Summerset Abbey: A Bloom in Winter

by Brown, T. J.

  Kit checked his watch yet again. “Well, perhaps one more.” He would have his driver go full speed all the way there. They would only be a few minutes late and surely that wouldn’t make her too angry. And it would do her good to be a little angry, prima donna that she was.

  * * *

  He was far more than just a little late, he realized sometime later as the driver pulled the car up to a building in Camden Town. And too late, he remembered what a terrible day she’d had and just why he had promised to take her to the opera in the first place.

  He frowned at the paper in his hand, unable to make out the words. He’d had much too much to drink. His driver pointed at the door.

  “I think it’s upstairs, sir.”

  “I knew that,” he muttered.

  He opened the door and made his way up the narrow staircase. When he reached the top he realized there were doors on either side of the landing. “Oh, bloody hell.” He looked down the stairway for guidance, but the door had shut behind him and the driver was no longer there.

  By the dim gaslight he saw that one was door number one and the other was door number two. He squinted at the paper in his hand but couldn’t see either number on it. How like her to keep him guessing. He smiled. She was a minx. A soft, lovable minx.

  Who was going to be very, very angry that he was so late. He frowned at the doors. Well, he had a fifty-fifty chance of getting it right. Of course, he had a fifty-fifty chance of getting it wrong, too.

  He didn’t much like being wrong.

  So he called her name instead of knocking. “Victoria,” he whispered. “Victoria?”

  Nothing.

  “Victoria!” he bellowed. Whoops. A bit loud, that.

  A door opened to his right, but it wasn’t Victoria; it was a tall, thin woman with furious black eyes. She was wearing a pink wrapper that was much too short for her.

  “I’m looking for Victoria,” he told her with as much dignity as he could muster.

  “I know that, you big oaf. Everyone on the bloody block knows that,” she snapped. “You’re too late, she’s gone to bed.”

  But they were supposed to go to the opera. “She hasn’t!” he said. “We were going somewhere.”

  “You were going somewhere three hours ago! Now you’re just going back down those stairs and you’re going home!”

  Kit leaned up against the doorjamb, suddenly dizzy. “Three hours ago? Are you sure? Oh, that’s bad,” he told the woman. “She’d had a terrible day. I was going to make her happy so she’d forget.”

  “Too late for that now,” the woman said, her voice a bit softer. “Now go on home before you’re sick in my hallway.”

  “I bet she’s really angry with me, isn’t she?”

  The woman snorted. “You have no idea.”

  She shut the door, and for a moment Kit thought about kicking it, just to show that he didn’t care whether she was angry with him. It wasn’t as though they were . . . anything. He turned toward the stairs, which suddenly seemed like a climb down Mount Everest. Silly women. Who needed them anyway? They weren’t anything. Just friends. Best friends.

  “Silly women,” he repeated out loud. He found that by leaning against one wall and clinging to the railing, he could get down the steps one by one. His driver jumped out as soon as Kit opened the door.

  “Now you’re here,” he said as the driver led him to the car.

  “Pardon me, sir?”

  “Never mind.” Kit looked up at the windows on the top of the building. For a moment he thought he saw someone looking out the window, but it was just his imagination. “I don’t care!” he yelled as he fell into the backseat of his car. “I bloody well don’t care,” he muttered again, but he had a terrible feeling that in the morning, he would care very much.

  CHAPTER

  SEVEN

  After a sleepless night, during which she found herself imagining different ways of humiliating Kit in return, Victoria sat at the Dixons’ kitchen table and seethed.

  When Victoria had appeared on Katie’s doorstep the previous afternoon, Muriel hadn’t even been expecting a visitor, but after one look at the girl’s swollen, red-rimmed eyes, she gathered her and her trunks up in one fell swoop. She set out fresh crumpets and hot tea and listened to Victoria’s story, clucking in all the appropriate places. When Katie and the other girls arrived, Muriel had told and retold the story, her black eyes snapping, while Victoria sighed dramatically and looked aggrieved. They planned all sorts of delicious revenges until all agreed that Victoria’s stunning success would be the best revenge she could get.

  Plotting how to make Victoria a stunning success was much less enticing than revenge, and she found herself alone there. But that was all right. She knew that she and Kit could figure it all out.

  Then Kit failed to appear.

  Victoria clenched her fists. A month ago, she wouldn’t have believed it could happen. She wouldn’t have believed that he’d have gone out drinking with his friends when he had promised to take her to the opera. She hadn’t even asked to go, he had offered, to help her feel better. Then not only did he fail to show up at their agreed-upon time, he had appeared hours later, making a horrid scene in the hallway like a common dockworker.

  The girls assured her before they left for their jobs that they had all had beaus who had done all that and worse. They didn’t believe her when she told them that Kit wasn’t her beau, he was her best friend, which made it so much worse.

  Lottie, the one woman who hadn’t gone to work, poured herself a cup of tea and sat across the table from Victoria, curiosity etching her sharp features.

  “You know, moping around all day won’t bring him back. You’re much better off without him. Men are bad news all the way around. They exist solely to propagate the species and keep women in subjugation.”

  Victoria studied Lottie. She looked older than the other girls, with a face like an ax. Her hair was pulled back in an unbecoming bun and her mouth was straight and flat and looked as if it didn’t smile very often.

  “How come you’re not at work?” Victoria asked.

  “I have the day off.” Lottie tilted her head and observed Victoria. “I’m meeting a friend for lunch. She’s the leader of an organization I belong to, the Suffragettes for Female Equality. You’re welcome to join me. Are you a suffragette?”

  Victoria nodded. “Oh, yes. My sister and I are members of the National Union of Women’s Suffrage Societies.”

  Lottie snorted.

  “What?” Victoria asked.

  “Nothing. It’s a good organization for ladies who don’t want to get their hands dirty.”

  She gave what Victoria could only term a challenging look. “Oh, I’m not afraid of getting my hands dirty,” she told Lottie. “You’ll find that I’m afraid of very little.”

  “Good, then you’ll come?”

  Victoria smiled her assent, even though part of her really wanted to wait for Kit’s apology note. She knew it was only a matter of time. Of course, it would do him some good if the driver reported that Miss Victoria had been out when it was delivered. Yes, it would serve him right. “That sounds wonderful. Where are we going to lunch? Am I properly dressed?”

  Lottie’s mouth twitched, and Victoria detected a hint of mockery in her expression. She hoped her friend was kinder than Lottie was. Or at least didn’t have a face that could curdle milk.

  Sometime later, she was sitting in Frascati’s Winter Garden and feeling as if she, in a plain dark walking suit, and Lottie, in a black skirt and white blouse, were woefully underdressed for such a venue. The gold and silver décor and large palms seemed to have stunned Lottie into silence. Victoria didn’t much like silence and hoped Lottie’s friend would be more engaging. If Kit were here, he would be whispering snide remarks about the other stuffy patrons and making her laugh. She gave a sharp sigh and turned to Lottie. “Tell me about your friend.”

  To her surprise Lottie looked away and shifted in her seat. “Her name is Martha,”
she finally said, somewhat reluctantly.

  “What does your organization do?”

  “We fight oppression,” Lottie said.

  “How?”

  “At the moment, we’re concentrating on our newspaper.”

  Victoria leaned forward. “Oh, really? Who are your readers?”

  “Wait until you talk to Martha. She will answer all your questions and then tell you what you can do to help. If you want to, that is.”

  That last line was uttered derisively and Victoria burned. Lottie clearly thought her a wilting violet.

  Just then a slight, dark-haired woman in a wine-colored velvet and lace dress put her hand on Lottie’s shoulder.

  “I am so sorry I’m late. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

  Lottie actually smiled. “Not long at all,” she said. “Martha, this is Victoria Buxton. The Honorable Victoria Buxton, if you will, and she has quite the story to tell. Victoria, this is Martha Long, founder of the Suffragettes for Female Equality.”

  Victoria stared wide-eyed at the elegant woman who stood before her. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Martha gave her a charming smile as she took a seat at the small, linen-covered table. “We don’t do titles in our organization, but I am still pleased to meet you. Tell me your story and I’ll judge whether it’s front page or not. Lottie tends to exaggerate everything.” She gave Lottie a quick smile as if to take the sting out of her words.

  Victoria cocked her head at the pleasing, cultured tones of Martha’s speech. They might not do titles here, but Martha was as wellborn as Victoria was, she’d stake her life on it. As Victoria told her about The Botanist’s Quarterly, Martha pulled a pencil and a tattered yellow tablet out of her reticule, jotting down notes as she spoke.

  They fell silent as a waiter approached with silver salvers full of delicate tea sandwiches and a heaping platter of miniature scones. Lottie took up the task of serving as Martha regarded Victoria, her dark eyes ablaze.

  “So your last name is Buxton? And you say your father was a respected botanist?”

  Victoria nodded. “He was knighted for his work.” Victoria shifted uneasily. “I’m not sure if we should use my full name.” She hadn’t known Lottie had brought her here for an interview, and while the prospect of a newspaper article sounded exciting, she had a feeling her aunt and uncle would be much less enthusiastic.

  Martha read her mind. “I can’t imagine the Buxtons would be too pleased with this type of exposure.”

  Victoria frowned. “You know of my family?”

  “Mm-hmm.” Martha jotted something on her pad. “This is definitely worth a story, but I’m not sure whether it should go on the front page or on the editorial.”

  “I take it you run the newspaper?”

  Martha nodded. “Among other things. There is so much we need to do to further the cause. It’s just impossible to do everything ourselves.”

  Victoria nodded, recalling the few suffragette meetings she’d attended in the past. She was no stranger to crusading. Her father and his friends were always championing a cause such as labor rights, and listening to their discussions and arguments had taught her a thing or two. She began ticking off items on her fingers. “Fund-raising, education, delegation, a moderator to smooth relations between the different suffragette groups, an entire committee of people to do fieldwork . . . people can’t work or vote if their children are starving to death.”

  Martha’s dark eyes lit up. “You have more than a passing knowledge of our challenges, Victoria. May I call you Victoria?” When Victoria nodded, Martha continued. “It is difficult to do everything, but there is such need!”

  Martha’s voice quivered with passion and Victoria was fascinated by this charismatic woman who clearly had a deep desire to make a change in the world. “How did you become involved in the movement?” Victoria asked.

  “I suggest we eat our tea,” Martha said.

  Obediently, Victoria took a small bite of the watercress sandwich Lottie had placed on her plate. “That’s hardly fair. I told you my story.” Victoria swallowed, remembering the last time she almost used the word fair. Briefly she wondered what Kit was doing, but then she squared her shoulders and turned back to Martha.

  Martha’s brows shot up in amusement. “So fairness is important to you, is it? How old are you?”

  Victoria hesitated and then shrugged. She had no reason to be ashamed of who she was. “I’ll be nineteen next month.”

  Martha smiled. “And that also answers my question about why you still think things should be fair. So, what exactly would you like to know?”

  Victoria flushed and then cleared her throat. “What is your real name and your father’s title?”

  Caught off guard, Martha startled, then narrowed her eyes. “Oh, you’re a cagey one, you are. I can hide my identity from almost everyone except my own kind. Which is why I generally avoid you all like the plague.”

  Martha pushed away her plate and flicked open a gold and ivory compact. She took out a cigarette and lit one up to the dismay of the other patrons, but Martha’s commanding and confident presence seemed to dare anyone to protest her desire to smoke. She looked up. “I’m sorry, do you want one?”

  Lottie and Victoria both shook their heads. Then, not wanting to seem like a prude, Victoria explained. “I have asthma and the smoke seems to worsen it.” She almost choked on the word asthma.

  “I mostly love the way they smell,” Martha said, blowing a smoke ring over her head. “Back to your original question. My real name is Beatrice Martha Longstreet and my father is a count.”

  Victoria raised an eyebrow. The Longstreets were definitely peers but didn’t travel in the same circles as the Buxtons. “How did a Longstreet end up running a subversive suffragette organization?”

  “How did a Buxton end up applying for a job at a botany magazine?” Martha countered, and Lottie laughed.

  After a startled moment, Victoria joined her. “Touché!”

  Victoria tried to help pay for their tea, but Martha waved her off. “You gave me a wonderful story for the newspaper and I owe you for it. Now, let me escort you and Lottie home.”

  To her surprise, Martha led them to a small, plain Saxon Motor Car. More surprising, Martha worked the crank and then climbed in.

  She looked across at Victoria and grinned. “Well, get in! My apologies for the snug fit. I have found that a small motorcar is much more convenient.”

  Expertly navigating the narrow roads, clogged with people and horses, Martha pressed the gas pedal and drove east. “This is one of the few luxuries I decided to keep when I started the organization,” she yelled over the sound of the engine. “I can get about faster and can relocate women in need more quickly than if we were taking the Tube or a cabbie. It just made sense. Besides, I love to drive!”

  She swerved around a corner, barely missing a woman pulling a cart of chickens. Victoria clutched the handle and laughed. Martha glanced sideways at her and then, after a moment, joined her.

  Victoria clung to Lottie as Martha navigated London’s narrow streets at breakneck speeds. Lottie seemed unperturbed. Perhaps she was used to this. Victoria felt a pang of jealousy. What would it be like to speed about London, an independent woman, effecting real change in the world? When they stopped in front of Katie’s flat, Victoria reluctantly climbed out of the motorcar, wishing the afternoon didn’t have to end.

  Martha stretched out a hand. “Please come to headquarters, poppet. Lottie will bring you. I would love to give you a tour and show you our work there. It’s so very important.”

  Victoria clasped Martha’s hand. “I’d like that very much.”

  Martha’s smile lit up her pretty face, making Victoria feel, for the first time since arriving in London, that she was indeed someone special, someone of worth. “Wonderful. I have a feeling you could be very important to the cause, Victoria. I am delighted to have met you.”

  Victoria stared after Martha’s motorcar as she sped of
f down the street. Excitement shivered through her. She felt as if she were on the edge of a great adventure, perhaps the adventure she had been looking for her entire life.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHT

  Rowena pulled her scarf tighter around her neck. “Thanks so much for taking me out. Summerset gets a little close at times.”

  Sebastian smiled sideways at her. “I just wish it had been a better day for a drive. Hard to appreciate anything when the windows keep freezing over. What do you say we give up the drive and head into town for some hot tea?”

  She nodded and within minutes they were parked in front of the Freemont Inn. “Oh,” she said so quietly that Sebastian didn’t hear her.

  This was where she’d met Jon just before he took her up in the sky. He still hadn’t written to her, and she wondered whether his family had told him about her visit. Sometimes she wondered whether he had forgotten all about her.

  Sebastian opened the door for her and they hurried into the inn, trying to escape the chilling north wind that had blown up.

  “It’s freezing out there.” She laughed, unwinding her scarf. Suddenly she stopped cold, her heart almost leaping out of her chest.

  Jonathon.

  Well, not Jonathon exactly, but Mr. Dirkes, and where Mr. Dirkes was, Jonathon was nearby. So it was no surprise when she spotted him coming around the corner from the salon part of the inn. He spotted her about the same time and his face lit up with pleasure. Next to her Sebastian said something, but she missed it, her entire attention focused on Jonathon’s face. As always, everything around her seemed to go from a dull gray to living, breathing color the moment his gaze met hers.

  Jon hurried toward them, his eyes focused on her. She felt Sebastian take her arm, but she pulled away and ran the last few steps to meet him. They both stopped just short of being in each other’s arms. For a moment they stood awkwardly, unsure what to do next, until Jon snatched up both her hands and kissed them. She shivered and flushed at the heat from his lips. They stared into each other’s eyes, transfixed.