Slipper

by Hester Velmans

  Since he was now an earl, while Sir Edmund was a mere baronet, Robert felt he no longer had to obey his guardian. Here was an opportunity to test his newfound independence: his niece, Lucinda. She was a sly little thing. She’d been taunting him far too long, hadn’t she, with those flashing eyes, that glib mouth and mobile waist. Apparently Sir Edmund had pegged her for his own little plaything. The rake! Robert seethed at the thought. Sir Edmund was a greedy bounder. He had already had more, far more than his fair share. Robert gripped his silver-tipped walking-cane, and watched his knuckles grow white.

  It was Lucinda who broke the silence.

  “My lord,” she began. “It is certainly very kind of you to accompany us to London, and we are ever so grateful, but you see, we do not need…”

  “Lucinda.” He coughed in order to suppress an impending squeak from his throat. “You are running away, are you not?”

  The girl cast her eyes down.

  “I am offering to help you.”

  “But…” she said again.

  “London is a dreadful place, no place for a young lady,” he continued. “But you may count on me to protect you. I have taken it upon myself to rent some lodgings for you. The arrangements are being made at this very instant. At considerable expense to myself, of course. I trust that you will find them comfortable. And if you wish to retain this person—” he nodded at Bessie, “as your servant, I shall see to it that she is paid.”

  “But…” said Lucinda, for the third time.

  “All I ask of you is that you do not show yourself abroad. Our…uh, arrangement requires the utmost discretion. Do you understand?”

  Lucinda nodded mutely. She understood only too well. She noticed Robert’s eyes on her chest, and pulled Bessie’s blue kerchief up around her neck. She sensed, rather than saw, Bessie’s open mouth and rising indignation.

  Bessie felt a sharp jab in her ribs, and kept her mouth shut.

  30

  LONDON

  Lucinda looked out the window, aghast. Surely this could not be London, the London she had heard so much about, the London of all the fine society! The coach was lurching through narrow, stinking streets crammed with people, very common persons they were, who stared at her rudely through her window. Lucinda shrank back. There was a mood of aggression she did not understand. An unkempt young woman had just screeched something at her. There had been cackles of laughter from those close enough to hear. She could not understand the woman’s accent, but she knew, from Bessie’s stiffening beside her, that it had not been polite.

  Look at these streets! Just look at them! They simply went on and on. Peering through the stream of hackney-carriages, sedan chairs, water-carriers, hawkers pushing their barrows, waddling washerwomen with their bundles, dung carts and herds of cattle, she could make out intersecting streets and alleyways, each as congested as the main avenue along which they were now proceeding at a snail’s pace. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined a place so vast, so smelly, so crowded with people. How was she ever, ever to find Henry in this maze?

  She felt a sharp blow over her head. It made her jump. A pedestrian, angry at having to cede space to the carriage, had banged on the back of their vehicle with his stick. She clung to Bessie’s arm.

  “How does London agree with you, coz?” shouted Robert gleefully over the din.

  “Well enough, my lord. Well enough,” she said, trying to smile.

  “Not to worry. Not long now,” he said, turning his head to peer through the little window above his head.

  “Oh—I don’t mind it. I mean, I like it,” she said quickly. “Where are we going?”

  “Locket’s. My preferred tavern, in Charing Cross. That is where I have arranged to meet Klepton. My valet, you know. I have a valet now.”

  “Oh?” said Lucinda, respectfully. The valet had been a matter of common knowledge and much gossip at the manor ever since Robert’s return from London, but Lucinda pretended this was the first she had heard of any such thing.

  “Yes, I charged him with riding ahead and finding suitable lodgings. Klepton’s a good fellow, knows how to see to a man’s arrangements.” He frowned. “He is discreet and very loyal to me, I must say.”

  “Indeed,” said Lucinda.

  The coach swerved into a courtyard. “Here we are then, ladies,” said Robert. “Please wait here. I shall return with Klepton.”

  “Come on!” hissed Bessie, as they watched Robert strut into the building. “This is our chance! Let’s make a run for it!”

  “Not yet, Bessie,” said Lucinda. “Don’t worry. I have a plan.”

  “But don’t you realize what his intentions are, lamb?”

  “I do, I do. But I can handle him. Watch me. It’s a great plan. Don’t look so worried!”

  There was no time for further discussion, for Robert had returned, his valet in tow.

  “Now then!” said Robert, climbing back into the carriage. The valet climbed up front. “Ladies, my man Klepton tells me he has found just the place, in Lincoln’s Inn Fields. We shall proceed there directly.”

  The ladies smiled at him innocently.

  The coach lurched off again. Someone close by was shouting a cheerful but deafening “Dumplins diddle, diddle, dumplins ho! Dumplins six-a-penny!” A beggar with no arms was ululating for alms. At the corner of a side street a crowd was gathered around a coach that had overturned in the mud; a foppishly dressed man was being pulled out of the wreckage, screeching and berating the driver. Some street urchins ran alongside their carriage for a while, grinning at them through the window and making faces. Robert put an end to that by poking his cane out at them, hitting one neatly in the nose. Some obscenities were shouted after them. Robert tut-tutted; the two women looked down at their laps.

  They were now in a more fashionable street, and passed several carriages crammed with fluttering fans and beautiful gowns.

  Lucinda pointed at a long building mobbed by elegant people. “Where are they going?” she breathed. “Is it a ball?”

  Robert blinked his eyes rapidly with affected amusement. “A ball! A ball? At this time of day? No, it’s New Exchange,” he said. “Shops, you know. It’s the place one goes for one’s necessities. I bought my cane there, at Caversham’s. They charge a fortune, but one must look one’s best, doesn’t one, to cut a figure at court…”

  Bessie and Lucinda looked obediently at Robert’s shiny new cane, and then out at the market.

  “My, my,” Bessie exclaimed politely. “Look at that hat!”

  “Some of them look ridiculous,” Lucinda decided.

  Robert fixed her with a stare. He let his eyes travel slowly over her person.

  “Not exactly the picture of a London lady, are you, coz?” he observed.

  She flashed him an indignant but insecure look.

  “Don’t worry, my dear. I’ll put you into the hands of my tailor. I’m sure his people will be able to do—something with you.” He laughed softly to himself, folding his hands over his cane.

  Lucinda tossed her hair back, and looked down at her hands, composing her face. She couldn’t wait any longer to unleash her plan.

  “My lord,” she began sweetly. “Are you not…” She left the sentence dangling.

  “What?”

  “Oh, nothing.”

  “What, coz?”

  “Well, seeing that you are now in London, and that man, Captain Beaupree, who broke off the betrothal with Sarah, resides here too, I just thought…”

  Robert looked taken aback. Lucinda noticed the hop-skip-and-jump of a gangly Adam’s apple under the thin irritated skin above his cravat.

  “Well…?” she said.

  “Well what?”

  “Don’t you have to go and—well, call on him, or anything?” she asked lightly. “I thought it was the usual thing to do…“

  “Call on him?”

  “I mean, he has slighted Sarah, hasn’t he, and offended our family…”

  “He has, yes.”

 
; “Well, I thought…”

  “I certainly do not condone his actions.”

  “Oh.”

  Robert was looking out of the window intently. He said nothing more. He was chewing the inside of his lip.

  Lucinda let him stew a few more moments, then coughed discreetly.

  “I thought—I assumed that was why you proposed to accompany us to London. I thought you had affairs—that sort of affairs—to attend to, I mean.”

  “If I did, do you think I would tell you?”

  “No, of course not!” She fanned herself, then leaned forward, and continued in an urgent tone. “I only hope you will consider—well, consider your own safety. I hope you don’t think yourself obliged to challenge him to a duel! He is an officer, after all, experienced in battle. Please be careful, my lord.”

  “Enough!” he burst out.

  “I’m sorry, I—

  “That is a man’s business,” he barked. “It does not concern you!”

  “Forgive me. I should never have mentioned it. Please don’t be angry with me, my lord.” She was sitting up straight again, twiddling with the ends of her kerchief. “Whatever you must do, it must be done discreetly. I understand. As far as we are concerned, the subject has not been discussed. Right, Bessie?”

  “Right,” said Bessie firmly.

  Robert’s face was ashen now; little droplets of perspiration clung to the sparse whiskers on his upper lip.

  Lucinda prattled on. “But believe me, I am grateful for the offer of a dressmaker, honestly I am. His lordship is too good. How many gowns may I order? What do you think, Bessie? How many do I need? Two, or three? And what of the shoes? I rather fancy that I’ll need some footwear…”

  “Not now,” he groaned abruptly, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, from side to side, “Later!”

  The carriage had now arrived in another courtyard, and Lord Hempstead almost fell out the door in his haste. Lucinda and Bessie were also grateful to get out, for the air inside the carriage was not fresh. The valet ushered them into a hallway; his lordship was already running up the stairs.

  The rooms were not large, and not very nicely furnished. It was obvious that the nervously pacing Robert was disappointed, and felt he had been swindled by the valet, or the landlord, or both. He had handed over a rather large sum. Apparently he did not yet have the hang of intimidating people sufficiently to make them leery of cheating him.

  But he could not afford to start complaining now. He needed to see to his exploding bowels. He groaned something to Klepton, and hobbled after him down the corridor.

  “We can’t stay here!” whispered Bessie in the dusty drawing-room.

  “Patience, Bess,” Lucinda reassured her. “Don’t you see he is going to lead me straight to Henry?”

  “I thought you knew where Henry lived—”Bessie began.

  “Bess. I don’t know my way in London. Do you?”

  “No, but—well, a duel! How could you…”

  “There will not be a duel,” said Lucinda firmly, “if I can get to Henry first, somehow.”

  It was a rather big if, but she put that from her mind, and concentrated instead on what she would say to Henry when he opened the door and saw her standing there.

  After an interval of about an hour, in which the valet had served the ladies a repast of cold meats and dumplings, bought from a street vendor since a cook had not yet been hired, they heard Robert stomping in the hall.

  “Where are you going, my lord?” Lucinda asked, peeking around the door. He was fussing with his broad-brimmed hat, stooping in order to see himself in a speckled looking glass. A rapier stuck out ostentatiously from beneath his tight salmon coat.

  “Out,” he said brusquely. He was still looking a little pale, but managed a wan smile. “Has Klepton seen to your needs?”

  “Yes, very well, very well indeed, thank you very much,” simpered Lucinda. “Well —fare well, my lord,” she added lamely. “God be with you.”

  “Adieu,” he muttered, tugging at his cravat.

  Closing the drawing room doors carefully behind her back, she whispered to Bessie, “Stay here. I am going to follow him.”

  “No, lamb!” exclaimed Bessie. “Over my dead body! You are not going out alone in this wicked place!”

  “I must, Bessie!” she pleaded. “Don’t you see? Robert will show me the way to Captain Beaupree’s whereabouts.”

  “No. Stay. I’ll go. York Buildings, wasn’t it? I can ask people in the street to direct me.”

  “But London’s such a big place, Bessie!”

  “I am not afraid for myself, only for you, lamb.”

  “But it won’t do for you to go, don’t you see? Robert is going to challenge him to a duel! How are you going to stop them? Only I can do that! I must!”

  This argument threw Bessie for a loop, and before she could think of another good reason why Lucinda should not go, they heard the front door slam shut.

  “Stay here!” Lucinda said in as bossy a voice as Bessie had ever heard from her. Grabbing Bessie’s large rough shawl from the table, she darted out of the room.

  “Lamb! Oh, Lord!” exclaimed Bessie, puffing and panting in her impotence.

  “How do I look?” Lucinda stuck her head around the door one last time. Bessie’s shawl was now pulled up over her head like a hood. “Don’t worry! No one will recognize me!”

  By the time Bessie had heaved herself from her chair, the girl was gone.

  31

  THE QUALITY OF MERCY

  Klepton had stepped outside with his master to call a carriage, and so Lucinda was able to slip out without being noticed. She hid inside a portal, waited until the hackney rattled out of the courtyard, then ran after it.

  The carriage turned right and, conveniently, was immediately caught in one of the endless traffic jams London was famous for. Lucinda, strolling along at a reasonable pace, was able to keep it in sight.

  Ughh! She looked down at her feet. She had just stepped into an enormous mud puddle. Except that it wasn’t mud, it was dung. She had noticed that the other women walking in the street were tottering on wooden platform-shoes, and now she saw why. It was lucky Bessie had insisted she keep her beaded slippers in her pocket. She pulled the hem of her skirts a notch higher—to hell with decency!—and gallantly struggled on.

  The carriage turned left into another busy street, and Lucinda suddenly realized she had better memorize some landmarks, in case she had to find her own way back to Bessie. She looked up, and saw an enormous sign hanging over her head. Russell Street Mercers, it said.

  The carriage turned another corner, and halted. Lucinda stopped too, pretending to be interested in a fruit-seller’s wares. She saw Robert getting out of the carriage and climbing some stairs to an establishment. It did not look like a residence. It did not seem to be a residential street—not for gentlefolk, at any rate. She was disappointed. Was this where Henry lived? She started forward.

  “Heyyy! Ow, Miss! As touches me oranges, buys em! Fair as square!” The fruit-seller had caught her by the hem of her apron, and was yanking her backward.

  “I’m sorry…” she stammered. “I haven’t any money…”

  “Nohw money? Nauhww money ?” he bellowed. Some passers-by slowed down and looked at the object of his wrath with hostile curiosity. “And it touches my wares, an’ no money in’s pockets? I’ll teach you a lesson, jade, wench…bitch!”

  In a panic, Lucinda fumbled behind her back, and ran across the street, leaving the open-mouthed fruit-seller holding Bessie’s apron.

  When she had determined that the man was not coming after her—he was fingering the calico to see if it was worth anything—she cautiously approached the establishment Robert had entered. She tiptoed up the steps.

  “Sorry, Miss,” said a doorkeeper, “Ladies not allowed, you know.”

  “Oh, I was just—” she fluttered, “just looking for someone.”

  “This is a coffee-house, my dear,” he said kindly. “No ladie
s in here.” He winked. “Nor maids, nor wives, nor widows neither.”

  “I see,” she said. “I’ll just wait, for him then.”

  “You may wait down there,” he said graciously, pointing to the area beside the steps that led to a basement door.

  “Thank you so much,” she said.

  She secured the shawl around her head and shoulders, and, leaning against the wall, examined her shoes. They were ruined. She tried scraping off some of the dung on the side of the building. God bless Bessie, who had made her take off the glass-beaded slippers before setting out on her adventure! The slippers were in her pocket, and when she arrived at Henry’s house, she would kick off these disgusting clogs and slip them on…She patted the pocket containing the slippers. And realized they weren’t there—

  Fool! Fool! The slippers were in the pocket of Bessie’s apron! Panicked, she charged back across the street. The fruit vendor was very much surprised to see her. He put on a hurt, defensive pout.

  She gritted her teeth. “Sir, please!” she begged. “I must have my apron back, please may I have it?”

  He turned around to spit discreetly, then spun back with a sheepish grin. “Oh, I cannat do that. I promised it to the wife. I cannat disappoint her, you know. It’s mine now. You left it here, di-inn’t you?”

  “Here!” she said, and, bending over, pulled her petticoat down from beneath her top skirt, revealing the lace that had been hidden. “It’s real Brussels. She’ll like it much better. It’s worth much more than the apron.” She started tearing at the lace.

  “Heyy, not so fast! Let’s examine the mer-chi-andaiys first,” he leered, and made a grab at her legs under her skirt.