‘I’ll deal with it, Lil. Don’t worry about me.’ Angel hurried to the ground floor where she found the undertaker. He clutched his top hat in his hands, but as he turned to greet her his conciliatory smile faded.
‘I’m sorry, miss, but I really need to see your mother. Will you tell her that Jeremiah Chancellor is here to await her convenience?’
‘Mrs Wilding is my aunt and she is resting at the moment, sir. She must not be disturbed but she will let you have her instructions as soon as possible.’
‘If you would be kind enough to tell her that I called, I’ll come again tomorrow.’
‘Just you wait a minute,’ Lil said brusquely. ‘You ain’t going and leaving the dead body here, are you? The master is stretched out on the dining-room table. It took me and Cook to heave him off the floor and he’s no lightweight.’
‘I have a coffin in the hearse, which is at your disposal,’ Mr Chancellor said stiffly. ‘But it’s customary for the loved ones to rest at home until the funeral.’
‘There is the morning parlour,’ Angel said hastily. ‘I’m sure that would be suitable, but you aren’t going to leave him here for long, are you?’
He looked over the top of Angel’s head, addressing himself to Lil. ‘There’s the question of the necessary arrangements to be made, and there are certain financial matters to discuss. I can only do that with the lady of the house or someone in authority.’
‘My aunt will see you when she is rested, but I’m sure she will agree to any suggestions you might care to make.’ Angel raised her voice, just a little, but even to her ears she sounded youthful and uncertain.
Mr Chancellor turned to Lil. ‘I can’t take instructions from a mere child. Tell your mistress that I’ll be pleased to call on her when she is feeling better.’
Angel could see that Lil was simmering with indignation and was flexing her hands as if at any moment she might seize Mr Chancellor by the collar and eject him from the house. Angel was well aware that Lil had once floored a would-be intruder with an upper cut that would not have disgraced Tom Cribb. It had been the talk of the servants’ hall for months after the event.
‘I can speak for my aunt, sir,’ Angel said firmly. ‘Please go ahead with the necessary arrangements, and if you would be kind enough to call tomorrow morning I am sure Mrs Wilding will be able to see you in person. You must understand that she is too upset to see anyone at the moment.’
Jeremiah Chancellor screwed up his face, as if calculating the risks of taking instructions from a minor, but after a quick glance at his surroundings and the obvious trappings of wealth, he managed a sickly smile. ‘Of course, miss. I’m sorry if I caused offence, but you must realise that in my line of business I have to be careful.’
‘I understand, sir.’ Angel inclined her head graciously, although secretly she would have been pleased to let Lil loose on him. She had a satisfying vision of the pompous gentleman flying down the front steps aided by a shove from Lil, but she managed to control a sudden desire to giggle. ‘Please see Mr Chancellor out, Lil.’
Angel waited until the door closed on him before making her way slowly up the stairs, but as she reached the first floor she could hear her aunt’s sobs through the closed bedroom door. If ever anyone was in need of loving care, it was Aunt Cordelia and, ignoring Lil’s advice, Angel entered the room. The curtains were closed and the four-poster bed loomed large in the shadows. Angel tiptoed over to stand at her aunt’s bedside.
‘Aunt Cordelia, it’s me, Angel.’ When there was no response, Angel lay down on the coverlet and cuddled up to her aunt. ‘Don’t cry. I’ll take care of you just as you took care of me when I was little.’ She rested her cheek against her aunt’s back, placing a protective arm around the slim body, racked with sobs. Angel’s tears, which had been so long in coming, fell unchecked.
Angel was considered to be too young to attend the funeral, despite her protests that she wanted to be there if only to support her aunt, but Cordelia was adamant. She had recovered enough from the shock of her husband’s sudden death to agree to Mr Chancellor’s arrangements for the interment. The day after Mr Chancellor’s visit Angel had accompanied her aunt to Jay’s Mourning Warehouse in Regent Street, where Cordelia was fitted out with her widow’s weeds. Angel was in the awkward stage where she was neither child nor adult, but she wanted to show her respect for her adoptive uncle and she chose a plain grey tussore gown, which she wore with black armbands, similar to those purchased for the servants.
At home the curtains were closed and black crepe ribbon tied to the door knocker indicated that the occupants were in deep mourning. The house in Spital Square had never been filled with music and laughter, but now it was a sad place and the only sounds that echoed throughout the building were the servants’ footsteps on the back stairs and the closing of a door or window.
Two days after the interment, Angel was on her way to her uncle’s study in search of something to read from his small collection of books, when the door flew open and a man hurried out, almost colliding with her.
‘I’m so sorry, my dear. I didn’t know you were there.’
Angel recognised the tall, thin gentleman whose balding head was compensated for by grey mutton-chop whiskers, a curly moustache and a goatee beard, which was a similar shade of ginger to his bushy eyebrows. Geoffrey Galloway was her aunt’s solicitor and when Angel was younger he used to bring her a poke of peppermint creams or a stick of barley sugar. He still treated her as if she were a charming five-year-old. Sometimes growing up was very hard, especially when people failed to see that she was on her way to adulthood.
‘I was going to borrow a book, sir.’ Angel kept her tone neutral and she met his amused gaze with a stony stare.
‘Admirable, young lady. Admirable.’ He smiled vaguely and crossed the hall to where Gilly waited, holding his hat and cane. ‘Good day.’
A warm draught laced with the smell of horse dung and fumes from the gasworks wafted in from the street, and Gilly closed the door after him. She shot a sideways glance at Angel, her mean little face contorted with spite. ‘You won’t be looking down your nose at us servants for much longer, so Cook says.’
Angel paused in the doorway. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Just you wait and see. Cook knows a thing or two.’ Gilly scurried off in the direction of the back stairs, leaving Angel staring after her.
‘Darling, is that you?’ Cordelia’s voice from the depths of the study brought Angel back to reality and she hurried into the room.
‘Are you all right, Aunt Cordelia? What did Mr Galloway want?’
Slumped in her late husband’s leather chair, Cordelia made an effort to smile, but her heart-shaped face was deathly pale and her eyes red-rimmed. ‘We’re ruined, Angel. There’s no easy way to put this, but your uncle’s business venture failed miserably. The brewery has had to close and we’ve lost everything.’
Angel sank down on the chair recently vacated by Mr Galloway – the seat was still warm. ‘I don’t understand. How could that happen?’
‘I don’t pretend to understand business matters, dear. All I know is what Geoffrey just told me. Apparently Joseph played the tables to try to recoup his losses when the business was failing and his last gamble didn’t pay off. Everything has gone, and he mortgaged the house without my knowledge. I’m virtually penniless.’ She buried her head in her hands and her shoulders heaved. ‘We’ll be living on the streets.’
‘No, that can’t be true,’ Angel said stoutly, but then Gilly’s spiteful words came back to her. How the servants could have found out was a puzzle, but then they always seemed to know things before she did. ‘There must be something we could sell to raise money. Perhaps we could find a smaller house to rent.’
‘You don’t