by T T Thomas
It was Bel who came up with the idea about Sabrina.
“I know a lovely woman,” she told Felicity one evening over tea. “I’ve not seen her for years, but she has a clothing business. I believe she might hire you. Your sewing skills are more than adequate.”
“I’m better at embroidery,” Felicity said.
“I have her address, and her work studio is in the same place.” She undid the clasp on her worn leather portfolio. It fell open to reveal a writing pad and an inside pocket with scraps of paper stuffed to overflowing. She pulled those out, looked through them and held one up. “Here it is. Sabrina Blissdon, 68 Phantom Walkway, Kensington.” Bel tore a sheet of paper from her notebook and copied the address.
“Actually, her father handled my divorce. He was an excellent, well-regarded attorney.” She handed it to Felicity. “I’m not at all sure how we should go about her discovering you.”
“Perhaps a letter of introduction from you?”
Bel felt the heat rise to her face, but she hid it by turning around to make a cup of tea for them. “Oh, it’s been a long time since I saw her last, and I didn’t say goodbye. I, I left, disappeared, no explanation. Unforgivable.”
“So…you weren’t actually friends, then?”
Bel hesitated. “No, we were. My circumstances changed radically…” she trailed off. Bel brought the cups to the table. “Hard to explain, Fels. She was a special person, though. Someone we could trust to take the honorable action.”
They talked about it a couple more times after the doctor told Bel she had to rest. She was seriously anemic after the birth, and he wondered if she might not have high blood pressure, too. He said she must come into the clinic. He had something called a sphygmomanometer, and it measured blood pressure. Afterwards, he said Bel needed complete bed rest for at least three months.”
When Felicity heard the doctor’s test results, she determined she would have to do something drastic. Quietly, the two sisters prepared a plan. Bel explained that Felicity must change her last name, that there could be no obvious connection between Annabel North and Felicity North.
“Well, I can be Felcitiy West, then. Easy to remember. Will we at some point be able to tell your friend my real name?”
“At some later point, perhaps. For now we must survive, darling.”
On a late afternoon in the bitter cold of the last day of the year, Felicity West swaddled the four-month-old baby, and took a hansom to within a few steps of Sabrina’s iron gate. Felicity had no proper winter coat and refused to take her sister’s worn one, but for extra warmth, she wrapped a thin, wool shawl around the coat she had.
She saw lights in the house, and her bleak spirits rose. An hour later, though, the dwelling was fully dark save for a single light toward the back of the driveway and another that illuminated the front porch. Was everyone in bed for the night? Well, what did she expect—to be discovered on a park bench? But why was that porch light on at this hour?
The despair and the frigid air enveloped her like a stiff shroud frozen around her shoulders. She managed to keep the baby warm, but the stone seat was as cold as an ice floe. While she tried to figure out her next move, a strong, icy gust of wind blew off the river, rushed up the hill behind her and caused her to convulse uncontrollably. She decided the only reasonable choice was to return to Bel’s. No one in her right mind would open the door to a stranger at this hour. She could imagine a tearful Bel having to kiss her babe goodbye again on some future day, but Felicity shivered too violently to worry about it now.
She lost a shoe as she stumbled from the bench. She stood in one place and looked around but couldn’t see it in the dark. The child had to be getting shivery as she let out a solitary whimper. Then, Felicity heard someone call out to her.
“Can I help you, Miss?”
Felicity thought it a man, and her sense of vulnerability doubled. When the figure approached, she realized it was a woman wearing an outfit befitting a robber. The fright, the fatigue, and the forlorn helplessness of her situation triangulated in her brain as a cloud of panic, causing her to faint into the arms of the stranger.
And that had been Sabrina Blissdon, a stranger no more.
Bel Glyver steadied herself against the table. She worked with her hair and her makeup, but she wondered how she’d get her clothes on.
She felt as poorly as she ever had since the baby was born. It was clear she could not care for the child right now, and though it broke her heart, she and Felicity agreed they had to do something drastic. And so they did.
She fixed another cup of tea for energy, and warmth, and pulled her best dress over her corset. It took her an hour to cinch herself up, but it would be worth it to see George Markham’s look of approval.
She added the dark blue velvet dress with pearl buttons down the front. She wore it well.
Bel left the top two buttons undone, allowing a peek of the corset’s ruffled trim. She added the last item of value from her marriage, a pair of pearl earrings. She pulled on her worn coat, glad that it would be dark in another half hour. Perhaps George would have some news about Glyver. He seemed concerned that Glyver had left her so destitute. Maybe George would say something on her behalf without divulging her whereabouts. She didn’t know why her horrible ex-husband had made the payments for six months and then stopped. Perhaps he knew she wouldn’t have the means to take him to court again.
Bel locked her shabby blue door and walked down the dim path to the street. She felt a heavy weight descend on her spirit. She saw the hustle and bustle of life walking past her, laughing, smiling, frowning, crying, talking. The heart and soul of the city, even in the poorest section of it, was alive with a symphony of humanity’s song. She slowed as she approached the corner of Fournier and Brick Lane. She looked in a couple storefront windows, and when she saw him in the reflection, standing across the street in front of the pub, she warmed to her task. At least she would be able to pay the landlady on time. Bel pinched her cheeks for color and crossed the street.
After Markham and Bel left their rented room for the evening, they sat in a dark corner of the Laurel Tree. She had removed her corset during their assignation, and George had helped her cinch it up afterwards. He meant well, but he’d tied it too tightly.
She was not hungry. As she picked at her food, she told George about Felicity, how she had found refuge in the home of an old friend of Bel’s. She told him she wasn’t certain it would work out, but it seemed to be good so far.
“She took Sophia, George.”
His fork stopped midway between his plate and his mouth. He swallowed hard, then put his silverware down.
“I had to, George, I’m not well. The doctor has told me I have high blood pressure, and it’s dangerous. It can kill you.”
“Yes, yes, I’ve been hearing so much about blood pressure,” he said, recovering from or sidestepping the news about Sophia. George looked at her with affection. “Sophia,” he whispered.
“She’s fine, George, perfectly fine. My friend is well off—both Felicity and the baby will be well taken care of.”
She had not told him the child was his, but she sensed he suspected it. He wouldn’t say anything, of course, because he did not intend to marry her. There was no point in telling him the truth about Sophia.
“Should we find you a better place to live?”
“Better?”
“Closer in, I mean. These are quite the mean streets down here, Bel.”
“I’m fine for now. Thank you, George. I need to rest.”
As they walked outside and George hailed and prepaid a hansom to take Bel home, he whispered in her ear as he slipped the money into her coat pocket. “You get rest and meet me here in two weeks.”
Bel turned to him with surprise. “Two?”
He nodded. But he smiled, and she thought he was feeling something as close to love as he ever would, whether he was aware of it or not. After the carriage pulled away, she pulled the notes from her pocket. He had given
her double the usual. For the two weeks.
Chapter 13
Although his search for Bel had taken on an unprecedented importance in his quest for secret revenge, Glyver did not ignore the second part of his grand plan. He needed to find out all he could about the late Louis R. Blissdon’s daughter.
What was her first name? Glyver shrugged—he’d look for it among the newspaper clippings in his divorce file. But, yes, he’d need to stay in the background with this. That would require an investment of a different kind.
It had taken him a long time to come up with the perfect plan. He wasn’t going to rush it now. He knew he’d use Markham at some point to achieve his goals, but he still hadn’t worked out all those details. And of course, there was Mendicott. That was a brilliant element all of its own. It was all coming to fruition.
Not only did he decide to hire a private investigator, he wanted it to be a woman. Could be difficult as most investigators were men. But his friend George would know such things, as he seemed to have so many contacts within the police force.
Over drinks at their club late one afternoon, he broached the subject. “George, I need a referral. I want a female private detective to do some snooping around for me, all hush-hush, of course.”
George hoisted his drink and took a long swallow. “Of course. What kind of snooping? Business, or…?”
“I want to find out everything I can about a certain person, a woman to tell the truth. Don’t know anything about her. I’m doing this for a friend of a friend, one of those things.”
“All right, excellent. Prevents the possibility of consanguinity.” Both men nodded and drank in silence. “I’ll ask around,” George said. “There aren’t many women in that line of work, but I’ve heard of a female investigator recently. But she’s a pretty one, from what I gather, so I do hope this is all business, Hugh.”
“Of course, absolutely. Let me know, and I’ll have her come around to my office for an interview.”
Each man went off to his next destination, Hugh Glyver to his home, George Markham to his mistress. It had been two weeks since Markham had seen Bel, and he’d be glad for her company.
When they next met, Bel was surprised that George guided her into the pub first. They sat at their usual table.
“I don’t want you to have a late evening,” he explained. “A bit of dinner. I need to talk to you about something.”
They ordered and spoke sparingly until coffee.
“Glyver is planning to hire a private investigator to watch someone. He says he wants it to be a woman.”
Bel felt her cheeks grow hot with alarm. “Who is he going to spy on? Me?”
“No, no. At least I don’t think so. He would have said if it were you. But the point is, I wonder if it’s something your sister could do.”
“Why, George, she doesn’t have any idea about such an occupation.”
He waved away her concern. “Ah, nothing to it. She finds out where the person lives, what they’re all about, that sort of thing. It’s a woman, by the way, so I’m sure it’s safe.”
“I see. My sister does have a vivid imagination, and she can be resourceful. I’ll ask her, but when she finds out she’d be working for Glyver, she’ll refuse.”
“Bel, listen. I’m reasonably confident it’s not you he’s planning to spy on, but let’s say I’m wrong. What if it is you? Wouldn’t it be better to be a step ahead of him by planting an ally in the lion’s den?”
The din of noise from the dinner hour was loud in the pub. Bel looked out over the semi-dark room. A vague sense of unease came over her.
“There would be good money in it, Bel, and Glyver has asked me to refer someone to him. She’d have to meet him of course, have an interview with him. I’m sure she’ll get the assignment as long as she looks the part.”
Bel’s face reflected her skepticism.
“I could ask her, George. I’m to see her next week. Yes, she is educated and well spoken.” She saw him lower his eyes. She thought he might have realized that he had almost tripped on the invisible line between helpful and patronizing,
“Excellent, excellent. Well, get a message to me. I’ll set up the date of the interview. What’s her name, by the way? Her full name?”
“It’s…” Bel paused. “It’s Felicity. Felicity West.”
“Felicity West.” He pulled a small notebook from his suit coat pocket and wrote the name. “Excellent. See, Bel, it’s insurance in case Glyver plans to use her to find you, and if he’s not, then it’s found income for her.”
Bel sipped her coffee, then set the cup down. “I’m quite tired, George. I should be off.”
He rose at once, paid the bill and hailed a hansom for her. As he helped her into the cabin, he slipped something in her coat pocket. She gave him a questioning look.
“You still have to stay alive,” he said softly. He closed the door behind her and stood there until they disappeared.
A week later, she discussed it with Felicity. To her amazement, her sister was all for the idea. “It’s brilliant, really. He doesn’t know I’m related to you, and if it is you he wants me to find, we’ll have advance notice.”
“But what if it’s not me? It could be complicated—how will you know what to do? What if it’s not safe?”
Felicity gave her sister a crooked smile. “Look at us, Bel. We’re hardly safe now given our circumstances—you living in this neighborhood, me taken in as a charity case with a baby in tow. We need money to get out of this…this life.” She waved her arm in a wide arc to indicate the apartment, the area and the poverty it represented. They both knew what else she meant.
Bel looked away and fidgeted in her chair. “I know. You’re right, of course, but something about it worries me. Still, George says it won’t require you to work more than a day a week on whatever the assignment is. You’ll have to give a report to Hugh Glyver every so often. I don’t know the details, but if you feel you can do it…”
“Tell George I’ll do it. Get the information on where and when I’m to go for the interview. Ask him to try to schedule the interview for later next week.”
The sisters gripped one another at the door. It was mid-afternoon. “I better hurry,” Felicity said, kissing her sister’s cheek. “I want to be back before dark.”
Bel reached for the doorknob. “Oh, I nearly forgot, Fels. I told George your name was Felicity West. Might as well be consistent with everyone, and we do have to be careful around Hugh Glyver, as well.”
Felicity grinned at her sister. “Excellent. Felicity West will see you in a few days.”
Chapter 14
All the flirtatious behavior from Felicity stopped almost as soon as it started. A couple weeks passed with pleasant interactions but nothing of an intimate nature. Over breakfast one morning, however, Felicity approached Sabrina again about working for House of Bliss.
“Yes, I’ve been thinking about it. Let’s walk out to the Studio so I can introduce you around.”
All of the women smiled when they saw Sabrina and nodded in a welcoming deference to the new employee. None of them let on that they knew she lived in the house or that they had been expecting this day. Brief knowing glances and discrete sighs of relief passed amongst them when Sabrina assigned Felicity to Josie. Afterwards, Sabrina bade them a productive day and returned to the house.
Her own day was a blur until a messenger delivered a letter from Lena. She wondered when Sabrina was coming to see her.
Sabrina re-read Lena’s note, and felt the familiar pangs of guilt. She cared for Lena, and yes, she loved her, but she didn’t think she was deeply in love. Not the way she had always imagined love should feel. There were no soaring high notes, no lower register sounds of discontent and no throaty, unintelligible words of raw lust. It was steady, a reliable and repetitive comfort and caring. Their intimacy was fulfilling if infrequent of late.
But isn’t this how it goes? What’s wrong with comfort and caring? Nothing. Nothing at all. Shouldn’t
she be grateful to have such a devoted and considerate partner? She quizzed herself on the subject, trying to be more introspective, which Jeremy was quick to suggest was neither her strong point nor her natural state of existence.
The lack of ardor did not come from Lena, it came from Sabrina. She hadn’t been able to figure out why, so she stopped trying. But now, when she saw herself responding to Felicity, it reminded her of how she used to feel with Annabel. She couldn’t help but notice how alive it made her feel.
Sabrina wondered if she were even capable of being monogamous. She ought to tell Lena. She ought to be honest with her. But she couldn’t bring herself to commit to it once she imagined how that conversation might unfold. It would hurt Lena so dreadfully, and was that worth a fantasy dalliance with a relative stranger? She sent a note telling Lena to expect a visit the following afternoon, Wednesday.
The initial interview with Hugh Glyver had gone well considering Felicity smiled politely as he spoke while her mind threw epithets of disdain and disgust in his direction.
He seemed uninterested in her experience, which she conveniently said was in France, and more interested in her willingness to cozy up to a complete stranger.
“I don’t know much about the woman I want you to investigate,” he said, “but I shouldn’t imagine speaking to her would be an insurmountable obstacle for a woman of your station.”
“What kinds of things do you wish to know about her,” Felicity asked, silently refusing to acknowledge his question posing as a statement. She could tell he wasn’t sure what to make of her.
“Does she have a consistent weekly schedule—does she go to the same places each week when she goes out, where are they, what does she do there? That kind of thing. I want to know who her friends are, her social contacts.”