Richard and Judy Bookclub - 3 Bestsellers in 1: The American Boy, The Savage Garden, The Righteous Men. Andrew Taylor
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Charlie reddened. “Should I not have said? You do not mind, Edgar?”
“There is no secret.” Allan turned to me. “Yes, sir, my parents died when I was an infant. Mr and Mrs Allan took me into their home and have always treated me as a son.”
“I’m sure you repay their kindness,” I replied and gestured at random at the world beyond the window of the Frants’ carriage. “Is that a swallow or a house-martin?”
The distraction was clumsy but effective. We talked of other matters for the remainder of the journey. When we got to Russell-square, I went into the house with the boys to discover when Mrs Frant wished me to return for them. Loomis, the butler, desired me to step upstairs with the boys. He showed us into the drawing room. Mrs Frant was seated by one of the windows with a book in her hand. Charlie, no doubt aware of the presence of Allan and myself, was very cool and composed with her, submitting to her embrace rather than returning it. A moment later, she turned to me, her hand outstretched.
“I must thank you, sir,” she said. “I shudder to think what might have happened to Charlie had you not been at hand to help him.”
“You must not magnify the danger he was in, madam,” I said, thinking that her hand was soft and warm like a living bird.
“But a mother can never exaggerate the dangers that face her child, Mr Shield. And this is Edgar Allan?”
As she was shaking hands with him, Charlie piped up: “His grandpapa was a soldier, Mama, like mine. They might have fought each other. He was a general in the American Revolutionary army.”
Mrs Frant looked inquiringly at Edgar.
“Yes, ma’am. That is to say, he is widely known as General Poe among his friends and neighbours, but my foster father Mr Allan has informed me that he did not in fact hold that rank. I believe he was a major.”
“And his mama was a famous English actress,” Charlie went on, though I could see the conversation was causing Edgar some embarrassment.
“How charming,” Mrs Frant said. “You come from a talented family. What was her name?”
“Elizabeth Arnold, madam. Though English, she acted mainly in the United States. And it was there that she died.”
“You poor boy.” She turned the conversation: “Perhaps you should visit cook before you do anything else. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if she had baked something for you.”
The boys clattered out of the room, relieved to be away from the company of their elders. For the first time I was quite alone with Mrs Frant. Her dress rustled as she crossed the room from the window and sat down upon a Grecian sofa of carved mahogany. The air moved around me as she passed, and I smelt her perfume. I was seized by a crazy desire to kneel at her feet, throw my arms around her and bury my head in the sweet softness of her lap.
“Would you care for some tea, Mr Shield?” she asked.
“Thank you, madam, but no.” I had spoken abruptly, and I hastened to smooth the refusal with a lie. “I have several errands I must complete. When would you like me to return?”
“I have ordered the carriage for half-past six o’clock. If you wish to come earlier, perhaps at six, the boys will be having their supper and I’m sure you could join them.” There was a delicious touch of pink to her pale complexion, and she began to speak faster. “I would ask you to dine with us, but my husband prefers to sit down at a later time.”
I bowed my acknowledgement of her condescension and a moment later said goodbye. When the door of the drawing room was safely closed behind me, I dabbed my forehead and felt the sweat. I was terrified by the strength of my own desire.
I walked slowly down the stone steps to the hall. Loomis was waiting at the bottom. As I drew nearer, he gave a gentle cough.
“Mr Frant desired me to ask you to step in and see him on your way out, sir.”
I followed the servant to the book-room at the back of the hall. He knocked at the door, opened it and announced me. Mr Frant was seated at his bureau, as he had been on the other occasion I had visited him here. This time, however, my welcome was altogether more cordial. He looked up from a letter he was reading, and a smile spread across his pale features.
“Mr Shield – I am rejoiced to see you. Pray sit down. I will not delay you long.” He folded the letter and locked it away in a drawer. “My wife informs me that you rendered us a considerable service the other day.”
“It was nothing of consequence, sir,” I said, embarrassed that the Frants were making so much of the incident.
“Nevertheless, I am obliged to you. Tell me, would you describe to me exactly what occurred?”
I explained that an older boy had sent Frant and Allan upon an errand – I did not judge it prudent to enlarge upon its nature – and that the man had approached them on their way back. I added that I had been fortunate enough to witness the moment when the man accosted the boys.
“What exactly did he do, Mr Shield?”
“He took Charles by the arm.”
“Why would he do that if he were a beggar? Would he not ask for money instead?”
“I think it likely his wits were disordered, sir. He had been drinking. I cannot say whether he intended to offer violence or whether his design was simply to attract the boys’ attention and demand money. Young Allan tried to drag Charles away.”
“A brave lad. The man was carrying a stick, I understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And he offered you violence?”
“Yes, sir, but it didn’t signify – I had a stick myself and I fancy that even without it I would not have been in difficulties.”
“My son told his mama the man was somewhat larger than you.”
“True, sir, but on the other hand I am somewhat younger.”
Henry Frant turned aside to sharpen a pencil. “Would you indulge my curiosity a little further and describe him?”
“He was well above the middle height and had an ill-trimmed beard. He wore blue spectacles, and a blue coat with metal buttons and I think brown breeches. Oh, and a cocked hat and a wig.” I hesitated. “There’s one more thing, sir. I cannot be absolutely certain, but I believe I may have seen him before.”
“The devil you have. Where?”
“In Southampton-row. It was on the day I came to collect your son when he first went to school. I took Edgar Allan to his parents’ house on the way. The man was loitering, and asked me when I was leaving if that was Mr Allan’s, and then he hurried away.”
Frant tapped his teeth with the pencil. “If he were interested in Allan’s boy, then why should he attach himself to mine? It makes no sense.”
“No, sir. But the two boys are not unlike. And I noticed the man stooped to look at me.”
“So you formed the impression he might be short-sighted? Perhaps. I will be candid, Mr Shield. A man in my situation makes enemies. I am a banker, you understand, and bankers cannot please everybody all the time. There is also the point that a certain type of depraved mind might consider stealing the child of a wealthy man in order to extort money. This attack may be no more than a chance encounter, the casual work of a drunkard. Or it may be that the man was more interested in Mr Allan’s boy. But there remains the third possibility: that he nursed a design of some sort against my son, or even in the long run against myself.”
“To judge by what little I have seen of him, sir, I would doubt that he could put any design successfully into action, apart, perhaps, from that of raising a glass or a bottle up to his lips.”
Frant gave a bark of laughter. “I like a man who speaks plain, Mr Shield. May I ask you not to mention