Page 37 of Debtor’s Daughter

“That’s quite all right, Priddy,” Maggie said, bending down to kiss her son’s cheek. “He just wants to say goodbye, don’t you, darling?”

“Yes, Mama. You going with Westie?”

“We are,” she agreed, pushing his golden curls from his forehead. “And if you are a very good boy, I shall bring you a present.”

“Cake?” he asked, his eyes lighting up. “Westie bring cake too?”

“Not cake,” Maggie said, laughing. “Something good, though, but only if you behave,” she added, wagging a finger at him.

“I be good,” he replied, looking grave indeed.

“Wallace.”

Maggie looked up as Mr Weston spoke, seeing Wallace turn towards him. “Yes, sir?”

“That matter I spoke to you about last night. He’ll start today.”

Maggie looked between them, a little perplexed.

“Nothing to trouble yourself about, Mrs Finchley. A private matter between Mr Weston and myself,” Wallace assured her soothingly.

“Oh, of course,” Maggie said, wondering what matter that could be when they barely knew each other. Still, it was none of her affair. Wallace was entitled to his private life as much as she was.

Finally, Caro and Aunt Connie arrived, and the party set off in high spirits, all looking forward to the day ahead.

The carriage Mr Weston had hired dropped them after they had survived the madness that was Piccadilly Circus, though the noise, the weight of traffic, and the chaos almost sent Aunt Connie into a swoon. She recovered with alacrity, however, once she was travelling again under her own power and surrounded by the delights that the fashionable shopping street had to offer.

Before they chanced to look in a shop window, however, the magnificent sight of the Horse Guards caught their eye, riding up Regent Street on their way to St James’s. Caro gazed upon them open-mouthed, and even Maggie, who had been once so beguiled by a red coat, admired the impressive picture they presented on their gleaming mounts. Their helmets were adorned with flowing black plumes, the standard they bore flapping eagerly in a brisk autumn wind that also tugged at the ladies’ bonnets and skirts as they trotted smartly past.

Once the imposing display had passed, they stopped at the very first window they came to, Caro and Connie drawn by the colourful display of stuffed birds. Brightly arrayed parrots and hummingbirds were arranged in lifelike poses, settled upon branches or suspended from cleverly hidden wires. Birds-of-paradise, with their exquisite plumage, gazed glassily back at them and made Maggie shudder with pity.

“I don’t disagree,” Larkin murmured with sympathy. “I find them rather unnerving myself. They would have been so free and beautiful in life; this seems rather undignified.”

Maggie smiled at him, pleased he understood her disquiet without her having to explain.

Hurrying past a funeral monuments shop in silent accord, they ignored the obelisks and draped urns in the window, pulled onwards by the promise of more agreeable sights. An Italian statuary shop drew Aunt Connie, who lingered for longer than was appropriate over a scale model of Michelangelo’s David until Maggie tugged her away. Next was a filter shop, at once somewhat revolting yet fascinating, with its display of clever machines for turning foul water, thick with mud, into something sparkling and clear.

Next, they came across a magnificent emporium, which they dared to enter to peruse the goods on offer. Wines from France and Italy, sweetmeats and preserves, liqueurs and condiments, Bayonne ham and honey from Narbonne all tempted them to spend their carefully counted allowance for the day. Mr Weston found he could not resist the lure of Bologna sausage, which he confided to Maggie was his valet’s favourite thing in all the world. He bought a quantity, and had it sent to his home, laughing with amusement at how pleased Barnes would be when it arrived out of the blue. That he would think of and buy such a treat for his servant only elevated him higher still in Maggie’s estimation and she found she hardly dared look at him for fear of gazing at him like a complete ninny.

Aunt Connie could not quite contain herself either and succumbed to a pot of clotted cream and a jar of pâté de fois gras. This, Mr Weston was kind enough to add to his own order so the items might be delivered together.

They gazed next into the windows of fancy watchmakers and stationers, before the ladies dragged poor Mr Weston into a haberdasher’s shop in which Maggie feared he might be forced to spend the rest of the day. Here, Caro ran amok, despite being reminded they still had a great deal to see. An hour later she was finally dragged out, looking dazed but delighted by her haul of ribbons, lace, and silk flowers.

Once more, Maggie looked upon Mr Weston with admiration, for he had not by look nor deed shown even a little impatience with them when she had felt sure he must be bored witless. After another hour or more of meandering and window shopping, Mr Weston suggested they stop for tea in a charming tea shop, for he was certain everyone was famished. No one contradicted him.

The proprietress, who greeted them warmly, seated them in a table near the window so they could watch the world outside while they ate, and promised them a delightful lunch would be provided at once. Aunt Connie was very taken with the place and admired the pretty china and the lovely chintz wallpaper. They all exclaimed when the lady returned with two serving girls who carried an extraordinary selection of dainty sandwiches, scones, cakes, and biscuits.

“Good heavens!” Maggie exclaimed, looking at Mr Weston in astonishment. “However, shall we eat it all?”

“I think we can manage it. I’m starving myself, so I promise to do my part,” he added, winking at her and helping himself to a selection of sandwiches.

“Oh, Maggie, can you imagine what Gideon would say if he saw all this?” Caro said, laughing.

“You must not tell him, Miss Caroline,” Mr Weston said, wagging a finger at her. “The poor boy will be bereft. However, I shall make it up to him and bring him another day. What do you think, Mrs Finchley?”

Maggie gazed at him, colour rising to her cheeks. “I-I think he would be the happiest boy that ever lived,” she managed, hardly able to believe he meant such a thing. Would he really bring Gideon here? Why should he trouble himself with her little boy? Did it mean anything, or was she over-interpreting a kind gesture? Never having had a come out, she was uncertain how a gentleman might act towards a female friend in town and whether this would be considered quite unexceptional or not. In the countryside a neighbour might well invite your child in for tea, or give them a game of cricket, but to take them out to a tea shop in town? Was that usual?

Overwhelmed and disarmed, she busied herself pouring the tea and preparing it to everyone’s taste before she ate and was a little surprised when Mr Weston handed her a plate filled with a little of everything that looked nicest.