. He had always seemed condescending, as if he regarded her as something of a failure, having neither a useful occupation nor a husband and children to care for. And she owned that he was probably in some senses right. She had not these things. She was of a class too high to be a servant and not high enough to have inherited anything but the smallest means. Nor was she pretty, with that slight limp.
Exeter was slow to answer. “Oh, Maurice will be all right, I’m sure. I had to ask you first. Thank you, Celia. I know you love Kate, and would do anything…you’ll be on my side, if I have to argue with Maurice…won’t you?”
Was that why he had come to her first? Maurice was a pompous man at times, but he would never refuse to save Kate’s life! It was her money, after all…unless she died before she could inherit it. But that was a vile thought. Celia could feel her face heat up at even allowing it into her mind. “But it won’t be necessary,” she said.
“No,” Exeter agreed. “I didn’t mean to…Celia, I’m…”
“I know,” she said quickly. “We all are. There’s no need to explain yourself. None at all. Go and speak to Maurice, and get this done. Don’t waste time with explanations. Just get her back!”
“I will,” he said with a bleak smile. “Thank you.”
He had turned and found his own way to the front door, and she had heard it close behind him.
It was going to be all right! They were going to get Kate back. The nightmare would be over. Thank God.
* * *
—
HOOPER TURNED MONK’S REMARKS about the cousin, Celia Darwin, over and over in his mind, as he made his way upriver from Wapping to the pier just south of Chelsea Bridge, and then walked the mile or so to Ceylon Street. If Celia was out, he would have to wait for her return. Tomorrow would be too late to be of any use.
Hooper did not know women well. He had joined the Merchant Navy as a young man. His home was unsettled, his father rough-tongued, a man more used to expressing himself with his hands than with words. When his mother died, Hooper had been happy enough to escape.
He had come ashore after twenty years of sea and did not look back. Those times were better passed over. The Thames River Police seemed a natural place for him, and he was at ease with it, surprised to find himself good at the work. And he liked Monk. Of course, in many ways the commander was a difficult man, but he was honest, in his actions as well as his words, and Hooper was not afraid of him.
Hester Monk was the only woman Hooper was comfortable with, too plain in her speech for most men who liked a little coquetry in a woman. And Hester did not even know how to behave that way, much less wish to.
What would Celia Darwin be like? From what Exeter had told Monk, not much use, but he had to try.
It was a pleasant neighborhood. Not prosperous, as he had imagined Exeter’s to be on the north side of the river. Did Exeter have to pledge his house to raise the ransom?
He came to Ceylon Street and turned the corner. It was quiet in the clear, sharp winter sun. He stopped at number twenty-six and knocked on the door, then stood back so as not to crowd whoever opened it.
It was a very young girl, perhaps fourteen. She was dressed in a plain dark-brown dress and white apron. “Yes, sir?” Her eyes were wide with alarm at finding a large man she had never seen before on the doorstep.
“Good morning,” Hooper said quietly. “Is Miss Darwin at home?”
She clearly did not know how to answer, which meant that Celia Darwin was in, but very possibly not willing to see him.
“I am from the River Police,” he continued. “It is about her cousin, Mrs. Exeter. Miss Darwin may be able to help us.”
“I’ll ask if she’s…well enough…to see you,” the girl answered, then was clearly unsure whether to close the door on him or not.
He stepped back, to help her decision.
