Father unfastened three buttons to his topcoat and opened it enough to reveal the black wool underneath. “Like skin on a sausage, Mr. Somerset.”
The tailor chuckled. Presently the Iron Duke came squealing and belching cinders to a stop. From the window of a first-class coach, a hand waved enthusiastically beside Catherine’s smiling face.
“Someone’s glad to be back,” Father leaned close to say above the noise.
“Yes.” Sarah could only hope it was for the right reason. A guard began opening doors. Catherine stepped onto the platform, followed by Miss Somerset, and hastened over.
“How healthy you look!” her cousin exclaimed, squeezing Sarah tight. She drew back sharply. “Oh dear—I forgot! Should I have done that?”
Sarah laughed and embraced her again. “Yes, you should have!”
She could understand Catherine’s lapse of memory. Five months into her pregnancy, she was still able to hide her condition under street clothes and winter coats. She had gained a stone weight; however, some of that was from what she had lost during the three sickly months.
Catherine looked thinner, Sarah noticed as her cousin kissed Father’s bearded cheek. Her cheekbones were clearly more prominent. You should have written her, Sarah told herself. Perhaps she was ill, and needed looking after. But then, Aunt Naomi would have told her if that were so.
“Mr. Doyle has been saving back issues of The Analyst for you,” Sarah told Miss Somerset as they shook hands. “I have them in the coach, if you and your father would care to walk out there with us.” She wished they could offer them a ride home, but there was only room for four adults in their winter bulk.
Catherine’s friend smiled. “How thoughtful of you both. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” After the men had gone off to see about trunks, Sarah said to Miss Somerset, “We’re having a Christmas party for the neighbors tomorrow evening. Why don’t you come, and spend the night?”
“A Christmas party?” Catherine said. “What fun. Do say you’ll come, Peggy.”
But Miss Somerset regretfully shook her head. “Thank you, Mrs. Doyle, but one of my brothers’ wives—Hannah—has invited us to her family party.”
“Well, do come see us soon.” Sarah became aware that Catherine was studying her with an odd expression. She asked her cousin, “What is it?”
Catherine glanced about, then leaned closer. “You don’t even look . . . well, you know.”
“Catherine!” Miss Somerset said.
Panic washed across Catherine’s face. “Oh no! I don’t mean that there would be anything wrong! I’m sure the baby’s—”
“The baby’s fine, silly goose,” Sarah said, and lowered her voice as much as possible. “It’s been turning somersaults all morning.”
The two young women traded bewildered looks.
“Somersaults?” Catherine said.
“They do that?” Miss Somerset asked.
“That’s how they feel,” Sarah told them. “Didn’t you know that they move?”
Both young women shook their heads.
“I assumed they slept the whole time,” Catherine said.
Sarah laughed again. It was like old times, the barrier between them crumbling. Surely the matter of Lord Holt was over.
And to test the waters and reassure herself, she said in the coach on the way back to Hampstead, “Admiral Kirkpatrick has a grandson visiting from the University of Edinburgh. He’s looking forward to meeting you at the party.”
“I can vouch for him,” Father said. “Very agreeable young man.”
“He collects stamps as a hobby.” Sarah looked at her father. “What is that called?”
“Philately,” Father replied. “Your Aunt Naomi even gave him some from Bombay.”
“Hmm. He sounds very interesting,” Catherine said. “What time is the party?”
“Seven,” Sarah replied.
“I’ll be sure to be back in time to change. I plan to shop with Peggy tomorrow. It’s just no use trying to buy gifts in Cambridge, what with exams and having to pack them up for here.”
Sarah studied Catherine’s face while trying not to appear to do so. Had she imagined a flicker of uneasiness in her eyes? Was she looking for things that weren’t there?
But it was entirely reasonable that Catherine would need to shop, with Christmas just five days away. And Sarah did so want the tension between them never to reappear.
You don’t have to be suspicious of every move she makes, Sarah told herself. She’s probably wondering if you trust her anymore. And she could be weary from the trip. And exams. Still, Sarah knew that she would have much more peace of mind when she saw packages in her cousin’s arms tomorrow.
****
Six months into his employment at Sedgwick Tea, Hugh had an office right beside his father’s. He had worked in some capacity in each department, had even unloaded and packaged tea. He knew most of the employees by name. Because the results of his investigation into the feasibility of shipping to the States was progressing well. On his desk sat a stack of American publications: The North American Review, The Atlantic Monthly, The Living Age, Harper’s New Monthly Magazine, The Century. His immediate project was deciding in which ones Sedgwick Tea should purchase advertising, should the project prove itself profitable.
He was situated well in life, and possessed enough intelligence to appreciate it. Yet there were moments when a yearning for something more came over him. He didn’t even know what the more was, so vague was its shape. His prayers that God would either take away those moments of discontent or reveal what it was he was lacking went unanswered. But he was usually able to quell those moments by reminding himself of the week he had spent on the loading docks, straining and sweating with men earning a tenth of his wages.
He was hopeful that the restlessness would visit him no more once he was married. His parents’ marriage was a happy one, and Father had never seemed wanting for anything beyond the pleasant confines of home, office, and church. And Hugh did love Lillian and took pleasure in her company, a promising start to any union.
“You have the ring?” Neville asked when Hugh met him at Postgate’s on Oxford Street for supper.
Hugh brought the velvet-covered hinged box from his pocket and handed it over his dish of fillets of grouse and sauce piquante. His friend’s brown eyes widened appreciatively at the one-carat diamond, flanked by two pear-shaped sapphires.
“It should fit her,” Hugh said. “I asked Margery to lift a ring from Lillian’s jewelry box so the jeweler could measure it.”
Neville did not ask how Lillian’s sister was doing, but then, he had moved on to a banker’s daughter—for now. “Very nice,” he said, holding up the box to catch the gasolier light.
“You think she’ll like it?”
“Do you jest? I’m tempted to marry you myself for it.”
“No thanks.” Hugh made a face. “I’ve seen you in the mornings. You’re not a pretty sight.”
“Just remember who introduced you.” Neville handed over the box. “I expect the first child to be named after me.”
“And if it’s a girl?”
“Hmm.” His friend stabbed a fried smelt with his fork and leaned his head thoughtfully. “Nevillette has a certain elegance.”
“I’ll certainly consider it,” Hugh said with affected seriousness while pocketing the box.
“Can’t blame a man for trying. When will you propose?”
“Tomorrow. I’m having supper with her family.”
“She’ll make you a good wife,” Neville said, finally serious.
“Yes, I know.” Hugh smiled at him. “A man can’t ask for more than that, can he?”
****
The following morning, Catherine dressed in her favorite winter gown of rough-finished Pekin wool with stripes of alternating plain brown and raspberry. A black velvet hat with a cluster of black ostrich tips, tan suede gloves, black walking boots, and her cloak of soft grey velvet completed the ensembl
e. Sarah and Uncle Daniel would not hear of her taking a hired carriage into the City, so Catherine had to resign herself to allowing Stanley to deliver her to Saville Row, in front of Somerset’s Fine Tailoring. Fortunately, the pavement was busy with Christmas shoppers, and no one from the shop came out as she waited for the coach to fade from sight. Then it was an easy matter of hiring a hansom. She did not feel comfortable being delivered to Sidney’s house, so they had arranged to meet at Dalton’s, the café on Picadilly he had once pointed out from Green Park. He was there, standing under the awning, and came forward to help her from the hansom.
“I’m sor-ry I’m late,” she said, teeth chattering and cheeks stiff. “They m-made me take the coach, so I had to—”
“I understand.” He looked up at the cabby. “How much?”
“One bob, Guv’nor,” the man said, leaning down to extend his cupped gloved hand and then raising it again. He stared at his palm and gave Sidney a smirk, “Lovely, Guv’nor! Now I can buy the Queen that bonnet!”
Sidney took Catherine by the arm and led her toward the café. “I’ll wager he’s never even met the Queen. Your red nose is charming. But you must be freezing. We’ll get some hot chocolate in you before we leave.”
She sent an uneasy glance back toward the departing driver and spotted Jerry seated at Sidney’s coach’s reins. His eyes were visible between hat and woolen muffler. She sent him a wave, and he touched the brim of his hat with his whip.
“May I have tea instead?” she said once they were seated at a table. Hot chocolate was too filling, with its milk and sugar. She would have to eat more than her usual scant portion at Sidney’s family table, lest they think she found some fault with the food.
He ordered tea for her and coffee for himself, then took her hands across the table. “I persuaded my stepfather to come home for lunch. I want you to know that rarely happens. He’s a ‘cold meat pie on the run’ sort of person.”
“Oh dear. Now I’m terrified.”
“Terrified? But why?”
“I’m a nervous wreck,” Catherine sighed. “I really want them to approve of me.”
“Then you’ve no reason for worry. You’ve already impressed my mother. Henry will ask you all about Bombay, where he helped design some railroad. Edgar, at fourteen, has just decided that the female gender is not so annoying after all. See? You’ve not even stepped through the doorway, and you practically have them all in the palm of your hand.”
A woman brought their coffee and tea. Catherine settled as far back into her chair as bustle would allow, and drew in a deep breath. “You always know just the right thing to say, Sidney.”
He took a sip of coffee and nodded toward the window, where the trees of Green Park thrust skeletal limbs over the street traffic. “I thought you and I would bundle up and take a turn around the Park this afternoon. The place has deep sentimental meaning to me.”
Her pulse jumped. His tone suggested this would not be just a simple stroll—especially considering the weather. But a distressful thought occurred to her. “I have to shop, remember? If I return with nothing—”
“That has been taken care of.”
“What do you mean?”
“Last week I sent Rumfellow out to buy gifts. He has very good taste, for a servant. Two each, men, women, and children, yes?”
“Yes.” She always gave money to the servants, assuming they would appreciate that more. “Sidney . . . I’m overwhelmed.”
He winked at her. “It was money well invested, for it’s buying me more time with you.”
“Oh, but I’m going to repay you,” she said, taking her reticule from her lap. “How much—”
“You’re not to worry about that.”
“But I brought money. Please.”
“No.” His voice was firm, and the shake of his head gave emphasis. “Jerry will put them in the coach while we’re at lunch. And if any of the gifts don’t quite match their intendeds, well, at least they provide proof that you spent the day in the shops.”
The little stab to her conscience was not quite so painful as earlier ones, and was soothed quickly away by the affection in his blue eyes. “Thank you, Sidney,” she said. “It was so thoughtful of you.”
“Just proves what a good influence you are on me.” He drained his cup and set it back upon its saucer. “Shall we?”
Outside, Jerry hopped down from his box as if his eyes had been glued to the café the whole time they were inside. “Merry Christmas, Jerry,” Catherine said as he held open the door.
“Thank you, Miss,” he said through his scarf.
“Are your children counting the days?”
The corners of his eyes creased. “They are indeed, Miss.”
When the door was closed and the coach started moving, Sidney turned to her. “Catherine.”
“What is it?”
He gave her a pained look. “I hesitate to bring this up in your anxious state, but I would appreciate it if you weren’t so chummy with Jerry.”
“But all I did was ask about his children.”
“How did you even know he had them?”
“We chatted outside the hotel a couple of times last summer.”
“He can chat up his own friends. I realize that your cousin is married to a former servant, but in the upper classes socializing with them simply is not done. Once you make a habit of it, the line between you becomes blurred. They lose respect for you, and their work becomes slipshod.”
Catherine could not help but think of her parents’ servants in Bombay, and the servants on Cannonhall Road, who maintained spotless houses and were certainly addressed with pleasantries. But the day had started off so promising, and she was on her way to meet his family. Was giving her opinion on the matter worth the argument that might result?
He has the right to dictate how his own servants are to be treated, she reasoned. Perhaps his servants were not as conscientious as Sarah and William’s or those of her parents. Even so, she suddenly felt a little weary. Turning to the window, she allowed Belgravia’s stately homes to parade by.
“You’re not sulking, are you?”
She turned to Sidney again. “I’m just looking at the houses.”
He patted her hand. “How can I fault you for having a tender heart? You’re just like my mother. If I weren’t living in the same house, the maids would have her doing the work and serving them.”
Relieved that she had had the sense to hold her tongue, Catherine returned his smile.
Twenty-Eight
“We laid twenty-one miles from Bombay to Thane in 1853,” Henry Godfrey said from the head of the table. “It was the beginning of the Great India Peninsular Railroad. But after contracting malaria I determined if I ever got well I would never set foot outside of England again.”
He was not a handsome man in the traditional sense, with crooked teeth and long nose listing a bit to the left. But the brown eyes shone with life experience and cordiality, and his head of greying brown hair was as full as any twenty-year-old’s.
Fourteen-year-old Edgar had the beginnings of his father’s nose and the auburn hair and height of Sidney’s side of the family. He had spoken only when addressed when Catherine first arrived, but as the meal progressed, added more and more to the conversation.
“Why does your family have a Muslim cook when the other servants are Hindi, Miss Rayborn?” he asked.
Catherine smiled at him. “Because the Hindis refuse to cook meat.”
His eyes widened with shock. “They eat it raw?”
He blushed when the men chuckled, so Catherine replied as if he had asked the most reasonable question, “They don’t eat meat at all. Nor fish. It’s against their religion.”
“But what, then, do they eat?”
“Vegetables and fruit, I’m sure,” Mrs. Godfrey told her son. She smiled at Catherine, with what seemed to be an encouraging mingling of approval and relief in her grey eyes. “Isn’t that so, Miss Rayborn?”
“Yes. And lot
s of rice.”
“You should send the Parker Twins down to India sometime, Mother,” Sidney said, breaking off a portion of fluted roll.
“Yes, Harriet,” Mr. Godfrey said. “Between Miss Rayborn and me, you would have a wealth of research available.”
“Hmm.” The woman nodded slowly. “What reason would they have for being there?”
Every male at the table mused over that one. “Why not give the old man a vacation this time?” Sidney said at length. It was the Twins’ widowed father’s occupation as newspaper reporter that sent them from adventure to adventure. “Make the viceroy his old chum from University, who has invited them to visit.”
“And while they’re guests in his mansion,” Mr. Godfrey added, “the children are intrigued by a servant’s tale of a Maharaja’s legendary hidden treasure.”
“Or you could have them lost in the Great Indian Desert with a caravan merchant,” Sidney suggested.
“Or both,” said Edgar.
Mrs. Godfrey nodded thoughtfully, and there was a visible relaxing of male shoulders. Catherine smiled. Clearly the books were a family enterprise.
The meal was more opulent than required of a simple weekday family seating. Three courses, beginning with mock turtle soup, on to ham and Brussels sprouts for the second, sweetbreads and lamb cutlets with soubis sauce for the entree, apple tart and cabinet pudding for the third. Catherine ate only as much as good manners dictated, relieved that no one scrutinized her plate, and was mindful to compliment the cook.
Sidney showed her the morning room afterward, his haven where he conducted research into financial matters. “Notice anything familiar?” he asked.
“I don’t—” Catherine started, scanning the room, but then her eyes stopped at a writing table, where sat her likeness in a silver oval frame. He really does love me! she thought with wonder. They joined the family in the parlor for coffee and tea, but only for a half hour, for Sidney said, “You’ll forgive us for dashing away, but we’ve an appointment.”
“It’s been a pleasure, Miss Rayborn,” Mr. Godfrey said, and even Edgar nodded.
Mrs. Godfrey’s grey eyes were warm upon her. “Do come visit again soon, will you?”
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