Imperfect Pretence Read online

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapters

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  For Paul and Susie whom I love to bits,

  And for my dear friend Ruth – you’re for keeps!

  Chapter One

  ‘Damn! I always try to forget about that.’ Max Persault drew his heavy black brows together, and surveyed the scene which now confronted him as he stood on the deck of the Lady Marion. The Pool of London, which they had just entered, was so crammed with vessels, that in places it was possible to cross the Thames by clambering from ship to ship.

  Truth to tell, he was irritated rather than surprised. For the past eleven miles, they had been aware that the wharves on either side were filled with all kinds of craft, being loaded, unloaded, or simply lying at rest. They had observed other ships leaving, no doubt with their holds full of every kind of cargo, their destinations as far flung as China or the Americas. Nor was the Lady Marion the only vessel making its way upstream. They had overtaken more than one other, although thanks to the efficient design and good condition of their own ship, they had not been overtaken themselves. Even so, no amount of speed and efficiency could alter the fact that they were now in for a considerable wait.

  ‘Don’t we all?’ answered the weather-beaten wiry man who was steering the ship skilfully through the crowded waters, in order to find a place where they might drop anchor. ‘’T’ain’t the busiest port in the world for nothing, Cap’n Max.’

  ‘I suppose we should think ourselves lucky that we’ve nothing on board that will spoil,’ Max answered. ‘Some of these poor devils must be sweating blood at the thought of their ruined cargo.’

  ‘And no place to land it, ’cept over there,’ agreed the other, indicating the dock which lay along Billingsgate on the south side of the City of London. This area, called ‘Legal Quays’, was where imported cargo had to be inspected by Customs.

  ‘It’s enough to turn a man into a free trader,’ Max replied with feeling. ‘D’you know, Abe, I’m more than half convinced that men take to smuggling just to avoid the tedious wait involved in standing by.’

  The other man chuckled. ‘You could have a point,’ he agreed. ‘What say we crack open a bottle of that fine wine you’ve got down below?’

  Max chuckled. This was an old joke of which Abe Collings never tired. ‘What say we leave my cargo where it is, and go ashore for a pint of ale when the ship’s safely stowed?’ he replied.

  ‘Right you are, Cap’n Max.’

  Abe Collings was the Master of the Lady Marion, whilst Max Persault was the owner, both of the ship and of the cargo she carried. Max owned two ships, this one and another, the Lady Ruth, which was presently at Southampton.

  The sea was in his blood. His father had been a lieutenant in the Royal Navy when he had met the Honourable Marion Barry, younger daughter of the Earl of Cristow. His Lordship had not been enamoured of his daughter marrying such an insignificant person, but Marion had been determined. Fortune had also favoured the young couple, since Marion’s older sister, Eleanor, had secured an alliance with the eldest son of the Duke of Haslingfield some ten years before. The earl was therefore prepared to be more lenient with regard to his younger daughter. His leniency was rewarded when young John Persault gained, in quick succession, his captaincy and a substantial amount of prize money.

  The couple were blessed with just two children, Max and his younger sister, Ruth. Mrs Persault was always uneasy when her husband went to sea, and never really happy until his safe return. After he had left the service she had breathed a huge sigh of relief. Ironic, then, that he should have lost his life whilst out with his family on a simple river-boating trip. He had seen a child from another party fall into the water, and had dived in to rescue him. Perhaps there had been an undercurrent, or hidden weeds on the river-bed. Whatever the reason, he had failed to return to the surface.

  He had left his grieving wife and family comfortably provided for. There had been no material need to move from the house overlooking Porlock Bay which Captain Persault had bought following his departure from the navy. After her husband’s death, however, Mrs Persault declared that she would never willingly look on the sea again, and moved with her family to stay with her father on his estate – mercifully landlocked – and comfort his declining years.

  Max was only ten when his father died, and his sister Ruth five years younger. Although they had both grieved sincerely and deeply, the kindly if distant guardianship of their grandfather and the novelty of a new home had done much to divert their minds. Together, they had explored delightedly, relishing the chance to indulge in the kind of country pastimes which had not really been their lot in Devon, where the family garden had been so much smaller.

  Max had inherited his father’s fascination with water, and was delighted to find that one of the benefits of their new home was a trout stream, where a venerable countryman taught them to fish. There was also an ornamental lake where Max ventured to take his sister for rides in a boat, carefully avoiding his mother’s eye.

  Unfortunately, on one occasion, Ruth had become so excited that she had fallen out of the boat just at the edge, and Max himself had got soaking wet pulling her to the shore. Neither of them had come to harm, and all might have been well had they succeeded in getting back to the nursery without their mother finding out. As luck would have it, she had been walking along the corridor when they had made their entrance, dripping over the carpet and grinning sheepishly.

  The consequence had been a hysterical outburst, followed by their both being confined to the nursery for the next day on bread and water. Max was kept there for a further day because he was older and should have behaved more responsibly. After that, he had refrained from taking a boat out on the lake.

  At Eton, he had made friends with a boy whose parents lived near Southampton. Making sure that his mother never knew how close to the coast the Pilkingtons actually lived, he took advantage of Mr Pilkington’s kindness by going sailing with him on his yacht whenever possible.

  After leaving school, he had assisted his grandfather in managing his estate, but this situation could not last. Upon the earl’s death, the estate, which had been tied so fast in an entail that the earl could not break it, went to the Crown. Nevertheless, Max found himself the earl’s heir with regard to any unentailed wealth, with a comfortable if not lavish sum at his disposal.

  His mother had wanted to remain in the same area, so he had bought a neat property for her in Leicestershire, not so near to her father’s former estate in Warwickshire that she would be reminded of it every time she walked out of the door. Once he had settled some money on his mother and put aside a dowry for his sister, he looked about him for ways in which to make the modest sum which remained work for him.

  Had it not been for his mother’s anxiety, he would have gone to sea. Respecting her fears, however, he had resisted the lure of the ocean and, although he had invested in a ship of his own, he had set about finding a reliable man to take the helm whilst, for his own part, he had made it his business to study imports and exports.

  Abe Collings had sailed with his father, and finding by chance that the man was looking for work
, Max had immediately taken him on as the master of the Lady Marion. He had never had cause to regret his decision.

  His life had undergone another change when his mother, at the age of thirty-nine, had married Sir Stafford Prince, a neighbour the same age as herself. To everyone’s surprise, not least that of the new Lady Prince, she had almost immediately fallen pregnant, and a little over nine months after the wedding, had presented her delighted husband with twin sons.

  This occurrence had had the welcome effect of making Her Ladyship much more placid and contented. Whilst her affection for her firstborn remained undiminished, her instinct to protect him became less significant when set against the dependency of the new, tiny lives in her keeping. When Max had ventured to suggest that he might go to sea with his vessel, therefore, she had greeted the announcement with only moderate alarm. ‘Dearest,’ she had said anxiously. ‘You will take the greatest care, will you not?’

  ‘Of course he will, my love,’ Sir Stafford had said reassuringly. ‘He is a grown man! Remember also that he will be with Collings! You know there is no man so reliable.’

  ‘Yes indeed, but—’

  ‘But nothing,’ the baronet had interrupted in a firm, albeit kindly tone. He had smiled at his stepson, his blue eyes twinkling in his good-humoured face, before turning to his wife. ‘Say “God speed, son, and don’t forget to bring Mama a present.”’

  Lady Prince had smilingly complied, and Max had left, a prey to conflicting emotions. A tiny, unworthy and somewhat irrational part of him had resented the fact that he was no longer the only male who occupied a place in his mother’s heart. The greater – and by far the more sensible – part had been delighted that she had found real contentment and peace of mind with a man who clearly adored her.

  This had been made plain on his last whole day with the family when they had taken a picnic in the grounds of Sir Stafford’s fine mansion, and the baronet had sat next to his wife whilst Max had rowed Ruth out onto the lake. There had been a tiny frown on Lady Prince’s face as the boat had left the shore. Thankfully, at that moment the nursemaid had approached with two other servants, and Masters Richard and Benjamin Prince, and Her Ladyship’s attention had been diverted.

  ‘Do you feel supplanted, brother mine?’ Ruth had asked him. She had inherited her mother’s slender figure, fair complexion and strawberry-blonde hair. Just now, if the portraits were anything to go by, she was the image of her grandmother, Lord Cristow’s wife who had died thirty years before.

  Max had laughed, working the oars with ease. Only the camaraderie between them would have marked them out as brother and sister, for in looks they were nothing alike. If Ruth took after their mother, Max was like his father, not over-tall, with a square, powerful physique, thick, coarse black hair, and a swarthy complexion. ‘Not a bit of it,’ he had answered cheerfully. ‘I’m eternally grateful to those two little fellows, for they have given me my freedom.’

  ‘You will come back, won’t you?’ Ruth had said anxiously. ‘I love the boys dearly; they are the sweetest little fellows! But you are my only full brother.’

  ‘You won’t get rid of me so easily,’ Max had promised her.

  It was of his womenfolk that Max was thinking as he looked across at the crowded quay. The ship had moored briefly further down the Thames, and Max had despatched a number of letters, among them communications to his man of business, and to his mother and sister. How delighted his family would be to hear from him! He was never able to give them more than very vague news with regard to his arrival until he returned to England. This particular venture had taken him away from them for nearly two years. Ruth would be twenty, and the twins two years old. How impatient he was to see them all.

  Although he could certainly disembark now, leaving the tedious part of the business to Abe, it hardly seemed fair. He said so, when Abe suggested that he should do that very thing.

  ‘You get along, Cap’n Max,’ Abe assured him. ‘Send that young fellow-me-lad of Boughton’s along. He’ll deal with all of this for you.’ Boughton was Max’s man of business.

  Collings was still speaking when the sound of lively banter heralded the fact that a landlubber was coming aboard. In clerk’s attire, with neat white wig, leather case and spectacles complete, he appeared utterly out of place as he looked about him, a harassed expression on his face.

  ‘James Smithers! This is fortuitous indeed!’ Max exclaimed, stepping forward, his hand held out; for this was the ‘fellow-me-lad’ to whom Abe had been referring.

  The harassed expression disappeared, replaced by one of relief. ‘Mr Persault!’ declared the clerk, his slim white hand disappearing in the grip of Max’s large, tanned one. ‘It is good to see you safely returned. Welcome back, sir. Welcome!’

  ‘I take it by your appearance that my letters have arrived.’

  ‘They have indeed,’ the clerk agreed, nodding. He indicated his leather case. ‘I have papers here which should lessen, if not eliminate, the delay here, and I have instructions to remain on board ship. Mr Boughton would be glad of a brief word with you before you leave London.’

  Max nodded. ‘I’ll look in on him then see about acquiring some new clothes before going to Warwickshire,’ he said, adding ruefully, ‘My mother will never forgive me if I appear before her dressed like this.’

  Smithers, glancing at the loose-fitting trousers, well-worn leather shoes, homespun shirt, neckerchief and short jacket that was Max’s usual attire on board ship, permitted himself a small smile. ‘I should think that very probable, sir,’ he replied.

  ‘So, young sir, we’re to have the pleasure of your company,’ said Abe Collings, as he slapped Smithers on the back. ‘Maybe it’ll give you a taste for the sea.’

  ‘I doubt it, Mr Collings,’ answered Smithers, wincing a little at the vigour of the sailor’s greeting, but standing his ground. ‘However’ – and he turned to indicate two sturdy-looking young men who had just appeared on deck, having managed to negotiate the difficult journey from the bank with a large hamper – ‘I have here a taste of dry land that I think you’ll relish.’

  ‘You’re a gentleman and no mistake,’ Abe declared, rubbing his hands and preparing to investigate the contents.

  Max smiled as he descended the companionway. His preference was to travel light, so within a very short time, therefore, he was back on deck with a few necessary items inside a drawstring canvas bag. ‘My thanks for an excellent voyage,’ he said, extending his hand to Abe.

  ‘A pleasure, Cap’n Max,’ the ship’s master replied, gripping the other man’s hand firmly. ‘I look forward to the next time.’

  ‘There’s a carriage waiting,’ said Smithers. ‘Jenks and Hargreaves will take you to it.’

  Max raised his brows. ‘A carriage? From Billingsgate to Lombard Street? I may have been at sea but I haven’t lost the use of my legs.’ He turned to Jenks and Hargreaves. ‘Your pardon, my dear fellows; I really don’t need nursemaiding, you know.’ With a nod in their direction, he threw his bag over his back, and swung easily over the side to the next ship.

  ‘Mr Persault, sir!’ exclaimed Smithers anxiously, taking a few hurried steps in his direction. ‘You don’t understand; Mr Boughton is not—’

  ‘Goodbye, Smithers,’ laughed Max, sketching a careless salute. ‘I’ll tell Boughton it was all my fault!’

  ‘—in Lombard Street,’ Smithers called to the empty air. He turned to Jenks and Hargreaves. ‘Catch him up; make sure he goes to the right place, by any means necessary.’

  Max heard the commotion and shouting behind him as he continued on his way, moving easily from ship to ship, relishing the physical movement that the activity entailed.

  When he had first gone to sea in one of his own ships, he had been well aware that although he had learned much from Mr Pilkington, he was woefully ignorant about the workings of larger vessels. He had therefore instructed Abe Collings to give him the opportunity to perform every kind of task on board. As a consequence, he fully underst
ood what his ships and his men were capable of; and all who served him held him in high regard. Over the course of that first voyage, he had kept watch in the crow’s nest – the first time very fearfully, then later with increasing confidence. He had helped to haul in the sails, and had joined in manning the pumps; he knew how to repair, replace and splice ropes; he had played his part in loading and unloading cargo; he had also taken his turn at the wheel. There had been more than one occasion when, side by side with the rest of the crew, he had fought off a band of pirates. The notion, therefore, of being escorted to a carriage which would carry him the length of perhaps three streets seemed positively absurd.

  Once on dry land, he looked about him, absorbing the sights and sounds of this part of London. In truth, time might easily have stood still since he had last been here. Although his voyage had taken him two years, it was longer than that since he had last disembarked at Legal Quay. Before setting off on this last excursion, he had spent a few days with an acquaintance who lived in Kent, and the Lady Marion had picked him up at Gravesend. Yet as he observed the comings and goings, nothing appeared to have changed substantially. The merchants, the scattering of fashionably dressed folk, the Customs officials, the working men, as well as the inevitable less savoury-looking individuals might well have been the very same. So, too, might the goods piled here and there, all impeding the progress of anyone who might want to make his way from A to B. He grinned wryly. Even had he had any intention of finding Boughton’s carriage, the task would be well-nigh impossible amid such hubbub.

  ‘Mr Persault, sir?’ Max swore under his breath. His self-indulgent hesitation, brief though it had been, had sufficed for Jenks and Hargreaves to catch up with him.

  He turned towards them. ‘Well?’ he said. He had never expected the two men to pursue him, judging that the sending of the carriage had been nothing more than a rather fussy courtesy.

  ‘The carriage, sir, by your leave,’ said one of them.

  ‘Look—’ Max paused. ‘Are you Jenks or Hargreaves?’

  ‘Jenks, sir.’