Free The Ladder Dancer by Roz Southey Page A

son. ‘And later I must go to Jenison’s meeting with Nightingale. What are your plans for the day?’
    I saw her withdraw at once. She put down her coffee dish. She said reluctantly, ‘I have arranged to see lawyer Armstrong, about the dispute with the tenants in Norfolk.’
    The eggs no longer seemed quite so appetizing; I forced myself to finish them. ‘Then you’ll have papers for me to sign tonight?’
    ‘No doubt,’ she agreed formally.
    I could think of nothing else to say.
    ‘Well,’ she said, rising. ‘I had better go, or I will be late. Pray give Mr Heron my compliments.’
    ‘Of course.’
    She hesitated, then nodded and composedly left the room.
    Leaving me cursing. Myself, rather than her. Why the devil could I not simply give in gracefully and take the winning hand fate and my marriage had dealt me?
    I would deal with it. I must. For Esther’s sake if not my own.
    After I’d sorted out this matter of the dead child.

Twelve
    Entertainments of a suitable kind always ornament a town; gentlemen should be at the forefront of providing elegant and civilized amusements.
    [ A Gentleman’s Companion , November 1735]
    The lesson with Heron did not go particularly well. I was distracted by the argument with Esther, wishing it had never happened, wishing I could persuade myself to enjoy my new-found wealth. But that was the point. It did not seem like mine, it was not mine.
    I looked around Heron’s elegant home, the expensive mirrors, the fashionable Chinese wallpaper, the vases, a small Roman statue I could have sworn was the genuine article, not a reproduction (there was a small chip on the base and some discoloration as if it had at one time been buried in soil). I stared out of the windows at the rain-drenched gardens, immaculately kept, with their formal flower beds and statuary; a satyr adorning the fountain looked Roman too. This must seem natural to Heron, part of the established order of things, money and property passing down from father to son to grandson. To me, my own new-found wealth – my house, my gardens, my servants – seemed unreal, as if my imagination was creating wishful fantasies. I didn’t want these things; I was half afraid of them. I merely wanted Esther.
    Heron himself was businesslike as usual, tuning his violin and running through a few lines to warm up although I was certain he’d have been playing at least half an hour before I arrived to loosen up his muscles and let the instrument play in. But he disconcerted me by saying he needed music to calm him down.
    ‘I have just seen lawyer Armstrong,’ he said curtly, opening the music on his stand and looking for the right movement to play. ‘Negotiating a place there for Ridley.’
    I didn’t want to think of Armstrong; it reminded me of Esther’s planned visit there. I could hardly say so.
    ‘Armstrong doesn’t want help?’
    ‘He wants help,’ Heron said. ‘He has more work than he can deal with and he is not getting any younger. He is, however, not certain he wants help from Ridley. He has heard stories from colleagues in London.’ He glanced at me grimly. ‘Why do you think Ridley was sent home? His behaviour began to threaten his uncle’s good name; he considered he had no alternative.’
    I wondered if I could ask what Ridley had done; it might throw light on what he was capable of. I reminded myself to be careful. I was convincing myself Ridley was the villain of the piece without any proof.
    Heron was continuing. ‘Armstrong is understandably torn between doing a favour for his old friend, the boy’s father, and anxiety over the possible damage to his business.’ He smoothed the music down as the pages threatened to drift closed. ‘I met Mrs Patterson at Armstrong’s.’
    My heart sank but I kept my voice matter of fact. ‘She’s seeing him about the estates in Norfolk. Tenant problems.’
    He raised an eyebrow. ‘I was surprised not to see you there. Nothing can be done without your