by Sandra Byrd
She lifted her head. “I just got . . . Well, it just got too much, miss. Every time something good seems like it’s going to happen, why, then it don’t. There’s more fun in the theater—yes, it was hard work, but we had fun, too. Now all we do is sew for people who don’t have to do anything difficult—rich people and actresses. My fingers hurt and so do Charlotte’s, though she’d never say so. Sometimes we’re bored. Then finally, we all sew on the gown for you to go to the posh ball, and after all that, you’re not going to go. You said we were to have a bright future, miss. But if even you don’t have a bright future, then how can we hope to?”
I sat quietly for a moment. She was right. I hadn’t given them a good example. They—and I—had worked very hard on that dress. It may well be my last chance to attend such an event. I would go, for them, and for me.
I could not deny that I wanted to speak with Thomas. He’d promised, after all, that we’d talk.
“Whoever said I was not attending that ball?” I said brightly.
“You, miss.”
“Well, I said I was not sure. But now I am sure. Of course I’m going to attend! I shall even see if I might sneak home some sweets in my garment bag for the lot of you.”
She looked up at me. “Really?”
I nodded. “Really. We all have to work—and you’ll have to trust me when I tell you that those living a life with riches aren’t always blessed with happiness. You have a bright future. I shall see to it myself. I promise.”
She kicked the ground. An owl hooted. I sensed people lurking nearby. “I can’t sew, miss, and we both know it.”
Yes, we did.
She looked at me head-on for a full minute, her green eyes searching my blue, looking for honesty, fidelity, and commitment, I knew. Then she nodded. “I believe you, miss. I have a bright future.”
I took her by the hand. “Let’s return home now. We’ll come tomorrow, with Charlotte and Mother Martha and Mrs. W. We’ll buy a bag of bread crumbs for the pigeons.” She brightened and put her arm around my waist and I put mine around hers; we began to hurry home. At the catcalling of a distant man, I think even she began to feel nervous. She picked up her pace, and I did, too, praying for protection.
“We’ll buy an ice for you, one for Charlotte . . . and one for Mrs. W!” I kept up the cheery chatter to counterbalance the fear as we stepped down the dark cobblestones. The lamps were fewer and farther between now.
The foxes fell out of the alley and slunk behind us.
“Does Mrs. W eat ices, then?” Ruby glanced toward their glittering eyes and sharp teeth.
I did not know. “We shall find out.” I refused to look at the animals. It might engage them. I sensed them behind us now. It put me in mind of Little Red Riding Hood.
“Little Red Cap, just where does your grandmother live?”
“Her house is a good quarter hour from here in the woods, under the three large oak trees. There’s a hedge of hazel bushes there. You must know the place,” said Little Red Cap.
The wolf thought to himself, “Now that sweet young thing is a tasty bite for me. She will taste even better than the old woman. You must be sly, and you can catch them both.”
We began to run and I quickly opened the door, pulling Ruby inside, and closing it fast behind us.
We panted for a full minute, then collapsed in the parlor. I looked at her and she at me. We were safe now and burst into exhausted giggles of relief. Mrs. W appeared, her unkempt hair barely restrained by a sleeping cap; she looked just like Little Red’s grandmother, which set me off laughing again.
“Never mind. All’s well now. We’ll have an outing to the park tomorrow.”
I helped Ruby and Charlotte upstairs, and as I did, I knocked on Mother Martha’s door.
“Yes?” She called out, her voice thick with sleep.
“Are you quite well?” I asked.
“Quite well, thank you,” she said.
Charlotte turned toward me at the sound of Mother Martha’s voice coming from her room. The girl seemed unsettled and confused. “I’m sorry, miss. I must have been mistaken. I was certain she was gone.”
• • •
Next afternoon, we walked back to the Embankment, and before we reached the ice seller we came to a little gathering of girls and women, holding hands and dancing in joy in front of an organ grinder. His long, rough beard protected his sun-browned face, his two little boys idled beside him, learning his trade.
We stood for a moment, clapping. Two little girls, one in a straw hat, one in a blue felt bowler, led the way, lifting their skirts prettily in time with the music. Then one of the grown women in a blue dress with a red underskirt that looked just like our Cinderella’s maid costume took Ruby by the hand to invite her to dance, and then Ruby took me. Mother Martha and Mrs. W joined in, and we whirled with them all. A policeman, one who looked very smart in his uniform, his buttons polished, his hat firm and the flap in front carefully folded, grinned at us, watching, protecting, allowing all to enjoy and seeing no mischief was worked.
Papa had once been like that.
I looked toward the bench where Ruby’s protector had been stationed the night before. It was empty.
After a few minutes, the tune ended, and we all laughed and danced. I gave the grinder a few pence for his music. “Perhaps you should attend the Mission more often with Mother Martha,” I said. “It might be enjoyable.”
Ruby looked at her toes, and Charlotte spoke up. “No, miss. I mean, we like the service on Sunday and all, and when the speaker comes that’s just for girls but, well, that’s enough for us till we’re old, I think.” Even Mrs. W held back a smile.
After an hour, we were ready to return to Cheyne Gardens. We had sewing to do. Very soon, Sergeant Collingsworth was coming to call. I should soon have to tell him we would be nothing more than friends, as I did not want to mislead him. But I did not wish to anger him or turn him against me, either.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
AUGUST, 1883
I’d had such a delightful time on the Embankment with my household that when Francis came to call, I asked him if we might walk along it, too. He was delighted and I was glad for another activity we could comfortably share.
“Mother would like us to pop round for tea after,” he said. “If that’s all right with you?”
I nodded, but wondered what he, or they, had in mind.
His face was drawn, and his normally pink complexion pale: odd, for midsummer. “Are you quite well?” I asked. “We could postpone this to another day if you like.”
He shook his head and put my hand inside his elbow, comfortably, as we strolled. “It’s been a little taxing lately,” he said.
“On the force?” I asked.
He nodded. “And at home as well.” His eyes darted away, and he would not look at me for a moment. I did not press it just then.
“Have you met with your father’s solicitor?” he asked. We walked close to the water, and a little girl stood nearby selling posies. He bought one for me, which was awfully sweet. I put my nose in the center of a rose and inhaled its sweet scent.
“I have,” I answered as we continued. I would not tell him how I’d been dismissed, nor why. Is that why he’d asked? Had he been put up to it somehow? Instead, I changed the subject. “I should tell you . . . I have donated my property at Winton Park to the Cause.”
He full stopped. “You have?”
I nodded. “It was what my mother wanted.”
Francis took a moment to shake his head clear. “You should have kept it. That was not wise.”
Who was he to offer such stringent condemnation of my freely made decision with my own property?
He returned to the earlier topic. “Was your solicitor able to answer your questions about your father’s investment certificates?”
Now, I did not want to lie, but I was not going to answer forthrightly, either. I had no trust of Francis’s father and did not know where Francis stood on these matters, eit
her. We passed a pottery seller, his wares displayed on a ladder that leaned against a brick building. Further down, the organ grinder and his two sons were playing for tips.
“I intend to make further enquiries about all the certificates with my friend Viscount Lockwood, who is heavily involved in investments, in the City,” I said. “I will see this through to a clear answer.”
“Your friend,” Francis said.
I did not answer. I was not to be held to account by a childhood friend whose father may or may not have turned my father astray.
The day grew cool and clouds blew across our conversation. We turned in the direction toward his home. Mrs. Collingsworth already had the kettle on in the back; I could hear it.
“I’m delighted you’ve come,” she said to me. “Go on, Francis. Join your father in the garden for a pipeful.”
He smiled at me, and I smiled back, warmly, to reassure him that his mother was in good hands in his absence.
Mrs. Collingsworth brought out some chocolate biscuits. “These are really quite good,” I said. “Do you mind if I take another?”
“I’d be delighted!”
We talked for a few minutes about the success of her charity bazaar and then she brought the conversation round to how good a friend my mother had been to her.
I hadn’t recalled them being overly friendly but did not want to contradict.
“I think she, and I, had hopes that you and Francis, well . . .” She let the sentence drift off and blushed, the first time any color had flushed her face since my arrival.
I smiled and nodded but said nothing. She coughed a little, which then turned into a fit, and then waved her linen to excuse herself. I nodded. “Yes, yes, please take care of yourself. I’ll be fine right here.”
She left, and I sipped my tea and looked around the parlor. There were no novels or magazines, but one newspaper. I read the first page:
Parliament will recess without further motions made on the Criminal Law Amendment Act, an Act to provide further provision for the Protection of Women and Girls, the suppression of brothels, and other motivations, such as transporting girls and young women to the Continent for “immoral purposes.” The House of Lords, led by Lord Granville, formed a select committee to investigate and confirm an increase in child prostitution and white slavery.
After reviewing the facts, the House of Lords made recommendations for this bill, which would include raising the age of consent to sixteen years from age thirteen, as well as introduced further and more stringent criminal penalties for sexual offenses. The bill easily passed the House of Lords but was dropped by the House of Commons. It will be reintroduced.
My poor girls. Was there to be no justice?
I set the paper down and looked for comfort. Here was a family Bible on a side table, and another one propped oddly in a tiny bookshelf.
I reached for it, to page through it and pass the time till Mrs. Collingsworth returned. I turned to the Psalms first. The printing was unusual, different. But I’d seen it before. Where?
I held my breath. I knew where I’d seen that.
I prayed that no one would enter the room before I had a chance to flip through the pages.
Oh no. Oh no. The book of Saint Matthew, chapter eight, had been removed from the Bible. I remembered the first warning I had received, from that very chapter. Let the dead bury their dead.
I flipped forward a few pages. I could hear the men returning. Yes, Saint Matthew, chapter thirteen, was also missing. But whosoever hath not, from him shall be taken away even that he hath.
Which Collingsworth had sent them to me?
I quickly replaced the book on the shelf, and within fifteen seconds, Inspector and Sergeant Collingsworth walked in. They looked uneasy together; Francis looked paler than ever.
“Where’s Mum?” he asked.
“She felt a little unwell,” I replied, my heart still pounding at my discovery. “Is there something else I can do?”
“I’ll tend to her, son, and you take Miss Young home,” his father said. Francis agreed.
We walked; it was a lovely summer evening, and the cries of children playing outside filled the air. A light breeze ruffled round my bonnet, which I was glad for. I had grown overheated in the Collingsworths’ sitting room. The missing pages of the Bible kept flitting through my mind, and it made my situation with Francis even more uncomfortable.
“Gillian . . . ,” Francis began. His voice sounded both intimate and tentative at once.
I tilted my head toward him.
“You mentioned that viscount today, and it reminded me, well . . . I should like to court you seriously, exclusively. With an eye toward something more in the future.”
I was relieved that he had raised the topic, as I could not let this go further; I did not have those kinds of feelings for him and I felt entirely unsafe in his family home. “You are a good man,” I began. He held his hand up to silence me.
“Hear me out. I would treat you with affection and respect; I would not stand in the way of your work. We have a background in common, and we are comfortable with one another.”
All of that was true, and I nodded.
“The world is a dark place; no one knows that better than a copper, or”—he looked at me—“the daughter of an officer.”
“Has something started up again?” I asked. I thought back to my conversation with Mr. Pilchuck.
“We can make a dark situation light together. I can protect you, Gillian, like none other. It would be a delight and a privilege to do so.” He continued. “My mother loves you. Please . . . just think it over. For me.”
We’d nearly arrived at Cheyne Gardens. I sighed. “I will think it over, for you, Francis. In earnest, I will.”
He smiled. “Thank you. You’ll soon see it’s best.” He stood there, and I wondered if he was going to try to kiss me. I backed away, just a little, and he smiled, briefly, and left.
I stood by the door and watched him return the way we’d come.
What did I feel for Francis? Before this had all come about I had always considered him to be a good man, but I did not daydream of him. I did not think about pressing my lips against his, or how I could make him laugh or catch him out with a parry. I had not considered what our children might look like, his and mine.
I had with Thomas.
I did not want to ask him about the young lady in the carriage. I did not want to ask him why he had purchased my land and not told me, because everything I’d hoped for and dreamt of with him might suddenly collapse.
Perhaps Francis, then . . . and yet, no. Francis and I could not talk about theater together. I did not love him. And, importantly, he had said his mother loved me, but he had not said he did.
“Do not marry a man if you are not sure he loves you for yourself alone, dearest little daisy,” Mamma said. “Never a man about whom you think, even for a moment, he loves me not.”
Did Thomas love me?
• • •
The next morning, I awoke realizing there was little time for introspection because the Twin Ball would be held the next day. But we did take a fast moment to play Old Maid first, relaxing a bit ahead of the long night; I was attentive to the girls’ needs now. They had purchased a card set at the charity bazaar. Ruby was worried about this particular game.
“Shall we invite her, miss?” she asked. “Will she be hurt?”
“Will whom be hurt by what?” came a steady voice from behind.
Ruby and I looked at one another wide-eyed as Mrs. W appeared from nowhere.
“Cards, ma’am, if you’d like.”
Mrs. W looked at the deck, and I saw both tenderness and pain as she recognized what Ruby had been trying to protect her from.
“I think I’ve won this game already,” she said with a light laugh. I was shocked. I had never seen her . . . jolly. She was more interested in righteous.
“There is the game Old Bachelor,” Mrs. W said. “If you truly cared for my feelings, you�
��d consider a purchase of that next bazaar.”
I could not contain my surprise. What had happened to my solemn chaperone and old Auntie these past months since, well, since her sister’s husband had died? She’d become light.
Ruby delighted at the parry and we played a game or two before returning to our work.
I’d had Bidwell install some metal rails to the beams on the fourth floor. From one of them hung Lady Tolfee’s Fire and Ice gown; it was stunning and original, exactly what she’d requested. If I had to lose her commission, I was proud to have designed this as my last gown for her.
Lady Mary’s gown was also beautiful; she had wanted to be Sun and Moon, and her dress would spin, like a clock, from noon to midnight as she twirled. Mary could show herself as sunny to one man if she approached from the left, or mysterious to another, if she approached from the right. I whispered a little prayer over her dress. She needed someone to care for her, too.
Those dresses now hung from the rails—the summer heat was such that I would not have to press them before placing them in the garment bag, though Lady Tolfee’s lady’s maid might render some assistance once I arrived at Tolfee House.
“Come, now,” Ruby instructed me. “Sit here.” She pointed to a chair in the middle of the room. “I’m going to style your hair with some inserts and jewels and such.”
I obeyed and the girls giggled. Ruby twisted and pulled and curlicued my hair. She held up a hand mirror.
I adored what I saw in the reflection. “Oh, Ruby! This is absolutely wonderful. Will you be able to do it again before the ball?”
“Of course,” she said.
I realized with a pang that I should speak with Sarah about Ruby; perhaps, after the Season and after the dresses were readied for the pantomime, Ruby might apprentice with Sarah. The thought of losing her hurt my heart.
Mother Martha cleared her throat and began to read from Little Women. “But that autumn the serpent got into Meg’s paradise, and tempted her, like many a modern Eve, not with apples, but with dress.” She looked at us, and we laughed.