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‘I wouldn’t want ye to pay too much heed to anything Lord Edwin says, ’e’s a rattle, still wet behind the ears.’ The motherly cook gazed at the young woman beside her. ‘Mind you, Miss, ’e’s the kindest of the three, but that’s not sayin’ much.’ Mrs Porton was speaking out of turn; servants might bitterly complain about their masters below stairs, but they were not meant to criticise their betters to someone of the same class, however her heart went out to this orphaned girl who seemed to be treated by her family with scant regard.

Madeleine smiled and touched her arm. ‘Don’t worry, Mrs Porton, I have very little to do with him, with any of them.’

‘Busy with yer books and writing, ain’t ye?’

Madeleine looked at her sharply. She didn’t think anyone knew about her writing. ‘I do like to read,’ she replied cautiously.

The kitchen door opened and Edwin Lockhart emerged, looking harassed. ‘Maddie, I’ve been looking for you!’ His voice was peeved. Then his eye fell on the dress hanging limply on the line. ‘What grotesque hideosity is that? I told you to throw it away!’

Madeleine agreed with him but resented being addressed so peremptorily. She responded with a flash of spirit, ‘I couldn’t just throw away a perfectly good gown just because it didn’t suit my colouring. I had to try to improve it.’

‘Well, you’ve failed. You’ve made it worse. If you wear that in public, it advertises to the world how poor you are and how lacking in taste.’

‘I’m certainly poor,’ she muttered, and then thought better of it as Mrs Porton was still standing there stolidly listening to their argument and Madeleine knew that, however penny-pinched her life, she had more money to spend than the servants did. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Porton. And thank you for all the trouble I have put you to. I suppose the gown is now only fit for rags. My apologies.’ She turned abruptly and headed back to the house, followed by Lord Lockhart.

Madeleine was just about to go to her room when he waylaid her in the corridor and in a more conciliatory voice said, ‘I’m sorry too to embarrass you in front of the servants. I am concerned that you do not make the best of yourself, Maddie. You’re quite an attractive little thing. Why not wear more becoming clothes? It does not reflect well on the Lockharts as a family, you know.’

The unjustness of her situation made her blaze. Being a member of the family and expected to uphold family propriety did not translate into sharing their family privileges, she wanted to say, but had learned it did not do to even cavil at the hand that fed her: instead, she attempted to be gracious and thankful for a home, however unwelcoming. ‘I’m sorry about that, but I do my best with the allowance Grandmama gives me.’

‘Talking of our grandmother, when I returned to Town, I visited the old lady to pay my respects. She says she very much enjoys your coming to see her.’ His eyes had lost their raillery and he held hers with a harder, more searching look.

Madeleine met his gaze in her open way. ‘Yes, I enjoy them too. I visit her twice a week to read her Pope. She loves his poetry, as do I. His words and ideas interest me greatly.’

‘Well, I’d rather it were you than me keeping the old aristarch company. She’s so disagreeably opinionated about how I should live my life as her heir. I’m also bored by books, had enough of ’em at school and am proud to say I haven’t opened another since, even at Oxford.’

‘Oh, Edwin! You take so much for granted. What I’d give to be able to study at Oxford. And my favourite room in any house is the library.’

‘You’re lucky that no one in this house agrees with you. So you have Papa’s library to yourself.’ He turned to go, then remembered why he had sought her out. ‘I forgot. I have a university friend in Town and have persuaded Mama to take a supper box at Vauxhall. There’s a big fireworks display to mark the end of the formal Season. I’d like you to come to make up numbers. I’ll tell Hen to lend you one of her better dresses.’

‘Oh! There’s no need. I’ve managed to buy one of my own with money saved from Grandmama. I shall wear that.’

The young lord looked surprised. ‘Are you sure it’ll be up to snuff? Not another drab or hideous, cheap confection?’

‘I hope not. I shall receive it tomorrow. I’m quite excited. It’s my first special gown.’ Madeleine’s face was shining, but Edwin Lockhart’s mind was on other things. As the son and heir, he had never wanted for anything, nor had he ever waited for anything. It had not occurred to him that most people were scrabbling about to merely survive; even his patronised little cousin was doing her best with cast-off gowns and needle and thread.

* * *

Susie did arrive on the morrow, carrying a very smart flower-painted box with the name of one of the Bond Street mantua makers in curly cursive script on the front, Mme Mouillière. She had walked through the mews to the kitchen entrance and found Dot peeling potatoes in the scullery. They greeted each other warmly, Dot wiping her hands dry on her apron. ‘Come in and have a piece of cake.’

She led her through to where Mrs Porton sat at the scrubbed pine table with a cup of tea at her elbow and a large fruit cake before her.

‘Mrs Porton, this is Susie. She’s a friend from the Garden. She’s made Miss Madeleine a dress.’

Mrs Porton motioned her to a chair. ‘Sit down, girl. Pleased to meet any friend of Dot’s. She’s a good ’un. A gown for the young mistress you say? That’s a thing, ain’t it?’ A reddened hand cut two pieces of cake and Mrs Porton passed Susie one. ‘Miss Rose needs a few more pretty things in her life,’ she said, giving Dot a meaningful look.

‘I’ll go and tell her you’re here. She’s been looking forward to seeing what you’ve created.’

Dot found Madeleine in the window seat in the library. She had a notebook in her lap and was writing intently with an old quill, which she sharpened often with a small knife. When she heard her name, she looked up, startled, then blushed, so immersed had she been in her story. She quickly closed the book and slipped it under the cushion on which she sat. ‘Miss Madeleine. Susie has brought your dress.’

Madeleine leapt up from her seat and followed Dot through to the kitchen. Susie had her back to the sun, which made an aureole round her corn-yellow hair, and there, glowing on the table in front of her, was the colourful box. Madeleine could not take her eyes from it. The seamstress untied the ribbons, folded back the tissue paper and drew out the dress, the gauze sparkling in the sun.

Madeleine gasped at the sight of the pale green silk and rose organza shimmering and blending, the colours indistinct as a garden in a heat haze. ‘It’s beautiful. Thank you, Susie.’ She put out her hands to take the gown and held it against her body. It felt like air. ‘Lord Edwin’s just invited me to join the family party to the fireworks at Vauxhall. I shall wear it then.’ And she laughed with her light musical laugh that made everyone wish to join in.

Chuckling, Mrs Porton said in her motherly way, ‘That’ll be nice, Miss Madeleine.’ Then, after a moment’s pause, added urgently, ‘But beware. At the end of the Season, Vauxhall Gardens becomes a paradise for bold-faced ruffians. Every drunken, doltish rakehell is on the prowl.’ She was into her stride. ‘The women are even worse. Frowsy, blowsy, painted doxies, hoity-toity, pretending to be better than they are. Ladies of the ton behaving like Covent Garden trollops, too!’ Her upholstered bosom heaved with outrage, her small eyes flashing and cheeks flushed red. ‘Apologies for my language, Miss Madeleine.’ She subsided back into her chair and took a bite of her fruit cake. ‘But a nice girl like you needs to be careful.’

Madeleine looked taken aback at the roll call of sin that awaited her at Vauxhall and Dot said quickly, ‘It’s not all that bad, Miss.’

As if in mitigation, Madeleine said, ‘Well, Lady Lockhart has agreed to come too.’