Grant raced after the smaller man, his elbows out, roaring, “Out of my way!” People willingly cleared a path for him—a madman brandishing a pistol. But the small man had completely disappeared into the press of humanity. It opened for him and closed behind him, like a hole in sand that filled seamlessly after a sea creature had burrowed through it.
He spun around, but he’d never seen the man who’d grabbed him from behind, so he could be anyone. He couldn’t risk attacking a complete stranger. There were far too many muscular men around him for him to single out just one. One man touched his fingers to his hat. Another cast a look of exaggerated disbelief at his neighbor.
The tussle must have taken a bare minute. The crowd closed around as if nothing had happened. Nothing remained.
Grant put away his pistol, in his coat this time. When he explored the contents of his breeches and coat pockets, he found his gold watch that had been tucked into his waistcoat had gone. Was that the “it” the man behind him had demanded? Or was he imagining things?
He’d lost the manifest of the cargo, too. Nothing else.
His head still spinning, he made his way to his ship. That was probably the safest place he could be right now, until he recovered.
Dorcas missed her sisters, never more than when she needed to run rings around her brother. She had to work this problem out for herself. By Thursday morning, she had a solution, but it would have been so much easier if she’d had Damaris and Delphi with her.
She’d woken to light, but it wasn’t light that anybody else could see. Flashes shot across her vision. When she turned her head, she groaned as her stiff neck sent an ache up her spine into her head.
Oh no, was her first thought. She must have slept awkwardly. Yes, that must be it. She shook off the feeling, and threw the covers back, so she could get out of bed.
She went down to breakfast bright and early, or as early as going to bed in the small hours of the morning allowed.
The tedium of dressing took twice as long as it used to, even with the skilled help of a maid. Her mid-green gown was as plain as her London clothes allowed, the fabric fine, the embroidery select, and the petticoat matching the whole. The skirts didn’t skim the floor, which gave her a modicum of freedom and she’d never been addicted to tight-lacing.
With a cloak over it, and a pair of sturdy shoes on her feet, she could hide the finest parts of her attire. The day was seasonably warm, for a change, but that couldn’t be helped; if she was hot, then so be it.
After asking about baby James, and receiving the answer that he was much better this morning, she collected a plateful of food from the dishes set on the sideboard. At least Annie had managed to curb the cook’s ambitions to feed the whole street with the viands put out for breakfast. The waste had appalled Annie and, to be honest, the family had never missed the variety offered.
Knowing the value of not sulking, she listened to Gerald’s new secretary as he outlined the events of the day to them. She then mentioned, casually, “I might call at the Exchange today. There’s a fan I want to buy. I saw it there last time, and it appealed to me.”
“Oh, I know the shop,” Annie said. “Are you sure, my dear? The goods are hideously expensive and, in my view, rather badly executed.”
And Annie should know. She was in a London guild herself, the goldsmith’s guild. She knew a well-made artifact when she saw it.
“Not that one,” Dorcas said, reaching for the coffee pot. “There’s another place that Mary Comyn told me about. We’re leaving London soon, so I might not get another chance to buy it. I’ll go this morning.”
“Take Gorman and Trace with you,” Gerald said without looking up from his paper.
That was tantamount to giving her permission. Dorcas breathed more easily, and found room for her relatively modest breakfast. Lying awake all night until her head ached and her stomach tightened into a little ball hadn’t helped her prepare for a meal. Or anything else, come to that. But she’d planned her activities today. Gerald would inevitably find out what she was about, but too late to do anything about it. If she played this right.
Annie reached for the toast rack. “I might come with you. It’s near to Bunhill Row, and I should really check the workshop. We’re expecting a fresh delivery of silver bullion, and I do like to be there to see the samples tested. If you don’t object to stopping at the shop on the way to the Exchange, that is.”
Dorcas froze and forced her expression to do the same. That put a coach-and-horses through her plan. The Exchange was close enough to the Pool of London for her to go straight there, and nobody any the wiser. She would say she didn’t want the fan after all, or buy an expensive trinket on her way home. What had happened to her plants? She was in despair. It had been days. While she’d given instructions for the way they were to be treated on board, who knew what would happen to them once they reached the warehouse?
She tried to deter her sister-in-law. “Doesn’t Petit mind you going? It’s as if you don’t trust him.” Petit was the manager Annie had appointed to deal with day-to-day business. Without Petit, Annie would have huge problems. Replacing him would be difficult, and that was putting it mildly. If he objected to Annie’s overseeing him, he was perfectly capable of finding another position.
Annie shook her head. “I have to sign for the silver, anyway. We set up a double signing to prevent anyone attempting fraud. And then our man of business has to countersign.” She shot Gerald a glare. “And do not say we’re being too careful. We’re not.”
Gerald dropped his cutlery and held up his hands in submission. “I would never dare. You know your business best, my love.”
“I do.”
Dorcas’ stomach was churning again. She’d prepared an ultimatum for the footmen and the coachman, and bribes as well. But with Annie coming along, she had no chance for that. Her plan was doomed. Without the proper care, her roses would perish. Her summer work depended on those plants but, more importantly, the future of botany.
The race was on to develop the first yellow rose the Western world had ever seen, and Dorcas had made some headway. She was ready for the plants now, her small hothouse in the garden set for the delicate grafting jobs she planned to do over the next few months. When they moved to the country, she’d take them with her, in the coach if she had to.
Dorcas simply had to get to the Pool of London today. But if Annie came with her, how could she do that?
Desperation filled her. Several wild schemes filled her mind. She dismissed them one by one. Holding her sister-in-law at gunpoint wouldn’t work. Annie knew Dorcas would never shoot her. Slipping away was her only chance. But then she’d have to go to the ship on her own, and she didn’t need Gerald to tell her how dangerous that was.
Or coming clean? It seemed the only way. Except that Gerald had already forbidden her to do that. Perhaps, once she had Annie in the carriage, she might prevail on her to allow a brief trip to the Pool of London, but without telling her brother. That would create trouble between Annie and Gerald. Oh, dear.
Or—yes, she had it. The only way she could do it. She would take all the blame, which was only fair.
Half an hour later, she headed downstairs to see her sister-in-law pulling on a pair of gloves. Annie had changed into a more sensible gown, one that bore signs of long wear, the dark red wool faded with washing, the sleeves missing the deep frills of lace. Far too impractical for a silversmith’s yard.
Dorcas put on her plain straw hat, and tied the ribbons under her chin herself, before donning her gloves. A maid helped her into a dark cloak.
Annie raised her brows. “Rather overdoing it, considering we’re in the middle of June. Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in something lighter?”
Of course she would, even though the day was intemperate, but Dorcas just shrugged. “I felt chilly last night. If I get hot, I can always leave it off. But if I don’t have it, I’ll stay cold.”
“I see.” Asking no more questions, Dorcas nodded to Wats
on, the butler, who opened the door.
The carriage waited outside. With relief, Dorcas saw it was the plainer town carriage, the one without the crests on the doors. No point drawing attention to herself. If she ever needed to, she used the other carriage, the one with the blue cushioned seats and the gilded coat-of-arms emblazoned on each door.
No liveried servants, either. Gorman footman, Trace, Firman and Gorman coachman, brother to the footman, wore plain clothes in dark colors.
Annie and Dorcas climbed into the carriage, the coachman gave the office, and they set off.
“The servants don’t complain about your visits to Cathcart’s anymore,” Dorcas said. At first, they’d groused about visiting such an unfashionable area, or so Dorcas had heard from her maid.
“I put paid to that,” Annie said, sounding as satisfied as when she’d struck a particularly good deal.
She now supplied silverware to most of the new private gentlemen’s clubs sprouting up in London, as well as owning a fine shop that sold directly to the public.
“If I don’t need their muscle power, I send them to the inn at the end of the road with a crown. They can gossip all they like and drink beer while they’re doing it. Or the coffeehouse, which is even worse for gossip.”
“Don’t you mind them gossiping?”
Annie grinned. “Of course, but they do it anyway. Best to give them nothing vital to gossip about, and warn them when they aren’t to let anything out. If they do, they are dismissed. It doesn’t stop the gossip, but it sends a warning.”
“You’re so eminently practical.”
Damaris, with her gaze always trained towards the sky, Delphi, with her concentration on a book, and Dorcas herself, always looking out of the window at the garden, wouldn’t have thought of doing that.
Their house had functioned mainly because of Gerald. Now, he had someone to help him, a helpmeet and more. Dorcas didn’t want to get in the way of that relationship. She’d never seen Gerald happier, and he deserved all the happiness in the world.
Although she didn’t want Annie with her on this visit, usually she enjoyed the woman’s company.
To think they had lived a few streets away for years, and never met! But that part of London was crowded with many different communities.
The predominant occupants of Shoreditch were the Quakers. They’d been there for a century or more, and their distinctive plain clothes and tall hats were a common sight on the streets. There was a military presence, too, the Artillery Grounds, so soldiers could be added to the vibrant mix.
Dorcas had lived there for so long she could find her way home in the dark.
A journey along Holborn and down Old Street, bustling with life, respectable merchants jostling with urchins, street sellers and shoppers revitalized her spirits. “The life blood of London,” Annie, a true Londoner, murmured.
“Yes. I miss it sometimes.” They had been unexpectedly catapulted into their new life, and while she enjoyed it, Dorcas missed this.
They’d lived quietly, which meant they had a small circle of friends, and a place in this part of the city. And nobody bothered them. Now everybody did.
Since most people in the area knew the Dersinghams were well-off, they had their share of petitioners, but nothing like the flood they had now. So much that although Gerald had tried to manage without a secretary, after the disaster of the first one, he’d been forced to employ another, just to take care of the mountains of correspondence, demands and begging letters.
“I don’t miss it very much.” Annie turned, beaming. Her smile was far too bright to be real. “But my new life is just as challenging. I do enjoy that, too. Perhaps it’s as well I can’t engage in business every day, although I fully intended to do so when I married Gerald.”
“You’re too fertile,” Dorcas said with a grin. And too busy in the bedroom, though she’d never dream of saying that aloud.
“Perhaps I am. But I bear children easier than most, and I enjoy them in the house.”
“Just as well you have several large mansions, then,” Dorcas said brightly. She couldn’t understand why Annie couldn’t refuse Gerald from time to time, but then, it was her business, and not Dorcas’ to question. A thought struck her. “You’re not…”
Annie shook her head. “Not that I know of. I’m sure I’d know. I always see the signs early.” She drummed her fingers on the narrow windowsill as they swung into Bunhill Row.
Dorcas breathed out. There were the burial grounds, and the Artillery Ground, where the cricket matches were held sometimes. She even missed them, although the sport didn’t interest her much. But the place smelled like home. Even in the confines of the carriage, she sensed it.
The Dersinghams had originally moved here to avoid an uncomfortable home life in the country, but they settled in happily. If Gerald had inherited no more than their father’s possessions, the house and a small estate in Hampshire, they could have continued here indefinitely. But they couldn’t.
So now, their old house was Annie’s. She’d created a smart new shop on the ground floor and above it, offices and workshops for the men who created the silverware and the silver wire the business had originally been established to create.
Behind it, instead of the garden Dorcas had created, there was a smelting yard. The heat and stink of the ovens had killed the plants Dorcas had left there. She hated it, but when Gerald had given her the run of their Mayfair garden in exchange, she’d accepted it as a new challenge.
Annie needed this.
Smoke rose up behind the house. The ovens were working, melting silver, creating new pieces. While still elegant, the house belonged here now, more than it had when it had been a private residence.
“Come up. I’ll get someone to make us some tea.” Annie climbed down from the carriage and hurried into the shop.
Dorcas took her time, standing on the pavement and gazing around. Now that she had the aristocratic knack of avoiding everyone’s eyes, she could look around without fearing involvement. Not that she intended to do so for long. As the footmen got down from their places, she beckoned to them. “Don’t go anywhere. I’m not stopping here, I have an errand at the Pool of London.”
Gorman, tall and deceptively slender, blinked, then looked from her to the still open door of the shop and back. “Her ladyship didn’t say anything about that.”
“Didn’t she? She should have. I have a package to collect.”
Trace came up beside him, sending his considerable shadow over her, blocking out the sun. Despite her cloak, Dorcas shivered. Trace had that effect on people. His sheer bulk made him hard to ignore, but his size was why Gerald employed him. That, and his loyalty. Once given an order, Trace never deviated until he’d completed it. “What’s this?” he said. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but nobody told us anything about it.”
Dorcas clicked her tongue. “How annoying! But never mind. Her ladyship will be busy in the shop for an hour or two, so it made sense for me to go to the Pool. Then we may return, and go on to the Exchange together.”
She didn’t care if they didn’t go to the Royal Exchange at all. That had only been an excuse. Visiting the shop with Annie worked just as well. “Come.” She climbed the steps, which Gorman had not yet let up, and took her seat. “We have little time to waste.”
“I’ll just check with Lady Carbrooke,” Firman said.
He set off for the shop. Another minute, and she’d lose her advantage.
“Go,” Dorcas said firmly. “Firman can stay with Lady Carbrooke. She needs someone around anyway.”
“Go!” she repeated firmly. “His lordship won’t like to hear of the delay. He said the package was vital. We can collect it and be back within the hour if we hurry.”
Trace was not known for his intelligence. Or his ability to think for himself, come to that. In an unusual situation, he tended to look to the nearest person in authority. Which in this case, was her. Dorcas could put on airs if she chose. And in her desperation, she ch
ose that now.
She stamped her foot, knowing it would make a racket against the wooden floorboards. “I said go!”
Trace lowered his head and took the half-crouching position, preparing to jump up behind as the carriage jolted into motion. Gorman the coachman, who had remained silent through the exchange, obediently set the pair of grays into motion, and the carriage moved down the street. A bump told her that Gorman the footman had joined him. Annie was safe in her house. Dorcas was the person they needed to look after.
Firman would tell Annie where they’d gone. It was up to her if she wanted to send a message to Mayfair. She probably would, but Gerald would have left the house for his club, or a coffeehouse by now. She had time to collect her precious cargo and get back to Bunhill Row to collect Annie within two hours, which was as long as Annie planned to stay.
Chapter Six
Dorcas didn’t look back. She didn’t dare. She had the carriage and two footmen. Surely that was enough to protect her from any rough types that might want to take advantage of a young woman on her own. Trace would scare a prizefighter away.
Dorcas had run away from home once, when she was seven years old. She couldn’t remember why. Only her terror when she couldn’t find her way back. Someone had found her, a sailor heading home after a long journey, and he’d taken charge of her, brought her back to Bunhill Row. Gerald had rewarded him generously, and ensured Dorcas never did it again.
The tang of salt tinged the back of her throat as they got closer. They rounded the great curtain wall of the Tower of London. With the White Tower, now black from soot looming above, they continued down, until the thrust of hundreds of masts filled Dorcas’ vision. They bristled up like a dead forest, their sails furled or gone for repair while the ship was in port.
The salt tang gave way to the stench of the Pool.
Fish, of course, that smell that could never leave any shore, combined with the stink of unwashed humanity and vague, indefinable smells Dorcas didn’t care to define. The sudden appetizing blast of bread from a bake house wafted through the open window of the carriage, reminding Dorcas of her scanty breakfast and making her stomach rumble. It mingled with the low, rich scent of stale beer from the alehouse close by. But that stench returned.
A Trace of Roses Page 5