George said, “I beg you to make the best of this, father!”
“The best?” the old man sputtered. “There is no best!” And then he turned to her again. “Young woman, may I ask you to retire to the house. Wait for us there in the reception hall. I wish a few words in private with my son.”
George protested, “You do not have to go, Fanny. All that we have to say can be said in front of you!”
But Fanny shook her head. “No! Your father is right. You must be free to discuss the situation without my being here.”
The Marquis said, “Thank you for your good sense, girl.”
She told George, “I shall be waiting inside as your father asked. I beg that you do not have harsh words between you on my account.”
With that she hurried away leaving the two men standing there facing each other in the moonlit garden. Nothing was said within her hearing as she made her way back along the gravel walk. She was still stunned by what had happened, though she had feared something like it for a long while. At least the whole sorry business was now in the open and George had been noble when he had finally faced his father. What would happen next?
The old house seemed strangely quiet as she entered it and began to pace restlessly in the reception hall. The Marquis had requested that she wait there and he was not only her employer but also her prospective father-in-law! The enormity of this suddenly hit her. Was it possible that she, a servant in the house, could all at once become wife to the man who would one day inherit the title and own it all?
She knew what Cousin Lily would say. The stout woman would scold her for being so bold as to hope for such a match! Marsden would simply stare at her and mumble about the strange changes in servants. As for Peg and the other maids, they would consider her improving her station in the world, but at the same time they would think she had been a traitor to them. She had pretended to enjoy being their equal when all the while she had aspired to higher things!
Her pretty face was shadowed as she halted in her pacing to stare at the portrait of some ancestor of the Marquis whose bewigged likeness hung on one wall of the reception hall. What was wrong with trying to get ahead? Nothing, except her ambition had never been to make a fine marriage and rise socially; she had wanted to become a popular actress in the theatre. So, in a way, she was actually being untrue to herself. She sighed and wished that George would come. He had a way of talking and making things seem right.
The sound of the front door opening made her turn and look for George to appear. But it was the old Marquis who entered, not the young Viscount. He was leaning more heavily than ever on his cane and she thought he appeared older than ever before. He closed the door and then limped over to her.
She asked, “Where is George?”
“He’s run off somewhere,” the Marquis said in a grim tone. “We had a quarrel and he just ran off!”
“Ran off,” she echoed him, not knowing what to think.
The Marquis gazed at her with his sharp old eyes. He said, “I’m sorry. He undoubtedly will be back when his temper settles. I understand your disappointment.”
“I hoped he would return with something to tell me,” she said.
The old man sighed. “I understand.” Then he gave a second sigh and told her. “I doubt if he’ll return in a hurry. If I know him, he’s gone to the stables to have a horse saddled and he’ll ride off to the village tavern and drink for a while.”
“I see,” she said.
“In the meantime, I think we should talk,” the Marquis said. “Come with me to my study.”
The old man limped down the wide corridor to the oak-panelled room and she followed him with a heavy heart. She was worried about George and about the situation in which she found herself. She followed the Marquis into the study where a lighted lamp burned on his desk. He waved her to the leather easy chair in which she had sat that other time when Prince Aran had made her an offer to go to India. Perhaps she should have accepted the brown-skinned man’s proposal, however dubious. At least she would have avoided this pain and embarrassment!
The Marquis sat heavily in the chair behind his desk and stared at her in silence for a long moment. Then in his hoarse voice, he said, “George ran off just now because I refused to consider his marrying you. Does that surprise you?”
She sat very still. “No,” she said in a small voice.
“I expect not, you’re sensible enough,” the Marquis went on. “Of course George told me he’d marry you in any event. And when he returns that is what he will tell you. There can be no question that he cares for you.”
“And that you can do nothing about, sir,” she said in a tone of bitterness.
The Marquis nodded his head. “You are quite right! I cannot change that. I wish I could.”
“And I truly care for him,” Fanny said.
“I haven’t a doubt of it,” the gray-haired old man said. “Not a doubt!”
“I do blame him for not telling you sooner,” she said. “I urged him to do so.”
The Marquis raised his eyebrows. “I’m glad to hear that. I approve of frankness. A most important quality. That is the great thing about Her Most Gracious Majesty, Victoria; she is an utterly frank woman.”
“I would not know, sir,” she said.
“That is just it,” the Marquis sighed. “There are so many things of which you are unaware. Shall I tell you what will happen if George defies me to marry you? I think you should know.”
“If that is what you think,” she said, waiting to hear what he would say.
“Very well,” the Marquis said. “My first choice would be to disinherit George and have the title go to my second son. But I cannot do that. Kenneth has chosen to be a priest, he is a strange young man whom I cannot understand, unfit to one day become Marquis. Charles would do. But he is my third son and the last in line for the title. So while I will turn my back on George, he will remain my heir.”
“Because you have no choice.”
“Exactly,” the old man said. “The family will be ruined. I will have to resign my position at Court as advisor to Her Majesty. There must be no taint of scandal near the throne.”
“Would a marriage between George and me be so scandalous?”
“Yes,” the Marquis said firmly. “Not because you might not make a suitable wife for him. I think you would. But a man of title cannot marry a servant in his household without becoming a sensation in the yellow press! Now, if you left us, made a good marriage with some rich man, later to be widowed … then my son might woo you with only a small sensation as the result. But to raise you from maid to Viscountess will cause a furore!”
Fanny listened, realizing he was putting all her own fears into words, fears she’d fought against because of her love for George. But George was also the Viscount Palmer and nothing would change that.
Quietly, she asked, “You think I will harm George if I marry him?”
The old man eyed her sadly, “You will ruin him.”
“You believe that?” she asked tensely.
“He will have no future. Nor will you. You are both bound to be barred from society. You will live here in this great house as privileged prisoners. It will be dreadful for him but infinitely worse for you. For, as time passes, you will know that you were the cause of it all.”
Tears blurred her vision so the lined face of the Marquis seemed more like that of an ancient eagle than ever. In a choked voice, she said, “Could that be why he delayed so long in going to you? Because he knew, that ultimately, our marriage was not practical?”
“I think that may well have had a great deal to do with it,” the Marquis agreed. “George is not a coward nor a cheat. He proved that tonight by his defence of you. And he will marry you for all I have warned him against it.”
Fanny sprang to her feet. With all the dignity she could muster, she said, “You have made it clear to me, sir. I see now that George and I were lost in a romantic dream! You need not worry. There will be no marriage betw
een us!”
“I pray there won’t be,” the Marquis said lifting himself up and leaning on his cane again. “But I think George is too deeply committed. He will insist on marrying you!”
She moved towards the door. “This time I will have the final say,” she told the old man. And with that she ran out sobbing.
Writing her curt farewell note to George and packing was a nightmare she only barely remembered. In her note she told him she’d realized her ambition to become an actress was more important to her than marriage. It was the only thing she could think of that seemed reasonable. She begged him not to come looking for her as her plans were made. She would never see him again.
Her innate strength of character helped her now. Once she had made up her mind that her love for George would condemn him to a miserable existence she kept firm in her decision to run away. It was the only answer. And a test of her love! She could not believe she would go through such a painful experience again.
She left another note for Cousin Lily thanking her for her kindness. And then she crept out the kitchen door and quickly made her way along the gravel path to the road leading to the village. She began to walk swiftly along this road and as she tired, her pace slackened a little. Then she heard the sound of a horseman approaching from the village. She peered ahead and was able to make out the figure of a man on horseback.
It was bound to be George! In a panic she rushed to the shelter of some tall trees at the side of the road and stood there completely motionless until George rode by on his way back to the house expecting to greet her. She made sure he was a good distance away before she resumed her journey to the village.
The night was still young and though the road was lonely and she’d heard spine-chilling stories of thieves and murderers preying on travellers like herself, she kept on. She tried to put such thoughts out of her mind. Eventually the lights of the village tavern showed ahead.
The tavern on the outskirts of the village was the place where the stagecoaches stopped on their way into London, only ten miles distant. She had some money tied in a handkerchief and hung around her neck under her dress. It wasn’t much but it would see her through a few days at least, until she was able to find some work in the great city.
She hoped that a late stagecoach might be still passing through on its way to London. But when she reached the inn yard she saw that it was empty except for a wagon with a single horse between its shafts. She was debating venturing inside and enquiring about transportation when a fat old man in top hat and long coat came out of the tavern.
She approached him, asking, “Has the last stage left for London?”
“A full hour ago,” the fat man said, around a large gray mustache. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m looking for transportation to London tonight,” she said. “I have an aunt who is very ill and needs me.”
“Bless my soul!” the fat man said in a hearty voice. “Well, it so happens I’m leaving now to drive to London. I can’t make the same time as a stage and the journey won’t be all that comfortable but it will cost you nothing!”
Fanny felt relief and gratitude. “You are most kind, sir. And I trust you will not think me a bold hussy if I accept your offer! My aunt is so desperately ill and time is so precious!”
The fat man looked sympathetic. The brandy which she smelled on his breath must have put him in a mellow mood. He said, “You need have no fears of me, miss. I’m a family man!”
“I could tell that at a glance,” she said. “You look most respectable, air.”
“And I am respectable,” he said, pointing to the wagon. “You will see my name inscribed on my wagon, Thomas Trimble, Silent Sewing Machines. I have my main shop in London and a few days a week I travel in the nearby villages to offer my wares.”
“It sounds like a fine business,” she said.
“It is,” the fat man agreed. “Twenty-one shillings pays for it all. Finest sewing machine on the market if I do say so. Unsolicited testimonials by the dozen!”
“I shall be honored to travel with you,” she said.
“Then come along! Mustn’t lose time,” the fat man said, taking her valise and leading her over to the wagon. “My missus waits up for me these nights and if I’m very late she always worries!”
Fanny was anxious to be on her way, fearful that George might find her gone and come after her in spite of her note. He would be bound to come to the tavern first. So she was glad when the fat man clambered up onto the seat beside her, gave the reins a flip and started off on their way to London.
A small lantern swinging from the side of the seat provided their only light. The wagon was a good one and the horse trotted along at a brisk pace. Fanny could feel the great city gradually getting nearer. They passed other wagons and a few coaches coming out of the city. There were good natured shouts exchanged between the drivers on the dusty road as the vehicles passed.
She found herself caught up in the adventure of it all. And Thomas Trimble proved an entertaining companion. He had a great repertoire of anecdotes. He told her, “There’s an Irishman lives in the attic of my building. Something of a drinker! The barman asked him where he lived and he said, ‘Sure, if the building were turned topsy-turvy, I’d be livin’ on the ground floor!’ A grand old reprobate, is that Irishman!” The fat stomach of Thomas Trimble wobbled with laughter.
She said, “You must meet many people making the rounds with your sewing machines. You must be a good judge of character.”
The fat man nodded as they drove along in the darkness. “You’ve hit the nail on the head! I never judge people on their appearance alone. A coat out at the elbow may be buttoned over a generous heart!”
“That is so true,” she agreed.
“Nor do I think a pretty face is all that important, though I must say you’re the prettiest lass I’ve had in my company in many a day!”
“Thank you,” Fanny said.
“A handsome woman pleases the eye,” Thomas Trimble said. “But a good woman pleases the heart! The one’s a jewel, but I say the other is a treasure!”
“How wise you are,” she flattered him.
The fat man looked pleased. “I’ve lived a good while and I’ve kept my eyes and ears open often when my mouth is shut. A good rule to follow and one that leads to wisdom!”
The conversation continued along these lines until they entered the outskirts of the city. The road gave way to cobblestoned streets and there were buildings on every side. It was now late and the city was mostly asleep. Even at this hour there were some carriages and wagons in the streets and a few furtive figures on the sidewalks.
A heavy fog had met them a few miles from the city and now that they were in London it had thickened to a dense, yellow mist. This made everything seem weird. It had also become cold and Fanny clutched her cloak about her.
“My place is in Stark Street,” Thomas Trimble told her. “We’re close to there now. Where does your aunt live?”
“Very near here,” she said. “If you’ll let me off at the next gas light.”
“Is that a fact,” the fat man said. “I’m glad she’s near. I’d like to take you to the door but my missus is waiting.”
“I understand,” she said. “The next gas lamp will do well. I can quickly walk to her home from that corner.”
Thomas Trimble halted his wagon at the gas lamp and saw her safely to the sidewalk. The fat man urged her, “Walk fast, my dear. The streets of London are filled with dangerous characters at this hour.” Then he drove on and left her.
She really had no clear idea where she was except that she was in an area of most respectable homes. She had never been in London before and as she groped her way in the fog she heard a carriage coming up the cobblestone street behind her.
• • •
Now she stared into the dying embers of the fire in the tomb in which she’d found refuge with Moll and Silas Hodder and the two old women, who were still asleep, as she’d told the others her
story.
She said, “It was then I encountered those two killers and ran here to this graveyard to hide! And you were kind enough to give me refuge!”
Chapter Four
Fanny was ready to believe that London was a city constantly wreathed in fog. The next morning the same heavy, yellow mist gave everything a ghostly air. She, along with the four other vagrants, cautiously emerged from the tomb and made their way out of the tiny graveyard to the street. Had the verger arrived early enough to witness their leaving he would have been bound to consider it a mass resurrection!
On reaching the street the two old women lurched off by themselves, shawls over their heads. Silas Hodder watched them go with a resigned expression on his gaunt face. “We only see them at night,” he said. “Around dusk they’ll come back to the tomb again. What they do in the meanwhile I can’t guess!”
Moll gave a little laugh. “And perhaps it’s best not to try! One thing is certain, they always raise the price of a bottle of gin!”
“That they do,” the tall man in the black top hat and suit agreed. He gave Fanny a smile. “Now we shall go and have our breakfast. And perhaps we can think of some employment for you.”
Thank you,” Fanny said. “I’m quite prepared to buy my own breakfast and treat the two of you, as well. I have almost two pounds saved.”
“Keep it, my dear girl,” Silas Hodder warned her. “You will have sore need of it to exist in London, especially if we can’t think of some gainful work for you.”
“Mr. Hodder has a first class place for us to eat and it’s all paid for,” Moll told her with a smile on her pinched face. The girl looked more attractive by day but her clothes were terribly shabby.
Silas Hodder showed a smile on his skull-face framed by shoulder-length gray hair. He said, “I guarantee you a breakfast as fine as you’ll find anywhere in London! Even the toffs can’t do better!”
The three of them made their way along a series of narrow streets in the thick fog. The streets were filled with people now and Fanny was stunned at seeing so many people in such a hurry.
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