CHAPTER EIGHT
Verity gave up the unequal struggle for sleep at dawn. She felt out of sorts after the soiree and needed the company of ordinary people around her to balance her. The view from her window, showing a maid scurrying by with a basket and an early morning street sweeper, were soothing. A cart delivering coal plodded past, reminding her of Charles’s task yesterday. Never had she found herself more in charity with his work. How, she wondered, did Lilith stay so detached in the face of the privileged foolishness of her stepmother’s circle? How did Julia find sufficient to occupy her in the intrigues and scandals of society? At least Verity’s mind was now at rest about Julia herself. She had not had a chance to catch her before they retired last night, but if Lieutenant Neville knew so little of her friend as to be passing her notes, she was not in danger. They would talk properly this morning, just as soon as Verity had been out long enough to shake the fidgets from her reasoning. When her maid came in with the washing water, she declared that they would go shopping before breakfast for the handkerchiefs she’d previously forgotten. Bridget laid out a walking dress, hoping aloud that they would not be so very long as she was worried she was coming down with something. She did seem pale and heavy eyed, but Verity reassured her that she would make her purchases in no time.
Outside, the air was still, with an acrid tang of smoke to it. “Newton’s, Coventry Street,” she said briskly to the driver of the first hackney cab they encountered. She formed no great opinion of the horse, who would have been laughed off the streets of Newmarket, but tipped the man an extra tuppence when she alighted, recommending him to spend it on a good bucket of hot mash for the beast, such as her father’s head groom had often advised. “For she’ll be of no use to you dead, will she?” she pointed out. “Even my brother sees to his cattle before himself and he is the most selfish man imaginable.”
“Yes, miss.” The man nodded with the weary obedience that comes from having so many cares he could no longer think straight. The gesture was like a slap in the face.
“Oh, forgive me,” said Verity, horrified and contrite. “As if you do not know that. I am so sorry for my presumptuousness. Will you wait for me here, please? I will not be above quarter of an hour. Then as soon as we are back again I can send you to the livery stables my Godmama uses, with a note that feed for your horse is to be added to Mr Congreve’s account.”
“I’ll wait, miss. God bless you.”
Inside Newton’s, Verity quickly perceived the counter she required and moved towards it. Though it was early, there were already a large number of customers in the shop. She sent Bridget back to wait in the cab and applied herself to the task of pushing between people to check on the quality of the goods. She had almost made her choice when a shout went up further along the counter.
“Oi! Stop thief!”
Verity looked around, startled. It was the duty of the public to apprehend any thief. A child whisked past her legs, the telltale corner of a new handkerchief peeking out from a ragged waistband. A handkerchief. Yesterday’s dreadful scene at the Old Bailey came back to her. Quicker than thought, Verity tripped the boy, extracted the square of linen and bent, saying, “You poor child, are you injured? I am so sorry to have stepped into your way. Dear me, you have hurt yourself.” The handkerchief she contrived to swiftly ball up and throw several feet along the floor, proffering her own embroidered one to glean the graze.
“Young varmint. Your pardon, miss, but he ain’t worth spilling tears over. It’s off to the rotation house with him and I’ll give him in charge myself.”
Verity opened her eyes wide at the sales assistant who had spoken and who now came puffing out from behind his counter to haul the child up by his ragged collar. “The rotation house?” she said. “Good heavens. For what crime?”
“Are you simple, miss? For stealing that there handkerchief.”
“But this is my own. I gave it to him. See - there are my initials. He appears to have nothing else on him.”
The shop assistant glowered and relaxed his hold on the boy. “Then you’re lucky this time. I’ll have you though. I’ll have you. What have you done with it, eh? There’s one missing from my pile.”
Further along in the shop a voice said, “Here is a handkerchief. Here on the floor.”
“There,” said the assistant triumphantly. “What did I tell you. He dropped it when I spotted him. Come along with me, my lad. I can’t sell it now, so I’ll have the cost out of your hide.”
“I do not think you can prove that,” said Verity, wrinkling her brow earnestly. “Why, anyone might have knocked it off your counter. I might have done so myself while I was looking at them. To be sure it is a little dusty, but it is nothing that will not shake out.”
“Dusty and crumpled. It’ll need cleaning before it’s... Oi, you little...” The child had seen his chance, jerked free and escaped. The assistant looked after him sourly. “He’ll be back. I’ll get him next time. The sooner that one’s in the colonies the better.”
“I daresay he was alarmed by the noise,” said Verity. “Now then, how much will you reduce this handkerchief by? Having given mine away, I find myself without one. Shall we say fourpence if you are so sure it is ruined? I require black-edged handkerchiefs also. What do you have, please?”
The jarvey was waiting with Bridget when she emerged. They returned home and true to her promise, she wrote a note for him and asked the footman to give directions to the stable. She removed her bonnet and went upstairs to rouse Julia feeling very thoughtful.
“Good morning, Julia, I have asked for hot chocolate to be sent up. Do you wish me to read Lieutenant Neville’s note or have you burnt it already?”
“Go away and let me sleep, Verity.”
“Certainly not. I want to talk to you. Really, Julia, whatever are you doing?”
Julia wriggled upright and reached for her wrapper. “Saving Peter Crisp from ruin, as I promised his sister I would. You are a nuisance. I now owe Lilith sixpence. I thought it would take you a week to find out.”
“That is your own fault. You should have more faith in me. Talk.”
“It was at the Cattsons’ house party in June, I’m sure I told you of it because we came back from Shropshire via Newmarket on purpose to see you and persuade you both to London for a visit. Mary Cattson was very nearly involved in a scandal but her father paid the man off and apart from a little speculation amongst the house party when Mr North was found to have suddenly departed, it all came to nothing. Indeed there was more concern over the absence of the girl who brought the hot water up in the morning than there was over Mary. Everything was smoothed over most satisfactorily.”
“And nobody knew but you,” said Verity, “because you always do know all the goings on, even in a large house.”
“People are interesting,” said Julia simply. “Poor Mary. Mr North was so charming and with such an air, it was easy to see why he turned her head. The alliance would never have done though, for he was far older than her and not rich, I think.”
“Where does Lieutenant Crisp come into it? You didn’t mention him to me in June.”
“Oh, nowhere. It was simply that Sukie Crisp was also at the house party. She told me her brother’s regiment was now back from Europe, but she was worried, because from the tone of his letters, Peter seemed to have got in with a rogue set of officers. His company was due to move shortly to London, so I said I would do my best to run across him and turn his thoughts in a different direction.”
“You have evidently succeeded. Very laudable, but he is a younger son, is he not? What were you planning to do when the poor man, who I daresay has only his pay to support him, declared himself hopelessly in love with you? It has happened before, remember? I still remember the haberdashery assistant serenading you under our window at school. And the dancing master threatening to suicide himself in that dramatic French fashion of his.”
Julia smiled nostalgically. “Happy days. But I was young and giddy then and know very much better now how little it takes to encourage the foolish creatures. I will tell Peter I am very fond of him, but firstly I have no money, and secondly my heart is unswervingly fixed on another.”
“And him so besotted, he’d believe you. What of Lieutenant Neville? How does he figure in this pretty scenario?”
“He is the rogue influence. I have not yet discovered his intent.”
Verity raised her eyebrows. “Julia, I have not seen him above twice and should have said his intent was obvious to the meanest intelligence.”
A faint blush spread over her friend’s countenance. “I am not yet so bored as to be lost to reason, Verity.” She reached across to rummage in her reticule. “Here is his note.”
Verity unfolded the scrap of paper. “Park. Two pm. How very enigmatic. Do you intend to meet him?”
“Naturally not. That would be the height of foolishness.”
“This is a dangerous game you are playing.”
“I said I was bored. Drink your chocolate and then let me bathe and dress in peace. Mama and I are bidden to my great-aunt today. It will be enormously tedious, but she was kind to Mama in her younger days and these visits must be made. You and your mother can amuse yourselves, I daresay?”
“Nothing easier. I will see you at dinner.” She kissed her friend and left.
Mrs Bowman however, when asked how she would like to spend the morning, was found to have a headache and unequal to any exertion. Verity suspected Charles would be unimpressed by a second unheralded descent on his chambers, so resigned herself to a day devoted to correspondence and the mending of her old gloves. She had just completed this depressing task when the footman brought a short note from Charles himself.
“Scrivener has discovered a Captain Eastwick living in Henrietta Street. I am able to escort you there on Friday, if you wish.”
Verity immediately penned a reply accepting the offer, wishing that the underlying feeling of satisfaction emanating from Charles’s neat lines was because they were making progress, not because he saw a possibility of sending her back to Newmarket post-haste once Kitty was found. She had by no means achieved all her objectives in coming to the capital yet.
It occurred to her that Henrietta Street contained Bedford House, where linens and cottons could be got remarkably cheaply from Messrs Layton & Shears. It also occurred to her that if she and Mama did take Furze House, it would require a deal of new curtaining. There would be no harm, surely, in taking a preliminary look at what might be available?
After conscientiously asking her mother whether she wished to come with her to reconnoitre the wares and receiving a faint shudder in reply, Verity set forth.
It was gloomy outside, with a stuffy feeling to the air. The smell of smoke from earlier increased the further they progressed. Her maid was quiet and Verity remembered with a stab of remorse that she had said she did not feel well that morning. She kept a wary eye on her and sure enough, they had no sooner reached their destination than the generally stoical Bridget turned green and mumbled that she was sorry, miss, but she really felt very ill. Verity immediately sent her back in the hackney with instructions to go to bed, assuring her that she herself would be perfectly all right in the warehouse on her own.
She was not intending to buy fabric today, merely to form an idea of what was available and reckon up the likely cost. This exercise would have the dual effect of proving to Charles both her rationality of purpose and the seriousness of her intention in moving their establishment away from the dower house.
Buoyed up by these righteous thoughts, Verity entered the establishment of Layton and Shears where the bolts of material were so tempting that, without at all meaning to, she bought a length of Italian silk in lilac and another of deep pink sarsenet faster even than Julia would have managed. She could hear her friend’s voice in her head saying the pink would be perfect for when she came out of mourning and indeed she need not wait the full period before wearing it, for hadn’t Verity’s Uncle James always been uncomplimentary about sombre colours on young ladies?
Uncle James. The legacy. Recollecting herself with a guilty start, she hurriedly immersed herself in the rival merits of brocade and damask with only stray, longing glances at the satins and gauzes. Eventually, with all her sums done and a length of figured cotton added as a reward, she gathered up her parcels and samples and left the shop.
The street was now quite misty. Feeling conscience-stricken about how long she had spent in Bedford House, Verity walked down the road a little way to hail a hackney. She looked keenly at the houses as she passed, wondering which one might be Captain Eastwick’s address. There was quite a press of people towards the corner of the road. She edged through them, wishing she was tall enough to see over the heads. A phaeton bowled past at far too fast a lick in the poor light. The crowd swayed, grumbling. To her horror, Verity saw a small girl lose her footing and fall towards the road where a second phaeton was galloping after the first, evidently with the aim of overtaking it. Without thinking, she lunged forward to catch the child. As she pulled her to safety, the girl looked up, bewildered and scared. Her elfin face, dark hair and grey eyes were so familiar that Verity gasped.
“Kitty?” she said. “But how can you be?”
“Ann,” shouted a frantic voice behind them. “Ann, where are you?”
“Ma...” called the child, a quaver to her voice.
A woman pushed through to Verity’s side and scooped the little girl up. “Oh thank you. I saw the phaeton and... Verity! Oh my... Verity, is it really you?”
Joy broke in Verity’s chest and spilled out in a torrent of words as she embraced her sister. “Kitty. I’ve been looking for you. Oh, this is too ridiculous. To find you here! I cannot believe it. How long has it been?”
“Too long. Much too long. Verity, I... oh, there are no words...” Kitty - older, more fine-drawn, but undoubtedly her own beloved sister - cast a distracted look at the crowded street. “We cannot talk here. We shall be trampled ourselves. Will you step along to my house? It is not far, and we will be quite undisturbed.”
“How can you even ask? I should like it above all things. Kitty, I don’t know what I am saying or doing. I’m so happy.”
It seemed to take no time at all before they had hurried back up Henrietta Street and were two flights above the street in Kitty’s small, neat set of rooms, side by side on a sofa with Ann clutched against her mother next to them.
Still half-dazed with wonder and happiness, Verity could not get enough of Kitty’s face. “Have you been in London all this time?” she asked. “I could have come to see you so often when I was visiting Julia. Oh, Mama will be happier even than me. I must tell her as soon as I return. She was ill with worry for you when you left, though she hoped, of course, that you would be happy. We have both missed you so. Will you come with me to see her now? We are staying in Grosvenor Street with the Congreves. You remember Julia, I am sure.”
“I... yes, I remember, and now I remember your tumble of words which I had forgotten. It is as if you have grown up - and not grown at all. Verity, I hardly know what I am saying in the astonishment of seeing you again, but I cannot come. She will not welcome me. She never answered any of my letters. I do not blame her, for I behaved very wrong, but I was dazzled and wilful and I could not have married Mr Prout. Or so I thought then. Now, I... No matter, we will not talk of it. I made my own bed and cannot go back. Is she well? I wish she would at least see Ann.”
Verity stared at Kitty in consternation. “She will see you both. Of course she will. Kitty, we never received any letters. How could you think for a single moment that we would not have answered, had we known where you were?”
The heartbreak in her sister’s eyes at this statement was almost more than she could bear. “My father must have suppressed them,” said Kitty bleakly. “He killed the contact as he killed everything else. I was a fool to think I could cross him without retribution.”
“He need not concern you any more. He died this spring. Did you not realise when you saw us at John’s wedding? We were hardly in festive garb. That was you outside St George’s, was it not?”
Kitty ducked her head. “Yes, I saw the notice and went out of curiosity, telling myself all the time it must be some other John Bowman. I looked, saw you all, then lost my nerve and hurried away.”
“It matters not.” Verity hugged her sister again, hiding her dismay at how thin and brittle Kitty felt. “You are here and I have found you and I have a new niece whom I love already and you will both come to see Mama with me.”
“Yes. Yes, but...” Kitty broke off as rapid footsteps were heard outside the door. Her animation drained away. Once again, Verity saw hard-won maturity in her expression, together with rapid, wary calculation. “It is Simon,” said Kitty. “I did not expect him yet. Something must have happened. You must go, Verity. I cannot explain now. Follow my lead.”
The door burst open without ceremony and Captain Eastwick hurried in.
Verity was instantly engulfed in memory. He filled the room, as he always had. His was a personality that would always take centre stage and make it his own. She remembered all over again why she hadn’t felt the least surprise when Kitty had eloped.
Right now Simon Eastwick emanated urgency. “Devil take it, there was a fire in Hart Street last night and now the fog is thickening. Did you not hear of it when you went out? Why did you not tell me? It is too late by far to do anything at this distance. All are long scattered and there is little hope of finding...” He broke off, his eyes going to Verity. “Well, Kit, who have we here? Who is the fair visitor?”
Follow my lead, Kitty had said, but Verity also saw the suspicious flash of almost-recognition in Kitty’s husband’s gaze and she felt Kitty herself begin to frame a lie.
Instinct took her. She put out a hand and said with the utmost friendliness, “Captain Eastwick. I daresay you won’t remember me, but I remember you very well. I am Verity Bowman. I was Kitty’s schoolgirl sister when you were courting her. Oh, the number of times I hung out of the window and sighed over your red coat and elegant address.”
Yes, he was as handsome and mesmerising as ever, but Verity was seven years more discerning now and she could see in his bearing how he traded on his looks.
Conceit puffed out his chest at her words. An expression of good humour replaced the speculation. He shook her hand a little too heartily. “Well, well, little Verity. And grown up just as comely as your sister. As you see, Kit and I rub along pretty well. How did you find us, eh? Last I heard, your father was ready to take a horsewhip to me for stealing away the prettiest girl in Newmarket.”
“Oh, it was the most absurd thing. I had been in Bedford House and was on my way back when I saw a little girl the image of my lost sister trip by the side of the road. I naturally put out a hand to save her and found she was a niece I did not know I possessed! Such a happy chance, was it not?”
“Indeed.”
Verity could not quite like the conjecture working in the back of his gaze, but she pretended to notice nothing amiss and stood in a flurry of cloak and gloves and parcels as unlike herself as she could manage. “And now I must be leaving, for I am later than I said I would be. It was so nice to find you, Kitty. I hope we may meet again.”
“Certainly,” said Captain Eastwick. “Certainly you should meet with your sister. Family are always welcome provided there are no horsewhips present, eh Kit?”
Kitty smiled and laughed, but she was evidently hiding her unease. She embraced Verity, murmuring, “Newton’s in Coventry Street, ten o’clock tomorrow.”
Verity managed to give the tiniest nod before she was ushered out of the door.