by Sandra Byrd
Mrs. Finley looked at Mrs. W, who nodded and smiled. “I had asked Barbara if I might call.”
“You are welcome anytime!” I said. Mrs. W bustled off to ask Louisa to prepare treats and sweets for our guest.
Mrs. Finley sat near me and folded her hands in her lap. “I do want to say, dear, how pleasantly shocked I was to hear that you’d donated your home to the Cause. The effects of that rippled across all who knew your mother. Barbara has proudly made it known to all, and of course, the funds will do a great deal to help the less fortunate for a decade or longer.”
I smiled and hoped my mixed feelings would not express themselves in my voice or on my face. “It’s what my mother wanted. I’m sure she’d be gratified.”
Mrs. Finley nodded. “You’ve heard it’s been sold already. There were quite a number of interested bidders. I’m happy to say it went to a good family who paid a premium.”
“Yes, I’d heard,” I said dryly.
“The papers have not yet been completed, but the estate will be fully transferred by the third week of September. They’d like the property to be available to them then. There are many repairs to be made before the weather arrives.”
The third week of September, when Thomas had said he must return to London to conclude a transaction. This, then, among other things, perhaps, was his reason for returning then.
Mrs. Finley continued. “I was sent to speak with you because, well, your mother and I had been great friends.”
Mrs. W brought the tea and settled it between us. “Stay, please,” I insisted. She was much more a part of the Cause than I, and great friends with Mrs. Finley. She smiled and poured for us.
“You do have personal belongings there, is that right?” Mrs. Finley said. “Things you will want to retain for yourself, mementos and such? We understood that the home was to be sold with the furnishing intact.”
“Yes on both counts,” I said. I’d sold it intact not only because it had made it more valuable but also I did not have room for more furnishings and, well, it seemed sad to split the house from its mementos and furniture. “I do, however, want my mother’s costumes and such.”
“Would you like to travel to get the things you’d like?” she asked. “Or, the family has suggested if you preferred to spare yourself the trouble, you could make a list, deliver it to me, and they will see everything you request shipped to London.”
He did not want me to come there; then he’d have to see me.
“Perhaps that would be best,” I said, crushed as the reality of the ending of our relationship came sharply clear. “I’ll ensure that I get the list to you soon.”
“Fine, dear.” With the business at hand out of the way, we enjoyed our tea and biscuits, and Mrs. Finley left, promising to return for a visit soon.
As she left, a delivered note came from Drury Lane. I’d been summoned.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
SEPTEMBER, 1883
“Miss Young.” Wilhelm held out papery hands, the mark of an older man, and enveloped my smooth ones within them. “Come, let’s have a seat.” He led me to a box, which was costumed in its way—upholstered in soft midnight-blue velvet and painted in rococo swirls of gold and blue. “It will be more private here, for talking.”
I’d thought we would go behind the stage where the production members were hard at work, or belowstairs to the open wardrobe room where we seamstresses would soon gather from our salons, bringing the costumes with us so we may finish up the fittings and final details on the actual actors and actresses ahead of the dress rehearsal for A Sailor and His Lass.
It did not bode well that he wanted to speak to me in private. I thought on my loss of Lady Tolfee’s gowns and pushed the panic down. He must somehow be convinced of my worth!
I pulled one of the forest fairies pantomime costumes out of my bag. “I’m very happy with how these have turned out—I tried to design elfin and darling.” I held the bright sash I’d made for each child. “These will tie together with the costume Cinderella would wear in the forest.” I giggled, and he looked alarmed. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I just thought it funny, ‘tied’ together.”
He smiled wanly. I must sound hysterical. I was approaching hysterical!
“My apprentice Charlotte has made little green slippers, soled in felt for silence,” I said after quieting my voice. I held one toward him.
He looked at it, and then me, fondly. “You’re doing well, Miss Young. But . . . the police have just been back for another visit.” He sighed.
“What?” My pitch rose again.
“A Sergeant Jones.”
“What did he want?”
Wilhelm grimaced. “He asked if you kept regular hours here. The dresser told him you would be back next week and the week after, in the afternoons, for fittings and such if he cared to see you, but were here only occasionally otherwise.”
Oh dear. I could not avoid those fittings; it was a critical part of my commission. But I did not want to have a public confrontation with Jones at the place of my employ.
“I’ll speak with someone about it,” I said.
“Can they not speak with you at home? Surely they know where you live.”
Yes, yes, they did. They were making it difficult for me, isolating me, intimidating me.
“They do.”
“You understand, Gillian, I have a certain fondness for you. Your mother and I were very good friends and you are like a daughter to me in some ways. But I cannot risk my position here, either. Mr. Harris won’t have these kinds of disturbances, and regular visits from the Metropolitan Police do not make for a festive atmosphere. We can’t alienate our paying guests with a suggestion of wrongdoing. It disturbs the staff as well.”
“Yes. I know. I shall attend to this matter.”
“It doesn’t look good. Soon, people will begin to question you—question your honesty in your materials budget, your associations . . . I’d heard that Lady Tolfee has decided against using you next Season.”
“Unfortunately,” I said. I held back tears but Wilhelm, who read actors all the time, knew how to read me, too.
He squeezed my hand. “I will see you next week for the final fittings for A Sailor and His Lass . . . and your young apprentices who make the lovely slippers, correct?”
I nodded. The girls were coming to the fittings. It would be their first time backstage not as performers, and I hoped to give them a happy glimpse of the life that could lie ahead for them.
“Till then,” he said as he left.
I waited, alone in the box, and prayed. Then, certain that no one was about, I allowed myself the indulgence of a nearly silent cry.
I had badly misread Thomas and perhaps, somehow, my father and even mother with her desire to donate Winton. Was there anyone I truly knew?
I walked home. Now, in the yellow smoke–tainted dusk, the city closed around me and it made me claustrophobic. The early autumn was unusually warm, and my clothes felt as tightly wrapped as grave cloths. The heat seemed to melt the coal dust and mold it to the buildings, the lamp and carriage posts, and my clothing. It lined my lungs like a sticky golden syrup as I breathed in. I had developed a twitch under my left eye, and it presented itself more often when I was walking about town. I felt someone behind me though I could not see them through the heavy air. Footsteps. Who could be following me?
Jones, most likely.
My eye twitched again. I stopped and dramatically turned around, ready to confront my stalkers.
A young couple looked at me strangely and crossed the street to avoid further interaction. I supposed my eyes reflected my overwrought thoughts.
My eye would not stop twitching; it wriggled like a worm under my skin and I pressed my hand firmly upon it, which stopped the movement, but only until I let go.
I was going mad.
I walked on. I hadn’t visited Sarah in some time, nor taken the girls to tea. I’d avoided the park, even, not knowing who would be lurking there for me. If some
one were, could I turn to the police for protection and comfort, as Papa had always told me I might?
No longer. But . . . maybe.
I wanted nothing so much as to stay at home, but the more I yielded to that temptation, the more firmly entrenched it would become. I could not allow that.
When I arrived home, I quickly dashed off a note to Francis.
Dear Sergeant Collingsworth,
No, I must start over.
Dear Francis,
I would presume this time upon his Christian name, and pray he recalled our merry times together. Did I trust him? No.
I hope that our conversation has not had the effect of terminating our friendship. You had told me once that if I were in need of anything to call on you. Your father had mentioned that, too. I do find myself in a place where I need some advice, especially as it regards the force. Would you be able to call? Or perhaps I could meet you somewhere?
I await your reply and remain,
Yours truly,
Gillian
I posted it immediately. I must tell him about Jones, and ask for his help. I had no one else to turn to.
“Louisa?” I asked. “Could you please pack a hamper for the girls and me? I believe we’ll take our dinner in the park, as there is to be music tonight.”
She smiled. “Certainly, miss.”
The girls and I left to stroll in the late daylight; the breeze had cleared the air a little, and I was grateful for that.
The river rolled on its muddy way, swans craning their long necks this way and that in righteous indignation at being displaced by scores of gliding rowers. Soon, the park would return to its autumn slowdown and then winter hush. We chattered on about the next week, when we’d be at Drury Lane every afternoon for fittings, sewing circles, and meeting with the actors. I know they were enthusiastic about getting out of Cheyne and I was enthusiastic for them. We walked home, three abreast, arm in arm, safely.
No Jones. No foxes. The baker’s cart remained, but the seller manning it smiled kindly and did not look disreputable. Perhaps things might turn out well.
• • •
The very next day, Saturday, the morning post brought a small package.
Thomas? My hopes soared, and I looked at the parcel. No, Francis. They fell again. The package had been posted from his home. The writing, however, was decidedly feminine. I opened the box and out tumbled the beautiful pincushion I had gifted to Francis’s mother. It clattered to the floor and broke open at the hinge. I flinched.
Dear Miss Young,
The handwriting was spidery and difficult to read, as though written with a shaking hand. Shaking from anger? Or illness?
I have received your letter to Francis, and to spare him additional pain, opened it, read it, and am responding in his stead and without his knowledge.
He has just told us not a day ago that he had made a proposal of intentions to you, but you firmly turned him down. And now you’re asking for his help! Temerity!
I think your family has caused just about enough trouble for ours. I’ve no doubt you find yourself in need of protection. But you shan’t have it from us.
I wish you well.
Mrs. Emily Collingsworth
What did she mean, she had no doubt I find myself in need of protection? A chill rolled through me, and I grew weak once more. I threw the pincushion into the wastebin, as though it had been sent to curse me. It might as well have.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The next day, Sunday afternoon, we returned from church to find a fine carriage waiting on the street outside our home. Thomas? My heart nearly burst. He had returned to me as I’d hoped he would! All would be well. He’d received my letter, finally, and had decided to respond in person . . . of course!
The girls looked at me, happily. We made our way up the steps without looking at him; I was not about to race to the carriage like a foolish schoolgirl; I would welcome him inside like the gracious lady I was.
Once inside the door, I turned my back to it and laughed. Yes, gracious lady, indeed. I smoothed out my skirt and glanced at the mirror, tucking a few unruly strands back into my pinned-up hair. I was happy that the day was light and my clothing and skin were not smudged by coal smoke. The brisk walk had brightened my skin. Good! I lightly bit my lips to bring some additional color to them.
The girls scurried upstairs with Mother Martha while Mrs. W remained with me, to chaperone. After a moment, Bidwell opened the door, and my hopes sank.
“Mr. Colmore Dunn.” A cloud slid across the sun. “Please, come in.”
“Miss Young.” Colmore Dunn tipped his hat. He looked kind but reserved. I immediately changed my enthusiastic approach to match his.
“How nice to see you. How unexpected.”
“Lord Lockwood had promised to look at your father’s certificates,” he said. “He would by no means break a promise and bid me come and review them, as they are an area of particular expertise for me, before he returns to town this week. I thought I may as well do it now.”
Thomas would not break a promise, only my heart, which now collapsed inside me, causing crushing pain from chest bone to backbone. It was simply duty, then, the shackles he could not free himself from. That was fine. I would allow this unrestrained sense of duty to assist me. After procuring my home for his mother it was the least he could do. He had apparently replaced the plastron guarding his heart. I would adjust mine as well.
I turned toward Colmore Dunn and spoke a little sharply. “I understand you assisted in the sale of some acreage to Lord Lockwood from my father last year. I’m surprised you hadn’t mentioned it to me.”
“Confidential matter, Miss Young,” he said. “I’m sure you understand. That being said, I found your father to be a fine man. I’m terribly sorry, but Matilda will be most upset if I’m late for our Sunday supper.” It was clear he found the task not to his taste and had left it for the last minute.
“Lord Lockwood did not want to come himself?” I asked. I must know.
“He arrives in London tomorrow, has signings to conduct, and then is leaving again shortly after.” He blushed once more, so I surmised there was more to it than that.
Without doubt he had told him of our recent estrangement. Maybe he believed Papa’s suspected involvement with prostitution and fraud and had decided to distance himself from me. It would be understandable. Even Papa’s own brothers on the police force had done so. Lord Tolfee felt he would be tainted by his wife’s association with me.
I walked to Papa’s desk and sat down at the chair, then reached into the drawer that held the certificates. I pulled out the thick handful and then handed them over.
Colmore Dunn looked through a few of them, glancing nonchalantly and humming an acceptance. Then he stopped and looked at one, then the next, very closely. His lip curled almost in revulsion. A sickly look crossed his face. He looked through several more.
“Is everything all right?” I asked anxiously.
Colmore Dunn looked at me. “No, I believe it is not. May I take these with me? I shall see them returned to you when I have fully investigated.” He looked at me with hard eyes. “You do still want this fully investigated.”
I understood him to mean that things did not look promising, rather, they looked potentially incriminatory. Mrs. Collingsworth’s warning returned to me, and I shivered. Did she know? Had her husband planted something damning?
“Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, I must know the truth.”
Colmore Dunn nodded. “I’ll return them within the week.”
I showed him to the door, where he bid me a pleasant and perfunctory good-bye. I closed the door, but looked out of the window to the side of the door. The rat catcher, of all people, had stopped Colmore Dunn.
I sat down, heavily, in a chair.
Thomas, I thought. What has come of us?
Mrs. W came and put her arm round me, a very welcome gesture. “I did tell you about titled men, didn’t I?” she asked, and I nodded, silent.
“Even your mother knew that,” she finished. “Being the daughter of one.”
• • •
The next morning found us all preparing to go to the Drury. We had promised to be in attendance and sew each afternoon from noon to five, for final fittings for A Sailor and His Lass. We prepared ourselves early and then the girls and Mother Martha and I began our stroll in the pleasant early-autumn air, carrying the wardrobe bags with us.
“It’s a fine day to be out,” I said. I hoped no one was following us. I hoped there would not be a public confrontation with Sergeant Jones. The thought of that brought my tic on, and I reprimanded myself. It would do no good to worry; no one had been following me for some time, and once I gave reign to the fancies in my mind I may never again regain control.
I’d put the thoughts of the certificates out of my mind, for the moment, by sheer will. If they were found to be fraudulent, I would have no income from them, and I would need my work at the theater more than ever.
Ruby was in a cheery mood; she was not the only member of the household who eavesdropped. The night before, I’d heard her tell Charlotte they might flirt with some of the younger actors.
She burst out in song, which she’d heard the week before at the Theatrical Mission. “A sailor and his lass had met / At eve to say farewell / For he was off to sea at morn / Leaving his love for a spell. / ‘Cheer up, my lass,’ he whispered low, / In accents fond and true . . .”
Charlotte jostled her friend. “Ruby,” she hissed quietly.
Ruby did not seem to hear her. “ ‘. . . Though wandering o’er the world I go, / I’ll come back soon to you. / For I’ll be true, ever true / Always true to thee!’ ”
Charlotte jostled her again and looked meaningfully in my direction.
“Oh,” Ruby said. “Sorry, miss.”
“There is nothing to be sorry about,” I said. They both nodded glumly. We all knew I was lying.
We walked in through the back doors and down the stairs to the wardrobe room. There were other rooms that were used for dressing, and wigs, and preparations, but the wardrobe room was a central hive where costumes were finally fitted. There were long tables surrounded with women, heads down, sewing. There were daises scattered throughout the room, topped by sometimes preening, overwrought actors, insisting that something or another be immediately changed. Their dressers sought to soothe and cajole, mostly successfully. I smiled in remembrance. Even Mamma had been a prima donna from time to time. It was a part of their temperament.