by Eliza Emmett
She sat in front of a crackling fire in her living room while she ruminated on all that confusion. She played with the embers whose magnetic light kept her in a slight trance. In the kitchen, Nan was preparing something for them to eat, and the smell of herbs spread through the whole house. The pleasant noises of clanking utensils and china gave Cora some comfort. But ultimately, once she removed the distractions, her thoughts were for Grant.
“What’s with you, Cora?”
“Father, I didn’t know you were there. You startled me.”
He pulled out a small wooden stool and sat close to her. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“There is nothing to tell. Business is…busy. But I am well, Father. There’s really nothing the matter with me. Come to the shop and see for yourself.”
“Fine. You’re just like your mother. She always tried to shield me from everything. As if I were a child. As if I wouldn’t be able to cope.”
Cora thought that his pouting and crossed arms indeed made him look like a child, though she always treated him with respect. Shielding him was a part of that. “I don’t treat you as a child. There’s simply nothing to tell.”
“Very well. When you are ready to say what it is, I’ll be here.” And with that, he went into the kitchen. He was probably going to steal some food straight from the pots, and Nan would admonish him with her most critical yet loving look. Cora smiled to herself at the reassuring predictability of it all.
Then she went back to shuffling the embers. Let her father think what he may. She wasn’t going to present a problem without a matching solution.
“You know he sees everything. Father, that is.” Hattie had snuck in without a sound, and Cora could sense her standing close by at the threshold of the door.
“I know.”
“What’s next?”
“That I don’t know.”
“Eventually, he will have to be told.”
“Let it be when I have a solution and not a minute before.”
Hattie placed a kiss on the crown of Cora’s head. “I’m going to go help with dinner. Call me if you need anything, will you?”
“Sure. In the meantime, I’ll just stay here and try to sort my life out.”
“I don’t like your tone. It’s full of self-pity. It’s not you.”
“It might be for tonight. But it won’t last. I promise you. I’m strong, Hattie.”
“Of that I have no doubt, Cora.”
The smell of dinner further invaded the living room. The heat from the fire kept Cora from shivering, and she thought of how good it was to be home in the middle of such a storm.
Chapter Nine
The next five days felt the slowest in Cora’s life. Each new chore—whether embroidery or needlepoint—dragged her routine into a sluggish current of forgettable events. Fog set in around the city and suspended everything in a dream. It caused the usual sounds of people, houses, and machines to be muffled and distant, as if they were all underwater.
On the sixth day, Addy came to see her. Only then did Cora fully realize that she had left the mansion without even saying goodbye.
“Mrs. Crofford. Addy. I am so sorry. I don’t know what to say. I should never have left the way I did. I have no excuse, especially in face of all your kindness.” She did have an excuse, but she didn’t dare give it. “I am mortified.”
“If we’re going to be friends, then you mustn’t worry about these details. I know you are a very busy woman. Grant explained that you had to leave. That’s enough for me. And now onward, to important things.” She removed her delicate ivory-color gloves and held them in her left hand. “I know I don’t have an appointment, but I was hoping you would do me the honor of taking my measurements and cutting a dress for me. It’s very important.”
Cora smiled. “Of course. It is the least I can do. As a friend.”
“But I have one condition. You can do it as a friend, but I will pay just like any customer.”
“I would prefer you didn’t. You can pay for the fabrics, though.”
“Cora, this is your job. I’m adamant.”
“Then come sit for some tea. I will get ready, and you can tell me everything about this dress you want.”
Addy wanted a dress…or three…for the upcoming Season, like everyone else. She wished it to be green, shiny, and studded with pearls and gemstones. It would make her husband proud. They would dance endlessly and be merry. Or go to the opera.
“Cora, one day I will tell you the story of mine and Mr. Crofford’s romance. We’re so happy together, it is easy to forget that arriving at happiness was not an easy business. We were the victims of gossip and schemes, but we overcame them through love.”
Cora wished Addy hadn’t stopped short of telling the story. Perhaps there was a life lesson for her and Grant in the tale, but she didn’t want to be indiscreet by asking for what was not given freely.
Addy had already changed subjects. “I ask you to come with me, Cora. I will not rest until I take you to a ball. You are beautiful and smart. You need to have some distractions in your life, and dance with a handsome prince. Or lord.”
Cora felt a squishing in her belly. She wasn’t ready to see Grant Galavyin again. She felt equally unprepared to decline the invitation. Like much in her current situation, the invitation presented her with a dilemma—hold her head high and suffer in silence or lose her composure and hope that making enough noise would bring back everything she was about to lose. In the end, she surprised even herself by blurting out the most unlikely response.
“Very well, I accept. I shall come with you.”
Addy resorted to her chirpy demeanor and clapped her hands in excitement. “Oh, I’m so happy. We shall have a marvelous time.”
****
Grant Galavyin couldn’t wait to leave the coach that was taking him to his uncle’s house. He felt awkward and fidgety, hot and breathless. His legs were restless, and he found no appropriate position for them nor any comfortable way to relax his back. The ride was interminable, and the inside of the small compartment smelled stuffy and musty. The only thought that kept him afloat was the certainty that he needed to correct the mistake that would otherwise force Cora to leave her beloved store. Later in the day, he would travel to Whitechapel and address the other problem. He wondered if by then Cora had heard about Toby. He would rather she had not. It would be one more thing for her to worry about.
Cora filled all his thoughts now. She was the first when he opened his eyes in the morning and the last when he finally managed to fall asleep at night. Her lips were imprinted on his. Her perfume haunted him. He felt cowardly, unable to go and see her and equally unable to be without her. He wasn’t the man he used to be—steady and sure. The only antidote to this agitation was to do something for her, though he had few illusions and knew that minding her problems was actually a way of doing something for himself. He also had a growing suspicion that she didn’t want to be cared for, neither by him or anyone else. Something in her past kept her from believing in people, or in the very least in a man like him.
At the mansion, Grant found his uncle facing a window in his study. He sat in his wood and wicker wheelchair, and a dark blanket covered his legs. What little remained of his white hair was combed back toward the nape of his neck. It was only when Grant got very close that he realized the old man was sleeping.
“Uncle.” Grant touched the man’s shoulder, careful not to disquiet him too much. “Uncle,” he repeated. “We need to talk. Again.”
The man was startled despite Grant’s efforts, and he looked around as though at first he could not quite place his nephew nor recognize their whereabouts. Finally a look of clarity came to his face. “What is it that you want, my boy?” He smiled a miserly smirk.
“Some explanation, Uncle. About that business of yours. Your property on Regent Street. The building with a dressmaker’s shop at street level. Do you know which I mean?”
“Yes?” The man still looke
d a little dazed, as if he had woken up from hibernation rather than a quick nap.
“Well? I need to insist. Why are you throwing the renters out? They have been tenants of yours for decades.”
“What of it? The property is mine to do as I please.”
“Yes, but such a sudden decision usually happens for a reason.”
“Times are changing, boy. We have to change with them. There might be better, more profitable uses for that space.”
“What uses, for example?”
“I don’t know yet.” His uncle looked out of the window, more interested in the birds outside than in Grant’s questions.
“Then what’s the hurry?” Grant felt his face grow hot with irritation, and he noticed his hands had contracted into tight fists.
“What is it to you, sir?” His uncle was finally awake and fully annoyed.
“A person dear to me is about to lose her place of employment because of this whim of yours.”
“Oh?” His uncle seemed amused all of a sudden. Or maybe he was still aggravated. Grant could not tell for sure. His uncle was at times hard to read. “What person is that?”
“That is irrelevant. What matters is that you have no good reason to do what you’re doing.”
The old man’s emotions were no longer confused. He was clearly furious. He threw the blanket on the ground. Despite being seated, he towered over Grant. He spoke crystalline sentences that came out of his mouth without hurry. “You may one day inherit my estate, sir, but as long as I am alive, it’s my money, and it is my building. I can do what I please with them. You, sir, are out of line.”
Grant could feel any chance at a further discussion slipping and falling outside his reach. The butler came in, and his uncle asked to be wheeled away for tea. “I would invite you to stay, but a young man like you must have many appointments to attend to. Good day, sir.”
Grant made his way back into the coach, and his trip home was, if he could believe it, even more uncomfortable.
****
Whitechapel police station
“I can’t say this is unusual. Children who run away are often employed to do work that couldn’t be done by an adult. Take mines, for example. There are crawl spaces where an adult would not fit. Factories are no better. The conditions are bad and the shifts are often very long and draining. And you tell me this boy wanted to work, so he might have sought employment of his own volition, not realizing what it would be like. He could be anywhere: factory, construction, mudlarking.”
Grant sat in Superintendent McKenzie’s office, having told him what he knew of Toby’s situation. The two men had met at a social gathering many years before and had kept a casual acquaintance since. Lady Galavyin had of course frowned at the association. A police officer, and therefore a waged man, was not among what she considered to be desirable connections. And yet, here was her son, relying on the expertise and goodwill of this honest and hardworking man to solve a problem that most peers would be at a loss to address.
“The first thing you should do is announce it in the newspaper, with the offer of a reward. I can also alert a few officers to keep an eye out for any sighting of him. If someone else is benefiting from his employment, for example, he may be hidden, and we might need to work through the informants that we have all over the city. Once we have asked a few questions, and if we have any leads, I’ll let you know. You can even join a search party at that point, if you want. But be prepared. This could take a while. And it will take money. You won’t be surprised if I say that financial rewards make all the difference in this case.”
“I’m much obliged to you, Henry. I’ll certainly do that. I have just discovered a London that has been invisible to my eyes. I’m grateful for your knowledge and skill. I will do whatever you advise.”
“You have no idea, my friend. This city is not one. It’s many. Unfortunately, this underbelly is what keeps us awake at night.”
Grant left with renewed hope. All that remained was to tell the vicar. And then wait.
****
Lady Galavyin was not expecting her brother-in-law to come to the house. For the most part, they sent each other letters when need be, and their interaction was more of a pragmatic than friendly nature. He didn’t like to leave his mansion, and she found little reason to impose on his hermit ways. The exceptions were Christmas and Easter, the two biggest celebrations of the year in the Galavyin estate. On those occasions he was always present, and, since being social was not one of his greatest traits, he had a lot of free time at the parties, which allowed him to eat an impossible amount, especially given his small frame.
So when one of the servants came to tell her that George Galavyin was waiting in the library, she groaned in annoyance. Nothing good could come out of that.
In the large, airy room, the old Galavyin was flipping through the pages of an encyclopedia, but he stopped once she came in.
“Your boy came to see me.”
“Oh?” She took her place in the best, most expensive-looking armchair.
“He wanted to know more about the reasons for my request that the seamstress vacate the shop.”
“And you told him what?”
“Nothing, of course. I told him it was my property to do as I saw fit.”
“And he accepted that?”
“What else could he do? It’s actually the case that, with my property, I do as I see fit.”
Inside, she smiled at the fact that he was doing as she saw fit. “So what seems to be the matter?”
“I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit.” He shook his head from side to side.
“What would you have me do instead? Leave the prospects of our family up to fate, or to the strategies of the likes of Cora Larsen? Would you want her to partake of the spoils of your estate one day?”
“I didn’t say that. I just hope that in the future I can be spared from getting involved. I enjoy my privacy, and I prefer not to be questioned about my decisions in my own house.”
“Well, you’ve done your part. Let’s just hope it is enough.”
After he left, Lady Galavyin remained in the library. This was a good first step, but she doubted it would be enough. If Cora had a plan, the young woman would try to see it through despite the setback, and might even use her loss to incite pity. Grant had a good heart. She’d better be on alert. But she had the ultimate advantage. As far as plotting women were concerned, she could claim mastery and the benefit of extensive experience and practice.
Chapter Ten
The dinner menu included roasted pork and potatoes complemented by jellies, jams, cakes, and side dishes. Grant looked around. As always, it was too much food for just three people—him, Lady Galavyin, and Addy, who was visiting while the children spent time in the country.
Grant found the pork dry, the potatoes overcooked, and the cake heavy. The assessment made him feel guilty almost instantly. It could only be taken as an immature rumination. The result of too much privilege, to be sure. He thought of Toby, possibly hungry on the streets. As he now knew, many in London had never seen that much food in their lifetime, and here he was, upset at nothing.
“I had a frustrating talk with Uncle yesterday.” He moved some of the food around his plate. “Would you like to hear?”
“What seems to be the matter?” His mother asked without as much as lifting her eyes from the fruit she was slicing. She performed the task as if it were surgery, and she was cold-bloodedly in control.
“He insists on terminating the current tenants of one of his buildings, the one where Miss Cora Larsen has her shop.”
Addy looked surprised and hurt. “What? Cora will lose her shop? That is impossible. We need to intervene. Did you not plead with him? What does he have to say about that?”
Lady Galavyin still did not change her expression. “It’s fascinating. It puzzles me that both of you feel inclined to interfere in your uncle’s affairs. Furthermore, I fail to see the reason why you would care what happens to Mi
ss Larsen’s shop. Indeed she is a gifted dressmaker, but she is certainly not the only one. Paris is packed with skillful seamstresses. She isn’t a woman of our circle either, or with whom we have a profound acquaintance. Am I mistaken?” Upon asking the question, she looked first at her daughter and then at her son, stopping at the latter longer and more meaningfully. She then resumed the operation on her dessert, and he couldn’t tell anymore if he had imagined the peculiar stare.
“Of course she’s more than that,” Addy volunteered. “She is a wonderful person and has become a dear friend. That shop is everything to her. This is extremely unfair.”
“I am sure she can conduct her business elsewhere, Adele. Your uncle’s building is not the only one in town. And London is certainly not the only city in England.” Lady Galavyin put down her fork and crossed her hands on her lap. “Don’t you agree, Grant?”
Grant studied his mother for a while. She was certainly up to something. He patted his mouth with the napkin to gain time. He also studied his words before uttering them. “I believe a woman of Miss Larsen’s standing should be afforded the possibility of working unencumbered, of having the peace of mind to concentrate on her creations. I see no reason for Uncle—or anyone else—to meddle with that.”
Lady Galavyin’s face showed the first signs of changed emotion as she raised her glass and drank from it before resuming eating, and Grant thought what it gave away was a certain calculated disdain.
“You know, I would not be so quick to put Miss Larsen on a pedestal. It seems she is not the fountain of all virtue she would have you believe.” She put down her silverware and interlaced her fingers. “It is a known fact in certain social circles that at the age of nineteen Miss Larsen committed the ultimate social sin…besides having been born poor, of course. She eloped with a Sir Rudolph Lester—a man with a dubious title and more money than class—only to be abandoned before the marriage could be officiated. A shame indeed. If it weren’t for this incident, she could have married a bit above her station, perhaps a wealthy tradesman, and thus been able to stop working. She might even have been able to enjoy some standing in society.”