CHAPTER NINE
Outside, Verity found with no little dismay that the fog had indeed thickened and the sky had grown even darker. The door had already shut behind her. “Well, what of it?” she said to herself. “I am not so poor a creature as needs a footman or maid to hail a hackney cab. If I turn towards Southampton Street where the road is wider, and then go on to the Strand, it will be easier to see, I am sure.”
Which she did, but then caught sight of a bonnet shop on the corner of an alley and just stepped down that way for a moment to look at the window. She was sure, quite sure, that she turned in the correct direction when she’d regretfully decided against an Angouleme at this delicate stage in her mourning, but soon found herself bewildered by the streets and turned first one way, then the other until her sense of direction was quite confounded.
She stopped, alarmed at the loud thumping of her heart in her ears. “This is foolish,” she said, striving for calm. “I can only be a turn or two away from a main thoroughfare. It is simply this wretched mist confusing me. If I could but make out my surroundings, I’d be out of this fix in a trice.” But the tall terraced buildings, their top storeys indistinct in the fog, crowded her reason and made a mockery of her senses. Which way to go? Would she still be here, frozen, when the mist finally cleared? She heard brisk footsteps of somebody who certainly knew where they were and spun towards them thankfully, discerning the shape of a woman approaching. “Pray excuse me, but could you help me, please? I fear I am lost.”
“You must be, if you’re down here alone. Wait, I know your voice, don’t I?”
“Is... is that Molly Turner? I met you in Bow Street... goodness, was it only yesterday morning? I was so glad when you were acquitted.”
“Bless me, you gave me your fichu! Well, it’s turn and turn about as they say. I’ll see you safe, miss. Where was you wanting to get to?”
Oh, the relief. Verity thought she had never been so glad to hear a friendly voice before. “That is very kind. I don’t wish to take you out of your way. If I can but find a hackney cab, I can take it to Grosvenor Street.”
“That’s a simple matter. You walk along with me. I’m on my way to the theatres. The custom is always good there, even as early as this, and there are generally a few coaches looking for a fare. It’s a bad day to be out, that’s for sure. I’d rather be in front of my own grate myself, but work is work and I’ve no money for enough candles for my sewing, so needs must, eh? The nippers will be all right with Ma, sorting tomorrow’s laundry. It’s not what I like, but there. You’ve got to eat, haven’t you?”
“Yes indeed,” said Verity, having only the haziest idea what Molly was talking about, but wanting to sound sympathetic in case she offended her and suddenly found herself alone again.
Molly set a good pace. The mist deadened their footsteps and the damp seemed to creep around the edges of Verity’s cloak as they hurried along. She suspected if she asked what sort of work Molly was heading for, she might well be embarrassed by the answer, so instead said, “Do you do much sewing? I always start with good intentions, but then I become impatient and my stitches get longer and longer.”
“I do it when I can see to, miss. It’s soothing, and there’s a satisfaction in seeing something made good again. The way I came to it was this: Ma’s taken in laundry all her life and we children got put to the tub as soon as we could see over the rim. Well, sometimes there would be a seam gone in a shirt, or a hem pulled that needed a stitch or two. It’s all extra pennies, isn’t it? I realised early on that if I did the mending nice and neat I’d be given more of it and less of the scrubbing, and that would mean I’d be sitting down, not standing, and it’d be a deal kinder on my hands than having them in water all the time.”
Verity was impressed by the cheerful practicality of her companion. “That is very true.”
“Ma’s hands and her cough are shocking. I’d dearly love to get her out of London and into the country air somewhere, but there, it’s what we’ve always known and it’s a reasonable life so long as folk pay up. Can’t boil the copper without coin for coal, can you? It’s a funny thing that the richer folk are, the longer they leave their bills before settling up. That’s what I like about the evening work, you get your money straight away and sometimes a bite of supper too. They don’t want those sort of dockets being sent to the house, do they?” Molly seemed more amused than embarrassed.
“Er, no.”
Molly chuckled. “I lost my patience with the longest-running of Ma’s laundry bills one day, and started going around to the back doors of the big houses and asking to speak to the butler in person. Amazing how it brought forth the readies.”
All the time they had been talking, Verity had been aware of other pedestrians in the fog, most muffled to the ears, some walking past with head down against the mist, occasional silent figures skulking around corners like oozing patches of murk. Now a bigger shape loomed out of an alley, turned at the sound of Molly’s laugh and made straight for them, the scent of ale on his breath.
“What have we here, eh? A pretty pair for plucking, I say.”
The man’s voice was rough, and Verity instinctively shrank against Molly.
“You don’t want to bother with us,” said her new friend comfortably. “We’re on a different path tonight.”
“Is that so? Who’s to say it’s not mine? I might walk that way myself.” Verity could hear the leer in the man’s words and had to guard against the nausea in her throat. She gripped her parcels to stop her hands shaking.
Molly, however, lost not an ounce of confidence. “It wouldn’t be very smooth, I’m afraid. Our way is paved with flint.”
“That’s different. I’ll leave you then.” The alteration in the man’s attitude was palpable as he swerved away, heading instead for a narrow opening where a dim light indicated an ale-house and noise came faintly through the fog.
Molly let out a silent breath and picked up her pace.
“What did you mean by that?” Verity asked, scurrying alongside her, curious about the deliberate phrasing she’d used.
Molly hesitated. “It’s by way of being a safe word, miss, but it don’t do to use it often in case you get taken up on it. Pray you’ll never know why. I had a friend once who... well, never mind that. How did you find yourself here, eh? You’re a world away from Grosvenor Street.”
“It was the stupidest thing. I was leaving Kitty’s house in Henrietta Street and I must have missed my turning in the fog.”
“Kitty Eastwick?” Now Molly’s voice was sharp. “One of Sim’s fancies, are you? Who’d have thought it? I might have spoken truer than I knew.”
“I’m sorry, I do not understand. Kitty is my sister. We lost touch and I have only just discovered her again, so was paying her a visit.”
“Ah, that’s the way of it. I must say, you don’t look much like her, but there’s something in your manner of talking that reminds me of when I first knew her. Well, here’s Drury Lane and here’s a hack. I see you, Fred Grimes. You take this lady where she wants to go or I’ll know about it.”
“Who’s that? Molly Turner? Damn this fog. Horse can’t hardly see her own feet. I’ll take her if you’ll sit up here alongside and keep me warm. It’s a raw day. Be better with you tucked under my coat.”
“And what time do I have to go riding about, eh? That won’t pay the rent or put broth on the table. In you get, miss, he talks a fine line, but he’ll see you right.”
Verity fumbled in her reticule. “Please, Molly, I am so grateful for your help. I would have been quite undone had I not met you. Will you take this with my thanks?”
She was worried she might offend the other woman, but Molly simply gave the coin a professional glance before it disappeared into her clothing. “Bless you, miss, you’re welcome, I’m sure. I’ve no need to work tonight now. That’s twice I’m indebted to you. Grosvenor Street, you say? I’ll ride along of Fred like a lady then. Neither of us will be the worse for a cosy-up and to tell the truth, I’ll be glad not to stand around in the cold and damp this evening.”
“Grosvenor Street?” said the jarvey suddenly. “Why didn’t you say so right off? I was wanting to thank you for your kindness to my poor horse this morning. Made all the difference to her, that mash. I doubt we’d be out here now without it.”
“Oh is it you? I apologise for not recognising you. I’m so glad it helped. Do go in again and tell them I sent you.”
Now she was safe, Verity began to feel worse by the minute. She couldn’t shake off her fright at how tall and narrow and menacing the streets had seemed to become in the fog. The thoughts of those slinking shadows and the roughly-spoken man and what might have befallen her had Molly not had such presence of mind made her tremble so hard she could hardly open the door when they stopped.
Fortunately, it was opened for her. Unfortunately, it was opened by Charles in as towering a rage as she had ever seen him.
“Where have you been?” he said furiously.
It was like a draught of strong medicine. Verity’s agitation was instantly swept away. Charles’s exasperated anger was so much a part of every escapade she and Julia had embarked on in their younger days that it restored the balance in her world as nothing else could have done. She scrambled up to the driver’s perch and embraced Molly, before paying Fred Grimes and reminding him about the mash. Only then did she submit to being hustled into the house and facing the full force of Charles’s displeasure.
“Where have you been?” he repeated. “The footman tells me you sent your maid home alone above three hours ago. Have you no idea of the dangers facing an unaccompanied young lady in London? Especially in this weather. And now I find you taking an affectionate leave of a jarvey’s woman! I ask you, is this rational behaviour, Verity? Would this find favour with your uncle?”
“It started entirely rationally,” she protested, divesting herself of her parcels. “Charles, I have so much to tell you that I scarce understand it myself, but Mama is unwell, so I must first set her mind at rest. Also, I am cold and damp and I have had a horrid fright and if I do not get some bread and butter and something warm to drink inside me this instant, I will forget everything and never remember it in the right order.”
“Then by all means let us bespeak tea,” said Charles with awful politeness. “I would by no means wish to miss a single minute of your recital of today’s doings.”
The footman winked at Verity in sympathy and effaced himself in the direction of the kitchen. Verity took a deep breath and followed Charles to the drawing room, stopping with him on the threshold in astonishment as he opened the door.
“Mama,” she said faintly.
“Sir,” said Charles, equally astounded.
Her mother, far from being prostrate on the couch with a sick headache, was cheerfully dispensing tea from Mrs Congreve’s nicest silver pot and laughingly inviting an animated Mr Tweedie to partake of another slice of cake.
Two minutes earlier, Charles had been consumed by a maelstrom of strong emotion: anger at Verity for being so thoughtless, fear as to what might have been, relief that it evidently hadn’t been, panic about what had given her a fright and anger again at himself for not being able to keep his feelings under control. Now however, sheer surprise swamped everything.
“Ah, Charles,” said his senior partner, peering over his spectacles, “and Miss Bowman. There you both are. As you see, I have accepted Mrs Bowman’s kind invitation to call. We were just exchanging recollections of the late admiral.”
As Mr Tweedie’s most recent animadversions on Mrs Bowman’s brother would have made even the most clear-sighted sister bridle, Charles was left with precisely nothing to say to this.
“Did you find any suitable samples?” asked Mrs Bowman at the same time. “George thinks your notion of us removing to Furze House is an excellent one. He is sure that with a little application, John might release me an annual sum to reflect the convenience of him having the dower house back in his own hands to use for staff quarters, or to let.”
Charles looked at Mr Tweedie, aghast. Had the man taken in none of his concerns about Verity being let loose on the wider world without even her brother close by as a brake?
His partner polished his glasses and beamed back at him affably. “You can make an appointment with Bowman’s attorney tomorrow to set the process in motion,” he said.
“Certainly,” said Charles with only the merest hint of gritted teeth. He turned to Mrs Bowman. “It is a pleasure to see you looking so well, Mrs Bowman.”
“We have been talking of the old days. I had quite forgotten some of the adventures my brother got up to.”
“No, did he really?” said Verity, sitting down and looking up at Charles with a rueful, quicksilver smile that said they would have to put off their argument for later so he might as well make himself comfortable. “And him making me that absurd condition that I must be rational for six months before I inherit. How very hypocritical of Uncle James.”
“Possibly he was remembering your younger days,” muttered Charles, taking a seat next to her.
“I don’t see how he would have known about them unless you told him,” retorted Verity under her breath as she bent to rearrange her skirts.
She poured them both tea and began to draw her mother out on the subject of her uncle’s wild past. Charles listened, resigned to the familiar sensation of his infuriation with her draining away, smiling despite himself at her skill in integrating his senior partner into the conversation.
The cake had all been eaten and the tea tray removed before Mr Tweedie glanced at the clock on the mantelshelf and gave an astonished start.
“Bless my soul, is that clock quite right? I had no idea of staying so long. I fear I have been imposing on your good nature.”
“Not at all,” protested Mrs Bowman. “Why, I have not had such an enjoyable afternoon for an age. But Verity, surely it is very late for your godmother and Julia to still be out? I hope nothing has happened to them.”
Charles crossed to the window where the curtains had been drawn against the fog. “They were spending the day with my great-aunt, were they not?” he said, looking out at a mass of solid grey. “If Richmond is as beset by fog as we are here, they will have delayed their departure. Do not distress yourself, Mrs Bowman. I feel sure they will stay overnight rather than take unnecessary risks with the horses.” He turned to his partner. “I had best see you home, sir. It is not an evening for travelling alone.”
Verity looked up in dismay. “Oh, but you will return to dine, will you not? I have to tell you about... about the programme Lilith and I have devised.”
Charles hesitated, torn. Clearly she had something to report beyond a mere explanation of her activities this afternoon. I have had a horrid fright, she’d said. Normally, that intelligence alone would make him stay. However, thieves and ruffians delighted in weather such as this, and Mr Tweedie was not a young man. Charles felt duty bound to escort him to his rooms. He glanced again at the clock. His own father would no doubt be dining at the House, and his mother had taken several of the grooms and footmen with her, so he was equally obliged to augment the male presence in Grosvenor Street until his father should arrive home.
The matter was settled, surprisingly, by Mrs Bowman. “You must both stay to dine,” she said. “We can be quite informal, you know, and I am sure it is what your mama would wish, Charles. I confess to feeling some agitation about her. The presence of two gentlemen in the house will allay both Verity’s fears and my own.”
Mr Tweedie needed very little pressing to accept. Mrs Bowman called the footman in to explain and said she would personally usher Mr Tweedie to a spare room that he might refresh himself. Charles and Verity were left alone.