by Brown, T. J.
A group of young women about Prudence’s age pushed through the ladies’ door, giggling and chatting. All were dressed in plain dark skirts that came to the ankle, and white blouses under their winter coats, which they soon removed in the heated pub. All wore their hair pinned back neatly, with no-nonsense hats sitting straight on their heads. Prudence tried not to stare at them as they called for ale. The tired servingwoman picked up a bit when they came in. “You’ll be the death of me, you gaggle of geese,” she teased. “You should all be home taking care of your mas instead of wearing out my feet.”
“Ah, you love us, Mary, admit it,” a lilting voice teased.
Prudence sat up. She knew that voice . . . She turned and stared at the table they had taken, trying to see who it was.
“Miss Prudence!”
Suddenly a skinny redheaded girl detached herself from the group and ran toward Prudence. The girl wrapped her arms around her in a quick hug before jumping back. “Oh, I’m sorry, miss!” she said, her face turning red beneath her freckles. “I was just so surprised to see you.”
“Katie! What are you doing here? Mrs. Tannin said you had left and gotten a job in an office.”
The girl smiled proudly. “Yes. Thanks to Sir Philip, I was able to get through secretarial school and got a fine office job.”
The girls behind her hooted. “Katie still thinks it’s a fine job,” one of them said, laughing.
“That’s because she’s still new,” another one said.
“Well, it’s better than wiping posh arses all day, if you ask me,” one of them said, giving Prudence a bold stare.
Prudence flushed, feeling as if she were back in the servants’ hall at Summerset, being ridiculed for her high-class upbringing. Bugger that. She’d probably had a happier childhood than most of these women had even dreamed of having. She’d not regret it just because her privileged childhood meant she now fit in nowhere. She straightened her shoulders and looked down her nose at the woman with the black eyes until the busybody looked away. She turned back to Katie. “So you like your job? Do you live near here?” She hugged Katie back, tears stinging her eyes. She had always been friendly with Katie. Unlike at Summerset, servants were treated as beloved and respected employees in Sir Philip’s home. Prudence wasn’t close with them the way Victoria was, but suddenly she was gladder to see Katie than she could possibly say.
Katie nodded. “I moved here with my mother after I got the new job so I could be closer to work. Mum was finally able to give up working, so now she keeps house for me and my girlfriends who rent rooms from us. It’s a good deal all the way around. But what about you? What are you doing in Camden Town, or here for that matter?” Katie suddenly seemed aware of her surroundings and was shocked to find Miss Prudence here, even if she and her friends frequented such a place.
“My husband is going to be attending the Royal Veterinary College as soon as he passes the examinations. We are in Camden because it’s close to his school.” She didn’t add that here her husband could pick up odd jobs when they needed them. It was deeply instilled in her that as a lady she should never talk about money except with her husband.
The server handed Katie a mug of beer on her way to the table behind her and Katie took a drink. “Fancy that! How quickly things change, eh, miss? I’d have never figured you for a Camden Town housewife . . . no offense, miss.”
Prudence laughed and wondered why there were tears under the laughter. “None taken, Katie. I actually don’t know the first thing about being a housewife in Camden Town or anywhere else for that matter. I can’t cook, or sew, or even do laundry.”
Katie’s eyes widened. “I never thought of that. You’re like a babe, aren’t you? Tell you what, I’ll send you to my mum and she’ll take care of you. Teach you all that stuff.”
Relief of the load pressing down on her lightened her so much that she felt as if she were going to float away. “Would she, really?”
“Yes, I think she gets bored by herself all day.”
The servingwoman handed Prudence the cottage pie in the big bowl Prudence had brought for it.
“Mary, can I get a pencil and paper?” Katie wrote the address down and gave it to her. “You drop by tomorrow and see how happy my mum is to help. I believe she thinks I’m a lost cause.”
“Thank you so much, Katie.”
As Prudence hurried back to the flat, she wondered how to confess to Andrew about her need for housewifery lessons. Her stomach began to tie in knots as once again she imagined how the conversation would unfold as Andrew realized that his new bride had never even made a simple meat pie, that she was just as uppity as the other servants at Summerset purported her to be. Perhaps she could delay revealing those shortcomings to him for now . . . After all, he was already fulfilling his promise to her to support them while pursuing his studies, and she couldn’t bear the thought of letting him down so early in their marriage.
Andrew had bathed while she was out and wore a soft, loose-fitting white cotton shirt and trousers. His feet were bare and his hair, which he always wore a bit longer than most men, but not as long as an aesthete might, curled damply around his neck. He stood in front of her, his hazel eyes warm and caressing. Wordlessly, she handed him the bowl of cottage pie and moved to take down the dishes. He ate with gusto, seemingly absorbed in his food.
“This is good,” she finally remarked, desperate to break the silence.
“Yes.” His eyes met hers and then shifted away.
He’s as nervous about tonight as I am, she thought in surprise. The realization eased some of her anxiety. “Would you like another helping?”
He shook his head and she put the leftover pie in the icebox. Silently, she cleared the table and washed their plates while he added more coal to the stove. They did their nightly chores even though it was too early to go to bed. When there was nothing left to do, Prudence grabbed her nightdress and darted into the water closet. Her face flamed in embarrassment, but she would not, could not, change in the bedroom. What if he came in?
She took her hair down and brushed it until it hung like dark silk down her back. When she could think of no other reason to linger, she opened the door and stepped into her bedroom. Andrew had diffused the gaslight until it cast a soft glow over the room. She blinked and her pulse raced as she saw him standing next to the bed. He had removed his shirt and even in the low lighting she could see the muscles in his chest and arms, deeply etched from a lifetime of labor.
Her mouth went dry.
Then, still silent, Andrew held out his arms. She only hesitated for a moment. More than anything else, Andrew made her feel safe, as if he were a harbor at which she could moor to escape the unexpectedly stormy seas of her life. I can do this. He scooped her up into his arms and held her close for a moment before gently laying her on the bed. As he bent over her, Sebastian’s face floated to her mind for a fraction of a second before she banished it. She’d made her choice. She ignored the sound of her own heart hammering in her ears and reached up to touch his face. “Andrew,” she said softly. “Andrew.”
CHAPTER
THREE
Victoria tapped her fingers, waiting for Kit’s reply. He stood in front of the fireplace of her secret room. He, too, was tapping his fingers, only on the mantel instead of the desk. Lately, her secret room had begun to feel as though it belonged to Kit, as well. It had become their meeting place when they wanted to gossip or banter or simply have some time to themselves, away from the inane chatter of the other guests.
She sat impatiently, her fingers skittering across the shining top of her lovely round desk, once used by an ancestor who would no doubt be completely scandalized by the plan she had just proposed to Kit.
“Let me get this straight.” He frowned at her, his dark red brows furrowing like caterpillars. “You want me to help you to sneak into London for a week?”
She glared at the mocking tone of his voice. “You know, you’re usually quite handsome, but right now, you look mo
re like an ogre from a Grimm’s fairy tale than a human, so you can stop glowering at me.”
His head came up and he looked at her, his eyebrows unfur-rowing and shooting up on his forehead in such a comical way, she couldn’t help but giggle.
“You think I’m handsome?”
Victoria shrugged. “Yes. Sort of like a fox, with your ginger hair and sharp eyes. But don’t let it go to your head; Sebastian and Colin are far better looking than you. Now, back to my plan.”
He rolled his eyes at that and got back to the matter at hand. “The only way it would work would be to bring Elaine into it. There is no way your aunt would approve of your traveling to London on your own, and she certainly would never let you drive off alone with me.”
Victoria shook her head, frustrated by the fuss. “These people do know I’m of age, right? Why may cousin Colin come and go as he pleases, yet Elaine and I are required to inform everyone where we are at every moment of every day? How is that fair?”
“Do you know you’re rather lovable when you act like a suffragette?” he teased.
She threw a fountain pen at him and missed. It exploded on the mantel. “Oh, blast! Now see what you made me do.”
He laughed. “Made you do? No, leave it,” he said when she stood to clean it. “No one comes back here and we’ll call it art, much as that crazy art nouveau crowd calls their stuff art.”
“Oh!” She stamped her foot. He knew she loved art nouveau.
“Now don’t get your petticoats in a bundle, kitten, and let’s figure out how to get you to London so you can meet with . . . whom?”
“Harold L. Herbert, the managing editor for The Botanist’s Quarterly,” she said, sitting back down.
“Ah yes, so you can meet with Hairy Herbert. And what do you hope to gain from this meeting?”
For a moment, Victoria drew a blank. “Well, he said he wanted to meet with me. He finds my writing thought provoking. He not only paid me for an article but is also interested in more of my work. So, more assignments, I suppose.” She tilted her nose up in the air, waiting for him to make fun of her.
To her surprise, he didn’t. “So you’ve never met Hairy Herbert. Have you spoken to him on the telephone?” He took the seat across from the desk and crossed his long legs. His eyes regarded her gravely.
Victoria shifted uneasily. “No.”
“So he doesn’t know that the author of the scientific article he paid ten pounds for is, in fact, an eighteen-year-old girl?”
Victoria opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
Kit indicated the letter on the desk between them. “I noticed you didn’t use your real name.”
She straightened. “I did so.”
“No, you used V. Buxton. So you must have known there might be some bias against your sex.”
She shrugged a shoulder, refusing to let him goad her. “V. Buxton sounds more serious than Victoria. He likes my work. It won’t matter now if I’m a girl or a gorilla. I’m going to meet with him and nothing you say can stop me. If you don’t want to help me find a way to get to London without raising Auntie’s suspicions, then I will find a way to do it myself.”
“Don’t be a goose. Of course I’ll help you. I wouldn’t be much of a friend if I didn’t, would I?”
She sat back, relieved. She could have figured something out, of course; it would just be so much easier and more fun if Kit were in on the plot. It was hard to believe they had only known each other for a few months. In many ways he had taken the place of Rowena and Prudence, since Prudence was gone and Rowena had slipped so far away on a sea of sadness that she no longer seemed like her sister. Kit, on the other hand, understood that one could be sad and still wish to have a good time.
“So let’s leave the cousins out of this. The more people who know, the more risk that the secret is going to get out. When I return to London tomorrow, I will send a note from someone asking you to visit. Who should it be?”
Victoria frowned, thinking hard. “Priscilla Kingsly. She is still in France, but I don’t think anyone here knows that. The Kingsly family is respectable. No one will know.”
“What about Rowena?”
Rowena won’t even notice I’m gone, Victoria thought with a pang. “I’ll tell her that I’m visiting Prudence. They still aren’t speaking, so it doesn’t matter.”
“Where are you actually going to be staying? You can’t stay at my house, obviously. Mother would have us married before the week was out. You can’t stay in a nice hotel, because you might be recognized. And a boardinghouse is out of the question.”
Victoria leaned back in her seat. “Ho! Look at how conventional you are!” she jeered. “I suppose it would be too unrespectable for a young woman to stay at a boardinghouse by herself!”
He flushed a mottled red that almost matched his hair. “Blast respectability! It would be unsafe. There’s a difference. Now do you want my help or not?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’ll stay with Katie. She’s a friend of mine from Miss Fister’s Secretarial School for Young Ladies.” Given the way servants were looked upon at Summerset, she didn’t add that Katie used to be the family’s kitchen maid. “Write the letter. Make it for a week from today and I’ll take the railway into town. I’ll write to Katie.”
A smile tugged at her lips as excitement swelled in her chest. For years she’d been coddled as the invalid little sister. But now she finally had a chance to prove to her family—and, more important, to herself—that she truly was capable of great things.
After posting letters to Katie and Mr. Herbert the next morning, she dressed in her warmest clothing and wrapped a long woolen cloak around her. She wasn’t stupid, and going off on an adventure without letting anyone in on her plan was dangerous. Of course, there was only one person she truly needed to tell, and not even nasty weather was going to stop her.
Victoria ran into her cousin on her way out. Elaine held a soft mohair throw in her arms and was already dressed in a flowing pale pink tea gown.
Astonished, Elaine’s eyebrows disappeared beneath a fringe of curls on her forehead. “You’re not going out in this weather, are you? It’s freezing outside and looks as if it might snow. Come curl up with me in the sitting room in front of a fire. We’ll read and gossip and lounge like cats.”
As inviting as her cousin’s invitation was, Victoria wanted to get to Nanny Iris’s and back before the weather got any worse. “I’ll be back in a bit and we can lounge the rest of the day away. I’ll even play you a game of checkers. I’m only going to Nanny Iris’s.”
Elaine shrugged. “Suit yourself. Don’t freeze, poppet.”
Victoria began to regret her decision about halfway to her destination. It was a scant two miles and Victoria had walked it many times, but why, oh, why hadn’t she had the driver take her? By the time she reached Nanny Iris’s she was breathing far harder than the walk would indicate. Nanny Iris quickly took off Victoria’s cloak and sat her by the fire in a comfortable rocking chair.
“What in God’s name were you thinking, child, coming out in weather such as this?”
Victoria grimaced but couldn’t catch her breath enough to make a scathing retort. Her lungs were tight and cold and her throat felt as if it was closing.
Why could she never remember to carry her nebulizer with her?
“Sit tight. I’ll bring you a concoction I made up.”
Frustrated, she closed her eyes and began counting slowly as her doctor had taught her. Though now Victoria wondered whether the trick actually helped ward off the attack or whether the counting exercise was simply meant to keep her from panicking and gasping like a strangled fish. Nine . . . ten . . . eleven . . . Victoria still struggled to take in air. Sometimes she wondered whether this was the way she was going to die.
Squeezing her eyes shut tighter against that thought, she fought down the panic and counted slowly, taking little breaths every fourth beat.
It seemed only a moment before Nanny Iris was back, holding a
hot, steaming cup in front of her nose. “Drink this,” she commanded.
The bitterness of the brew hit her nostrils and Victoria jerked her head sideways without meaning to.
“Oh, stop behaving like a baby,” the old woman groused.
Surprised, Victoria took an obedient sip, shuddering as the acrid taste hit her tongue. Nanny Iris chuckled.
“I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to sweeten it up a bit with mint and honey, but you’re a big girl. Now drink it down.”
Victoria did as she was told, sip after little sip, until the cup was all gone and her breathing had returned to normal. Dizziness lurked around her head as it always did after an attack, but she wasn’t shaky as she always felt after the nebulizer, which invariably made her ill for the rest of the day.
“What was in that?” Victoria asked when she had recovered enough to speak.
“Licorice, coltsfoot, turmeric, and an herb all the way from the American West, grindelia.”
Victoria looked at the muddy leaves in the bottom of her cup with more respect. “How did you know to add that?”
“I’ve been all over the world, my dear. I know a great many things far beyond the borders of Suffolk and have friends from many a far place. I wrote to one of them concerning your condition and she sent me some of the herb.”
Victoria reached out and patted the old woman’s cheek. “I can’t believe you would do that for me. Thank you.”
Nanny Iris cleared her throat and took the cup from Victoria. “That doesn’t mean you should go anywhere without your medicine and your nebulizer. You’re not a little girl anymore. There will come a time when there is no one to save you with tea.”