by Sandra Byrd
He continued. “Those visitors indicated that it might be better for me if I severed our professional relationship.”
I stood, shocked. Then I sat down again.
“I told them that my relationship had been primarily with Lord Palmer, and now the trust was closed I need have no further dealings with anyone in your family, nor you.”
“I’m stunned,” I said.
He lowered his voice and looked at me with regret. “I cannot have anyone alarm my other clients, Miss Young. Many of them work in the financial districts of the City, where these men came from. Should word get round that I am a solicitor who pokes his nose where it need not be poked . . .” He lifted his hands and shrugged as if to say, What could I do? “They made it clear.”
He pointed to the stack of boxes astride his desk. “You’ll take these home. It’s all the papers from your grandfather, and a few from your father, which I have kept safe and secure. I have not looked through them of late . . . I do not want to.”
Nor did I.
“I suggest you keep them somewhere secure,” he said. “Will that be all? You’d mentioned you had further enquiry?”
My hand sweat onto the leather envelope, which I clasped so tightly I had no sensations in my fingertips. I could not, by any means, show these certificates to him now. What if they should prove to be unlawful somehow, or if Collingsworth had proved a false friend and had planted something nefarious within the stack of my father’s legitimate investments? I would, of course, have to work this all out and then take action. But not immediately. And not with Pilchuck.
Whom could I trust? Papa had not told me of this sale. Nor had Thomas.
“No,” I responded. “That will be all. What do I owe you for your fees?”
He waved his hand. “In light of your generous donation to the Cause, I will waive my fees.”
How very Christian of him, just after he’d cut me adrift, with, as he’d stated, no protector.
I returned to the carriage, where Mrs. W asked if things had gone well. I said yes, but she must have wondered because Pilchuck’s associate roughly deposited the boxes into the carriage. Once we were home I had Bidwell bring them into the study. Mrs. W did not enquire further; she had always been discreet. But I’d noticed that she had rarely spoken of Papa since his death, and when she did, it was with a cool tone.
I placed Papa’s investment certificates back into his desk drawer—for the moment—and spent hours and hours looking through the boxes for something that might prove Papa’s innocence. Some of the notes he must have taken about the case he’d been working on when he died—the ones that had stirred his enemies and mine, long after his death, to intimidate Mr. Pilchuck—must remain.
I found nothing.
• • •
One day soon after, I packed my garment bag with some of the near-finished pieces for Lady Tolfee’s Fire and Ice gown and commissioned the hired driver to Tolfee House. Lady Tolfee had summoned me—I thought perhaps so she could begin to match her accessories with the fabric.
Ruby helped me fold the fabric. “She is going to be in an admirable shock when she sees the fabric you helped me with. It looks like flames climbing the skirt!”
“Thank you, miss,” Ruby said. “But now that’s done . . . what do you have next for me? I cannot cut. I cannot sew.”
I nodded. “I’ll find something. Do not fear.”
I arrived at Lady Tolfee’s dressing room. Her lady’s maid, normally so friendly to me, would not meet my eye. She dipped to her mistress and, oddly, left the room.
I brought my case near. “I do believe you will love this. I’ve brought the skirt and a sleeve so you’ll be able to match your jewelry and shoes.”
I pulled one piece after the other out of the bag, and she cooed. “Just beautiful, stunning, really. Whatever shall I do without you?”
“What do you mean?” My heart beat faster, and I allowed the skirt to slip from my hand.
She sat near me. “Lord Tolfee has heard, well, that your father was involved in some reprehensible situations.”
“Where did he hear of that? And I assure you, it’s not true in the least,” I said. If I lost her commission, I would not be able to care for myself, Cheyne Gardens, and the girls. At least not unless Wilhelm and Mr. Harris could assure I’d remain a principal designer and seamstress, a position I had not even been assured of at this point.
“Oh, you know how men are, dear. They gossip worse than women, really, and this has become a particular line of conversation in the past few weeks,” she said, pointedly.
Since the benefit dinner at the club? Since the enquiry Mr. Pilchuck had made in the City? Both?
“I don’t know what to say.”
“When I pointed out to Lord Tolfee that you were, anyway, an heiress in your own right, he rebuked me and said you have donated Winton Park in its entirety. I told him I cannot believe that . . .”
She waited for me to contradict her. “I did donate Winton to the Cause. It had been my mother’s wish.”
“Generous, but perhaps unfortunate.” She came closer. “Listen, my dear. If it were up to me, I would have no qualms. But I have no right or will to cross Lord Tolfee and he says he finds the entire matter distasteful.”
She put the sleeve and the skirt back into the garment bag. “I do hope you’ll still attend the Twin Ball, as my guest, though Lord Tolfee might object, if he knew in advance. I know you must have been working on your costume, and it would be a pity to let it go to waste.”
I thought, perhaps I should sell it, as I may very well be in need of the resources, and soon. “I’ll give it consideration.”
“I insist,” she said. First I was the tool she’d used to punish Mary, now she’d use me to punish her husband, if I agreed.
I smiled at her, brightly. The one redeeming fact of this situation was that she was no longer in any position to insist upon anything from me. Now that I knew I’d lost her commission and affections, I did not want to attend. Now that I knew that Thomas had withheld telling me of his purchase of some of my property—why?—I felt uncertain about seeing him, too.
“I’ll be back with your gown in enough time to dress,” I replied. “Will that be all?”
She nodded and looked as though she were going to lean toward me, to touch my arm or for a brief, lady’s embrace. I moved backward, out of her reach. She did not rebuke me. She did, on some level, understand.
I walked home, not wanting to risk an odd carriage driver right now and to save my pence. When I arrived, all could tell that my mood was diminished.
“Did she not like the fabric, miss?” Ruby asked.
“Oh, no, she loved it,” I said. “She was very pleased with it.”
“Then what is it?” Charlotte asked, and Mother Martha leaned forward, too, to hear my response.
“It’s just that, well, I am not certain any longer if I shall be attending the Twin Ball.” I looked toward the dressing dummy; the girls had been working on my gown in my absence.
“Why not, miss? Isn’t that posh man you are in love with going?” Ruby asked.
“Ruby!” I used my best outrage voice. “I am not in love, and in any case, I have no idea if he will be attending or not. Although . . . I suspect he will.”
“Were you . . . disinvited, miss?” Charlotte asked.
I shook my head. “No. It’s just complicated.” I put on a smile. “Let’s not worry, shall we? In the meantime, I should like to take the Cinderella pantomime costume along to Drury Lane and show Wilhelm. Is it at hand?”
Charlotte proudly brought out the gown we’d all been working on, including Mother Martha’s stunning beading. “Mother Martha has been teaching me to bead,” she said, holding up a glove.
“Charlotte! That is well done!” I couldn’t believe how good a seamstress she’d become in such a short period. She had the gift.
Charlotte blushed and smiled.
“Is all well, dear?” Mrs. W pulled me aside.
I shook my head. “Lord Tolfee has decided that I should not continue making dresses for his wife. She protested, but to no avail.”
Mrs. W’s face went hard, and then she took my hand. “To the theater, then. They can be trusted.”
Yes. I took the costume and then took a carriage to Drury Lane. Hired carriages were an expense I needed to watch more carefully now, but it was important I keep in Wilhelm’s good graces. Perhaps I could ask him if there was additional work this Season.
No. I’d best stun him with my current commission so he’d offer even more work to me the following Season. Once word got round Lady Tolfee’s friends that she’d dismissed me, it would be unlikely that they would commission me.
The theater was a hive and while everyone buzzed around, I went to the back and found some pantomime dressers. Wilhelm and a bevy of actresses exclaimed with delight over the gown and told me how they were looking forward to the reveal of the costumes for Cinderella herself. It was a relief. More often than not, they found complaint with final costumes, till it came time to leave them behind when the show closed; then suddenly they found they could not do without them.
Reassured, I left them to their work on the current production and walked into the theater itself.
It was dark; the lights were not lit, of course, during the day. I sat in one of the theater boxes, a box very much like the one I had recently shared with Thomas and Captain Lockwood and Lisbeth.
The stage curtains rustled, but no one came out. The ceiling creaked and then crackled again. I imagined the actors who had been on that stage, who had played people who lived and died, and had lived and died themselves.
I heard steps in the corridor behind the boxes. I waited, and they seemed to stop right behind me. I held my breath. Was I imagining being followed again?
I stood and hurried out into the waning afternoon light. I walked, and as I came near the Lyceum, I stopped. My heart clutched. Thomas? Had he come back to bring additional fencing materials?
I would speak with him. I’d ask him about the purchase of my land, and gently ask him to account for his silence in the matter. He likely had a good answer.
I hoped he would.
I was about to call out to him, but he protectively put his arm around a very young lady and helped her into his carriage. My mouth opened and my heart closed; I wanted to close my eyes, too, but I found I could not.
The young woman was exceptionally pretty. She smiled up at him, admiringly, trustingly, and he smiled back at her with that smile that had melted my heart. He spoke to her gently. An iron mantle of despair burdened my shoulders, crushing my spirit.
Perhaps it meant nothing. Perhaps she was but a friend. And yet . . . the tenderness with which he had gazed upon her. I waited till they left and then walked home, to clear my mind, via King Street, making a point not to look at the high-end brothel filled with the too-young.
Papa. What had you been doing there? I do not understand.
I thought of Thomas, buying my land, escorting that pretty young girl.
I recalled Lady Tolfee’s easy dismissal.
I am bereft, Lord. I have no protector. No one but You, and You seem very far away indeed.
I recalled a line in Othello and whispered it as I rounded the corner toward home. “But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve, For daws to peck at.”
Unlike Thomas, who had taken proper precautions for life, I had not worn a plastron, and my heart was now pierced clear through.
I went to bed early that night, hoping for the respite of dreamlessness. It was not to be.
A rush of footsteps could be heard clattering down the stairs, and then came a crash against my door, a banging, persisting knock.
“Who is it?” I called out, jumping up and pulling my robe around me. I opened the door.
“Miss!” Charlotte burst out. “Ruby—she’s gone!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Gone?” In spite of the still-warm summer night, a feverish chill trembled through me. “Gone where? When?”
Charlotte put her face into her hands and began to cry.
“I thought I heard a noise, but then I didn’t wake properly. Something kept plucking at my heart, though, and finally, I did wake up, and then I looked over, and Ruby was not in her bed. Her blankets were all pulled up neat-like. Then I came down to get you.”
I ran up to their room; Ruby’s clothes were still in her drawer. I ran back downstairs, Charlotte trailing behind me. The door was unlocked. “Did she meet someone?” I asked Charlotte. “Did she mention wanting to leave with anyone?” That young man ran through my mind, but there had been no word of him since the charity bazaar.
Charlotte sniffled. “She did say she wanted to walk along the park next to the river, miss. Last time we rode by it in the carriage.”
The Chelsea Embankment. I threw on a dress and half buttoned my boots.
“I think Mother Martha is gone, too,” Charlotte called after me. “I looked in her room an’ didn’t see her, neither.”
Right now, I had no time to worry about a woman grown, much as I cared for her. Perhaps she was with Ruby. The only man nearby was Bidwell and if I were even able to quickly wake him his age would slow me down. I fled out the front door.
The night was stale and motionless, which amplified the sound of my boots hitting the cobbles. The streets were empty but for the prowling of animals that magically appeared when I was but a foot or two away from them; the smothering fog made it impossible to see clearly unless I was directly under a streetlamp.
Someone cried in the distance. As I got closer to the river, the smoked soot blanched to fog and lifted from the streets like a specter, twistedly following me like a ghost. Two drunks appeared out of the ether; when they saw me, they reached for me, catcalled, and nearly caught the hem of my shawl, which would have allowed them to pull me toward them.
My heart squeezed with fear but I pressed on for Ruby’s sake.
I picked up the pace, but because my boots were half unbuttoned, I wrenched my ankle and had to slow down. The night fog hid me, I’d thought. But soon my pursuers closed in and I forced myself to pick up the pace, fear as well as the loose boots making it difficult to walk steadily.
“Well, isn’t that a bit of luck?” one called to the other. In spite of the pain, I kept walking. Would they follow me to the Embankment? What if Ruby was not there? What if she was and these two louts apprehended both of us?
One shouted lewdly, but his inebriation made it impossible for him to keep up. Reaching for me again, he lost his balance and fell hard into the gutter. I passed an alley and a shadow moved. I heard a clawing, and more shadows, and then a fox, no two, appeared. One arched his back when he saw me, and lifted a paw, grinning, and then turned toward the other, inviting mischief.
I did not know if running would cause more attention, so I slowed my pace to a quick walk.
Please, Lord, let Ruby be well. Let me find her. Let her be here because if she is not here, I do not know where she might be.
I reached the park that bordered the Thames, which quietly lapped against the Embankment. A man and a woman slumped together against a tree, but no one else.
I walked to the right and then turned back and went the other way. Fifteen minutes later, I saw her, sitting on a bench, dead center, alone. A lit lamp flickered a halo above her tilted head.
Ruby.
I pressed my balled fists to my eyes in relief and held back the tears so I would not distress her. I’d thought someone had made off with her and was overwhelmed with thankfulness that they had not. I quickly, but calmly, walked toward her. She was alone; wherever Mother Martha had gone, it was not here. I should have to reproach her, too, for leaving at night. Had this been a habit?
I was in nothing so much as a hurry to return to the safety of home, but I remembered a time when I had happened upon a wounded bird once, as a child. In my rush to pick her up she’d fluttered away from me in fear to a place in the hedgerow where I co
uld not reach or help her.
I approached Ruby from the side. “May I sit next to you?”
She jumped, afraid, perhaps, and then once she saw it was me, looked anxious of a reproach. She reclaimed her catlike indifference and shrugged. “No one else will.”
I sat down next to her. “What do you mean?”
She pointed toward a rough, large, intimidating man sitting on the bench near us. His bowler hat was pulled down so I could not see his eyes, but by the alertness with which he held his head, he was clearly not asleep. “At first, some young men came and sat by me for a moment, asking my name and such. But then that man looked at them, and they left. The man sat down on the other bench”—she pointed toward it—“and no one has come my way since.”
I looked around; it was true. There was a large perimeter of emptiness around her though there were animals and a few vagrants prowling other parts of the Embankment. I positioned myself in between the man and Ruby and turned my back to him, to protect her from his sight in case he, himself, had bad intentions.
“ ’Tis for the best,” I said. I wanted to rush home immediately, out of this dark and sinister park filled with ne’er-do-wells and drunkards and desperates with nothing to lose. To rush Ruby might be to lose her.
Her gloom stayed settled round her like London’s melancholic fog. “I knew you would say that, miss.”
I held back a smile. “It is not safe here. You should not have come.”
“I could not sleep.”
“We have a parlor.”
She shook her head. “I feel cooped up, miss. And . . . sad. I could not sleep.”
I should have expected they would feel cooped up. Of course! They were but girls and I had not given them much time of late for rest or for play. When we were safely home, in the morning, I should explain a bit more frankly how and from whom the girls were at risk.
“We shall come to the park tomorrow . . . when it is daylight. And I promise to make more time for amusements. I’m sorry.”