Mrs Frant glanced at me, and saw the malacca cane in my hand. I looked at the boy, who was shaking like a shirt on a washing line.
“May I speak with you, sir?” she said. “A word in private?”
“I am afraid that at present I am not at leisure. Pray allow me to wait on you in the drawing room when Mr Shield and Charles have left us.”
“No,” Mrs Frant said so softly that I could hardly hear her. “I must ask you –”
There came another ring on the doorbell.
“Confound it,” Frant said. “Mr Shield, would you excuse us for a moment? Frederick will show you into the dining room. Close the door of this room, Loomis. Then see who that is. Neither Mrs Frant nor I are at home.”
I propped the cane against a bookcase and went into the hall. Mrs Kerridge moved towards the back of the house, shooing the maid before her. Loomis pulled open the front door. I glanced over his shoulder.
For an instant, I thought it was much later than it really was. Rain was now falling heavily over the square from a sky as black as coal. Through the doorway came the smell of freshly watered dust, and the hissing and pattering of the rain. The brief illusion of night was reinforced by an enormous umbrella stretching across the width of the doorway. Below it I glimpsed a small, grey man in a snuff-coloured coat.
“My name is Mr Noak,” announced the newcomer in a hard, nasal voice. “Pray inform Mr Frant that I am here.”
“Mr Frant is not at home, sir. If you would like to leave your –”
“Nonsense, man. They told me at his place of business he was here. He is expecting me.”
The little man stepped into the hall and Loomis gave ground before him. Beside me, Frederick drew a sharp intake of breath, presumably at this breach of decorum, this frontal assault on Mr Loomis’s authority. Noak was followed by another man, much taller and perhaps twice his weight, who backed into the hall, lowering, collapsing and shaking the umbrella. He turned round, holding out the dripping umbrella to Frederick. This fellow was a Negro, though not so dark as the pageboy and with a more European cast of features. He took off his hat, revealing close-cropped grey hair. His dark eyes examined the hallway, resting for a moment on me.
“Convey my card to Mr Frant,” Noak said, unbuttoning his coat and feeling in an inner pocket. “Stay a moment. I shall write a word on the back.”
The butler did not even try to dissuade him. The little man had a natural authority which any schoolmaster would have envied. He found a pencil in his waistcoat and scribbled briefly on the back of the card. The Negro waited, his hat in his hands. The umbrella dripped on the floor. Frederick craned his neck, trying to see what Noak was writing. I edged nearer Mrs Kerridge to get a better view of proceedings. She glanced up at me and rubbed the wart on the side of her chin.
Noak handed the card to Loomis. “I’m obliged to you.” He passed his hat to Frederick.
Loomis tapped on the book-room door and went inside. No one spoke in the hall. Noak turned his back towards Frederick and raised his arms, so the footman could help him out of his coat. The Negro was as still as a post, his eyes now fixed on a spot behind Mrs Kerridge’s head.
The book-room door reopened, and to my surprise Mr Frant himself emerged, his face illuminated with a smile of welcome. The Negro’s head swivelled towards Mr Frant, and the expression on his face had an element of calculation which reminded me of the way farmers at market look when assessing a calf or a mare. At the time it did not strike me as significant – but how could it have done? Only later did I realise what was really happening in the hall of the house in Russell-square.
“My dear sir,” Frant said, advancing towards Noak with his hand outstretched. “This is indeed an honour. And I had not expected you so soon, though I left word with my clerk in case we were fortunate. You travelled post from Liverpool, I collect?”
“Yes, sir. We arrived a little after noon.”
“But I forget my manners.” Frant released Noak’s hand and turned towards Mrs Frant, who was now standing in the doorway behind him. “My dear, allow me to present Mr Noak of Boston, in the United States. You have often heard me speak of him – he is acquainted with the Allans and many of our other American friends. And this, sir, is Mrs Frant.”
She coloured becomingly and curtsied. “How do you do, sir. You must be exhausted after your long journey.”
“And here is my son,” Frant continued before Noak could reply. “Come, Charles, make your bow to Mr Noak.”
You must allow the gentry this, if nothing else: they know how to close ranks in front of strangers. You would never have guessed from their behaviour that the Frants were not the happiest of families. Mrs Frant smoothed her son’s hair and smiled first at her guest and then at her husband. I fancied that the only symptom of her underlying agitation was her breathing: it seemed to me that her bosom rose and fell more rapidly than was natural.
“Charles is about to return to his school,” Mr Frant said. “Pray excuse him.”
Noak inclined his head. “I should not like to be the cause of interrupting a young man’s education.”
He glanced briefly and incuriously in my direction; Frant had not considered me worth introducing. Mrs Frant smiled dazzlingly at Mr Noak, took the boy by his shoulders and steered him towards Mrs Kerridge.
“Charlie and Mr Shield will leave now,” Mrs Frant murmured. “Make sure they take something to eat with them.” She added in a sudden rush, still in a whisper, “But they must leave at once, Kerridge, the hour is already late. We have detained Mr Shield from his duties for too long.”
Mrs Kerridge curtsied.
Mrs Frant turned to me. “I confide my son to your charge, sir. I regret we have inconvenienced you.”
I bowed, sensing that my own colour was rising. What you must realise is that she was beautiful, and her beauty had the power to invest the simplest words with charm. In her company I was like a man in the desert who stumbles on a pool of clear water fringed with palms. You will understand nothing of what follows unless you understand that.
“How did you come here?” she asked me.
“In a hired chaise, madam. It is outside.”
“Tell them to have it brought round to the area door. It – it will be quicker than using the hall door.”
Quicker, and more discreet. She hugged her son. Her husband and Mr Noak were chatting about the inconvenience of travelling post, at the mercy of other people’s worn-out horses. I stared at the angle between her neck and shoulder and wondered how soft the skin would be, and what it would smell of.
She pushed Charles gently away from her. “Go with Mr Shield, Charlie. And write to me often.”
“But Mama –”
“Go, dearest. Go quickly now.”
“This way, Master Charles.” Mrs Kerridge placed an arm over the boy’s thin shoulders and urged him away from the front of the hall. Looking back at me, she added, “If you would be so kind as to come this way, sir.”
She smiled at Mr Noak’s man, still standing, still watching with grave interest.
“I am Mrs Kerridge, sir.”
“Salutation Harmwell, ma’am. At your service.”
“Come and dry out in the servants’ hall. Perhaps we can offer you a little refreshment while you wait?”
He paused for a moment, as if contemplating the meaning of her question; then he bowed his