The Story of Lucy Gault

Tea was laid out for him, the lamps still burning. He drank two cups and spread honey on a scone. His reflections were painful. Now that he was in the house, the calamity that had brought him here seemed even more extraordinary in the manner of its occurrence than when he had learnt that the child was alive. What fluke had caused Everard Gault not to walk by a scrap of clothing hardly visible on the strand? What perversity had been at play when no one had thought of a friendly upstairs maid with whom a distraught child might find a haven?

No answers came. Standing up, Aloysius Sullivan wiped a smear of butter from his lips with the napkin that had been brought to him with his tea. He shook the crumbs from his knees and straightened his waistcoat. In the hall he called for Bridget and when she came they walked together to his car.

‘You’ll bring them back, sir?’

The engine was cranked, and spluttered into life. Yes, he would bring them back, Mr Sullivan promised with as much assurance as he could muster. He would leave no stone unturned. It would be all right.

Bridget watched the car disappear on the avenue, the smoke of its exhaust lingering a little longer. She prayed that the solicitor would be successful, and in the kitchen she did so again, pleading only for that favour, since nothing else mattered.

*

‘The paint’ll be dry tomorrow,’ Henry said. ‘We’ll leave it out, will we?’

‘He doesn’t like me.’

‘Arrah, of course he does. Sure, everyone likes you, why wouldn’t they?’

He propped the aeroplane up on the step, using bits of wood left over from its construction. He said not to touch the paint until the morning.

‘Of course he likes you,’ he said again.

*

Aloysius Sullivan made enquiries all over again in Enniseala and Kilauran. He wrote to the known friends of Captain Gault, and to those English friends of his wife with whom she appeared to be in touch. He established the whereabouts, in England, of the Mount Bellew Gaults, and of distant Gault relatives in County Roscommon. No suggestion as to a place of exile rewarded his efforts – only surprise and concern that his enquiries should be necessary. The letter he had himself received from Everard Gault had been sent from the French town of Belfort, its brief contents beneath the address of the Hôtel du Parc, boulevard Louis XI. From the hotel’s proprietor Aloysius Sullivan received, after a delay, information to the effect that the guests about whom the enquiry was made had stayed for a single night in Chambre Trois. Their destination after Belfort was not known.

The manager of Heloise Gault’s bank, in Warminster, Wiltshire, was at first reluctant to release details of certain instructions he had received, but in the end disclosed that Mrs Gault had written to him from Switzerland to close her account. The balance of its funds had been forwarded to a bank in Basel, and he had reason to believe that her Rio Verde Railway holdings had been disposed of there. This particular trail ending with that, Mr Sullivan wrote to a firm of investigators, Messrs Timms and Wheldon of High Holborn, London.

It may be that my clients have taken up residence in that city, or that some indication of their present whereabouts may be discovered there.

Please forward to me an estimated total of your fees should I agree to retain your services in this regard.

Eventually, a Mr Blenkin of Timms and Wheldon was dispatched to Switzerland. He remained for four days in Basel, establishing nothing of greater value than confirmation of the shares’ sale. No new investments had immediately been made; his quarries’ stay in the city had been short, at a small hotel in Schützengraben; their present whereabouts were unknown. Pursuing an idea of his own, Mr Blenkin set off for Germany and spent a fruitless week in Hanover and other cities, after which he made enquiries in Austria, Luxembourg and Provence. Then, in response to his telegraphing for further instructions, and following consultation between Messrs Timms and Wheldon and Mr Sullivan, Mr Blenkin was recalled to High Holborn.

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