James gave a sharp nod. “Aye, sir. You can depend on me.”
I entered the barouche, losing their conversation to the drumming on the roof. Moist air penetrated the carriage, deepening the scents of oiled leather and axle grease. After a few minutes, Kate dipped her head and entered. Her eyes were exceedingly bright for someone who’d just been crying. She brushed rain from her coat sleeves.
“You are not to disturb Miss Pierson’s peace during the journey.” Water dripped from the brim of Lord Dalry’s hat as he wedged his head in the door before closing it.
Kate turned toward me, dimples denting both of her ivory cheeks. Her eyes sparkled, informing me she had no intention of remaining silent. When Lord Dalry latched the door, she smeared the window with her gloved hand. “Isn’t Mama wonderful? You should have seen your face as you spoke to her.”
Sinking against my seat, I stared at the hazed-over window, embarrassed that there were witnesses to that moment of weakness. With luck, she’d take the hint that I had no desire to talk. I removed my damp gloves, then started on my bonnet. Already the pheasant feathers Mrs. Coleman had faithfully groomed drooped over the brim.
“Here, allow me.” Kate bounced on the edge of her seat as she reached under my chin. “You mustn’t feel uncomfortable, now.” She giggled and grasped my arm. “Not when you consider our future.” Her smile revealed dainty teeth as I questioned her with a look. “We are to be the best of friends. I just know it! We shall be better than sisters! Shall I sit with you?”
She started to remove her handbag and gloves as she stooped.
“No, please remain in your seat.”
Kate obeyed by falling back to her seat and pressing her forehead against the glass, eagerly drinking in the bevy of servants scurrying about. “I wish I could have been here the night you arrived! It must have been so romantic! I feared you would die of a broken heart from missing your school chums before we could meet. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to die of a broken heart?”
The carriages lurched into motion, and she had to clutch the seat. Weariness took over, and all at once I felt the effects of waking so early to be hustled out the door. I shut my eyes and leaned back in my seat. Though I doubted I could sleep, I hoped it would encourage silence.
“You mustn’t sleep yet.” Kate laid a hand on my forearm. “We’re to drive past Eastbourne. You must see it for yourself. Oh, you must!”
“Eastbourne?” I straightened, alarmed. “You’ve been there?”
“No, of course not. No one is allowed inside.” She grabbed my hands. “But Mr. Macy is another romantic soul! He’s spent years locked away, refusing to admit anyone into his estate. A lost love kept him there, I just know it. Then after all this time, he married someone our age, only she was unfaithful and ran away with a clergyman.”
I felt paralyzed as our carriages did indeed come alongside the ancient section of the estate. Coldness enveloped me as I viewed the path near the stable where Mr. Greenham had declared he was Mama’s murderer, then the bench where I had tried to tell Edward of my engagement, and the greenhouse where I pledged my troth to Mr. Macy.
Kate leaned forward. “He was so devoted to her, too. For weeks he pleaded in the papers for her return. She must be very ungrateful, for she wasn’t even a peer—”
“Hush.” I frowned, feeling out of sorts. “The story probably isn’t even true.”
“Oh, but it is! It really is.” Kate nodded so furiously that one more curl came loose from her style. “All the newspapers carried it, and everyone whispers about it when they think I’m not listening.”
We passed from view of Eastbourne, and I sank against the back of my seat, contemplating how one week of life had changed everything. The weight of my blame settled into the hollow of my chest.
I closed my eyes, wishing myself home. To combat the ache, I opened the cache of memories comprised of my summers with Edward. Each memory was a paragon, transcendent. The one that kept surfacing was of a rare, jewel-like day in June, when the azure sky was filled with masses of clouds that look like beds of down.
Elizabeth and I had dressed in white lawn dresses and tied pink ribbon sashes about our waists, then hastened away from Am Meer before our mothers could question us. Even though I was a child, as we approached the ancient oak where the boys waited, the pride on Edward’s face was unmistakable and I felt right again.
Silence was our bond while laughter was Henry and Elizabeth’s; thus we ambled at our own pace. We passed through fields and pastures bathed in sunlight, over mossy stones embedded in trickling brooks.
When we arrived at Henry’s planned destination, Elizabeth gasped in amazement at the large, early field of sunflowers. Rays of sun touched down upon the golden heads, which nodded in the breeze. They had always been her favorite.
“We’ll have to make certain we don’t break any,” Henry said, “but I explored it earlier and found a gap where they planted around a stone. We can eat there.” He faced Elizabeth, grinning. “Ready?”
An adventurer about to embark, she gave a gay laugh, and despite Henry’s admonition, they left a path of bent stalks, strewn leaves, and yellow petals in their wake.
I stared at the oversized flowers, wishing we hadn’t come. Though I didn’t fully understand, this particular flower was a source of tension between William and Mama. They were banned from our house, though she longingly touched the ones that found their way into market stalls. Thus, I associated sunflowers with wrongness. To walk beneath those heavy-headed disks felt unchaste.
When encountering a disjointed part of my soul, Edward knew better than to speak. Words cause so much damage, and even at that tender age, he had the uncanny wisdom to use them sparingly. And though it was irrational to fear walking beneath sunflowers, he simply offered his hand, then his gentlest smile. Not a smile laced with pity, for that would have communicated only how different I was, but a smile of acceptance.
Nothing more was needed to untwist that part of my soul. I took his hand, willing to trust, and plunged into the leafy copse, where I found nothing bad happened. We ate a horror of confections that only children would pack: chocolates, toffee, and sweet biscuits, all guzzled down with lukewarm water from a flask. Yet it was a golden feast, as epic as any king’s.
Thereafter, when Mama would grow sad and touch the sunflowers in the marketplace, I’d lean against her and join her lament, though I did not know what we cried for.
AT SUNSET, Kate and I had our first view of London. Buildings crowded each other, silhouetted under a bleak sky filled with soot and smoke. The rain had receded hours after we left Maplecroft, but the aftermath wrapped the city in a heavy blanket of fog, so that as we entered the city, it became impossible to see farther than a few feet out the window.
London is not the same city today that it was then. The farther we progressed, the stronger the reek of manure and sewage. In the hazy glow of lampposts, ragged children ran past our carriage with brooms, cleaning the muck of horse droppings off the cobblestones. Once a beggar approached the carriage and clung to the side, babbling at us. From his perch atop our barouche, James beat him off with his crop.
Coaches, omnibuses, and wagons came from every corner. More than once we were forced to a standstill while an entangled mess cleared. My father’s wealth became evident, for police always carved a path for my father first, tipping their hats, wonderment on their faces.
“What if we become separated?” Kate whispered as my father’s carriage crossed a street, leaving us to wait in the murk for another clearing.
“Hush.” I waved for silence, disliking the tingling fear that washed over me. “Even if we did, the coachman knows where he’s going, and James is with us.”
Kate shifted to my seat as she stared after my father’s disappearing carriage. Realizing she needed comfort, I allowed her to sit next to me and take my hand as I observed the streets. If you were to count the number of people I’d met in my entire life, they would have easily been outnumbered by the peopl
e we’d just passed in one evening. I eyed beggars sitting in doorways, gaunt with vacant stares, realizing how minuscule my woes would seem compared to theirs. Children in rags that displayed thin legs, digging through rubbish piles, presumably searching for food.
I studied their piteous condition, stunned. If these were some of the realities that Edward faced as a clergyman, no wonder he’d become fanatical during my absence.
My heart burned with compassion everywhere I looked. Under the feeble gaslight, hard-faced women sold oranges and flowers out of boxes that hung from straps around their necks. Even though it was dark, peddlers still called their wares while others packed, presumably to go home for the night. In one building, women leaned out of windows, their arms folded beneath their bosoms. They wore nothing but low-cut chemises and hopeless expressions.
As the streets darkened into night, a herd of cows hemmed us in, delaying us further. Kate whimpered when my father’s carriage turned completely from sight. Sounds of the coachman’s and James’s voices could be heard yelling at the herdsman. With his crop, James began to beat the cattle away.
Without warning, the hefty man reached up and pulled James from the carriage.
“Get off him,” our coachman yelled, and the carriage shifted as though he stood. Using the horsewhip, he lashed at the rogue. Cattle reared their heads, lowing. From the sidewalks, people began to shout, laugh, and throw garbage as James broke free and also beat the vagrant. A cow crushed against the side of the carriage, rocking it, making Kate scream. Then as suddenly as it had started, it ended. The herd made their crossing and their caretaker ran after them.
His lip swollen, James pulled at his ripped velvet greatcoat, then climbed aboard the carriage. Neither Kate nor I spoke but sat clutching each other’s hands. I ceased to watch the activity until we reached the richer section. Here the air felt less oppressive. Instead of shops, clusters of houses were lit. Bobbies walked the streets in lesser numbers. When the carriage halted, I breathed relief that we’d safely made it.
The door jerked open. To my surprise, my father stood outside. With an ungloved hand, he reached in and touched my cheek. Even in the dark, I could see relief replacing the fear in his eyes. He looked me over from head to toe before reaching out both hands to aid my descent. Fury filled his features as he faced the box seat. “What street did you take?”
“The same as you, sir.” The coachman alighted, rocking the carriage. “Only we were stuck at a crossing with cattle between us.”
“Could you not have gone around them?”
“Not if I was to take the exact streets as you ordered, sir.”
My father’s fierce look stole my breath. “When I entrust my sole child to your care, I expect better than that performance!”
The coachman turned his hat in his hands, not daring to look up. “Next time, sir, should I disobey your orders, then?”
“Are you questioning me?”
The poor man rubbed his balding spot, opening and closing his mouth.
I flinched at my father’s outrage, even while another part of me thrilled that he’d been worried. I tapped his arm. “He couldn’t help it. There were cattle—”
My father’s ire turned on me. “Did I give you permission to speak?”
“If I may interject?” Lord Dalry stepped toward us, his voice serenity itself. “All’s well that ends well, sir. Your daughter is here, safe and sound. Hudson, thank you for your service. You did well to heed Lord Pierson’s exact instructions.”
My father glared a second longer at the coachman, then forcibly moved me toward Lord Dalry. “Take her indoors. Do not leave her side until all the baggage has been unloaded, the servants counted, and the doors locked.”
“Sir, I hardly think the precaution—”
“Isaac, now!”
Lord Dalry caught my father’s attention and nodded in my direction. “You asked me to remind you.”
My father’s brows knit, and he looked as though his temper was near giving way, but then he ran his fingers through his hair, looking awkward. “Julia, in London I’m a busy man; nonetheless, we should become acquainted. Would a nightly meeting work with your schedule?”
I still hadn’t recovered from the sting of having been yelled at; therefore I didn’t trust the sudden change. I felt my brow wrinkle as I tried to work out whether I wanted to agree to his plan or not.
My father frowned, deepening his jowl lines, as he shot Lord Dalry a look that asked what he was doing wrong.
Lord Dalry stepped forward. “What do you say to designating a time, sir?”
My father eyed him as if not trusting his take on the situation. “Fine. Ten. Now take her inside, Isaac.” Lord Dalry looked about to speak, but my father leaned in our direction, his voice a low growl. “Now, Isaac, now! I want her out of sight immediately!”
Lord Dalry placed his hand beneath my elbow but turned to the carriage. “James, escort Kate and find the housekeeper. Ask her to allow my sister to wait in her chambers until I’m finished.”
Lord Dalry ushered me toward the house, and I drew in a stunned breath as I viewed my father’s London residence. The immense structure stood at least three stories high. Its breadth matched its height. Gabled roofs angled over every corner and stuck out past tall brick chimneys. My father apparently wasn’t afraid of the window tax, for his house boasted casements even below street level. My breath caught as I wondered exactly how rich my father was to be able to afford an estate as expansive as Maplecroft in the country and a house this size in the city. I clutched my skirt and turned in time to see an open carriage draw to the curb and stop.
Three men rose and tipped their hats at my father with solemn expressions.
“Who are they?” I asked, feeling mild panic. “What do they want?”
Lord Dalry glanced over his shoulder and laughed a wondrous, clear laugh. “Oh no! And your father wanted to keep our being in London a secret. Those men are our staunchest supporters. Each one hopes to be on my cabinet if I become prime minister.” His voice lowered. “They actually believe I’ll allow your father to choose my cabinet. Their obeisance is vain; nevertheless, commit their faces to memory, for you’ll see them often and need to recognize them.”
I dropped my skirt, too stunned to speak. “Prime minister?”
Lord Dalry looked all astonishment and halted. “Did you not know our aim?”
I felt my nose wrinkle. “But . . . you’re not old enough!”
His laugh was genuine. “Well, I was rather hoping time would amend that problem.”
Confused, I glanced back at my father. “I don’t understand. Why would you do this, then? Why would either of you risk such consequences by pretending I’m his daughter?”
“Because you are. Now if you’ll please follow me. He’ll have my head if we remain on this stoop one more minute.” Lord Dalry urged me up the stairs.
The moment we stepped inside, I felt my fate change.
Some sort of hidden magic seemed to rise from the streets of London, through the brick and cobblestone, and into this mansion. Entranced, I took a few steps forward. A fireplace of hewn stone—fashioned to look like a castle, complete with turrets—warmed the entrance hall. Dark polished staircases ascended on both my right and my left. The vestibules of the second and third stories could be viewed behind ornate spindles, so that a person could stand on the third floor and look down on the second and entrance hall. From our vantage point, I saw room after room spilling from behind arched doorways. The walls were a mixture of bold colors and Gothic stone.
“I knew you would feel it too,” Lord Dalry said. “I knew it.”
I felt too amazed to speak.
“Your father could have afforded a house on Park Lane, but he chose Audley because of this house. The housekeeper didn’t get notice of our arrival, so your bedchamber is being readied even now. While we wait, I’ll show you the library, where you’ll meet nightly with your father.”
“Why didn’t the notice arrive? Wha
t could have waylaid it?”
Lord Dalry shrugged. “It happens occasionally.”
“It shouldn’t,” I pressed, wondering if Macy could have intercepted it. “Who was responsible for overseeing it?”
His shoulders lifted, as if such a detail were of little concern, before I was distracted from the thought by an agitated voice crying behind me. “Josephine!”
I spun and beheld an ancient man, who, with shaking hands and feeble steps, reached out for me. Cold hands clutched mine. Tears streamed from his cataract-clouded eyes. “You’ve finally returned.”
“This is not Lady Josephine, Kinsley.” Lord Dalry placed a steadying hand on my shoulder. “This is her granddaughter, Julia.”
“No.” The man tightened his grip, looking angry. “’Tis Josephine. I would know her anywhere.”
Lord Dalry didn’t argue. “She’s had a long journey and needs time to recuperate.”
“Shall I have your special tea made?” Kinsley asked me.
I nodded and smiled, sensing he needed some reassurance from me. “Yes, please. That would be lovely.”
Chuckling to himself, the man pattered away. Lord Dalry went as far as the end of the hall, watching the old man’s progress for a full minute. When he turned, his brow was creased with grief.
“Wh-who is that?” I asked.
“Kinsley, the London butler.”
“He manages to run a household?”
Lord Dalry swallowed as though burying sorrow. “No. Yes.” Sadness tinged his voice. “Your father is going to take this news hard. Will you please allow me to inform him of what just transpired? It would be better coming from me in private.”
I agreed, glad not to have the duty, as Lord Dalry directed me toward a stairwell on the right. Beneath the stairway, there was a small door, just large enough to enter, but once past the alcove, it opened to a vast room.
Glowing lamps welcomed us, their light reflecting off the wood. Massive mahogany shelves, protruding in rows, held volumes of calfskin books with gilded words. Buttoned sofas with fringed pillows filled the sitting area. Warm light brightened the space, making it as lovely as anything I’d encountered before. I stepped to a large desk situated near the fire and ran my hand over its smooth surface. The clean scent of linseed oil greeted me. This house had a more magical effect than Eastbourne. For some reason, I felt free, almost on the verge of a faerie tale.
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